Ring of the Soul

Ring of the Soul

I was sitting at the long window of a café beside the East Coast Park after my 5k Parkrun, reading a book. Ghost Stories.

I have always been fascinated by stories of the occult. When I was younger and in school, my late uncle Chee Leng, the brother of my mother, used to visit us at Redhill Road and I would sit enthralled by his tales of the supernatural. That would keep me from sleeping alone. I would make sure that my mother is around when I go to bed.

I read one of the short stories about recruit soldiers in Pulau Tekong Camp. Stories of soldiers seeing ghosts in the forest while having their night exercises abound. They are so predictable. I shook my head and put the book down, staring through the window at the throng of humanity.

A group of runners were chit-chatting about their experiences of Parkruns in their faraway countries, stories which I always love to hear.

“Those ghost stories have no substance”, a man sat down at the table with a cup of English breakfast. “Just pure fantasy.”

“Yes, so predictable,” I said.

Then, realising that he was echoing my trend of thought, I looked at him curiously. He was in his early sixties, I guess, bespectacled, slightly grey, with a moustache and beard.

“Simple. You were reading that book, I could easily see the title on its spine, you put down the book with some disgust, and you shook your head. What else can I deduce?”

I laughed at the simplicity.

After a brief introduction, he said,

“I can see that you like reading of the supernatural. If you can afford a half hour, I can tell you a much more interesting one.”

“Today is Saturday. I have plenty of time,” I replied.

“Let’s call this person Ferdinand. He is a Master in Psychology, educated at the University of Louisiana. He specialised in the reading of the criminal mind. Meaning that convicted criminals are brought to him for assessment. So accurate are his observations that the courts take his word seriously. He used to say, you cannot put up an act. I’ll see through it.Not one criminal is foxy enough to out-smart him.

Ferdinand is a man of refined manners, and a habit of command. He has a flair for the high life. He is engaged to one Edwina, a very attractive lady who admires him for his professionalism. Both of them share the same interest; she is in the field of medical psychology, counselling patients in their terminal illnesses. He drives a flashy red sports car which attracts attention when revving its power on the road. Both of them enjoy the high life. Their career and future are bright.

Now, psychology delves deep into the recesses of the mind, where dark secrets are stored and never communicated. A person skilled in this art of, let’s say, extraction, would be a good partner in the investigation of crime.

However, Ferdinand has one vice.

He is a compulsive gambler. He is well-known in the gambling circles. I guess his art of reading people’s face facilitated in his winnings. Even if his cards are non-threatening, he could put on a confidence and call such a bluff that his opponent would back down. But gambling is a risk. No matter how good you are, disaster can happen.

One day, an experienced player saw through his ruse and called his bluff on a particularly heavy bet. He lost heavily, and his credibility eroded. Further gamble to recoup his loss incurred further losses. Heavily in debt, creditors came after him. Unable to pay his bills, he sold his car, his property. Bill collectors found out his place of work and came harassing him. His employers were greatly displeased. He lost his credibility; then he lost his job.

Edwina was devastated. The planned wedding was called off. As the news spread, she was depressed. Unable to stomach what had happened, she was found in her bedroom over-dosed with sedatives.

At her funeral, Ferdinand cried buckets. They carried out a Buddhist/Taoist ceremony at a funeral parlour. She was buried at the cemetery. He opted for burial, so that he could come to visit her every anniversary. With joss-sticks, bank-notes printed on crepe paper. Some monks chanted hymns. It went on for three nights. On her headstone, he inscribed, Love you always.”

Then the gentleman stopped.

“What a sad ending for such a lovely couple,” I said.

“It is not end there. It’s the beginning of my horror story. He could not forget her; he could not forgive himself.”

“What else can he do?” I asked.

The gentleman continued.

“Ferdinand loved delving into the supernatural. In his research, he found a book, Ring of the soul. There is hope. The book delved into the mechanics of reviving a soul!”

“What? You mean bring her back to life?”

“No, no. At least, bring back a visible image of the person.”

“This is incredible. I refuse to believe this.”

“Neither do I. But listen to my story. I haven’t finish it yet.

In order to do this, he needed to have some ashes, yes, ashes of the dead just cremated. How could he obtain them? In his fertile mind, he conjured up a plan. This would involve the crematory. A few times a week, he would visit the chapel of the cremation room. He made friend with the caretaker there. Family members would collect the ashes after the cremation from this caretaker. He learnt that the caretaker would clean out the furnace every day in the evening just before closing, with a high-powered water-jet. There would be plenty of ashes left-over. He said he was doing a research work on this subject, and requested that he collect a bottle of ashes for him. He would come to collect it the next morning. The next morning, he got what he wanted, a bottle filled with ashes of the dead. He thanked the caretaker profusely with a generous ‘ang-pow’.

