In my primary school days we lived in a village in Sterling Road vicinity, somewhere close to the Alexandra Fire Station. It was then called 'Bo Buay Kang' which I think translates to 'River of no source'. About a hundred metres away from our wooden house, the land sloped into a shallow valley where a well was located. It was an old well that had been covered up after WWII. My father alone, with us kids assisting in minor ways, dug out and brought it back to life again. Those who have never experienced a bath at a well will never understand how fresh and invigorating the cool water can be. The older villagers told tales of hauntings of a headless man in white singlets somewhere in the vicinity of the well. He was assumed to be a victim of a Japanese officer's sword. We took it as just tall tales to scare kids. Until one day, we had a new tenant. A young couple with 5 kids came. The parents were away at work during weekdays, returning only weekends. My mom sort of cared for the young kids. One dark night, one of the younger kids woke up and out of curiosity, peered through a crack in the wooden-panelled wall. Somewhere near the location of the well he saw the apparition that freaked him out. He woke his siblings. Next morning they described the headless man. Their youthful innocence and the fact the kids had no prior knowledge, met with no challenge to veracity. The very weekend when their parents came, the family packed up and left. In those days, there was no tenancy contract, no deposits. Just pack and go.
My eldest sister-in-law has high 'lee hoon' and she talked of her experiences on her honeymoon in Malacca when she could hear things at night in those old creepy hotels in Chinatown while my brother snored. I pooh-poohed this away at the time until one night decades ago, when she stayed-over. In the wee hours she woke up to attend to call of nature. In the semi-darkness in the hall she saw an old lady sitting on the sofa. She was not spooked, having had many such experiences. She remained calm and let the being be. Not wanting to frighten any of us, she kept it to herself until months later. When she described what she saw, it was apparent the apparition was my grandma whom sister-in-law had never seen in the very few photos we had. Surprisingly I was not frightened when I used to stay up alone for late TV shows, knowing it was my grandma.
Telok Paku was once a high paranormal activity area, it being the execution ground where the Japanese army chopped a lot of heads off when they occupied Shōnantō, that's what they called Singapore then. Part of the Changi airport runway now runs over the area. David Marshall, our first Chief Minister, once lived there. During my pre-U days, we classmates stayed over a weekend at one of those old holiday bungalow houses at Telok Paku. High spirited youngsters that we were then, we stayed out chatting the night away at Changi Village. We returned to the bungalow late at night. As we were walking along the dark lane, one of the classmates seemed to be suddenly possessed by something. Some of the guys felt a chill passing through. I felt nothing. The stone cold poor chap was assisted back to the bangalow. He was badly shaken, could not speak, eyes wide in shock. Needless to say, we broke camp the next day.
When I was a recruit in the 70's, I participated in an island-wide riot exercise involving the Army and the Police. Our group took the role of demonstrators. We would go 'rioting' only to be attacked by the police and SAF. Our base was at the old Maju Camp, off Clementi Road. There we would spend our nights. On the first night I realised the toilet and shower building was thick with the stench of urine. It was nauseating even 20 metres away. The poor maintenance was abhorrent. I soon found out from the camp regulars that the placed was used as a mortuary during Confrontasi days. British casaulties from the jungles of Indonesia were helicopter-lifted to Singapore. The wounded went to Alexander Hospital, the dead to Maju Camp. The bathroom was where the dead bodies were washed. Hauntings were frequent and cries could be heard at nights. No NSmen, however macho, will use the toilets there at night. So everyone relieved themselves at the drains outside, thus the strong stench. I heard nothing and saw nothing during my 5 nights there. But I smelled a lot.
I was in SAFTI to attend two courses - section leader, and later officer cadet. Just outside SAFTI camp main gate, along Pasir Laba Road, was Peng Kang Hill. It was a torture place of sorts. Trainees often had punishments meted out with runs up and down the hill. What was memorable was the guard duties at the hill. I think there was a small ammo dump there, it being the reason for the guards. There were tales of haunting, especially at one of the guard towers (I think tower #3). It was not unusual for guards assigned to the haunted tower to request 2 details to man the place concurrently so they had a companion. Sorry to disappoint readers, nothing happened during my watch. But I can vouch it was unnerving to be alone in the tower in a dark night, with nothing but the forest all around.
'Boat Shed' was situated right at the end of Pasir Laba Road, an isolated and lonely place. it was what the name suggests, a shed where some aluminium flat-based landing crafts were kept. Just like Peng Kang hill, it used to be one of the locations SAFTI trainees were detailed as guards. Hauntings were also reported there. It got a bit more unnerving after an accident nearby when a three-tonner transporter overturned and rolled down a hill slope. About 20 trainees perished. That accident happened during my time at SAFTI. The vehicle commander, Capt Mokthar, was cashiered for the accident. Back then, our lives were cheap. 20 NSmen killed and no public outcry, compared to the death of Aloysius Pang in 2017. I remember night guard duties at boat shed. When the darkness rolled in, the only thing to look forward to was the ration truck coming at about 10 pm with the night snack. After that, it was desolation, finding a corner to hide, and hoping the duty officer doesn't come to turn out the guards. There were stories of hauntings, but I never saw anything, not that I want to.
