The Author

'Charles, this is an interesting read. We might want to do this,' said Keith. 'What is it about? If it's not about horror, forget it. In Singapore, only horror sells. And self help books of course.' Keith suppressed a sigh. Charles was his friend and boss. But sometimes, he just wished that the latter was not so pragmatic and mercenary. Though if he was not, the company would not make money and if the company folds, they would all be out on the streets. It was just that for idealism, Keith had taken on the job with the publishing firm. He had loved books ever since he discovered the Ladybird tomes when he was a seven year old. This love affair with words carried on well into his teenage years and despite his parents protests (they wanted him to major in Engineering at university), he went on to graduate with honours in Literature. After graduation, he applied to various commercial firms ranging from advertising agencies to manufacturers. But after some serious consideration, he turned down offers from a couple of MNCs and a bank to take a job on this job with a local publishing firm. 

'Yeah, but we will never revolutionise the local publishing scene if we stick to the tried and tested formula. We need to do something different if we want to be trailblazers,' he argued. Charles looked at him with some alarm. Talk of revolutions and trailblazing tended to unsettle him. 'Whoa, calm down. What's the manuscript about?' he compromised. 'It's about the disillusionment of an average Singaporean chap who had followed all the rules laid down by family, society and convention. But when he grew up, the world had changed and it's no longer the study hard get a degree and you'll get a passport to the good life scenario anymore. So he felt cheated by the authorities and decided to exact revenge in his own way. the story's not exactly radical but I believe that many Singaporean can relate to it given the hard times that we are going through now. The writer also has a pop like, punchy style that is rather hip. I think we should try it.'

Charles looked doubtful but it was hard to be unaffected by Keith's fire and enthusiasm. That was why he had employed him in the first place, he had hoped that Keith's genuine passion for the written word would shake up the company and who knows, maybe the local publishing scene too. 'OK, tell you what. Why don't you give this guy a call and ask him to come down for a talk say, today or tomorrow? And pass me the manuscript; I'll browse through it.' Charles returned to his office with the manuscript. Keith picked up the cover letter that accompanied the manuscript and scanned through it, noting the author's name, Stanley Khoo and his contact number. Then he picked up the phone on his table and dialled the number. The phone was picked up almost before it started to ring, startling Keith who was caught off guard. 'Er... Hello, I would like to speak to Mr. Stanley Khoo please.' 

'Speaking.' 'Hello, Mr. Khoo, I'm Keith Soh calling from Alpha Publishing. I have read your manuscript and found it very promising and interesting. Can you please come down to our office? We would like to meet you and have a chat with you.' 'Certainly. When would be a good time for you?' 'How about ten o'clock tomorrow morning?' 'I'm afraid I won't be able to make it, I'll be leaving Singapore tomorrow. I'm going away for a while.' 'Oh dear. Let me check with my colleague. I'll get back to you. When will you be back in Singapore?' A pause. Then Stanley laughed, I really can't tell.' After hanging up the phone, Keith strode into Charles room. Charles looked up guiltily. He was eating a doughnut and the manuscript was buried under a pile of newspapers. 'Have you gone through the manuscript?' Before Charles could protest that he had less than ten minutes to read through the document, Keith went on, 'I just spoke to the author. He'll be leaving Singapore tomorrow. And it seems to be for quite a while. So if we want to sign him on, we have to move fast.'

The decisive businessman in Charles took over. 'I won't have time to finish the manuscript today. I'm meeting Leonard from Sembawang Publishing for lunch. After that, I have a couple of meetings lined up in the afternoon. So, tell you what, I'm going to put you in charge of this project. You have to read the manuscript and you seem to think it holds some promise. I'm going to trust you on this so think hard about it. If you really think we can make a profit on this, go ahead and get him to come down and sign the contract today.' Keith was touched. 'Thanks, Charles. I'll try my best.' Embarrassed by Keith's display of emotion, Charles dismissed him as abruptly as he had made his decision. Keith returned to his desk and called Stanley again. Again, the phone was picked up almost as soon as it started ringing. Does this guy just sit by the phone and wait for calls? Before he could say anything, Stanley had already spoken, 'Hi, Stanley here, is it Keith?'

Keith felt an icy shiver down his back, chilled by the uncanny promptness and accuracy of Stanley's response. 'Hello, are you still on the line?' 'Yeah, yeah, Stanley. How did you know that it was I calling you?' Stanley laughed, 'You did say you were going to call me back. So when the phone rang, I just assumed it was you.' Keith felt like an idiot of the worst sort for his foolish suspicions. 'Yeah. Well, we would like to offer you a contract for your book. But as you're flying off tomorrow, we need to sign the contract today. Can you come down to our office this afternoon?' 'I'm afraid not. I'm very busy with my preparations for leaving Singapore. I have some errands to run this afternoon. I can only make it in the evening.' 'Right. Then shall we fix it at eight this evening then?' 'Can. I'm so sorry that I will have to make you stay back.' 'No problem. See you then.'

The rest of the afternoon, Keith busied himself preparing the contract for Stanley Khoo. At six, he left for dinner with Lam, a newly acquired friend from another publishing firm whom he met in the course of work. Over dinner, he mentioned that he would be returning to the office after dinner. 'Oi, surely there's no need to be so on,' Lam teased him. 'It's not that I'm on but the writer is flying off tomorrow, so we have to sign the contract by tonight.' 'Wah, you're so keen on him, he must be pretty good. Is he a newbie?' Keith nodded. 'His name is Stanley Khoo.' At the mention of the name, Lam paled. Realizing that something was amiss, Keith asked, 'Do you know him?' I think someone must be playing a hoax on you. It cannot be Stanley Khoo, not unless it's a case of two guys having the same name and surname.' 'What are you talking about?' 'Everyone in publishing knows about Stanley Khoo. Two years ago, he sent out a manuscript to almost every publisher in Singapore. But no one was interested. He wanted to be the Graham Swift of Singapore, but let's face it, this is Singapore. Singaporeans are generally not interested in their own stories. The only local stories that they are into are the ghost stories. After Stanley Khoo was rejected, he went round to each of the publishers, begging them to publish his book. 

None would. Then one day, he turned up at a publisher, gun in his hand (don't ask me whre he got the gun from), ranting and raving about how no one cared about the Singaporean story. Things got out of hand and he blow himself in the head.' 'Which publisher was that?' Keith did not realize that he was whispering until her heard himself. He realized that his hands were trembling too. Lam shot a look at him. 'Actually, it was Alpha Publishing, your company.' Lam's voice had also fallen into a whisper. 'That's why it can't be Stanley Khoo. He's dead.' Keith shook his head, trying to think rationally. 'What was the story that Stanley Khoo wrote about?' 'Something about this guy who followed the straight and narrow path that his parents and teachers were always harping about. Studied hard, went into university but when he graduated, he couldn't get a job. His girlfriend left him for a richer guy, pressure piled up when he saw some of his schoolmates getting ahead in life and his parents also started to nag at him for being useless. Then...'

'That's the manuscript that I received.' Even Keith's voice was shaking now. 'Shit. I mean, don't worry, someone must be trying to pull a fast one over you. Didn't Charles warn you? He was around when it happened.' 'He didn't read the manuscript. I also don't remember telling him that the writer was Stanley Khoo.' 'Never mind, Why don't you just go hjome and forget about this? Explain to Charles tomorrow and I'm sure he'll understand.' 'But what if we are wrong? What if it is another Stanley Khoo?' 'Come on. Get real. Think. What is the possibility of two Stanley Khoos writing the same type of story? I tell you, someone is playing a trick on you. Go home. Don't fall into the trap.' Dazedly, Keith nodded. The men settled their bill and Lam offered to send Keith home. Then Keith remembered something. 'I need to go back to the office.' Lam groaned. 

'I need to go back to the office. I've left my briefcase in the office because I thought I could pick it up after meeting S... Anyway, there are two manuscripts in my briefcase that I need to go through tonight.' Lam sighed, 'OK. I'll detour to your office.' Lam stopped his car in front of the building. The digital clock in his car read 7.58. 'Keith, do you want me to accompany you upstairs?' Keith wanted him to desperately. But he thought he had been enough of a fool that day. He did not want to come across as being cowardly, or worse, childish. 'No, it's alright. It won't take long.' With that, he left the car and took the lift up to his office. The whole building was eerily quiet. It was after office hours and most of the workers had gone home, including Keith's colleagues. He groaned inwardly when he saw that the office was all shut up. He fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the glass door. Not bothering to switch on the lights, he walked quickly to his desk, trying to ignore the shadows and silence encompassing him.

