by A. J. Low
I had to admit, I did not know that. I was glad Nazhar and I were friends. I am always eager to learn new things. Even Batman has friends and mentors he learns from!
“And during the Japanese occupation, they used a different currency called duit pisang. My dad has two notes,” Nazhar continued.
“But this place is all haunted! There are ghosts everywhere!” Jimmy said. That was all he could focus on.
“And when they were alive, I’m sure they were very nice people who wouldn’t have hurt you anyway,” I said. “Besides, there are no such things as ghosts. You trust me, right, Jimmy?”
Jimmy nodded and settled down after that. Everybody continued eating.
My stomach grumbled.
Wendy sighed. “You can have half of my sandwich, Sam.”
I ate it quickly, before she could change her mind. Once in a while, having a big sister was a good thing. This is also something I will tell her when I am older. And taller.
Once we finished our lunch, we rushed over to the Spice Garden, as we only had about twenty minutes before we had to head to the school buses. I wanted to make notes on what spices Mom could use to make her cooking more delicious! Plus, perhaps there would be a vending machine that dispensed snacks or Milo!
We walked past a curry leaf bush (good for curry, especially fish curries!), a black pepper plant (pepper is the most popular spice in the world!), and a lemon—Wendy burst out laughing, startling Nazhar. “I think you need to eat more lemongrass, Sherlock!”
“I don’t understand what you mean,”
I replied, quickly moving away from the lemongrass plant. I had read the same information plaque Wendy had seen, and knew exactly why she was laughing.
“It-says-here-that-lemongrass-is-believed-to-relieve-flatulence,” Watson said.
Gee, thanks, Watson.
“What’s ‘flat-you-lance’?” Jimmy asked.
“It’s nothing you need to be bothered about, Jimmy,” I said.
Even Nazhar was smiling slightly.
Jimmy continued to look confused and I saw Watson whisper something to him. Suddenly, Jimmy burst out laughing and said, “I love fart jokes!”
“Watson, we will speak of your betrayal at home,” I said.
“Guys, we should head back,” Nazhar said. “It’s almost time to line up.”
We were heading back, and as we walked to the top of the hill, past the Archaeological Dig and Exhibition Area, Jimmy suddenly decided that racing would be fun.
“Come on, Watson, I’ll race you!” Jimmy said, racing off at full speed.
Watson continued to walk at his usual leisurely pace.
Jimmy, however, turning back to look at Watson, tripped, fell head over heels, and tumbled toward the bushes!
“Jimmy!” I yelled. “Are you all right?!”
Jimmy sat up, looking shocked. He grabbed his head and checked it frantically for injuries. Finding no bumps and nothing wrong at all, Jimmy sprang up, grinning, and waved happily at all of us! His school T-shirt was covered in grass and dirt, but he was fine otherwise. Suddenly, he stopped waving and walked farther into the bushes.
“What is that?” Jimmy asked. He was clearing a path through the bushes and poking at a rusty metal gate. “Do you think this is a shortcut?”
“Oh, wow! It’s a sally port! That’s strange. Dad told me there was only one sally port left in Fort Canning,” Nazhar said. He had run forward earlier when Jimmy had tumbled, and had reached the rusty metal gate before the rest of us.
“What’s a sally port?” Wendy asked.
“It’s a small hidden doorway leading in and out of a fort. It allows the people who lived in the fort to escape undetected if enemies attack,” Nazhar replied. “We saw one near the Battle Box ticket office just now, but the teachers told us not to go there, remember?”
I was impressed. I realized that in order to become the great detective I wanted to be, I needed to brush up on my history. Note to self: Remind Dad to buy me some books on Singaporean history.
“Wow! Does that mean that Jimmy has found an undiscovered sally port?” Wendy asked.
“Do you think it’ll be named after me?” Jimmy asked, wide-eyed. “A Jimmy port!”
“Maybe, Jimmy,” Nazhar replied, smiling. “I wonder where it leads. Sherlock, do you think we should check it out?”
