Four friends from a nearby secondary school in Ang Mo Kio had always been intrigued by the whispers of the older students about the eerie "Pen Spirit" game. These tales floated through the corridors like ghosts, recounting supernatural encounters and unexplained phenomena. They had heard that spirits were particularly strong during the lunar Ghost Month, and curiosity got the better of them. Deciding that the seventh month would be the perfect time to try the game, John, Mark, Emma, and Lucy gathered in an empty classroom one crisp, late afternoon, where the fading sunlight cast long shadows, adding to the spooky atmosphere.

The setup was simple. They placed a pen on a piece of paper divided into "yes" and "no" sections. Each of them lightly touched the pen, forming a small circle around it. They started by asking harmless questions about their futures, and the pen began to move, seemingly guided by an invisible hand. At first, they were sure it was John, the group's self-proclaimed prankster, subtly pushing the pen to make them laugh. But as the game progressed, the answers became unnervingly accurate, revealing personal secrets that only the individuals involved knew.

"Who is moving the pen?" Emma asked, her voice trembling. The pen moved to "yes."

"Is it one of us?" Mark inquired. The pen moved to "no."

A chill ran down their spines as the realisation dawned on them: they were in contact with something otherworldly. The mood shifted from light-hearted fun to a tense, fearful silence. Remembering the warnings from their older schoolmates, they clutched the pen tightly, knowing they must not let go abruptly or risk possession by the spirit.

As the questions continued, the atmosphere grew heavier. The pen revealed intimate details about their lives, things John could not possibly know. It was clear that an entity beyond their understanding was communicating with them. Their fears were confirmed when Emma, who had always been sceptical about such things, started to cry.

"Please, spirit, we didn't mean any harm. Just let us go," she pleaded, tears streaming down her face. Her voice quivered with genuine terror, her hands trembling as she held the pen. But the pen remained still, refusing to move to "yes."

Emma's fear overwhelmed her. With a sudden gasp, she let go of the pen, which clattered to the table with a sharp sound that seemed to pierce the tension-filled air. The friends froze momentarily, their eyes wide with terror, as the pen rolled to a stop. The eerie silence of the classroom wrapped around them like a shroud, amplifying their fear.

"We need to get out of here," John whispered, his voice barely audible, his eyes darting nervously around the room as if expecting the spirit to materialize before them.

Without another word, they all bolted for the door, their footsteps loud and hurried, echoing off the walls of the empty classroom. The sense of panic was palpable, each step driven by the primal urge to escape the unseen terror they had inadvertently summoned. Emma's sobs punctuated the silence, adding a note of desperation to their flight.

They burst into the corridor, the usual bustle of after-school activities starkly absent, replaced by an oppressive stillness. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows seemed cold and indifferent, doing little to dispel the chill that had settled deep in their bones. The group hurried through the deserted hallways, their breaths coming in ragged gasps as they made their way to the safety of the school gates.

Outside, the familiar sounds of the neighbourhood offered a semblance of normalcy, but the friends were too shaken to take any comfort from it. They huddled together near the gate, trying to catch their breath and make sense of what had just happened.

"Do you think it's really over?" Lucy asked, her voice trembling. She hugged herself tightly, glancing over her shoulder as if the spirit might follow them outside.

"It has to be," Mark replied, though he didn't sound convinced. "We left the pen, didn't we? That should be enough."

Emma wiped her tears with the back of her hand, still visibly shaken. "I don't know... It felt so real. What if it's not over?"

John, who had been silent, finally spoke up. "Let's just go home. We need to clear our heads. We'll figure this out tomorrow."

Reluctantly, they parted ways, each heading home with a lingering sense of dread. That night, sleep eluded them all. John lay awake, replaying the events in his mind, trying to rationalize what had happened. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was still wrong.

Over the next few weeks, John's bad luck began. He lost his wallet on the way to school, failed his Chinese mid-year exam—a subject in which he usually excelled—and had a major accident on his bicycle. Then, his computer crashed the night before an important assignment was due, and he caught a severe cold that left him bedridden for days. Additionally, his favourite football was punctured mysteriously, and his pet hamster escaped from its cage, only to be found dead a few days later. The series of unfortunate events seemed too coincidental to ignore.

John confided in his parents about the session with the Pen Spirit. His father listened intently, his expression growing more concerned with each detail. "This is serious, John. We need to visit the temple," he said firmly.

At the temple, the priest greeted them with a solemn nod. The moment he saw John, he frowned. "Your forehead looks dull, and you seem to be very down on your luck," the priest observed, his tone grave. After listening to John's account of the Pen Spirit session, the priest nodded knowingly.

"You have connected with a restless spirit," the priest explained. "It has attached itself to you. We must perform a cleansing ritual."

The ritual was intense, filled with chanting and the burning of incense. The thick smoke curled around them, mingling with the rhythmic sounds of the priest's prayers. Holy water was sprinkled, and talismans were placed around John's neck. The atmosphere was heavy with a sense of solemnity and purpose.

Hours seemed to pass before the priest finally declared John cleansed. "Remember, never engage in such games again. The spiritual realm is not to be trifled with," he warned.

In the weeks following the incident with the Pen Spirit, the friends began to drift apart. What was once a tight-knit group now felt the strain of the chilling experience, casting a shadow over their bond. They tried to return to their normal routines, but the memory of that fateful afternoon lingered, creating an unspoken barrier between them.

As the months passed, they moved on with their lives, the incident becoming a distant, albeit haunting, memory. They occasionally crossed paths, exchanging polite smiles and brief conversations, but the deep connection they once shared was irrevocably altered. Despite this, they were grateful that everyone was still alive and well, each carrying the silent lesson of respecting the boundaries between their world and the unknown.