'Hi Keith, you're late. You said eight in the evening and now it's five past eight.' Keith's mouth opened in a silent scream. Although the room was in darkness, light was streaming in through the glass windows from the street lamps, illuminating the room just enough for Keith to see the figure seated in his chair with the gunshot wound like an obscene mark on his forehead.

The Storeroom

All the new HDB flats these days come with a storeroom which would double up as an emergency shelter in times of crisis. As such, these rooms are sturdily built with thick, steady walls with a heavy steel door. There is only a little round vent which allows for air circulation to take place. If you have ever been in one, the first thing to strike you, you would know, is the still and silent air inside the room. This, of course, is due to the thick walls that block out most noise from the environment. But it also has the effect of leading you top believe, if you are the type inclined to imagination, you are in a world separate from the real physical one.

Ever since Edward Lee was a baby, he had had this irrational fear of the storeroom. In the hospital, he had worried his parents with his silence. His only and elder sibling Gordon had been a squawker, fussing all the way home and continued to squawk for one whole year after that. Which explained why Edward only came into the world five years later. After Mr. and Mrs. Lee's experienced with Gordon, they were anxious about Edward's quiet ways. The only noise that he uttered in his first three days on earth was when the doctor slapped his rump, right after he was delivered. And even then, the soft cry that he emitted was a pale shadow of the lusty howls that Gordon had yowled five years ago.  Only when he returned home did he begin to cry in earnest. However, Mr. and Mrs. Lee's relief was short lived. Unlike Gordon who cried to get attention, Edward's crying was fretful and had an urgent quality to it. They could sense that the baby really needed something, but as the poor babe couldn't speak, they just simply had no idea what he wanted.

The Lee family went through half a year of living hell. For those six months, Edward spent almost every waking moment that he spent in the flat crying. Mrs. Lee, who was a full time housewife, was so sorely tried that she almost lost control several times and was sorely tempted to spank and shake him. Although they employed a confinement lady, she could not help them much because she only did the housework and looked after the baby. But she could not shut the child up and it was the endless crying that had everybody's nerves, including her own, so frazzled. Gordon did not help matters much with his insecurities and resentment towards the new intruder in the family who was competing with him for daddy's and mummy's affection. He did not mean it but he would inevitably choose the most inopportune moments to demand mummy's attention. When Edward had soiled himself, the kettle was whistling, the running water had filled the bathtub and the telephone was ringing, Gordon would then cling onto Mrs. Lee's skirt and demand with a pout that mummy read him a storybook. Instead, he would earn a smack.

Although Mrs. Lee bore the brunt of Edward mysterious tantrums, Mr. Lee was not spared either. Very quickly, he earned the nickname of 'Panda' in the office. This was because he could not get any rest at night because of Edward's non stop crying. The only time Edward would keep quiet was when he had exhausted himself to sleep. But for the poor Lee parents, that would be the time for their ears and nerves to rest, not them, because then they would have to devote some time to neglected Gordon. This dragged on for six months. For six long, miserable and interminable months, the Lees tolerated Edward's ceaseless crying. In the deepest and most unconscious place of Mrs. Lee's heart, she almost regretted giving birth to her second son. The confinement lady had gone home in an indecent rush once the first month was over, claiming that in her more than ten years of confinement experience, she had never come across a baby that cried as much as Edward. Mrs. Lee was left to fend for herself with her two young sons. Utterly worn out, she wondered for how long more she could cope with Edward's incessant crying before her control snapped.

One morning, Mrs. Lee had to do some marketing. Wearily, she put the wailing Edward into his pram, hung her shopping bag on the same pram and pushing the pram with one hand, holding Gordon with the other, she headed towards the nearest supermarket. On her way, she noticed a curious, and to her, almost miraculous phenomenon. Edward's sniffling subsided and he began to take an active interest in his surrounding instead. In fact, he even tried to coax an indifferent Gordon to play with him. Her heart lightened. Maybe the worst was over, she thought with a thrill. Maybe, all that Edward needed was some time to outgrow his crying habit. However, after buying her groceries, the moment she pushed the pram into the flat, Edward began to bawl again.The frustrated young mother almost wept too. She had been so certain that Edward had outgrown his senseless crying. Ready to give up, she pushed the pram and dragged Gordon out of the door once more. She wanted to go to her mother's place and put both her children there for one afternoon. She desperately needed some rest. However, the moment the front door was shut, she realised that Edward stopped crying too. Curious, she entered the flat with Edward again. The latter erupted into great sobs the moment he entered the flat. She opened the door and exited once more. Edward's howling abated once more. 

If Edward stopped crying each time he left the flat, then it must be something in the flat... Icy tingles of fear raced down Mrs. Lee's spine as she recalled what had happened in the flat before she and her husband purchased it seven years ago. The previous owner's four year old daughter had drowned in a pail of water in the storeroom. It was even printed in the newspapers at that time. The Filipino maid was charge with negligence. She had been cleaning the storeroom at the time when the telephone rang. She went to answer it, keeping the storeroom door open with a broom. It was her friend who had called and she became so engrossed in chatting with her friend that she did not notice her young charge going into the storeroom and kicking away the broom by accident so that the door of the storeroom closed. Nobody would know for sure what happened next. But by reconstruction from the clues at the scene later, it seemed that somehow, the young girl had slipped and fallen head down into the pail. It took only a few minutes for her to drown. By the time the maid finished her conversation fifteen minutes later, it was too late.

The victim was an only child. Her heartbroken parents were so upset that they just could not stay in the flat where her death had taken place. They put the flat on the market at a decidedly low price  and the Lees snapped up the offer immediately. Not in the least superstitious, the young Lees were not deterred by the death. Moreover, as they were just getting started in their careers, they did not have much cash in hand and most of the other flats were just too expensive. They did not to wait either. They had known each other for more than ten years, having first met in Secondary One. They became a couple three years later when they were in Secondary Four. Their relationship had been smooth and steady and although they were both only 24, they felt that they had come to a stage whereby they were ready to consummate their relationship. And a marriage is not just about becoming husband and wife by registering at the Registry of Marriage or giving a banquet. They also had to look for a place of their own. Most of the flats they looked at were priced at unaffordable prices. the ones that were cheap, well, there were valid reasons why they were to cheap in the first place, like being next to a busy and noisy road, or being in some remote and inaccessible spot or having some serious structural defect, expect for this one, a ninth storey flat in Yishun. Not only was the flat well maintained, but it was also close to the homes of both their parents, making it very convenient for the young Lees to keep in contact with their families.

The lees did not have to consider very long or hard. They made up their minds about it within a week. Their parents warned them about the death in the flat but the young and modern couple brushed it aside as old wives tale. Science has proven that that there are no supernatural beings. The death of the young child was very unfortunate but it would not hinder them from staying in the place where the tragic event had taken place. Within a few months of the purchase, the Lees were comfortably ensconced in their newly renovated, second hand flat. They had continued to live there without incident, until now. Now that she recalled the drowning, coupled with Edward's strange behavoiur, Mrs. Lee did not dare to enter her own home. Her previous disbeliefs were so easily shattered by the new turn in events; they must have been quite fragile. She made her way to her parent's place. Over there, Edward was quiet, like he had been in the supermarket, and played with his own toes contentedly. This confirmed her suspicions.

That night, she refused to go home. When her husband tried to persuade her, she told him her fears. 'But it is just a coincidence. Maybe Edward doesn't like our flat, because it is true that he hardly cries here. But that doesn't mean that our house is not 'clean'. It could be something else, like the light or atmosphere!' 'Whatever it is, I don't care. I just don't feel safe in there anymore.' 'Then what do you want to do? Stay at our mom's place forever?' Eventually, Mrs. Lee had to admit that she could not stay on indefinitely at her parent's flat. When Mr. Lee promised to find a new place as soon as possible and her mother offered to engage the services of a well known exorcist, she reluctantly went home. The moment he entered the flat, Edward started crying again. Mrs. Lee did not sleep that night either.

The very next day, an exorcist came and performed the rites to cleanse the flat. Despite the exorbitant fee that he had charged, he did not seem very effective because Edward continued to cry day and night after the 'cleansing'. but after some experimentation and observation, Mrs. Lee soon discovered that he would only cry if he were in the living, dining room or the kitchen, which were closest to the storeroom. If he were in either of the bedrooms, he would be very nervous and edgy, but he would not cry. And if the bedroom doors were closed, he would be a lot calmer. Having discovered a way to sooth Edward's fears and seeing that there really was nothing wrong with the flat apart from Edward's strange reactions put Mrs. Lee's mind at rest. She also stopped pushing Mr. Lee to look for another flat. After some discussion, the couple agreed to save for a few more years before upgrading to a condominium. It did not make sense for them to change to a new flat then.

