Horror in Paradise Read online

  Eric Kundseti

  The One-Eyed Akua

  Son of Valdemar Knudsen, Norwegian pioneer in Hawaii who for some time was manager of Grove Farm plantation at Lihue, Kauai, and purchaser of properties on that island that are still retained in the family, Eric A. Knudsen (1872-1957) was born on that island. He early learned the Hawaiian language and listened to many stories told by the local people. He was educated in New Zealand and Europe and later earned a Harvard law degree. He served as cattleman and trailblazer on the Garden Isle and was speaker of the Territorial House of Representatives and president of the Senate, as well as a member of the Kauai Board of Supervisors. He is the author of Teller of Tales, a 1944 collection of stories told over the radio, and, in collaboration with Gurre R Noble, Kanuka of Kauai, about the Knudsen and Robinson families of his native island. “The One-Eyed Akua” is a true recollection of an adventure that befell a cowboy on the home ranch.

  WE HAD just finished breakfast and all of us children were out on the lawn. Makaawaawa, the cook, and his wife Makae, our nurse, were washing dishes. The sun was shining through the trees; early to bed and early to rise was an old Hawaiian custom and Papa ran the camp on that rule. The days were wonderful but the nights cold and dark and the woods were not good places to be in when night came on. The natives said they were full of evil spirits and akua and we children believed that. Even though Papa used to laugh at the stories, we knew the natives were right. Hadn’t they lived in the mountains for thousands of years before the white man came? They ought to know.

  Suddenly Papa came out of the camp carrying his Winchester rifle, the good old .44. That was always the sign that something was going to happen.

  “Makaawaawa,” he called, and the cook came out of the kitchen wiping his hands. “Take my rifle and go kill a wild cow or calf. We have no fresh meat in camp.”

  Makaawaawa’s eyes sparkled. Hunting wild cattle was fun, so he quickly took the rifle, stuck his hunting knife in his belt, called his dog, Liona, and strode up the trail until he was soon lost to sight. That excitement over, we children settled down and went playing in the woods.

  Lunchtime came and the hunter was still away. No one worried, for sometimes one had to hunt a long time before one found cattle. Then afternoon began to lengthen out and the sun dipped toward the west. Makae began to look out towards the hills and finally she confided to us children that something terrible had happened to her man; he should have been back long before this. We children ran and told Papa but he only laughed and told us not to listen to such nonsense. But when the sun disappeared behind Puu Hina-hina, Papa began to agree with us that something might have gone wrong and when the sun set, he walked to the top of Halemanu ridge and shouted long and loud, hoping to get an answer from the long valleys and ridges that sloped away to the west. No answer came. He returned to camp and sent two big natives up the trail towards the north to shout. In no time at all, they too, came back. It was getting dark and no Hawaiian wanted to be out in the woods.

  Poor old Makae sat in the servants’ house and wept long and loud. She knew her man was dead and she was not to be consoled. Black night settled over the mountains and you couldn’t see your hand before your face. We lit the lamps and gathered round the little stove. Mama made us some tea and toast and finally the camp settled down for the night, with only the chirping of the crickets and the low sobbing of Makae.

  Early next morning we were all up and out. Two of the boys were saddling their horses to go and look for the lost man. Mama and Makae were getting breakfast for us when we heard footsteps and we looked up the trail to the north. We saw Makaawaawa coming down the road as fast as he could trot. We all gave a shout and ran to meet him, and in a moment he was standing by the kitchen door and Makae looked at him as if he had come back from the dead.

  “Where have you been?” we all asked at once. “What happened?”

  Leaning his rifle against the wall he told us this story:

  “As you know,” he said, “I went off yesterday and as soon as I reached the high ridge I plunged down into the great koa forests of Kopakaka, a favorite place of the wild cattle, but I saw none so on I went. Hour after hour I tramped along the cattle trails, I looked into Tauhau, crossed the Makaha Valley, hunted through the Milolii Valleys. Up and down I went but I saw nothing and had just decided to go home when to my surprise I saw a big black cow standing right in front of me. I took good aim and fired and down she dropped. I walked up to her, and had just laid down my gun and drew my knife when the cow jumped to her feet and dashed off through the brush. My dog and I had no trouble following her tracks, for she was badly wounded and left a trail of blood on the ferns. But she seemed tireless and led me up the ridges and into the valleys, always farther and farther away. I forgot all about time, I was so determined to get that cow, so I trailed her away over into the Nualolo woods and finally I came upon her. She was standing quite still, so I fired again and this time she was dropped, dead. I drew my knife and was going to butcher her when I realized how tired I was. And no wonder, for as I looked, the sun was setting low over the ocean. I must get home. There was no time to get meat. So I ran as fast as I could, but the sun sank into the sea, and as you know how quickly the night falls, I knew I could never get home.

  “I was on a wide ridge all covered with lehua and koa trees. The cattle road ran through a nice little open glade and at the upper end was a big koa tree. In the last light, I just had time to gather a pile of dead sticks and build a fire near the tree. Then I leaned my gun against the tree and sat down with my back against the trunk. With my dog by my side, I settled down for the night.

