Ghosts Next Door

Ghosts Next Door
by Lopaka Kapanui

Aug 17, 2020

100 Ghost Stories Counting Down To Halloween 2020 #75

People on the bus are cordial, but it's evident that everyone wants to stay in their own lane and not be bothered. Everyone is headed somewhere, and we'd all like to get there peacefully. As luck or misfortune would have it, there is always someone who feels that they have the right to invade your personal space in whichever way, shape, or form they please.

I make it a habit to stand when I have to in case someone who is elderly or overwhelmed needs a seat. If I get a chance to sit when the bus is not too crowded, I sit near the back door or across from it. The idiots tend to gravitate toward the back, and the sexual predators don't care where they sit, as long as they can get next to or near their target. God loves the poor bus drivers and everything they have to bear. They truly deserve their pay.

It was nearly eight in the evening when I got a call from my mechanic friend at the dealership. He was doing a side job on my LS460 for me, and he called to say it was ready. I caught the bus on Date street, fronting the large field at Kaimuki high school. The ride was quiet; there weren't too many people on the bus, so I took the seat near the back door. A local woman about my age sat across from me, she was dressed in a waitresses uniform of some kind. I could tell by the shoes and black polyester slacks. She wore a heavy jacket over her shirt, so I couldn't know if it was Zippy's or McDonald's. The bus stops in front of 24-hour fitness, and a Polynesian male gets on. He's dressed in a red aloha shirt with black floral print designs. His basketball shorts are oversized, and his high tops are filthy. He made a beeline for the waitress and inserted himself in her seat, and forced her to move to the window. Immediately, he reaches into his shorts and begins to jerk on his member. She screams, and a second later, the bus driver brings the large carriage to a halt. The driver is a large Hawaiian woman who is built like a brick house, she comes marching down the aisle and grabs the Polynesian male by the scruff of his collar and physically tosses him through the double doors. It's an impressive task considering she-the driver, hadn't opened the back double doors at all. He hits the pavement hard just in front of the old channel 9 new stations. "I don't go for that shit on my bus!"

"Kefe!" The Polynesian man retorts.

"Tasi po alu moe!" The bus driver replies. Turning to the waitress, she asks, "You alright? Did he do anything to you?"

"No, no, I'm okay," the waitress is clearly shaken, but she's okay.

The driver marches down the aisle and back to her seat. The second she buckles up, she makes an announcement over the P.A. "I dunno about other drivers, but when I'm driving, nobody better pull any bullshit on my vehicle!"

Considering the sparse amount of people on the bus, the driver receives a lite sprinkle of applause as opposed to the torrent of aplomb she really deserved. "You alright? Everything okay?" I asked the waitress.

"I'm good, it's just that he surprised me," she laughed nervously.

"I'm getting off by the Cooke street lofts, I have to pick up my car from the dealership. Did you need a ride to work or anything?" I could see the hesitation, which I completely understood. "I promise you, I'm a really nice guy, I have no agenda or anything."

"Well," she considered. "I work at Mike's restaurant on Vineyard. Usually, I just walk from Beretania, but after what just happened, maybe I'll take you up on that ride?"

"Here," I reached into my pocket and got out my wallet. "Until I drop you off, you can hold on to that. It's got my driver's license, my money, and my credit cards."

"Okay," she half playfully squinted her eyes at me. "I will do that!"

We got off at the Cooke street lofts, and we both thanked the bus driver. The driver let the waitress know that it was safer to sit in the front, near the driver.

My friend, the mechanic, was giving my LS460 a good shine when I walked up. "Hey, Dennis! Thanks a lot, I really appreciate this!" I handed him a thick envelope, and he handed over the keys. He looked over my shoulder and noticed the waitress standing patiently near the garage entrance. I waved her over and introduced her to Dennis. "This is my bud Dennis, and....oh, I never asked your name?"

"Carol," she smiled graciously and shook Dennis's hand.

"Nice to meet you," Dennis replied. "Brah, I gotta get home if you no mind? I no like my wife worry."

"Shoots brah, thanks again!"

Dennis started to close up, and I turned to Carol and offered her the keys. "Do you wanna drive? Just so you know, I'm legit and everything."

Giving me the once over, she took the keys, and we were off to her place of employment.

We were fifteen minutes early, in the midst of our conversation on the way to Mike's she told me that she has a car but that she and her sister share it. Tonight happened to be the night that her sister had the car for work, so she caught the bus. She said she liked the way my vehicle handled, and perhaps when she saved up enough money, she too would get an LS460. She parked in front of the restaurant, and as we both exited my car, she held up my wallet to me and said, "Come have dinner on me; it's my treat. Then I'll give this back to you."

"Sure," I shrugged my shoulders.

She went over and spoke to her manager, who seated me near what I like to call the Borthwick side of the restaurant. I ordered a surf meal and fries. Carol brought my food to me and asked me about my choice for dessert. I told her that I needed to get through the dinner first before I could decide. When it was all over, Carol expressed her thanks. I told her it was no problem and that the female bus driver was the real hero or heroine. No one got the chance to show any kind of chivalry because of her quick thinking. 

The next day was a regular routine of waking up before nine in the morning and taking a shower. Afterward, I spent the next hour going through e-mails and messages. Much of it was questions regarding returns on investments. The price of gold had also gone up, so it was time to sell. Other problems surfaced when clients didn't reply when I had a good tip or if the time to buy stock was now, and I couldn't get a hold of them. Usually, I end up buying the stock and losing a friend.

It was at a very odd hour when I had a moment to check my news feed online, like eleven minutes after two in the afternoon or something. The headline didn't sink in right away. It had to do with the body of a woman found outside a local restaurant known as Mike's on Vineyard boulevard. I did a double-take when I read the paragraph that said she was a waitress because she was found with her uniform on. Her body was discovered by a homeless person. The police said there was a person of interest that they were looking for. At that moment, I scrambled down the hallway and ran into my bedroom. I rifled through my pant pockets from last night. I couldn't find it. Fuck, she never gave my wallet back.

Just then, my doorbell rang.


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