長洲東堤小築 : 深夜走廊的腳步聲與無人房間的燈光 | Cheung Chau Haunted Hotel: Midnight Footsteps and the Light in an Empty Room | 香港都市靈異傳說 EP01

在香港眾多都市靈異傳說之中，長洲一直佔有一個特別的位置。這座小島白天是旅遊勝地，海鮮、單車與海風，構成悠閒的假日氣氛。但到了夜深，當最後一班船離開中環碼頭後，小島就會變得格外安靜。正是在這樣的環境之中，一些難以解釋的故事開始在居民與遊客之間流傳。

其中最常被提起的一個地方，就是長洲東灣附近的東堤小築。

這座建築原本是一間度假式旅館，面向海邊，附近是泳灘和酒吧區。很多人來長洲玩，晚上會選擇在這裡住宿。白天看起來，它與普通的海邊旅館沒有太大分別：三層高的建築、長長的走廊、面海的露台。但不少曾經在那裡住過的人，都說過同一句話——那地方一到晚上，氣氛就會變得很奇怪。

最早的傳聞，大約在十多年前開始出現。

據說有一群年輕人到長洲玩，晚上入住東堤小築。那天晚上，他們在附近的酒吧玩到很晚，大概凌晨兩點才回到旅館。當時走廊已經非常安靜，只有天花板的燈微微亮著。

其中一個人說，他走在走廊時，聽到前面有人走路的聲音。

那是一種很清楚的腳步聲，像是有人慢慢在前面走著。但奇怪的是，走廊看過去卻完全沒有任何人。

他以為是其他房客，所以沒有在意。可是當他停下腳步，腳步聲也同時停下；當他再向前走，那聲音又再次出現。

就像有人在前面走，但永遠看不見。

當他回到房間後，把這件事說出來，大家都當成是喝多了的錯覺。但第二天早上，其中另一個朋友也說，他半夜去廁所時，聽到走廊有人來回走動，像是巡邏一樣。

最奇怪的是，那時候他開門看過，走廊卻一個人都沒有。

這件事之後，類似的故事開始越來越多。

有住過的人說，凌晨三點左右，走廊有時會傳來拖鞋在地上摩擦的聲音，慢慢地由一端走到另一端。有些人則說，半夜會聽到有人輕輕敲門。

敲門聲不急，也不重。

只是「咚、咚」。

兩聲。

當人打開門時，門外卻完全沒有人。

有一對情侶曾經在網上分享過他們的經歷。他們住在二樓的一個房間。那天晚上，男生先睡著了，女生卻一直睡不著。她說大概凌晨三點左右，她看到房門下方的門縫突然亮了一下，好像有人經過走廊，燈光被遮住又出現。

可是那亮光卻停在門外沒有移動。

就像有人站在門口。

她盯著門縫看了幾分鐘，燈光忽然慢慢暗了下來，像是那個人走開了。但整個過程，她都沒有聽到任何腳步聲。

第二天她問男朋友，有沒有聽到走廊有人走動。

男朋友卻說，他整晚睡得很沉，什麼聲音都沒有。

還有一個比較出名的傳聞，是關於「亮著燈的房間」。

據說有些客人晚上回房時，會看到走廊盡頭某一個房間的燈亮著。房門半掩，裡面似乎有人。但當他們第二天經過那裡時，卻發現那個房間根本沒有住人。

有一個清潔工曾經私下說過，她有一次早上去打掃時，看到那房間的燈是亮著的。她以為是房客忘了關燈，於是開門進去。

房間裡卻是空的。

床單整齊，沒有使用過的痕跡。

最奇怪的是，她離開房間後再回頭看，燈已經關了。

她以為自己記錯，但後來再也不敢單獨去那一層打掃。

長洲本身是一個歷史很久的地方，島上有不少舊建築與傳統村落。當地老人常說，海邊的位置特別容易出現「不乾淨的東西」。因為海是流動的地方，很多事情都會被帶來，也會被帶走。