  “It was getting dark in the woods. There was still just enough light in the glade to see objects quite distinctly, when my dogs began to growl and the hair on their back stood straight up and they gazed down the glade with terror in their eyes. I looked also and to my horror I saw a huge monster coming out of the woods. He was about seven feet tall with a great tuft of hair on his head; his great arms swung at his sides as he walked towards me and his large hands almost touched the ground. He came slinking up to me and my dogs lay as if dead by my side. Hurriedly I put more wood on the fire and then I saw that he had but one great big eye large as a saucer, right in the middle of his face, and a great big mouth with teeth showing through the lips. I recognized him for one of the cruel akua that live in the woods and kill every human being they can get hold of. My father had told me about them when I was a boy.

  “Slowly he came and luckily for me the new wood made the fire burn brightly. They were afraid of fire, and coming no closer the akua sat down opposite me and looked at me with his one big eye. There he sat all night long waiting for me to go to sleep and the fire to go out so he could come around and kill me. I sat and watched him and every time the fire began to die down I put on more wood, praying my small pile of dried logs would last the night. Woe to me if it ran out! So all night long we sat and watched each other and the night seemed endless.

  “The night wind was blowing softly through the trees and I saw the akua turn his eye toward the stars. I looked up quickly and to my joy saw they were fading; dawn was coming, the night would end at last. Still he sat and watched me but the light began to come and the stars faded away. The akua had to go, for the sun would soon be up and its deadly rays would kill the akua. He rose to his feet, giving me one last ugly look, and then slunk slowly across the little glade swinging his huge arms, his great hands almost touching the ground, and then he disappeared into the dark jungle.

  “I waited a little while, grabbed my rifle and ran up the trail, my dogs at my heels; and here I am, lucky to be alive.”

  Hugh Hastings Romilly

  A Christmas Ghost

  on Rotuma

  The Polynesian island of Rotuma, lying several hundred miles north of the Fiji Group, was the scene of fierce wars among the various rival chiefs. Finally deciding that this “garden of the Pacific” had suffered enough, in 1879 they petitioned the Queen of England to
send a ruler for their people. Meanwhile, Sir Arthur Gordon, governor of Fiji, at their request sent a relative, Arthur Gordon, and an interpreter to study the situation. About a month later they were joined by a staff member, H. H. Romilly, who gives the following story of an encounter with the supernatural.

  Hugh Hastings Romilly (1856-1892), colonial administrator and explorer, went to Fiji in 1879 and his visit to Rotuma supplied him with the material for his first book, A True Story of the Western Pacific (London, 1882), the source of the present selection. Following Britain’s decision to annex Rotuma, Romilly went there as deputy commissioner, and began a varied colonial career not only in the Pacific but in Mashonaland, Africa. Other books of interest are The Western Pacific and New Guinea (London, 1886) and From My Verandah in New Guinea (London, 1889).

  FOR five months I stayed in Rotumah without any news from the outer world, including the infected country of Fiji. In two months after my arrival there I went into my new house. It was very large and luxurious. Every evening Alipati used to come and have a talk and smoke with me. It was always open to any of my friends who cared to come. As I provided tobacco for them I seldom passed an evening by myself. The house was situated about two hundred yards from Albert’s—Alipati’s—own house, and was just outside the limits of his town. A considerable clearing of four or five acres had been made in the bush to build it in. The short distance between the house and the village was of course very dark at night, as the path between them lay through a thick piece of bush. This sort of life went on with the exception of one break the whole time I was there.

  Two days before Christmas Day, I was left all alone by my accustomed friends in the house, and spent the evening by myself. Allardyce and I made some remarks about it, but attached no importance to it of any sort. Next day I went to the other end of the island and did not come back till late. I had not seen Albert or any of his people during the day. In the evening I fully expected him up as a matter of course, but again no one made his appearance. I should have gone down myself to his house, as I thought that possibly a dance might be going on, which would account for no one making his appearance, but as it was raining heavily I did not go. I asked my native servants if anything was going on; they said there was no dance, and they did not know why Albert had not come. I saw by their manner that they knew something more, and I saw also that they were afraid to tell me what it was. I determined to see Albert early next day and find out everything from him.

  All that night we were annoyed by a harmless mad woman named Herena, who walked round and round the house crying “Kimueli”—“Kimueli.” We thought nothing of it, as we were quite accustomed to her. Next day I went down early to Albert’s house. He was just going out to his work in the bush. I said, “Albert, why have you not been to see me for two nights?”

  “Me ‘fraid,’ said Albert, “dead man he walks.”

  “What dead man?”

  “Kimueli.”

  Of course I laughed at him. It was an everyday occurrence for natives who had been out late at night in the bush to come home saying they had seen ghosts. If I wished to send a message after sunset it was always necessary to engage three or four men to take it. Nothing would have induced any man to go by himself. The only man who was free from these fears was my interpreter, Friday. He was a native, but had lived all his life among white people. When Friday came down from his own village to my house that morning, he was evidently a good deal troubled in his mind. He said,

  “You remember that man Kimueli, sir, that Tom killed.”

