Ghosts of the Northern Capital

Calvin sees dead people.

Now I for one would find it awesomely kewl. No doubt it would freak me out initially ( I assume talking to a passing shade at midnight would disconcert anyone ) but pretty soon I should be out solving paranormal crimes, hitting the Magnum 4D stores and running around unearthing hidden treasure. Seeing dead people doesn't mean I must be a sad, tortured ghost whisperer, right?

If I were that spooked by roaming spectres, I doubt I'd be able to walk down the empty hospital corridors lit only flickering fluorescent in the wee hours of the night. I try to stay positive. Me, I rather think dead people would go about their unearthly business without bothering anyone - if not given undue provocation. Or unless we've somehow wronged them inadvertently.

Of course seeing them would probably scare the bejeezus out of Charming Calvin - who is deathly ( pun intended ) afraid of ghosts. Let's just say he ain't gonna be joining the Spooky Scooby Squad anytime soon.

So fortunately for him, he doesn't actually see dead people.


I see dead people.
But listening to ghost stories can be quite as terrifying for him. And you can imagine that an ancient capital such as Beijing with all its deceitful ( and murderous ) court intrigues would be fool of vengeful spooks, ghouls and poltergeists. Even that infamous hopping Manchu vampire well-loved by generic B-grade horror movies.

So when his colleagues started talking about undead spirits, he resorted to childish methods...

Colleague #A : Did you hear about that old temple ghost?
Colleague #B : The haunted place? I heard that...
Calvin : LALALALA. Not listening. LALALALALA.

Poor Calvin. I have no doubt that when he comes home late at night to his apartment, his over-active imagination goes into automatic overdrive. While to the rest of us, his spiffy apartment would look perfectly normal - though a bit chi-chi chinois, to his eyes there'll be a layer of smoke rising mysteriously from the aged wooden planks while rust and cobwebs instantaneously creeps up the moldering walls ( if not scarlet splashes of blood dripping from the ceiling ). Probably hear the eerie crescendo of a haunted melody playing as the door creaks uneasily open.

Of course he's not the only one easily freaked. I have colleagues who don't leave their houses past sunset on the seventh month - and even one who takes a half hour detour just to avoid driving close to cemeteries. Near impossible seeing as how we live in an old town full of dead people.