As the years passed by, the Lee family learnt to adjust to Edward's fear of the storeroom. Whenever they were at home, Mrs. Lee would always leave him in the bedroom with Gordon and keep the door shut. A TV, DVD player and hi-fi system were also installed in the bedroom. The second bedroom was converted to a dining room. As soon as Edward learnt to crawl, he would always crawl into the bedroom if he should be placed in the living or dining area, like when the family just returned from an outing and his parents and brother were removing their shoes and chattering. Later, when he was able to walk, when the family had to leave for an outing, he would grab his shoes and dashed back inside the bedroom to put on his shoes. then Mr. and Mrs. Lee would have to hold the door open, yell to him that it was open already and he would sprint out of the bedroom through the front door.

As soon as he could talk, his parents asked him what frightened him so much in the house. He only pointed at the storeroom. Mrs. Lee felt the chills going down her spine once more as she thought about the dead girl. But during the 10 years that she spent in her flat, she had never experienced anything out of the ordinary to justify Edward's reaction. Moreover, now she had set her heart on condominium for a second home, so she let the matter rest. Outside the house, Edward seemed to be like any other normal boy. He had the same interest as other boys his age; he was interested in sports, particularly ballgames like soccer, he watched the usual cartoons and worshipped the same TV characters.

He was only slightly different in that he was a lot quieter and more sensitive than other boys. His teachers in the playschool and later, in the kindergarten, informed Mrs. Lee that she had a genius for a child. He seemed to have a gift for perceiving the subtlest subjects, be it the stories in the books, the math problems that he had to solve or people's moods. Despite the trouble that he gave her, Mrs. Lee could not bring herself to blame him because he was such a sweet boy. Like the one time when she lost $500 after visiting the bank. Gordon had insisted on buying the Ultraman model that she had promised him two weeks ago. Reluctantly, she bought it because he looked like he was about to throw a huge tantrum in public if he did not get his way. She had also promised the same model to Edward. But the four year old Edward had said that he did not want it then, even though she knew that he was just as crazy over Ultraman as his older brother.

Or the other time when Mr. Lee had forgotten her birthday, the first time in their long relationship. She had been so upset that she cried secretly into her pillow that night. The very next morning, Edward, who was six at that time, had made her breakfast by himself and brought it to her bed. So despite Edward's abnormal reaction to the storeroom, Mrs. Lee felt that she was very lucky to have a sweet and considerate child like Edward. Gordon, on the other hand, well... was truly just like any other boy. He was as rowdy as Edward was quiet. Edward had always showed an inclination for books. Gordon detested books, particularly school texts. In his five years in primary school, Mrs. Lee had been summoned to the school nine times.

He seemed to be developing into a bully. In the last year alone, Mrs. Lee had seen his form teacher three times. Each meeting was prompted by complaints from other pupil's parents who claimed that Gordon had been tormenting his classmates. The first case was about teasing behaviour that got out of hand; the second about him beating a classmate and the last case was about extortion. Mush as Mrs. Lee would like to deny it, Gordon was becoming more of a headache than Edward. She suspected that at home, He was also up to the same tricks. Although she was not home for much of the day these days, she went back to work when Edward was three, from the little that she had witnessed, she knew that Gordon ordered Edward about like the latter was the former's slave. She had been seen Gordon whistling for Edward to bring him his comic, like his own younger brother was a dog!

She had tried to probe by asking Edward if he was happy about his relationship with Gordon. But the young Edward just maintained a stony silence. So instead, she decided to monitor the situation. One stiflingly hot afternoon, Gordon went to fetch Edward from his kindergarten. This was a routine that took place every weekday afternoon. Both the older Lees usually left home at seven in the morning and went to work after sending Gordon to school. Edward would be left with a neighbour, Auntie Soh who would look after him in the morning, prepare his lunch and send him to kindergarten at one in the afternoon. In return, Mrs. Lee paid Auntie Soh a small fee every month. In the afternoon at half past three, Gordon would leave school to take Edward home from kindergarten. Once home, the boys would occupy themselves either by napping, doing their homework or playing until their parents came home. That afternoon, Gordon was in a very bad mood because Ms. Chew had ticked him off for bullying another classmate yet again. Ms. Chew had threatened to call his mother to school if she received another complaint. 

He brooded over the morning's incident all the way home. Once they entered the house, he kicked Edward in the butt and told the latter to make him an ice cold Ribena and to take it into the bedroom for him. 'But kor, I don't want to go into the kitchen...' 'What, you dare to disobey me? Want to die huh?' 'No, no, but... I've got to go into the room,' Edward turned to walk towards the bedroom. He was yanked back by Gordon. 'You're in serious ***! Actually dare to said 'no' to me!' 'No, kor, just let me go, please, I'll do anything else, please, just let me go into the bedroom, I'll do something else for you.' 'What's the matter with you? Why must you be so special? Always pretending to be scared of this, scared of that. Only to get Dad's and Mum's attention, right? You think I don't know your tricks, you sneaky b******? You're scared of the storeroom?' He pushed open the storeroom door. 'What's so scary about this stupid little room?' 'NO! NO! CAN'T YOU HEAR HER? SHE WANTS COMPANY!' Edward burst out in unearthly howl.

For a moment, Gordon was taken aback. He realised that his brother truly believed that there was something in the storeroom. The his heart re-hardened. He would help to cure the idiot of his own fear. He thrust the struggling Edward into the dark storeroom. No matter how hard Edward fought against him, the five year gap between them was telling. Even with the strength borne of desperation and fear, Edward just could not overcome his brother who was almost 20kilograms heavier and 50 centimeters taller than him. 'No! No! No! Let me out! I'll... I'll not... Anything... NO, PLEASEEEE!' by now, Edward had degenerated into an incoherent sobbing mass. He begged for mercy one last time before Gordon shut the door, panting after his exertions, trying to get his breath back. That little squirt sure was strong for one so little.

After a while, when the mad anger had receded, he realised that there was no longer any sound coming from the storeroom. 'Eddie, what are you doing inside there?' He knocked on the storeroom door. Silence. 'Eddie, don't be an idiot. I know that you're trying to scare me. Stop playing the fool! You may come out now.' Still silence. 'I won't be taken by your tricks. You can come out any time you decide to stop being an idiot.' With a bravado that he did not feel, Gordon went to the kitchen and got himself a drink. Ten minutes later, when there was still neither movement nor sound from the storeroom, Gordon panicked. he strode to the storeroom. 'You miserable b******, you better stop playing the fool, you understand? If you don't come out this very instant, you'll regret it for the rest of your f****** life!'

There was a giggle, muffled by the thick walls of the storeroom. The storeroom door creaked open. Gordon heaved a sigh of relief before he saw what stood in the doorway. Then he shouted and backed away. Two hours later, Mrs. Lee returned from work. She was surprised to see the storeroom wide open. In the dim light of the evening, she saw a figure lying on the floor of the storeroom. It was Edward. His heart had stopped beating, his muscles had already stiffened and his skin was cool to the touch. A frantic Mrs. Lee immediately called the police and the ambulance.  Only later did she notice that Gordon was missing. After searching the house, she found him cowering underneath his bed. Any attempt to ask him about what had happened was useless, it was impossible to make any sense out of the gibberish that he uttered. The police also met with no success in their questioning when they took him to the police station.

That night, when the grieving Lees returned home, they were stunned when Gordon refused to enter the flat. 'No! No! The storeroom!' he howled, drawing all the neighbours out to see what the commotion was about. Eventually, the Lees went over to Mrs. Lee's parents home for the night. Mrs. Lee had already made up her mind; she would sell her flat as soon as possible. When the forensic report came out, it stated that Edward had died from misadventure. The cause was drowning. The Lees were not satisfied. How could Edward have drowned in the storeroom where there was not even a drop of water?

Second Sight

My name is David Koh. I am five years old and I live with my family in a five room HDB flat in Yishun. In my family, there are 5 of us; Pa is a taxi driver, Ma a housewife, a thirteen year old brother and eleven year old sister followed by me. I think I have a reasonably happy family. Of course there is the usual bullying that I get from my elder siblings but it is all kept under tolerable control by the watchful eyes of my parents. Although we are not very rich by Singaporean standards, we get by pa's income is enough to support all of us. Ma also supplements what pa earns by working as a part time cleaning lady. So we do have a little extra for some luxuries. my brother and sister, they usually whine more because they want to but the usual branded stuff that their friends have. I don't blame them because I understand that peer pressure can be overwhelming. I have yet to start formal schooling and be subjected to that type of insufferable pressure.

