When I was 20, I served National Service in Singapore.
The first few months were on Pulau Tekong, an island off the mainland
where recruits undergo basic military training.
One Friday evening, I was ordered to stay back for guard duty while
everyone else went home for the weekend. A good friend had to stay too,
so at least I wasn’t alone.
We were stationed at School 4, a camp isolated from the main training
schools situated by the perimeter of the island. School 4 was further in
the island, surrounded by dense jungle.
The only way in or out was by taking a military truck –
a tonner.
Because it was the weekend, the entire place was quiet. The camp was
empty except for a few of us assigned on guard duty.
Our job was simple: Every hour, patrol the entire compound along a
designated route, sign the logbooks at each checkpoint to prove we’d
done the route.
During the briefing, I noticed a Buddhist altar at the back of the
canteen. A speaker played a looping melodic chant, through the entire
night, without stopping. The sergeant told us it was there to keep the
camp safe.
He also gave us a piece of advice:
If we see anything 'unusual' during our patrols, don’t make a fuss. Just
return quietly to the guardroom.
↓
For our first round, my friend and I picked up our shields and batons
and started our patrol around the perimeter of the camp.
The camp felt strangely peaceful. With practically no one around, it was
quiet; just the sound of wind through the trees.
There was a cat living on the grounds, and it decided to follow us on
our patrol. It would follow us, a few steps behind.
The first two rounds were uneventful, it was really calm and nothing
peculiar happened. Our third round was probably around 1am. I’m not
entirely sure, but the moment we stepped out of the guardroom, I felt
it.
A sudden chill.
Goosebumps ran down my arms.
The air felt heavier.
Darker.
As we
walked through the compound, I started hearing small sounds.
Lockers shifting.
Doors creaking.
Very soft sounds — but definitely there. It didn’t make sense. The camp
was empty. But there’s an unspoken rule when you’re in the army at
night: If something feels strange… don’t mention it. So we kept walking.
The cat followed us again. Part of our route ran through a narrow
alley behind one of the buildings, with barely any lights and the forest
pressing in on the other side. It was arguably the most eerie section of
the route.
When we turned into the alley this time, the cat stopped. It didn't want
to follow us anymore.
'Weird...', I thought to myself. We kept on moving anyway, not thinking
too much about it.
The further in we went, the worse I felt — that specific, sourceless
dread you can't explain. Halfway through, I heard the cat meow behind
us. But something about it felt… wrong. I wanted to turn my body but my
gut was telling me not to.
My friend and I stopped. He turned to me and whispered, "Let's go." We
walked quickly to the end of the alley and back under the lights. Once
we were out, he told me what he'd heard at the exact same moment I heard
the cat:
A girl's voice.
Behind us.
Whispering.
"hel.p m..e..."
We were shaken... But we tried to brush it off and continued the patrol.
Soon, we arrived at the next building where we had a checkpoint.
It was strange. It was the only building in the entire camp with no
lights on. The logbook was sitting on top of the armskote counter. As I
tried to sign it, the pen suddenly stopped working. For some reason, I
felt a wave of fear wash over me. Then we heard it.
The sound of boots marching toward us from the parade square behind
us.
We both turned around. No one was there.
We didn’t say a
word. We just looked at each other. And then we ran. All the way
back to the guardroom.
↓
The next morning, my parents picked me up from the ferry terminal, I
told them about what had happened. My mum listened quietly. Then she
said something that made the whole thing even stranger.
The night before... the Gates of Hell had just opened.