Eerietales Singapore

It was a Friday, the day we had to hand up our photography assignment. My friend, Josie, had not done hers, making our teacher very unhappy but he still granted her the weekend to complete her assignment.

Josie was in a tight spot, she had to work on the weekends to pay for her photography lessons, and today was the only day available to her but it was already nearing dusk.

Right after our Friday lesson, I suggested to Josie we shot some grave stones at a nearby cemetery. She was apprehensive at first but relented after a little persuasion, and provided - I accompanied her.

We reached the cemetery just nearing sunset. With the sky darkening every minute, we had to hurry. Josie picked the very first subject she saw, a well weathered stone sculpture of Mary, and began fixing her camera up on the tripod.

While she was busy, I scrutinised the workmanship on Mary. Such dedication, such beauty, yet the artist is totally unknown, I thought. I felt a little depressed and lonely thinking about his life.

Suddenly, I thought I saw the sculpture move - it tipped a little to the left! I felt a sudden chill ran through my spine giving me goose pimples. Fearing freaking out, I denied what I saw. I didn't even tell Josie fearing she would freak out also.

When she finished photographing Mary, we walked around a little more, and Josie shot more grave stones. After spending about 45 minutes at the cemetery, I realised enough was enough. Even though I tried not to think about Mary's tilting figurine, I still sweat about it. I suggested that we got out of there before it got too dark.

Packing up, Josie realised that she was missing an equipment - a 50mm lens. We backtracked until we reached a spot where we found the lens. Sighing with relieve, Josie bent down and picked
it up.

Looking around, we realised that we were at the very spot Josie had shot Mary's figurine earlier. But there was no Mary!

We were puzzled. We knew for certain Josie had not used the lens for the other shoots, so the lens could only have been left behind by Mary's figurine.

We searched frantically for 'Mary' but didn't find her. Rather, in place of her, was a dark patch on the ground. I walked toward it and saw it was a hole! Had Mary sunk? I thought. Then I heard a rusting noise coming from the hole. I leaped back in a start, causing Josie to shriek.

Then, a low rumbling voice belched out from the hole. We didn't make out what he said because Josie had grabbed me by the arm as soon as she heard the voice and pulled me away. We bolted out of there as fast as we could, droping Josie's water bottle in the process.

We were so fear stricken that we didn't talk about it until we got to Josie's house. She made coffee and we just stared at each other in shock.

Oh yes, about the film--All other gravestones were exposed well except Mary! I'm puzzled to this day how, in place of Mary, were totally black frames.

I went back to the cemetery on Monday with some classmates--Mary was still standing at her spot with Josie's water bottle at her feet! I tried to move Mary, but her base was firmly set in the ground.

Bouncing Marbles
I am a Singaporean. We live in flats. If you've never lived in flats (apartments), well let me tell you, it's quite noisy at times. Having neighbours all over the place. On top of you, below you and both sides of you. Ok, that is nothing peculiar but what I'm about to tell you is.

In the early mornings, around 2 or 3 am, I hear bouncing marbles above my apartment. That, to me, is strange. Which parents would allow their kids to play marbles at that hour? What is stranger is I'm not the only one who had experienced this. My friends have reported to hear the bouncing marbles too. So, what is this then? Is there some other explanation? I'm still perplexed.

The Other Woman
This story was an enigma when it happened. I was a little boy of four. At that age, everything seemed nothing more than just what met the eye. I didn’t think much about this story and even stopped analysing it because I only knew half of it. Then one day, I had the opportunity to understand and put the enigma to sleep.

You see, my family and I used to live in a kampong (a Malay village) somewhere in Singapore. This was way back in the year 1964. Our house was made with wood and the doors were creaky.

Every night, for a month or so before my mother died mysteriously, a pretty woman would visit my parents. This was at bedtime, I remember, because I'd be lying in my bed when I'd hear the front door creak open. The woman would walk by me, smile and go into my parent’s room. As soon as she'd be in there, my parents would start to argue and fight. I remember dreading the fights but unfortunately, they became very regular and I got used to it. The strange thing was, I wouldn't hear the woman’s voice at all during the entire squabble.

