by Mirren Hogan
It might have been illegal to use a phone while driving, but Makani dialed with one hand while the other steered the jeep away from the area and back into the city. “Aunty? Howzzit? Yeah, I went into Moiliili karst . . . yeah, me and a friend. We saw something in the last chamber of the dakine. The cave.” She paused and listened, screeching to a halt at a stoplight just before hitting a crossing mongoose. “Yeah . . . yeah . . . no, aunty. I swear it had wings like a bat. It was hanging from the ceiling. Yeah,dakine . . . dakine was breathing! What? Wait, what you t’ink? Ohhh . . . . maybe? So, what do we do? Huh . . . yeah, we can make it there. You like lunch, Aunty? Okay, I’ll get you a sandwich. Okay, thanks, Aunty. We’ll be there as soon as we can. Bye.”
She clicked her phone off and looked at Flynn. “We’re gonna get food, booze, and Aunty is gonna meet us at my place. That cool?”
Flynn had his eyes closed. Her driving was bad enough without her being on the phone at the same time. At least, he’d decided, she wasn’t trying to kill him. If she did kill him, it would be an accident. That realization gave him little comfort.
“Booze, food, sounds good.” In that order. “What does dakine mean?”
“Dakine is . . . dakine. It’s kinda hard to explain. It can be used when you don’t know a word, need to emphasise an idea. It’s a noun, adjective, and verb.”
“Like thingamabob?” he suggested. “Or whatsamajiggy? A word that isn’t really a word at all?” His hand found the handle again and held on tightly.
“Yeah, I guess!” She shouted over the wind. Makani turned left and almost ran a Porsche off the road. “Sorry, brah!” Pulling into a small parking lot, she reached into the back and grabbed her bag. “Let’s stock up and go home.” She grabbed up her shirt and slipped it on before getting out of the jeep. A sign on the door she opened read, ‘No shoes, no shirts, no service’. It said nothing about pants.
Flynn let go of the handle and climbed out of the jeep. Maybe now would be a good time not to have a dripping wetsuit on. He hung onto the door with one hand and peeled it the rest of the way off with the other, all while trying to stop from pulling his board shorts off with it. He tossed it on the floor in front of his seat and put his shorts on. They immediately began to feel damp from his boardies. At least he was more or less respectable.
He followed her again, into a tiny store that stocked an assortment of food and oddments, some of which looked as though it had been there since the 1980s.
“Hey, Uncle! Howzzit? Can I get one pastrami with cheese, one ham with extra mayo, extra cheese, extra jalapeños, throw sriracha on it . . . oh! And Aunty likes dijon on hers. What do you want, Flynn?” Makani leaned over the counter, smiling at the little man working on the sandwich.
“I don’t suppose you have any Vegemite?” Flynn asked hopefully. Presuming they didn’t, he added, “Or ham and cheese?”
The little man looked confused, but he reached for the ham. He muttered something about ‘weird tourists’, but kept throwing the sandwiches together.
“For reals; no one has Vegemite on this island. Should have brought your own from home, if you miss it.”
“I did, they confiscated it at the airport.” Flynn shrugged. “You’d think it was a drug, rather than sandwich spread that looks like tar and tastes like yeasty, salted puke.”
Makani walked to the back of the store, and found the shelf of liquor. “Rum, beer. And . . . oooh! Beef jerky!” She grabbed everything and laid it on the counter.
“How about some fruit?” he asked.
Makani looked at a display rack and grabbed a package of fruit-flavored snacks. “There. Fruit.” She smiled and added a bottle of water to the pile.
The man behind the counter just shook his head.
Flynn smirked. “This is Hawaii, shouldn’t there be pineapple trees on the side of the road or something?” Not that he’d seen one. But then, driving with her, everything out the window was a blur.
“Pineapples don’t grow on trees, silly! Besides, my mango tree is putting out fruit. Tangerines are coming any week, now.” She grabbed up most of the supplies but handed Flynn the bag of sandwiches. “Come on, Aunty is waiting.”
“I love mangoes.” Flynn cradled the sandwiches in his arms, trying not to squash them. After the excitement of the cave, he was suddenly hungry. He followed her back out to the jeep. Hopefully, the police car parked a few meters away had nothing to do with her. Or him.
