True TAIWAN Horror story

I saw a comment mentioned the Jiaming Lake incident, which reminded me of a terrifying experience my teacher had six years ago. Jiaming Lake is breathtakingly beautiful. My teacher, who hadn’t yet returned from Vancouver at the time, decided that her first mountain climb would be dedicated to Jiaming Lake.

The charm of Jiaming Lake lies in the ever-changing vistas created by its sea of clouds, blue skies, sunlight, green fields, and that meteorite lake. Known as “Angel’s Tears,” calling it paradise wouldn’t be an exaggeration. Its untouched natural beauty is truly stunning.

The Story Began

My teacher and her friends successfully reached the summit and, as usual, enjoyed the gorgeous scenery by the lakeside while taking photos. Since my teacher brought art supplies, she spent a lot of time sketching and having fun.

She’d checked with the mountaineers beforehand, and they all said it was fine since they’d climbed it five or six times and knew it like the back of their hands. Around 4 p.m., they started descending (the key moment when things went wrong).

One terrifying aspect of Jiaming Lake is the visual disparity. The view looking up from the ridgeline is completely different from looking down, so you have to rely on your memory of the route to descend.

But starting down at 3 p.m. was honestly a bit late. After walking for a while, one of the mountaineers suggested switching to a straight-line traverse. Only that mountaineer had experience with it, and it was from a long time ago. A straight-line traverse might seem easy, but it’s actually quite dangerous.

They pulled out maps and positioning tools to calculate their location, set a timeline and destination, and began descending. An hour later, they still hadn’t reached the planned spot, and the scenery along the way was completely unfamiliar.

The group started to panic as it was getting late and visibility was poor. Panic, inexperience, and the mountaineer’s pride pushed them to keep trudging along what they thought was the right path. By 6 p.m., it was pitch black, and they still hadn’t reached their intended location. So, pretending to stay calm, they took out basic camping gear, planning to spend the night and figure it out tomorrow.

The mountaineer’s rations were already gone, but luckily my teacher loved chocolate. She’d brought plenty of high-calorie chocolate from Vancouver—each piece packed 2,500 calories, and she had more than a dozen left. Food wasn’t an issue.

In the middle of the night, my teacher got up to relieve herself. Being a woman, it was more complicated, so she tied a thin nylon rope between herself and a tree near the tent, walking off to a more secluded spot to do her business (she was afraid of getting lost).

As she finished and stood up, someone suddenly patted her back. She thought it was a mountaineer and shone her flashlight, only to realize it wasn’t. (She thought, “If it was a mountaineer, that’d be awkward…”)

It was a foreigner, seemingly wearing work clothes (it was too dark to see clearly, and she hadn’t fully regained her strength). She was startled but the foreigner spoke first in English:

“Don’t worry. Tomorrow, just head straight down this path, and you’ll reach a safe place. Also, please tell my family I’m doing fine here—just a bit cold. They don’t need to worry about me.”

She found it odd but was pretty relieved, assuming he was a local worker who’d found them. She didn’t pay much attention to his last sentence.

She said, “Can you come with me to meet my friends? I’d like them to talk to you about the route since I’m a newbie.” The foreigner agreed, and she asked him to hold the rope as they walked back together. Along the way, she brushed his hand—it was unnaturally cold. She even offered him her gloves, but he refused.

The mountaineers found the foreigner strange too—it was beyond their understanding. But, exhausted and freezing, they were still glad to discuss the route with him. Afterward, the foreigner left, and the group slept soundly until morning.

The next day, they followed the route he’d indicated. After a morning of walking, the stupidest mountaineer sensed something was off. The foreigner’s appearance was already bizarre, and this path was getting more rugged and desolate. Judging by the surrounding scenery, it seemed like a place no one ever visited.

My teacher recalled how, when she translated for them, the foreigner’s expression seemed vacant, his face deathly pale under the flashlight with no hint of color, and his clothes a bit tattered—not exactly like a local worker’s.

After discussing it, they decided something was fishy and backtracked to their starting point, spending another afternoon doing so.

By around 2 p.m., their water was nearly run out. The mountaineer said they needed to find more, and luckily, they soon stumbled upon a small pit nearby with some rainwater temporarily pooled in it. After that, they abandoned the traverse route and returned to the original path.

By then, search and rescue teams had been deployed. Fortunately, within an hour of backtracking, they found the original route. It hadn’t rained at all in those two days—truly a stroke of luck.

As they followed the original path down, around 5 p.m., with dusk setting in, they encountered the foreigner again. He stood blocking their way. My teacher said, “Please step aside, we need to get down the mountain.”

The foreigner replied, “Why are you here? Didn’t I tell you that other path was safer?”

My teacher: “We decided to stick to the original route. We don’t want to risk an unfamiliar one.”

The foreigner: “Don’t you know this is dangerous?”

My teacher: “Following your path was the dangerous one. If you’re a lost soul, please don’t trouble us. I’ve already prayed to Jesus.”

The foreigner: Silent, standing there with hollow eyes.

My teacher grabbed the cross necklace from her chest and threw it at him. He vanished instantly.

The mountaineers were all stunned, never imagining they’d encounter a foreign ghost in their lifetime. Not long after, the search and rescue team found them.

The group still had some energy left. After descending, they discussed the foreigner’s route with the rescuers. The rescuers said it was a treacherous path—no one had ever been there, and they’d never heard of mountaineers taking it. If they’d followed it, based on the timing, it would’ve taken two days to get down.

Two days!!! And that’s assuming everything went smoothly… Two days would’ve likely left the whole group dead in the mountains, especially if it had rained.

Afterward, my teacher donated a hefty sum to her church, printed a bunch of Bibles, and swore she’d never climb a dangerous mountain again.