The Spirit of Mae Nak

Narrated by Somchai Kittiwat, Age 35, Bang Phli, Thailand

The night air was unusually heavy, a stillness that even the insects refused to disturb. My wife and I had always heard stories of Mae Nak—the ghost who haunted the shrine in a small village just outside of Bangkok. Her tragic love story was famous, but like many tales, it had become a tourist attraction over time. Despite its eerie reputation, curiosity got the better of us one weekend. We decided to visit the shrine to pay our respects and, admittedly, see if the legends held any truth.

The village where the shrine stood was quiet and unassuming, surrounded by dense trees and a meandering river. As we approached, the air grew cooler, and an unsettling sense of being watched crept over me. My wife, Nitaya, clutched my hand tightly as we stepped through the arched entrance. The shrine was modest but well-kept, adorned with garlands of marigolds, candles, and incense sticks. A weathered statue of Mae Nak cradling her infant son stood at the center, her face serene yet hauntingly sad.

We were the only visitors that evening. The caretaker, an elderly woman named Pa Nang, warned us to be respectful. “Mae Nak is kind but fiercely protective,” she said, her voice low and deliberate. “Do not mock her, and do not overstay your welcome.”

I nodded, though a part of me dismissed her words as superstition. Still, there was something about the shrine that demanded reverence. Nitaya and I knelt before the statue, lighting incense and placing our offerings of flowers and a small bottle of coconut oil. As we closed our eyes to pray, a faint sound broke the silence—a lullaby, soft and melancholic, carried by the wind.

At first, I thought it was my imagination, but when I opened my eyes, Nitaya’s face was pale. “Did you hear that?” she whispered. I nodded, straining to locate the source of the sound. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

We stood up slowly, our eyes scanning the shrine. That’s when I saw it—a shadow moving near the altar. It was subtle, barely more than a flicker, but it was enough to freeze me in place. Nitaya clutched my arm, her nails digging into my skin. The shadow grew more defined, taking the shape of a woman holding a child. Her figure seemed to shimmer, as if caught between this world and the next.

The temperature plummeted, and I could see my breath in the air. The shadow moved closer, revealing a face that was heartbreakingly beautiful and deeply sorrowful. It was Mae Nak. Her eyes, dark and piercing, locked onto ours. Her lips moved, but her voice was barely a whisper, as if carried by the wind.

“Cherish your love,” she said, her tone filled with both longing and warning. “Do not take it for granted. Death cannot keep love apart, but it can torment the living.”

My legs felt like lead, and I couldn’t move. Nitaya’s grip tightened, and I could hear her murmuring prayers under her breath. Mae Nak’s figure began to fade, but before she disappeared completely, a cold gust of wind rushed past us, extinguishing the candles around the shrine.

The silence that followed was deafening. Nitaya and I stood there, rooted to the spot, until Pa Nang appeared, her face etched with concern. “You saw her, didn’t you?” she asked. We nodded, still too shaken to speak. Pa Nang sighed deeply, her expression a mix of fear and reverence. “She has not appeared in years. You must leave now. She has given you her blessing, but her presence is not meant for the living to endure.”

We didn’t need to be told twice. As we hurried back to our car, the lullaby echoed faintly in the distance. It was as if Mae Nak was watching us leave, her tragic story etched into the air around the shrine.

That night, sleep eluded us. Nitaya kept replaying the events in her mind, her voice trembling as she whispered, “What did she mean? Why did she warn us?” I had no answers, only a growing unease that her words held deeper significance than we realized.

In the days that followed, strange things began to happen. At first, it was small—items in our house moving to odd places, cold spots that lingered even in the midday heat. Then came the dreams. Both Nitaya and I began dreaming of Mae Nak, her sorrowful face and haunting lullaby a constant presence. She never spoke in the dreams, but her eyes seemed to plead with us, as if trying to convey a message we couldn’t understand.

One particularly chilling night, we were awoken by the sound of a baby crying. The sound was faint but unmistakable, coming from the corner of our bedroom. We turned on the lights, but there was nothing there. Yet the crying continued, fading only when dawn broke.

Desperate for answers, we returned to the shrine a week later. Pa Nang greeted us, her expression grim. “You have been marked by Mae Nak’s sorrow,” she said. “She sees something in you that reminds her of her own love. But you must let her go, or her grief will consume you.”

Pa Nang instructed us to perform a cleansing ritual, offering more incense and reciting prayers to release Mae Nak’s spirit. As we followed her guidance, I felt a weight lift from my chest, as if an invisible force had been holding me down. The air around the shrine grew lighter, and for the first time, I felt a sense of peace.

When we left that evening, the dreams stopped, and the strange occurrences in our home ceased. Yet, the experience left an indelible mark on us. Mae Nak’s warning—to cherish our love and not take it for granted—became a mantra we carried with us.

To this day, I cannot say for certain what we experienced at that shrine. Was it truly the spirit of Mae Nak, or was it our minds playing tricks on us? All I know is that her story, her pain, and her love are real in a way that transcends the boundaries of life and death.

As I finish recounting this tale, I find myself wondering if Mae Nak still watches over the shrine, her eternal love for her husband keeping her tethered to this world. If you ever find yourself near Bang Phli, perhaps you’ll visit the shrine too. But remember, approach with respect and an open heart. Mae Nak’s love may be eternal, but her sorrow is a burden no living soul should carry.