Ma and pa would usually indulge their materialistic whims once in a while but generally, all 3 of us have been taught the value of money and thrift. Which is why ma would still rather shop at wet market than in supermarkets. And that brings us to the start of this story. That early morning, I had followed ma to the wet market. It was fifteen minutes walk from our block. I love going to the wet market. I find it immensely exciting. The smells (not all good), the bustling activities, the interesting and colourful sights... I don't understand why chieh always complains when she has to accompany mo to go to the market during the weekends. She is always asking ma to go to the supermarket instead. "But I cannot bargain in the supermarket!' Ma would sigh tiredly in Cantonese.

That s=day, I had a particularly fruitful day at the market. Ma had just received her pay from the agent the previous day. As the beneficiary of her generous mood, I received a plastic gun that cost all of $9.90! I was so absorbed playing with the gun that I did not even notice the huge white sheet. My first awareness of the incident was when ma clucked her tongue in displeasure and spat, an action that shocked me. I may only be 5 but the rules and regulations that I have to abide by to live unmolested in Singapore are already deeply ingrained in me. I am supposedly too young to know about smoking but I do know that on no account must I litter or spit. Otherwise I would risk improverishing my family by $500!

So I was very shocked to see ma doing the forbidden thing. My scandalised feelings reached new heights when ma asked me to spit too. I refused. ma hit me on the head but I clung on to my obstinacy. I could not do the bad thing! I would have cried but before I could do that I saw the white sheet on the ground. There were some lumpy things under the white sheet. but there was no opportunity for me to satisfy my curiosity as there was some coloured tape cordoning off the whole area. even more interesting were the policemen on duty in that area. I regarded policemen with a mixture of fear and fascination. I thought that they were very impressive creatures with their smart blue uniforms. But at the same time, they had the power to catch any wrongdoer and throw him into jail. I was scared that one day I might unknowingly become the wrongdoer.

There were 3 policemen there! One of them was standing guard at the edge of the tape, making sure that no one enter the marked off area. Two were standing together, talking. There was a crowd of people gathered at the edge of the tape. I would have liked to join them and stand there longer to observe my heroes but ma dragged me away. At the lift landing, ma ran into Chan Soh, our neighbour 2 doors away. They spoke in Cantonese and the conversation went something like this: 'Who was it?' Ma asked. 'I don't know. I didn't see it myself but they say it is Mrs. Choo's girl, Ai Ling.' ma did not bother to explain who 'they' were. 'Aiyoh, Mrs. Choo must be so sad.' 'Ya lor, but you also know lah, that Ai Ling has been a really wild one. The stories that Mrs. Choo told us. If my Min Min is like that, I think I would be the one to jump!' 'Hush! We shouldn't speak of the you know what like that,' ma said nervously.

Then the lift reached our floor and ma shooed me out and on the way back to the flat, she kept a tight hold on me, so tight that there was a red mark around my wrist after she had let me go. I had no idea what they were talking about. But I knew Ai Ling. I know that the adults did not like her for some reason. Whenever they discussed her, their voices would drop and they would speak in hush hush tones. But Ai Ling had her fans from the younger crowd. My sister and brother were her avid fans. Chieh admired Ai Ling because she thought  that Ai Ling was very cool and had great fashion sense. I didn't know why kor thought so highly of Ail Ling but I had seen the way he stared dumbstruck at her sometimes. As for myself, I also like Ai Ling, for the simple reason that she was kind to me. Whenever I ran into her, she would give me a sweet smile and she's one of the prettiest chieh chiehs that I've ever seen. Very often, she would give me some candies too. It's just too bad that ma did not take to her. Sometimes, adults just have the strangest thinking.

But I soon forgot about the confusing behaviour of adults and engrossed myself in my own world where I'm a detective with near clairvoyant powers. My gun was not a typical, run of the mill, made in China plastic pistol; instead, it was a super weapon with impressive powers, one shot from it would set anything, absolutely anything ablaze. If I changed the function, it would blow up the object that it comes into contact with in a powerful blast and so on. As I was busy chasing the baddies in my make believe world, ma was preparing dinner in the kitchen. It was about six in the evening. As usual, at this time, only ma and I were at home. ever since kor started secondary school, he would stay out everyday till seven or eight, occupied with extra lessons, co-curricular activities or project work. Chieh was in the afternoon session, so she too, would only be back after seven. Pa always worked the mid morning to evening shift and he would usually be back around half past seven.

Although there were only two of us in the flat, ma always kept the door open. She said that it was a habit that she had cultivated since her kampung days and that it took too much effort to change. She would further justify her indulgence by reasoning that Singapore was a safe place. Moreover, the metal gate was locked. That particular day was just like any other normal day. Till I felt the ice cold breeze blowing from my back, which was facing the open door. I shivered and looked out of the window, wondering if there was going to be a storm. The sky looked bright enough. Then I turned to the front gate. I don't know why, but I did and I saw Ai Ling Chieh walking past. She turned to look into the house, which delighted but at the same time puzzled me. My joy could be easily explained by my anticipation of a sweet treat. But I was also surprised that she would actually look into my flat. Ai Ling Chieh knew about ma's feelings towards her. So usually, she too, took pains to avoid unnecessary contact with my family. My confectionary encounters with her usually took place when I was playing downstairs with other neighbouring children, unsupervised by our parents as they conducted their own activities upstairs, entrusting the care of the younger children to the older ones.

But now, she was actually looking in. She looked a lot paler than usual. But she was still pretty as ever. Maybe even prettier, for her new found fairness suited her elfin features, making her seem like a fairy princess. She was dressed in short white dress with black, chunky shoes, showing off long, slender legs. I smiled warmly at her. But she didn't smile back at me. Instead, she looked at me pensively and beckoned me to go to her with her finger. I did as she instructed me to. At the gate, she bent down and whispered into my ear, 'Look in the drain.' Her cold breath tickled me and I giggled. At the sound of my laughter, ma come out of the kitchen. She saw me at the gate and asked, 'Who were you talking to, David?' I felt confused. There, Ai Ling chieh was,standing right at the gate, and ma was asking me whom I was talking to. I looked at ma, who was staring unseeingly past, no, through Ai Ling chieh. Then I looked at Ai Ling chieh. She was staring coldly at ma. There definitely was no love lost between these two women.

Ma repeated her question. I had been trained to be obedient to my parents. no matter how absurd the question was, and even if ma was trying to be rude, I had to answer, and answer truthfully. 'It's Ai Ling chieh.' At that, ma recoiled as if I had slapped her on the face. For a second, she looked petrified before her anger took over. She strode towards me and gave me a hard, stinging whack on my thigh. Ai Ling chieh gave her a baleful glance before moving away, down the corridor. I was too preoccupied with my pain to give her further thought. Though I was a little disappointed over the no longer forthcoming treat, my immediate concern was the burning pain in my thigh.

As if that was not enough, ma slapped me hard across my cheek too. 'That's for talking stupid nonsense!' She yelled at me. Despite the pain, I was too stunned to react. Although ma ruled the household with an iron hand, she rarely lost control like this. Before I could decide to cry, she pulled my ear and led me to the altar. Lighting a stick on incense, she thrust it into my hand and commanded me to pray to one of the deities for forgiveness, I can't remember which; they always looked the same to me, menacing and malevolent. 'But I didn't lie, I really  spoke to Ai Ling chieh.' I regretted my obstinacy immediately as ma raised her hand to deliver another mind numbing slap across my other cheek. This time, I began to cry. It was really painful! 'OK, ok! Don't beat me anymore, I'll pray!'

I performed the usual rites. As I raised and lowered the incense stick, ma stood beside me and chanted in Cantonese, asking the gods to forgive my stupidity, overlook my ignorance and mischief and to bless me. I'm not stupid. I am only five and the concept of death is still rather alien to me. I know that people die and that after their deaths, they don't come back anymore. I also know about the supernatural, but I do not have a system based on logic, religion or conviction to organize my feelings or knowledge about death. it is all a whirling, hodgepodge of what I have imbibed from the B grade horror flicks that kor always watches on VCD or the ghost stories from my sister's friends. The monster are the baddies; they are the ones who would capture me for some obscure, sinister reason. They are not people whom I know, dead or alive. In fact, it hadn't even clicked in my mind yet that Ai Ling chieh was dead.

But I soon learnt it over the next few days. I could hardly have missed it. Our usually quiet neighbourhood was abuzz with the macabre excitement that follows a scandal. Even then, I was not unduly frightened as the sequence of events did not ring an alarm in me. in the next couple of days following Ai Ling chieh's death, ma did not allow me to go downstairs by myself, leaving me with no chance to act upon what I thought were Ai Ling chieh's last word. my opportunity came when in the evening, after dinner. Pa and ma took us there. Mrs. Choo, Ai Ling chieh's mother, greeted us quietly. Her eyes were red but she was no longer crying. As pa and ma offered her their condolences ans made small talk with her, I wandered to the edge of the drain.

