This story is about a man who experienced an otherworldly presence while he was testing equipment past midnight at a Telekom Exchange room.
Some stories you hear from a friend, some you read online. This one? This one happened to me. And I still don’t have an explanation for it. Even though I no longer work that job, I still get the creeps thinking about Shiela or whatever her name is.
Night Shifts installing UniFi
Back in 2012, when UniFi was first rolling out in Malaysia, I was one of the installers. It wasn’t a bad job. The pay was decent, and more importantly, plenty of overtime was available if you wanted it. While the overtime paid well, it meant working weird hours: Sometimes past midnight, sometimes alone, sometimes both. I’d be the only person inside a Telekom Exchange Room, testing backend equipment while everyone else was asleep.
Let me tell you, if you’ve never been inside one of these rooms that they are cold – not “aircon in a mall” cold, but the cold that clings to your skin and gets into your bones. It has to be to keep the computer hardware functioning efficiently. I still remember the constant low drone of server fans, like beehives trapped inside metal boxes—fluorescent lights overhead, the kind that flicker just enough to make shadows stretch weirdly. The air always smelled of cold steel, dust, and static, making your teeth itch.
A Word from the Wise
That night, I was assigned to a site I hadn’t visited. There was nothing special about it: Just another Telekom Exchange. It was a little past 2 AM when I arrived. The only other person there was the night guard – Ravi. I’d met plenty of security guards on the job, but Ravi? He was built different. Big-sized, towering over my 5’7, 140-pound frame like a damn brick wall. Must’ve been at least 6’1. Broad shoulders, thick arms, the kind of guy that looked like he could snap a person in half if he wanted to.
His presence alone made me feel small. But his expression? That was calm. Too calm, even. I signed in, nodding at him. He nodded back, but as I turned to go inside, he said, “Hati-hati dalam tu.”
It wasn’t the usual take care or watch your step or “jalan elok-elok” kind of tone. His voice was light, but there was something underneath it. Something serious.
I hesitated. “Why?”
He shrugged. Then, a pause. “Kadang-kadang, ada orang lain dalam tu.”
I frowned. “Orang lain?”
Another shrug. “Kadang-kadang je.”
I wanted to ask more, but he was already settling back into his chair, looking at his phone like the conversation was over. I told myself he was just messing with me. He was out here night after night. A little fun at a visitor’s expense. Nothing new.
A Silent Presence
Inside, the exchange room was the same as any other—freezing cold, mechanically loud, and sterile.The server racks stretched in long, neat rows, blinking with tiny green, blue and red LEDs. I set up my equipment, logged into the system, and got to work as the fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly.
I was alone.
Or at least, I thought I was.
It started as a feeling. You know the one: That creeping sensation at the back of your neck like someone’s watching you. I initially ignored it, blaming it on fatigue, the lateness of the hour, or the way the cold made my skin prickle. Then, without thinking, I turned my head slightly.
And there she was.
A small girl.
Sitting on the floor, right beside me.
I felt my stomach drop. She wasn’t doing anything—just sitting there, looking straight ahead. Not crying, not speaking. Just…there. My breath hitched. My whole body suddenly was locked up. She looked normal. Too normal. Just a little Asian girl with dark hair and bare feet. That was the detail that stuck in my mind: The bare feet. Nobody should be barefoot in a place like this.
Running
The next thing I remember is that I was outside. Not the room, but the building. I was gulping air like I’d nearly drowned. My hands were shaking. My whole body felt like I’d just run a marathon. For a long minute, I just stood there, heart hammering. It’s late. You’re tired. You imagined it.
I had work to do. I couldn’t leave it unfinished. So I went back in. I sat down, hands shaking, taking slow, deep breaths and forced myself to calm down and then focus on the job. Then–
BANG.
I flinched at the noise. A door. One of the heavy metal doors to the room. It had slammed shut somewhere. The servers hummed. The lights buzzed. The lights flickered.
BANG.
Closer. This wasn’t just a door closing. It had weight. Force. A sharp edge of violence to it. The kind of sound that makes your gut clench. Again. And again.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Again and again, each time getting nearer, I swallowed hard and forced myself to stay completely still. Then I heard it. Soft, light, footsteps. Bare feet, padding against the cold metal and tile floor.
The sound came from behind the server racks—a carefree yet steady pitter-patter of feet, tiny feet, the kind of steps a child would make as they just walked, playful and carefree. I heard them long before I saw them.
Just the feet.
Walking past the racks. No shadow or body. Just a pair of disembodied feet toddling along.
I bolted for the door and was back outside the building in the warm, humid air. I was shaking, but this job still had to get done. Somehow, I grabbed my phone and called my team members with one line of instruction: “Get here now.”
My voice was shaking, but I didn’t care, and for the first time since college, I wanted a cigarette. They arrived within thirty minutes. I didn’t move from my spot outside. Didn’t say a word. Ravi escorted them in. As they passed, he gave me this look—just a slight smile, barely there. Or did I imagine it?
It took the four of us only an hour or so to finish the job, and my team were happy to get paid and were on their way off when I caught up with Ravi. He was kind enough to give me a cigarette. My hands weren’t shaking, neither was my voice, but I had questions. “You’ve seen her before.” It wasn’t a question.
He took a long drag, exhaled, and then nodded. “Kadang-kadang je. After midnight, before pukul tiga. Shiela ronding-ronding saja, kadang-kadang lari sini-sana.”
A cold feeling settled in my stomach. I asked him why he called her Shiela. He shrugged. “Entah. Rasa macam sesuai je.”
Never Alone on the Night Shift
For days after that, I couldn’t sleep properly. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those walking feet, heard the slamming of doors, and even smelt that cold, sterile air. Even during the day, I caught myself glancing over my shoulder, listening too hard for things that weren’t there.
Eventually, I told my team, “No more working alone at night.” If someone had to do an overnight shift, we’d do it in pairs, just in case. They seemed a touch confused but were OK with the decision – since work got done faster and everyone got paid.
At one point, I even considered calling a bomoh. But since that night, I’ve never seen her again. Maybe it’s because we always work in pairs now. I’ve also refused to return to the site and send others when necessary. Since they don’t know, they don’t mind – not like they’ve seen anything.
Maybe she only showed herself when you were alone.
I don’t know.
And honestly? I don’t want to find out.
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