After some time, the woman would come out of the room and just as she does, the squabble would immediately end. She would then sit by my bed. She’d just look at me with a beautiful smile on her face. I’d feel very calm and happy whenever she was there.

One day, mysteriously, my mother died. I remember not being able to sleep and cried often. What I realized much later, sadly, was that it wasn’t for my mother alone that I was crying, but for the mysterious woman as well, who stopped coming by altogether.

As we know, time is the best healer. I got used to not having both women in my life.

Then, my father died – also mysteriously. One day he was well and the next, he never got out of bed. It was the saddest day of my life. I was distraught and felt miserable. We went to live with our aunt: my 8 years brother, my 6 years old sister and myself.

Years passed and all was progressing fine. Then one night, I had a dreadful dream. My father was on his bicycle and riding away. My brother, sister and I were crying and running after him. We were calling on him to stop but he just rode away, leaving us all alone and confused. I woke up feeling very sad and angry.

That morning, after the dream, a distant uncle from Penang visited us. He brought a suitcase that belonged to my late father. In the suitcase, I found something that stunned me – it was a picture of my father with a very pretty young woman. That young woman was the same woman who visited me by my bedside in my younger years. I could never forget her face.

My uncle told me that she was my father’s first love and that I was her son. My father had made her pregnant then offered to marry her but her family disapproved of him and almost killed him. He was beaten up to the point of near death. He was in the hospital for three months.

As for her, she wasn’t allowed to be seen in public until the baby, me, was born. One day, she appeared at my father’s house when he wasn’t home and left me there with my grandmother.

Some days later, my father received a bad news – she had drowned in the river. It seemed obvious that it was suicide.

After knowing this truth, I became very upset and went into depression. I stopped school soon after and worked as a shop assistant. I was only 12. Gladly, like all pains, time heals but the scars remain.

Thank you for letting me share this story with you.

Lost Soul at the Bus Stop
There is a bus stop at Mount Vernon that I'm told is haunted. For non-Singapore residents, Mount Vernon is a road between two cemeteries. A Christian one, on one side, and a Muslim one, on the other.

Why I say it's haunted? Well, I've been in many taxis and when the drivers are talkative, they most likely will tell you this story when you ask them about ghostly encounters. They say, if you travel through mount Vernon Road between midnight and 4am - if you are lucky - you will see a beautiful young Malay mother with a baby in her arms.

One time, there was an ignorant taxi driver who happened to pick her up. She boarded the taxi and just pointed ahead without saying a word. So, the driver drove on ahead. After some minutes, he asked her where she wanted to go, but she just smiled and instructed him, with a hand gesture, to go straight ahead. Mount Vernon is a long stretched road and as the taxi approached the end of it, at the junction, he asked her, again, where exactly she wanted to go. She simply replied, "balik rumah"(going home). He was a little annoyed by her ambiguous reply and made his impatience felt with his next remark. He complaint. "Ya lah, lu mau balik rumah, mana lu punya rumah lu misti cakap lah, ayah susah lah ini macam".(Yes, I know you want to go home but where the heck is your home? Gosh, you’re giving me a hard time!).

She was hurt and started sobbing. Feeling guilty, he apologised then asked her again, nicely that time, what her address was. She then asked to be taken back to the place she boarded his taxi.

The irate driver was furious and made an angry, sharp, U-turn and headed the other way back to the spot he picked her up from.

Busy nagging, he failed to realise that she was no longer seated in the back seat. When he did look in the mirror, he was horrified by her non-presence. Then, he smelt a sweet smelling scent of frangipani flower. (This flower is associated with death.) He was chilled to the bones with fear and sped off out of Mount Vernon Road all the way home. He never traveled along Mount Vernon Road after midnight anymore since the experience.

Other taxi drivers have also picked up the mother with a child but had different experiences with her. Some would realise immediately after she came aboard that she was a ghost, some would not even notice anything strange until they smelt a sweet scent – then on, a cool head is very necessary.

