It was a warm Thursday evening when two couples, eager to escape the stress of their daily routines, decided to embark on a much-needed getaway to Kukup, a small fishing village just across the border, renowned for its tranquil charm and serene sunsets. This trip had been planned for a while—a brief respite from their demanding jobs and the hustle and bustle of life in Singapore. It seemed the perfect opportunity to unwind: take Friday off work, enjoy a long weekend, and relax.

The plan was straightforward: they would travel in two cars, as they lived on opposite ends of the island. Sarah and her husband, John, would leave from their flat in Pasir Ris, while their close friends, Emma and Michael, would start from Jurong. They agreed to meet at the last petrol station before the Tuas checkpoint, where they would top up their fuel, grab some snacks, and continue the journey together. The night was dark, but they were in high spirits, looking forward to the peaceful weekend ahead.

By the time they cleared the checkpoint and began the drive towards Kukup, it was already past 10 PM. The road stretched out before them, largely deserted, with only the occasional lorry rumbling past. As they ventured further into Johor, the scenery grew increasingly rural—dense trees lined the narrow roads, and the only illumination came from the headlights of their vehicles, slicing through the inky darkness.

Sarah and John led the way in their silver saloon, with Emma and Michael following closely behind in their own car. The GPS guided them towards a particularly dark stretch of road, one that seemed to carve through the heart of a thick forest. The only sounds were the steady hum of the engine and the rhythmic clicking of the turn indicator as they navigated the sharp bends. It felt as though they had entered another world, one where time slowed, and the night harboured untold secrets.

Just before they entered this dark stretch, Emma noticed something odd at the roadside. A small cluster of tombstones stood silently amidst the shadows, barely discernible in the dim glow of their headlights. The stones were ancient, weathered by time, some tilting at precarious angles as if forgotten by the living. A fleeting chill ran down Emma’s spine, but she quickly dismissed it. In rural areas, such sights weren’t uncommon, after all. Shrugging off the uneasy feeling, she refocused on the road ahead.

As they drove deeper into the forest, Sarah felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the car’s air conditioning. The temperature seemed to drop unnaturally, sending icy shivers down her spine. She glanced at John, who was gripping the steering wheel more tightly than usual, his knuckles white against the leather.

“John, do you feel that?” Sarah asked, her voice barely a whisper.

John nodded, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Yeah... it’s strange. It’s like it’s suddenly gotten colder.”

Before Sarah could respond, a sweet fragrance filled the car—a scent so intense and unexpected that it made her heart skip a beat. It was as though someone had sprayed a cloud of jasmine perfume, the kind her late grandmother used to wear. The smell was almost overpowering, cloying, and entirely out of place on this deserted stretch of road.

“What’s that smell?” Sarah murmured, her pulse quickening. She glanced around the car, half-expecting to see someone—or something—that could explain the sudden scent, but they were alone. The unease in the car was palpable, a creeping dread that neither of them could shake.

Moments later, their rearview mirror was suddenly flooded with bright light. The car behind them—Emma and Michael’s—had switched on their high beams, the glare blinding them momentarily.

“What on earth are they doing?” John exclaimed, squinting against the harsh light. He flashed the hazard lights twice, a signal for the car behind to back off, but the high beams remained on, unrelenting.

“They’re trying to signal us,” Sarah said, her voice tinged with confusion. “But why?”
John reached for his phone, intending to call Michael and find out what was going on, but there was no reception. The phone’s screen displayed a frustratingly empty signal bar, mocking their attempts to connect. Sarah tried the same on her phone, but it was no use—there was simply no way to contact their friends.

For the next few minutes, the high beams from the car behind continued to cut through the darkness, casting eerie, elongated shadows inside their own vehicle. Sarah kept glancing over her shoulder, convinced that there was something—or someone—there, but each time she looked, the back seat was empty, though the unsettling feeling of being watched lingered like a ghostly presence.

The dark road seemed to stretch on forever, each minute dragging like an eternity. The oppressive silence was broken only by the relentless glare of the high beams and the rapid pounding of their hearts. Finally, as if breaking free from a spell, the forest road gave way to the dim lights of Kukup. The relief was almost instant as they pulled into the car park of their chalet, the tension slowly draining from their bodies.

John and Sarah stepped out of the car, eager to confront their friends about their strange behaviour. They could see Emma and Michael pulling in beside them, but something was clearly wrong. The usually lively Emma looked ghostly pale, her face drained of colour, while Michael seemed visibly shaken, his hands trembling as he switched off the engine.

“What was that about?” John asked, trying to keep his voice steady despite the turmoil bubbling inside him. “Why were you flashing your high beams the whole time?”

Emma looked at them with wide, terrified eyes, her voice barely a whisper as she replied, “You didn’t see it, did you?”

“See what?” Sarah asked, a growing sense of dread creeping into her words.

“There was... there was someone in your car,” Emma said, her gaze darting nervously around, as though expecting something to emerge from the shadows. “When we entered that dark stretch, I noticed a shadow in your back seat. At first, I thought it was just a trick of the light, but then... it moved.”

“It moved?” John repeated, his voice breaking as cold sweat formed on his brow.

“Yes,” Michael finally spoke, his voice hoarse and strained. “It turned around and looked at us. I switched on the high beams to see better, but that... that thing... it just stared at us, like it knew we were watching.”

Sarah’s knees nearly buckled beneath her, her legs trembling as she leaned against the car for support. She turned to John, but he was ashen-faced, staring at the back seat of their car, his mind reeling. Slowly, they all walked around to the back of the car, dread heavy in the air, each step filled with fear.

And there it was—a single, clear palm print, smeared across the inside of the back window. The print was small, delicate, as if a child’s hand had pressed against the glass. But they hadn’t stopped the car, and there was no possible way anyone could have entered without them noticing. The sight of it sent a fresh wave of terror through them, a cold realisation that something unnatural had been with them on that dark road.