Hungry Ghost Festival: SG industry players reveal their spookiest stories

With the Hungry Ghost Festival underway across Singapore, offerings line the streets, incense fills the air and joss paper burns as families observe a tradition rooted in honouring the departed.

But for those working in Singapore’s advertising and marketing industry, the festival can take on a slightly more unsettling edge. Long nights in the office, late shoots and empty production spaces have long been fertile ground for stories of strange noises, unexplained encounters and moments that are hard to forget.

Whether you are a believer or a sceptic, there is something about being alone on a shoot after midnight that can make even the most rational person think twice.

We spoke to several Singapore industry players about the eerie encounters that have stayed with them long after the work was done. Here are their stories. 

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Benjamin “Mr Miyagi” Lee, associate director, APRW

Maybe I’ve been inoculated against scary moments in my decades of being in the industry so it’s more like dread rather than spooky. Years of clients texting in the dead of night asking, “Can you make my logo bigger?” is an example. But probably the scariest thing was working on a stroke awareness campaign when one of my colleagues suffered a stroke (he recovered). I suppose this kind of commitment beats any case study for a creds deck.

Rahat Kapur, editorial director, APAC and Middle East, Beyond the Boardroom 

A few years ago, I was working late one night with my then-intern because we were trying to launch a new website. It was around 10pm, and our office was in an old converted warehouse building that could feel pretty eerie once everyone else had gone home.

We were sitting there coding HTML when we started hearing these strange knocks against the glass door to the office. Every time it happened, we’d look up expecting someone to be there, but there was never anyone outside. My intern then told me that he’d always found the building strange at night. Whenever he’d worked late before, he sometimes thought he could hear heavy footsteps moving up and down the hallways, as though someone was walking around outside.

Eventually we finished, switched off all the lights and left, only to realise we’d forgotten something inside. We tried putting the code into the door again and again, but for some reason the lock just wouldn’t open, even though we were sure we had the right code. Eventually we managed to get back in and when we did, one of the lights we distinctly remembered switching off was on again.

At that point, neither of us was interested in investigating. We grabbed what we’d forgotten and practically bolted out of the building.

It was around then that my intern told me he’d heard a story about a former caretaker who had apparently died in the building years earlier, and who was supposedly still seen or heard wandering the hallways at night. I have absolutely no idea whether that story was true, or whether there were perfectly normal explanations for everything that happened that night. But I can tell you that neither of us volunteered to stay late alone in the office again!

Robert Gaxiola, director of innovation, GALO

This isn't much of a ghost story. More of an incident.

We were recording at Yellow Box on Telok Ayer. Hungry Ghost Month, hell money burning at the temple, ash in the air. Somewhere at the back of our minds the story about a little girl in a red dress people had seen inside the old shophouses.

The main commercial was done. We were grinding through the cut-downs well past midnight. Jerry, the audio engineer, was asleep on the sofa. I was at the console bullshitting with my copywriter Ray, waiting on our account man, who was still out on supper break.

Sound studios are so insulated that when nobody is talking, everything is dead quiet.

The front door opened.

Our account man walked in.

The stack of scripts inside the booth got smacked off the stand and went across the floor.

Nobody said a word. We stood up, walked straight out onto Telok Ayer Street and kept going. He followed a full beat later.

"Did you see the head?"

Ray got there before I did. "No. I didn't see a head."

Nobody mentioned the girl in the red dress.

Jerry slept through the whole damn thing.

Alex Chan, head of brand, communications and marketing, Geneco

In my earlier stage of my career, we were filming for a National Day campaign at a decommissioned historic landmark, nearly a century old, closed to the public, and heavy with stories no one wanted to repeat after dark.

For one iconic scene, we had an exact number of talents on set, arranged with military precision beneath the building’s majestic arches.

Weeks later, I arrived at the studio for the first post-production review. The production house and creative agency teams were unusually quiet. No jokes, no casual chatter, just worried faces. I assumed something had gone wrong with the TV spot.

Then they played the footage.

There, not far from the real talents, stood another figure. Clear as day. Still. Present. Unaccounted for.

Everyone in the room went silent. My hair stood. Even now, whenever that landmark is mentioned, I remember that extra presence in the frame, and why, till today, the place remains a legendary stop for local ghost hunters.

Joshua Lee, founder, Joy Communications

Many years ago, I was working late at the old DDB office at 226 Outram Road. It was way past midnight, and I was the only person left.

I was completely focused on my work, but the stillness was suddenly broken by the sound of a printer coming to life. It was eerie as there was no one else around, and no reason for it to be printing.

The moment I looked up, the printing stopped.

I brushed it off, assumed it was just a glitch, and got back to work. But moments later, the printing resumed.

Before I could process it, the overhead lights began to flicker erratically. That was it. I packed my laptop, grabbed my bag, and sprinted out of the office.

Safe to say, I never wanted to be the last one left in office. Phew!

Danielle Chow, country lead, Singapore, Mad Hat Asia

I was at SPH Genting Lane for an evening meeting, and if you've been in the industry long enough, you'll know the building's reputation. Everyone's got a story about it.

This wasn't the bustling newsroom side either. I was deep in the bowels of the building, all faded linoleum walls and worn carpeting. The lights were motion-sensor, so they only triggered when you walked a few feet, so the way forward is always dark.

I eventually found where I was going to, and the end of the corridor was still pitch black. Thank goodness I didn't have to go all the way to end. I would have lost my nerve.

Backrooms SPH edition. 10/10 do not recommend.

Munas van Boonstra, APAC managing director, TLC Worldwide APAC

Nobody warned you about that floor on your first day. They waited until your first late night, then mentioned casually, why no one works alone late at night, and never after 1am. Apparently this ad agency office in Malaysia is infamous for the 'other colleague that works at night only'.

I was there most nights until sunrise. Alone. You learn a building's sounds: the aircon cutting at 6pm, the lift no longer makes the 'ding' sound. What you never get used to are the sudden sounds amidst the silence.

At 4am, deep in a pitch deck, at the far end of the corridor I heard a faint sound. Something was walking towards me, sound was getting clearer, and I could see the entire length of that corridor. Empty. Finally, this 'sound' like a deep breath came close to me, and everything went still.

I said out loud, "I need one more hour."

I got exactly one hour. Then this deep breath appeared again. I ran for the stairs with my laptop and bag. I didn't switch the lights off and didn't dare wait for the lift

We won the pitch.

So yes, the floor was infamously haunted. It was also the only headcount I ever had that stayed late, asked for nothing, and never once requested a title change. Over time this headcount got used to me and vice versa.

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