深夜怪談與都市傳說

Deep within Yushan, Taiwan's highest peak, when thick fog rolls in or a torrential rain is imminent, what hikers fear most isn't a black bear, but the legendary 'Yushan Little Airman'. One blustery afternoon, a climbing team was challenging the scree slope of Yushan's South Peak when they were suddenly engulfed by a dense, all-encompassing fog. Visibility dropped instantly to just a few meters, and the team members could only grope their way along the treacherous path towards Paiyun Lodge, battling the cold and their fear. Just as they were about to lose their way completely, three figures vaguely appeared in the mist ahead. They were all wearing identical yellow one-piece raincoats, large bamboo hats, and moved with light steps along the steep cliff edge. Relieved, the lost hikers thought they had encountered local guides and quickly called out, following them. However, as they got closer, the lead hiker suddenly broke out in a cold sweat – beneath the hats of those three 'people' was nothingness; there were no heads or faces at all. Even more bizarrely, they made no sound as they moved, merely extending pale hands to point towards a seemingly flat fork in the path that actually led straight to a bottomless abyss. Fortunately, the team leader was experienced and abruptly snapped back to reality, pulling his team back. In the blink of an eye, the three yellow-clad figures dissolved into white mist and vanished. Folklorists believe they are vengeful spirits of those who died in mountain accidents or traditional Taiwanese 'demon spirits' (魔神仔), deliberately taking the form of 'Little Airmen' to lure exhausted travelers to their doom. This fleeting yellow figure, swaying in the wind and rain, remains the most revered mountain taboo in Taiwan's climbing community to this day.

On February 15, 1995, the night sky over Taichung was stained blood red by a sudden, devastating fire. The Weierkang Western Restaurant suffered one of the most tragic fires in Taiwanese history, claiming 64 innocent lives. Amidst the charred ruins and the wails of the bereaved, a terrifying legend that plunged all of Taiwan into collective panic began to quietly spread among the populace. Shortly after the fire, numerous witnesses claimed to have seen an ancient sailing ship, emitting a faint greenish glow and floating amidst the clouds, in the sky above Taichung First Square, not far from the restaurant's remains. The ship drifted as if waiting for something. Subsequently, a prophecy began circulating, attributed to a乩童 (shaman) who claimed to possess 'yin-yang eyes.' He foretold that this was a ghost ship from the underworld, tasked with carrying 100 souls who died unjustly before it could sail back to the afterlife. This legend caused widespread fear among the citizens of Taichung at the time. At night, the once-bustling commercial district around First Square became deserted and quiet, with no one daring to linger nearby, lest they become passengers on that ship. Terrifyingly, in the following years, Taiwan experienced a series of major disasters with significant casualties, such as the Dayuan air disaster and the Shenhua KTV arson. Each time, before or after these events, people reported seeing the phantom of the ghost ship hovering nearby. That ghost ship, quietly waiting for souls in the night sky, became the most indelible apocalyptic shadow in the hearts of Taiwanese people in the 90s.

On a rainy night, taxi driver Old Ke was driving on a highway on the outskirts of the city. At 2:44 AM, a drenched female passenger stood by the roadside, waving at him. Old Ke hit the brakes, the woman got into the back seat, and gave the address of an old, long-demolished community in a cold, flat tone. Old Ke glanced at her through the rearview mirror—the car's interior lights were off, but the woman's face in the mirror was unnaturally clear, as pale as paper, and muddy rainwater was constantly dripping from her clothes. "Master, can I pay the fare via transfer?" The woman's voice seemed to vibrate directly in the car's air. Old Ke felt a chill down his spine, just wanting to get her out of the car quickly. He casually replied, "Sure, sure. There's a QR code on the dashboard, just scan it yourself." A few seconds later, Old Ke's phone, placed next to the handbrake, lit up with a faint notification sound. Old Ke stole a glance at his phone screen. A bank transfer notification was displayed: Notification: You have received a transfer of $0.00 Memo: Purchased 'The Gaze in the Rearview Mirror' Old Ke froze. Before he could even process the meaning of the memo, his gaze accidentally swept across the rearview mirror— No one was in the rearview mirror. But through the reflection in the central rearview mirror, he suddenly saw the back of his own head. The 'self' in the rearview mirror was slowly turning its head, revealing a bizarre and stiff smile towards Old Ke in the driver's seat.

It was a muggy April evening in 1995. Mr. Chen and a few fishing buddies were casting their lines by a riverbank in Gangshan, Kaohsiung, southern Taiwan. As the float bobbed violently, a large, plump Tilapia, about 40 centimeters long, was pulled from the water. Cheering, they brought their catch back to the yard, set up a charcoal grill, slathered it with coarse salt, and eagerly anticipated a hearty late-night snack. As night fell, the fish on the grill sizzled and filled the air with a fragrant aroma. Everyone couldn't wait, grabbing chopsticks to pick up the tender fish meat and put it in their mouths, praising its freshness and sweetness. However, just as the atmosphere was at its peak, the air suddenly chilled. A deep, ancient woman's voice abruptly echoed in their ears in Taiwanese: "Fish, meat, good, eat, yes?" At first, they thought someone was playing a cruel joke, pushing and accusing each other. To their dismay, the eerie question came again. Everyone froze, their eyes instinctively drawn to the grill. In the dim firelight, where the fish skin had been peeled back, the face of an old woman with a pained expression gradually distorted and emerged. Her eyes and mouth even twitched slightly. Witnessing this anomaly, the men were so terrified they vomited on the spot. One of them frantically snapped a photo with his camera. Legend has it that the anglers who ate the fish were rushed to the hospital that night with bizarre poisoning, and Mr. Chen, who caught the fish himself, died in his sleep a few days later. This curse, "Is the fish meat good to eat?", has since become the most profound and terrifying nightmare on Taiwanese dining tables.

