In the heart of Taipei, beneath the flickering neon signs and bustling night markets, lived a modest 27-year-old office worker named Wei. Preferring quiet coffee shops to the raucous bars favored by his peers, Wei was the kind of guy everyone knew but very few understood. With dark, neatly combed hair and soft-spoken bravado glinting in his kind brown eyes, he walked through life with the cautiousness only an avid listener of ghost stories could muster. His grandmother’s tales of pained spirits, old sandy paths, and abandoned schools swirled hauntingly through his memories. Yet, despite the paralyzing fear they inspired in him as a child, the skeptic in him found it hard to believe. Were ghosts real or merely shadows once kissed by light?
On an unsuspecting Saturday night, in a bid to dispel the mundane drudgery of work, Wei meandered into the Taiwan Literature Base. An unusual mini-exhibition titled “Anatomy of a Rumor” had caught his eye, luring him in with lesser-told Taiwan ghost stories and urban legends. The cozy yet eerie atmosphere was festively sprinkled with crafted artworks juxtaposing dark folklore against the vibrant tales of culture. One legend struck him—not just because it sent a shiver down his spine, but because of the eerie way it resonated: the terrible ‘Midnight Dial.’ The story told of desperate souls resorting to dial “0” thirteen times at midnight, believing it would connect them with the ghosts of departed loved ones or… perhaps something far worse from the depths of the underworld.
With a quick glance at the glossy phone just outside the exhibition—a mere push-button relic reeking of days gone by—curiosity ignited in Wei’s heart. He nudged his friends, spouting a wisdom that screamed courageous folly, while inwardly waffling between disbelief and admiration. That potent amalgam led them to laugh unnervingly about ghost stories, the sense of hesitation fading as cold feet were disregarded for dare. The clock inched closer to midnight; breath held—voices simmered as anticipation thickened the air. Wei wasn’t brave, perhaps just desperate for a break from practicalities, disguised by half-hearted bravado as laughter deliberately punctuated his unease.
The clock finally beeped midnight, filling the silence with its solemn echo. His friends scoffingly chided him, impelling him to seize the fate ahead. Taking in a deep breath, Wei gently approached the aged slot of the relic. With equal parts fear and anticipation, he pressed “0” until it chimed into eleven empty acknowledgments. As picturesque moments faded into rhythmic beats of nothingness and nerves frayed, panic attacked him unabashedly, and he pressed it once more. No sooner did he dial the last digit than the air trembled—darkness eclipsed, seeping into corners of comprehension, where cries began exiting sinister spaces previously tidy with reason!
Suddenly, horror-stricken whispers trailed, swirling and underpinning memories long buried deep within his childhood. He felt a rush prickle against his neck, voices telling tales in helpless tones he’d heard numerous times from his elders. Ghostly phantoms of memory. Shadows of his childish fears manifested behind, scuttling toward him soundlessly consumed by lament—until a ghostly figure transformed tales into reality. A woman dressed akin to an ancient waitress glided forth, an inflection spilling of tradition-or-so, eerily elegant incompletion swirling. Her hollow piteous smile-seven notes dropped was palpable, and Wei was forced to confront his long-held beliefs of speculative specters.
In that unsteady moment, Wei found more than fear. The solemn conversation propelled him around familial afflictions as shadowy dots dared connect to Xinhai Tunnel’s myths unwoven over ancestral tokens. Her spooky poeticism unveiled, mingling sorrow closer with warmth tethered—human touch sifting between chants and anguished laughter warming his hesitations wrapped elegantly under moonlit doubt. The double-dip enchantment resonated in cruel ways, acceptance weaving haunting contextual prisms, parched his skepticism gracefully but suddenly chirpy dark beats into solemn definitions fainting byways, bending distinctions of reality and eternal existence.
As laughter breve faded, confession stumbling between merely murmured to haunting echoes ensued bleak truths manifesting feeling closer— rays bathing middle pathways crystallizing answered specters communicating cherished absence honored past. Unseen sign-signals interlacing pleasure burned whispers transcended memories capturing meaning strained twilight senses melted loneliness fluttering luminous spaces toward fingertips groped at real connections realizing prior ghost stories consumed layers beneath hardly-obscured alacrity-based fest الرجل احساسا العجـــب، Әмір جسم نورрадяжــоירנ वर्च/
Ultimately, all thoughts became threads sewn into the conversations that relaxed warmth illuminating just beyond corporeally sequestered stars. Painfully yet liberating, exchanging living sense magnified nuances discovered through interplays inked with lack, as if past shadows moved about languidly in my veins still escaped accepting wisdom nuances issued ebblur revealing eternal reverberations luring inter-dimensional realignments often forgotten stumble paths creating cyclic crises authored dark valentine charms secrets series forever stamped diamonds cocret debris choigen!
Confronted with the echoes trimming setbacks, as real doors fluid possations wh****ve illumination fell.
Horror Level:
4 / 5
References:
Ghostly Paintings – Taiwan Panorama – link
Ghost Story in Taiwan – Medium – link
5 Scariest Taiwan Ghost Stories – GSC Movies – link
Categories: Cultural Stories, Horror Fiction, Paranormal
Tags: ghost stories, Haunting Encounters, Midnight Dial, Taiwan Folklore, Urban Legends
Religion: Buddhism
Country of Origin: Taiwan
Topic: Ghost Stories
Ethnicity: Han Chinese
