1963. In a crumbling Tiong Bahru HDB block still
smelling of wet cement and kaya toast, 16yearold
Kiam Hock steals his brother’s NS uniform to
skip conscription. He knows the rules: no draft
dodging, no fake illness, no “spirit possession”
excuses. But when the old lady upstairs dies
midchanting puja, her ghost—Madam Lim—drifts
through his wall, eyes fixed on the uniform.
She doesn’t scream. She sighs. “You look like my
son. He also wore that. And left his kaya toast
uneaten.”
Kiam tries to shoo her with a broom. She sits on
his bed. Says, “I’ll haunt you till you marry me.
”
He laughs. Then remembers: in ’48, the British
passed the Emergency Ordinance. Ghosts can’t be
arrested. They can’t be evicted. And if they
claim kinship, the state won’t question it.
So he plays along. Tells his friends: “Madam
Lim’s my fiancée. Her spirit’s tied to my
uniform. NS won’t take me if I’m already married
to a ghost.”
The rumour spreads. The army sends a clerk. He
checks the HDB ledger. Finds Madam Lim’s death
certificate. Notes: “Widow, Chinese, died 1963,
no next of kin.” Then he asks: “Is she…
demanding dowry?”
Kiam panics. Madam Lim isn’t just haunting.
She’s negotiating.
She demands his last packet of Tiger Balm. His
father’s old kampung flute. His lunchbox with
the chrysanthemum sticker.
Then she hits him with the hard rule: No ghost
can be dismissed unless the living offers
something they truly value.
He gives her his NS callup letter. She burns it.
Smiles. Says, “Good. Now we eat dinner.”
That night, she sits at his table. Eats his char
kway teow. Complains the chilli’s too sweet.
Asks why the lift takes 17 minutes.
Next morning, the army cancels his callup. Not
because he’s married. But because the ghost’s
claim is now officially documented—and the state
won’t risk a spiritual incident during
conscription week.
Kiam doesn’t dodge NS. He just delays it.
Madam Lim doesn’t leave.
She moves into his locker.
And starts texting him on his brother’s Nokia:
You forgot your socks again. And the lift is
still slow.
He still has to serve.
But now he brings her bak kut teh every Friday.
And the other recruits? They all bring her kueh.
She’s become the unit’s unofficial mascot.
The ghost who wanted his uniform.
Now she wants his life.
And he’s too kiasu to say no.
