I've lived in Singapore my entire life, in a small, aging HDB flat in Bedok. Growing up, I never really paid much attention to the creepy stories my grandmother used to tell me. She was always talking about spirits, curses, and strange happenings—common topics for the elderly in our culture, I guess. I had always brushed off her tales as superstition, the ramblings of an old woman clinging to old beliefs.
That is, until the night I encountered something that made me believe otherwise.
It all started one humid Friday evening in October. I was coming back from my friend's house after a long day of hanging out and playing video games. The buses were crowded, and I was tired. By the time I got off at my stop, the block was quiet. Everyone was already at home, either having dinner or winding down for the night.
The void deck was empty, as usual. It was brightly lit, thanks to the flickering fluorescent lights the town council had installed. The faint hum of the lights and the distant whir of the overhead fans were the only sounds breaking the silence. I cut through the void deck, the same way I always did, and was just a few steps from the lift when I felt it.
That prickling sensation you get when someone's watching you.
I slowed my steps, glancing around out of instinct. There was no one there. The notice boards were plastered with the usual flyers about lost cats and health check-ups. The round stone tables were empty, the shadows cast by the streetlights beyond the block stretching across the floor.
Everything was normal.
But the feeling didn't go away. In fact, it grew stronger. I wasn't the paranoid type, but something in the pit of my stomach twisted, like a warning bell going off. My grandmother's voice popped into my head, warning me not to dismiss strange feelings so easily.
Ignoring the growing unease, I reached the lift lobby and pressed the button. The lift was on the 11th floor, slowly making its way down. The fan overhead was spinning lazily, creating a barely-there breeze that did little to cut through the heat.
I glanced behind me, just to be sure. The void deck was still empty, but I could've sworn I saw a shadow move near the pillar in the far corner. It was faint, but something was there.
The lift doors dinged, pulling my attention back. As I stepped inside, a cold breeze brushed against the back of my neck, and I heard it.
A soft, barely audible whisper.
I turned sharply, my heart skipping a beat. The void deck was completely still. Nothing out of the ordinary. I shook my head, trying to shake off the lingering sense of unease. I'm tired. I'm imagining things.
The lift doors closed, and I pressed the button for the 7th floor, where my family's flat was. The old lift jerked into motion with a loud groan, creaking its way up. I leaned back against the wall, waiting for the slow ascent.
Then, at the third floor, the lift suddenly stopped.
The doors slid open with a mechanical hiss, revealing an empty corridor. There was no one there. No one had pressed the button.
I stared at the empty space for a moment, waiting for something—anything—to move. But the corridor remained still, bathed in the dull, yellow light of the overhead lamps.
I jabbed the "close" button, a cold sweat starting to form on the back of my neck. The lift doors closed, and I tried to calm my racing heart. It's just a faulty lift, I told myself. These old lifts in HDB blocks are known to break down all the time. I had heard horror stories of people getting stuck inside for hours.
But then it happened again.
The lift shuddered to a stop at the fourth floor, and the doors slid open.
This time, there was someone standing there.
Or, at least, I thought it was someone. The figure was small, hunched, and its face was hidden by the shadows of the corridor. Its hair—long, black, and tangled—hung limply around its face, obscuring its features.
My stomach turned. I wanted to move, to press the button, to slam the doors shut. But I couldn't. My hands were frozen by my sides, my entire body locked in place.
The figure didn't step into the lift. It just stood there, staring—or at least I think it was staring—right at me. My blood ran cold as I realized the lift's overhead lights flickered for just a second. And in that brief flicker, I saw its face.
It wasn't human. Its eyes were wide, unnaturally large, and its mouth hung open, too wide, as if it was gasping for air. Its skin was pale, almost grey, and there were dark patches around its eyes, like bruises or decay. It wasn't moving, but I could feel its eyes boring into me, watching me.
I slammed my fist against the buttons, frantically pressing the button for my floor, the "close" button, anything. The doors slowly, agonizingly slowly, began to close. I held my breath, praying that the thing wouldn't move, wouldn't follow.
The lift doors finally shut, sealing me inside.
For a few moments, I stood there, heart hammering, trying to convince myself that what I had seen was just my imagination, just some weird trick of the light. But I knew deep down it wasn't. I had seen something. Something wrong.
The lift creaked upward, stopping at my floor. The doors slid open, and I practically leapt out, sprinting down the corridor toward my flat. I fumbled with the keys, my hands shaking, as I unlocked the door and slammed it shut behind me, locking it tight.
My mother was already asleep, the house quiet except for the hum of the ceiling fan. I stood in the darkness for a moment, trying to catch my breath, my mind racing.
I had never believed in ghosts or spirits. But that thing—whatever it was—I couldn't explain it. And the worst part was, I had seen it before.
I spent the next few nights in a haze, trying to forget what had happened. I told myself over and over that it was just a hallucination, a product of exhaustion. But the more I tried to push it out of my mind, the more I remembered.
When I was about six years old, my grandmother had told me a story about the thing in the void deck. She had said that there was a spirit that lurked around, especially at night. It was something between a ghost and a creature—the pontianak's cousin, she had called it. It was said to wait by the pillars, watching people pass by, feeding off their fear. The elders in the neighborhood believed it was a restless spirit, the soul of a young woman who had died tragically near the block. She wasn't malicious, but she wasn't friendly either. If you saw her, you were supposed to ignore her. Never meet her eyes.
I had brushed off the story then, too young to care. But now, I couldn't shake the feeling that the thing I had seen in the lift had been watching me for years, waiting for me to notice it.
It wasn't until a week later that things escalated.
I had tried my best to avoid coming home late at night, but one evening, I got caught up at work and missed the last bus. By the time I arrived at my block, it was well past 11 PM. The void deck was just as empty and quiet as it had been that night. The fluorescent lights flickered slightly as I walked toward the lift, but I kept my head down, refusing to glance around.
As I reached the lift lobby, I froze.
There, in the corner by the pillar, was the same figure I had seen that night. The same long, black hair, the same hunched form. She was standing just beyond the reach of the lights, her back turned toward me.
A cold wave of terror washed over me.
I hurried to the lift, pressing the button as fast as I could. The lights flickered again, the lift taking its sweet time to arrive. I could feel her behind me, watching, waiting. I didn't turn around. I couldn't.
The lift finally arrived, and I rushed inside, pressing the button for my floor. The doors began to close, and just as they did, I made the mistake of looking back.
She was facing me now. Her face was partially obscured by her hair, but her eyes—those wide, empty eyes—shone in the dim light, her mouth twisted into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. A slow, unnatural grin.
I blinked, and she was gone. The lift doors shut, and the familiar groan of the lift ascending filled the small space.
I never took the lift at night again.
A few months after that, I moved out of the block, deciding that it was time for a change of scenery. I told myself it was because of work, because I wanted to be closer to the office, but deep down I knew the real reason.
I hadn't seen her again after that night, but I could still feel her sometimes, like she was waiting in the shadows, watching me, biding her time.
Even now, when I visit my family, I make sure to come during the day. I walk through the void deck as quickly as I can, my eyes never straying toward the pillars, my mind willing myself to forget.
But I know she's still there.
Waiting.