Horror in Paradise Read Online Free
Author: Anthology
could see her sauntering away, and I noticed that she carried nothing in her hand, such as a purse or a bag. I was still so shaken that I resolved from then on to walk only on the Contessa side of King Street and leave the other side to her.
But it did not work. Early one morning three months later I noticed another strange person, this time with rather dark skin, crossing Dole Street against the light as cars from all four directions stopped and waited. There were bits of dried grass on the person’s left ankle; and again nothing in the person’s hands. From behind, I could not tell if it was a male or a female, but I concluded that, whichever it was, the person must have slept the night on the ground. Then it seemed gradually to take on the shape of a woman, who, while I was waiting to cross with the signal, had reached the other side of the street, where she turned around, stared at me, and waited. I crossed over with the crowd that had been waiting for the light, and then she, too, seemed to be following me. I stopped; she stopped. On the campus I paused to look at a long flight of steps in front of Bachman Annex; she did the same. I turned around to look at her; she stood still and looked at me. She appeared to want me to do something for her but said nothing. Since I did not know what else to do, I walked on; she followed, close behind—until I quickly turned onto a crowded pedestrian walk where I was able to lose her.
Back at the Contessa, a noise that had been building up was now deafening. It sounded as if tons of bricks and mortar were ceaselessly being poured down the rubbish chute outside my door from the building’s topmost floor, day and night. And when I perceived that other residents of the building heard nothing, I understood that something must be wrong with me, or with my apartment, and that I must do something about it at once.
Since I did not understand Hawaiian customs, I assumed that all the appropriate measures had been taken to ensure a peaceful life at the Contessa; and now I did not know what more could be done. As I worried and fretted and sought uncertainly for a solution, I developed acute hypertension. One day when my physician and I were talking in my apartment, the seven floor-to-ceiling glass windows and doors rattled and banged so loudly they seemed about to shatter—but only for me, because he heard nothing. At this point, he recommended Emma de Fries, a hum nui, or high priestess (one with deep wisdom of the spirit), whom he knew to have taken care of similar problems after more orthodox treatments failed.
When she asked me about myself over the telephone next morning, I told her that I had come from mainland China in 1936 and to Honolulu in 1962; that I was a traditional Chinese constantly remembering heaven, earth, and my ancestors; and that I lived close to the Invisible. Every now and then, since childhood, I said, I had seen a white-robed guardian angel, who at times would speak to me. Immediately sensing the state I was in, Emma assured me that she would be at the Contessa that afternoon. I told her I would meet her by the Contessa and she could not miss me; I always wear my short hair straight, and a Chinese dress—in the style of 1936.
As I waited, a car pulled up with a large woman in a red gown at the wheel. Bound around her head were two strands of small cowrie shells, and her eyes looked very strange. I was seized with the feeling that one has when meeting a close relative not seen for some time, and that I had a million things to tell her. When she got out of her car, I noticed that below her long voluminous red gown she was also wearing red tabis (mitten socks) and zoris (thongs) with black velvet straps. The two ends of a wide red band around her neck hung down past her knees. When I looked up, her eyes were still funny. Plainly funny.
As we walked into the building, Emma told me that she knew of the problem at the Contessa: a small one which could be easily taken
But it did not work. Early one morning three months later I noticed another strange person, this time with rather dark skin, crossing Dole Street against the light as cars from all four directions stopped and waited. There were bits of dried grass on the person’s left ankle; and again nothing in the person’s hands. From behind, I could not tell if it was a male or a female, but I concluded that, whichever it was, the person must have slept the night on the ground. Then it seemed gradually to take on the shape of a woman, who, while I was waiting to cross with the signal, had reached the other side of the street, where she turned around, stared at me, and waited. I crossed over with the crowd that had been waiting for the light, and then she, too, seemed to be following me. I stopped; she stopped. On the campus I paused to look at a long flight of steps in front of Bachman Annex; she did the same. I turned around to look at her; she stood still and looked at me. She appeared to want me to do something for her but said nothing. Since I did not know what else to do, I walked on; she followed, close behind—until I quickly turned onto a crowded pedestrian walk where I was able to lose her.
Back at the Contessa, a noise that had been building up was now deafening. It sounded as if tons of bricks and mortar were ceaselessly being poured down the rubbish chute outside my door from the building’s topmost floor, day and night. And when I perceived that other residents of the building heard nothing, I understood that something must be wrong with me, or with my apartment, and that I must do something about it at once.
Since I did not understand Hawaiian customs, I assumed that all the appropriate measures had been taken to ensure a peaceful life at the Contessa; and now I did not know what more could be done. As I worried and fretted and sought uncertainly for a solution, I developed acute hypertension. One day when my physician and I were talking in my apartment, the seven floor-to-ceiling glass windows and doors rattled and banged so loudly they seemed about to shatter—but only for me, because he heard nothing. At this point, he recommended Emma de Fries, a hum nui, or high priestess (one with deep wisdom of the spirit), whom he knew to have taken care of similar problems after more orthodox treatments failed.
When she asked me about myself over the telephone next morning, I told her that I had come from mainland China in 1936 and to Honolulu in 1962; that I was a traditional Chinese constantly remembering heaven, earth, and my ancestors; and that I lived close to the Invisible. Every now and then, since childhood, I said, I had seen a white-robed guardian angel, who at times would speak to me. Immediately sensing the state I was in, Emma assured me that she would be at the Contessa that afternoon. I told her I would meet her by the Contessa and she could not miss me; I always wear my short hair straight, and a Chinese dress—in the style of 1936.
As I waited, a car pulled up with a large woman in a red gown at the wheel. Bound around her head were two strands of small cowrie shells, and her eyes looked very strange. I was seized with the feeling that one has when meeting a close relative not seen for some time, and that I had a million things to tell her. When she got out of her car, I noticed that below her long voluminous red gown she was also wearing red tabis (mitten socks) and zoris (thongs) with black velvet straps. The two ends of a wide red band around her neck hung down past her knees. When I looked up, her eyes were still funny. Plainly funny.
As we walked into the building, Emma told me that she knew of the problem at the Contessa: a small one which could be easily taken
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