Sentry Duty
It was the weekend, I had to do guard duty at the 2nd Battalion Singapore Guards Unit – located remotely at Lim Chu Kang, one of the few areas in Singapore left un-urbanised.

There were, if I remember correctly, 14 of us on duty that day. 2 NCOs, 6 sentry guards and 6 prowlers. There were 2 sentry points and an ammo dump to guard. I guarded the main gate. I considered myself lucky because the NCO post was just 50 meters away from my sentry cubicle; that meant I wasn't going to be bored; the NCOs would come out for their cigarette break every once a while and keep me company.

I’m not easily frightened, in fact I enjoy being in the open, foggy night like that one. The ambience that night was eerie; there was a full moon; it flooded the fog like a thin white translucent curtain. I couldn't see much through the fog except some distant dark patches that some trees made.

The sound of crickets chirping were enough to keep me standing awake all night. If that wasn't enough, there was an adamant owl flapping about and hooting incessantly; I thought, initially, it had come for the sprightly toads and crickets but somehow, this bird's behaviour was strange - It flew around as if in panic.

The night was getting colder. I felt the smooth, soft, cold wind against my skin; it made me shudder and made my hairs stand on ends. Even with the noise of nature's elements all around me, I still felt the serenity of that dark, foggy night. At zenith, the moon stared down at me in full splendour. The fog drifted calmly, as if alive and holding some kind of suspense.

I looked around to see if the NCOs were watching me, then I slid a stick of Salem from the hard pack in my pocket and brought it to my lips. Just as I reached into my pocket for a lighter, I heard something; it was an irritating sound, "eeeeeee." It sounded human and yet, not. I thought for a moment that the NCOs were playing a spook game on me. My back was facing the gate - where the sound was coming from - and without turning around, I mocked, "Ooooh, I'm so scared." Then I thought I'd play along. I burst out, "Huh!" as I turned around sharply around. There was nothing there! No NCO, no owl, nothing!

I looked in the NCOs' direction and concluded to myself, a bomb could have exploded and they wouldn't have heard it; they had the TV volume turned up to the maximum.

I turned and looked closely at the gate. I looked out, to the left, right, and into the distance. The only thing I saw were blurred silhouette of trees and a faint light coming from a farm house some distance away, too far for anything less than a scream to be heard from that distance.

Not seeing anything amiss, I lit my cigarette and pulled in hard like it was weed. Oh, that was a breath of fresh air that was for me. I hid the cigarette from the NCO's line of sight as I watched them closely. I could get my ass kicked for smoking on duty. As I brought the cigarette discreetly up to my lips the second time, I heard it again!

That time, it was close, much closer, almost like someone was standing right behind me. I recognised the sound - it was a wheezing sound, like someone under asthmatic attack trying hard to say something.

I froze. The wheezing sound had progressed to a wail, and it was getting louder and eerier; it was beginning to really freak me out, I didn't dare move any part of my body, I only could moved my eyeballs. From the corner of my left eye, I looked to the NCOs but they were too busy with their Chinese variety show. "Damn them!" I thought to myself.

I must admit, I prayed that night. The link between me and god had long been broken but that night, I pleaded for his forgiveness and protection.

Then, everything went silent. I didn't hear the TV. No crickets, No owl. Nothing, absolutely nothing! I stood frozen, anticipating some kind of shocking attack. I shivered uncontrollably. Then, a distinct gust of wind blew against my right ear, I turned instinctively!

I was looking at something I had only heard off! It was horrible! A floating head with a green face! Bloodshot eyes, entrail hanging and blood dripping from it! THIS IS NO BULLSHIT! I couldn’t control my bladder; I released. I was standing there for what seemed like forever. I remember nearly coming to tears, wanting to scream but couldn’t. The 'THING' was looking at me with so much satisfaction. I was humiliated. I was standing there wet in my own piss and wanting desperately to pass out so as to end this horrendous ordeal.

Thank god one of the NCOs hollered out my name. He had noticed that I was not at my assigned spot and thought something was amiss; how right he was. When he hollered, that thing vanished into the fog. All that remained was the slow drifting white fog closing the curtain after the show.