Peering in, I saw a glint in the muddy water (it had been drizzling on and off the last few days). Curious, I bent down and picked it up. It was a ring, made of some substance that looked like gold. Later, I was to learn that it was indeed a gold ring; a Tiffany gold ring on which were engraved two names: Ling and John. At that moment, I was enveloped by a familiar icy sensation. I felt a shadow fall over me. Some intuitive sense warned me and when I saw Ai Ling chieh as I looked up, I was not really surprised. But this time, I knew enough to be afraid. I backed away as she bent down towards me. Looking at the ring in my grubby hand, she said, 'Well done, David. Now remember this telephone number 6566 9898.' I shook my head, screwed up my face and wailed. Some of the adults immediately came to see what the matter was. I pointed to the apparition and shouted, 'Ai Ling chieh! Ai Ling chieh!'

At my words, some of the people looked around uneasily and Mrs. Choo burst into tears. That was when I realised, to my horror, that the others could not see Ai Ling chieh. For some reason unknown to me, I was the only person who could see her. I cast a fearful glance at her. She was looking at me with a mixture of sorrow and pity. But I was too young to decipher her expression. I looked at ma and pleaded, 'Ma, please, she is there. Please make her go away.' Ma was looking thunderously furious. she obviously disbelieved me and was going to whack me real hard when sharp eyed pa said, 'What's that you're holding in your hand, David?' Everybody looked at the ring. Mrs. Choo exclaimed, 'That's Ai Ling's ring! I've seen her wearing it before. Where did you get it from?' 'The drain.' I had no time to explain what had prompted me to go looking in the drain for a ring which I did even know exist before Ma made her apologize to Mrs. Choo and herded us back home. I turned back. Ai Ling chieh still standing on the same spot. She gave me a little smile and said, 'Don't forget, David, the telephone number is 6566 9898.'

The next morning, two policemen came to our flat. I was frightened when I saw them and I just could not remember what I could have done to elicit a visit from them. Then I remembered the spitting incident a few days ago and feared for ma. What would i do if she went to jail? What would any of us in the family do without her?until then, I had never realised the strategic importance of ma's position in the family, how she was our pillar of strength and administrative manager. We could not survive without her. Before I could devise a plan to throw the policemen off her tracks, ma had already invited them in. I looked at her in palm amazement. Was that woman mad or something? Of course it was not as I thought. later, when I had grown up, I learnt that the policemen were beginning to suspect that Ai Ling chieh's death was not suicide. From the autopsy, they knew that she was two months pregnant at the time of her death. Up till that point, the authorities had thought that it was suicide. Until the ring came along.

If Choo Ai Ling had wanted to kill herself, why did she remove the ring before jumping down sixteen floor? How did the ring end up in the drain? And how did a five year old boy manage to find it? The police had come to find answers to their suspicion. They began by asking me some routine questions about myself and my family, warming me up before they popped the critical question, like, 'How did you get the ring?' 'I found it.' 'Where?' 'In the drain downstairs.' 'How did you find it in the drain?' I looked blank, not comprehending the question. 'Did you accidentally look into the drain and find it? or were you playing in the drain when you find it? Or did you hear someone say something about it?' I nodded my head vehemently at his last question. The policemen shot an excited glance at each other before the interrogator asked, 'Who?' 'Ai Ling chieh.'

They sat up even straighter and asked, 'When?' I thought for a moment. 'Last Tuesday.' The man recording wrote this down too, before a puzzled look came onto his face. he referred to some of his notes and shook his head. He looked up and asked me, 'When on Tuesday?' 'At about six o'clock in the evening.' Looking at me sternly, he warned, 'Little boy, you must not lie to the police. If you do that, you'll get into trouble. How could you have heard Choo Ai Ling talk about the ring at 6 p.m. on Tuesday when she jumped to her death on the same morning?' 'But it's true!' I wailed and began to cry, the fears and stress of the last two days overwhelming me. "I saw her again yesterday night. She told me to remember the telephone number 6566 9898.' The policemen looked at each other again. The recorder shrugged and scribbled down the telephone number. Then the man who had been questioning me asked ma who was hugging me then and trying to hush me, 'Does he usually tell lies?'

'No, rarely until the incident. And now that he mentioned it, it was true. That Tuesday, I was cooking in the kitchen when I heard his voice. I usually keep my door open with the gate locked in the evening. I was concerned that he might be talking to a stranger so I came out and queried him. He told me the same thing, the he was talking to Choo Ai Ling. I thought he was playing a prank so I beat him. Do you really think he's been seeing 'those things'?' ma, usually as stoic as a rock, sounded frightened. That didn't make me feel very calm. I clung onto her with a tighter grip. 'I can't say, ma'am. But I can recommend you a psychologist. He might be able to help David.' 'Psychologist? You think my son is xiao!' my mother accused. 'No ma'am. At the moment, we are as much in the dark as anyone else. But if your child claims that he has been seeing Choo Ai Ling after her death, and he's not willfully lying, then you should bring him  for a check up, before it is too late.' And with that, he left with his colleague.

Singaporean's police are really efficient. Two days after my interview with the police, the case was solved. Following up on the lead that I provided them with, they trace the telephone number to another girl, Felicia Lim Choon Bin. She was Ai Ling chieh's best friend. Because Ai Ling chieh had such a tumultuous relationship with her mother, who had felt the best way to express her love and concern for her only daughter was to rummage through her belongings in order to keep tab on her affairs, she kept her diary with Felicia. After her death, Felicia had been wondering if she should surrender the diary to Mrs. Choo or the authorities. But she had hesitated as she tried to ascertain what Ai Ling chieh would have wanted her to do. So the decision was thankfully taken out of her hand when the police called on her and asked her what information she had to offer regarding Choo Ai Ling. 

And finally, in Ai Ling chieh's diary, the police found the details of her love story with John Eng, the scion of one of Singapore's most prominent and wealthy families. The diary also described how John was unhappy when he learnt about Ai Ling chieh's pregnancy. He had wanted Ai Ling chieh to have an abortion. But Ai Ling chieh had refused. In Ai Ling chieh's last entry in the diary, she had written that she was meeting John at her flat on that fateful morning. John Eng was 'invited' to the police station for questioning. And the truth was out at last. That morning John had wanted to go to Ai Ling chieh's house to discuss her pregnancy. But Ai Ling chieh had refused as she did not want Mrs. Choo, her mother, to know about it. By then, John wanted to end his relationship with Ai Ling chieh so he did not want to be seen out with her. Instead, they decided to go to the highest level in the block, a spot that was usually quiet on a weekday morning.

There, their argument had rapidly heated up till in a moment of pique, Ai Ling chieh removed her ring, which was John's Valentine gift to her, and threw it downstairs. John had insisted upon an abortion. Marriage was out of the question as he felt that he was too young to be tied down with a wife and child. And he did not want Ai Ling chieh to have the baby because he knew that that would give her a claim on his fortune in the future. Unfortunately, Ai Ling chieh refused to go for an abortion. So John tried to manhandle her into going. In the midst of their scuffling, the accident happened. John lost his grip, causing Ai Ling chieh to lose her balance and she fell storeys down to her death. When the story broke out in Singapore, the press had a field day. John was sentenced to jail on charges of manslaughter. As for me, I also had my five minutes of fame. I was hailed in the papers as the boy with second sight, the crucial key without whom the truth would not have been revealed.

After some consideration, ma did make me an appointment with the psychologist recommend by Mr. Policeman. She was immensely relieved when I was pronounced healthy and well in all aspects, except for a somewhat over active imagination. I did see Ai Ling chieh one more time. One night, in the midst of the hullabaloo, I was in bed, exhausted by the day's interviews, on the verge of sleep, when I saw a glow from my slightly opened eyes. Thinking that kor must have switched on the light, I opened my eyes and saw Ai Ling chieh standing before me. This time, she was different. On the previous two occasions that I had seen her, she looked both angry and sad. But now she looked.... at peace. Not only that, this time, she was also luminous, like she was made of some translucent material and there was a fire burning within her. She smiled at me and mouthed 'Thank you' before bursting into many, many little round sparks, all floating upwards and disappearing as they hit the cold cement of the ceiling in my room. For a short moment, it seemed like my room was filled with thousands and thousands of fireflies. And I was not frightened either. Since then, I had never been bothered by any other visitations. Touch wood!

