In the 1950s, nestled in the heart of Kallang Airport's kampung, Singapore, lived a woman named Mei Ling. The kampung was a lively community, its houses modest and close-knit, with families sharing stories and helping each other with daily chores. Mei Ling was a kind woman, known for her diligence and cheerful demeanour.

One day, while fetching water from the well, Mei Ling noticed a banana tree in her backyard leaning precariously to one side, as if it were about to collapse. The tree had provided her family with many bunches of bananas over the years, and she was determined to save it. A practical solution crossed her mind—she would tie the tree to the nearby lamppost with a strong red string. Not only would this straighten the tree, but she could also use the string to hang laundry.

As the sun set and the sky turned a deep indigo, Mei Ling secured the tree with the red string. She smiled, satisfied with her work, and retired to her home, unaware that her actions had awakened something unseen.

That night, Mei Ling awoke to a chilling sensation. Shadows seemed to dance on the walls, and a cold sweat drenched her. She felt a presence, something malevolent and unseen. Terrified, she stumbled out of her house, seeking comfort among her neighbours.

"What's wrong, Mei Ling?" an elderly neighbour asked as Mei Ling hid behind him, trembling.

"I saw it... a ghost," she whispered, her eyes wide with terror. She clung to the old man, her body shaking uncontrollably.

Word spread quickly through the kampung, and soon a few villagers who possessed the third eye, the ability to see spirits, confirmed Mei Ling's fears. They saw a ghostly figure chasing and tormenting her, its face twisted with anger.

Desperate to save Mei Ling, her husband consulted a local bomoh, a traditional healer. The bomoh listened intently to the story and nodded gravely. "You have tied a red string to a banana tree where a spirit resides. The spirit is now bound to Mei Ling. The only way to save her is to cut the string in one strike with a sharpened axe. If you fail, she will go insane or die."

Mei Ling's husband wasted no time. He spent the night sharpening his axe to perfection, the blade gleaming under the dim light. At dawn, with a determined heart, he approached the banana tree where the red string glowed ominously in the morning light.

With a deep breath, he raised the axe and brought it down with all his might. The string snapped with a sharp twang, and at that exact moment, Mei Ling, who had been watching from a distance, collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

The villagers rushed to her side, their faces etched with concern. But as the bomoh had predicted, Mei Ling awoke the next day, weak but alive. The terror that had gripped her was gone.

When the bomoh came to visit, he explained the source of her ordeal. "The red string you tied to the banana tree also bound you to the ghost residing within it. Once the string was cut, the ghost was freed, and you were released from its grasp."

Mei Ling and her husband thanked the bomoh profusely, relief washing over them. The kampung resumed its peaceful rhythm, but the tale of Mei Ling and the red string was whispered for generations, a cautionary story about the unseen spirits that dwell among us.