Tucked away in the western reaches of Singapore, Pasir Laba Camp stands as a silent witness to decades of military training, discipline, and camaraderie. The camp is surrounded by thick, tangled jungle and hills that seem to press inward, as if nature itself is biding its time, waiting for the moment to reclaim what was once its own. Beneath the routine of drills and marches, however, there are stories that few dare to speak of openly—tales of things lurking just out of sight, beyond the grasp of logic and reason. Among these, one story remains particularly unsettling, especially for those who have spent their nights on the fourth floor of a particular bunk within the camp.
Andy and Ah Seng had been inseparable since their Basic Military Training, buddies from the same mono intake who shared the trials of military life. Over time, they developed a close friendship, forged through gruelling training sessions, late-night conversations, and the kind of dark humour soldiers rely on to cope with the challenges of army life. Together, they endured everything from punishing stand-by-bed drills to the heartbreak of young, impressionable girlfriends who didn’t want boyfriends with shaved heads, empty wallets, and barely any time to spend with them. The fourth floor of their bunks was typical in design—long, narrow corridors lined with plain rooms, each furnished with metal-framed beds and standard-issue cupboards. Yet, one peculiar detail set their floor apart from the others, casting a shadow over their otherwise routine existence.
Each floor of the bunks had two communal toilets, one at either end of the corridor. On every floor except the fourth, both toilets were accessible, with men free to choose whichever was closer. But on the fourth floor, the toilet nearest to the stairwell was permanently locked. The only one in use was at the far end, a considerable walk from most of the bunks. When the men first arrived at the camp, they asked their sergeants why this was the case. The explanation was always the same: “Fewer toilets to clean, that’s all.” The reasoning seemed straightforward enough, yet there was something about the nonchalance of the response that left an uneasy feeling lingering in the back of everyone’s mind.
Despite the locked door, Andy and Ah Seng had devised a way around the inconvenience. They both dreaded waiting in the long queues that inevitably formed after each training session, particularly on nights when everyone was eager to wash off the sweat and dirt of the day. The two of them discovered a little trick—by climbing over the low wall beside the locked toilet and slipping through an open window, they could gain access to the cubicles inside. This secret method became their go-to solution, saving them time and allowing them to enjoy a cold shower without the hassle of waiting.
The toilet was in a state of disrepair, its cracked tiles and rusting fixtures giving it an abandoned, forgotten feel. The air inside was thick with the smell of damp concrete and old mildew, as if the place had been left untouched for years. But the water still ran, and that was all Andy and Ah Seng cared about. They quickly got used to the dim lighting from the corridor and the eerie silence that seemed to hang in the air. On certain days of the month, they would sometimes spot offerings of fruits and incense left in the corners, but they paid little attention to them. What mattered most was that the showers worked, providing a quiet escape from the queues.
For months, their routine went off without a hitch. Every evening after an exhausting day of drills or after a brutal outfield exercise that left them smeared with mud and sweat, Andy and Ah Seng would sneak off to their secret spot. It had become a ritual—scaling the wall, slipping through the window, and enjoying the cool water that washed away the fatigue. It was a small comfort, a quiet respite from the rigours of military life. But routines often breed complacency, and in the ghostly atmosphere of the seventh lunar month, when the veil between the living and the dead is said to be at its thinnest, complacency can be dangerous.
It was during one of the toughest exercises they had ever endured—a relentless three-day outfield under the sweltering sun with minimal sleep and only a powder bath. By the time they stumbled back into camp, their uniforms were soaked with sweat, their skin crusted with dried mud, and their limbs felt like lead. All they wanted was a cold shower and a bed. The far-end toilet was, predictably, jam-packed with soldiers waiting their turn. The queue snaked out of the doorway, filled with weary men desperate to wash off the grime. The mere thought of standing in line was enough to drain what little energy they had left.
Without exchanging a word, Andy and Ah Seng made for the locked toilet, relying on their tried-and-true shortcut. They climbed the wall with the ease of familiarity, dropped inside, and found themselves in the deserted, dark toilet. It looked as run-down as always—the cracked mirrors distorted their reflections, rusted taps leaked, and shadows seemed to pool in the corners, stretching unnaturally under the flickering light from the corridor that barely illuminated the space. But neither of them paid it any attention. They were too tired to care about the unsettling aura of the place. All they wanted was to rinse off the fatigue and collapse into bed.