  I said, “Yes, Albert says he is walking about.”

  I expected Friday to laugh, but he looked very serious and said,

  “Everyone in Motusa has seen him, sir; the women are so frightened that they all sleep together in the big house.”

  “What does he do?” said I. “Where has he been to? What men have seen him?”

  Friday mentioned a number of houses into which Kimueli had gone. It appeared that his head was tied up with banana leaves and his face covered with blood. No one had heard him speak. This was unusual, as the ghosts I had heard the natives talk about on other occasions invariably made remarks on some commonplace subject. The village was very much upset. For two nights this had happened, and several men and women had been terribly frightened.

  It was evident that all this was not imagination on the part of one man. I thought it possible that some madman was personating Kimueli, though it seemed almost impossible that anyone could do so without being found out. I announced my determination to sit outside Albert’s house that night and watch for him. I also told Albert that I should bring a rifle and have a shot, if I saw the ghost. This I said for the benefit of anyone who might be playing its part.

  Poor Albert had to undergo a good deal of chaff for being afraid to walk two hundred yards through the bush to my house. He only said,

  “By-and-bye you see him too, then me laugh at you.”

  The rest of the day was spent in the usual manner. Allardyce and I were to have dinner in Albert’s house; after that we were going to sit outside and watch for Kimueli All the natives had come in very early that day from the bush. They were evidently unwilling to run the risk of being out after dark. Evening was now closing in, and they were all sitting in clusters outside their houses. It was, however, a bright moonlight night, and I could plainly recognize people at a considerable distance. Albert was getting very nervous, and only answered my questions in monosyllables.

  For about two hours we sat there smoking, and I was beginning to lose faith in Albert’s ghost when all of a sudden he clutched my elbow and pointed with his finger. I looked in the direction pointed out by him, and he whispered “Kimueli.”

  I certainly saw about a hundred yards off what appeared to be the ordinary figure of a native advancing. He had something tied round his head, as yet I could not see what. He was advancing straight towards us. We sat still and waited. The natives sitting in front of their doors got closer together and pointed at the advancing figure. All this time I was watching it most intently. A recollection of having seen that figure was forcing itself upon my mind more strongly every moment, and suddenly the exact scene, when I had gone with Gordon to visit the murdered man, came back on my mind with great vividness. There was the same man in front of me, his face covered with blood, and a dirty cloth over his head, kept in its place by banana leaves which were secured with fiber and cotton thread. There was the same man, and there was the bandage round his head, leaf for leaf, and tie for tie, identical with the picture already present in my mind.

  “By Jove, it is Kimueli,” I said to Allardyce in a whisper. By this time he had passed us, walking straight in the direction of the clump of bush in which my house was situated. We jumped up and gave chase, but he got to the edge of the bush before we reached him. Though only a few yards ahead of us, and a bright moonlight night, we here lost all trace of him. He had disappeared, and all that was left was a feeling of consternation and annoyance on my mind.

  We had to accept what we had seen; no explanation was possible. It was impossible to account for his appearance or disappearance. I went back to Albert’s house in a most perplexed frame of mind. The fact of its being Christmas day, the anniversary of Tom’s attack on Kimueli, made it still more remarkable.

  I had myself only seen Kimueli two or three times in life, but still I remembered him perfectly, and the man or ghost, whichever it was who had just passed, exactly recalled his features. I had remembered too in a general way how Kimueli’s head had been bandaged with rag and banana leaves, but on the appearance of this figure it came back to me exactly, even to the position of the knots. I could not then, and do not now, believe it was in the power of any native to play the part so exactly. A native could and often does work himself up into a state of temporary madness, under the influence of which he might believe himself to be anyone he chose, but the calm, quiet manner in which this figure had passed was, I believe, entirely impossible for a native, acting suc
h a part and before such an audience, to assume. Moreover, Albert and everyone else scouted the idea. They all knew Kimueli intimately, had seen him every day, and could not be mistaken. Allardyce had never seen him before, but can bear witness to what he saw that night.

  I went back to my house and tried to dismiss the matter from my mind, but with indifferent success. I could not get over his disappearance. We were so close behind him that, if it had been a man forcing his way through the thick undergrowth, we must have heard and seen him. There was no path where he had disappeared.

  I determined to watch again next night. Till two in the morning I sat up with Albert smoking. No Kimueli made his appearance. Albert said he would not be seen again, and during my stay on the island he certainly never was.

  A month after this event I went on board a schooner bound for Sydney; my health had suffered severely, and it was imperative for me to go to a cooler climate. I can offer no explanation for this story. Till my arrival in England I never mentioned it to anyone; at the request of my friends, however, I now consent to publish it.

  I am not a believer in ghosts. I believe a natural explanation of the story to exist, but the reader, who has patiently followed me thus far, must find it for himself, as I am unable to supply one.