The officer who was in the car flashed his lights. “Makani Lau, get over here!” A large local man stepped out of the car and started towards them.
“What you want, Asa? I’m not parked illegally! And there aren’t any open containers, I swear.” She sighed and hefted her bag into the back of her jeep.
Flynn stood back and watched, hoping his ride wasn’t just about to disappear. He should have known she was trouble. The driving, the cave—had they done anything legal yet?
“Eh, no ack, kay?” His pidgin was thick enough to cut it with a knife. “I know where you was. Dakine went call me and asked if I could go check on you. You weren’t at dakine, so I wen’ stop here. Figured, you get hungry, and come for one of the sandwiches.” The officer leaned against the jeep, “Maka’, you know it’s illegal to go down there. I could have DLNR up your ass.”
“Flynn, that’s Asa. He’s my cousin. Asa, this is Flynn. I’m showing him around. And you’re gonna meet my brother at his funeral, because I’m gonna kill that jerk when I see him.” She scuffed her foot in the dirt and scowled.
“Uh-ha, and what language is he speaking?” Flynn said quietly. It sounded like English, laced with a bunch of other words that weren’t. He got the gist of it anyway. “Your family is worried about you? I wonder why?” He smirked.
“My brother should know I can take care of myself. Especially when I’m with other people.” She sighed and quirked her lips. “So, what? You gonna fine me for hitting the karst, or what?”
“Nah . . . I didn’t see you there, and you didn’t disturb anything. So it’s not HPD’s or The Fed’s business.” Asa took off his hat and scratched his head. “But I gotta tell you not to go down there, again. It’s dangerous, Makani.”
“Yeah, don’t worry. We’re never going down there ever again. Promise!” She shook her head.
“What would we have disturbed?” Flynn asked, trying to look nonplussed. “A few bugs?” He glanced at Makani, hoping she’d understand that he was hoping to get information, without mentioning what they’d seen.
“The cave isn’t reinforced, and the walls could fall in. Surprised they haven’t.” Asa started back to his car but stopped before getting in. “Oh! Makani, your brother also said we’re having Sunday dinner at your place. I’m bringing mac salad!”
“Hey! What if I’m busy?”
“Not on Sunday, you aren’t. Unless your ‘friend’ is gonna keep you busy?” He looked at the obvious tourist and smiled. Asa threw a shaka, a Hawaiian hand gesture for hang loose, and got into his car.
“You suck, Asa!” She kicked the squad car as it moved past them. “I hate it when everyone volunteers my house for dinner. That means I gotta clean.” She sighed. “Come on, let’s go.”
Flynn chuckled. “I can’t say that’s ever happened to me. But then, I’d only make them Vegemite sandwiches and scrambled eggs. And two-minute noodles. Nothing anyone would go out of their way for.” He wasn’t such a bad cook, really, but he wasn’t going to tell his family that. “Maybe I should keep you busy and save you from the torture of family?” He wiggled his brows at her.
“So tempting . . . ” She shook her head, and smiled. Makani got behind the wheel and started working on the engine. “Maybe I’ll be too scared to sleep alone tonight?”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “Maybe staying at your place would be cheaper than the rental. If I don’t get deported, I could stick around for longer.” If he didn’t get deported and wasn’t dead, the idea of spending the time with her, alive and maybe even legally, was very appealing.
“We’ll see. I can’t promise you won’t get deported because of things I do.” She smiled as they hit the freeway and it didn’t take long, with Makani’s driving, to get back to her house. A little dilapidated sedan was parked at the top of the driveway, covered in cats. “I knew Aunty would be here, already.”
“Old cars run the family huh?” He got out of the jeep and grabbed up the sandwiches, not wanting the cats to eat them. “And cats.” What was it with the cats?
“They’ve been here longer than any of us. Aunty says they’re good luck. Maybe they are? Who knows?” She grabbed the rest of the groceries and her pack, kicking the jeep’s door closed.
“At least they bury their own poo,” he agreed. He grabbed his Nikon and followed, hoping this ‘Aunty’ would be a little more sensible than Makani. There had to be a logical, scientific explanation for what they’d seen. Although, given that she’d said her aunt was a priestess, he had his doubts.
