That thing started chasing us. It was fast—insanely fast—and I could hear laughter echoing behind. Me and Cripple ran for three minutes straight, cresting the mountain ridge. Then we saw it—lights! Yilan City in the distance!
But we were still on this damn graveyard mountain. Keep running!
I didn’t care what I saw—just kept going. All I knew was a bunch of shadowy figures were after me. Screw it, run!
I lost sight of Cripple. Something called my name. Anyone who’s watched ghost shows knows you don’t look back. Ignore it—run!
Then I tripped, fell hard, and seven or eight figures pounced on me. I shoved them off and bolted again. Saw lights ahead—headed straight for them. Something snagged my waist. I heard, “Don’t let him go, or we’re done!” The grip was strong—couldn’t move. Pitch black, nothing visible. I fought to break free, but then it grabbed my legs, my waist, my arms. I was stuck.
Water splashed my face. Something hot stabbed my head. Nausea hit hard, and I passed out.
Someone slapped me. Damn, that hurt!
I woke up, feeling weird. A strange rush in my gut—I puked. But I’m not a goldfish—why was it white foam?
Looked around—soliders with flashlights surrounding me. Consciousness kicked in. Uncle Two-Teeth was freaking out, yelling, “Down the mountain, now!” I was on a stretcher. Cripple got chewed out but was still smoking on his stretcher.
Next to me, one of Cripple’s buddies clutched an incense burner with huge sticks burning fast. Normally, those last five or six hours, but these were dropping ash quick. Twenty minutes, we were down the mountain, into an ambulance, and at the hospital. An hour later, we were out.
Four went in, two came out—me and Cripple. Brigadier drank too much tomb water—lungs flooded, ICU-bound. The fourth guy, the coffin-gnawer, is the Sergeant that missed for three days. They were pumping his stomach, making him puke. Out came wood chunks, black water, wriggling white worms, rocks, and grass.
Me and Cripple got in a van, joking around, until Uncle Two-Teeth snapped at us. “Tonight’s gonna be rough,” he growled. “You three idiots—” He ranted on: a shaman negotiated to get us out. Brigadier screwed up big, sure—he’s a Major General—but they sorted him out to free us. Problem was, the “The Spirit” didn’t mention the Sergeant. We nabbed him too, and now they might come looking. It will be a rough night ahead.
Near a chicken stall, Cripple and I were starving—five pieces each, we figured. Uncle Two-Teeth shut us down. “Later, you’ll get a feast,” he said coldly.
The van kept driving. Missed the turn— not back to the Third Company? Toward the mountains. We got scolded but didn’t dare ask. Turned again—What the hell? —yesterday’s Taiyangpi road, tea factory by the lake, ancient tombs on the other side.
Another turn inward. Our faces dropped. We reached a big tree with a shrine at its base. Uncle Two-Teeth made us pray, then he left.
At the temple, plainclothes officers waited. We were told to bathe—two wooden tubs, hot water with weird herbs. Two-Teeth burned talismans, tossed one in each. We soaked.
A minute in, my feet stung. Tried to get up—pinned down. A buddy smirked, “No strength now, huh? You were a hero up there.” Turns out, in that graveyard chaos, I dragged six guys while Cripple had seven holding him. One dude got 20+ stitches.
Fifteen minutes in the tubs, feet screaming, Two-Teeth threw in more talismans. We got out, washed off, and got new clothes. A Taoist priest waved stuff over us, gave us talisman water to drink, a bowl of eight-treasure rice, and a boiled egg—all to finish. Then, into the temple’s main hall, onto wooden beds, chained with talisman-bound iron. “Don’t leave ‘til dawn,” they said.
Doors shut past midnight. Exhausted, we slept through the noise outside—temple music, like an ancient wedding. Dreamed of red sedans, five of them in the hall, officials muttering, people kneeling. Wind blew—they turned to warriors, fighting two in yellow and one in white with katanas. The officials lost. The trio came for us but couldn’t touch the beds. A white-clad woman appeared, said something, and they left. I woke at dawn—tiger tooth still there.
Seven a.m., groggy, ate three rice balls, swapped for camo, and headed out. Back to that mountain.
Walking with the priest, we saw a rat—rabbit-sized, familiar from the tunnels. A urn lid clattered off—a huge snake popped out. Priest chanted, and we descended.
Shoes swapped and burned, we climbed again. Sun out, path clearer, I saw the cave. First one, then the second. Over the ridge, an hour-plus trek to a power tower. Behind it—the coffin hill.
Hundreds of coffins, debris everywhere. Two-Teeth prayed, burned paper money, doused it with gas, and torched it. Forty minutes there, my gut sank. The priest’s compass spun, leading us to a tall-grass path. Ten minutes in—a yellow-black skull. More graves.
Whining sounds—ten-plus black wild dogs, red eyes, wouldn’t leave. Priest burned a talisman; they scattered. Ahead, the ground shifted—a yellow slope, more like a cliff. Landslide scars.
The priest said, “Found it. Down there.” We rappelled 300-400 meters down—steep as hell. At the bottom: shattered urns, coffin bits, concrete, tiles, bones everywhere. Someone stepped on one—crack.
A guy dodged bones, kicked something soft and black—a body, filthy. “Recent burial?” I asked. Two-Teeth scoffed, “No one’s buried here in 30 years.” Then he shouted, “Here! Found him!” Water rinsed off the dirt— the missing Captain, barely breathing. Hospital-bound.
Two-Teeth and crew dug, piecing together 30+ skeletons—missing thighs, fingers. Found parts in a pond, brought urns to pack them. But bones don’t fit like puzzles—50+ femurs for 30 skulls? Priest burned incense, prayed. Clouds rolled in. The stench hit.
Three seniors started shaking, veins bulging, ignoring us. My head throbbed all day. They dug frantically, handing bones to Two-Teeth like robots. Twenty minutes, all packed. They collapsed as the incense died. We hauled the urns back. My headache sent me to the hospital—11 days. Cripple got 10.
During my stay, a big ceremony went down at Yilan’s Martyrs’ Shrine—General Chen presiding. Thirty-plus military cars lined up, 600-700 meters from the hospital. What happened? Two-Teeth only half-explained: “Brigadier pissed off the dead. Good thing he’s out in three months.”
The Taiyangpi graves—some waterlogged. No grass grows there. Injustice debts made it fierce.
The missing grave expert A-Biao was lost, toyed with by the Spirit.
Cripple wasn’t “Cripple” until after—snake bites left us hobbling. Six corns on my feet, eight on his.
Those rabbit-size rats? they are corpse-eaters, sayid by Two-Teeth. Possessed. God knows how many Japanese soliders suicides in there.
Some say we earned merit by picking bones, and that’s why we were able to bargain for the Captain’s return. And about my half-dreams in the temple? I have no idea.
Ignorance is bliss, respect even better.
True TAIWAN Horror story 
Leave a comment