在那個已經被時間湮沒的年代，荔園遊樂場曾是香港人心中的一片童話樂園。當時的孩子們總是拉著父母的手，興奮地穿梭於各種機動遊戲和攤位之間，歡笑聲此起彼落。然而，隨著時代變遷，這座承載著無數回憶的遊樂園最終在九十年代關閉，只留下斑駁的照片和人們口耳相傳的故事。然而，在那些被遺忘的角落裡，荔園的某些部分似乎從未真正沉寂，其中最讓人談之色變的便是鬼屋。
鬼屋曾是荔園裡最受歡迎的設施之一。小車在軌道上緩緩移動，帶著遊客進入一片黑暗的世界，裡面充滿了骷髏、鬼怪和突然跳出的恐怖機械模型。對於孩子們來說，那裡是一個又愛又怕的地方，每一次尖叫都伴隨著心跳加速的刺激感。然而，隨著遊樂場的關閉，鬼屋也逐漸被遺棄，但它的故事卻從未停止流傳。
有一位曾在荔園工作的老員工阿輝，他至今仍記得那些夜晚。他說，在鬼屋關門後，所有的機械設施都會停止運作，整個園區陷入一片寂靜。只有少數工作人員留守，負責打掃和巡邏。然而，有些夜晚，他經過鬼屋時，總能聽到軌道上傳來輕微的金屬聲，就像小車在緩慢移動。但每次他走進去查看時，燈光打開後，裡面卻空無一人，小車也都乖乖停在原地。
更讓人毛骨悚然的是，有一次，他在巡邏時看到鬼屋入口處亮起了微弱的燈光，那燈光正是小車啟動時特有的光芒。他壓抑住內心的不安，慢慢走近想一探究竟。然而，就在他即將靠近鬼屋的一瞬間，那燈光突然熄滅，整個鬼屋再次陷入死寂。阿輝說，那一刻，他感覺到一股寒意從腳底升起，直衝腦門。他不敢多留，匆匆離開了那裡。
這樣的故事在荔園員工之間並不罕見。有另一位清潔工阿梅回憶，有一次她在深夜清掃園區時，聽到鬼屋裡傳來隱約的人聲，就像有人在低聲交談。她以為是同事在裡面工作，便推開門想進去看看。然而，映入眼簾的卻是空無一物的黑暗。她站在門口喊了幾聲，卻沒有得到任何回應。正當她準備轉身離開時，背後突然傳來一陣輕微的笑聲，那笑聲彷彿就在耳邊響起。她驚恐地回頭，但什麼也沒看到。自此之後，她再也不敢靠近鬼屋。
最令人不寒而慄的傳聞，是關於「最後一班鬼屋車」的故事。據說，在某些特定的夜晚，即使整個遊樂場早已關閉，鬼屋裡卻彷彿仍有生命。一些工作人員表示，他們曾經聽到軌道深處傳來小車緩慢移動的聲音，有時甚至能看到一道微弱的燈光從鬼屋內部閃現，就像有一輛小車正在載著某些看不見的「乘客」，沿著軌道緩緩前行。
有一次，一名保安阿強親身經歷了這場詭異事件。他說，那天晚上，他按照例行程序巡視園區時，遠遠看到鬼屋內部似乎有光。他以為是有人忘了關燈或者設備故障，便走進去查看。然而，當他進入鬼屋後，那光芒卻突然消失，只剩下一片濃稠得幾乎可以觸摸到的黑暗。他拿出手電筒四處照射，但什麼也沒看到。然而，就在他準備轉身離開的一瞬間，他聽到了一陣輕微的金屬摩擦聲，那聲音來自他的身後。他猛然回頭，用手電筒照向軌道，但軌道上空無一物。
阿強不敢再待下去，他快步走出鬼屋，但就在他踏出門口的一瞬間，他感覺到背後有什麼東西在注視著他。他壓抑住內心的恐懼，頭也不回地跑回了管理室。那天晚上，他失眠了整整一夜。
隨著荔園遊樂場的結束營業，鬼屋被拆除，但這些靈異故事卻仍然在香港人的記憶中流傳。一些人認為這些現象只是設備老化或者心理作用所致，但也有不少人堅信，那裡曾經發生過一些無法解釋的靈異事件。
如今，每當有人提起荔園和它的鬼屋，那些陳舊而詭秘的故事便會再次浮現於人們腦海中。有人說，如果你站在荔枝角舊址附近，閉上眼睛，也許能聽到遠處傳來的一陣輕微金屬聲，就像那輛「最後的鬼屋車」仍然在黑暗中默默行駛著。
English Version
Long before it faded into memory, Lai Yuen Amusement Park was once a place of laughter, bright lights, and childhood wonder, a beloved destination where families gathered and children ran excitedly between rides and game stalls, their voices filling the air with joy, yet as time passed and the park eventually closed in the 1990s, what remained were not only photographs and nostalgic stories but also something far less comforting—whispers of strange occurrences that seemed to persist even after the gates were shut and the lights went out, and among all the attractions that once defined the park, none carried a darker reputation than the haunted ride, a slow-moving ghost train that had once delighted and terrified visitors in equal measure during its operation, the ride consisted of small cars that glided along tracks through a dimly lit interior filled with mechanical figures—skeletons, ghosts, and sudden moving props designed to startle riders—but after the park closed each night and the machinery was powered down, the entire structure should have fallen silent, abandoned to darkness like everything else, yet for those who worked there, the haunted ride never truly seemed to rest; Ah Fai, a former employee who had spent years working night shifts in the park, recalled how, long after closing hours, when only a handful of staff remained to clean and patrol the grounds, he would occasionally hear a faint metallic sound coming from within the ride, a slow, rhythmic noise that resembled the movement of the cars along the tracks, and though he initially dismissed it as residual mechanical noise or structural settling, the consistency of the sound troubled him, especially when he entered the ride to investigate and found everything completely still, the