A student of mine once told me that several military bases in the ROC are haunted. Apparently many of them are built on or near graveyards.
He told me a story of his own experience seeing a ghost when he was on night watch duty. He and another guard were guarding the rear gate of the base. The figure of an elderly man in Ching Dynasty clothes approached them. They saw that he was floating some inches above the ground. When they challanged him, he evaoprated into thin air. When the two grunts told their C.O. about the incident he swore them to silence. He allowed as hoe their experience was not at all unique, but for the well being of all the troops on base, he didn’t want stories to spread around.
I was told by several other students that ghost sightings by National Servicemen is common.
Perhaps Poagao has some stories?
I’ve never seen a ghost, and remain somewhat sceptical, but I did see something very interesting up on Yen-Ping North Rd. in 1990. At that time I was living at the Fomosa Hostel. In those days we teachers had very irregular hours, so often, without morning classes, I would go out for long walks in the middle of the cool summer night.
I was cruising around the very interesting old distirct of Taipei, when I happend upon a temple with lots of commotion going on. As I approached I came within earshot of the chanting and wooden-bell beating coming from the temple.
Taiwanese temples are so wide-open and informal compared to the stuffy churches of my childhood - I was drawn to the noise, the crowd, and the fact that the outer rim of the crowd was made up of the largest convocation of nuns and priests that I had, and have ever seen.
As I drew up to the back of the group of clergy, everyones attention focused into the temple, I began to see what the point of focus was. A boy of perhaps twelve was bound securely to a wooden chair facing the pantheon of “Tu-di gongs”, and gods.
Around him some senior looking clerics were reciting scripture, and working around him with incense sticks. The mood was intense. As I became more aware of the scene I saw what I can only assume were the boys parents huddled together on the sidelines, the mother in tears.
My view of the boy was from behind, and over the shoulder of the outermost monks and nuns. What I saw was his head rolling in circles, as the the rest of his body flexed against the restraints that held him imobile to his chair. The boy was groaning continuously, as the level of the groups chanting attempted to drown his voice out. Flecks of foam flew from the boys mouth as his head shook about.
I left only a couple of minutes after I wandered up to the temple, not because I had been chased away (no one seemed to register my arrival), or because I was afraid of what I had witnessed. I left because I felt that this was a very personal ceremony, I left because I felt conspicuous, and intursive being a spectator to such a somber enterprise held at 3:00am in an otherwise dark and quiet residential neighborhood.
My conclusion about what I had happened upon up on Yen Ping (Yanping) North Road, in the wee hours of the night, was that it was something of a Taiwanese equivalent of what we would describe as an “excorcism”.
Good luck in your ghost hunting.
