In the heart of Tianjin, there stands an old and weather-beaten structure known as the Xikai Church. During the day, it seems like any other historical church, with its weathered stone walls and towering spires casting long shadows on the cobbled streets nearby. Yet, as evening falls and the city's noise fades into silence, Xikai Church becomes an ominous figure shrouded in mystery and fear. Over the years, it has become the subject of countless ghost stories and chilling tales that circulate quietly among locals.
The most infamous of these tales dates back to the early Republican era, when a German priest ran the church. This priest was, by all accounts, an unsettling figure. He had a hawk-like nose, a broad, imposing chest, and an expression that many found deeply unsettling. He was a solitary man, rarely seen outside the church, and he carried an aura that kept even the bravest townsfolk at a respectful distance. Although he was an outsider in both nationality and appearance, the priest's role in the church earned him a certain respect in the community—or so it seemed, until rumors of his dark activities began to spread.
It was said that this priest often approached poor families with promises of help and charity. He would visit the most impoverished homes, offering money and resources in exchange for one of their children. Many of these families, who were desperate and struggling to survive, reluctantly agreed, believing that their child might have a chance at a better life in the care of the church. But once the child was taken into the shadows of Xikai Church, they were never seen again.
Whispers began circulating that the priest was not just cruel but grotesquely depraved. Some claimed that he used the children's bodies for experiments. Others, however, told a far darker story: the priest, it was said, would kill these innocent children and render their bodies down to produce fat, which he then used to make soap. In the dead of night, he would conduct this grisly process in the secluded chambers of the church. These soaps, made from the fat of the deceased children, were said to be gifted to parishioners under the guise of a blessing—an offering meant to cleanse and purify. The church's congregation, oblivious to the soap's macabre origins, continued to receive it with gratitude and admiration.
As more and more children disappeared, the community's suspicion and anger began to grow. By 1947, the people could no longer ignore the unsettling rumors surrounding the church and the priest. One evening, a group of townsfolk, inflamed with suspicion and righteous fury, stormed the church grounds. They searched the church and its surrounding gardens and, to their horror, found evidence that confirmed their worst fears. There, in the hidden corners of the church's back garden, they discovered the grim remnants of the priest's activities.
The mob found the priest hiding in the back garden, attempting to flee. Overcome with rage, they attacked him, venting years of accumulated fear and hatred. They beat him to death, his final breaths slipping away beneath the very stone walls where he had committed his vile acts. But they did not stop there. In a final act of retribution, they hoisted his corpse onto a large locust tree in the church's garden, leaving him to hang, a morbid warning to anyone who might follow in his path. His lifeless body swayed in the wind for days, left to rot as a reminder of the horrors he had inflicted upon their community.
Since that day, the church and the locust tree have carried an unsettling legacy. Even after his body was taken down and buried, the tree continued to grow, its gnarled branches spreading outward as though absorbing the darkness of what had transpired beneath it. As years passed, locals began to notice strange occurrences. Those who lived near the church reported hearing the faint cries of children at night. The sorrowful sounds, thin and mournful, would drift out from the depths of the church garden, only to fade as soon as one dared to investigate. The voices were a chilling reminder of the children who had disappeared into the shadows of Xikai Church, never to return.
Some claimed that on certain nights, particularly when the moon was obscured by clouds, couples strolling through the church garden would encounter a strange figure—a tall, disheveled man with a hawk-like nose and a disturbingly twisted smile. He would appear suddenly, stepping out from behind the old locust tree, his face partially hidden by the shadows. There was something profoundly wrong about him. His eyes, though dead and hollow, seemed to pierce through anyone who looked his way, sending a chill down their spine. What made it worse was his silence; he would move slowly and soundlessly, passing by as though he were merely part of the darkness itself. Many couples fled the garden upon encountering him, unable to shake the feeling that they had just seen the ghost of the priest himself.
In time, fewer people dared to enter the church's garden, especially after sunset. The tales of ghostly children's cries and the sighting of the spectral priest were enough to keep even the most skeptical at bay. But the stories persisted. Locals recounted how, on certain anniversaries, the locust tree would appear darker, its bark blackened and twisted as if scarred by some invisible fire. Those who dared to linger claimed they could feel a distinct chill in the air around the tree, colder than the rest of the garden, as though the very ground beneath it was haunted.
As the city grew and modernized, many of Tianjin's old buildings were either torn down or renovated, but Xikai Church remained untouched. The authorities, perhaps mindful of the site's dark history, avoided making changes to the building or its grounds. Even today, few dare to enter the church's garden alone, and those who do often leave with a lingering sense of dread. There are rumors that the church's interior still holds relics from the time of the German priest—hidden rooms and narrow corridors where strange echoes can sometimes be heard, even when the church is closed and empty.
Some say that the priest's spirit has not left Xikai Church, that he is bound to the place where his crimes were exposed and his life ended. Those who study the paranormal believe his spirit may be forever tethered to the garden, trapped by the locust tree under which he met his end. According to legend, his ghost wanders the church grounds, searching endlessly for his next victim, his twisted soul unable to find peace. For locals, Xikai Church is not just a historical landmark; it is a chilling reminder of human cruelty and the darkness that can hide within even the most sacred places.
Today, the church stands as a silent testament to its horrific past, casting shadows that extend far beyond its stone walls. Visitors, unaware of its dark history, often feel a sense of unease as they walk by, inexplicably hurried to leave its proximity. To those who know the story, however, Xikai Church is more than just a relic of the past—it is a haunted monument, forever bound to the children who vanished within its walls and the twisted figure who may still wander its garden, trapped in a restless and eternal vigil.