I buckled to the ground and nearly passed out. The NCOs rushed over to me wondering what had happened. I was taken to the medical center and spent the night there.

I never talked about it in that camp; only out of it. Till today, I shiver when I hear the wheezing sound made by anything. Once, I heard a kettle go wheez and screamed like a girl - I never knew I was that traumatised.

The Mysterious Hindu Priest
I am Chinese, an Apek , if you will. The young call me Apek as a form of respect. Apek means uncle.

A friend recommended that I write this letter to you, for you feature many such stories. My English is bad for I am not English educated so I write to you in broken Malay. I hope that you will translate my story into English and publish it.

A friend and I, both retired and bored, meet at a coffee shop near Yio Chu Kang daily. We like slouching comfortably on the plastic chairs, and rest our feet up on other chairs. It so happens that the soles of our bare feet would face an Indian Temple situated just by the coffee shop.

As usual one evening, we sat at our spot, and the soles of our feet facing the Hindu temple. Suddenly, appearing from nowhere, an old frail Indian man, with three strips of white ash across his forehead, stood to the left of us. His right arm shivered as he tried to hold his weight with a cane. In his other hand, he clasped his white dhoti so it wouldn't hinder his walk.

The motionless old man stared at me. I stared at him back; I wasn't going to let an old frail man intimidate me.

He stared at me, his face turning angry. Then he turned to look at the Temple , he faced me again and pointed with his chin at my elevated feet.

"Who the hell is this man to tell me what to do?" I grumbled as I stood. " Wah! Lu mau cari galoh ah? " I said angrily in my limited Malay. ("You looking for trouble?")

As I towered almost a foot above him, he backed away, cursing as he turned to walk. I sat back down and faced my friend. My friend, Ah Kau, laughed but reprimanded me.

"Why do you want to scare an old man?" Ah Kau said. Then he turned to look at the old man.

There was nowhere the old man could have gone besides straight on. The five-foot way he was walking on did not have any opening, or way out-just straight ahead.

Ah Kau and I exchanged looks. Cold sweat began pouring from my forehead. Ah Kau too was sweating. The air suddenly became cold-I mean, freezing cold!

That night I could not sleep. The old Indian man kept creeping into my head. I tossed and turned so many times that I finally sat up at the edge of my bed and cried.

"Why do you haunt me? Whatever I said to you, I take back. Please leave me alone."

Miraculously, after saying that, I felt dizzy and lay down. I fell asleep immediately.

The next morning, I called Ah Kau and invited him to the coffee shop for breakfast.

"What? You still want to go to the coffee shop?" Ah Kau said with a raised voice.

Instead of heading straight for our chairs at the coffee shop, I went to take a closer look at the Indian temple. I stood at the temple gate and watched. Ah Kau was amazed.

"It's so peaceful inside." I said, without taking my eyes of the Indian deities. Then, I pointed at one of the colourful statues.

"Look, that is Hanuman. And there, that is Krishna . That one is Kali; oh she is one you should not mess around with."

I don't know how I knew of the names of the deities, but I just knew. Without thinking or saying another word, I removed my slippers and stepped into the temple ground.

Without stopping, I walked on. Ah Kau followed. He too removed his slippers. We walked around the temple looking at all the marvelous figurines. Suddenly, Ah Kau grabbed my right shoulder and pointed to the front.

It was a glossy statue of but one pious devotee worshipping one of the many Hindu gods. Our eyes popped; the statue transfixed us.

I walked over to the statue and stared at it; it seemed to stare at me too, as if it were alive.

"Whatever I said to you yesterday, I didn't mean. Please forgive me." I bowed before it.

Ah Kau was left unsure and uncomfortable that I saw him do the same. Then, when we looked up, the statue was no longer a statue-it was alive! My eyes became wide open and my jaw fell. I didn't see how Ah Kau reacted, but I presume, the same as me. Strangely though, we didn't feel any fear. In fact, I even began to smile and looked at him with wonderment.

Without asking, priest dabbed his thumb into the palm of his other hand and smeared white ash on my forehead. He did the same to Ah Kau. With palms together in a praying gesture, we thank him with a bow. He smiled, turned, and walked away.

