Ghost Writing

One of Stanley, Carl and my favourite activities in this world is to pay money, sit quietly in a dark air-conditioned room for a few hours and stare at a big screen.

Though this can mean going to Green Apple at North Bridge Road for our occasional foot massage, I'm really talking about watching movies.

Our favourite genre? Horror films.

My partner J is useless - we once went on a date nearly 14 years ago to watch Shutter, a Thai horror flick and he told me afterwards that, true to the title, he kept his eyes shut during all critical parts of the movie.

Since then, I go to the boys when it comes to watching horror films.

The latest inspiration for this blog post is really by a doll named Annabelle.

"What's so interesting about this doll?" Carl the dense one asked over coffee last week.

For Carl, who cannot even recite the names of our current and past presidents, it comes as no surprise.

"It's a creepy movie," I supplied Carl with some context.

"I once watched a Youtube clip about a doll, and it's creepy," Stanley added. "It's about how Japanese men are falling in love with Silicone dolls and having sex with them."

"But back to Annabelle the doll," Stanley said. "It's something similar - it's also about something entering the doll," he said, raising one eyebrow suggestively.

With Stanley the high-octane sex bunny, everything is about sex.

Carl the dense one frowned, unable to catch up with such high-level conversation.

"Never mind. You just come along and watch the movie with us can already," Stanley said, tapping Carl gently on his shoulder.

Twenty minutes into the conversation - while Stanley and I were talking about when's a good time to gather to watch Annabelle - Carl brightened up.

"Oh, it's a horror movie!"Carl said looking up from his phone.

Stanley and I clapped at Carl's progress.

Carl clapped along with glee.

And for the next hour, the three of us did what was quite typical of Singaporeans who are bored: Sharing ghost stories.

And because I never had any encounters, here are the boys' stories...

In Stanley Ong's words:

My mum told me this story when I was a kid.

Grandma used to live in an old shop house in Tanjong Katong. 

And being Peranakan, she loves hosting and partying (and I must have inherited her genes. I love wearing tight clothes like the kebaya and girl, I love to host and party, but that's a story for another day).

One night, Grandma threw one of her parties - there was food, guests, music (though if I were in her era, I would suggest she introduce some party drugs too, but that would mean having sex with her friends who are all wrinkly now, so again, that's a story for another day).

Mum was about nine years old, and she remembered that Grandma was busy dishing out food while complaining that some of her friends were late.

Just then, we heard a knock on the door.

Mum was about to help Grandma open the door when Grandma shouted cheerily: "Whoever you are, just enter!"

Mum then ran off to help Grandma with the dishes, thinking that her door-opening duty was relieved.

Seconds later, the door didn't budge.

Grandma again shouted: "Come in lah, whoever you are!"

Again, the door didn't budge.

Mum said that she remembered a cold wind blow into the house, and all the adults went quiet.

Grandma then walked to the door and opened it slightly.

Nobody was at the door.

About half an hour later, all of Grandma's friends turned up and she thought nothing of it.

Later on in the night, when all of Grandma's friends went home, Mum said she recalled that the whole family was awakened by a loud noise in our kitchen.

Grandma was first to respond.

Mum and her older siblings stood outside their rooms.

Mum said she heard the adults talking in hushed, panicked tones.

This what what Mum saw:

The kitchen larder was opened. Plates were broken. Shards, big and small, were strewn all over the floor. Our fridge was closed, but all the contents of the fridge - milk, leftover food, fruits, sambal - were spilled all over the floor... forming a trail towards the back door.

Mum thought it was a burglar - her uncles woke up and held sticks to search all over the house.

But Mum said Grandma just sat on her chair and started saying the rosary aloud.

Mum was then ushered by her aunt to bed and the adults stayed awake the whole night.

Turns out, when Grandma shouted for whoever was at the door to enter, that somebody - whatever it was - really took the invitation. 

In old folk's tales, unnatural beings cannot enter someone's house unless they're being invited. 

And in this case, Grandma invited whatever was at her door, to enter. Twice. 

Mum couldn't remember other details, except that an old Malay man came by the house two days later to perform rituals and since then, some corners of  Grandma's house had lumpy pieces of lime placed. 

"Moral of the story, don't let strangers enter without knowing who they are - always be safe," Stanley the sex bunny said, and laughed at the irony.

"And second moral of the story," Stanley continued, "is that Singaporeans should stop wishing for a revival of the kampong spirit - they have no idea what they're wishing for!"

In Carl Chang's words:

This happened when I was in National Service at the old Police Academy.  

In our first week, we were already told by our seniors that our bunks were haunted.

One night, one of the boys asked his buddy to accompany him to the toilet.

At this point, Stanley shifted nearer to Carl, obviously very keen to know further developments to Carl's story.

So A and B went to the toilet.

"Ah huh," Stanley brightened up, giving Carl his undivided attention, his eyes filled with hope.

Apparently, A said to B that he was afraid of going to the toilet alone.

Stanley turned to me and said "I love this story already - I'm going to try this during my reservist."

A then went into the cubicle while B waited outside.

After 10 minutes, B thought it was very strange that A took such a long time so he asked if A was ok.

A said yes.

Another ten minutes later, A was still not done.

So B peered under the stall.

"Been there, done that," Stanley cut in, completely destroying any sort of buildup.

B saw nothing. No movement, no shadow.

And so B told A: "Hey, you're taking such a long time, I'm gonna go back to the bunk first."

To which, A replied: "You're going back because you're tired... Or because you found out who I am..."

Stanley paused and stared at Carl. Accusingly.

"Carl Chang! This is a story I read before on the Internet!" he scolded.

Carl shifted in his seat uncomfortably. 

"I didn't know I had to share something I had been through," he said and bit his lips guiltily.

"But since the plot of your story involved two young men going to the toilet together, all is forgiven."

"I only wish they had toilet sex."