Ghosts Next Door

Ghosts Next Door
by Lopaka Kapanui

Oct 31, 2019

100 Ghost Stories Counting Down To Halloween 2019 #2



It was 1972 that much I remember.  We were living in Waimalu, and it was Halloween. A bunch of us gathered in front of Robbie Ralston's house, all dressed in our costumes. Armed with paper bags, rice sacks, and plastic fishing buckets, we excitedly trick or treated as many houses as we could for as much candy that we could get.
We started from Ponohana loop and made sure that we left no street undiscovered. In a couple of hours, Wes Tanaka was tired, and frankly, so were we. Rather than merely part company and head back to our own homes alone, we thought it would be a better idea for us to walk to the others home until the last person was at a fair enough distance from his home that he could run the rest of the way. That final person turned out to be me.

Robby was the first, he was dressed like Casper except that his mask and his get-up was covered with covered dots like the Twister game. The second was Wes, he gave a short wave and disappeared beneath the cathedral-like branches of his lime trees. Robby and Wes lived two homes away from one another on Ponohale. The intersection at Ponokaulike was just ten feet away. All I had to do was get to the other intersection at Pono street, and then I'd cross over to Ponohana, and I'd be home free. My burlap rice bag was filled with candy, would it be a burden to bear? I couldn't worry about that, I had to get home and so laid tracks and ran with everything I had. Everything was smooth until I crossed the intersection at Pono street and got to Ponohana. That's when everything got weird because I didn't recognize the neighborhood at all. I mean it was my street, but the cars were the older, bigger, and bulkier kinds, like the ones in those black and white movies. The street lights look like the ones I've seen at the feed store warehouse, and the wooden telephone poles aren't as tall as they should be. I spring up to the top of the hill where my house is, I have to tell my folks.

98-437 that's my address. I run straight up the steps and open the front door, I'm panting with exhaustion at this point. I'm gonna head straight to the shower after I tell my mom and dad about everything that happened. But I can't, the people sitting in the living room are not my parents, it's a young Japanese couple. The arrangement of the living room is different also, and, where are the dogs? My mom's little Pomeranians? The only thing in the space that I recognize is the standing oil lamp. The man jumps up from his couch and starts yelling at me in Japanese, soon he's pushing me out the door. My head is spinning, what the hell is going on? Robby! I'll get to his house and maybe his mom can help me! I run back down to the intersection at my street, Pono street, and Ponohale street. The second I sprint pass the intersection, civilization disappears. I'm in a pitched black forest. My street is gone! The neighboorhood is gone! Where do I run now?

"Mom! Dad!" It's all I can think of to do, just scream for my folks. "Mom!Dad!"


On the evening of October 31, 1972, 10-year-old John Moniz who was last seen after an evening of trick or treating with two of his classmates, Robby Ralston and Wes Tanaka, never arrived home. His parents Daniel and Mary organized a search party but with no luck. Now, these forty-seven years later, the question is still asked, "What happened to John Moniz?"

No comments:

Post a Comment