Malaysian Mystery Memoirs: Merry Macabre

By Lara Lindemann  •  21 Dec 2023 in Horror/Mystery

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Christmas had always been a source of both joy and unease for me here in Malaysia. The festive atmosphere in the city, with malls adorned with shiny baubles and massive trees that could rival the Twin Towers, was one that I could never tire of.

Hosting extravagant open houses and Christmas spreads with friends and family were highlights of the season.

Still, amidst the festivities lurked a sense of discomfort, one that stemmed from my supposed ‘fear’ of Santa Claus. That’s right – the bubbly, almost paternal figure, a fictional man known for his warm demeanour and gifting nature. There was just something unsettling behind his hefty white beard, his stout figure emphasised by tight clothing, his general appearance.

It was all this, coupled with a smirk that is neither friendly nor condescending, that gave me the chills anytime I spotted him, even if it was on a tote bag or wrapping paper… So you can only imagine what it’s like when I step into a mall and there’s a ‘mall Santa’ grinning away, handing out candy and joy to those who crossed his path.

I didn’t know where the fear stemmed from, though I assumed it was akin to the fear of clowns, and that it would perhaps dissolve with age. My family seemed to share that belief, though it was beginning to prove untrue.

I sat through two decades of Christmas celebrations harbouring that uneasy feeling, trying to keep my spirits up as to not ruin the occasion. I once let it slip while I was at school, when one of the other girls came in with a Santa Claus keychain.

It made me jump in my seat. They laughed at me for weeks, calling me ‘Claustrophobic’. It’s funny now that I’m in my 20s, but it wasn’t too amusing at 14.

This time around, since COVID-19 was just settling down, we gathered in my grandmother’s home all the way in Kuantan for our first small, family-only gathering in years. It was going well, and I was pleased with this arrangement, because family was always extra cautious around me, ensuring not to expose me to any form of Santa-adorned material to the best of their abilities.

So, for once, I spent the intimate evening in ease.

As the night neared its end, we gathered around the table, still in our Christmas sweaters which were impractical for the Malaysian heat, all prepared to freshen up and conclude the day. My Aunt proposed a traditional gesture: Exchanging kind words among ourselves.

And so it happened – cousins expressing gratitude for thoughtful gifts, collective thanks to Grandma for the incredible feast and hospitality. Emotions ran a bit deeper for some, reflecting on our resilience amid financial challenges and the lingering impact of the pandemic.

My mother went last, and as she began her speech, tears were quick to well up. She started expressing her fear of losing family members to COVID-19. Then, turning to me with glistening eyes, she thanked me for standing by the family during challenging times.

Everything seemed fine until she uttered, “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you, my only daughter. I’m so grateful I didn’t lose you back then.” The room hushed, puzzled by her cryptic reference…

In that tense silence, it became apparent that a significant family secret, concealed for 20 years, was lurking. A secret so distressing that even close friends were forbidden from discussing it, as it had profoundly affected and traumatised my parents. My mother, realising she had unintentionally revealed more than intended, hastily covered her mouth. My aunty asserted that it was “time” for me to finally know the truth.

Ten minutes later, I found myself confronted with dusty newspaper clippings and articles hidden in the basement of the house, unveiling the horrifying account of a violent murderer known as ‘The Kuantan Killer.’

His arrest unfolded when police discovered him lugging a large black bag near a small house close to Cherating Beach. The accompanying photos chronicled the investigation, depicting a group of officers inspecting the home, uncovering various severed body parts meticulously packed into other identical black bags. It took months to identify the victims, and by the three-month mark, it was revealed that he was responsible for seven murders in the area, predominantly targeting tourists.

In an unthinkable twist, amidst the black bags, musky smell, and other unsettling items, there were three young children discovered in the home – recently abducted and oblivious to the grim reality. We didn’t even cry for our parents, too young to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

I, at just four years old, was the oldest among them, missing for 37 harrowing hours. My mother had left me playing on my grandma’s patio while she tended to a work call, and the next time she saw me was when she picked me up from the police station, thankfully unharmed.

The realisation of what might have transpired if the police hadn’t intervened weighed heavily on her, prompting an abrupt move to Kuala Lumpur and a shift to the bustling, distracting city life.

Soon after, the newspapers plastered his image across their pages. An older man with a beard and a head full of grey hair, donning round-rimmed glasses perched on a bulbous nose. His attire was tight, and his signature black belt seemed on the verge of bursting at any moment.

In his mugshot, he stared directly into the camera, a hint of a sinister smile beneath his fluffy beard – one that was neither friendly nor condescending.

* All illustrations AI-generated via DALL·E.

* Malaysian Mystery Memoirs is a series of fictional horror tales by JUICE, for entertainment purposes only. Any similarities to actual persons or situations are purely coincidental.