Friends Vanish in Mount Pulag in 1991 — 9 Years Later, Their Dog Comes Back Alone
That night—after the vet had left and Max was asleep on his old bed near the fireplace—Maria Reyes climbed into the attic.
The box was exactly where it had always been, in the farthest corner, buried under dust.
On the label, written in thick permanent marker, were the words:
“REYES / DELA CRUZ / VILLANUEVA CASE FILE.”
Maria opened it carefully, like she was lifting the lid of a grave.
Inside were all the frozen pieces of the last week of August 1991:
Photos of Daniel Reyes, Anna Dela Cruz, and Mark Villanueva packing camping gear.
The printed itinerary Daniel had left behind, highlighting their route in the Cordillera mountains.
Newspaper clippings about the search.
Photocopied posters with their faces—hundreds of them—taped across towns in Baguio, La Trinidad, and even as far as Metro Manila.
Maria pulled out one photograph in particular.
Daniel, twenty-six, grinning at the camera—Max sitting proudly at his feet. Both so young, so full of life. Anna stood beside them, adjusting her camera strap. Mark made a goofy face in the background.
Maria swallowed hard.
“I’m going to find you, kuya,” she whispered to the picture.
“This time… I’m really going to find you.”
August 1991
Daniel Reyes checked the gear list for the third time while Max ran circles around the SUV, barking with excitement.
“You packed the extra water filter?” Anna Dela Cruz asked, hoisting her heavy backpack into the trunk.
“Yes, boss,” Daniel joked. “I also packed extra first aid, spare flashlights, and enough food to feed a whole barangay.”
Anna smacked his shoulder. “Very funny. Last time we went camping, you forgot the can opener and we ate granola bars for two days.”
Mark Villanueva came running from his apartment, dragging a giant backpack and a sleeping bag.
“Sorry, sorry!” he panted. “My principal held me up again—lecture about the new school year.”
“Sir Mark, always responsible,” Daniel teased. “Ready to forget your students for a week?”
“More than ready,” Mark grinned. “After the year I had? Twenty-five third graders can destroy your sanity.”
They climbed into the vehicle with Max happily wedged in the back seat beside Anna, who was already checking her camera lenses.
“Do you realize it’s been forever since the three of us traveled like this?” Anna said as Daniel drove toward the highway.
“Since college,” Mark replied. “Four years.”
“Since that Big Sur-level disaster,” Anna laughed.
“We didn’t get lost,” Daniel protested. “We just took a creative shortcut.”
“Your creative shortcut made us hike ten extra kilometers,” Anna reminded him, laughing harder.
The trip into the Cordilleras took almost five hours. They arrived near sunset, when the mountains glowed orange and gold like fire under the clouds.
At the ranger station, an older officer in green uniform handed them their permits.
“You’re heading into the Akiki Trail area?” he asked, checking their itinerary.
“Yes, sir,” Daniel confirmed. “Three days up, then down toward the meadows.”
The ranger nodded and marked something on his map.
“Good area. Not much foot traffic this season. But be careful—there have been reports of wild boar and occasional bears. Store your food properly.”
“We will,” Mark promised.
They set up their first night camp near a quiet lake. Max chased squirrels until exhaustion knocked him out by the fire.
Anna took dozens of photos of the water reflecting the stars.
“It’s perfect,” she murmured through her lens. “Absolutely perfect.”
“Do you ever stop taking pictures and just live the moment?” Daniel joked.
“This is how I live the moment,” Anna replied. “I capture it so it can’t disappear.”
The next morning, they packed up and started hiking.
The trail was steep and rocky, but all three were fit and moved at a steady pace. Max ran ahead, sniffing every bush like a scout.
“Look at that!” Mark pointed toward a waterfall spilling down the mountainside.
“Incredible,” Anna said—already lifting her camera.
“I’m going down a little for a better angle,” she told them. “Wait here.”
“Be careful,” Daniel warned. “Those rocks can be slippery.”
Anna climbed down slowly, hunting the perfect shot.
Daniel and Mark watched from above while they drank from their canteens.
“How are things with Janelle?” Mark asked.
Daniel smiled. “Good. Really good. I think… she might be the one.”
