THIS was told to me by my big brother who is as fond of ghost stories as I am.
Taxi drivers seem to have it worse than any other job holders (in terms of eerie encounters) -- though midnight toilet cleaners have a fair share too.
But come to think of it, even cleaners don't clean toilets in the night anymore (after closing). I think they do it in the mornings these days, and several times in the day... but guess not late nights. There used to be quite a bit of eerie encounters by toilet cleaners.... the sound of toilet flushing when no one is in the toilet... moans whose source could not be traced... toilet covers slamming onto seats on their own...
Anyway, back to this taxi driver who picked up a girl by the roadside just when he was about to call it a day. It was dark, and threatening to rain. Out of the kindness of his heart, he decided to make a last trip -- even if this girl was drunk and would probably puke in his cab.
The girl did seem to be a bit drunk. She was giggly and insisted on sitting in front. You smoke? She asked the taxi driver who shook his head.
"Mind if I do?" and without waiting for an answer, lowered the window and whisked out a stick. Soon, she was puffing merrily.
"Stop! Stop! Stop! I get down here!" she shouted suddenly just when the driver began to pick up speed at Lentor Avenue and started towards Yishun (where the girl had wanted to go).
"Not Yishun yet!" the taxi driver exclaimed.
"Ya, ya, forgot, my friend said he will pick me up here.... you have been very kind. Here, keep this cigarette for payment. Forgot to bring purse la!" she said and burst into drunken giggles again.
"I don't smoke!" the taxi driver protested, peeved.
"You keep!" she said, and stuffed it into the man's shirt pocket. Then she was gone into the night, with surprising speed for someone drunk.
The taxi driver shook his head and made his way home. Just one of those crazy, drunk passengers. He was about to forget the whole episode when he remembered the cigarette in his pocket. He had better take it out before dumping the shirt into the laundry basket.
Just then, he felt his shirt front dampening -- a damp warmth spreading. Strange. He felt his shirt pocket and it was wet. He let out a tiny scream when he found that his hand, after patting the pocket, was bloodied. Was I stabbed, he wondered. But he felt no pain.
He screamed again, not in pain, but in fright, when he fished out the "cigarette" which happened to be a very bloody index finger. Not a cigarette at all.