Brad's studio apartment in Pearl City had one closet with a door that closed from the outside.
The first night Brad moved in, it sounded like someone was pounding on the door from inside the closet. Brad opened the closed door, only to find nothing except a few of his shirts and slacks on hangars. One evening, after returning from work, Brad's neighbor told him that this incessant pounding was coming from his studio for most of the day. Walking toward his front door, he heard it too. Inserting his key into the lock, Brad let out a yelp when the knob began to jiggle and turn. Then, the pounding started. Swinging the door open, the noise stopped momentarily, only to continue from inside the closet door. Too frustrated and angry to be scared, Brad removed the closet door and replaced the front door with a sliding one. The next morning, the closet door was back where it had been the day before. So, too, was the original front door, with the sliding screen door lying mangled on the grass.Brad had a problem.
He called for several denominational priests to come and bless his studio, but nothing worked. In fact, the pounding sounds followed the holy men back home. Brad, like all the others before him, moved out with no other recourse. With help from several of his friends, Brad thought he'd turn the moving out of the studio day into a party, with drinks and a potluck. He didn't mention the pounding or how the closet and front doors magically put themselves back together.
It was such a small space, so there was little to carry. Most of the moving was really dusting, mopping, and vacuuming. The real fun began when everyone went to move the couch and take it out the front door and to the back of Brad's truck. Lifting it wasn't the problem, and getting it out the front door was easy. When Brad and his friends counted to three and lifted the couch to chest height, the couch like a rocket fired from a launcher, jetted out of their arms and went straight through the closet door, tearing it off the hinges. Everyone ran for their lives and drove off. Brad left everything in his old studio, never returning for any of it. The old studio apartment is still in the heart of Pearl City, where it's the most stifling and humid. There are no trees or plant life around the complex; it's a dystopian wasteland with old cars in parking lots, broken appliances on the street, and broken people. The police are here more often than they care to be. It would make perfect sense then as to why the studio apartment would be haunted by a poltergeist-like pounding and more.
The housing problem in Hawaii will continue to be just that, but so will spirits that don't want people in their houses or studio apartments.
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