Makani walked up to the porch, “Aunty! We’re home! We brought food!” The Beatles were playing in the kitchen again.
“Hurry up, I brought pickled mango. It’s still cold.” Aunty Elsie was a little old woman, with long white hair piled high on her head. She had orchids stuffed into the roll, and wore deep red lipstick, the color being popular during her childhood, and one she refused to give up. Her skin was dark, lined deeply from years of being in the sun. She wore a muumuu, cut short to brush her knobby knees. Elsie puttered around the kitchen, taking plates out and laying them on the table, which she had cleared of the junk that Makani let build up. In fact, Aunty Elsie had taken the time to wash the dishes and clean up a great deal of the mess.
“Aunty you need to stop doing that. It makes me feel bad for leaving my dishes in the morning.” Makani dropped her pack by the door and gave the woman a kiss on the cheek before putting things in the refrigerator. “Flynn, this is Aunty Elsie. Aunty, this is Flynn. I was showing him around Moiliili caves before I called you.”
Flynn smiled down at the woman. She gave him the unnerving feeling that she could read him after only a few seconds. And yet, she’d probably be a mystery, even to those close to her. In spite of that, she looked a bit like an old prune, but more harmless.
“Hi, nice to meet you,” he said awkwardly.
“Nice to meet you, too.” She patted the man on the arm but raised a penciled-in eyebrow at Makani. “My grandniece likes bringing malihini home, doesn’t she?”
“Aunty!” She popped up from the fridge with three beers and started opening them. “Don’t embarrass me in front of him, yet.”
“Mali—what?” Flynn frowned. He put the sandwiches down on the bench and his camera down beside them. “Why would you be embarrassed?”
“She’s talking about me picking up tourists. Which I don’t do!” Makani stopped and smiled, “Often. I just don’t get into local boys. They’re too—local.” She dropped into the seat beside her aunt, and passed bottles of beer around. Grabbing a chopstick from the ubiquitous container on the table, she wound her hair up into a ball.
“Extra spicy, Aunty, just for you.” The sandwiches were laid out, the overstuffed extra everything going to the old woman.
Flynn wondered how she was going to get such a small mouth around such a big sandwich. He got the distinct impression that no one in Makani’s family did anything by half. Except clean and drive safely. He opened his sandwich and took a bite and washed it down with beer. It wasn’t the worst lunch he’d ever had and the company certainly was interesting. The companionable silence while they ate only lasted a couple of minutes, then Makani spoke.
“Aunty . . . we saw something down in the caves. I was hoping you would know what it could have been.” Makani twisted a corner of the wrapping paper between her fingers, and ignored the food in front of her. “It was on the ceiling of the big chamber at the end, hanging down. It looked like it had wings and black hair on its head. It was way too big to be a bat.”
Aunty Elsie listened, chewing slowly. Her eyes moved back and forth between Makani and Flynn. “Did it move?”
“What? No. It was breathing, I think. Flynn tried to get pictures, but . . . show her.” She tapped Flynn’s arm.
He leaned forward and picked up his camera. Unzipping it from its bag, he switched it on and looked through the pictures again before handing it over to Elsie. “The last four or five should show something, but they’re dark. In one, it’s almost like you can see the ceiling, but there’s nothing between that and the lens.”
Elsie looked on, her gaze steady. She leaned back, and took a handrolled cigarette from a gold case, lighting it and taking a long draw. The woman closed her eyes for a moment. “What you saw is not native. Once again, Makani, you’ve stumbled upon malihini. But it’s not nearly as benign as the man you’ve brought home.” Her eyes opened and slid to Flynn.
Flynn smiled. “Thanks. I think.” Something occurred to him. “What do you mean, once again?” He looked at Makani. “You’ve seen something like that before?”
“Not like that, exactly . . . ” Makani spun her empty bottle on the table, looking like a recalcitrant child.
“Makani attracts strange things. Like the cats outside. She’s seen Mo’o in the water, and sharks follow her in the ocean. Although, I’m not sure you really saw Mujina in the ladies’ room of the mall.” Elsie laughed, shaking her head.