Scavangers

Hungry again. I poke my nose out of the crack in the wall and sniff the air around me. My nose has a special ability. Besides picking up scents, it also helps me to 'see'. It is quiet. And dark. Should be safe to scamper out for food now. I dart my head out of the crack, pause to check out for potential trouble. All clear, not a person in sight. My gut tells me that it should be some time just after midnight. All the shoppers have gone home and the staff have finished and closed for the night. Although it is late in the night and all activities have ceased, the smells from the day's business still linger, especially in the basement, where the food counters are. The ghost of the deep frying oil, the wisp of cotton candy aroma, the fading fragrance of cooked meat; all these and more permeate the air in the basement. And they are sharpening my hunger pangs.

But I have not lived to my great old age while my compatriots perished one by one by being rash. Despite the increasing turmoil in my stomach, I keep my body still, except for my whiskers, which quiver as if they have a life of their own. After a minute, when I am sure that all the humans have gone, I shoot out from my hiding place in the wall like a cannonball being propelled forward. I scuttle to my favourite store, the one that sells meat skewered on a stick and roasted to perfection in thick terriyaki sauce. As usual, there are some scraps of meat left behind in the far corners under the metal counter top, too far for the stall holders to reach as they clean up the place, which is good fortune for me. But not good enough. I am still hungry after wolfing down those itsy bits of chicken and pork.

I hesitate. Should I retire to my hole? But the prospect of gnawing hunger as a bedmate is not appealing. Maybe I should go out to the rubbish chute. It is usually overflowing with the affluence of the rich. Only problem is that I'm too old to jostle with the young. Inevitably, I'm always left with the yuckiest, nastiest bits disdained even by the other vermin. I freeze. I remember a scene that I have seen today. Upstairs. On the first level where they sell the female human stuff. This building, which I call home, where I was born and where I have spent all my life having grown up in it, raised litter after litter of little baby rats, watched my sisters, brothers, half sisters and brothers, my wife and even my own sons and daughters die, is a famous shopping complex in the middle of town. Visitors who have stowed away in ships, crossed oceans and come here, the told me that my home is just a little building in a little island, a little red dot in the big, wide world. I don't care. This building is the world as far as I concerned.

When it is daytime, I usually hide in the crevices that I call home and sleep. But I can't be sleeping all the time. To pass time, I would sometimes people watch. I see all kinds of people. There would be the aunties, who have come down town for a field trip in their T-shirts and pants. They would check the price tags and put their tongues out at how much a designer kettle could cost. Sometimes, you also get a sophisticated tai tai in thei midst. But she would be walled up by her branded coolness and invisible disdain of all around her.

In the basement, they have the food stalls selling delicacies and households appliances. On the ground floor is where the female humans but the colours. The first floor sells clothing and other trinkets for the female humans. These places are where you would find more of the immaculately dressed tai tais. Besides the tai tais, there are also working ladies who drop in during their lunch hours or after works to check out the latest offerings in the store. You also get quite young girls who come and go in gaggles to boost their courage. The male humans can find their clothing on the third floor together with some of those complex looking devices. But I seldom go up there. It is too high and my old and weary bones cannot take it. Moreover, I find the females, togged out in their various finery and painted in rainbow colours far more interesting that the ususally sombrely coloured males. Although I may not be able to make out the dazzling colours the females wear, I sure can smell the many different scents that they apply on their bodies.

Today, on the first floor, there was a woman who was wearing a particularly strong musky oriental perfume. There was a young human child with her. He was holding a skewer of fish balls. As he was about to take a bite out of the first one, his mother had knocked into him, causing him to drop the whole stick onto the floor. Afraid of being scolded, the child had kicked the offensive evidence under the trolley of underwear. (My eyesight isn't fantastic. Colour-blind I may be, I'm not totally blind). When I get bored of watching people, I would skulk in the dark corners, peep from fissures in walls, and hide behind refuse bins to reconnoitre possible sources of food for the long night that is to come. Of course my hearing is much sharper than my eyesight. In fact, my hearing is even sharper than that of yours. I can hear many frequencies above those that you can perceive. but it is a double edged gift. For sometimes, I hear things that I have no wish to hear.

But I digress. Back to the fish balls. maybe I should go there. Should I? But all the mannequins are up there. Human think that we, rats, are filthy creatures, the scum of the earth, vermin that should be terminated. That is their opinion. Sometimes, I think that they are even more colour-blind than us. Although we rats cannot see colours, at least our world is shaded by hundreds of variations of grey. Whereas humans only seem to see their world in two colours, black and white. True, rats have brought forth damages to humans that are so vast that they are beyond calculation. But have humans ever tried to calculate the damages that they have wrought to Mother Earth, to the thousands, if not millions of other species out there in what is left of the wild, not excluding us rats? See what I mean, humans are just so single perspective. My tirade against the two legs is not caused by excessive venom and envy against the better endowed. No, it is just that I wish they would not think that they are the only ones in possession of a cognitive mind.

We, rodents, can also think and also have imaginations. And that is why now, despite the allure of a feast on the first floor, I have my doubts about venturing up there. I am pretty sure that the fish balls are still there, for very few rats would be intrepid enough to steal up there in the night. Only starving ones like me would think of attempting it. Starving. No, I have already partaken of the scraps that I found in the basement. But scraps. They were truly mere scraps, insufficient to sustain a 3kg fully grown male rat like myself. Against myself, I find myself drawn to the foot of the escalator. They usually don't disturb me but that doesn't put me at ease when they are around. They belong to a different world. i can breathe better around humans than around them. Which says a lot, considering that they don't bother me at all whereas humans are always out to take my life when they see me. And my kind.

The hunger is like a sword in my stomach , stabbing here and there, weakening me. When was the last time I had a proper, satisfying meal? I cannot remember. It has been that long. I need to eat. The instinct for survival warred against the instinct of fear. I have to eat or before long,I will become fodder for the younger and stronger ones when food becomes scarce. It happens. his may not be the wilderness but there's no difference. This place is just a concrete jungle. We animals are honest in our brutality for survival. When an animal gets and decrepit, it gets eaten. Sometimes by its own kind. Nothing goes to waste. I have no illusion. That will be my fate too. But I plan to keep it at bay for as long as I can. And so I inch up the escalator cautiously. As i reach the top of the stationary escalator, I see the trolley. It is next to a mannequin scantily dressed in matching pink brassiere and panties. I advance slowly and warily to the trolley. the fish balls are still there. I pounce upon them in my excitement. I tear out a big chunk and wolf it down ravenously, almost choking on it.

My ears prick up. Did I hear something? That sound was so faint that I'm half tempted to convince myself that it was my imagination. Against my better judgement, I poke my head out from under the trolley. Whiskers quivering madly, I can sense them. They have come out. Quickly, I pull my head back under the trolley. But not before I see the mannequin again. the position of its hands has changed. They are now stretched out like welcoming an invisible lover. I cower before the uneaten fish balls. I've lost my appetite. And I'm stuck here. Common sense prevails. I force myself to eat the fish balls. I don't know when my next meal will be coming along. Since I can't leave, I might as well do something useful. 

As I chew the now tasteless fish balls, I think of some queer incidents that I've witnessed in this building. The salesgirl who had remembered keeping her stocks in one drawer the night before but to find them in another the following day. How some of the staff who came in early were surprised that the mannequins were not in their usual places. They would think that maybe their colleagues who were working in the later shift had moved them the previous night. These are all innocuous incidents that were easily explained away. There were some that were more eerie, like how in the earlier days, some of the female staff had sensed a presence in the toilets. Or the administrator who had stayed back and seen a strange lady with long hair and no legs. In fact, there were so many stories that eventually, one day, the management called in an exorcist to allay the fears of the staff.

I was born then. But my great great great great great great grandmother was. She passed the tale on to her children who then passed it on to their children and so on. In my time, I have also passed the tale to my children and I'm sure that my children will carry out their duty well. According to the old lady who witnessed the whole incident, the exorcist had walked one big round up and down the building, all the time taking notes and referring to a big, thick book. After a long time, he finally told the management that he could not do anything about it. he said that spirits by nature like places that are isolated. And that's the problem with all these big office buildings and shopping centres. During the day, they may be bustling with workers and shoppers but come night time, there's nobody around and the vast emptiness acts like a magnet, drawing the undead to it.

The problem is exacerbated for shopping centres because of all the mannequins and pictures of models in trendy clothes. Because spirits usually like to make their homes in the form of human likeness. For private homes that are invaded by spirits, the exorcist explained, he would advise the owners to get rid of any artifact that has human or even animal form. But he knew that it would no be quite possible for the shopping centre to do so. He had no solution and so he would not charge the management a single cent. So the management was back to square one. After much brainstorming, they adopted the draconian method of coming down hard on any staff who dared to talk 'nonsense'. And thus, the stories gradually died down to be replaced by 'legends'. Only the very oldest and longest serving staff remembered. But they know better than to blab, if they want to safeguard their pensions. As for the younger ones, the odd one who stays back late to clear some work may have some strange incident, like hearing strange sounds or feeling like there is someone else in the the room besides themselves. But the next day, when they report the event to their colleagues, they are always assured by the older ones that everything is fine and that unusual chapter would be due to their imagination.

