Do ghosts exist?

Of course. People who deny their existence are those who simply haven’t met one.

Being a Christian, my official acknowledgement of the supernatural isn’t supposed to exceed demons, angels and miracles like talking horses. However, there is no physical explanation for the following two things.

1. The huge moths that hang around the house shortly after a death.

It’s black, it’s big and it’s pretty harmless. But why does the moth always gets stuck on our wall after a wake? The moth has appeared on at least three occasions, the last one being my mum’s death (this time it took a trip to our Bishan home though). You never notice the moth on any other day of your life.

But is it the spirit coming back for one last goodbye? Or is it that moths are attracted to grieving households?

2. The haunting of 1985

In 1985, shortly after Grandfather’s death, I started to sleep in my sister’s room which was next to my grandparents’ room. My grandmother always left an orange light bulb switched on throughout the night and one night, that bulb went crazy.

It started flickering erratically and suddenly, my room’s radio switched on by itself. No matter what I did, I could not get the radio to switch off, and I decided to pull its plug. The radio’s power LED flickered for a few more seconds before it decided to go silent.

Then I heard the shuffling footsteps in the living room.

Now before I continue, you must know that the wall separating the room I was in and the living room had a gap at the bottom. Our mongrel dog was always running under the bed, squeezing through the gap and into the living room. This meant that one could see the footy activities of anyone in the living room by just looking under the bed.

Well, I looked under the bed and there was nobody shuffling their feet. Yet the sound continued, and it sure wasn’t my grandmother because there wasn’t any place for her to do The Shuffle in her cramped room.

Over the next hour (or minutes, I couldn’t tell), I was going crazy as the ghost took a slow tour of the living room bathed in a flickering orange light. When the sound finally stopped, I raced out of the room and to my mother’s room situated above the shop.

Of course, she didn’t believe my story and the light never flickered again.

The Architecture

The Neighbourhood

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