“Aunty! That’s not true. Everyone sees sharks if they’re in the water enough, and the cats were here before I was. And that could have been a catfish at Waimea. But that was the Faceless Lady in the restroom, I swear.” She got up and went to grab another round of beers for everyone.
“The Faceless Lady?” Flynn echoed. “Maybe being deported isn’t so bad. At least we only have the Yowie and Bunyips.” Not that he believed in any of those things, of course. Figments of imagination and folklore, all of them. He had thought he saw a Bunyip once, as a kid, while out camping beside the Hawksbury River. His father had told him it was just the man who owned the farm, but Flynn had never seen a human that hairy before.
“Hawaii is a land of immigrants. What we’ve come to know as native Hawaiians came from Polynesia, as far as New Zealand, Samoa, Tahiti, maybe even Micronesia and the Asian mainland. Our family traces its roots all the way to Mohenjo Daro.”
“But every people who came to these islands brought stories in their minds. Beliefs that were realities in their homelands came here and were reborn. The gods, ghosts, monsters, demons, and guardian spirits. They became part of the mass culture, became part of the land. Some of these things are drawn to those who believe, even if they don’t realize it.” Aunty Elsie paused to sip her beer, her eyes watching Makani.
“Are you saying I should stop believing in ghosts? You and Grandma were the ones who told me about this stuff.” She huffed, and drew her knees to her chin.
“No. You can’t. Not after the things you’ve seen. Why do you think I chose you to pass all the stories to? You won’t let them be forgotten.” Elsie turned to Flynn, “Makani pretends that she doesn’t believe, but deep down, she knows everything is real.” She tapped the cigarette ashes into an empty bottle, closing her eyes again. “Now, girl, do you remember the Aswang?”
“Of course. They’re Filipino witches. They curse people,” Makani shrugged.
“Do you remember the Mananaggal?” Aunty took another puff, her face towards the ocean.
“Yeah. They were vampire creatures. They had wings, black hair, and the faces of women . . . ” That made Makani stop in her tracks.
“Manana—what?” Flynn frowned. “Did you say vampire creatures?” He frowned and then laughed. “Please don’t tell me you’re serious? Vampires are fiction. You don’t really think Dracula lives in a cave under a university in Hawaii?” It was the most bizarre thing he’d heard all day. And that was saying something.
“Dracula doesn’t. But that thing sure looked like what Manong Milagros talked about . . . ” Makani shook her head, and chewed her lip. “Those things aren�
��t supposed to exist here. They were all killed off, Aunty.”
“People thought they were.” Elsie turned to Flynn, and began explaining, “Manong Milagros was a luna, a supervisor on the plantation we came from. We used to sit around the village square at night, and listen to him talk about the Philippines while he drank Okolehao that Maka’s greatgrandma used to brew. He said, that while they were there, it was common for Mananaggal to take its victims from the plantation. But they had driven the creatures out and swore the last one had gone into the caves under Moiliili. They thought it had starved and died . . . ” Elsie dropped the cigarette in the bottle, and lit another.
“Are you saying that you think this stuff is real?” Flynn was trying not to laugh. “Vampires and other things? Don’t tell me, you’re really a werewolf?” No, the cats wouldn’t gather around a werewolf. Would they? No, they’d be a snack every full moon. He glanced out the window, wondering when that would be.
“Nah, if I was, you’d have been lunch, and not the sandwich.” Aunty blew smoke rings, and laughed. “Makani, you called because you were afraid. You want to know what happens now?”
“Of course! We disturbed something that was . . . evil. We might have brought some home on us . . . ” Makani paused and shivered.
“It’s going to follow you. Everywhere, no matter what. It follows you.”
CHAPTER 5
“Makani, there’s nothing you can do now. You just have to wait and watch.” Aunty dropped her cigarette into the bottle and opened the next beer.
“Are you sure? We don’t need to, I dunno, get purified, or something?” On cue, Makani’s skin had started to itch. It was probably, hopefully, from the dirty water at the mouth of the karst. She desperately wanted a real bath. The old furo tub outside seemed like a paradise just out of her reach.
Flynn shifted in his seat. “Purify? Like, bathe in holy water or something?” He looked from one woman to the other, his eyes settling on Makani.