In March 1998, sunlight filtered through the canopy of the Dakeng mountain area in Taichung, illuminating a family outing filled with laughter and joy. The brother-in-law, walking at the very back, was enthusiastically recording the spring trip with his V8 video camera. In the footage, the family's steps were light, and the air was filled with the ease of a day trip. Little did anyone know, this would be the beginning of a nightmare. Not long after the outing ended, a family member who was present that day suddenly passed away. While grieving family members were sorting through belongings, they played the videotape. However, what appeared on the screen sent chills down everyone's spine. At the very end of the line of people, a mysterious "girl in red" had appeared out of nowhere. She followed closely with an eerie gait, but no matter how hard everyone racked their memories, this stranger was nowhere to be seen at the scene that day. Even more terrifying, when the camera briefly focused on her face, it wasn't the face of a child. Her complexion was pale green, her eyes were sunken, and her expression was extremely sinister and ancient, like a vengeful spirit in children's clothing. Subsequently, the face of the deceased relative captured in the video seemed to distort into a ferocious appearance with fangs during a flicker of the camera. Frightened, the family sent this V8 tape to "Ghost Sightings" (神出鬼沒), a very popular paranormal program on GTV at the time. After the footage was broadcast at the end of 1998, it instantly caused a sensation across Taiwan, becoming a widely known terrifying topic.

It was 2:45 AM. Jae, the night shift clerk at the convenience store, was idly scrolling through his phone. This store, tucked away deep in an alley, was usually deserted, and tonight it felt eerily cold and strange. Suddenly, the automatic door screeched open with a "Ding-dong!" Jae looked up. No one was there, only a gust of damp, cold wind blew in. He thought it was a faulty sensor, but then the microwave in the back aisle suddenly whirred to life, emitting a low hum, its screen counting down from 00:30. Jae's heart skipped a beat as he cautiously approached. The microwave was empty, yet the turntable was spinning at full speed. The completion beep sounded, and the door popped open. A strong, earthy smell instantly filled the air. Jae stiffly looked down. On the floor beneath the microwave, a trail of wet, black footprints had appeared, leading directly to the counter behind him. A faint, icy whisper, punctuated by dripping sounds, reached his ears: "Young man... is my hot lunch ready?" Jae's blood ran cold. He stiffly turned his head. In the security mirror behind the counter, a figure in a black raincoat, faceless, was pressed tightly against the back of his neck... Jae froze, too scared to turn around. In the mirror, the figure in the black raincoat was right behind his neck, its hood empty where a face should be, black liquid dripping continuously. The wet footprints stretched from the microwave. The cold breath whispered again in his ear: "Where's my hot lunch?" The microwave hummed to life again, and this time, a muddy mass slowly began to materialize on the turntable.

《Convenience Store Night Shift Rule #13》 A-Hao started his first night shift at this convenience store, located in an old alley. The night shift pay was ridiculously high, three times the market rate per hour. The store manager didn't say much during the handover, just handed him a laminated piece of paper and said with a chillingly heavy gaze: "Follow these, and you'll survive to get paid. Also, absolutely do not read Rule #13." After the manager left, a strange dog bark echoed from the alley. At 2:30 AM, A-Hao, his palms sweating, pulled out the paper: 【Night Shift Special Service Rules】 At 02:44 AM, a lady in a Qipao from the early Republic of China era will come to buy tea eggs. Be sure to give her the bottom-most one and accept the 'spirit money' she pays. Put the spirit money in the drawer below the cash register; it will automatically be converted to New Taiwan Dollars. If a headless person walks in to pick out a bento box, please microwave it for them using "Microwave Button 9" (even though that button doesn't normally exist). Place it on the counter after microwaving, and never ask if they want a spoon. If a customer requests to purchase "your shadow," politely refuse and recommend they buy the blood cake from the Oden counter instead. ... 13. 【Warning】 If the automatic door chimes three times in a row but no one enters, it means "They" have noticed you read Rule #13. Immediately tear up this paper and— (the rest of the text was obscured by ink-like splatters of dark blood, rendering it illegible) A-Hao's head went "buzz." He had accidentally read Rule #13! "Ding dong—" The automatic door suddenly opened, letting in a gust of cold air.

It was 11:45 PM, and the rain was falling hard and fast. Ajie stood under the bus stop sign in the old town, tucking his neck in. The last bus on this route was never on time, and after a severe multi-car accident nearby a few years ago, hardly anyone dared to wait for a bus here late at night. "Ding-dong——" A bus, with a cold white light emanating from inside its cabin, stopped in front of him with a screech of brakes. As the doors opened, a blast of damp, cold air carrying the smell of mold and rain rushed in. Ajie quickly got on, swiped his card, and habitually walked towards the back. The bus was empty except for a woman in a black raincoat sitting in the last row by the window, her head bowed, her face obscured. Ajie chose a seat in the middle of the bus, by the aisle, put on his headphones, and opened the urban legend discussion board on his phone. A popular post popped up on the screen: [Discussion] Have you heard of the "Disappearing Route 307 Last Bus"? Legend has it that after 11:30 PM, if you board the Route 307 bus in the old town with the last three digits of its plate number being "444", you must never respond to any conversation initiated by the passengers in the back. Because that bus plunged into the river three years ago, and the driver and passengers on board... none survived. PS: If you accidentally get on, stare at the rearview mirror in front of the driver. If the passengers in the back are not reflected in the mirror, it means you have entered "Their" world... Ajie's heart skipped a beat, and the corners of his mouth felt a little sore. He subconsciously looked up at the rearview mirror above the driver. In the mirror, the surface was very clear