“Wow,” Mark said, tapping Daniel’s shoulder. “Kuya Daniel finally settling down.”
“Maybe,” Daniel shrugged. “With her, I don’t have to pretend. I can just be myself.”
Anna came back up smiling. “I got amazing shots. These are going to look insane.”
They hiked until they found a small clearing surrounded by pine trees, overlooking the canyon. They pitched tents while Max explored the perimeter, marking his “temporary kingdom.”
That night, they cooked over the fire, trading jokes like the old days.
The stars above them were endless—millions of lights in an ocean of black.
“I don’t want this to end,” Anna said softly, staring upward. “I wish we could stay here forever.”
“We all have to go back to reality,” Mark sighed. “But we can do this again. More often.”
“It’s a deal,” Daniel said.
They fell asleep past midnight. Max curled up inside Daniel’s tent like he always did.
The last thing they heard was wind whispering through pine branches—and an owl calling somewhere far away.
The Morning Everything Changed
Daniel was the first to wake up.
Or rather—Max woke him up.
The dog was barking hard, frantic, desperate.
“What is it, boy?” Daniel mumbled, stepping out of the tent.
Max ran to the edge of the clearing, growling into the trees, as if something unseen was moving.
“Max, quiet,” Daniel hissed, afraid he’d wake the others.
“What did you see? A deer?”
But Max didn’t stop. His barking only grew more intense—almost panicked.
Daniel approached, squinting into the forest.
And then—
A sound cut through the morning.
A loud, sharp crack.
Maria would later remember it as the beginning of the nine-year nightmare.
1991–2000: The Long Silence
The nine years between 1991 and 2000 were a quiet kind of hell for the Reyes, Dela Cruz, and Villanueva families.
Maria remembered every day of it.
The first six months were the worst. When Daniel, Anna, and Mark didn’t return on schedule, the rangers organized one of the largest search operations the region had ever seen.
Volunteers combed the mountains for weeks.
“We found their last campsite,” the head ranger told the families.
“The tents were still there. Their bags were still there. But they—and the dog—were just… gone.”
“What does that mean?” Anna’s father asked, voice breaking. “Someone took them?”
“No signs of struggle,” the ranger admitted. “No blood. No dragged footprints. It’s like they just stood up and walked into the forest.”
“My son would never abandon his gear,” Maria’s mother, Rosa, insisted. “Daniel is responsible.”
But without evidence, the official theory slowly turned into the easiest explanation:
An accident. A fall. Exposure. The mountains swallowing them whole.
Searches continued on and off for two years.
Nothing.
Not a single trace.
Maria quit her job as a software engineer and threw herself into the search. She spent her savings on private trackers, equipment, even “psychics”—anything that promised answers.
“You have to let go,” her mother begged. “This is destroying you.”
“I can’t,” Maria said. “He’s my brother. I can’t just forget.”
In 1993, Anna’s family held a memorial service. No body, but they needed something—anything—to stop drowning.
Maria attended, but she refused to hold one for Daniel.
“He’s not dead,” she told her mother. “I can feel it.”
By 1995, Rosa finally held a service anyway.
Maria didn’t go.
The years passed.
Rosa tried to move forward—joined a support group, went back to work. But Maria remained trapped inside Daniel’s apartment, surrounded by his things, waiting like time would eventually crack and reveal the truth.
“You’re wasting your life,” her best friend told her in 1997.
“Daniel wouldn’t want this for you.”
“I don’t care what Daniel wants,” Maria snapped.
“I care what I need. And I need to find him.”
By 1999, she took part-time work designing websites from home—only because she needed money. She built a website dedicated to the case: photos, timelines, contacts, a plea for information.
Emails came every month.
Most were kind. Some were cruel.
Some were “sightings” that led nowhere.
“I saw a man who looked like your brother in Cebu,” one message claimed.
“I think I saw the dog in a remote community in Mindanao,” another said.
Maria chased every lead—no matter how impossible.
Until March 2000, when she was almost… almost… ready to accept she might never know the truth.
Then Max came back.
The Call That Changed Everything
Maria called Detective Arturo Bañez, the same investigator who handled the case in 1991. He was close to retirement now, his voice tired over the phone.
