non Finance, non loan, non property, non banking, non credit card
A Singaporean recently shared his experience after selling salt and making money from the undead. He did admit that he was successful but the nightmares still continued till this very day.
Here is the full story.
Have you been in such dire straits that you would do just about anything to make some money? Some of you might and some of you might not. Sadly, this situation presented itself to me recently.
Last year I was employed by a MNC (Multi national Company) and was offered a contract position that was sadly not renewed at the end of term. Since this is /nosleep and not /TIFU, I served my time there with a decent KPI result but **** happens. Fast forward a few months later and I still haven’t found a job and with a family to support, finances were fast depleting.
I kept my chin up in front of the family but deep down I was freaking out. Now, the beauty of growing up in Singapore is that you will never be short of get-rich-quick schemes (mostly illegal, some supernatural). Since I would like to stay out of jail, I opted for the far riskier supernatural option. The scheme I opted for was selling salt to the departed. The legend states that the departed souls use the salt to stop the decomposition process and for that will pay the salt peddler handsomely.
I’ve heard this tale since I was a young boy growing up with a Nyonya grandmother and she was always clear to emphasize the pantangs or taboos that go with all her scary tales. I remember her saying that the salt peddlers would need to be at a graveyard at midnight and have enough salt (in packages) to last him until daybreak, a wide brimmed hat to keep his face hidden and finally the fortitude to never look up. She stressed that the peddler must never look up no matter what happens. The dead will give payment in the strangest of items in the graveyard and when the peddler left the graveyard in the morning, the items will turn to money. Needless to say, she also made us (her grandchildren) to promise her under pain of death to never attempt any of the tales we’ve heard from her.
Back to our tale, I drove to a cemetery that was in the Lim Chu Kang area and with my salt and wide brimmed hat in tow, found a clearing with a tall tree and proceeded to sit down and start preparing my salt. As luck would have it, there was a gentle breeze in the air that coupled with the silence of the graveyard…let’s just say my fortitude was tested.
Sitting under the tree with my head bowed, I thought to myself if this myth was even true until I suddenly noticed the unmistakable smell of roadkill in the air. It was similar to that of something that have died for a week, except stronger. There was a rhythmic rustle of grass that sounded like it was heading towards me and before I could react, a decomposing hand appeared in my line of sight. I can still recall vividly the image of that hand with its darkened skin in tatters and exposed rotting flesh and bone shaking slightly. I placed a small packet of salt on the rotting hand and a few seconds later the same hand dropped some dried leaves in front of me.
This went on the entire night and the arrival of the hands were always preceded with a soft, slow rustling in the grass. The smell of rotting flesh filled the air the entire night. (For those of you who grew up in this region, I know we were told that we would smell the scent of Jasmine flowers when there are spirits around) The payment ranged from dried leaves, insects to even half burnt hell money. Each hell note they gave you will turn into $50 and but I’ve heard that I would have to spend all the money I received for the night within a week
Sitting there with my head bowed, I could not wait for the arrival of daybreak and just when I thought I would have no more “customers” for the night, I heard the sound that haunts me until today.
It was a soft cooing gurgle that accompanied the rustle of grass and a very small hand appeared outstretched. It’s skin still very much intact with no exposed flesh. The hand was bloated but otherwise it looked like the hands of a young child, no more than 2 years old. I placed the small packet of salt on it’s hands and it dropped a pacifier onto my lap. I was shocked and curious at the same time and every fiber of my being screamed for me to look up but I resisted that temptation.
I stole quick glances with my peripheral vision that the sky was still inky and dark but I’ve begun to notice the soft chirping of birds in the distance and the slow, disappearance of the roadkill smell in the air. having never done this up to this point, I took it as my cue to leave and I gathered up my “payment” and placed it in small pillowcase for safekeeping. Upon standing up, I still kept my head bowed and started to walk out of the graveyard. Taking my first step, I felt a sharp pull on my pants and looking down I noticed it got tangled with some of the thorny weeds. I started to smile to myself because I thought I’d let my imagination get the better of me and told myself to relax and get to my car safely with my “prize”. As I kept walking out, I felt the temperature of the air suddenly drop and something brushed my shoulder and that sensation made me jump enough to actually make me look up for the first time since arriving at the graveyard.
Upon looking up I saw no one, only row upon row of faded and chipped headstones lining the ground. I ran out as fast as my legs could carry me towards my car and I drove home while periodically looking over my shoulder towards my backseat. I get home safely and yes, I found thousands of dollars in the pillowcase but for me the nightmare has only started. Now, every night when I go to bed, I hear a gentle scratching and rustling at my door and the unmistakable smell of roadkill. No one else in my family smells it or hears a thing and when I wake up I normally find a grain or two of salt in front of my bedroom door.