香港山怪談｜獅子山腳步聲：半夜登山時背後那個看不見的人 | Lion Rock Footsteps Mystery: The Invisible Follower on Hong Kong’s Night Hiking Trail
獅子山的夜晚，總是帶著一種無法言喻的寂靜與壓迫感。白天的熱鬧早已消散，取而代之的是一片黑暗中隱隱約約的風聲，像是某種低語，在耳邊回蕩。我第一次夜行獅子山，是許多年前的事，那時候年輕氣盛，和幾個朋友決定挑戰夜跑山路。起初我們從沙田坳出發，山路上還能看到零星幾個人影，彼此擦肩而過，互相點頭示意。然而越往上走，人就越少，直到接近山脊時，整條山路只剩下我們幾個人。城市的燈光在山下閃爍，像是某種引誘，又像是某種警示。風越來越大，吹得樹葉沙沙作響，我們一邊走一邊聊天，試圖用笑聲驅散心中的不安。
就在走到一段狹窄的石階時，我突然聽到身後傳來一陣輕微的腳步聲。一下一下，節奏穩定，像是有人在慢慢地跟著我們。我回頭看去，身後的山路空空如也，只有黑壓壓的山坡和偶爾閃動的樹影。我沒有說話，只是加快了腳步。可過了一會兒，那腳步聲又出現了，這次更加清晰，就像有人故意踩著石階，慢慢地逼近。我停下腳步，聲音也瞬間消失。朋友見我突然停下來，問我怎麼了。我猶豫了一下，說：「好像有人跟著我們。」他們回頭看了看，同樣什麼都沒看到。
其中一個朋友笑著說：「可能是踩到石頭的回聲吧。」他們似乎並不在意，而我內心卻湧上一股莫名的不安。我們繼續往上走，但那腳步聲卻再度響起，這次更近了，就像有人刻意在我們身後保持著固定的距離。我猛然回頭，仍舊什麼都沒看到，但那聲音卻似乎停在我的耳邊，就像某種無形的存在。我開始覺得不對勁，而朋友們也漸漸注意到了異樣。其中一個低聲說：「真的有聲音。」我們幾個人停下來，整條山路瞬間陷入死寂。風從山頂吹下來，帶著一股冰冷的氣息。
就在這時，那腳步聲再次響起，一下一下，就像有人從黑暗中慢慢靠近。我們拿出手機，用燈光照向身後，但光線所及之處空空如也，沒有腳印，也沒有影子。那聲音卻依然存在，直到走到我們背後才停下。那一刻，我感覺到一股寒意從背脊滑過，彷彿有什麼東西正盯著我們。我們誰都沒有說話，只能聽到自己的呼吸聲。最後，其中一個朋友低聲說：「快走吧。」我們加快腳步，幾乎是用跑的速度往山頂前進。
奇怪的是，那腳步聲並沒有再出現，就像停在了剛才的位置，不再追隨我們。然而，我的心卻一直揪著，總覺得有什麼東西在暗中注視著我們。多年後，我和一個常跑山的人聊天時，他提到了獅子山夜跑的事情。他忽然問我：「你有沒有聽過背後的腳步聲？」我愣了一下，問他：「什麼腳步聲？」他說：「有人夜行獅子山時，會聽到背後有人跟著，但永遠看不到。」我心中一震，問他：「那怎麼知道有人？」他回答：「因為你停下來，它也會停。」那天回家後，我突然想起了一件事，那晚在獅子山上，那奇怪的腳步聲一直保持著與我們的距離，不遠不近。但最讓我毛骨悚然的是最後那一下——當我們停下來，那腳步聲竟然多走了一步，就像某種無形的存在刻意讓我們知道，它就在那裡。
English Version
At night, Lion Rock in Hong Kong carries a silence that feels heavier than ordinary quiet, a kind of stillness that presses gently yet persistently against the senses, as if the mountain itself is holding its breath, and while the daytime trails are filled with hikers and conversation, once darkness settles, the atmosphere changes completely, leaving only the distant glow of city lights below and the restless sound of wind weaving through the rocks and trees, creating a setting where even the smallest noise can feel amplified and unnerving. It was many years ago when I first attempted a night hike on Lion Rock, young and eager, accompanied by a few friends who shared the same sense of adventure, and we began our ascent from Sha Tin Pass, where at first there were still a few other hikers passing by, exchanging nods and brief greetings, but as we climbed higher, the number of people gradually dwindled until the path was left entirely to us, the world narrowing to the beam of our lights and the uneven stone steps beneath our feet. The city below shimmered with distant lights, beautiful yet strangely detached, like something observed from another world, while the wind grew stronger as we approached the ridgeline, rustling through the trees in a way that almost resembled whispers, and though we tried to keep the mood light by talking and laughing, there was an unspoken tension that none of us could fully ignore. It was along a narrow stretch of stone steps that I first heard it, a faint but distinct sound of footsteps behind us, slow and deliberate, each step landing with a steady rhythm that did not belong to any of us, and when I turned around to look, the path behind was completely empty, swallowed by darkness, with no sign of another person anywhere along the trail. I said nothing at first, choosing instead to walk faster, hoping it had been nothing more than the echo of our own movement, yet after a short while, the sound returned, clearer this time, closer, as though someone was following at a careful distance, matching our pace without ever revealing themselves. I stopped abruptly, and in that instant, the footsteps stopped as well, leaving only the sound of wind rushing past us, and when my friends noticed my hesitation and asked what was wrong, I told them quietly that it felt like someone was