Chapter One: A Night of Terror-Tenho um Encontro com uma Mulher Fantasma(Taoísta)

Matters of ghosts and gods cannot be dismissed out of hand, for until you have truly encountered such things, you will never believe in their existence.

I am a sophomore in high school. During the summer vacation, I went to my grandfather’s village to escape the heat, only to witness things beyond belief.

The place where my grandparents live is called “Rock Bay.” As the name suggests, apart from mountains, there is nothing but stone. The entire village now holds just over twenty people—three under eighteen, including myself; two in their forties; the rest all above sixty.

All the young people of the village have left to earn a living. The elders refuse to leave their homeland, so they remain; my grandparents are among them.

Truth be told, I’ve always been reluctant to visit. First, there’s no one for me to play with—the other two under-eighteens are still in primary school, so we have nothing in common; as for the elders, there’s even less to say. Second, there isn’t even a hint of cell signal here. If I want to make a call, I have to climb to the edge of the cliff beside my grandfather’s house. Yet these aren’t the worst parts—the thing that unsettles me most is the uncanny feeling that lingers in this place.

There is a custom in this village: when someone dies, the body must not be cremated but placed whole in a coffin for burial. “The dead can still feel,” they say. “To burn them is a sin.”

Because of this tradition, earth mounds—graves—dot the landscape. Some are long untended, the ground cracked open; around each grave lingers a peculiar scent.

The village was once called “Great Meadow.” That struck me as strange, for there’s no meadow to be found, let alone a great one. I later learned that this place was once uninhabited; when people settled here, they burned all the grass and planted trees instead.

Looking out at the stand of trees by the door, I asked my grandfather, “Grandpa, what are these trees for?”

He took a drag from his dry pipe, exhaling a plume of white smoke. “These toon trees are for building houses. The other day, we cut some down and made two coffins. They’re in the room where you sleep.”

Here, the elderly all prepare their coffins around the age of sixty. I never asked why; I didn’t dare.

Wait—did he say they’re in my room?

I hadn’t noticed anything unusual when I’d slept there before. “I didn’t see any coffins,” I said.

Grandpa had only one tooth left—he lost the others from eating ice in winter as a child. He once got false teeth, but lost half down the toilet, and never bothered to replace them.

“They’re right by your bed, under that oilcloth,” he said.

“What?” My mouth hung open in shock. All my clothes were piled on top of that.

Now that I knew there were two coffins by my bedside, I couldn’t bring myself to sleep there. Still, I wanted to appear brave in front of my grandparents, so I forced myself to go. The lamp in the room was a dusty old bulb casting a golden glow, its switch a bit of hemp string. I groped about in the darkness for some time but couldn’t find the string.

With a rustle, I bolted from the room, feigning calm. “I think the switch is broken!”

Grandpa, hearing this, grabbed a flashlight. “Shine the light for me. I’ll have a look.”

He entered my room and, with a single tug, switched on the lamp. By its glow, I saw, at the head of the bed, two large objects wrapped in oilcloth—surely the coffins, stacked together. I remembered hearing in some old crime drama that oilcloth could help reveal wounds on a corpse.

Corpses.

Damn it, I didn’t want to think about corpses, but I couldn’t help myself. The sight of the coffins made my mind race in that direction.

Having turned on the light, Grandpa said, “Don’t play with your phone at night. If you do, you’ll never wake up in the morning!” I weakly agreed. Play on my phone? As if I’d dare!

As expected, I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t even dare turn on my phone for fear that its light would attract ghosts. I hid under the covers, even though it was summer and I was drenched in sweat within minutes. The sheets grew damp beneath me. I was so tense I barely dared to breathe, terrified the ghosts would hear me.

It’s true: stress makes you need to pee more. My bladder ached with the urge, and though I couldn’t see my face, I knew it must be turning blue from holding it in.

“Grandpa…” I called out softly, praying the ghosts wouldn’t hear. Soon, Grandpa arrived with his flashlight.

“I need to use the bathroom!” In the countryside, the toilet is separate from the house, a little distance away. I was too scared to go alone, so Grandpa accompanied me.

Outside, he said, “I’ll wait here. You go.”

What? He wouldn’t come with me?

