True HDB Horror Stories from Singapore: Real Experiences that Will Haunt You

1. The Spinning Ghost at Woodlands

Contributor: Ahmad, Woodlands, Singapore

You know, I’ve always heard people talk about haunted places, but I never really believed in all that. That was until it happened to me. I’ve been living in Woodlands for over 10 years now, and everything was fine… until one particular night that changed everything.

It was during the Hungry Ghost Festival, which, if you’ve lived in Singapore long enough, you know is when spirits supposedly roam the earth. I was never the superstitious type, but that year, things got weird. My family and I live in an old block in Woodlands, Block 852 to be exact. There have been whispers around the neighborhood that the place is haunted, but I shrugged it off as nonsense.

One night, I came back late after meeting some friends. It was around 1 a.m., and the house was dead quiet. I remember getting ready for bed, lying down, and closing my eyes when I heard this soft, rhythmic squeaking sound. It was so faint that at first, I thought it was just the wind. But as the sound grew louder, I realized it wasn’t the wind—it was my ceiling fan. Except… I hadn’t turned it on.

I opened my eyes, and there she was. A woman, hanging from the ceiling fan by her neck, slowly spinning around. Her hair was long, almost reaching the floor, and her face… her face was the stuff of nightmares. Her eyes were completely black, as if she had no soul. And she was staring directly at me.

I was frozen. I couldn’t scream, couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. It felt like my heart was about to explode from the fear. The fan continued to spin, and with every turn, her head would tilt unnaturally, like her neck was broken. I don’t know how long I stared at her, but it felt like hours. Suddenly, the fan stopped spinning, and she disappeared—just like that. No sound, no fading away, just gone.

The next morning, I told my parents what I saw, hoping for some kind of rational explanation. But all my mom did was nod, like she already knew. She told me that other people in the block had seen similar things, especially during the Hungry Ghost Festival. Needless to say, I never slept with the lights off again after that night.

It has been 10 years since the incident. Occasionally, I sensed some minor disturbance. Well, I am shifting out as my BTO for a new house is ready. Another home, another experience!

2. The Uninvited Tenant in Tampines

Contributor: Sarah, Tampines, Singapore

Back when I was in university, I shared a flat in Tampines with two of my closest friends. We were all students, trying to save money, so we rented an old HDB flat. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was home. At first, everything was normal. We’d go to class, come home, eat, and watch TV like any typical roommates. But then, strange things started happening.

It began with little things—footsteps in the kitchen when no one was there, objects that would disappear and then reappear in random places. I remember once, I left my keys on the kitchen counter, and the next morning, they were in the bathroom sink. My roommates swore they didn’t move them, and we all laughed it off, thinking maybe we were just tired or distracted.

But the laughter didn’t last long. One night, I woke up to the feeling of someone sitting on the edge of my bed. I assumed it was one of my roommates, but when I turned on the light, no one was there. My heart was racing, but I convinced myself it was just my imagination and tried to go back to sleep. That’s when things took a turn for the worse.

A few days later, I found an old photograph in one of the drawers in my room. It was a blurry picture of a man and a woman. I didn’t recognize them, but something about the photo felt… off. I showed it to my roommates, and they were just as confused. We decided to put the photo back where we found it and didn’t think much of it.

That night, I was alone in the flat, watching TV in the living room. Suddenly, the lights flickered, and I heard a low humming sound coming from the room where I found the photo. I was terrified, but curiosity got the better of me. I went to investigate, and as I entered the room, the door slammed shut behind me. My phone, which was fully charged moments ago, died instantly. I was trapped in complete darkness, with only the sound of that eerie humming filling the room. Then, I felt it—a cold hand on my shoulder. I screamed, but no sound came out.

Just when I thought I was going to pass out from fear, the door swung open on its own, and the humming stopped. I ran out of that room as fast as I could, not looking back. The next day, I checked the drawer for the photo, but it was gone. My roommates didn’t believe me at first, but after that night, we all started experiencing strange things. One of them claimed to see a shadowy figure standing at the foot of her bed.

The eerie events in our Tampines flat only got worse after that night. We tried to go about our lives as usual, but the flat felt different—heavy, like something was always watching us. One of my roommates, Mei, began hearing whispers at night, while the other, Lila, felt the temperature drop dramatically in her room, even when the windows were closed and the air was still.

Then one evening, after a particularly tense day, we decided we had enough. It was time to do something about whatever—or whoever—was sharing the flat with us. Mei suggested we speak to a Taoist priest she knew, hoping to bring some peace to the flat.

When the priest arrived, the atmosphere in the flat shifted almost immediately. He walked through the rooms, pausing in the spot where I had found the old photograph. After a few moments of silence, he told us that our flat was being “visited” by a restless spirit—a former tenant who had passed away suddenly and tragically.

Apparently, the spirit had become attached to the flat, unwilling to move on. The photograph I found, he said, was a clue that the spirit had left behind, a connection to its past life. The priest performed a blessing and a cleansing ritual, burning incense and chanting prayers in every corner of the flat. We watched nervously, hoping this would finally put an end to the haunting.

After the ritual, the air felt lighter. The eerie humming, the cold touches, and the strange sightings all stopped. It was as if the flat had been freed from whatever was holding it captive. We were finally able to sleep peacefully again, without fear of the unknown visitor lurking in the shadows.

A few weeks later, we moved out, not wanting to tempt fate by staying any longer than we had to. I still think about that flat sometimes, wondering if the spirit ever truly moved on or if it’s still there, waiting for new tenants to arrive.