behind us, though none of them had seen anything. One of them laughed it off, suggesting it might be the echo of footsteps bouncing off the rocks, a reasonable explanation that I tried to accept, yet the unease within me did not fade. We continued upward, but the footsteps returned once again, this time unmistakable, each step echoing just behind us, maintaining a constant distance that felt intentional rather than coincidental, and when I turned again, there was still nothing there, no figure, no movement, only darkness and the shifting shadows of the trees. This time, however, my friends also heard it, their expressions changing as they realized the sound was not imagined, and we all came to a stop, the trail falling into a sudden and unnatural silence, the wind carrying a chill that seemed to pass through us rather than around us. Then, without warning, the footsteps began again, one step at a time, approaching slowly from the darkness behind us, and though we raised our phones and shone our lights down the path, illuminating every visible surface, there was nothing to see, no footprints, no shadow, nothing that could explain the sound that continued to move closer until it seemed to stop just behind us. In that moment, a cold sensation spread across my back, as though something unseen was standing there, watching, close enough to reach out yet remaining entirely invisible, and none of us spoke, each of us acutely aware of the presence that could not be seen but could not be denied. Finally, one of my friends broke the silence, urging us to move, and we began to walk faster, then faster still, until our pace turned into a run, driven by a shared instinct to put distance between ourselves and whatever had been following us. Strangely, as we moved away, the footsteps did not continue, stopping abruptly as though whatever had been there chose not to follow beyond a certain point, leaving us to reach the summit in uneasy silence, our earlier excitement replaced by a lingering sense of dread that none of us could fully explain. Years later, during a conversation with another experienced night runner, the topic of Lion Rock came up, and he casually asked whether I had ever heard footsteps behind me while hiking at night, a question that immediately brought back the memory of that experience, and when I asked what he meant, he described a phenomenon that sounded exactly like what we had encountered, hikers hearing footsteps that follow them along the trail, always just out of sight, always stopping when they stop, as if mirroring their movements. When I pressed him further, asking how anyone could know something was truly there, he gave a simple answer that unsettled me more than anything else, saying that the difference is that when you stop, it does not always stop at the same moment. That night, as I thought back to our experience, I realized something that I had not fully processed before, that during that final moment on the mountain, when we had all stopped and listened in silence, the footsteps behind us had taken one additional step after we had already stood still, a single, deliberate movement that suggested not an echo or illusion, but something with its own presence, its own intention, something that had been walking behind us all along, unseen yet unmistakably real, leaving behind a question that has never truly been answered, whether what we heard was simply a trick of the mountain and the mind, or whether on certain nights, along certain paths, there is indeed something else walking just behind you, close enough to hear, but never close enough to see.
