This story is about a midnight LRT ride during Hungry Ghost Month, where a student’s last train home turned into a journey he’ll never forget.
By the time I reached KLCC station, I was running on fumes. Close to midnight, the last train home felt like salvation. My brain was on autopilot: Home. Food. Bed. Just had to pick between KFC or McD before 21 stops of half-sleep.
The platform was empty, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly. Announcements boomed too loud in the hollow air.
The train doors wheezed open to reveal a handful of passengers, each scattered in their own bubble.
I slid into my usual seat by the door, bag on lap, scrolling Foodpanda. “If a hungry ghost shows up,” I muttered, ordering a Big Mac, “I’ll eat it too.”
I would live to eat those words.
It Began at Masjid Jamek
The train pulled away. Metal screeched. The lights flickered before steadying. The air shifted, heavier. Out of the corner of my eye, the bench opposite dipped, like someone had just sat down. But it was empty.
My chest tightened when I noticed a damp slick on the seat, glistening faintly under the harsh light. Like a wet body had pressed itself there. I forced myself to look away. Old train. Faulty air-con. Just tired eyes.
Between Bangsar and Abdullah Hukum
The lights cut out completely. Blackout. Couldn’t even see my own hand. Then came the sound of fabric brushing, a hollow clack, plastic flexing under sudden weight. Right beside me.
My pulse roared. When the lights snapped back, the seat was empty. Still, the hair on my arms stood rigid, my skin prickling with certainty I wasn’t alone.
Strength in Numbers at Kerinchi
At Kerinchi I stood, slung my bag, and hesitated: This was the last train. No getting off. I sat near the other passengers, planting myself at the far end of their row like a budak sekolah hiding in the herd.
The presence didn’t follow, I told myself. I was imagining things. But then, at Taman Jaya, I noticed it again.
The slick was back — dampness spreading across a bench, darkening the metal.
This time, I wasn’t the only one who saw. A man’s eyes darted to it, then away too fast. A girl tugged her scarf tighter. The silence in the carriage grew thick with unspoken fear.
Taman to Taman, Paramount to Bahagia.
At Taman Paramount, a man stiffened, hugging his backpack. A couple whispered urgently, their eyes locked on the same spot. I swear the dampness was taking shape, dripping like soaked pant legs onto the floor.
By Taman Bahagia, the temperature dropped like we’d been dumped into a freezer. My breath clouded. So did everyone else’s.
Windows fogged, trails dripping down the glass.
The damp took on a shape, wet pants on the seat.
Then the weight came. Solid. Shoulder to shoulder. Pinning me in place. Something unseen sat on my right and leaned. I didn’t dare look. Silence pressed into my ears, broken only by the rattle of the train.
Safety at Kelana Jaya
When the train screeched into Kelana Jaya, the doors opened with their usual mechanical hiss, the spell broke.
The cold vanished. Just gone. The fog cleared, the windows condensed, and my breath and breathing became normal again.
Passengers bolted out, too fast, not looking back. When the doors closed, only seven of us remained. The train felt emptier, but somehow heavier.
Lembah Subang to Subang Jaya
With each stop, passengers disembarked without a word or backward glance.
The silence inside the carriage became unbearable, as wordlessly, we agreed to sit as close as possible without sitting next to each other.
Fear hung heavy, metallic on the tongue, the air damp with salt.
At Subang Jaya, another passenger disembarked, leaving me and a young woman seated across the aisle. She caught me staring and I forced a weak smile.
“Where do you get off?” I asked, voice rough.
“SS18,” she said softly, eyes unreadable.
Relief hit me like oxygen. I breathed slow and deep: Just a few stops. Somehow, I knew if we were not alone, we would be fine.
Alone at SS18
The train rolled into SS18, my station. My chest loosened as we both stood. She smiled faintly, as I stepped off through the doors, onto the platform.
The platform lights glared sterile overhead, and for the first time all night, I felt safe enough to breathe.
Something made me glance back — instinct, or concern for my fellow traveller.
No one followed me out the door. The carriage was empty. So was the platform. No footsteps ahead or behind. She was gone.
The Descent and The Attendant
The escalator had already been switched off and I ran down, boots clanging hollow on the metal steps. Behind me, one by one, the platform lights clicked off, plunging the station into shadow. The sound of shutters screeched rolled through the concourse.
I quickened my pace, footsteps echoing far too loud.
Every step I took, I strained my ears for another pair of footsteps, I looked everywhere for her.
But it was just me. At the turnstiles, I spotted the station attendant locking up.
Jacket slung over his shoulder, I forced myself to ask, words tumbling out.
“Boss… ada orang lain ke? On train tadi?”
He gave me a look, puzzled, keys jingling in his hand. “You last one, boss.” he gestured vaguely with his keys, “I nak tutup: Balik rumah.”
The Shrine 21 Steps from Home
The walk home was short. Twenty-one steps from my gate, stood the roadside shrine, and given the time of year, well lit with joss sticks, incense and candles. Offerings of money, pau, and fruit were piled high.
As I approached home, a McDonalds bag sat atop my gate pillar.
A thought struck me, and I checked my phone – the order was real. That led to another thought, about the young lady who had vanished on me.
I’m not religious. I’ve never believed. I walked back to the shrine. Bowed, whispered thanks, and left my fries and apple pie as an offering or a thank you for her protection on the train.
Since that night, I’ve never taken the last train again. Not during Hungry Ghost Month. Not ever.
Write in. Tell your story. Get paid.
Share your story on our Facebook page and you may become a contributor for In Real Life Malaysia.
Read also: I Lost RM10,000 to a Job Scam,” shares 29 Year Old Unemployed M’sian Woman
“I Lost RM10,000 to a job scam,” shares 29 YO Unemployed M’sian Woman
More from Supernatural
“The HR only cared about my Birth Chart,” shares M’sian jobseeker applying to Bazi consultancy
This is the story about how this man thought he was interviewing for a writing job — but it turned …
“My Grab Food order was for a Hungry Ghost,” shared stunned M’sian delivery rider
This story is about a late-night Grab delivery during Hungry Ghost Month, where a rider’s routine order led him to …
“My Hungry Ghost Offerings Were Stolen by a Stray Cat,” shares M’sian student
This story is about a student who thought Hungry Ghost Month was routine—until a scruffy orange cat turned offerings …