“Curious,” I replied. “We definitely should. In fact, the Fort Canning authorities might be interested to learn—”
Suddenly, a strange sound came from within the sally port!
“OOOooooOOOooo. OOOooooOOOooo. OOOooooOOOooo.”
Nobody moved. We all stared at the newly discovered sally port . . . and waited.
After what seemed an eternity, Wendy said, “Maybe it was just the wind?”
“OOOooooOOOooo. OOOooooOOOooo. OOOooooOOOooo,” the sally port replied. Suddenly, a rock flew out of the sally port!
“Ahhhh! A poultry-guest!” Jimmy shouted as he ran, flapping his arms like a chicken.
We all ran after him, even Watson.
“I didn’t know Watson could run,” Dad said.
“I-did-not-run,” Watson replied.
“Watson ran so fast, he lost a screw,” I said, holding up Watson’s loose screw. I knew robots couldn’t fume, but I was sure I heard Watson’s circuits crackle even more furiously than normal.
“So tell me again what you heard?” Dad replied, trying to hide his grin.
“It was a ghostly moan,” I replied, “but I didn’t have sufficient time to definitively pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. It seemed to be coming from the sally port, but given our heightened state of—”
“Being a chicken?” Wendy said, walking past Dad, Watson, and me in the living room.
“You ran away, too!” I said.
“Only because I had to chase after you, Cher Lock!” Wendy replied.
“Dad, Wendy ran so fast, she lost a shoe,” I said, holding up Wendy’s lost shoe.
In response, Wendy shut her door very firmly with a loud click.
“So the reason you want me to take you back to Fort Canning tonight is . . . ?” Dad asked.
“There are no such things as ghosts, Dad!” I said. “You’ve always said! And now we have to prove it! Right, Watson?”
“If-you-do-not-believe-in-ghosts-there-is-no-need-to-prove-it,” Watson replied.
Clearly, the loose screw was affecting Watson’s ability to process information in a logical manner. “We are going to use science, Dad! Just like Neil deGrasse Tyson, your hero!” I said.
“SCIENCE!” Dad said, standing up with his feet firmly planted apart, one hand braced on his hip, the other hand raised, his index finger pointing up in triumph. Dad always strikes this pose when he says, “SCIENCE!” He is, quite possibly, the best dad ever.
“If SCIENCE is at stake, then let’s go!” Dad said.
Mom looked at us oddly as Dad, Watson, and I marched out with large backpacks, but she quickly went back to her book. “It’s a school night, so be back by eleven,” she said.
Dad had packed plenty of scientific equipment that could double as ghost-hunting equipment, including an electromagnetic field (EMF) meter, a digital recorder, a digital thermometer, and flashlights. The EMF meter was to check for electromagnetic disturbances, the digital recorder was to check for sounds not in the range of human hearing, the thermometer was to check if the temperature was lower than the surroundings, and the flashlights were because it would be dark. Obviously.
Dad drove Watson and me back to Fort Canning and we all trooped out of the car, intrepid adventurers in the night.
“So, we should first re-create the exact scenario leading up to when you heard the ghostly wail,” Dad said, armed with a flashlight and the digital recorder.
“It was more of a ghostly moan than
a wail,” I replied. It was very important to be precise.
We decided to start at the most likely source of the disturbance: the cemetery. I was in charge of the digital thermometer while Watson had the EMF meter.
“Watson, you should take the lead,” I said.
“Why-should-I-take-the-lead?” Watson asked.
“Because robots are stealthy, as you’re always telling me,” I replied triumphantly. “Also, your headlamp is the brightest.”
Watson walked ahead of us while Dad and I trailed after, our flashlights slowly moving along the tombstones in the walls, which had names of deceased Europeans carved into them. We checked if any of the tombstones had been disturbed recently. “What are the chances that there could be a zombie infestation?” I asked Dad.