Yet another guard incident. Darn it, I'm wondering why is that so. This time I was guard commander at a very secluded and secretive place somewhere in Pasir Panjang area. This was a huge ammo dump we inherited from the British Army. I'm sure few Singaporeans ever set sight on this and not sure if it is still around. It was rolling moulds, not exactly hills, but low conical-rounded mounts, all covered in greenery to camouflage from air surveillance. The storage facilities were all underground. Again, this was a haunting place. It had an ancient feel about it and eerie after the sun sets. My 2 i/c was a Lance Corporal who was a somewhat hyper rascal. He had no driving licence but could sort of drive. So he took the land rover out for a spin. Did I say it was a huge complex we were guarding. Somewhere out of sight of the guardhouse where I was located, the vehicle overturned. He told me he had felt a cold shudder just before he lost control. As there was no injury or damage to both driver and vehicle, we flipped the vehicle upright and made no report. As to the cold shudder, was it an excuse or a haunting, I had no idea.
After my time at SAFTI, there were 2 interesting hauntings in the hills where live firing exercises were conducted. The first was a young lieutenant who went missing. Guards who last saw him said he checked out and was seen turning right into the restricted training area. Next several days, large search parties were sent out to comb the hills. Soon bomohs, taoists monks, dogs, clairvoyants, etc descended on the scene. He was never found again. Many years later, remains suspected to be of the missing officer, were found in some bushes on one of the hills.
The second SAFTI incident involved yet another lieutenant who disappeared into the training area under similar circumstances. But he was lucky. Several days later, a search party found him on one of the hills, exhausted but barely alive. On the hospital bed, he told a strange tale of a Malay lady who led him into the hills. He simply followed as he had lost control of his own will. But no one at the Gate had seen any lady with him. He said he was lying in the bushes when soldiers walked past him and puzzled why they never see him. I think this incident belongs to the 'horny female ghost seeking husband' category.
In my time in the reservist, I once led a platoon of infantrymen who were boatmen-converts. Boatman was a vocation in full-time national service whose job was to operate landing crafts. They were head-quartered in Pulau Tekong and individually attached out to training units that require their services. These boatmen had reputation of independence and non-respecter of ranks of the units they were attached to. But they too were respectful of the paranormal activities that was common in Tekong. There used to be several villages with Chinese and Malay residents. In the past there were some sort of Indonesian type dayak villagers who practiced witchcraft. It was believed the paranomal activities were embeded on the island after decades of witch-craft practices. My boatmen told me of many personal encounters and hauntings seem to predominate on Wednesday nights. They never venture out of camp on Wednesday evenings. Many other national service men had tales of haunting over the years. A cousin of mine had a personal encounter in his room. He said he felt a presence, saw something, but ignored it and just pulled the blanket over his head .... and prayed silently I guess.
I once participated in a reservist exercise in Pulau Tekong. In a company formation movement, 2 of my men went missing after the exercise. I sent some men to retrace our tracks, but they reported no sign of the duo. The company commander was notified and my platoon was sent out to search for them. We back-tracked a couple of kilometres, yelling out their names now and then. As evening shadows grew longer, I became increasingly worried as the 2 SAFTI 'missing' incidents and the paranormal notoriety of the island weighed heavy in my mind. Fortunately, they were found sitting down at a clean spot, relaxing, cigarette in hand, silly grins on their faces and nonchalant to the troubles they had put the whole platoon to. There was no excuse. They were stragglers who made no effort to catch up with the main party. For the remaining days of the reservist camp, the duo had the extra duties of cleaning my weapon and bunk.
I had only one personal experience. This happened when I was a corporal in 4SIR at Bedok camp. Each night and weekends or holidays, an NCO remains on duty in each company in the camp. His base is in the office of the Company Sergeant Major, or encik as we called him. The duty NCO hunkers down for the night in the CSM office. There is no bed, so how he sleeps is up to his own design. Most do not sleep. That office in Delta Company where I was, had a reputation of hautings. Weekday duties were not much of a problem since the rest of the men were in the barracks upstairs. The week end duty was a solitary one. I was the duty NCO on one week end. I took my mattress and blanket down from the barrack. With no disrespect to the CSM I decided to sleep on his large desk. I cleared the desk and placed the mattress over it. About 11pm I decided to hunker down for the night. The need for sleep being stronger than fear of the unseen, I turned out the lights in the room. The distant light from the parade square provided some comfort.
Some time in the night I was awoken by a sound. I strained my ears, and then I heard it again, above the lazy humdrum of the swirling overhead fan. It was the sound of shuffling feet movement. The sound came intermittently, a-one, a-two and then stop. And holly shit, it was in the room! Try as I might to calm my nerves, my heart was racing. As the sound never seemed to go away, I decided against my nature to face whatever it may be. So I took mental note of where I was and where the light switch was. I would flick the blanket away, jump off the table, fly to the light switch, all within one second. I swear that was exactly how it happened. Let there be light. Then, an anti-climax! My immediate thought at that particular instant was the laughter of my fellow NCOs when I would narrate the incident on next Monday morning. There were a couple of crumpled papers on the cement floor. The downward draught of the overhead fan caused the paper to shuffle on the floor. I turned out the lights and said good night to the moon shining through the window.
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