MidReal Story
Whispers of the Chickenfoot God
Scenario: There is a satellite city in the east of Chongqing, called Fuling, White crane Liang, mustard, world famous. Between Fuling and Chongqing, there is a small town called Shituo, near the Yangtze River, is also a beautiful scenery This time the employer is stone Tuo a funeral one-stop service company. They said that they had met the rooster's foot God several times in a row when they were doing funerals for guests. In some villages or remote mountains, there is a legend that when a person dies three days later, there will be animal footprints in the coffin room, usually chicken footprints, which are the emissaries of the underworld to bring the spirits of the dead to the King of Hell. That's why they call it the chicken-foot God。
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I’m Stone Tuo, a funeral service company owner.
This is my childhood friend, White Crane Liang, and my nephew, Mustard.
We run our business in Shituo, a small town near the Yangtze River.
It’s a beautiful town with green mountains and clear waters, attracting many visitors every year.
However, our work often leads us to remote villages and mountains as we provide funeral services for the deceased.
On one particular night, Mustard and I were finishing a funeral service in a remote village.
The moonlight shone down on the river, illuminating the mountains around it, and all was quiet except for the occasional chirping of the crickets.
Mustard and I had just finished burying a coffin in the cemetery, and he was absolutely terrified of ghosts and spirits.
I tried my best to comfort him, as I knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all tonight if he didn’t get over his fear.
After all, we had to work till dawn in order to finish everything by the time the family of the deceased came to pay their respects.
“Don’t be afraid of ghosts,” I said as I patted Mustard’s shoulder.
“My father once told me that spirits wouldn’t harm people who did them no harm.”
Mustard looked up at me with an incredulous expression.
“Really?” he asked, and I nodded.
He seemed to calm down a little bit after hearing my story, but as we walked towards the dark and quiet cemetery in the mountain, his fear gradually returned.
“What if that’s not true?”
he asked me in a trembling voice.
I stopped walking and turned my head to look at him.
He looked really scared, but I still decided to have some fun with him and see how he would react.
I only took two steps forward before a loud noise suddenly cut me off.
At first, I thought it was an animal that had jumped out of the bushes, but as I looked around me and saw nothing moving, I realized it was coming from the coffin we had just buried.
A chill ran down my spine as I turned to look at Mustard, who was staring at me with a shocked expression on his face.
We were both completely petrified by what we were hearing and tried to figure out what was happening in vain.
The noise in the coffin grew louder and louder, and it was starting to freak us out so much that we decided to run away before it was too late.
But before we could move an inch, we suddenly heard a loud bang as if something heavy had fallen to the ground from a high place.
At that moment, a terrifying thought struck me: Did the thing in the coffin climb out?
“W-what should we do?”
Mustard asked me in a trembling voice as he gripped my hand tightly.
My body was frozen in place at this point as I tried to figure out how to proceed.
If it had really come out of the coffin, why did it make a sound when it landed on the ground?
Surely if a ghost wanted to get out of its coffin, it wouldn’t need to jump?
Before I could make sense of anything, a loud noise suddenly cut me off again as a gust of wind swept up dust and hit my face like a rain shower.
The noise stopped shortly after, but Mustard’s hand was still tightly clenched in mine as he stared at me with wide eyes full of fear and panic.
I think our minds went blank at this point as neither of us could think of what to do next, but after enough time passed without any further noise coming from the coffin, I eventually mustered up enough courage to walk over there slowly.
The night had gotten so dark that the only thing I could see was the moon hanging high up in the sky.
I took a deep breath and slowly leaned my head over the edge of the grave, trying to see what I could find.
The inside of the coffin appeared to be empty, but as I looked closer, I suddenly noticed a few strange things.
I quickly turned my head to look at Mustard, who was standing beside me with his eyes wide open, and asked him: “Did you see anything?”
At first, he didn’t know what I meant, but after a moment of thought, his eyes widened even further as he nodded.
When I saw his reaction, I immediately thought, did we really see something?
I then bent my body down a little further and reached out my hand to lift the lid of the coffin.
As the lid moved upwards, a pair of chicken footprints suddenly appeared before our eyes.
They looked like they were made by a living chicken as they were covered in chicken feathers and exuded a faint smell.
After seeing this, my nephew Mustard immediately screamed out loud.
I quickly covered his mouth with my hand to keep him quiet so that we wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention.
We stared blankly at the footprints in silence for a moment before I finally came back to my senses and looked around the cemetery.
But it was empty, there wasn’t a single person around us.
At this point, I knew there was no one else here except for us two.
This cemetery had been abandoned for years now, so there was no way any living person would come here during the middle of the night.
So how did those footprints appear in the coffin?
And since the coffin had already been buried underground, how could a chicken possibly get inside?
I couldn’t make sense of any of it, but as Mustard continued to tremble beside me, I had no choice but to put his hand on my shoulder before slowly walking towards the footprints myself.
The footprints were about 10 centimeters long and were made by a bird’s claw.
I carefully examined them and found that they were indeed real and not some kind of prank, but I still couldn’t figure out how they got there.
Seeing that I was so curious, Mustard quickly explained to me: “Uncle, there is a saying about this in the village where I was born, and it is said that when a person dies, three days later, there will be footprints left in the coffin room, and usually they are chicken footprints.”
I immediately shook my head, and with a solemn expression on my face, I made up my mind and said: “Nonsense!How could a dead person make footprints?”
Although I have been doing this job for so many years, I still don’t believe that there are ghosts in this world, because I have never seen anything that would make me believe it was true.
However, Mustard didn’t care what I said and continued to tell me about the legend he had grown up hearing: “It is said that these footprints are left by special chickens, and they are the messengers of the underworld.
When someone dies, these chickens will come to guide their soul to the King of Hell.”
As I listened to Mustard’s words, I immediately started to feel a chill run down my spine.
I didn’t know if it was because it was too cold or if I had really disturbed something that I shouldn’t have.
When I saw Mustard’s expression, I knew that my face must have turned very pale.
At this point, we had been in the cemetery for many hours already, and the sky was already beginning to turn white.
I quickly got up from the ground and patted Mustard’s shoulder as I told him: “It’s time to go back.”
We carefully walked back to the village with our flashlights in our hands.
There were still a few hours left before dawn, so I couldn’t help but look around as we neared the village.
Whenever a leaf rustled or a shadow loomed in the distance, my heart would jump in fear.
It was as if the night had suddenly become so silent and dark that it made me feel uneasy.
Just as we were about to reach the village entrance, I suddenly felt someone touch my shoulder.
I turned around and saw that it was Mustard.
He looked at me with a scared expression and asked me: “Uncle, did you feel something touch your shoulder just now?”
I immediately shook my head and told him: “You must have been too tired and imagined it.”
But as soon as I had finished speaking, I felt the same thing touch my shoulder again.
I quickly turned around and shone my flashlight behind me.
But there was nothing there.
When I woke up the next morning, I realized that I had actually overslept.
I quickly grabbed my phone and called Mustard to ask him if he had already arrived at the shop.
But he didn’t answer.
I thought he might have stopped to buy breakfast first, so I waited for him for a while.
However, an hour went by and he still hadn’t shown up.
I called him again but he still didn’t answer.