This story may be hard to believe but I swear it's true. From that day onwards, Ah Kau and I have become unofficially Hindus. We go to the temple every morning before taking our breakfast at the coffee shop. Yes, of course, we never put our soles up towards the temple anymore. Frankly, we feel great and our wives too notice our difference. They say we treat them better. How? I am not quite sure.

There was no one else on the pavement but the hysterical young lady running towards me, and myself. Astonished, I looked about. I had thought maybe a dog was chasing her but there was nothing. Yet this emotionally wrecked woman was running and screaming for dear life. I waited until she reached me. I saw in her eyes, the kind of terror that only a panicked zebra could have when chased by a lion.

I thought I'd let her pass, and moved aside. But she grabbed my shirt and tossed me behind to whatever that was chasing her. I nearly lost my footing. Suddenly, I felt dazed and cold, as if the temperature dropped ten degrees. Mt spine tingled and my entire body felt energized. I felt rage. (The kind that makes you want to explode and scream) I don't know why, but I began to run after the woman. My only desire was to destroy her; I felt the strong urge to want to beat her to a pulp. I wanted to see blood oozing out of her head as I beat her. I got pleasure thinking about it. I knew I wanted to kill her!

I ran and I ran, and she screamed and screamed. I was gaining on her and I knew she knew that. She screamed but no one came to her rescue. There were a few people nearly but it was happening too fast for anyone to react.

I didn't look left or right, I didn't care if I bumped anyone off, I didn't even feel tired, I only wanted to kill that woman. I was so desperate and determined to catch her that I hadn't noticed a motorcycle turning into my path as I crossed a lane.

I saw people towering over me as I looked up into the sky. My head was hurting, but the anger had left me. The motorcyclist walked limping towards me and yelled.

I was too dazed to react, and thought I deserved the abuse for not looking where I was going. One man went over to calm the motorcyclist, and two other men helped me up.

Luckily there was no real damaged to the motorcycle or the rider, or I would have to pay for his repairs. What I couldn't understand was why I had felt the rush to kill that strange woman.

When I told the story to a few friends of mine the next day, one of them said that the unsuspecting woman could have kicked a Chinese ancestor's alter by the side of the pavement. For some reason, she could see the angry spirit chasing her. And since I was in the way, the spirit had possessed me, and wanted to harm her through me.

The motorcycle hitting me was a blessing if I really thought about it. Should I have not been stopped by the accident, I would surely have beaten that woman into a pulp, and probably even killed her. If that had happened, I would probably be waiting in the gallows for the noose right now.

*In this part of the world, our last generation Chinese burn hell money and make offerings to their ancestors on sidewalks by the roads. I have heard many stories of careless people kicking or stepping on these offerings, and getting themselves possessed by the angry feasting spirits. This experience had gotten me wary of my footsteps whenever I walk the sidewalks. I'm a Chinese, but I've turned Christian and do not carry on this tradition.

Guard Post No 9
I was in doing my national service at Selarang Barracks some thirty years ago when this incident happened.

The barracks was built in 1938 and housed the British Army Infantry Regiment. When the Second World War broke out, the Japanese invaded Singapore. They occupied Singapore from 1942 to 1945. During the occupation, they used this camp as a prisoner-of-war camp housing POWs.

The Japanese were cruel to these men, and I don't know how many POWs must have died there by the end of the occupation. Anyway, after the Second World War, the camp was taken over again by the colonial peace keeping forces: the British, Australian and New Zealand forces. In 1971 the camp was handed over to 42 SAB, 42 nd Singapore Armoured Battalion.

The camp, as I remember, had an eerie feel to it; I suppose the ghosts of the POWs who had died there could have lingered on. I was doing guard duty on one of the nights and was asked to guard post number 9—The number I will always remember.

My sergeant, a heavy set man who had to stop to breath after walking a hundred paces or so, picked me to guard post 9. There was a slight sigh from the other guards when he mentioned the post. It made me wonder but I didn't think too much of it then. When we were dismissed from the parade, the other guards bantered that I would have an experience that would make me pee in my pants. Of course I didn't believe them. I was never a believer of this kind of things, if anything, I liked busting myths.