It is left only to us, the inhabitants of the building at night, to see the truth, when we hear the sighs, the yearning for lost life; when the shadows move, the imitations for what is no longer.

Twins

It was Saturday. As usual, I was at my in laws place for the weekly visit. This was something that had been happening ever since Cindy, my only daughter, came along. It is also something that is not all that unusual in Singapore, where family ties tend to be a lot stronger, maybe because we are so small that we have no excuse for not visiting, much as we may wish otherwise. We were all indulging in our usual exercise on Saturday afternoons playing mahjong. It was just as well that my in laws are mahjong addicts, or Saturday afternoons would take an eternity to pass. Cindy was playing in the dining room.

My in laws lived in a three storey terrace house. Once you enter the front door, you see the living room and the raised dining room. The dining room led to the so called dry kitchen. To the right of the entrance to the kitchen, there was another door that opened into the maid's room. The staircase was to the right of the maid's room. For geomantic reasons, my mother in law, who was at heart a modern, emancipated, rational woman but she still subscribed to older, traditional beliefs just in case, you know had placed a mirror at the landing of the staircase.

I do not like mirrors. When I was a young girl, in the warm idyllic afternoons before I attended school, I would look into the mirror and see another world in the mirror that looked identical to the world outside. I thought that it was a wondrous thing, and at the same time, slightly scary that there should be two worlds. In my young mind, I wondered if there were other worlds that were not visible to me. However, despite the near identical appearances of both worlds, the one in the mirror always had a sinister expectancy to it, like something was about to happen in the other world. even my own reflection reminded me of some exotic, sly being that was waiting, waiting.  At the back of my mind, which I did not allow myself to think then, I always thought of it as a greedy creature, waiting for me to lapse into a false relaxation, so that it could grab me into its worlds. Depending on my fancy, it would want me in its world for a variety of reasons, one being that I would be a reluctant companion to it. Or maybe once I'm trapped in that mirror world, it would then step out and take my place in the real world.

Call me superstitious, but even when I was older, like now, and married, I refused to sleep facing the mirror. And I always made sure that my bed did not face the mirror. Who knows what would happen when one is asleep? During the days of my courtship and early marriage, sometimes, I would stay over in the house. One night, as I was coming down the stairs, I looked into the mirror to check my hair after a shower. I am not saying this is true, but for a moment, I thought I saw my reflection smiling at me! my first instinct was to bolt. Instead, I closed my eyes. Slowly, I peeped at the mirror. I saw my reflection peeping back at me. I heaved a sigh of relief and my feet felt like they were standing upon substantial ground again. Although I had not seen anything unusual in the mirror since, I still felt uneasy each time I came across it. but I had learnt to live with it. I guess I should be glad that we lived in the north. Otherwise, the frequency of the visits would be greater.

It was not only the mirror. My mother in law was another factor why I never felt at ease in my husband's previous home. The problem that I had with my mother in law was that she was an immensely helpful person. And I meant immensely. She was so overfilled with helpfulness that she was always spilling well meaning advice, solicited or otherwise. An example of a typical conversation with her. 'You should really give birth to a second one, you know?' A meaningless grunt from me. 'Look, your poor girl is so lonely. If she has a sister or a brother, she'll have some company.' Another meaningless grunt.

unfortunately, she still did not get the meaning behind my meaningless grunts. 'Believe me, one child is not enough. The ideal number of children is four and the best combination is two boys and two girls (like I can order them from a factory!). So it would be good if you have a boy next, followed by another boy, then by a girl.' I changed tactics. I tried to maintain a significant silence. Still no use. 'Then you must remember, to get a boy, you must wait until...' I am sure that I do not have to go into details. By now, you must realise what my mother in law's pet topic was. It was silly but a great part of my resistance to trying for another child was probably due to her nagging. The more she harrassed me, the more I refused to comply with her wishes.

Actually, I did give the issue some thought. The most convincing argument for another baby was given by a good friend, Yen, who told me that I should give birth to another child for Cindy's sake. Perhaps this appealed to my martyr complex, but it did make sense that if Cindy had a sibling, it would be some form of support for her in the future when neither Yap nor I am around. Moreover, a sibling would also prevent Cindy from becoming too self centred and spoilt, something that was already happening. But in the face of these and other just as valid reasons stood the spectre of my mother in law and her nonstop machinegun mouth, as well as inertia. The thought of being bound and trussed for another two years again was rather daunting.

And so I continued the days with one child, despite all the dire warnings from mother in law about putting all my eggs into one basket, etc. I guess Cindy was rather lonely. At the same time, she enjoyed being in the limelight.I justified my decision by telling myself that she would have been miserable if she had a sibling to divide our (Yap's and mine) affection and attention. but she was really lonely. My colleagues and friends would share horror stories about the battles of sending their children to childcare or playschool, and for once, I would not have a similar anecdote to share because Cindy just enjoyed going to school. A large part of her love for school stemmed from the companions in school. No matter how early in the morning she was awakened, how little sleep she had had the night before, she would always nod her head affirmatively (and sleepily) if she was asked whether she wanted to go to school that day.

But her favourite activity was to talk to herself in the mirror. I had no idea where she picked up the habit from but by the time she was around four, it became more of a habit than mere play. Each time I stayed at home to work, I noted that she spent an inordinate amount of time in front of the mirror, chattering away to herself. Initially, Yap and I were amused by what we deemed to be her vanity. A certain amount of vanity in a girl is a good thing. I explained to Yap, who was worried that Cindy would turn out to be a bimboo. After all, a girl has to take pride in her appearance. Anyway, I thought that it was just a phase that Cindy was going through and that she would grow up of it pretty soon.

I was wrong. Not only did Cindy not grow out of the phase, as time passed, she spent even more time in front of the mirror each day, whispering sweet nothings to her own reflection. by then, even I could not help thinking that something was amiss. I thought it might be some psychological problem that i had overlooked. I wondered if she was developing a narcissistic streak and began to give more thought to having another baby. Maybe if she had a sibling to look after, she would have less time to love herself. I also tried talking to her. 'Darling?' 'Hm?' 'Would you like to come out for some chocolates?' 'OK!' She ran out of her room, cheered by the thought of an unexpected treat. She took one chocolate, stuffed the whole confectionary into her mouth, grabbed another one and made to turn.

'Eh eh eh, no eating in the bedrooms!' 'But mummy, Lindy is waiting for me!' 'Who is Lindy?' I was mildly surprised. This was the first time that I had heard of 'Lindy'. 'She ee my 'win,' came the muffled reply as Cindy munched the chocolate furiously, trying to swallow it quick so that she could stuff the second one into her mouth. Then she could return to her room to continue with her game. 'Twin? You don't have a twin, silly darling. Daddy and mummy only have one little girl and that's you.' 'Yes, I have.' There was a pause as I wondered how I could make her see the difference between reality and fantasy. 'OK, show me where your twin is then.' 'She's in my room. Come, I'll show her to you.' 

I entered her room, where the walls had been painted apple green. In the left corner was the jade green dressing table that we bought as a Christmas present for her last year. She ran to the dressing table and peering into the attached oval mirror, she waved to her reflection and said to me without turning to look at me, 'There she is, mummy, my twin.' Seeing her smiling at her own reflection, a shiver of forgotten fear ran down my spine. But I told myself that there was no cause for panic, that I was over reacting; there had to be a rational reason why Cindy found herself a 'twin' in the mirror. 'Da da (my pet name for her), that's not your twin. It's just a reflection of yourself.' I walked to her side and squatted. 'See,' I pointed to my reflection in the same mirror, 'that's not my twin, t's my reflection. That's what mirrors do; they reflect the things in the real world. So although we can see these things in the mirror, they are not real.'

'Lindy is my twin,' came the stubborn, mutinous reply. I did not know what to do. By then, I knew Cindy's nature. The only way to get her to declare otherwise would be to use force, to beat her. But Yap and I agreed that that was not the way we wanted to raise our daughter. I decided to wait till Yap return to discuss the matter with him. 'Well, I'm telling you your reflection is not a twin. If you want to, you may imagine otherwise,' I stood up and walked towards the doorway. Before I left the room, I turned back to see what Cindy was doing. She was already in her own world, conversing with her reflected image as before. As she was whispering, I could only hear a snatches of her conversation. '...never mind as long as I know you're real...' 'she'll know.'

