The night air hung heavy with humidity as I navigated my taxi through the quiet streets of Tampines. Years of driving Singapore’s late-night routes had taught me to expect the unexpected, but nothing could prepare me for what would unfold that fateful evening. The old residential area still whispered stories of bygone kampong days, with scattered banana trees standing as silent witnesses to forgotten legends.
As midnight approached, the landscape transformed. Streetlights cast long shadows across empty roads, and the familiar urban landscape seemed to breathe with an otherworldly presence. I had heard countless stories about Pontianaks – the vengeful spirits of women who died during childbirth – but always dismissed them as mere folklore. The banana trees, known in local mythology as the preferred dwelling of these supernatural beings, swayed gently, their leaves rustling with an unnatural stillness.
A woman in a pristine white dress suddenly appeared at the roadside, her hand raised to hail my taxi. Something about her seemed ethereal – too perfect, too still. As she slid into the back seat, a sweet, overwhelming floral fragrance filled the cab. “Choa Chu Kang Cemetery,” she whispered, her voice like a distant echo. I nodded, catching her reflection in the rearview mirror – and my blood ran cold.
What I saw defied explanation. Her face was impossibly pale, with eyes that seemed to hold centuries of sorrow. Her long black hair cascaded around her shoulders, but something was terribly wrong with her back – a hollow, unnatural emptiness that no human could possess. The classic signs of a Pontianak were unmistakable. Panic rose in my throat, but something kept me driving, frozen between terror and an inexplicable compulsion.
“I seek justice,” she murmured, her voice changing from a whisper to a haunting melody. She spoke of a hidden clinic, of lives destroyed, of unborn souls torn from existence. Her story was a chilling narrative of revenge against those who had committed unspeakable wrongs. I found myself reciting protective prayers my grandmother had taught me, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white.
As dawn’s first light began to break, the woman’s form started to dissolve. The oppressive fragrance slowly dissipated, leaving behind only a single white cloth fragment on the back seat. When I finally reached the cemetery, the address she had given seemed to fade like a mirage. Later, I would learn of an illegal abortion clinic that had been mysteriously shut down, its operators vanishing without a trace.
Local elders at the temple spoke in hushed tones about my encounter. They performed a cleansing ritual, warning that some spirits seek more than just vengeance – they seek understanding. The Pontianak, they said, was not just a monster, but a manifestation of profound pain and unresolved trauma. My midnight ride became a whispered legend, a reminder that in Singapore’s shadows, some stories are better left unspoken.
Horror Level:
4 / 5
Categories: Asian Folklore, Ghost Stories, Ghost Stories, Supernatural Encounters, Urban Legends
Tags: asian folklore, malay ghost, Pontianak, Singapore ghost stories, supernatural encounter, taxi driver, urban legend
Religion: Multiple
Country of Origin: Singapore
Topic: Supernatural Encounter
Ethnicity: Multiple