There I was, walking leisurely to my post, which was quite a distance from the other posts and any human being, when I heard a howl. I shook my head and smiled in disbelief at the childishness of my fellow guards. Ahead, I saw the legendary post , the ominous post number 9. It stood serenely amid thin smog. It did look like a scene from a horror movie; an upright, near dilapidated shack in the middle of nowhere casting sharp black shadow on the cracked tarmac. The moon was just slightly away from zenith reflecting highlights from the zinc roof of the post.

I liked what I saw. I have always been attracted to serenity and darkness. But this was different: the night was still, very still; no leave was swaying; no insect was buzzing, just the dull sound of my heels digging into the tarmac.

I kicked some dried leaves out of the post's floor and put my rifle down. There was no real need to be vigilant, I thought. “Who was going to infiltrate this old laidback camp, anyway?” I muttered to myself and sat down on the floor. The air was really cold; in fact it was kind of icy. I snuggled up and shut my eyes. There was absolute silence, it was uncanny; even the ringing in my ears had not bothered me.

Awhile later, I heard footsteps. “It could be my sergeant checking on me,” I thought. Quickly, I stood up and held my rifle in prowl position. I waited and waited, hoping to have the last laugh seeing him astonished to find me on the ball. But, no one walked by. Frowning, I popped my head out. There was no one. I could swear I heard footsteps. At that moment, I wondered about all the stories I had heard about post number 9. “Was it true? Naaaah.” I wasn't going to start believing just because I thought I heard footsteps. I could have fallen asleep and dreamt, for all I know.

I had become too wide awake to doze so I sat at the doorway of the post and admired the beautiful moon. I thought of my girlfriend; holding her hand, kissing her neck and more. It kept me going for awhile.

It must have been two hours since I guarded post no 9 and there were absolutely no spooky incidents. I began to get curious and had an idea. I thought if the ghosts I was warned about were real, they should be able to give me winning numbers for 4-D—numbers played in betting on horse races.

I searched for paper in my pockets and found a few used bus tickets. I tore the tickets into smaller pieces and wrote numbers zero to nine; one number on one torn piece, and crushed them into tiny balls. I then picked up a thin straight twig from the ground and placed it in font of me as a marker. I had the idea to toss the crushed paper balls against the wall of the post. Whichever ball that bounced off the post wall, crossed the twig and landed closest to me would be my first of four numbers.

I tossed the ten tiny paper balls against the peeling wall and they bounced back. Some crossed the twigs and some did not. The ball that came closest to me was the number
9—coincidently, I believed. I crushed it again and added it back to the bunch. I tossed the ten balls the second time. The same thing happened. I picked the ball nearest to me and began to unwrap it. I didn't even get a chance to look at the number when the other nine balls suddenly LEAPED off the floor and jumped across the twig towards me!

I GASPED! SPRANG UP, GRABBED MY RIFLE, AND RAN.

I ran with my heart pumping-near-bursting out of my chest!
I swear, I was screaming but no one ever heard me.

Upon seeing me running towards the guardhouse, my sergeant shouted. “STOP SOLDIER!”

I didn't stop. I kept running toward him. I thought I saw him lifting his rifle and pointing toward me. But I didn't care. Shoot me! Kill me! I didn't care, I kept running. Then, strong arms grabbed me by the collar!

“What the F__K are you doing here?” My sergeant's megaphone voice blasted at my face.

“I don't care! Charge me! Do what you want. I'm not going back there!” I yelled out hysterically.

My sergeant took my ID card and pushed me into the cell.

“I will charge you tomorrow.” He said, and left.

I didn't speak about it to anyone until morning. The other guards laughed and teased me. They had made a believer out of a sceptic and they had good reason to bask in victory. Even my sergeant laughed and shook his head in disbelief.
Hearing about my bizarre experience had caused him to change his mind about charging me for leaving my guard post. He gave me my ID back and laughed some more.

Ways.
Owner of Travel Agency.
Posted - 9 May 2009