I looked at the mirror framing my daughter's reflection. For one instant, Cindy looked at me using the mirror. Her large, dark and luminous eyes seemed to hold some old and obscene secret and she seemed to be laughing at me for my ignorance. Was that Cindy, or was it her 'twin'? Confused, frightened, I fled the room. Sitting on the high stool, sipping a cup of hot tea to settle my nerves, I berated myself for my overly fertile imagination. 'You think it's like those silly B grade horror shows that they broadcast on TV whereby evil beings can spring out from the mirror to kidnap the children?' Once I have calmed down, I crept towards Cindy's room to assure myself that everything was alright (a rational part of me, surprised by my own behaviour, whispered, 'Why are you creeping in your own house in broad daylight?' but caution ruled the day).

I peeped into the room. Cindy was seated down, harmlessly reading by herself. I felt a little sheepish over my own panicked reaction. Never mind that. I might have over reacted, it was time to revisit the second child issue. That night, I brought up the issue with Yap. 'Do you think we should have another child?' 'Definitely. But why the sudden change of mind? You said that you wanted some space and time to yourself. in fact, I remember the last time I talked to you about it, you said that you were not a sow.' Annoyed at his suddenly accurate memory, I said tersely, 'I know. It's actually for Cindy. Don't you notice that she keeps talking to herself in the mirror? It's not healthy.'

'But you said that it was just a passing phase and that she would grow out of it.' Was he trying to irritate me on purpose? I glanced at him through narrowed eyes and decided from his demeanour that he was just being dense. 'I know. But after prolonged observation and analysis, I've decided that her behaviour is not merely eccentric and instead, might have adverse effects on her mentel, physical and social developments.' There. That got his attention alright. He looked up from the journal that he was reading. Resigned to the fact that Cindy might be his one and only child, he loves and dotes upon her to a shameful extent. I might be the apple of his eye, but she is a priceless jewel, his only link to immortality whereas I'm only his lifetime companion.

'What do you think we should do?' Sometimes I find it rather amusing. At work, Yap is a fearless warrior who leads his men decisively without hesitation. But with the matters regarding the home or Cindy, he is almost like a little boy himself. But it can be exasperating too, especially when I feel that I'm mothering two children instead of one. 'I'm meeting an old classmate of mine for lunch tomorrow. Do you remember Fann? Well, she's a doctor, so she may be able to give me some suggestions. It's just that she's a GP, she may not know much about mental disorders in children.' There was a shocked silence. Yap could be over sensitive about certain things at times.

'Are you saying that our daughter is mad?' I had foreseen this. 'No, dear. All I'm saying is that Cindy might, only 'might', you know, have a problem. This afternoon, she told me that she had a twin, Lindy, who is actually her mirror reflection. For all we know, it might be nothing serious. Maybe a younger sibling is all we need to solve the problem. But we need to...' 'NO!' Taken aback by his firm negation, I asked, 'No what?' 'Although I'm keen to have another child, I don't think it's right to have another just for Cindy's sake. We have to love the child for himself, not for what he can do for his elder sister.' Of all times to talk about scruples! 'Of course we'll love the child for himself. But it wouldn't hurt if he could help his sister, right? And your mother would be over the moon. Anyway, all these are hypothetical at the moment. Let's just check out if Cindy is alright before we decide if we want to extend our family, OK?' I sent him my most winning, pleading look. 'OK.'

The next day, I met Fann as arranged, at Marche, her favourite restaurant, for lunch. Since the topic I wanted to broach was sensitive, I did not bring Cindy along, leaving her at the children centre. After the pleasantries were exchanged, I introduced the topic gingerly. 'Fann, have you ever considered going into specialisation?' 'Of course. Many times, in fact. But I never seem to have the time. And now, with another baby on the way, it's really not the best time.' 'Oh, congratulations! How many months already?' 'Two. I didn't tell you earlier because you know how volatile early pregnancies are...' 'Don't worry about it. Actually, I've been thinking about having another baby too.' 'Great! Then we can be pregnant together! But I thought you said that one is enough?'

'Yeah, but I've been thinking. Cindy is already four. If I do not get another one quickly, the gap between them will be too great for them to be playmates.' 'True.' 'And I think I should get another one. Cindy is getting too lonely. These days, she spends so much time talking to herself in the mirror that her father and I are getting very worried about her. What do you think?' 'How long has she been doing that? And how long does each of this session last?' 'Well, it has been going on for more than a year. When it first started, she did it quite irregularly, every now and then. Yap and I were very amused. I think that sort of egged her on...' 'Yup... it's what's psychologists term as positive reinforcement.' '... and now she does it everyday. More than three times a day and she can spend hours talking to herself!' 

'Does she exhibit any other strange behaviour besides this?' 'No.' 'I'm no expert on children psychology but from what you've described, it does sound like Cindy's too lonely. Tell you what, why don't you bring Cindy to my place  where she can play with my duo? And if you're still worried, I can recommend a psychiatrist to you. but I think that's a bit drastic. It's better to observe her for a while longer before doing that. I may be a doctor myself, but I can tell you that more or less, there is still some stigma attached to seeing a psychiatrist. And the idea of trying for another one, I think it's wonderful. With or without Cindy's troubling behaviour, you should have another one.' What is it with people? Is it some sort of biological imperative to breed? Why is two an ideal number of children to have? But I didn't show my displeasure since Fann had just offered me some advice.

Acting upon her informed counsel, I tried hard to get pregnant and succeeded. I also tried to get Cindy to become friends with her two children, Micheal and Melanie, unsuccessfully. Cindy didn't take to them and each attempt I made to get her to visit them was a minor battle between wills, hers and mine. She would resist on the ground that she did not like them. But the true factor was the time spent away from the mirror and her reflection. Despite Fann's opinion that Cindy's condition didn't warrant psychiatric treatment, I wasn't taking any risk. The psychiatrist pronounced Cindy fine. 'Very intelligent and perhaps, a little over imaginative, Mrs. Tan. But absolutely fine. I don't think you've anything to worry. You hit the nail on the head about her being lonely. But that is easily with the akan datang sibling. Just give her more attention till then.'

All was well and good. Then why couldn't my heart find peace? In the taxi on the way home, Cindy asked, 'Mummy, are you having another baby?' I had forgotten all about it. In my anxiety about the doctor's diagnose, I didn't realise that I had not informed her about my pregnancy. 'Yes, da-da. Are you happy about it?' She shrugged her shoulders in difference. Once we reached home, she ran into her room to update her reflection on the day's happenings. She only crept out in the evening, to the kitchen where I was preparing dinner. 'Mummy?' 'Yes, da-da?' I replied absently as I minced the garlic into fine pieces. 'Mummy, I've been talking to Lindy and she told me that you're having a baby because you thought that I might be too lonely.' My hands stilled. 'Mummy, I just want you to know that I'm not lonely. How can I be, with Lindy to keep me company?'

The room suddenly seemed very chilly. There seemed to be a third presence beside Cindy and me. I turned stiffly so that I could see Cindy. Was it my imagination or was that dark shadow behind Cindy moving? As I stared at it, it seemed to grow thicker and thicker and become more substantial. Stifling a moan, I put away the knife carefully, rinsed my hands and dried them on the dishcloth. I wanted to hug Cindy, to keep my baby safe, but my baby is not so innocent. She... she had some sort of communication with that... Turning away, I stumbled back into my room to lie down. Collecting my thoughts, I recalled reading reports of mass hallucination, cases whereby many people had the same hallucinations. Some scientists explain that this may have happened by telepathy. Is this one instance? Somehow, Cindy had transferred her beliefs to me to so that I could see the product of her imagination too. What other rational explanation could there be? The only other plausible explanation was that... Unbidden, the mirror in my mother in law's house appeared in my mind. I pushed it away. No, I refused to allow thoughts of things that I couldn't put a name to to surface.

I put a hand on my forehead. No fever. Maybe it is the pregnancy. Must be it. Somehow, the hormonal changes in my body must be making me hysterical. Well, I'm in no fit state to cook dinner. I would call for pizza later when Yap returns. In the meantime, I tried to get some sleep. Hopefully the rest would help me to regain my balance. I tried to still the thoughts swirling in my mind and get my body to relax. Five minutes later, I heard the bedroom door creaking as it was opened. 'Mummy, are you alright?' Two voices chorused in mock rehearsed unison. Two? All my suppressed fears hit me like a walloping punch on the face. Shivering, I turned around to look at Cindy. My thinly stretched control snapped. I screamed when I saw the girl who stood next to her.A girl who looked exactly the same as my cherubic daughter. She was grinning at me.