100 Ghost Stories Counting Down To Halloween 2024. # 1 Ho'opahulu

 1

My Mom kept a clean house.

We didn't have the privilege of Saturday morning cartoons on the weekends. We woke up early, had a big breakfast, and cleaned the inside and outside until noon. After that, we had leisure time for the rest of the day. Extra circular activities were done during the week. Sundays were whatever they turned out to be. Stay at home, go shopping, go to the beach, or do whatever comes up. My Mom managed all this while being divorced and raising five kids independently. She had a system that worked: the broom, slipper, fly swatter, or whatever was available. My brothers and I usually get the business end of those items; our sisters not so much. By the time George came along, my Mom's radar was far off the track from looking for or needing a boyfriend, but things happen the way they happen. It was close to the end of my senior year in high school when Mom walked into the kitchen with an armload of groceries. George was behind her, carrying a box filled with bags of Poi. 

"Put everything on the table," she instructed. George did it willingly and went to leave. Mom tried to give him some dollars for his trouble, but George wouldn't take it. He briefly waved to all of us and left. "That's George," Mom explained. "He's one of the new drivers at the warehouse. He was driving by FoodLand when he saw me loading all the groceries in the car. He just wanted to help, but I told him no need."

"That was nice of him," my oldest sister Kamani had a big smile.

"Very, very nice of him!" Pikake chimed in, and the two hugged and blew air kisses at each other.

My brothers and I were stoic, not finding any humor in the fact that some strange man had invaded our personal space. Being the oldest, with a driver's license and a car, I had to say something. "Next time, take one of us with you. That way, strangers don't see where we live."

"You like see my backhand?" Mom retorted. 

"It's just that anything could happen, Ma," Waipā, my younger brother, said.

Waipā didn't care about George. He was only interested in the Poi in the big box. The next day, I told my father that another man had shown up at the house with my Mom, and the two were carrying groceries together. 

"It's groceries," my father whined in that voice he used when he was irritated. "They're not having sex, alright? Besides, why weren't you and your brother helping your Mom carry the groceries instead of that guy? What the hell were you guys doing?"

He had me there. I couldn't argue. Mom drove a big 95 Chevy Impala. We should've heard her pull up. I checked the ring camera in the garage from my phone. Wouldn't you know it? Makuahine and George are sitting in her car, making out. Mother fucker.

2

I didn't get to know George well because I attended college in Sumner City when he moved in. I could only go by what Mom would tell me in her emails or text messages. I called home on holidays, birthdays, or when I just wanted to check-in. My brother was always mad-dogging George because he felt like he hadn't earned his way into being a member of the house. So, how did George win them over? X-Box. My sisters were charmed by his good looks, but they mostly swooned over how he treated my Mom. Always loving and always romantic. 

That's what I saw for myself during my first summer home from college. That first day home was fun. George took the day off, and we went to Holoholo around the island. We did a lot of swimming, eating, and swimming again. We got home later that afternoon when Mom told us to shower and change. We were going out to dinner. Dinner was the pizza buffet down the road, so there was no arguing. When we got home, I was thankful that my old car was still in the garage. Mom's Chevy was gone. They traded in for a full-sized family van and drove around all day. I told my Mom I would spend the night at my dad's house to hang out, catch up, and be home sometime tomorrow. 

It was a 2000 Jaguar XJ8. The old Pakē man I got it from said I could keep it for nothing if I could fix it. Which I did. That night, my Dad and I stayed up late talking and sharing drinks. He was with his Chivas Regal, and I was with my Coke. He didn't ask anything about my Mom, sisters, or brother. The conversation didn't go long because he would have company over soon, so the quieter I was in the room with the doors shut, the better. The following day at home was my time to relax and hang out. My siblings were in school, and makuahine and George were at work. Close to the time when everyone was on their way home from school and work, I was coming back from the store where I'd gotten what I needed to make a big pot of beef stew for dinner. I made it just like my dad taught me when we were one complete family. Everyone loved the aroma when they walked into the house. Mom thanked me for making the effort, and even George gave a nice 'Wow!' when he saw what was in the pot. It was a regular evening for all of us. 

A little close to midnight, a knock came at my bedroom door. I was still awake, watching YouTube online. I opened the portal a crack. It was George.

"You got a second?" He asked.

"Sure," I nodded.

"Come meet me in the garage," he waved. I put a shirt on and grabbed my slippers. When I reached the garage, George was lacing a pair of boxing gloves on his hands. He walked up to me, delivered a quick jab to my floating rib, and dropped me to the concrete floor. "Don't ever embarrass me like that again," he said. I was still trying to catch my breath. "This is my house, and you don't just show up and start inserting yourself like you own the place, do you understand? I'm the only man of this house, no one else."

