The weekend cast a strange spell over Nee Soon Camp, wrapping it in a heavy stillness. What was usually a bustling military environment, alive with the cadence of orders and the rhythmic stomp of boots, had been reduced to a deep, unsettling silence. The camp, typically throbbing with energy, now felt abandoned. Sergeant Tan, burdened with the monotonous task of COS duty, couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that had been nagging at him since the start of his shift.

It was meant to be a routine night—tedious, yes, but predictably uneventful. With most personnel off for the weekend, the camp felt deserted, leaving Sergeant Tan and a few other duty personnel responsible for keeping everything in order. His patrol route led him through the familiar grounds, with the Nee Soon Medical Centre as one of the checkpoints. He had walked these corridors countless times before, but tonight felt different. A chill lingered in the air, and an unspoken tension gnawed at his nerves, as if something was quietly watching from the shadows.

The Nee Soon Medical Centre loomed ahead like a spectral figure, its white-washed walls reflecting the cold fluorescence of the corridor lights. It was a place Sergeant Tan instinctively avoided after dark; its unnaturally clean scent and the clinical sterility that typically marked a functioning medical facility now seemed unwelcoming, almost menacing in the empty silence. As he walked down the corridor, his boots echoed hollowly against the tiled floor, each step amplifying the solitude.

When he approached the strong room, a deep unease settled in his gut. The strong room itself was a rather mundane place, serving primarily as a storage area for sharp boxes—those bright yellow bio-hazard containers used to dispose of used syringes, scalpels, and other bloodied medical tools. Sergeant Tan had only interacted with it during routine checks, but he knew enough about the grim contents within those boxes to keep his visits brief.

Tonight, however, something was off. As he neared the strong room, a faint rumbling sound reached his ears. He paused, instinctively holding his breath, straining to catch any further noise. It was subtle, but unmistakable—a muffled scraping or shifting sound from within. A chill crept up his spine. The strong room was supposed to be locked, and no one had any reason to be in there, especially over the weekend.

Glancing nervously down the corridor, he half-expected to see the medical officer or a medic, but there was no one in sight. The building felt utterly devoid of life, leaving him alone with the inexplicable sound. The rational part of his mind tried to explain it away—maybe a loose container had toppled over or something had shifted due to a draft. But the sound was too deliberate, too steady to be random.

With growing anxiety, Sergeant Tan reached into his pocket and pulled out the bunch of keys. His fingers fumbled over the cold metal as he tried to locate the one that would unlock the door. The rumbling noise persisted, gradually growing louder, as if something—or someone—inside was actively moving things around. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his pulse quickening. The strong room was sealed tight and hardly accessed except for routine purposes. On a weekend, it should have been locked and left undisturbed.

Finally, his trembling fingers found the right key. As he brought it closer to the lock, the noise abruptly ceased, plunging the corridor into a deep, oppressive silence. The sudden stillness was more unnerving than the sound itself. It felt as if whatever was inside the strong room knew he was there, waiting—perhaps even watching—for him to open the door.

Sergeant Tan’s breath hitched. He swallowed hard, trying to dismiss the fear gnawing at his insides. Perhaps it was just his imagination running wild. He took a deep breath and slowly turned the key. The lock clicked open with a loud snap that echoed down the empty corridor, making him flinch.

The door creaked open, revealing a pitch-black room. The light from the corridor barely penetrated the shadows within. Sergeant Tan switched on his torch, the narrow beam slicing through the darkness. The first thing that hit him was the smell—a sharp blend of disinfectant mixed with the faint, coppery tang of old blood.

Rows of shelves lined the walls, each stacked neatly with bright yellow sharp boxes. The torchlight flickered as he swept it across the room, and everything appeared to be in order—until the light caught something at the far end of the room.

Sergeant Tan froze. A figure, dressed in white, was hunched over one of the sharp boxes. The figure’s back was to him, and it was moving in a slow, deliberate manner, rummaging through the bloodied contents with bare hands. Every few moments, the figure would bring something—a syringe, a scalpel—up to its face, as though smelling it, savouring the scent of dried blood. The image was grotesque, a macabre dance of methodical searching.

Sergeant Tan’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind reeling with disbelief. “Oi! Who’s there?” he called out, but his voice was shaky, lacking the authority he intended.

