This story is about the night a boy’s step-sister turned into something unrecognizable to protect him from a supernatural entity that no one else could see.
Ghosts exist. At least, a lot of us are convinced that they do. More than a few Malaysians know someone who has been haunted but there’s nothing quite like being haunted yourself. But what’s it like when the spirits are after you, but you have a sister to defend you?
My new family and our new home
My step-father and step-sister are mat-salleh. My Mother and I are Malaysian. When they got married, my father purchased an apartment for us to live in as a family. The apartment was located on the 17th floor of an apartment complex in Ara Damansara near an LRT Station.
The apartment was spacious: Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and the place was practically new. The previous owners didn’t want it and sold it cheap at RM550,000 for 1,200 sq ft! We moved in and began to forge our lives as family.
The slumbering spirit awoke
We’d lived there for a few months when small things started to happen: Dining chairs were scattered around, pots and pans in the kitchen were moved. When we detected a sweet, flowery scent at home, everyone just assumed someone else had sprayed a little too much Febreeze.
We didn’t think much of it at first because we had other things to worry about: Pictures falling off the wall at random for no reason. An incredibly unreliable Astro and Wi-Fi. The screens on devices would flicker for no reason.
The nightmares began
We’d lived there less than a month when my step-sister, Silvia began having nightmares: She would wake up screaming, but never able to remember whatever was in her nightmares.
This went on for several weeks, before my parents took her to the doctors who prescribed medications: Mood stabilizers like Lithium. Antidepressants like Cymbalta. Quetiepine and Diazapem for sleep.
None of those really helped.
Screaming in Malay
After the first month, she started to wake up screaming in fluent Malay fragments about “kuku panjang” and a “pontianak dari mimpi negri,” “Jangan keluar!” and “Jampi! Jampi! Jampi!” other such things, that scared the hell out of all of us.
You see, my step-sister, who had always gone to an international school, did not speak a word of Bahasa Malaysia.
An alternative solution?
In desperation, my mother called a Buddhist monk and a priest. My father figured it could do no harm, and called upon an imam and a bomoh. Four holy men from three religions came to the same conclusion: The apartment was haunted.
It was the Buddhist monk however, who said it best, “Silvia cannot see it, but can hear it, sense its presence, feel its emotions. It’s clear that it wants something, or perhaps it is someone who lived… or died here. But this does not mean that it wants her.”
It took some cajoling, but in the end, all of them said blessings and prayers over the bedrooms first, the idea being that we would be safe while we slept, and less able to protect or defend ourselves.
The monk came over and whispered to me, “Tonight, it will come, and it will be angry. It will feel the protection, the prayers and blessings: Do whatever your sister tells you.”
A terrified sister
It was a Friday evening. Silvia had been napping on the living room sofa when it happened: She woke up screaming, and barged her way into my room and threw herself on to my bed, landing next to me where I had been reading.
She had tears in her eyes, breathing hard and fast and she looked terrified of something.
My parents could only watch, confused and scared as Silvia patted my cheeks, arms, chest and then just hugged me tight. She didn’t say a word, her breathing heavy and uneven, like she was preparing herself for a fight.
A voice with two souls.
Her head suddenly snapped up, towards the window. The sudden movement made me look too. There was nothing. Then she made a sound that I’ve never heard of since: A cross between a dog growl and cat’s warning meow. It was deep in her throat: “Djinn luar tingkap! Jangan berdekat!”
Surprised, I turned to look at her, and I froze at the sight of my stepsister, she was the incarnation of animalistic ferocity, her gaze almost predatory as she glared at the window. There was a rustle of movement, I heard it, my parents heard it.
I swear, when she spoke it was like there were two voices coming from her, one filled with aggression and hostility, the other with overprotective fear. I don’t know how else to describe it. “Ham-Gar-Chan! Don’t. Touch. My. Brother.” It wasn’t spoken or shouted, it was growled. I don’t know where she learned Cantonese either.
Talking without speaking
Then I realized she was scared for me. She had one hand clenching my arm tightly. The words of the Buddhist priest came echoing back to me. I started to panic, but her grip tightened on my arm, her gaze unwaveringly focused on the window. After several minutes, she finally looked at me and nodded.
That nod was a question. The problem was, I didn’t know what it meant. She pushed past our very confused and scared parents and returned with her pillows and blankets, piling them into a sort of nest on the floor, placing herself between my bed and the window.
She looked up at my still confused parents with all the quiet seriousness that only a child can muster, “I am staying here.” I wanted to protest but her expression, and the fact her voice still had that two-souled edge to it, had me nodding in silent agreement.
Just the two of us with the lights on
Our parents retreated to their bedroom, and Silvia hunkered down and started playing Animal Crossing on her Nintendo Switch. But every time there was a sound, she would be glaring at the window as if something had personally offended her.
This went on for at least an hour, and I was unable to keep my eyes open, even with the lights on. I managed to get comfortable but I could hear my sister restlessly moving around, and she was still growling at odd moments under her breath.
I swear I heard her speaking, softly, the soul two-souled voice, “I know you’re there, and I’m watching you!” Hindsight is perfect: That was when I realized she had been glaring and growling, before the sound, whatever sound it was, would happen, outside my bedroom window.
Bad time to connect the dots
I jolted upright and bolted for the door: Our apartment was on the SEVENTEENTH FLOOR! What the hell could be outside the window?! I took two steps, when I felt my sister’s hand grab my ankle.
Her vice grip was cold like ice, and there was the smell of jasmine flowers. “Jangan keluar.” she whispered to me, “Di luar, dia tunggu.” Her eyes were fixed on the window. No seven year old should have a grip that strong. “Run, and I cannot protect you, or mama, or papa from any jampi. Jangan. Keluar.”
A face in the window
I thought about calling out to my parents, who were in the next room, then thought better of attracting attention. I tried to text them but there was no signal.
I looked around and my eyes glanced over the window. I gasped: There was a face pressed up against the glass, with a hand, and overgrown, inches long fingernails.
Silvia reacted like a cornered animal, lunging towards the windows, hands outstretched and curled into claws. She was snarling like a beast, as she growled out the words in the same two-souled voice, “Leave. My. Brother. Alone!”
I heard a high-pitched whine, it rang in my skull. My ears were ringing. I’m not sure what happened after that. I don’t know if I fell asleep or fell unconscious. I woke up because the sun was streaming on my face, and my sister was curled up asleep next to me. Both of us were in her bed.
“You’re safe, for now.”
I looked at her tired, bloodshot eyes. The dark circles were already there. She saved and quit her game, stood and stretched. “You’re safe now,” she said. Standing, she kissed me on the forehead and for the first time, whispered, “Love you, bro.”
She slept peacefully right through to the next morning, and awoke normally for the first time in almost two months. My parents called the holy men back, to do more prayers, and cleansing rituals. Whatever spirit there was, had seemed to give up and leave. The strange occurrences stopped.
The truth
This happened when we first moved in almost a decade ago. Since that evening encounter with…whatever it was, it’s been quiet, and peaceful. Maybe the Buddhist monk was right: It wasn’t after her. It was after me. Though I still don’t know why.
It turns out that the apartment my father bought was the scene of a murder-suicide. In the seven years before my father bought the place, a dozen families had tried and failed to make the apartment their home.
I don’t know if they were also haunted the way we were, but my parents are now fanatical about ensuring that prayers, blessings and cleansings are done annually, without fail. My sister sleeps peacefully through the nights, and I’ve covered the window with blackout curtains so nothing can peek in.
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Read also: I Was 16 & Possessed By A Spirit – After Being Exorcised, I Have Been Able To See Spirits – In Real Life
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