A Hungry Ghost Tale

White incense smoke whirled against the black canvas of the night, its cloying smell familiar to many noses. Red candles lined the sidewalk, their flames dancing a slow, poignant dance in the quiet breeze.

Joss paper cracked in neighbourhood incense burner bins, sending spiritual messages to those the living hoped would hear.

To welcome those who walked in when the doors of the afterlife creaked open.

Not everyone bowed their heads when joss sticks burned.

15-year-old Alvin was a typical teenage boy--and took pains to strut his "cool". He didn't believe in ghosts, rolling his eyes when his mother laid out the roast chicken and duck offerings she prepared for the deceased.

The roadside altar took on an orange hue, fruit and other offerings sweltering in the heat. The cloying smell of oranges and roast pork filled the air. Sparks rose in a welcoming dance-they knew who was coming.


Ash clung on to shoes, including Alvin's--that annoyed him no end. He kicked at the charred incense paper, almost vindictive, snickering as the paper fragmented.

His rather churlish neighbour, Aunty Sim, shot him a glare that would cause an underground tremor. "Mind your words,"the elderly lady muttered, "those who hunger linger."

Alvin shook his head and laughed, leaving his elderly neighbour dutifully burning incense in the bin.

As he walked--faint click of footsteps.

But he was alone on the pavement.

It couldn't be.

The boy carried on walking with a sharp whistle--something his grandmother had forbidden with threats to appear at the school gate to take him home if he did.

The clicking continued. He paused, the tiny hairs on his arms on end.

He looked behind him.

The packet of roast chicken that his neighbour had laid out earlier---

Vanished in the mist.

But its smell--too aromatic.

As if someone was sinking his teeth into a drumstick as they passed.

A smell that his fifteen-year-old mind couldn't grasp.

His eyes darted over the pavement while his neighbours prayed to their ancestors--too calm.

He shook his head. Aunty Sim must have taken the offerings home--she didn't want to waste them.

His steps quickened.

Shadows crept, distended, across the pavement, hovering eagerly over the offerings.

Candlelight flickered, leaning to one side--towards Alvin.

Then, a shape in the mist. Unclear. Not human--not skeletal.

Alvin's heart started to pump faster than Sonic ran.

Breathless gasps.

Sweaty palms.

The hair on his arms--then his legs--stood on end.

He wasn't walking alone--but the pavement was empty.

He swore that the roast chicken he had passed earlier was half-eaten.

The aroma of food in the air became pungent.

Then--foul.

He heard the unmistakable clicking sound of footsteps.

He snapped his head.

No one.

The clicking grew more insistent

Alvin quickened his footsteps---but the "cool" within him pulled him back.

The mist thickened, and streetlights flickered. Alvin passed his neighbours. each calmly burning offerings--

Not enough for just one meal

Alvin heard the relentless clicking of footsteps stop/

Directly behind him.

Then, cold breath--a blast down his neck.

He spun around ---to see IT.

A distorted figure, shaped by mist.

Its mouth was smeared, jaws moving...but the food remained.

The footsteps continued.

The goosebumps on Alvin's arms stood, and false courage prevailed.

"You can't be real," He mocked. But he didn't feel like laughing.

The figure raised its head, its mouth stretching wide, a shadow of humanity. It gathered food in its hands.

Then, other shadows floated across the pavement.

The teenager's cool shattered completely. He stumbled, his bravado crumbling like a half-eaten curry puff.

Aunty Sim's warning reverberated in his head.
"Those who hunger linger."
It burnt his mind-- like lit incense paper. The offerings weren't enough for the ghosts-- they needed more. Always.


The crowd of neighbours stood around the incense bins, expressionless. Pale-faced. Chanting prayers, in a trance.' ' Feeding the souls in reverent silence.

It was close----hot breath down his neck.

Then a pair of hands--unseen.

Tugging his shirt.

Pulling.

Dragging him into the mist.

The rancid smell of food offeringn hit his nose.

Too hard.

He shrilled, leaping away from the mist as fast as he could.

Alvin managed a sprint to his block, his heart thudding.

Fast.

He stumbled into the elevator and scanned the space around him.

Nothing.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

He pressed the button to his floor several times--

Too hard.

His feet somehow carried him to his doorstep. Home never looked so comforting.

Then on the floor--

A single roast chicken drumstick.

With candles flickering in the mist beyond.

In his ear--

"Not enough."

Alvin gasped---never enough.