“Maria, I know this means a lot,” he said gently. “But the dog could’ve been found by someone years ago. He might’ve lived with another family all this time.”
“Then explain the collar,” Maria shot back. “Explain the coordinates engraved on steel.”
Silence.
“I can’t,” Bañez admitted.
“I’m going,” Maria said.
“To the coordinates.”
“Maria… it could be dangerous. If someone left those numbers on purpose, it might be a trap.”
“I don’t care,” she answered. “I’m going.”
Detective Bañez exhaled. “Give me twenty-four hours. I’ll send a team to check the area first.”
“Twenty-four,” Maria agreed. “Not one minute more.”
That night, Maria sat on the living room floor beside Max while he slept.
She stroked his fur, feeling his ribs.
“What did you see up there?” she whispered.
“Where is Daniel?”
Max cracked one eye open, looked at her—then closed it again.
But Maria swore there was something in that look.
Purpose.
Like Max knew exactly what he had done… and why.
Twenty-Four Hours Later
Maria drove toward the mountains with Max in the passenger seat.
Detective Bañez had sent two officers the night before. Their report was unsettling.
“There’s a property at the coordinates,” Bañez told her. “An isolated cabin. They knocked—no answer. Windows are boarded from the inside.”
“Abandoned?” Maria asked.
“Looks abandoned,” he said. “But there are signs of recent activity. Tire tracks. Fresh-cut wood.”
“Did they go in?”
“We can’t without a warrant,” Bañez replied. “No probable cause.”
“Who owns it?”
“That’s the strange part,” Bañez said. “It’s registered under a company that doesn’t seem to exist. The last tax payment was years ago.”
Maria’s grip tightened on the steering wheel.
“I’m going anyway.”
“Officially, I can’t tell you to do that,” Bañez said. “Unofficially—keep your phone on. If anything feels wrong, leave immediately and call for help.”
The Cabin
The dirt road was barely visible between trees. Max sat rigid, nose pressed to the window, whimpering softly.
“Do you recognize this place?” Maria whispered.
The cabin appeared between the pines.
Two floors. Weathered wood. Silent like a dead thing.
Windows boarded.
No power lines.
No signs of modern life.
Maria parked at a distance, heart pounding.
“Stay,” she told Max.
But the dog jumped out the moment she opened the door.
Together, they approached.
Maria pounded the front door.
“Hello! Is anyone there?”
Nothing.
She tried the handle.
Locked.
She circled the cabin and spotted a second-floor window that wasn’t boarded. Too high to reach—until she found an old rusty ladder by a toolshed.
“This is probably illegal,” she muttered, setting it up anyway.
The ladder creaked as she climbed. When she reached the window, she wiped the dust and peered inside.
The room was empty—covered furniture, sheets like ghosts.
But on the far wall…
A photograph.
Even from the window, Maria recognized the faces.
Daniel. Anna. Mark.
A camping photo—one Anna had likely taken with a timer.
Maria’s blood went cold.
“Oh my God…” she whispered.
She climbed down fast and ran to her car, pulling out her phone.
No signal.
She cursed.
Then she realized—
Max was gone.
“Max!” she shouted, panic rising. “Max, where are you?”
A bark answered.
Behind the cabin.
Deeper in the trees.
Maria sprinted, pushing aside branches, leaping over fallen logs.
That’s when she saw Max digging furiously at something half-buried under leaves and weeds.
A flat steel door.
A trapdoor.
An underground entrance.
Maria dropped to her knees and cleared the debris.
There was a padlock.
Old. Rusted.
She grabbed a heavy rock and slammed it again and again until the lock snapped.
“This is a terrible idea,” she breathed, lifting the metal door.
A ladder led into pure darkness.
A smell crawled up—damp, rot… and something else.
Something human.
Maria switched on her small flashlight.
“Hello?” she called down. “Is anyone there?”
At first—
Silence.
Then, faintly…
A sound.
A weak groan… or maybe the wind.
Max barked—desperate now—trying to go down first.
Maria swallowed.
Then made her choice.
Step by step, she descended—with Max right beside her.