3. The Phantom Child in Yishun

Contributor: Wei Ling, Yishun, Singapore

I still get chills when I think about what happened in my childhood home. We moved into our flat in Yishun when I was around 8 years old. It was a nice place, a typical HDB unit, and everything seemed fine at first. But I quickly realized there was something not quite right about my room. Every night, after my parents had gone to bed, I’d feel this weird sensation, like I wasn’t alone. It was unsettling, but I chalked it up to my imagination and tried to ignore it.

That is, until the laughter started.

One evening, I was playing with my dolls when I heard the sound of a child laughing. It was faint at first, almost like it was coming from the corridor outside. I paused, thinking maybe it was one of the neighbor’s kids. But when I went to check, the corridor was empty. The laughter, however, didn’t stop. It got louder, closer, until I realized it was coming from inside the room.

At this point, my heart was racing. I called out for my brother, thinking he was trying to scare me, but no one answered. The laughter seemed to echo all around me, bouncing off the walls. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

I didn’t tell anyone about it right away. I was scared they wouldn’t believe me. But over the next few weeks, strange things started happening in my room. My toys would move by themselves. Once, I left my Barbie doll on the shelf, and when I came back, it was lying in the middle of the floor, its arms positioned as if it was reaching for something. Another time, my wardrobe door creaked open on its own, revealing nothing but darkness inside.

The breaking point came one night when I woke up to the sound of someone—or something—giggling right next to my bed. My heart was pounding, and as I slowly opened my eyes, I saw a shadowy figure standing by the foot of my bed. It was the size of a small child, but its features were obscured by darkness. I could only make out the outline of its head and shoulders.

I screamed, and my parents came rushing in. The figure disappeared the moment they entered the room, but I could still feel its presence lingering in the air. My dad tried to reassure me, saying it was just a nightmare, but I knew what I saw.

After that night, I refused to sleep in my room. My parents eventually brought in a Taoist priest to perform a blessing. He burned incense, chanted prayers, and placed protective talismans around the house. After the blessing, the strange occurrences stopped, but I never felt truly comfortable in that flat again. But this is where I live and moving out was not an option.

4. The Old Man in the Corridor at Bukit Batok

Contributor: Rashid, Bukit Batok, Singapore

I don’t scare easily, but this experience left me questioning everything. It happened at my friend’s flat in Bukit Batok, where I used to hang out quite often. We’d usually stay up late watching TV, playing video games, or just chatting. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happened—until that night.

It was around 2 a.m., and we were watching a horror movie, ironically enough. I remember sitting on the couch, half paying attention to the movie and half zoning out when something caught my eye. There was an old man standing in the corridor just outside the flat. At first, I thought he might be a neighbour, but the way he stood there—so still, so silent—made my skin crawl.

I nudged my friend and pointed him out. “Who’s that?” I asked.

My friend glanced at the corridor, then back at me with a puzzled expression. “There’s no one there, bro.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The old man was right there, staring in at us. He was dressed in a plain white singlet and shorts, typical attire for older folks in Singapore, but there was something off about him. His eyes were hollow, and his expression was blank, almost… dead.

I jumped up from the couch and walked over to the door, determined to get a better look. But the moment I reached the door, the old man vanished. I was standing there, looking out into the empty corridor, my heart pounding. My friend joined me, and we both stood there in silence for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.

“Maybe you were just seeing things,” my friend suggested, but his voice was shaky. I could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced.

We went back to watching the movie, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. About 20 minutes later, I saw him again—this time, standing at the doorway. His face was even closer, his empty eyes fixed on us. I gasped, and my friend finally saw him too. He bolted up from the couch and rushed to the door, but when we opened it wider, there was no one there.

That’s when my friend told me the story. Apparently, the old man who lived next door had passed away a few years ago. He used to stand in that very corridor every evening, watching the world go by. After his death, several people claimed to have seen him standing there, just like he used to when he was alive.

We never talked about it after that night. But every time I visit Bukit Batok, I can’t help but glance down that corridor, half-expecting to see the old man staring back at me.

5. The Disturbing Lift Ride at Bedok

Contributor: Farhan, Bedok, Singapore

This happened to me about two years ago, and I still get the creeps thinking about it. I used to live in a high-rise HDB flat in Bedok, and I would often come home late from work. One night, I finished work later than usual, around midnight, and by the time I reached my block, it was almost 1 a.m. I was exhausted and just wanted to get to bed.

As usual, I took the lift up to my floor. I was alone in the lift, and everything seemed normal at first. But then, the lift stopped on the 9th floor, even though I had pressed the button for the 12th. The doors slid open, revealing a long, empty corridor. I thought it was strange, but I didn’t pay much attention. Maybe someone had called the lift and changed their mind.

The doors started to close when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her—a hunched-over old woman, standing at the far end of the corridor. She was wearing a faded cheongsam and staring directly at me, her eyes wide and unblinking.

I pressed the “close door” button repeatedly, but the doors wouldn’t close fast enough. My heart was racing. When the doors finally shut, I let out a sigh of relief. But the relief didn’t last long.

As the lift continued its ascent, I heard it—the sound of shuffling feet, as if someone was walking right behind me. I froze, my eyes fixed on the lift doors. The sound grew louder, closer, until it felt like whoever—or whatever—was standing just inches behind me.

The lift finally reached my floor, and I bolted out, practically running to my flat. I fumbled with my keys, my hands shaking, and when I finally got inside, I slammed the door shut and collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily.

The next day, I told my neighbor about what had happened. He gave me a knowing look and said, “You saw her too, didn’t you? The old lady who died on the 9th floor years ago. People say she still roams the corridor at night, looking for company.”

I’ve moved out of Bedok since then, but every time I take the lift in any building, I can’t help but check the 9th floor, just in case she’s there, waiting.