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On our drive back to the office, I’m silent beside Derek. The encounter with Momi has unsettled me. Her gaze had an otherworldly depth to it, like a glimpse into another realm. A shiver runs through me as if this old car’s air conditioner has gone from coping to overdrive. Derek is concentrating on traffic, so I’m alone with my thoughts.
Momi’s parting repetition of the word ‘fish’ makes me think Derek was wrong. She wasn’t offering me a wish. She knew what she was saying. Its link to my name and what it symbolises has pushed me off balance. After I almost drowned as a toddler, it’s become a family joke that my crazy mother gave me this aquatic name. I’m the seal maiden who’s afraid of the sea.
And I haven’t been known as Selkie since I was a teenager. After an almighty row with my stepmother, she started calling me Elkie as punishment. Overnight Selkie ceased to exist. Andrew was already on the scene and he thought Elkie sounded like a Hollywood sex symbol. The name stuck. When I took Andrew’s surname and became Elkie Tabrett, my disappearance was complete.
Now I’m here on my own terms, all that has changed. Derek and Wanda know me as Selkie and every time they say my name, I have the weirdest feeling I’ve reclaimed my own life.
Can a name change be that powerful?
“Selkie.” As Derek says it aloud, I jump. “What did you think of Momi? She saw something special in you.”
“I’m thinking about it, DD.” What will I tell him? “She’s lovely of course. It’s my first time meeting a kahuna, so I found it a bit ... weird.”
“She’s safe. She doesn’t cast spells.”
I’m not so sure about that.
He leaves me to my thoughts and I stare out the window, not really noticing the stop-and-start traffic, the passing view of shops. Until it suddenly changes. What happened to the city hubbub? The highway is heading away from civilization. We’re speeding into wooded hills.
In a flash, I realise how alone I am. Alone and trusting of this man I hardly know. Why has he been so kind to me? Is he even who he says he is? My hand reaches for the door handle, but we’re going too fast.
“Where are we going? This isn’t the way to the office.” I can’t keep the edge from my voice.
“Mount Olomana,” he says. “Hudson lives in the foothills.”
“Hudson?”
“Hudson Cooper. The guy with the ankle apparition.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard the name. It could be true.
“Sorry, Selkie. I should have asked if you wanted to meet him. Hudson sounds desperate and I assumed we were in this together. But if you’re feeling weird, I’ll turn around.”
Relief douses my panic, easing the tightness in my muscles. Wanda’s words pop into my head: ‘Keep your grass skirt on’. My lips even twitch in a smile. Idiot.
“You should have asked me.” The confidence in my voice surprises me. “But you’re forgiven, DD. Keep going.” My head clears and I’m pleased to ask a sensible question. “Hudson is expecting you, but how will you explain me?”
I can tell he hasn’t thought this through. “My ... assistant. You don’t have to do anything, by the way. Just be present. Notice things.”
Things. “Do you think there’s any chance we’ll meet ... the thing that’s haunting him?”
“Only if Hudson sleeps during the day. But I should warn you about Mount Olomana.”
I bite my tongue before I make another pathetic response.
“There are three peaks in the Olomana range,” he says. “Legend says they were formed when a giant warrior called Olomana, who ruled the windward side of Oahu, was defeated by a warrior sent by Oahu’s king. Olomana was cut in half. His upper torso went into the Pacific Ocean and his lower half formed Mount Olomana, while two of his men became the other two peaks.”
“Now his ghost haunts the area, I bet.”
“Not that I know of, but legends carry power. There’s a story that the Olomana area attracts the Night Marchers, the spirits of ancient Hawaiians. They walked through a house one night and paralysed the inhabitants.” He stops talking. “Could that be what’s happened to Hudson? He mentioned paralysis. Except the Night Marchers don’t stay; they just pass through.”
“That’s a comfort. I prefer my phenomena to be mobile.”
We turn off the four-lane dual carriageway onto a narrow minor road that winds through vegetation so lush it blocks the view of everything but the azure sky. We’re high up above Honolulu now so we could catch glimpses of the ocean. Our errand is unsettling enough without my sea phobia butting in.
When the undergrowth opens up, bungalow-style houses emerge on both sides of the road, some hidden behind stone walls, others behind clumps of multi-stemmed palms. Up ahead a triangular peak spears the clouds.
“Mount Olomana,” Derek says. “If Hudson can see it from his house, that might be part of the problem.”
I don’t know what he means. If we add Momi’s clues to the mix, the puzzle is getting complicated.
“Are you going to suggest he gets an ankle tattoo of Ti leaves? To drive away the phantom?” I’m making this up as I go along.
“Momi’s insights aren’t always literal,” he says. “And I don’t know enough to give advice. I’ll try to keep an open mind until something pops.”
An open mind. Something I’m struggling with. And I don’t like the sound of anything popping either. I remind myself I’m here for the ride, to learn about local culture and support my quirky new friend. He can do the head-scratching, while I look forward to a cocktail when we’re done. Followed by some noodles at the Pearl. I’ll invite Derek to join me.
He checks the map on his phone and takes a few turns until we’re outside a house that can only be called humble, compared to the quality homes we’ve passed.
“They’re fixing up an old place,” Derek says. “That can shake out more than a few cobwebs. The house might just need some energy clearing with a smudging stick. Even I can do that.” He indicates a box on his back seat.
A smudging stick? Something else not to comment on. And it’s way too late to pull out now.