Ghosts were one thing; zombies were another. There were even zombie preparedness websites on the Internet! Dad had made zombie preparedness packs for all of us because, he says, “If you’re equipped to deal with a zombie attack, you’re equipped to deal with earthquakes, tsunamis, and generally everything else in between!” Mom calls them our emergency packs, but Dad and I call them our Zombie Apocalypse Packs, or ZAP Packs for short. (The term ZAP Packs would technically stand for Zombie Apocalypse Packs Packs, but “ZAP Packs” is more fun to say.)
“Slim, I would say. The police would have arrived to break up an illegal gathering of that size by now,” Dad replied. “Besides, there has been no increase in patients who have been bitten at the hospital. I checked before we left the house.”
Dad was right, of course. The grave sites were undisturbed. No upturned soil. No overturned headstones. No choreographed dancing.
“I see no evidence of any supernatural activity here, Sam,” Dad said finally.
“Neither do I, Dad,” I replied, pleased. “How about you, Watson?”
“I-have-found-something-supernatural,” Watson said.
“What?!” Dad and I looked around frantically.
“I-am-beyond-natural. Therefore-I-am-super-natural,” Watson said.
Dad and I gave Watson a withering look. “Very funny,” I mumbled.
We looked around a bit more, but found nothing.
“If we hurry, we could get some tau huay and you char kway before heading home!” I said brightly. I love the combination of the warm soybean curd and the deep-fried dough sticks. My favorite part is dipping the you char kway into the tau huay and sucking all the liquid out before crunching down. Yummy!
“Good thinking, son. The famous Rochor Original Beancurd is at Selegie, just a five-minute drive away. I think Mom and Wendy might like some, too,” Dad replied.
We walked back up to the newly discovered sally port (or “Jimmy port” as Jimmy had taken to calling it) where we had originally heard the noise. Hotel Fort Canning was nearby, past the Fort Canning Centre.
Dad had called the hotel earlier, pretending to make a reservation, and had taken the opportunity to ask the concierge if there had been any strange reports in the area. For example, had any guests reported hearing ghostly moans at night? The concierge quickly mentioned that Fort Canning was a historical site and that there were many rumors that had never been proven. He followed up with a description of the hotel’s lovely buffet breakfast. A devious distraction tactic!
“We should see if Mom and Wendy would like a staycation one weekend,” Dad said. “Once your exams are over!”
“That would be—” I began to say.
“OOOooooOOOooo. OOOooooOOOooo. OOOooooOOOooo.”
We froze in the exact same spot that we had been in before, right in front of the sally port that Jimmy had discovered.
I heard Dad gulp loudly.
“Nobody move,” he whispered. “Was . . . was this the sound you heard earlier?”
I nodded. There are no such things as ghosts, there are no such things as ghosts.
“OOOooooOOOooo. OOOooooOOOooo. OOOooooOOOooo.”
At night, with the park almost completely silent, the sally port’s strange moans seemed louder than they did in the afternoon! Plus, was it my imagination, or did the moans seem even closer as well?
“It-would-be-wise-for-us-to-make-our-getaway-now,” Watson said.
Dad and I were frozen in place.
Watson extended his arms, wrapped one around me and one around Dad, and lifted us over his head. He ran straight to the car, with us screaming all the way.
We never did stop for tau huay and you char kway.
“ARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!” Watson said.
I could have pretended that the sound being played back by Watson was doctored or made up, but I am a boy of fact! The fact was that Dad and I had yelled all the way back to the car. We drove home at a speed nearing the speed of light.
“I think that’s enough, Watson. Jimmy gets the idea,” I said. We were in the school hall, waiting for assembly to start.
The ARRGGHHING-ing stopped mid-ARGH.
“So what are you saying, Sherlock? That ghosts are real?” Jimmy asked. He seemed distracted, digging in his bag, then in his pockets, frowning.
“There are no such things as ghosts!” I said adamantly.
“Hmm . . . ” Jimmy replied. Now I knew for sure that something was wrong. Jimmy was acting far too calm in the face of possible ghosts.
“What’s wrong, Jimmy?” I asked.
“I think I left my wallet at home!” Jimmy replied. “I have no money for lunch!”