Taking the gloves off, he slapped them down on his workbench and left the garage. 

3

I was up early. The smell of frying bacon and eggs wafted throughout the house. Fresh pog was ready, along with nicely buttered toast. A separate pan of Portuguese sausage was also frying, and everything felt like the old days, except it wasn't Mom or Dad making breakfast; it was me. Mom kissed me on the cheek and thanked me. Kamani and Pikake squealed with delight as they made their plates, while Waipā tried to sneak a glass of Pog before he ate anything. Entering the kitchen, George feigned surprise.  

"Breakfast now! You're on a roll!" He made it a point to step on my barefoot with his clunky work boots, emphasizing the pressure with the heel. I put my head down and squeezed my face tight, taking the pain. George shot me a look, letting me know that this wasn't over. Later that night, when the knock came on my door, I didn't answer it. I decided to let George pound on it so he could wake the whole house, but he didn't. He was obviously trying to keep this between the two of us, not involving my mother at all. I agreed; leave my mom out of it. I didn't realize that George was waiting outside my door until I got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. He waited until I was done and headed back to my room. He caught me with a straight finger to my ear.

"I told you fucker! I'm the only man in this house! I won't be outdone by you!" He hissed under his breath while silently walking back to the room he shared with my mom.

It went on like that for the next several days; I purposely cooked or prepared a meal. Doing the yard work or repairs here and there. Each time, George found a way to physically hurt me. Each time I took it, and the next day I did something even more heinous to piss him off. For some reason, he was threatened by another man who could do things in the house better than he did. I didn't know why that was, and I didn't care. Luckily, he did nothing to harm my Mom or my siblings. It seems that it was just me who was the problem.  The day came when it was time to head back to college. It was hard to leave everyone behind. Especially my Mom. We waited for George because he was supposed to drive the van so that the whole household could say a fond farewell at the airport. Mom suddenly got a text from George saying that he had to work late and that we should go ahead without him. So we did. Kamani was growing up, and she was already glowingly beautiful. Pikake wasn't far behind. Waipā would fill out and get taller once he lost all that baby fat. He was going to break hearts.

"What are you going to do with your college degree? Stay in the mainland, or come home?" Mom asked through a veil of tears.

"I don't know, ma," I shrugged. "We'll see."

"Any Hawai'i girls at your college?" She was pressing, hoping.

"A lot, but there's no one I'm interested in," I smiled.

"Don't get together with a Haole girl," Mom cautioned. "She might keep you in the mainland,"

"And a Hawai'i girl, won't?"

Mom hugged me and told me how much she loved me and that she was proud. Soon after that, I was on the plane, returning to Sumner College. A few days later, Mom called and asked me if I'd heard or seen anything from George before I left.

"Nothing," I replied. "What's up?"

"George hasn't been home," she began. "That text he sent when he told me to go ahead and drop you off because he was late? That's the last time I heard from him. No one at work saw him come in, or leave. I'm worried."

"Did you call the cops?" I asked.

"I have, but it's just question after question," Mom said. "These cops were less worried about helping find George and more about making sure that I wasn't the one who killed him!"

"You and George are good, right? No domestics or anything like that?" I asked.

"Of course not," she sighed.

"And no drama from Dad, either?" Had to be sure.

"Your father doesn't care if it's not about him," she snapped. "You know that for yourself,"

"Then, it's just a wait-and-see, I guess,"

"I guess," Mom agreed.

"Keep me posted," I said, "I love you,"

4

At the warehouse where George worked, there was an old-school fridge that the company had never gotten rid of for some reason. Nostalgia maybe? Or perhaps sentimentality. The company kept it around as a trophy piece from a bygone era. Eventually, my Mom got a call from the supervisor at the warehouse. People kept seeing George around here and there, but always pointing in some direction where no one could discern because his appearance was always so random. Mom came with the police in tow, scouring through the warehouse. When the police came upon the old-school fridge, they opened the door, and there was George. Preserved by the freezing cold as best as he could be, but very, very much dead. No one knows how he got there because the warehouse CCTV revealed nothing.  Mom identified the body, it was heartbreaking. 

The autopsy revealed that there was a fatal dose of nitroglycerin in George's bloodstream, and he died of a heart attack. Mom said George was as healthy as a horse and that he worked out all the time. Overdosing didn't seem like something that George would do. But George didn't overdose himself; that's a fact, and that's because George was deathly afraid of needles. So, how did he overdose then, you ask?

My father did it. I told my father about what happened after the first night when George dropped me with a punch to my floating rib. We formulated a plan together, and one day at work, my father walked into the warehouse un-noticed and jabbed George with a lethal dose of nitroglycerin. After which he quickly stuffed him into the old school fridge.