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Vietnamese short horror ghost stories

The soul of the deceased

By GhoulPublished 2 months ago 6 min read

I was exhausted, trying to stand up to spread the blanket over my legs even though my lumbar vertebrae were broken. I like winter even though it hurts me physically and mentally. In Saigon, it is difficult to have a true winter.

This whole week I've been sleeping in bed letting the whole world lie at my feet, despite 152 Vietnamese tourists fleeing the heat in Taiwan, a whole group of Vietnamese tourists being bombed in Egypt, and a tropical depression. is pouring in, and the sound... Mom's quick cry or just the meow of a lovely cat. go to sleep, what more can I say since I started right now, I'm empty, almost empty.


There are times when I want to turn myself into a vegetable, just lie there breathing the little air left in the beautiful freckled house we live in. I'm tired of having to clean up, enjoy every wave of rainwater seeping into the comfort of the house, fed up with the tragedy of seasonal water entering the house, sitting like a frog on a lotus leaf waiting for a peaceful sleep. I'm struggling to know how to tear up my current life and move on to a new, better one. I try my best to make money from the work I do. If you don't work, you won't feel hungry, but is it better if you rush into life? I'm helpless and useless, I just want to lie there, digest myself, eat myself and die with every breath.

The message bell rang, once again, he pulled me out of the tense, dark emotions surrounding me in the letter. If I didn't look at my phone, I wouldn't know if the sun was coming up or not, because outside my room were stained walls. The recent flood caused lime residue to fall out in white patches like duck egg shells. The water receded, leaving me with a pile of books that smelled like a bedroom, a room without windows, without light, without truth. song.

I continued to appear like corpses in Nam Cao's hunger, superficially looking at the deep and heavy clock tree. It was wonderful to live and experience the lives of Mi, of Ho, of Chi, living with pain. that they had experienced, they lived like people from the underworld.

Brother, my son has many hopes and ambitions. This morning, at exactly 5 am, he was present in the center of Vung Tau city to manage information for the company's project. He took photos and sent them to me to see the activities of the people every early morning, who were the silver fish struggling under the net, who were the sunrise on the sea, the scene of round baskets floating on the waves. Water. I miss you so much, I'm jealous of you for the energy you have while right now there's only darkness around me. Once again, I would like to send you a little bit of the life of the new day. I jumped up, did personal protection duty, and then covered myself in funeral paint. I want to become strong and tear off the terrible things that have been clinging to my body these past few days. The path I chose was to run to a familiar coffee shop, find a seat by the window and quietly watch life. throw in. I ran away from my ego, ran away from my own home to look back at myself.

Ordering myself a cup of hot chrysanthemum tea, I began to fall into a dream about the dreamy window and the love songs of familiar shops.

Saigon is so strange this year, it's rainy in winter, looking at the smell of rainwater falling on the leaves, I think summer is coming. Memories of the season rushed back into my head, an area that was hard to suffocate. Outside the window is the airy green canopy of the golden cow plant, a plant often called the king of flowers because of its regal yellow color. We're cool, but back in the day, we kids were supposed to have fun picking flowers, smashing them, and preparing terrible dishes for ants and worms. What I remember most when talking about golden buffalo are small butterflies. It wasn't until later, thanks to Google, that I learned they were called cabbage butterflies. Almost unknown. On sunny days, we often fly a lot over the golden trees, creating a very poetic scene. That image still lingers in my mind to this day when recalling my childhood memories.

The girl sitting at the back of the store said in a very gentle voice: "Sister, do you have any tissues? Please give me one."

I answered the person looking at her, an 8-year-old girl wearing a white dress, smiling and waiting for an answer, holding an old Canon camera in her hand.

"No, no" - I answered and then looked up and continued to let my soul follow the raindrops falling on the window

In just a few short seconds, I realized that she had a radiant smile with straight teeth like cabbage, making her short hair float like slow clouds on a beautiful sunny day. The girl came close to the window where I was sitting, she held the photo at eye level and directed it towards the window where I was sitting.lens towards the scene outside through the door frame, suddenly, she turned to me and took the photo.

The sudden flash blinded me to the point of discomfort

- “What are you doing?” - I'm angry

- "Take a picture of you" - I said and laughed as if nothing had happened. She came closer and showed me the photo she just took

- “Aren't you beautiful?”

I looked at the camera screen, the lonely chairs in the shop were boring, on the table was still the cup of tea I was drinking, but... where was I?

I looked up at her. I was still in shock when she gave me a gentle smile. The bottom of her eyes were as clear as the puddles of water outside, the sky, and the swaying yellow scorpion leaves. in the cold winter rain.

Where am I? I shouted loudly in my own thoughts.

She ran back to her desk, leaving me in shock and fear. Have my eyes been buried in dreams for so long that I can no longer find myself? Strange, did I see a ghost or do I no longer exist in this world? Impossible, I reassured myself. She wears an old Canon camera around her neck, looking like a journalist and a professional photographer. But wait, I'm only about 8 years old. You... who are you?

I turned around to look for the answer but I couldn't see her anymore. Where she was sitting, I only saw the cabbage butterfly spreading its pure wings and flying out the window while the rain had not yet stopped.

Where am I in that photo? Where am I in this deserted cafe, in this life? And who are you? Are you that pure butterfly residing in the vast sky?

The melodious music in the cafe was suddenly replaced by the sound of prayers that sounded sad and endlessly sad...


About the Creator


Explore the mystical world of Vietnam, where ancient traditions and spirituality intertwine to create unique stories. Readers will go through mysterious stories, rich in culture and spiritual identity of the Vietnamese people.

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Comments (2)

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  • Ha Le Sa2 months ago

    fascinating to learn!

  • Alex H Mittelman 2 months ago

    Fantastic! Great works! Not a moo cafe and very interesting story! Impressive!

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