Horrors from Around the World

Night 015 - Changi Hospital Woes

Thirty years ago, in 1994, Singapore was a nation on the rise, but not all of its history was filled with hope. In the shadows of modernity lay Changi Hospital, an abandoned relic of the past. Once a bustling military hospital during World War II, it had become a site of nightmares, whispered tales of anguish, and ghostly encounters.

A group of teenagers—Arif, Mei Ling, Jian, and Siti—decided to venture into the hospital one fateful night, drawn by the allure of urban legends and the thrill of the unknown. Their hearts raced with anticipation as they approached the crumbling building, the full moon casting an eerie glow over the dilapidated façade.

As they stepped inside through a broken window, the air turned cold, and an unsettling silence enveloped them. Dust particles danced in their flashlight beams as they moved deeper into the heart of the hospital. The oppressive atmosphere weighed heavily on their shoulders, but bravado masked their fear.

In the surgical wing, the remnants of the past lay scattered—rusty surgical tools, faded medical charts, and empty vials. The faint scent of antiseptic lingered, a ghostly reminder of lives once saved and lost. Suddenly, an overwhelming sense of dread crept over them. Arif's unease bubbled to the surface. "Maybe we should leave," he suggested, glancing nervously at the others.

Ignoring his warning, the group pressed on, their laughter echoing eerily in the stillness. They ventured into the maternity ward, where the air felt heavier, thick with unspoken sorrow. Rows of abandoned cribs lined the walls, their once-innocent purpose now twisted by time. The shadows flickered ominously, and Mei Ling shivered, her heart pounding in her chest.

Then, from deep within the darkened corridors, a soft, sorrowful wail resonated, cutting through the silence like a knife. The sound wrapped around them, chilling their bones. "What was that?" Siti gasped, her eyes wide with fear.

"It's just the wind," Jian replied, though his voice lacked conviction. But before they could shake off the fear, the wailing morphed into anguished cries, echoing with a depth of pain that made their skin crawl. Shadows twisted and elongated, seemingly alive, as a figure emerged from the darkness.

A woman, draped in a tattered hospital gown, appeared at the end of the corridor. Her eyes were hollow, a haunting void filled with eternal grief. "Help me!" she wailed, her voice echoing with despair. "I couldn't save him! I need to find my baby!"

Panic surged through the group as they froze, entranced and terrified. The air grew icy, and the woman's sorrow enveloped them, twisting their insides with dread. Arif, shaken to his core, turned to run, shouting for the others to follow. But the door they had entered through slammed shut with a deafening bang, trapping them inside.

"Let us out!" Mei Ling screamed, her voice breaking. They pounded on the door, their frantic attempts drowned out by the woman's cries, which now filled the halls with a cacophony of anguish. The walls seemed to close in, and shadows writhed with malicious intent.

In the chaos, they caught glimpses of old photographs scattered across the floor—faded images of mothers holding their babies, the joy in their eyes overshadowed by the sorrow that had since seeped into the very foundations of the hospital.

Suddenly, the woman surged forward, her face twisted in pain. "You must help me!" she shrieked, reaching for them with skeletal fingers. The very air crackled with her despair, and the teenagers felt an overwhelming sense of dread, as if they were being pulled into the abyss of her grief.

With a surge of adrenaline, Arif hurled himself at the door, slamming against it with all his might. The door creaked open, revealing the night outside—an escape from the horrors within. They scrambled out, gasping for breath, but as they turned back, the hospital loomed behind them, dark and foreboding.

The next morning, the air was thick with tension in the neighborhood as police cars surrounded the hospital. Officers set up a perimeter, drawing police lines that encircled the building. As the morning sun rose, it cast an eerie light over the scene, revealing chalk outlines on the ground, shapes reminiscent of bodies—reminders of the souls lost within.

The radio crackled to life in the distance, announcing the chilling news. "Authorities are investigating the mysterious disappearances of four teenagers last seen at Changi Hospital. Locals report strange occurrences and sightings of a woman in white. Police urge anyone with information to come forward."

As the chilling details unfolded, the memories of that night haunted the remaining teenagers. They had escaped, but the weight of what lingered in Changi Hospital would forever bind them to its dark history, a reminder that some places are never truly empty, and some spirits never find peace.