It was scary. What he wanted to do, had to be done in secret, deep secret. If anyone know of his plan, it will be reported to the police. And all plans will come to nought.”

Yeah buster, then how did you know about it? I thought.

He carried on.

“He prepared a stake, sharpened at both ends. Much like a primitive homosapien would have in his hands in the early ages.

“What did he do with it? I hope he did not kill somebody to vent his anger and frustration.”

“He hired a car. He had to angle it diagonally inside the cabin to accommodate its length.

The timing is crucial to maximise the chances of success. To avoid suspicion, it had to be done in the dead of the night. He drove to the cemetery where Edwina was buried. He remembered to bring the bottle of ash. This would be the crucial item.

Ferdinand reached the burial ground just before midnight. He brought out the stake, and the bottle of ash.

Carefully measuring a circle five feet in diameter, he drew a ring round the tombstone with the sharpened stake. He dug a shallow trench round the perimeter. It was not difficult. The grounds were still fresh and soft with the recent burial. It was the Ring of the Soul. He had to remain inside it. He was only safe inside it. Woe betide him if he steps out of the ring.

The he took the bottle of ash, uncorked it, and went round the trench that he had dug, He sprinkled the fresh ashes into the trench, all round. He chanted a Taoist hymn that the monks had sung during the burial.”

I was spell-bound.

Then what did he do? I wondered.

“He went to the centre of the ring, just in front of the tombstone, lifted the stake with both hands, and plunged it into the earth, as hard as he could. A soft scream of pain, or it could be joy, seemed to be heard. Then the ground trembled.

A translucent orb slowly blew up in front of him. Wispy images rose up from the aura. And a strong feeling of someone, or something, inside the dome beckoning him to enter into the ether. He could not restrain his desire. He appeared to leave his physical surroundings, and with an ineffable joy on his face, walked zombie-like right into the bubble, and could not be seen! He had entered Etherland.

For how long he remained in the electro-magnetic dimension, nobody could tell. Time is not measured in Etherland. Did he meet someone there? After a time which could not be measured, he emerged. Translucent at first. There was a transformation process in the body that he could not remember. The giant orb went translucent, then fizzled out into nothingness.”

What did he do with that someone, or something, in the aura?

“He pulled the stake off the ground. Then he sat down, as if recovering from that exhilarating experience. With his senses back to normal, he picked up a spade and filled up the trench, making sure that it is well-trampled firm. He swept off the burning ashes.”

The gentleman again paused.

‘So, he could do it again whenever he wanted to see her?’ I asked.

‘‘No. That’s the deal. He could only do it once, according to the rule in Etherland. But that was good enough. There is a mortal risk doing that; he may not come back! But he was glad he came out of it alright. I’m sure she made it safe for him. I hope she doesn’t have to pay too much for it.’’

I looked at the gentleman seated across from me, with his English breakfast. He beckoned to a waiter. The waiter came.

‘‘I see that you have bannock in your menu. One for me and one for my friend here.’’

‘‘Right over.’’

‘‘You told the story with an intimacy as if you had been there. Were you there when it happened?’’

He removed his spectacles, and looked straight at me.

‘‘I am that gentleman, Ferdinand.’’

I gasped. He added,

‘‘Since then, Edwina is always in my mind. No doubt, I’ll see her again. Just cannot wait for that moment. Is not this real event much better than your Ghost Stories?’’

I had to say, ‘This is ten times better.’’

‘‘You shouldn’t shake your head. I’m telling you it’s true, every bit of it!’’

I gasped, again. ‘‘Have you told your story to many other people?’’

‘‘No, you’re the first, and likely the last. At least someone should know before I go.’’

‘‘Why am I privileged?’

‘‘Because you’re reading a ghost storybook. But that’s a secondary reason.’

‘‘What’s the first?’

‘‘Because you’re a cop. I can read that from the insignia on the ring you are wearing on your left hand. That’s an appreciation of the yeoman service you have given to the Police Ministry. You are proud of it. You may investigate murder, rape, kidnaps, harassment, grifts, but there are areas in life which you may not investigate.”

“And that is?”

“The occult is one. And crimes committed under the influence of mesmerism. You cannot nail it down to a person who has no knowledge of what he has done. The mastermind who mesmerized him is far away. But I must be boring you with my story.’’

“No, not at all. But what a fascinating tale.”

He continued, with a far-away look on his face.

