|
 Back
to current Tales from the Road.
Ghostly
Warning
Posted January 2003
by Kafka Medeiros
Honolulu Streets Magazine
It happened one dark and rainy night
in Honolulu. Echoes of an unsettling shifting sound rang through
Kalama Valley while strong winds howled through the ko`olaus (mountains)
like
a lonely ghost crying for his lost love.
I
had just turned the corner from Lunalilo Home Road and headed
upward on Hawaii Kai Drive when I noticed a very unusual looking
dog standing in the middle of the road. It must have stood more
than 4 ft. tall with its coat characteristic of a florescent
light bulb which seemed to illuminate the entire street. By the
time I reached the crest of Hawaii Kai Drive, I realized I would
have to change lanes to avoid hitting it.
 She
was beautiful, resembling an over grown Alaskan Husky with pale bluish
eyes. The kind of blue you only see in the
sky on a hot cloudless day in Hawaii. I slowed my hot rod coupe to a
crawl by down shifting from third into second, then first, then
eased down on the brake pedal while my left foot pressed hard into
the clutch simultaneously popping the shifter into neutral. By now
I had come to a complete stop.
Stories
of the volcano goddess otherwise known as Madam Pele quickly
flashed through my mind. Legend has it; she sometimes transforms
into anything from an animal to a woman dressed all in white
looking for an easy prey to hitch a ride with on a lonely stretch
of road such as Hawaii Kai Drive. The way I remember, if you see
her, you’re supposed to pick her up and never look directly into
her eyes. Once you’ve traveled within her designated distance,
she’ll leave your presents without incident. Though it was never
clear to me what would happen if you made eye contact. But my
little `32 Ford coupe was cramped being only a two seater and with
its six inch chop top, made it nearly impossible to put her inside
anyway.
Tempted
to pick her up, I opened the door and leaned slightly out of the
coupe while keeping my right hand firmly locked onto the shifter,
then I calmly whispered, "what are you doing in the middle of
the street? Go home. Go on." As if I thought she really
understood what I was trying to say and would immediately turn
around and dash toward Koko Head Terrace, (one of the first
subdivisions that went up in Hawaii Kai during the 60's) but she didn’t.
She
just kept on looking right into my eyes without moving an inch.
What
seemed like several minutes had only been about thirty seconds or
so, when I made a swift decision to leave. I believed if it was
Pele, I’d better abandon that stretch of road and do it in a
hurry. I repositioned my fingers tightly around the chrome-plated
shifter, which shimmered in the dark from a street light that had
been just a few feet ahead of me and shoved the transmission back
into first gear. I must have gotten no further than five feet away
when I felt an uncontrollable urge to look back. You could call it
intuition, I think it was just plain curiosity that made me look. Despite any apprehensions I might have had from remembering all
those Madam Pele stories, I glanced into the rear view mirror and
was baffled to see no dog, nothing at all. At that moment I made a
complete stop and looked back a second time. There could’ve been
no way that K-9 was capable of disappearing so quickly into the
night but I couldn’t think of one logical reason why I should go back and search
for her.
Meanwhile,
two blocks up, at the intersection of Hawaii Kai Drive and
Kealahou, a truck driver lost his brakes upon approaching the stop
sign crashing into a concrete wall that separates nearby track homes
from the highway and golf course.
When
I reached the stop, I could see the accident and the driver
standing next to his rig. I yelled above the rumbling of my
engine, "do you need any help?" The truck driver
replied, "no, thanks anyway." He also said, help was on
its way and it had been a lucky thing that no other cars were in
the intersection when he noticed he’d lost his brakes.
I’m
almost certain if it weren’t for that dog; I wouldn’t be here
today to tell this tale.
TOP
|
