Ghost Month: When the Streets of Taipei Belongs to the Dead

Meet some of Taiwan's lost souls

I stroll the evening streets of Taipei, looking for the perfect picture of this lovely city. But tonight I feel adrift and don’t take any photos.

I spot a small temple wedged between two larger buildings. Somewhere inside, a priest chants into the humid night.

Incense coils upward, its pungent scent thick in the air. A plate of ripe mangoes and a bottle of green tea rest on a table beside a stack of fake paper money waiting to be burned.

It’s the seventh month of the Chinese calendar — Ghost Month — when hungry spirits and forgotten souls return to walk among the living, waiting to be placated with offerings.

A voice stirs at my shoulder.

“Ah, good you are here. I’ve been expecting you.”

I turn and see an old man made of smoke, his outline wavering in the lantern’s glow. For a moment, I’m confused. Then a jolt of recognition: he’s a ghost!

I take a quick step backward.

“Yes, I am a ghost, but you have nothing to fear. I am Master Liang, and I was once the master of this temple before I died unloved and unmourned like many spirits who visit this time of year.” He shakes his head sadly and then extends his hand. “But that is the past. Walk with me, Lao wai — the name we call you Westerners — and meet the other lost souls of this marvelous city.”

Hesitantly, I reach out. Our hands touch…

…and the world wheels away.

I stand on a rooftop high above the city.

I stagger, frantic to catch my balance before I fall. “You are fine, Lao wai,” says Master Liang. “You have nothing to fear.”

How on earth can he say that? I don’t want to fall to my death!

In front of me stands a bare-chested, bare-footed man also made of strands of smoke. He is dressed simply — a straw hat and pants tied at the waist with a rope. He faces the sunset before slowly turning toward us.

“I came from Chiayi over a century ago, a boy alone with nothing but a hoe,” he says, voice brittle as dried reeds. “We bent our backs in the mud where these towers stand now. Rice paddies, water buffalo, dragonflies. Taipei was endless fields before it was endless glass.”

The skyline burns orange. Each tower rises like a monument from soil he once cut with a blade.

He gestures toward the city. “I grew that rice for richer people. But there was never enough for me, so I died far too young.”

“Here you go,” says Master Liang’s ghost, offering the man a bowl of smoky rice that appears from beneath his robes. He takes it and turns back to face the sunset.

Master Liang says to me, “During Ghost Month, it’s our duty to feed the dead who still wander here.” Then he takes my hand, and the world spins away once more.

We arrive at a busy intersection in the Xinyi District, where the wet pavement is painted red and yellow.

The light changes, and hordes of pedestrians rush forward, a river of scooters flowing alongside them.

But not all. One woman remains motionless, her gaze fixed on a spot in the crosswalk. I don’t realize she’s a ghost until another woman clutching an umbrella passes through her smoky, swirling body.

“Every Ghost Month,” says Master Liang, “she stands here the entire time staring at the spot where she and her child died in a scooter accident. People who died tragically are often lost, lonely spirits unable to move on.”

The woman turns to me. “Have you seen my Yu-Ting?” she asks.

“No,” I whisper, confused as to why she thinks I might have. The woman frowns and turns away as the traffic whizzes past. She’s unsettled me, but my heart breaks for all that she has lost.

Master Liang’s ghost touches my shoulder. “Come, there is more to see.”

The world whirls away once more.

When I can focus again, a gleaming white monument stands before me.

We stand at the foot of Chiang Kai-shek’s memorial, the military commander who ruled Taiwan with an iron fist for a quarter of a century.

During the day, the hall is an impressive sight. At night, it’s also mysterious and foreboding.

A young soldier made of slowly swirling smoke stands at attention, motionless beneath the blue-lit arch.

“For many years, I was a devoted follower of Chiang Kai-shek. But when I started to have doubts about the things he did and asked the wrong questions, my honor was questioned. I was executed and died a hated traitor.”

The soldier faces us.

“You were a soldier loyal to your fellow countrymen,” says Master Liang. He gestures at a glowing temple. “You can join your comrades and rest now.”

The soldier slowly shakes his head. “This is not for you to say.” He turns to smoke and fades away.

“Forgiveness comes hard for the forgotten dead,” says Master Liang.

The world turns, and I find myself standing at a place I know. A narrow street is packed with people and street vendors selling food of every kind. It’s one of Taipei’s glorious night markets.

