Many stories had circulated around town about the tree just beyond our walls. They used it to hang people, you see, and the grounds had grown sour with the bitter scent of death, the air heavy with blood and guilt and broken flesh. They called it the Hanged Man’s Tree.
I myself had seen nothing, merely passing by the tree and seeing it as just that – a tree, not an object of dread that the others so feared. For many months, it stayed that way for me. That had been before the night my sister died, the night that left my soul cold and disturbed. And despite not wanting to, I found myself starting to believe the stories.
Her eyes had possessed a strange hollowness, an emptiness that frightened us all for quite some time before she eventually ventured to the tree one night. I had followed her, watched her walk slowly, as if in a trance, to the place that seemed to call her. When she arrived, she stood by the branches for many hours, motionless and unblinking, staring fixedly at a spot on one of the branches extended to her.
I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up it was daylight, and my head was stiff from resting against the wall I had hidden behind.
Perhaps if I had been awake, I could have saved her. Perhaps I could not have saved her at all. But she was there nonetheless, dangling limply from one of the wretched branches, and as the breeze moved to touch her body the tree groaned. The tree had witnessed everything. But I didn’t need to see it to know that something was deeply, horribly wrong.
In the weeks that followed, I began to experience nightmares. Terrible, relentless nightmares that left me shivering and drenched in sweat as though I were gripped by a fever. And each time I pulled myself out of these nightmares, I would see the same creature dangling limply from the ceiling, its neck snapped to one side. It looked like my sister, but I knew it couldn’t be her. My sister was already dead. This figure had a gaunt, elongated face, and its tongue lolled grotesquely from its lips to its belly button. No, this was not my sister. This was something else entirely.
As the days and nights grew increasingly unpleasant, I began to feel an unexplained longing to visit the place where she had died. The more I ignored it, the more it consumed me, like an itch I needed to scratch. I knew that I had to, though a part of me knew that I shouldn’t.
One night, I woke up as I always did, gasping for breath and finding myself face to face with the thing, its face covered with shadow. Unable to fall back asleep knowing its eyes followed me, I got out of bed, passing through my door to escape its presence. Though I was aware of my surroundings, I did not realise that my feet were leading me elsewhere until I had reached the Hanged Man’s Tree.
The tree loomed large and unfamiliar in the darkness, groaning with the memory of the bodies it had borne. I could have sworn I heard whispers on the wind, the creak of branches as they strained against an unseen force. I moved closer then, reaching the spot where my sister had died. There was something hanging there, swaying gently in the soft breeze. It resembled the figure that visited me in my dreams. But it couldn’t be, surely.
I moved a little closer, peering into the thing’s face, and recoiled. The same red tongue lolled from its mouth, and its eyes, recognising my gaze, darted open from the cracked sockets. I screamed as its mouth widened, gnashing back and forth, urging me to join it. Its jagged teeth bit on the tongue as it spoke, drawing blood that trickled down to the ground, but still it whispered.
“Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it.” It chattered hysterically, over and over and over, its eyes widening more and more and the tongue thrashing around, pulling me to it.
They found a new body the next morning.
Diao Si Gui is a malevolent ghost of Chinese folklore, often appearing after someone has committed suicide by hanging or been sentenced to execution.
APPEARANCE AND ATTRIBUTES
Diao Si Gui appears as a hanged person, suspended from the air as if by a noose. Its face is pale and gaunt, devoid of life and warmth. But the most terrifying thing about it is its abnormally long tongue, which dangles from its mouth as it stares at its victim, waiting for them to make eye contact with it.
If a victim is unfortunate enough to meet eyes with the spirit, it will attempt to communicate with them, using its hypnotic power to urge them to commit suicide.
Often, such persuasion comes with the promise of freedom, or power. Humans, being susceptible to greed, find themselves powerless under the gaze of the ghost, and often succumb to its bidding.
Once this deal has been made, the Diao Si Gui is freed from its curse, dooming the newly deceased person to take its place.
The curse of Diao Si Gui is a continuous cycle until each victim is able to find a replacement. Without a successor, they remain in their ghastly form indefinitely, confined to the place of death, unable to grieve or move on.
In some cases, Diao Si Gui can be exorcised, though success is rare. Prevention is the preferred cure, and since these spirits are unable to stray far beyond their resting place, it is best to avoid the place of death altogether.
CREATION
Perhaps the belief of Diao Si Gui has been passed down through generations to dissuade thoughts of suicide, encouraging individuals to seek help over ending their lives. It could be that Diao Si Gui is merely a scary story used to keep children safe in their beds at night. Or perhaps the phenomenon is indeed real. Maybe it’s wiser not to take the risk.
References
- Diao Si Gui: Red-Tongued, Hanged Ghost of Chinese Folklore – LoreThrill
- Diao Si Gui – Gods and Monsters
- Diao Si Gui: Chinese Hanged Ghosts (paranormalcatalog.net)
Ethereal Chronicles 
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