The Demon of Hui Sing Park

By Syed Amierul Asyraf


In conjunction with this year's Hungry Ghost Festival, I'd like to tell everyone a ghost story. This story came about just recently, when my friend Samantha (not her real name) and I met for dinner.

Samantha and were schoolmates. While we were not close friends, we decided to catch up with each other's goings-on.

As determined by fate, she and I were brought together by the Demon of Hui Sing Park.

---

She ordered pizza while I ordered waffles with ice-cream. I also ordered carrot juice to balance out tonight's nutritional requirements. We sat down at about the same time, inviting the lingering awkwardness along for the meal.

I took a slice of pizza when she first opened up about her misadventures at work. Weaving her words as animated as I have always remembered her, Samantha painted a sorrowful picture of her workplace. There were not much to look forward to within her line of work, anyway. Not when her daily commute would require her to also climb a steep hill of bureaucracy and doublespeak.

I can only nod, seemingly on cue with every sigh she made.

---

It was my turn to speak. The waffles I ordered were getting soggy from the melted ice-cream. How could it be possible that a fully air-conditioned shopping mall would induce this cold sweat running down my left cheek?

"I'm not really up to much, beyond helping some friends out here and there," I mumbled.

She quietly nodded as well. "You'll be fine."

"Thanks for the word of encouragement, Sam." Having remembered that I am a master of deflection, I asked her about our mutual friends, hoping to steer clear from depressing ourselves even more with work-related stories.

"How's J--"

"Well I haven't been going out and meeting people lah. I did encounter the Demon of Hui Sing Park though."

Shit.

---

Like the mythologised Anakin Skywalker, the Demon was not always a manifestation of evil. Once, the Demon had a name. A nice one, too. The kind of name that would roll off the tongue rather easily if not for pesky legal ramifications.

Unlike most figures of mythology though, the Demon did not fall from grace. I did.

Nowadays the Demon would manifest itself in moments of extreme stress. Whenever I encounter personal or professional problems, all I have to do is close my eyes.

The Demon would be there, staring at me with sadness in its glare.

Another way to summon the Demon would be to listen to Indonesian songs on my Spotify while driving alone late at night. It would appear on the passenger's seat, catching me by surprise. I actually have songs that sound like elaborately shouted chants by Nordic druids saved on my phone, but that won't have any effect on the Demon of Hui Sing Park.

Only Indonesian songs, and for reasons unknown old Backstreet Boys hits.

I also completely avoid fancy Kuching restaurants, H&M, Coach, Sephora, Uniqlo, hijab shops and bookstores in general.

One can never be too careful.

---

"I know it's difficult, but you need to understand exactly why the Demon chose to linger around you," quipped Samantha, when it turned out I was silent for the past two minutes, sipping ice-cream from a plate like a complete idiot.

"I'm fine, Sam. The Demon can't hurt me. At most it's bothersome," again I exercise the art of deflection.

"I know a good exorcist." Samantha looked right into my cold, tired eyes.

---

As I sent Samantha home, we promised to keep in touch with each other. She gave me one last glance when she exited my car, accompanied by a purposeful nod.

"You're stronger than this."

I definitely am stronger than the disheveled Snorlax that I appear to be.

"I'll definitely keep in touch," I utter to myself, "...and no Demon will stand in my--"

Kasihku

Ku amat mencintai kamu

Kerna kau beri erti hidup

Ku kan mencinta

Sedetik lebih

Selamanya

In my eagerness to wave Samantha goodbye, I think I just changed the radio station accidentally with my elbow.

"See! You can socialise with people after all," uttered The Demon of Hui Sing Park. Of course the Demon would be summoned into being by an old Anuar Zain song.

"Shut up Demon. When I get home, I'm going to exorcise you with a marathon of Oprah's YouTube videos."

---

If you happen to read this, I apologise in advance. This is how I deal with trauma; I make stupid jokes out of it. I'm fine, and we're good.