“This is Linjiang Market,” I say, smelling the spices and incense wafting through the air, though there is something strange about them now. “My husband and I often walk here at night.”

“Yes,” says Master Liang, a sad, knowing look on his face. “Many do, and in many ways, this is the heart of Taipei. Which is why she comes here every Ghost Month.”

My eyes scan the crowd, finally resting on a stooped older woman shimmering under the light of the orange lamps.

“My husband and I sold squid skewers here for twenty years,” she says. “Then he died, and I had to live alone for many more years. And alone and forgotten is how I died.” She gestures at the crowd. “At least now some of them burn paper money, paper houses, even paper iPhones for me, though I don’t really know what that is.” She smiles. “Oh, well, it’s the thought that feeds us.”

One of the lanterns overhead sputters out, and the woman fades away.

I turn to go, but Master Liang touches my arm and points at a luminous arcade filled with claw machines.

A young girl made of white smoke stands before a machine stuffed with brightly colored toys, a wistful look on her face.

“Papa said he would win me the pink dolphin like the ones that once lived in the Yangtze.” She looks at me with a sober expression. “But then I got a fever and died, which broke Papa’s heart.” She fixes her gaze on me. “Have you seen my papa?”

“No,” I whisper, annoyed that these ghosts keep asking me for help I cannot give.

I look at Master Liang, imploring him to do something.

He kneels next to the girl, a translucent lamp in his hand.

“Look, child,” he says, gesturing to a path created by the lamp. “It’s time for you to go and rest for another year. I think your papa might be waiting for you.”

The girl looks and smiles, then walks away slowly, an unseen breeze pulling her into smoky tendrils fading away to nothingness.

“Come,” Master Liang says to me. “Ghost Month is nearly over, and there is more you must see. And understand.”

He takes my hand, and instead of being whisked away, we walk the empty streets of Taipei. A misty rain falls, but it’s so gentle, I don’t seem to feel it.

A white lantern shines strangely bright, showing a glistening path along the street.

A middle-aged woman steps out of a darkened storefront. “When Ghost Month ends, we send them home,” she murmurs. “Lanterns to light the way back across the dark.”

She touches the lantern, which slowly twirls. When it stops, the woman has vanished, and the lantern has gone dark. Strangely, the path is still illuminated.

“Our time is drawing to an end,” says Master Liang. “And we must go. I have one more thing to show you.”

We walk for a short time until we come to the stairs that will carry us up to the top of Elephant Mountain. I’ve made this climb twice before, and it’s always a sweaty, arduous journey.

Tonight, though, it isn’t hard at all. I feel as light as a feather.

We reach the summit, which has the most amazing views of Taipei.

I love it here. I could stay here forever.

Master Liang and I sit companionably, watching the night deepen until Taipei glitters like the forgotten jewels of a long-dead emperor.

Eventually, Master Liang says, “Have you remembered this time, Lao wai?”

“Remembered what?”

“What happened here a dozen years ago.”

“A dozen years ago? This is my first time in Taipei, so how would I know a thing like that?”

“Think,” says Master Liang. “A stormy night. The city misty and aglow. You thought it the loveliest thing you’d ever seen, and wanted a perfect picture.”

I frown, a strange memory coming to me. Of me standing near the edge, too close for such a wet and windy night. I had slipped and fallen…but at the last minute, caught myself before I fell over the edge.

“No, I don’t remember anything,” I say defiantly. “Now I really want to go home to Brent.”

Master Liang wears the same sad, knowing look he had earlier. “It’s the same every year,” he says.

“What is?” I ask.

“Some who die refuse to let go of this world. They refuse to remember, no matter how many times I show them the truth.”

I grow cross. “What does any of that have to do with me?"

Master Liang looks at me kindly. “Never mind. Ghost Month is over, and you must go back to where you came.”

I look down at my body, which is twisting in the breeze, a strange unraveling I don’t understand. Or perhaps deep down I do, but I refuse to think about that.

Instead, the world shimmers and fades away, but not until I hear Master Liang say, “Perhaps next year you will remember, Lao wai.”

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Note: Ghost Month actually took place this year from August 23 to September 21, but I figured October was a good time to share this.

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Michael Jensen is a travel writer, amateur photographer, and novelist. Check out his other newsletter about his travels at BrentAndMichaelAreGoingPlaces.com.