Ghosts Next Door

Ghosts Next Door
by Lopaka Kapanui

Oct 26, 2016

100 Ghost Stories Counting Down To Halloween! 4 Nights Left! "My Worst Nightmare"

“When you’re gifted with something, you’re supposed to help people,” my wife said.

“I’m afraid,” I told her. “I don’t want to be responsible,”

“If you don’t help people, you’ll be creating spiritual karma and it’s going to bother you,” she replied. “Besides, what are you afraid of?”

“I don’t want my family to get hurt,”

-A dream

Business wise, my worst nightmare was that I’d be somewhere doing something and I’d get a phone call,

“Hello?” I’d answer.

The voice on the other side of the phone would say, “Hi, we’re here for the ghost tour and we don’t see anyone?”

But really, my worst nightmare manifested on my ghost tour the other night. It was a fear that I’d kept neatly tucked away somewhere beneath the surface of my other fears. I never gave it much attention because I never thought that this particular fear would ever show it’s face, but the concern was very real.  Sure, my rhetoric was very effective in terms of convincing everyone that my primary concern was for the physical safety of all who attended my ghost tour. My true concern was for their spiritual safety. This is the primary reason as to why I offer prayers and chants in Hawaiian at key points on my ghost tours. However, because of the massive number of people who were in attendance that night and because of the fact that I had to improvise through a last minute change, I slipped up and forgot to offer a chant as I usually do.

Thus, my worst fear came true.


We were standing in the atrium of an old building in downtown Honolulu that was built in the renaissance revival style. It was completed in 1852 and had a colorful history to it. It’s spiritual colors became more vivid once the shadow of darkness fell upon it’s walls. I wouldn’t have noticed her if even if I’d seen her on the busy streets of Honolulu during a busy lunch hour. But this was different; here she was standing among the 66 other people on the ghost tour, listening to my clarification in regards to the hauntings in that building. What happened was very subtle; not like in the movies. I caught it from my peripheral vision and I wasn’t quite sure what I saw at first, but when I looked at her straight on, it was right there, plain as day. Her head was cast down toward the floor, but I could see her eyes fluttering and rolling back white. Her body was shaking; no wait, that’s wrong. It was vibrating, that’s why she stood out. I knew the signs and the symptoms, I knew what this was and I always thought that I would never have to prepare for this moment because it would never happen.

But it WAS happening, it was happening right in front of me; my worst fear. Someone on my tour had become possessed.

The who, what and why of it,wasn’t important; what was important is that I didn’t make a big dramatic scene of it. Instead, I segue wayed my clarification to a prayer. I asked everyone to bow their heads before I began. Everyone complied, save for the one woman who stood there and continued to convulse and vibrate. The prayer was in Latin, it was a ritual prayer for an exorcism. Even as I write this, I feel vulnerable in stating that I’ve known such a prayer all this while. I’ve always been afraid of what people might think and all the accusations and criticisms that might follow. But in a situation like that, you’re not worried about the thoughts of others, you’re only worried about the task at hand. You’re only worried about helping someone.

As the prayer proceeded, I glanced up at the woman who was now looking directly at me. Her eyes were burning with rage and hatred,

“You don’t belong here, leave us alone to our misery,” I could hear a male voice in my head.

“We’ll go, but you have to leave that body,” my thoughts returned an answer but my head was pounding.

“No one understands the pain,” the voice assaulted my temples and I was getting dizzy.

“It’s your pain that is keeping you in this place, the world has moved on while you’ve remained here and suffered needlessly. Everyone you’ve known, everyone you’ve loved; they’re gone. They passed on. You don’t have to stay, you can go. You’ve always been free to go,” my thoughts radiated while the prayer continued.

“It’s the law that keeps us here,” the voice returned.

“There is only one true law,” I replied as the prayer was nearing it’s conclusion. “Matri gloria,” the prayer was done. “Go in peace, as we will,” my thoughts projected outwards to all the souls who suffered injustice in that building. To all who were consigned to hang, to all who died Innocent. The air in the space changed significantly, the heaviness lifted and everyone seemed to be less burdened by whatever it was that permeated the structure. Luckily, no one knew what just transpired and it was better that way. Everyone filed past me as they exited the building and made their way to the bus on Mililani street. I eyed the woman carefully as she headed in my direction.

“Everything okay?” I asked her.

“I’m alright,” she smiled. “I blacked out there for a second,”

“Well, we’re headed out doors so that might help?” I said.

“Thank you,” she replied. “I like how you’re so concerned with how everyone is doing. You don’t get that on any other tour,”

“Thanks,” I smiled.


The second I stepped out of the huge double doors of that building, my headache disappeared. The night air came as a relief and it served as a sign that all would be well for the rest of the journey. My wife would tell me later that perhaps we were not meant to be in certain spaces in that building that night. I believe she was right. The bravest of people forge onward even though they are almost paralyzed with fear; but why? Courage, plain and simple. I’ve been a spiritual coward for a long time, afraid of the things that might destroy me, but a coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave, only one.

Hopefully, that’s me.

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