The Voice of Tanglin Mansion

Prologue

The ghost of Tanglin Mansion, Hector only has a fragmented sense of what happened to him in the past or resolve his love for Elise. Listen to his voice.

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In the sombre silence of Tanglin mansion, time seemed to stand still. I drifted through the corridors that had once been my world. These grand corridors, now caked in dust and lint, were a mere shadow of their former glory. I was Hector Lim, a ghost tied to the memories that were as faint as the old wallpaper layering the walls.

My existence was an ill-fitting jigsaw of disjointed memories—glimpses of luxurious parties, escalated arguments, and a love that was never to be. I had been a public figure in Singapore’s colonial era, but my life had ended in unfortunate tragedy, the circumstances of which were unclear. I had been betrayed and cut out by one of my trusted associates, but I wasn’t sure which. This once grand home was now my prison, longing for a resolution.

The first time my eyes settled on Elise Tan, was through lens of uncertainty. She intended to restore the mansion, her presence jolting the air with a vigour I hadn’t felt in years. The whispers I uttered in Hokkien were echoes of my past, indistinct to her but burdened by the weight of history. I had hoped to stay insignificant, to let her uncover the mansion’s secrets without my intervention, but I couldn’t quite resist the tug of her inquisitiveness.

As Elise delved into the mansion’s renovation, I noticed her emotions merging with with my broken memories, Her stress and resolve mirrored my own challenges from the past. As she dealt with the uphill task of refurbishing the mansion, I found myself recollecting my own battles—family tussles and forgotten desires. My recollections, once unmoving, began to mix with her present-day anxieties, becoming a confusing psychedelia of past and present.

I tried to make myself known to her, but my unreliable recollections made my attempts impossible. I would try to appear during emotionally significant times for her—abrupt encounters marked by sudden chills and poetic revelations. I spoke in figurative language, referring to our connection as “a morning glory blooming in the shadows of the old tembusu tree,” hoping to resonate my feelings. Yet, my words seemed as unclear as the memories I struggled to piece together.

Every interaction with Emily was a walking a tightrope between the romantic and the tragic. I yearned to express my love for her, but the unresolved angst of my past clouded my emotions. I wanted to reveal the betrayal of the love I once lost, but my clouded feelings stopped me. My heart ached to be known, to have my story heard, but I only created more confusion when I tried to make sense of what I felt.

One evening, as Elise sifted through a little used bookshelf in the library, she uncovered a collection of letters and diary entries. These were the shards of my soul - many of them had disappeared over time. Written in Mandarin dialect, they revealed the tale behind my tragic end and the emotions I had borne into my death.

She eventually visualized me and confronted me with these revelations, and I responded with an oxymoronic mix of relief and heartbreak. She had somehow pieced together the shattered fragments of my life and my lovelorn emotions. The result was bittersweet - while the revelation was a balm for my angst, it also marked the end of our ethereal connection.

I revealed my feelings in my last conversation with her. Her grace, as she listened with attentiveness to my words, touched me profoundly. I felt a sense of closure as she acknowledged my love for her and the eventuality of my fate. Her understanding brought release. My spirit, once bound by painful feelings, began to fade, leaving behind this mansion that had been, at once, my prison and my comfort.

As I faded away, I felt an odd mixture of sadness and calmness. Elise stayed, a light for the past and present intertwined. The mansion, which she had successfully restored to its former glory, was a poignant reminder of the moments we shared. I had finally found my rest, knowing that she had documented and treasured my story, even if no one, including herself, would fully understand its soft whispers.