“That’s terrible! What are you going to do?” I said. I couldn’t imagine having nothing to eat for lunch!
“Can I borrow two dollars from you? I’ll pay you back tomorrow immediately!” Jimmy said.
“Erm, I don’t have any money,” I said. “Mom packed me a lunch. She always does.” I held up my Batman lunch box. Mom always makes sure I have a healthy lunch. She also makes sure that I won’t have extra pocket money to buy desserts. Desserts are for after dinner only, according to her. I am uncertain of her logic but Dad says not to press the issue if I want chocolate cake after dinner.
“Oh no! I’m going to starve! I really wanted to go to the fruit stall, too!” Jimmy said, upset.
I would have offered to share my lunch with Jimmy, but I knew that he didn’t like tuna. The last time I offered him a tuna sandwich, he said he wouldn’t eat dolphins. It took both Wendy and me to explain to him that dolphins and tuna are two different animals. Plus, dolphins are mammals, not fish! However, Jimmy is still wary and refuses to touch tuna, even the dolphin-safe tuna Mom buys.
“Oh! You could ask Wendy,” I said.
“Wendy-is-skinny-so-she-gets-extra-pocket-money-for-lunch,” Watson said.
Unfortunately, that is the truth. But all I need is one big growth spurt. Then I could have a cold Milo for lunch. Or a chicken wing. Or French fries. Or a—
“Oh! Okay! She’s over where the Primary Five classes are! I’ll be right back!” Jimmy said as he dashed off.
By the time Jimmy came back, it was time to head up to class. I looked at him questioningly and he gave me a cheery thumbs-up. I was relieved. The thought of anyone going without food during lunch was horrifying.
Our first period was social studies and Mrs. Lim, our teacher, was already in class. She wrote WORLD WAR II on the whiteboard.
“Do you all know what this means?” she asked, pointing to the II on the board. A few hands went up, including my own.
“Good, good. For those of you who don’t know, this is the Roman numeral for ‘two.’ These two I’s after World War mean that this was the second major war that involved almost the entire world,” Mrs. Lim said.
She paused to let that sink in.
“Now, did everyone enjoy our visit to Fort Canning yesterday?” Mrs. Lim asked.
There was a variety of responses. Someone mentioned being allergic to grass; someone else said there wer
e mosquitoes; others complained that the vending machines were out of green tea. I wanted to mention that we should have been briefed about the escalator leading up to the park, but before I did, Mrs. Lim interrupted the students.
“I mean, did you all learn anything?” Mrs. Lim said, frowning at everyone. Her brow was crinkled and her lips pressed together. I deduced that if I didn’t save the situation soon, we would all end up with extra homework, and while I usually loved extra homework, I needed to focus on solving the mystery of the ghostly moans tonight.
Bravely, I raised my hand.
“Yes, Samuel?” Mrs. Lim said.
“It’s Sherlock, Mrs. Lim!” Jimmy said.
“Be quiet, Jimmy,” Mrs. Lim said. But she smiled a bit. Every teacher in school is fond of Jimmy.
“I would like to ask about sally ports, Mrs. Lim,” I said.
“Jimmy port!” Jimmy burst in.
“Jimmy, quiet, please. What did I just say?” Mrs. Lim scolded.
“Ahem. As I was saying, I was wondering if you knew about the history of the sally ports at Fort Canning?” I asked.
“I’m impressed that you know what they are called, Samuel. Everybody else kept yelling ‘big hole with stairs’ yesterday, before running up and down the stairs, even though they had been told not to,” Mrs. Lim said. “There used to be quite a few sally ports at Fort Canning, but there’s only one left now. The one that’s close to Hotel Fort Canning.”
That’s what Nazhar’s dad had told him, too!
“No, I found—” Jimmy burst in again, jumping up in his excitement.
“Jimmy!” Mrs. Lim and I said at the same time. Jimmy pouted and sat back down.
“Did soldiers die in battle in those sally ports?” I asked.
Mrs. Lim looked surprised.
“What a strange question, Samuel. Why do you ask that?” she said.