The figure stiffened, then slowly turned its head toward him. The torchlight revealed a gaunt face, the skin pale and waxy, stretched taut over hollow cheeks. Dark, sunken eyes stared back at him, lifeless yet piercing. A twisted smile spread across its cracked lips, as though amused by his intrusion.

A wave of nausea washed over him as a rancid, metallic odour filled his nostrils—the stench of decaying blood mingling with something far worse. The figure’s eyes never left his as it slowly straightened up, holding a syringe in one hand, its needle still stained with dried blood. The figure took a step toward him, its movements unhurried, almost deliberate, as if relishing the terror that was radiating from him.

Sergeant Tan’s body refused to move. His legs felt rooted to the spot, paralysed by a primal fear that surged through him like ice in his veins. He could only watch helplessly as the figure drew closer, its form shifting and warping in the flickering light. Shadows seemed to dance around it, distorting its shape, making it appear even more menacing.

His torch slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor. The beam spun wildly across the room, casting fleeting glimpses of the figure’s twisted form as it continued its approach. The distorted shadows seemed to stretch and twist unnaturally, enveloping him in a suffocating sense of dread.

In that fleeting moment, something snapped within him—an overpowering, instinctual urge to flee. He spun around and bolted out of the room, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly as he ran, the sound of his boots pounding the tiles echoing unnervingly. He didn’t dare look back, the thought of what might be following him too horrifying to confront.

He only stopped running when he burst out of the medical centre and into the cool night air. The silence outside was deafening, broken only by the distant hum of crickets. The camp was still, as if nothing had happened. But Sergeant Tan knew better—he had seen something that defied logic, something that shouldn’t have existed in the world of the living.

Shaking with fear, he reported the incident to the duty officer, who listened with a skeptical expression. The duty officer assured him it was just a figment of his imagination, perhaps brought on by fatigue and the eerie atmosphere of the empty camp. But no words could erase the image seared into Sergeant Tan’s memory—the hollow eyes, the pale, waxen face, and that grotesque, mocking smile.

The duty officer, joined by the duty clerk, decided to investigate Sergeant Tan’s unsettling report. The corridor leading to the strong room was eerily quiet, the dim lights casting long shadows on the walls. As they walked, an inexplicable heaviness seemed to hang in the air, as though the very atmosphere was charged with an unseen tension. When they reached the strong room, a faint, almost imperceptible draft seemed to seep out from beneath the door, carrying with it a chill that crept into their bones.

The duty officer paused briefly before opening the door, his hands steady but the unease clear in his eyes. With a quick twist of the doorknob, the door opened, and the two of them stepped into the darkness. The beams from their torches swept across the room, revealing shelves neatly lined with yellow bio-hazard containers, all stacked as they should be. At first glance, everything appeared normal—no signs of disturbance, no trace of the ghostly figure Sergeant Tan had described. Yet, both men felt the prickling of goosebumps on their skin, a chilling sense that something—or someone—was silently watching them.

But as they ventured further into the room, their lights fell upon a disconcerting sight in the far corner. One of the bio-hazard containers was tipped over, its contents scattered across the floor. Lying next to it was Sergeant Tan’s torch, cracked and lying exactly where he had dropped it in his frantic escape. The sight was subtle, yet enough to send a shiver down their spines.

The two men exchanged uneasy glances before the duty officer broke the silence with a nervous chuckle. “Sergeant Tan must’ve knocked the container over in his panic, poor guy. You can’t blame him, especially with all the stories about how haunted Nee Soon Camp Medical Centre is.”

The duty clerk smirked slightly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, probably just his nerves. Let’s quickly wrap this up.”

Despite their casual tone, both men could feel the underlying tension in the room. There was no need for further inspection; the strong room’s unsettling atmosphere was unmistakable, as if whatever had caused the disturbance was still quietly lurking in the shadows.

Without wasting another moment, they quickly re-stacked the container, retrieved the cracked torch, and locked the door. As they left, the chill in the air seemed to follow them out, a lingering reminder of what had occurred. The walk back to their post was quicker than usual, neither of them willing to linger in the corridor any longer than necessary.

For the remainder of his service, Sergeant Tan never shook the memory of that night. Even long after leaving the army, the haunting image would return in his nightmares—a pale face, hollow eyes, and the figure’s slow, deliberate steps, as if it was still searching, waiting for someone to unlock the door once more.