“The time is near. I can feel it. I won’t have long to wait.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked.

He continued.

“Edwina’s parents are firm Taoist-Buddhist. At every festival, they will offer prayers at the Siong Lim Temple. I thought it might be a good idea for me to visit the temple to appease her soul. And in the library of the temple, I came across an old journal dated in the 1500s.

Alchemy – The Secret of the Soul

It was in this book that I found the secret.”

“What secret?” This is bordering on the incredible.

“That I could do it again. But this time, return is not possible. But that is alright with me!”

“What?” I almost screeched.

“Yes. And that is the reason why I am telling you this story. I would need your cooperation to complete the story finally.”

“Sir, if you are asking me to be an accomplice to a crime……….”

“No, definitely not. I am not asking you to commit a murder. But you are helping a friend to go on a very happy journey.”

Incredulously, I asked.

“So, what do I need to do to help you?”

He carried on.

“The soul is most active at the start of the new moon, which occurs once every six months. This must be on a plane and alignment of our earth, moon and the sun. The new phase will occur in two weeks’ time in the lunar calendar. It will be a lunar eclipse this time. It will be a very dark night. We do not have much time to idle, if you are kind enough to agree.”

I looked hard at him at this singular request. His eyes seem to be pleading.

“It will be very simple. Just be there and do exactly as I say. I trust you will do me this last service.”

The Merge

Two weeks found me a very preoccupied person tossing the matter in my head a dozen times. Could the whole scheme be one big hoax. If it is, what could he gain out of it? On the other hand, if this is true, then I could be a party to an abetment of a crime. The time is near. I can feel it. I won’t have long to wait. What did he mean by that? To kill himself and be buried beside her? He could not do that himself, is that why he wanted me to be there to finish the job? If that is so, then I must be there to prevent this happening. It will be a very dark night. The moon will be in shadow. I do not know how far I will be from where he is. It will be by the light of the stars. I will have to bring along my night-vision glasses. I decided to test the game out.

It was inky dark on the night of the lunar eclipse, even darker than Erebus, the night when souls are most active, according to Ferdinand’s research. I could hardly see my hands outstretched. Putting on my night-vision glasses, I made my way ahead by the light of the few fireflies. Being a cop, I pooh-poohed at this ridiculous suggestion. I have been on night missions so many times; still this grave-yard on a dark night gave me a creepy feeling.

The area was gazetted historically for burial of prominent businessmen and philanthropists of all races who contributed in a significant way to the development of the country. In the dark, I made my way through narrow lanes of Christian and Muslim graves, to the Chinese traditional burial ground. Here exquisite tombstones of ceramic and beautiful tiles, with colourful terra-cotta armed guards, lie next to each other vying to be the best. Guarding the dead……. Money matters here too…. Only the rich could afford guards………

Through the NV glasses, I spotted him at a distance. He was already hard at work. At a distance, I watched him. With the shovel, he cut a shallow trench of three-meter diameter round the grave, and holding a bottle in his hand, sprinkled human ashes all round. The encircled area would be sacred ground, only for himself. Then he burned joss paper in a metal bin, all the time chanting a Buddhist mantra. He had prepared the materials well in the short time since we talked. Then stepping to the centre of the ring, he raised the sharp-pointed stake up with both hands, looked upwards, and plunged it into the ground.

The ground trembled, a soft feminine cry of pain, and of joy(?), could be heard.

From the ground a bubble blew up, enlarging into a spherical orb. With the stake standing firmly on the ground, he walked right into the aura!

It was my time to act. As quickly as I could, I ran up and stepped into the sacred Ring of the Soul. This was what Ferdinand wanted me to do.

The orb stopped vibrating, as if sensing my presence, then it slowly disappeared, leaving a thin wisp of white smoke wafting up into the dark branches above. The spot on which it stood was entirely clear and quiet.

I was left alone with my senses all on high alert, with the sound of crickets buzzing all around and the sparkling stars twinkling in the dark sky. An owl hooted. The eclipsed moon slowly brightened up.

I stood spell-bound for a good minute, then sat down on the lawn. The truth dawned that I had been a witness to the existence of the paranormal. And nobody would be the wiser if I keep quiet. But even if I were to give testimony, would anyone believe? Ferdinand would prefer it that way.

Slowly, I got up to do the mopping up work. The trench was filled; the ashes and the bin were removed. The stake was pulled off. The light slowly moved to fill up the whole disk of the moon, flooding the ground with an eerie light.

For a long time afterwards, I pondered at my own fate, and wondered if humanity could learn anything from it.

The End