100 Ghost Stories Counting Down To Halloween 2025. #25. Young Hiram.

In a swank neighborhood in Hahaione, bedecked with sprawling mansions with swimming pools and working gyms inside and beautiful women sunbathing on the outside, it's a feast for the hungry eyes of people who wish they could afford such a lifestyle.

The entire district consisted of these kinds of homes from end to end. However, there is one house that stands out, a holdover from days when Hahaione was nothing but pig farms and hibiscus and carnation farms. It's the home of Hiram Ka'ulukou. A simple two-bedroom cottage with a yard that is an acre larger than the home itself. In the yard are various kinds of trees, plants, ferns, shrubs, clay, and a particular type of moss, which are all used for healing. A part of the nearby stream feeds into Hiram's yard. Parts of which are used to give life to what lives on his property. When the trees and plants have had their fill, Hiram redirects the water back to the stream. A relationship of causality existed between Hiram and all that lived in nature, great and lesser. People often sought Hiram out for medicinal healing or emotional or mental healing. Otherwise, Hiram kept to himself and bothered no one.

When development encroached on the area, and persons were being bought out to make way for a new kind of people who would live there, Hiram was the only one who was not bothered. It's not to say that the county and state did not try to condemn Hiram's land and be rid of him; they certainly did, but Hiram, in all of his humble honesty, looked at the man from the state, who had three police officers with him, and told him, "You get diabetes, you. How come you never go to the doctor like your wife said?"

Terence Miyashima was taken aback. "How do you know that? Nobody knows that!"

"You get all that dark marks on your cheek and around your neck, das why," Herman pointed. "You too young for dis kine, you like die before you thirty?"

"No," Terence said.

Hiram reached over, grabbed what looked like a bunch of weeds, and put them in a mason jar with a few leaves from another plant. "Dry this out first, then drink it as a tea. The thing is going to clean out your body from the diabetes, but you gotta stop with all the candy, soda, beer, bread, all that kind of stuff. But if you like to die before you're thirty, then no, listen to me."

The three police officers laughed, but Hiram scolded them as well. "Eh, no laugh! You guys, too! You go to church every Sunday, but all three of you are sleeping with other women besides your wife! How you going learn from the haole god's bible and you go do dat kine?"

After that, no one touched Hiram's home. It was left entirely alone. All these years later, and Hiram's property is the only one of its kind in a sea of luxury homes. Complaints from mainland transplants about the humble cottage and the acreage of land being an eyesore to the community are largely ignored. If these complaints come from neighbors who are lawyers, they receive a call from the mayor, and the matter is dropped. However, there is always the one person who pushes the issue because they feel it's their right as a taxpayer. People like these are intrusive, physically and psychologically, but they don't realize who it is they're dealing with. 

Steven Gorman was a highly paid attorney from Humboldt, California, who decided that Hiram's cottage and the overgrowth of plants and trees had to go. This was not a community for a backward Hawaiian to live in. Many of his neighbors encouraged Steven to err on the side of caution. Their words fell on deaf ears, and on a quiet Saturday morning, Steven took it upon himself to trespass on Hiram's property and pound on his front door. Steven was accompanied by his 13-year-old son Mirik.

The inner door pulled back, and there stood a young Hawaiian man, tall, lean with prematurely graying hair and piercing brown eyes. "Aloha, good morning," his eyes smiled before his face did.

"I'm looking for a Hiram Kakalakakau," Steven blustered.

"Ka'ulukou," the young Hawaiian nodded. "That was my grandfather, I'm Hiram Ka'ulukou the third."

"Whatever," Steven smirked while looking at his son, who also smirked.

"This is your son," young Hiram stated.

"Yes, this is Mirik," Steven nudged the boy with his elbow.

"My dad's a powerful attorney," Mirik stepped forward. "He's going to put some paperwork together, and then he'll get some powerful people to kick you out of this neighborhood."

"Will he now?" Young Hiram mused.

"Excuse my son," Steven apologized. "He really wants to be like me, and sometimes he gets carried away. It's my fault, because I spoil him." 

Young Hiram stared at Mirik without a word. He stared at him long enough to make him uncomfortable. Long enough that the boy stepped back and hid behind his father. Finally, young Hiram fixed his gaze on Steven. "Is there something you wanted to say?"

"I'm going to file complaint after complaint about your home, your yard, and all this shit that's growing in and around it until you have to move out of this neighborhood so that decent people can live here in peace and quiet!" Steven was nearly nose to nose with young Hiram, who didn't shrink an inch. Steven was well practiced with his intimidation tactics, which eventually made people shrink and give in. Hiram was not moved.

"So you want peace and quiet?" Young Hiram asked.

"Yes," Steven nodded. "The whole neighborhood wants it!"

"I'm not asking about the whole neighborhood, I'm asking about you," young Hiram repeated. "Do you want peace and quiet?"

"If it means getting rid of you and your kind, then yes. That's the kind of peace and quiet I want." Steven had his shoulders back and his chest puffed out.

"Where's this boy's mother, by the way?" Young Hiram inquired, feigning care.

"She passed a while ago," Steven looked over at his son. "It's just me and Mirik now."

"When you wake up tomorrow, you will have your peace and quiet." Young Hiram said as he shut the door. 

Mirik inserted his 13-year-old foot in the door to stop young Hiram from closing it. "Are you deaf? Didn't you hear what my father said?"

"I did hear him." Young Hiram gave his full attention to Mirik as he walked forward, his face just inches away from the young boy's, moving him backwards. "Did you?"

"Yeah!" Mirik tried to imitate his father's best intimidating voice. 

"Are you sure?" Young Hiram confirmed.

"I'm sure," Mirik was now halfway off the porch. One more step and he would have fallen backwards onto the sharp gravel.

"Tomorrow," young Hiram returned his attention to Steven. "You'll have peace and quiet."

~

Steve Gorman went home with the confidence that the young Hawaiian man was bested by himself and Mirik. The two had a steak dinner where Steven allowed his son to have a sip of wine. When they got home, they binged-watched on Netflix until the sun came up. They finally fell asleep, and when they awoke at 4 in the afternoon, all the sound in the world was gone. At least that's what they thought. What really happened is that they both suddenly became deaf. No medical explanation was ever found physically or physiologically; they just couldn't hear anymore. That was the peace and quiet that young Hiram promised, but for Mirik, not only could he not hear any longer, he also lost the ability to speak. His vocal chords were perfectly normal according to the examination, but no sound was ever produced. 

A short time after that, with no medical reason as to why, Mirik also went blind. 

Steven's condition became like that of his son's, not too long after, and he had all the peace and quiet he would ever need.

The little two-bedroom cottage with an acreage of Hawaiian trees and plants used for medicinal healing still stands. No one bothers young Hiram, nor do they trouble him for anything. As a neighbor, he is always willing to help anyone if needed. However, he is also prepared to repel anyone who approaches him for the wrong reasons.