Ghosts Next Door

Ghosts Next Door
by Lopaka Kapanui

Jul 25, 2016

100 Ghost Stories Counting Down To Halloween! 97 Nights Left!, "Pulima"

Is the housing situation on ‘O’ahu so bad that people are willing to live in a haunted location? Consider those studio apartments which are the size of your bedroom with a shower and sink are being rented out for $2400 a month. Without parking and the additional fact that utilities are on your own, you can understand the desperation of most people to find a decent domicile.   

Consider the option that Tamar Torres was left with when he found a two hundred square foot studio that was a part of what used to be a large mansion on the slopes of Punchbowl crater. It was a steal at $700 a month with a closet sized sink, toilet, and shower. Add the kitchen sink and mini fridge and you have the perfect bachelor's quarters. The problem was that there were studios like these throughout the overall structure which would make Tamar one of the eleven other bachelors who lived there.

“There’s just one thing I have to tell you,” the grizzled old landlord began. “This place is haunted. Old lady Spencer killed her husband and kids in the house; it was way back in the late 1800’s and people have said they’ve seen things. Me, I got enough of my own crap to worry about, failing health, bum leg and a bunch of greedy grandchildren. If you can put up with the ghosts, it's really a nice place,”

“I’m sure I can find a way to deal with it,” Tamar replied.

In his mind Tamar knew that he couldn’t pass it up; his previous prospects were ridiculously over priced and he wasn’t keen on sleeping in his car for another night. He reached into his pocket and removed an envelope which was filled with the deposit and first months rent in cash and handed it to the old man.

“Perfect,” the landlord smiled. 

Removing the rental agreement from his pocket, the old man carefully unfolded the large parchment and handed Tamar a strange looking fountain pen.

“Just sign right at the bottom on the dotted line,” the old man said excitedly.

“I have a pen,” Tamar said as he removed his BIC from his pocket.

“No, no,” the old man cautioned. “The owner is kinda quirky and he has a thing about all contracts being signed with his personal fountain pen; just a formality. It doesn’t mean anything really,”

Tamar looked the parchment over carefully and noticed that the whole document was handwritten in calligraphy.

So that the undersigned comprehends the rules of this binding contract that cannot be undone
On the condition that he does not attempt by mercenary measures to break said contract without knowledge of the landlord
Under no circumstances will he flee in the dark of night or attempt to move his belongings piece by piece
Let it be known that he will be subject to the utmost punishment in the highest court of law under the one who mans the crossroads


It wasn’t until he was about to sign the contract that he noticed something strange; the large letters that began each paragraph seemed to spell out one word, “SOUL”

Suddenly the old landlord didn’t smell like three-day old sweat anymore; he smelled of sulfur. His breath was like rotting flesh and his eyes turned a shade of yellowish green while clumps of his hair fell from his head. The wind that blew down from Punchbowl crater freely carried the old man's hair away toward Ward Avenue. Pointing at the dotted line on the rental agreement, insistent that Tamar signs as quickly as possible, the landlord’s fingernails grew out like sharp talons that were now turning black.

Tamar dropped the contract and the strange fountain pen and ran all the way down to Green Street where he’d parked his car earlier. Sleeping in his car for a few days didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

“Dammit!” The old landlord was upset at himself. “I have to learn not to do that until AFTER the contract is signed! The boss is gonna be pissed,”

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