Hi Darkness! It's me again. Thanks for reading my story on the red house last year. I have one more story for now if it's alright with you. I hope you enjoy.

Living in Singapore is akin to living in a peaceful lake. People, religions and cultures mixing continuously and surrounded by a body of water. This gives the island its own unique cultural and religious identity.  Water gets murky the deeper you go down its depths. It's no surprise to hear of old tales of 'bomoh' magic  that permeated my grandparents' childhood in this new decade.  Asian black magic that we took heed  of as children. Doing my own research, it is still pretty common  for this sort of ritualistic sorcery  to still exist among many religions in  the nearby Asian countries like  Indonesia and Thailand. In Singapore's case, living in old timey villages (before the government standardized apartments for its citizens in the 70s-80s) made these rituals an amalgamation of something evil, dark and dangerous.  Only done if you had the desperation, right connections and payment for the suffering to ensue.

 I found out my family was hexed by my father's disgruntled ex when I was in primary school (7-9 years old). The hex made my family experience many spiritual encounters,  fights between my parents and financial downfalls. We survived, but the experiences scarred my family deeply. My parents sheltered  my siblings and I from as much as they could from all of it.  I am not as spiritually sensitive as the rest of my family. I was told there were 4 distinct entities haunting us in our old house.  Mr Invisible, the  orang minyak, the white lady  and the black shadow.  Our old house was conveniently placed in a very shady, old neighborhood called Yishun (pronounced as yeeshoon). It was full of dark energy, as my mother describes it.  There is a rich, morbid history of gangs, drug busts, cat murders , abandoned babies and wild dogs in the area. The apartment buildings,at the time, was surrounded by tall grass fields and heavy jungle fauna. A perfect conduit for these dark entities to roam in. Nothing changed after blessing the house twice.

Here is my experience with Mr Invisible.
Mr Invisible is one of the entities I noticed as a child. In my young, imaginative mind, I imagined him as a sly invisible man (hence the name). True to his name, I never saw him. However, he was a trickster and liked to mess with my family.  In the dark hallways during quiet nights, I slept to the sounds of furniture moving around, books  falling off shelves and someone pacing in the living room.  To ignorant 7 year old me,  I was oblivious to it all and figured it was the house settling (it's an old apartment building after all). That changed after I saw what He did firsthand.
Mr Invisible's  favourite trick was messing with the family computer.  It was a heavy, bulky Windows desktop in my parents room right beside the bathroom.  The house gets very eerie at night, so I go to my parents room to use the bathroom. It was the closest to my room.  The computer screen flickered on as my small footsteps approached the bathroom door. The blue light blinding me with the Windows password page. Being unbelievably sleepy, my momentary shock was pushed aside to the call of my tiny bladder.  In the bathroom, I started hearing soft tapping sounds outside the door. Soft, rhythmic tapping. It was unsettling since I was the only one awake at the time.  As I prepared to dash to my room, the tapping started again. The room lost all its sound, I couldn't hear my parents snoring close by. It was just my rapid heart beats pulsating in my ears and the tapping. It was the computer, the keyboard was moving. The space bar was being pressed lightly.  It stopped and stuck downwards. I touched it out of curiousity,  the space bar was pressed hard and I couldn't make it budge.  My small body was pushed as the keyboard smashed itself into the table with a heavy thud.  It's as if someone was smashing their fists into the keys, enraged.  Lines of words continued to be mashed into the home page. Just one letter.


I was petrified. Plastic crunching dominated the silent house. The longer I stood there, the more aggressive the button mashing became. At some point, I looked away and ran to my parents bed. I hid under the blanket as the keyboard continued its seizure. My parents found the keyboard on the opposite wall from the computer the next morning. They found me at the foot of the bed asleep. The Y key was missing.  My family donated that desktop soon afterwards to my aunt where its happy retirement was spent for facebook.  I only realised I didn't dream up this incident when I felt a cold presence in my room several months after the computer was donated. I was falling asleep in bed when a large, cold hand  grabbed my hand from under the blanket.  My bed creaked with the added weight. I shut my eyes tight as my fingers were pried open and a small square was pressed into my palm.  When I felt the  presence was gone, I went to my window.  Warm air brushed my hair. I stared down at the street as I chucked the Y key out the window.
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Woow cooll
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Super creepy. Great story. 
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