The Nun and the Girl with Loose Hair at Midnight

Late one night at the Phúc An Viên cemetery, after finishing her tasks, the nun looked at the clock. It struck exactly twelve o’clock. Exhausted, she closed her bedroom door. Outside, the wind whistled softly on the porch, and crickets chirped in the distance. Just as she was about to turn off the light, the door swung open. A young girl with loose hair stepped inside, moving so lightly that her feet seemed not to touch the ground.

The nun squinted slightly, assuming it was one of the lay practitioners who had not yet gone to sleep. She gently reminded her: “It is this late; why are you still awake? Where else would you go, and what are you doing here?”

The girl said nothing. She silently walked to the center of the room, turned around, opened the door, stepped out, and closed it with a soft click. The nun shook her head, thinking: “These young ones wander around too much. If they get tired tomorrow, it will be my fault.” She let it go and fell asleep immediately.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains. The nun went to find the lay practitioners and asked: “Last night, right at twelve o’clock, which of you entered my room to talk before leaving?” The women looked at each other and shook their heads. They replied: “Venerable Sister, we all went to sleep long before that. No one entered your room.”

“Was there really no lay practitioner who entered my room at midnight yesterday?”

“No, Venerable Sister. Everyone had been asleep for a very long time already.”

The nun felt a sudden chill, and her heart tightened. The room had been locked, and the door showed no signs of being forced open. So who had entered and left so quietly without a greeting? She recalled the image of the loose hair, the faint face, and the strangely cold atmosphere. She silently recited the Buddha’s name and realized: “Ah, this must be the spirit that Brother Tâm has cared for over the past few years—a wandering soul from the cemetery.”

The turning point came when she understood that the spirit meant no harm. It only wished to prove its presence. From then on, every evening, she placed a little rice and water on the porch and chanted sutras for the spirit to hear. After a few days, the chilling sensation on the back of her neck disappeared completely, and she slept peacefully again.

From that year onward, whenever the Vu Lan season arrived at Phúc An Viên, the nun would share this story with the Buddhist followers. Together, they chanted sutras to dedicate merit to the departed. Although the cemetery is the home of spirits, thanks to compassion, it became a place of pure rest. The nun no longer feared the midnight hours, for she understood that spirits are also beings who need love.

**The Meaning of the Story**

The realm of the departed and the world of the living are separate yet deeply connected. Spirits often appear to show that they are near us, not to cause harm. We should not fear them. Instead, we can make offerings of food and chant sutras. Through these acts, we transform suffering for both sides.

Compiled from the dharma talk by Most Venerable Thích Chân Quang