Fine—there are no ghosts and spirits, just the living. I steeled myself.

The toilet was a triangular hut of thatch, surrounded by trees. Nearby was a pigsty, its roof covered with white plastic sheeting that glowed eerily in the moonlight. Shadows of the trees danced like restless spirits. I hurriedly undid my trousers and relieved myself over the pit.

What if a ghost pushed me from behind?

That thought made me glance back. And then—

I broke out in a cold sweat. I saw a white shape glide over the pigsty roof.

“Grandpa! Grandpa!” I screamed, so loudly that my urge to pee vanished entirely. I yanked up my trousers and ran.

“Grandpa, there’s something moving on the pigsty roof!” My voice shook uncontrollably.

Grandpa shone the flashlight, his own nerves showing. “It’s probably just the plastic on the pigsty roof,” he said in his thick local accent.

“It was white, above the pigsty.”

He watched for a while. “It must be the plastic sheeting. Nothing to worry about. Go back to bed.”

“But…” I had no proof, but what I saw was definitely not plastic. In fact, ever since I left my room, I’d felt a chill at my back, something I’d never experienced before.

Grandpa turned to head inside. Only then did I remember I hadn’t finished peeing. I didn’t dare return to the toilet, so I went on the ground outside the house, in a small clearing. Beyond the clearing was the toon tree grove. The sound of my urine hitting the earth was oddly crisp. It was so quiet that I listened closely—and the sound seemed off, somehow. But it was too dark to see, so I hurried back inside.

Grandpa told me to go to bed. Scared as I was, I begged him to sleep with me. He agreed—after all, he is my grandfather.

I took the side against the wall, which was made of yellow clay; Grandpa lay on the outside. With him beside me, I soon drifted off.

Just as I was slipping into sleep, I heard a soft rustling above the bed.

All my nerves tensed, and I jolted awake.

“Grandpa, Grandpa,” I whispered, barely daring to make a sound. But Grandpa didn’t respond. I supposed he was already asleep. After a while, the rustling on the bed canopy ceased.

It must have been a mouse, I thought, relaxing a little. Country mice are everywhere—I’d seen one just that afternoon.

Crisis averted, I calmed down. Still, the thing on the pigsty roof—was it really plastic?

I couldn’t help glancing out the window. It was tiny, barely sixteen inches square, with an ancient, rustic look—wooden, carved with old patterns like those in a period drama.

Outside, the darkness was absolute; nothing could be seen. Inside, it was just as black. Were it not for my clear mind, I might have thought I’d gone blind.

Wait… Suddenly, it struck me. When I went out to pee, there had been some moonlight. Why was it now pitch black?

At that moment, the pigs in the sty began squealing wildly, startling me. They ran about, shrieking and crashing into the pen.

I couldn’t take it anymore and shook Grandpa awake.

“Grandpa, wake up! What’s wrong with the pigs outside?”

After a few seconds, Grandpa stirred. He listened, clearly puzzled, then grabbed his flashlight from beside the pillow and shone it out the window.

The beam cut through the darkness, landing on the trees outside. As soon as the light passed through the window, the pigs quieted down.

Grandpa turned to me. “You’ll sleep in the other room tomorrow,” he said. He meant the room at the back of the house—no windows, just a door-sized opening in the wall, a few cupboards, and a bed.

“Alright!” I agreed eagerly. After learning there were two coffins in this room, I’d wanted to sleep elsewhere.

Wait… why had the moon come out again?

I stared out the window. This time I could clearly see the view outside. Why had it been so dark before? Could it be—something had blocked the window?

I dared not think further. The more I pondered, the more I trembled. I was now certain that what I’d seen on the pigsty roof was no plastic.

As a member of the Youth League, I was raised an atheist. Yet now, my faith was wavering.

Five minutes after Grandpa turned off the flashlight, the distant barking of dogs reached my ears.

That night, I did not sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I pictured a woman in white standing outside the window, staring in at me. Who could sleep in such a state?

All night, I prayed: let the white shadow be plastic, the canopy rustling be a mouse, the darkness outside the window just a passing cloud.

With these self-deceiving reassurances, I finally drifted off into uneasy dreams.