Horrors from Around the World

Night 019 - That Thing in the Void Deck

I've lived in Singapore my entire life, in a small, aging HDB flat in Bedok. Growing up, I never really paid much attention to the creepy stories my grandmother used to tell me. She was always talking about spirits, curses, and strange happenings—common topics for the elderly in our culture, I guess. I had always brushed off her tales as superstition, the ramblings of an old woman clinging to old beliefs.

That is, until the night I encountered something that made me believe otherwise.

It all started one humid Friday evening in October. I was coming back from my friend's house after a long day of hanging out and playing video games. The buses were crowded, and I was tired. By the time I got off at my stop, the block was quiet. Everyone was already at home, either having dinner or winding down for the night.

The void deck was empty, as usual. It was brightly lit, thanks to the flickering fluorescent lights the town council had installed. The faint hum of the lights and the distant whir of the overhead fans were the only sounds breaking the silence. I cut through the void deck, the same way I always did, and was just a few steps from the lift when I felt it.

That prickling sensation you get when someone's watching you.

I slowed my steps, glancing around out of instinct. There was no one there. The notice boards were plastered with the usual flyers about lost cats and health check-ups. The round stone tables were empty, the shadows cast by the streetlights beyond the block stretching across the floor.

Everything was normal.

But the feeling didn't go away. In fact, it grew stronger. I wasn't the paranoid type, but something in the pit of my stomach twisted, like a warning bell going off. My grandmother's voice popped into my head, warning me not to dismiss strange feelings so easily.

Ignoring the growing unease, I reached the lift lobby and pressed the button. The lift was on the 11th floor, slowly making its way down. The fan overhead was spinning lazily, creating a barely-there breeze that did little to cut through the heat.

I glanced behind me, just to be sure. The void deck was still empty, but I could've sworn I saw a shadow move near the pillar in the far corner. It was faint, but something was there.

The lift doors dinged, pulling my attention back. As I stepped inside, a cold breeze brushed against the back of my neck, and I heard it.

A soft, barely audible whisper.

I turned sharply, my heart skipping a beat. The void deck was completely still. Nothing out of the ordinary. I shook my head, trying to shake off the lingering sense of unease. I'm tired. I'm imagining things.

The lift doors closed, and I pressed the button for the 7th floor, where my family's flat was. The old lift jerked into motion with a loud groan, creaking its way up. I leaned back against the wall, waiting for the slow ascent.

Then, at the third floor, the lift suddenly stopped.

The doors slid open with a mechanical hiss, revealing an empty corridor. There was no one there. No one had pressed the button.

I stared at the empty space for a moment, waiting for something—anything—to move. But the corridor remained still, bathed in the dull, yellow light of the overhead lamps.

I jabbed the "close" button, a cold sweat starting to form on the back of my neck. The lift doors closed, and I tried to calm my racing heart. It's just a faulty lift, I told myself. These old lifts in HDB blocks are known to break down all the time. I had heard horror stories of people getting stuck inside for hours.

But then it happened again.

The lift shuddered to a stop at the fourth floor, and the doors slid open.