It was the seventh month of the lunar calendar, a period widely known in Singapore as the Hungry Ghost Festival. During this month, it is believed that the gates of the afterlife are opened, allowing spirits to roam the earth. Many Singaporeans are cautious during this time, avoiding dark places and refraining from activities that might disturb the spirits.

However, for the military, duty calls regardless of the time or season. A group of soldiers had been tasked with a night exercise that involved crossing a reservoir, a critical part of their training. Among them were two reconnaissance officers, Second Lieutenant Lim and Lieutenant Tan, who were responsible for preparing the crossing site.

The exercise began at midnight under the watchful eyes of their superiors. The team moved efficiently, setting up equipment and checking for potential hazards. By 3 AM, most of the team had returned to base camp for additional supplies. 2LT Lim and LTA Tan remained at the reservoir to secure the site, their silhouettes barely visible under the dim light of the crescent moon.

The reservoir was eerily quiet. The water was still, reflecting the sparse light from the stars above. The dense forest surrounding the reservoir added to the sense of isolation. The two officers stood by the water's edge, their eyes scanning the opposite bank for any signs of movement. The silence was palpable, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant call of a night bird.

At 4.15 AM, as they were about to radio their team to report their status, a sound drifted across the water, faint but unmistakable. It was the haunting melody of Chinese opera music, an eerie tune that seemed to come from the depths of the forest on the opposite bank. The officers exchanged puzzled glances. The music was in Teochew dialect, a rare and haunting sound in such an isolated place.

"Do you hear that?" LTA Tan whispered, his voice trembling.

2LT Lim nodded, his eyes fixed on the dark forest. "It's Chinese opera music," he said softly, trying to rationalise the situation. "But it makes no sense. Who would be performing out here at this hour?"

The music grew louder, the haunting notes echoing across the water. The officers felt a chill run down their spines. The melody was sad and melancholic, as if it were mourning something long lost. 2LT Lim's grip tightened on his flashlight, the beam cutting through the darkness but revealing nothing out of the ordinary.

"We need to stay focused," 2LT Lim said, trying to steady his nerves. "It's probably just a recording or someone playing a prank."

LTA Tan nodded, though his eyes kept darting towards the source of the music. "Should we check it out?"

Before 2LT Lim could respond, the music abruptly stopped, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake. The two officers stood frozen, their hearts pounding in their chests. The sudden silence was more terrifying than the music itself, as if the forest were holding its breath.

Then, they heard a soft rustling from the opposite bank. It sounded like footsteps, slowly approaching the water's edge. 2LT Lim shone his flashlight towards the sound, but the beam revealed nothing but dense undergrowth. The footsteps stopped, and the officers felt a presence watching them from the darkness.

"Let's get back to the team," 2LT Lim said, his voice tense. "We can't stay here."

They quickly packed up their equipment and started making their way back along the narrow path that led to the main road where the safety rover was parked. As they walked, they could still feel unseen eyes following them, the weight of the forest pressing down on them.

Just as they were about to reach the safety rover, the eerie music began again, fainter this time but unmistakably the same haunting tune. The officers exchanged a worried glance, their unease growing. The melody, carried by the wind, seemed to weave through the trees, pulling at their nerves. They quickened their pace, their footsteps almost breaking into a run, not daring to look back. The oppressive weight of the forest seemed to grow heavier, each rustling leaf and snapping twig amplifying their fear.

When they finally reached their team, breathless and wide-eyed, they immediately recounted their chilling experience. The others listened intently, their expressions a mix of curiosity and apprehension. As 2LT Lim and LTA Tan described the eerie Teochew opera music and the feeling of being watched, the CSM nodded knowingly.

"I've heard stories like this before," said the CSM, his voice low. "During the ghost month, strange things happen in places like this."

Another soldier chimed in, sharing his own tale of a mysterious encounter during a night exercise years ago. He spoke of ghostly apparitions and inexplicable sounds, his tone serious and his eyes distant, as if recalling a memory he wished to forget.

It is said that the forest around the reservoir is haunted by spirits from a bygone era, souls who are drawn to the music of their past lives. These spirits, unable to find peace, are believed to roam the area, reliving fragments of their mortal existence. The Hungry Ghost Festival, with its traditions of honoring the dead, is a time when these restless souls are most active, searching for the offerings and rituals that might finally bring them solace.