Andy stepped under the showerhead, relishing the rush of icy water that pounded against his aching muscles. It was a relief so pure that he allowed himself to relax, closing his eyes as the cold stream numbed his skin and washed away the dirt. The noise of the water drowned out the world, leaving him in a cocoon of stillness. It was just him and the soothing chill that seeped into his bones, easing away the exhaustion inch by inch.
Then, slicing through the sound of the water, he heard it—a voice, urgent and quivering with fear. It was Ah Seng, and the panic in his tone made Andy’s heart skip a beat.
“Andy, faster run!”
Andy’s eyes snapped open, but he didn’t move. He had known Ah Seng for a long time, long enough to recognise when he was trying to pull a fast one. Given the season and the superstitions swirling around ghost month, it wasn’t beyond Ah Seng to attempt to scare him for a laugh. Chuckling, Andy called back, “Run for what? I’m still enjoying lah!” He remained where he was, letting the water stream over him as he chuckled to himself. The notion of bolting while still covered in soap was absurd to him.
But when he finally turned off the shower and reached for his towel, something gnawed at his senses, and he felt goosebumps rise all over his body. The toilet was deathly quiet—eerily so. He glanced around and noticed that Ah Seng’s towel was still lying abandoned on the sink. The unease that had been simmering under the surface suddenly flared. Something was wrong. Drying off as quickly as he could, Andy dressed and hurried back to the bunk, his unease growing with every step.
As he neared the room, he heard a low murmur of anxious voices. His section mates were clustered together, their faces taut with concern, their whispers tinged with fear. In the centre of the group was Ah Seng, pale as a sheet and trembling. His eyes darted around the room as if he were searching for something that no one else could see.
“What happened?” Andy asked, trying to inject some levity into his voice, though the tightness in his chest betrayed his growing fear. But the moment Ah Seng looked at him, Andy felt a chill crawl down his spine. There was no humour in Ah Seng’s eyes—only raw, unfiltered terror.
“You didn’t see her, did you?” Ah Seng whispered, his voice cracking.
“See who?” Andy’s unease deepened as he scanned Ah Seng’s face for any sign of a joke.
“The woman in red… She was floating, right above you in the cubicle,” Ah Seng continued, his voice trembling. “She wasn’t standing—she was just there, hovering in the air. Her face was covered by her hair, but I could see her eyes… so angry, like she wanted to kill you. She was in a red cheongsam, Andy. A bright red one.”
A wave of cold fear crashed over Andy. The woman in red—a ghostly figure straight out of local folklore, a symbol of anger and vengeance, often associated with tragic deaths. Spirits clad in red are believed to be particularly dangerous, their colour a sign of unresolved hatred. And now, one had appeared right above him in the place they had been using for months without a second thought.
“Why would she be there?” Andy asked, his voice barely steady.
Ah Seng’s eyes flickered towards the door, as if expecting the ghost to appear at any moment. “I think that’s why they keep that toilet locked. She doesn’t want anyone in there. And tonight… we disturbed her.”
The truth hit Andy with the weight of a sledgehammer. All those times they had casually climbed into the locked toilet, laughing at their cleverness, unaware of what they were truly intruding upon. The thought of that vengeful spirit, silently watching him, filled with murderous intent, made his skin crawl. The locked door was never about maintenance—it was a warning. And they had ignored it.
From that night onwards, Andy and Ah Seng avoided that end of the corridor as if it were cursed. They stuck to the open toilet like everyone else, no matter how long the queues got. The locked toilet became a taboo—a place everyone knew existed, yet no one dared to mention or approach. It became a grim reminder that some boundaries are not meant to be crossed, especially during ghost month when the spirits roam freely.
As the years passed, the memory of that night stayed with Andy and Ah Seng, resurfacing whenever ghost month rolled around. The terror in Ah Seng’s voice, the cold dread that settled in the pit of Andy’s stomach, and the ghostly figure in red—these images remained etched in their minds. They had come face to face with something they could neither understand nor forget.
Pasir Laba Camp remains as it always has been—a place of discipline and training, of camaraderie and endurance. But for those who know the story, it is also a place where the lines between the living and the dead blur, where something sinister lingers behind a locked door on the fourth floor. A spirit of vengeance, waiting in the darkness, guarding her territory with a fury that time has never dulled.