有人猜測，東堤小築附近以前可能是舊碼頭或漁民活動的地方，所以才會出現奇怪的現象。

也有人說，那些聲音其實只是海風與建築結構造成的回音。晚上海風變強，走廊又長又窄，很容易產生像腳步聲一樣的聲響。

但即使如此，仍然有不少人堅持，他們聽到的不是風。

而是很清楚的人在走路。

近年隨著網絡討論增加，東堤小築的靈異傳聞被更多人知道。有些年輕人甚至專門去那裡住一晚，希望「試試看能不能遇到」。

然而大多數人都只是平安過夜，什麼事情也沒有發生。

也正因如此，這個故事一直處於真假難分的狀態。

有人說，那只是都市傳說；有人則認為，很多事情只是還沒有被科學解釋而已。

不過對長洲居民來說，這些故事早已成為小島的一部分。

當夜晚的海風從東灣吹過來，旅館的走廊燈光一盞一盞亮著，整條走廊顯得特別安靜。

如果你半夜醒來，走到門口。

也許你會聽到遠處傳來一陣很輕的腳步聲。

慢慢地。

從走廊另一端走過來。

但當你打開門時，走廊卻只剩下空氣與海風。

沒有任何人。

而那腳步聲，也早已消失。

也許，這就是長洲流傳多年的一個小秘密。

在這座看似平靜的小島上，有些事情只在深夜出現，也只在少數人之間被記住。

等到天亮，一切又恢復正常。

海邊的單車、泳灘的遊客、碼頭來往的渡輪，重新填滿整個小島。

只有那些在夜裡聽過腳步聲的人，會偶爾想起那條長長的走廊。

以及那個從來沒有出現過的「人」。

English Version
Among the many urban legends of Hong Kong, Cheung Chau has always held a special place, an island that by day feels lively and carefree, filled with seafood stalls, bicycles weaving through narrow lanes, and the constant presence of sea breeze that gives visitors a sense of escape from the dense city, yet when night falls and the last ferry departs from Central Pier, the island changes in a way that is subtle but unmistakable, as if a layer of quiet settles over everything, creating a stillness in which even the smallest sound becomes amplified, and it is within this stillness that certain stories begin to circulate among locals and visitors alike, stories that are difficult to explain and even harder to forget, and among them, one of the most frequently mentioned places is a seaside lodging near Tung Wan known as Tung Tip House, a building that once operated as a holiday-style guesthouse facing the sea, located close to the beach and nearby bars, where many visitors who came to Cheung Chau would choose to stay overnight, and during the daytime, the building appeared entirely ordinary, a three-story structure with long corridors and balconies overlooking the ocean, nothing about it suggesting anything unusual, yet many who had stayed there would later say the same thing, that once night arrived, the atmosphere of the place shifted into something strange, something that could not easily be described but could certainly be felt, and the earliest rumors began to surface more than a decade ago, when a group of young people visited the island for a night of leisure and checked into the guesthouse, spending their evening at nearby bars before returning around two in the morning, at which point the corridors had already fallen silent, illuminated only by dim ceiling lights that cast a pale glow along the narrow hallway, and as one of them walked down the corridor toward his room, he heard something ahead of him, a clear and steady sound of footsteps, as though someone was walking slowly just out of sight, yet when he looked forward, the corridor was completely empty, and assuming it was another guest, he continued walking without much concern, but then something strange happened, because when he stopped, the footsteps also stopped, and when he began walking again, the sound resumed, perfectly in sync yet always just ahead, never revealing its source, as though someone invisible was moving in front of him, maintaining a distance that could never be closed, and when he finally reached his room and told his friends about what he had experienced, they laughed it off, attributing it to alcohol or imagination, but the following morning, another member of the group shared a similar experience, saying that during the night he had woken up to use the bathroom and heard someone pacing back and forth in the corridor, the sound consistent and deliberate, almost like a patrol, yet when he opened the door to look, there was no one there, and from that point on, more and more accounts began to emerge, with different visitors describing similar phenomena, some saying that around three in the morning they could hear the sound of slippers dragging softly across the floor, moving slowly from one end of the corridor to the other, while others reported hearing gentle knocks on their doors in the middle of the night, not loud or urgent, just two quiet knocks, spaced apart, and when they opened the door, there was nothing outside, no person, no movement, only the stillness of the empty hallway, and one particularly well-known account came from a couple who had stayed in a room on the second floor, where the man fell asleep quickly but the woman remained awake, unable to rest, and at around three in the morning, she noticed something unusual, a faint light appearing beneath the gap of the door, as if someone had passed by in the corridor, causing the light to be briefly blocked and then return, yet instead of continuing past, the light remained there, unmoving, as though someone was standing directly outside the door, and she watched the thin line of light for several minutes, her attention fixed on it, waiting for some kind of movement or sound, but there was nothing, no footsteps, no shadows, just that still, lingering glow, until eventually it began to fade slowly, as if whoever or whatever had been there had stepped away without making a sound, and when she asked her boyfriend the next day whether he had heard anything during the night, he told her he had slept deeply and noticed nothing at all, and another widely discussed story involved what people called the “lit room,” where some guests returning late at night would notice a room at the end of the corridor with its lights on and door slightly open, suggesting that someone was inside, yet when they passed by the same room the next day, they found it completely unoccupied, with no record of anyone staying there, and one cleaner reportedly shared a personal experience in which she entered that very room during her morning routine, seeing the lights on and assuming a guest had simply forgotten to switch them off, but upon entering, she found the room empty, the bed neatly made and showing no signs of use, and when she left and turned back to look again, the lights were already off, an occurrence that left her unsettled enough that she later refused to clean that floor alone, and over time, explanations have been suggested, some attributing the sounds to the structure of the building interacting with the sea breeze, especially at night when winds grow stronger and echo through long, narrow corridors, creating noises that resemble footsteps, while others point to the island’s long history, noting that Cheung Chau contains many old buildings and traditional villages, with local elders often saying that coastal areas are more likely to attract things that are not easily explained, because the sea is a place of movement, carrying things from afar and taking them away again, and some speculate that the area around Tung Tip House may once have been a pier or a site of fishing activity, leaving behind traces of the past that continue to manifest in subtle ways, yet despite these rational interpretations, many who have experienced the phenomena insist that what they heard could not simply be wind, describing the footsteps as clear, deliberate, and unmistakably human, and in recent years, as discussions online have spread these stories further, more people have become aware of the legend, with some even choosing to stay there specifically in hopes of encountering something unusual, though most pass the night without incident, which only adds to the ambiguity of the story, leaving it suspended somewhere between truth and imagination, belief and skepticism, and for the residents of Cheung Chau, these stories have long since become part of the island’s identity, woven into its atmosphere just as much as the sea breeze and the sound of waves, and when night falls and the wind drifts in from Tung Wan, the corridor lights of the guesthouse glowing one by one, the building takes on a quietness that feels almost watchful, and if you happen to wake in the middle of the night and stand by your door, listening carefully, you might hear it, a faint sound of footsteps in the distance, moving slowly along the corridor, approaching from the far end, steady and unhurried, and yet when you open the door, there will be nothing there, no one at all, only the empty hallway and the whisper of the sea, and the sound itself will have already faded, leaving behind only the question of whether it was ever truly there, or whether it is simply one of the many quiet secrets that Cheung Chau has chosen to keep, revealing itself only to those who are awake at the right moment, in the right place, when the island is at its most silent.