True TAIWAN Horror story

Below the experience happened in Seattle while Su Yiping was in college, working evening shifts as a waiter at a restaurant. Original post on PTT Marvel Board in 2012, July 09.

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After restaurant closing, my colleagues and I—being young and restless—rarely wanted the night to end early. We’d often hang out post-shift, sometimes grabbing drinks, hitting a party, or just chatting until dawn.

That night was one of those. After the restaurant shut down, we decided to head to a friend’s place. His house was huge, and his family was out of town—perfect for a little late-night revelry.

In the U.S., everyone drives, and we all knew the way to his place. So, without much ado, we hopped into our cars and set off.

On the highway, I watched the interchanges pass by in the dark. A thought struck me: the exit before my friend’s might lead to a shortcut. If I could get there first, wouldn’t it be cool to greet everyone at the door, looking all smug?

Young brains are wired for dumb ideas. The thought of pulling up early and striking a cool pose as they arrived was too tempting. So, I took the earlier exit.

I still remember the route clearly. After the exit, I passed an office district, then a decent residential area—no turns, just a smooth drive through the night.

Then I hit a T-junction. My friend’s place was to the left, so I turned without a second thought.

As I drove, I noticed the road felt like a mountain highway—rock wall on my left, a steep drop-off on my right, like a cliff.

The weather was clear—no moon, but no clouds either. I wasn’t fazed, just eager to see my friends’ faces when I beat them there.

But the longer I drove, the more things felt… off.

First, this “mountain road” was unnaturally straight. Mountain roads, like Taiwan’s winding “nine turns, eighteen bends,” are always curvy. But this one stretched on, dead straight, my high beams showing no end in sight.

I’d mentioned the rock wall on my left—but Seattle doesn’t have mountains this wide, does it?

And I’d been driving straight for so long—way past the distance to my friend’s house.

What made me notice these oddities?

Something I saw on the roadside—something I couldn’t quite believe.

It wasn’t overtly supernatural, but it was… a person. They wore a gray raincoat and held a gray or steel-gray umbrella, walking on the same side of the road as me. I’d see their back from a distance, then zoom past in a flash.

In that brief moment, lit by my headlights against the night, I caught the impression of the gray raincoat and umbrella.

Since I was passing them, I didn’t see their face (I’ll explain why I call them “that kind of person” soon). But their build suggested a tall foreigner—short torso, long legs, not a typical East Asian frame.

Why did I even notice this midnight walker?

For one, it was a clear night—no moon, but a crisp, clean sky. Wearing a raincoat and holding an umbrella in that weather was already strange.

Then came the real chill. Before I started paying attention, I realized I’d already seen this figure three or four times.

The first or second time, I must’ve brushed it off as just a late-night stroller. But by the third or fourth sighting, it hit me—I’d seen the same gray raincoat, gray umbrella, and tall silhouette multiple times.

Just as my teeth started chattering, another identical figure appeared on the roadside ahead.

Gray raincoat, gray umbrella, tall back, casually strolling along.

I sped past with a whoosh.

If I’d had the guts to glance in my rearview mirror or turn my head, I’d be some kind of cosmic superhero. But no—I was too scared to look back and see what “they” really looked like.

I kept hoping for an exit ahead, so I pressed on, nerves on edge.

But those gray raincoat, gray umbrella figures kept appearing every few minutes. By the time I finally decided to turn back, I’d seen seven or eight of them.

I’d driven too far. Checking the time, I’d been on this road for over 20 minutes—at my speed, that’s about 20 kilometers.

I couldn’t keep going. So, I steeled myself, made a U-turn on the highway, and floored it back the way I came.

Only then did I realize I hadn’t seen a single other car the whole time—just me on this endless road.

On the way back, the rock wall was now on my right. I drove, sweating bullets, half-ready to close my eyes at any moment. In this direction, I’d be facing those gray raincoat, gray umbrella figures head-on. I did not want to lock eyes with them or see their faces.

Thankfully, that didn’t happen—but what did was just as unsettling.

I didn’t see a single person on the return trip. The road was completely empty—just my car speeding through the night.

So, where did they go? Did they jump off the cliff?

I don’t know how long I drove, but eventually, I saw a faint yellow glow on my right—the junction where I’d turned in. I made a right, finally back in the human world.

I retraced my route through the residential area, the office district, and onto the highway. When I reached my friend’s place, everyone was freaking out. They’d been worried—thought I’d crashed or been nabbed by a gang. They were ready to chew me out, but seeing my pale, sweaty, “I’ve-seen-a-ghost” face, they froze.

I told them what happened. They knew I wasn’t the type to pull pranks like this, but it was too late to investigate. Someone suggested we crash at the house and check it out in the morning.

The next day, a super curious friend rallied us at dawn. Four of us, including me, drove back to the spot.

We took the same exit, passed the office district, the residential area, and reached the T-junction.

Left turn.

We all froze.

It was a tiny road—barely 10 meters long—ending at a man-made rock garden, part of the neighborhood’s landscaping.

No rock wall. No cliff.

Not even a proper road.

My friends, all engineering majors with sharp minds, confirmed a few things. On the drive back, we were silent—no one wanted to talk about it.

First, I didn’t take a wrong turn. The road from the exit was straight, no turns until the T-junction. No chance I’d gone the wrong way.

Second, they knew I wasn’t joking—I’ve always thought pranks like that were lame.

Third, I was definitely late by about 30 minutes. I’d tracked the time while driving, and they’d been watching the clock while waiting.

So, this remains an unsolved mystery. I can’t confirm where I drove that night or what those “people” were.

I once wrote about this in a newspaper column, and readers sent in their thoughts. One pointed out a key detail I wish I’d noticed: the fuel gauge or odometer. If I’d checked, I might’ve known if it was a hallucination or if I’d actually driven into some other dimension.

Sadly, I didn’t think to look.