cars lined up exactly as they should be, unmoving and silent under the harsh beam of his flashlight; on one particular night, he noticed a faint glow emanating from the entrance of the haunted ride, a soft, flickering light that mirrored the illumination used when the cars were active, and compelled by both duty and curiosity, he approached cautiously, each step accompanied by a growing sense of unease, yet just as he drew close enough to see inside, the light vanished abruptly, plunging the structure back into complete darkness, leaving him standing there with the unsettling feeling that something had been interrupted by his presence, something that had no intention of being observed; he was not alone in these experiences, as other workers shared similar accounts, including Ah Mui, a cleaner who once heard low murmuring voices coming from inside the ride late at night, as if multiple people were speaking softly to one another, and believing it to be coworkers, she opened the door to call out, only to be met with empty darkness and silence, until, just as she turned to leave, a quiet laugh echoed close behind her, so near it seemed to brush against her ear, causing her to flee without looking back; yet the most enduring and chilling story among staff was that of what they called the “last ghost train,” a phenomenon said to occur on certain nights when the park was long closed, when the haunted ride seemed to come alive once more, not with visible passengers or mechanical operation, but with subtle signs of movement—a faint light deep within the structure, the slow grinding sound of metal on tracks, and the undeniable impression that something unseen was traveling through the ride as if it still served its original purpose; Ah Keung, a security guard, once experienced this firsthand during a late-night patrol, spotting a dim glow within the ride and assuming it to be a malfunction or oversight, he entered cautiously, his flashlight cutting through the thick darkness, yet as soon as he stepped inside, the light disappeared, leaving him enveloped in a silence so dense it felt almost tangible, and as he turned to leave, a soft metallic scraping sound echoed behind him, unmistakably close, prompting him to spin around and shine his light along the tracks, where he saw nothing—no movement, no car, no explanation—only the empty rails stretching into darkness; overcome with a sense of being watched, he quickly exited the ride, resisting the urge to look back, though the feeling lingered long after he returned to safety, haunting him through the night and beyond; even after the demolition of the park, the stories did not fade, instead becoming part of the city’s collective memory, retold and reimagined by those who had heard whispers of the place, and some claim that if you stand near the former site in the quiet hours of the night, close your eyes, and listen carefully, you might still hear it—the faint, distant sound of metal wheels turning slowly along unseen tracks, as though that final ghost train continues its endless journey in the dark, carrying passengers who no longer belong to the world above, bound to a ride that was never meant to run forever, yet somehow never truly stopped.
