One day a year, those partaking in a Hong Kong Halloween dress up in generic/cheesy/cute/slutty costumes and haunt the streets in droves. For this night only, Jack-o-lanterns scare away the real ghosts so children can go trick-or-treating (right, that’s how it works?) – but what about the other 354 days a year?
Stories of legendary spirits with long eerie pasts haunt our city, with urban myths leaving the creaking door open to creeping paranoia. While Hong Kong might have caught a bad case of the spooks, I set out on a ghost-hunting mission, determined to prove there’s nothing lurking in the dark.
Nam Koo Terrace, a two-storey house that was turned into a makeshift brothel during the Japanese occupation in WWII, is a monumental representation of Hong Kong’s spooky stories.
Located at the top of a shadowy staircase on Ship Street in Wan Chai, this building used to be the site of rape, torture and death. The cries of the women that Japanese soldiers abused and killed are said to be still be heard here, while their headless spirits delightfully spew green smoke into the flickering lights.
In 2003, curiosity led a group of kids to explore the premise. Rather than ghost hunting, it seems the children were hunted themselves; it is said a girl had to go to a psychiatric hospital after being “possessed” by something at the gates.
Visiting the building in the name of science, I was secretly relieved to find construction work restricted any access inside. However, at the foot of the steps I found three cats chowing down a packaged dinner. As a sign explicitly stated that it is prohibited to feed the animals, and knowing that all Hongkongers follow the rules, it only stands to reason that the food must have been left by the kindly ghost of a former resident.
Photo: Jessican Steinberg/Coconuts Media
As I made my way closer to the house, step by step, I felt the hungry cats’ eyes piercing my soul. It was enough for my heart to start racing and palms to start sweating. All I could think about was the superstition of a black cat in passing. Creepily as that came into my mind, I felt a little tug on my hair and an itch on my back.
So much for proving there’s nothing to be afraid of.
My haunted Hong Kong adventures continued as I went to check out another well-known spooked location, the “Hello Kitty murder building”. In 1999, at 31 Granville Road, Tsim Sha Tsui, a 23-year-old woman was kidnapped and tortured (for a month) by men she owed money to, and later skinned, boiled and decapitated. Horrifically, her head was stuffed into a large Hello Kitty doll.
Ever since, spooky female forms have apparently been captured on CCTV loitering around the building and the local shops.
Walking past the Hello Kitty murder site on my haunting hunt, I found the building, again, took the form of a construction site. The wooden doors were locked up and dust-clad equipment lay all around.
However, taking another glance, I noticed a slight crack in the barriers. Knowing the history, snooping into the unknown seemed like the logical thing to do.
About one, two, three steps into my snoop, however, my body was overtaken by the shivers. Had I not known about the Hello Kitty story I probably would have continued further, yet now surrounded by grimy buckets, dim lights and eerie drips, I scared myself back out the way I came.
As gutless as I’m sure you all assume me to be, it turns out that I’m not the only one in Hong Kong whose mind is disturbed by urban myths. In fact, superstitions often override more worldly judgements here, even, heaven forbid, when it comes to money.
For instance, Hongkongers tend to believe that spirits from murders, suicides, deaths or insanity cases remain in the local vicinity.
“It is common, and maybe even a custom, when house hunting to check the history of the building”, New Territories resident Knucle Hoi Tung Chan, who believes in ghosts, told me.
Essentially, the “ghosts” in the building become like another tenant signing the contract. One more flatmate obviously makes rent cheaper, so “haunted” flats frequently sell and rent for less.
Knucle also explained to me the traditions of the Hungry Ghost Festival (just celebrated in August), whereby Hongkongers burn paper banknotes (which are deposited in the “hell bank”) and paper representation of jewels, gadgets, and even cars to feed the hungry souls of their ancestors in the underworld.
As well as returning to mainland China on the festival’s peak day each year to go to the graves of his ancestors and place offerings, Knucle will also follow superstitions and distance himself from the red tins where the offerings are burnt, walk away from walls (so he doesn’t bump into a ghost), and be careful around umbrellas, a favourite hiding spot of spirits.
As for me, it seems I was unable to independently bust the myths of two of Hong Kong’s most infamously haunted sites, and as I can’t beat them, I guess I have no other choice but to dress up as a ghoul and join them this weekend.
At least when it comes to umbrellas in Hong Kong, however, I suggest your life might be easier if you take local legends with a pinch of spirit salt.
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