Nestled amidst the dense, verdant foliage of Singapore, Nee Soon Camp is a prominent military facility with a storied history. Established by the British in 1934, it has served as a vital training ground for the Singapore Armed Forces. Initially, the camp trained recruits of the first Singapore Infantry Battalion when the nation established its own military forces in 1957. Over the years, Nee Soon Camp has evolved, becoming home to various units, including the Singapore Combat Engineers and the SAF Medical Corps.
However, beyond its regimented routines and disciplined lifestyle, Nee Soon Camp harbours a chilling secret that unnerves even the most stoic of soldiers. During the lunar ghost month, the camp transforms into an eerie tableau of the supernatural, with the most notorious structure within its confines being the White House—a building as feared as it is reputed to be haunted.
The White House is said to be haunted by the restless spirit of a soldier who tragically ended his own life within its walls. According to legend, this soldier, burdened by the weight of his personal demons, saw no other escape but through the grim act of suicide. His spirit, it is said, never found peace. Instead, it remains trapped, compelled to repeat his final, tragic act night after night in an endless loop of despair and sorrow.
During the lunar ghost month, the atmosphere around the White House becomes palpably different. The air grows heavy with an oppressive sense of dread, and a chilling foreboding envelops the area. Soldiers on night duty often report hearing the sound of footsteps echoing through the empty corridors, an unnerving rhythm that stops just outside their doors. These phantom steps are sometimes accompanied by unsettling noises—soft whispers, the creaking of floorboards, and the faint sound of sobbing—creating an almost unbearable tension.
The haunting of the White House has become so infamous that soldiers stationed at Nee Soon Camp dread being assigned night duty during the lunar ghost month. The fear is so intense that many are willing to pay their section mates to take their shifts, hoping to avoid an encounter with the spectral soldier. Those who have braved the night recount experiences that send shivers down the spines of their listeners—doors opening and closing by themselves, sudden drops in temperature, and the inexplicable feeling of being watched.
One soldier, in particular, recalled a night when he saw the figure of a man standing at the end of the hallway, his silhouette barely illuminated by the moonlight. As he approached, the figure seemed to dissolve into the air, leaving behind a bone-chilling cold that seeped into his very core. Another spoke of hearing a mournful wail that grew louder as he neared the White House, only to find the building completely empty.
The legend of the White House continues to thrive, a testament to the camp's haunted reputation. Whether these tales are born from the imaginations of frightened soldiers or are genuine encounters with the paranormal, one thing is certain: Nee Soon Camp remains a place where the past and the present coexist in an uneasy truce, and where the boundaries between the living and the dead blur in the shadows of the night.