100 Ghost Stories Counting Down To Halloween 2025. #32. Bellows 1973.

It was an Impala station wagon that drove us all the way from Wai'anae, through the Likelike tunnel to the beaches at Bellows.

It was 1973. I was 11 years old then, and I was right at the age where you have this internal warning beacon that tells you it's not cool to hang out with your family. Yet, here I was sitting in the rumble chair facing out toward the traffic, lost in Casey Kasem's top 40 as it blared into my earplugs attached to my red handheld Panasonic radio. All my cousins were like ants sitting in the first two rows of chairs while my father drove, and my mother balanced the conversation with my father while trying to control the small ones at the same time. I'd rather be at home in my room, doing what I'm doing now, but my folks refused to leave me at home by myself. Were they worried that I was going to conjure the devil or something?

We cleared security at the gate after the guard told my father that it was unusual to see him at Bellows in his civilian clothes and not in his regular officer's uniform. I didn't know back then that there were hardly any Hawaiians who held an officer's rank in the military, yet my father was one of the few. We passed through and were on our way to our assigned spot on the beach, where we'd be for the rest of the day. I planned to walk off somewhere, and I sat by myself under one of those growing pines and the bottom of a sand berm, but my father cut me off by shoving a cooler in my arms.

"Help your mother get set up at the picnic table, and watch your cousins," he said to me like I was one of his soldiers. "That's your assignment for the rest of the day."

I walked off without saying anything to him. It was my defiance. He grabbed me and spun me around. "Did you hear what I just said?"

"I did," I snapped back. "Did you?"

He smacked me across the face, no hesitation. In 1973, none of the nurture the child bullshit was a thing yet. My father nurtured the left side of my cheek with an open-handed slap. That set the tone for the rest of the day. The old man busied himself by playing with my cousins in the surf, while I sat at the picnic, wishing that the ocean would gobble the old man up and take him back to Vietnam so he'd leave us alone. 

"Why don't you go over there and go swim with your father and your cousins?" My mother asked, while nudging me at the same time. 

I sighed while taking a sip of her Fresca, and then ate the chips out of her bag. Rather than have to go join the fun, I walked down the sand a few feet away from where everyone else frolicked and decided to build a sand castle or at least a sand something. Perfect timing as Don McClean begins to sing on the top 40 about Castles in the Air.

"Save me from all the trouble and the pain.. I know I'm weak."

My cousins must have also had their own internal beacon, because in the middle of all their yelling and screaming. At the same time, treacherous waves pounded them on the unforgiving packed sand. They suddenly stopped everything they were doing and came running and screaming in my direction. Seeing what I was doing, they stopped on a dime and began digging up the sand in their hands, each one of them giving me their contribution. I was in no way a sand castle building expert, but I did what I could. Casey Kasem introduces Led Zeppelin's latest contribution to the top 40 from Houses of the Holy while I try to complete the courtyard with four turrets and ramparts. From my peripheral vision, I can just catch a glimpse of my father running toward us at a full clip. I don't know what I did wrong, but I dropped everything and ran to the picnic table where my mother is sitting. "What's going on?" She asked. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" I told her while trying to catch my breath. "We were making a sand castle, that's all!"

My mom walked down the beach to see what happened. I stayed right where I sat; I didn't bother joining her. Yup, the only way I can have peace and quiet is if, for some reason, the government shipped my father back to the war so I don't have to get blamed for breathing the same air as him. Casy Kasem is telling us about the latest from Stevie Wonder, who's living just enough for the city. My father is walking about the beach toward the picnic table. I stand up and make sure I put that table between him and me. He grabs his shirt and puts it on. Next, he puts on his sandals. Grabbing his car keys, he jumps into the station wagon and takes off. Did I suddenly get my prayers answered? Is he really going back to the war?

"He's going to get the MP," my mom said while trying to comfort my cousins, who are crying.

A minute later, my father returns with the MPs who pull up behind the Impala station wagon in their jeeps. They follow my father down the beach where I just was with my cousins, building a sand castle. A few more MPs manifest. They walk down to the sand and join my father and the first two MPs. Before I know it, we're packing up the Impala, and pretty soon we're on our way back home. No words were spoken between my parents, but periodically, my mother looked back at my cousins, who were fast asleep. I was right where I needed to be, alone and not having to deal with my family. Later that same evening, after dinner was done and the dishes were put away, I sat on my bed still caught up in the top 40. My father entered my room and sat at my desk. He took my earphones off just as Neil Diamond sang Be.

"While you guys were making sand castles," he began. "You had no idea what you were digging up, and it's not your fault, just want to let you know that."

"Digging up?" I wasn't sure what he meant.

"You guys dug up human remains, bones," he confirmed. "You guys didn't see it, but I did. Because of the war, I know what human remains look like, and I didn't want you and your cousins to see it." He moved his chair closer and leaned in. "I know you think I'm hard on you, but what's happening in Vietnam could happen right here in Hawai'i. That's what I'm trying to protect you from, all of you in this house. Who's gonna be the man of the house when I'm away on assignment? It's you, you're the man when I'm not here."

"I didn't know that," I said in a low tone. "Those were real bones?"

"Hawaiian bones," my father answered. "They're not supposed to be disturbed. I just got off the phone with your Tūtū. I told her what happened, so she prayed in Hawaiian over the phone to protect us. You guys didn't know, and you meant no harm; you should be fine."

We were indeed protected, but two days later, my father was killed in a car accident. On his way to work on Bellows, a cat darted across the road. He swerved to avoid it and ran headfirst into a kiawe tree. He died on impact, and that was the end of Lt. Matthew Kalaikoa. 

The other MPs who were there on the beach that day when the Hawaiian bones were discovered fell ill to the point of near death. The reports would later reveal that my father and the MPs physically touched the bones before the medical examiner showed up. They lied when the M.A. asked if the scene had been disturbed in any way. Of course, they lied. Remember now, this is 1973. No one in positions of authority or just in general gave a shit about Hawaiian bones, not in the way we do now.

Why was it that my father died and the others did not? The MPs were also Hawaiian, but they were enlisted. My father was the only officer, the highest ranking among them. If it were ancient times, he would be the highest-ranking ali'i. The most responsible for every physical and spiritual matter. In this case, the discovery of ancient Hawaiian remains.