Derek turns into the dirt driveway beside several work vehicles and a dumpster. Our knock on the peeling front door is answered by a dishevelled guy of about my age. His overalls and thick curly brown hair are sprinkled with white powder. I assume he’s one of the builders until he speaks.
“Derek from the Surreal Deal?” He grabs Derek’s hand. “Thank God you’re here. Hudson Cooper.” Then he notices me.
“My assistant, Selkie,” Derek says.
“Can we talk here?” Hudson says. “The kitchen’s full of tradesmen. And the place is a mess.”
“Is there another room?” Derek asks. “In cases like this, I like to get the ambience.”
When we follow Hudson inside, banging and loud music are blaring from the back of the house.
He raises his voice over the noise. “My wife and daughter are out. This room is pretty private.”
Of course he doesn’t want the builders to know about his ‘little problem’. How much does his wife know?
We’re standing in a large lounge-room that’s surprisingly dark. And cold. It’s bright daylight outside but the windows aren’t letting it in. Because of the wide roof on the verandah? Or something else?
“This is the furniture that came with the house.” He points to three retro-style couches with woven rattan ends and lumpy cushions, a large bamboo coffee table with a glass top and several old bookcases. “We decided to keep it while we’re renovating, then move our own stuff in later. But all our beds are new.”
Does he think the furniture is haunted?
Derek says, “I recommend keeping an open mind about what we’re dealing with. Let’s start with the house itself. Have you heard any local gossip about its history? Any ... tragedies?”
“I looked up the history. A list of previous owners didn’t tell me much. It’s heritage listed, built about a hundred years ago on a large estate. But the land has long since been subdivided and according to the realtor, the house has been empty for decades. The other homes around us are newer and the neighbours weren’t here when Waipunalani was occupied.”
So he’s asked around.
“Waipunalani?” Derek says.
“It’s the name of this house –”
“– and a folksong.”
“You know it?”
“Water of the Sacred Spring,” Derek says.
“It’s the first Hawaiian word we learnt.”
Derek picks up on that. “You’re new to Hawaii?”
“Both from California.”
“A work transfer? A sea-change?”
“A ... coincidence,” Hudson says.
Derek has been moving around the room in search of ambience and he’s spotted some old photos on the wall. He stops and waits for Hudson to go on, but our host doesn’t elaborate. His reluctance to say more makes me wonder if he just wanted a few incantations and a smudging stick.
Derek says, “A coincidence can be the key to a mystery. Anything you tell us will remain confidential, but the more we know, the quicker we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Hudson relents. “My mother used to live in Honolulu before she met my dad. She’s gone now – dementia – but near the end, a ukulele duo visited the nursing home. Until then we had no idea she liked Hawaiian music, so we got her a collection and played them to her over and over. Then on a vacation in Kailua a few months back, my wife and I saw this place in a realtor’s window. Waipunalani. The same name as one of Mom’s favourite songs.”
“Do you know why she liked it? Did the words mean anything to her?”
“Hawaiian lyrics? I doubt she understood them, and anyway, she’d mostly stopped talking by then. Sometimes she cried but she did that a lot at the end.”
Derek presses his lips together in respect for Hudson’s loss. “So you bought this place because of the chance connection to your Mom?”
Hudson pulls a face. “Nothing like that. It was Gracie’s idea to take a look at it – just for fun. We had no intention of buying it, but it was love at first sight. The realtor saw our reactions and did the rest. ‘Worst house in the best street,’ he called it, ‘Good bones and a sound roof.’” He runs his fingers through his hair and I sense he’s close to breaking point. “A price we could afford. Seemed like a bargain.”
“And ... the presence was here as soon as you moved in?”
In response to the calm authority in Derek’s voice, Hudson visibly pulls himself together. “Not that we noticed. The place was stuffy and dark and dirty but we weren’t bothered. Then one night I felt the weight on my feet. And before you ask, we don’t have a cat. Happened three nights in a row. Freaked us out. My wife was about to move out with our five-year-old because we were ripping out the kitchen. They’ve been sleeping at a friend’s ohana unit down the road and just coming back here during the day.”
“And the presence has continued since they’ve stopped sleeping here?” Derek’s interrogation is thorough.
“Yes. I’ve tried sleeping in different rooms but it finds me. Every night.”
That sounds personal. What do the police call it? Targeted.
The doorway to the next room is draped in a sheet. Beyond it, a drill drones over rock music, making it hard to think.
Derek takes a new angle. “You said you’ve been demolishing the old kitchen. Is that when it started? Think back. Tell me everything you remember.”
It’s a good question. When Andrew pulled out my old kitchen in Sydney, the stress took its toll on me. I had no sink for weeks on end and only an electric frypan to prepare meals. My reaction was to stop cooking – what Gretel calls my culinary nervous breakdown – but I hid it from Andrew, paying cash for gourmet heat-and-serve meals. Is this nocturnal ‘presence’ just Hudson’s reaction to stress?
“We’d just started on the kitchen,” he says over the noise. “Had a team of demolition guys in to remove the old cupboards and tiles. Made a mess I can tell you.”
“What did they find?” Derek sounds confident they found something.
Hudson looks bewildered. “Crumbling bricks, termite damage, mouse skeletons.” His laugh is empty. “No crystal skulls if that’s what you mean.”
Derek doesn’t take it personally. “The timing suggests you disturbed something. Has the rubble been removed?”
“Still in the dumpster out front. But you two aren’t exactly dressed for dumpster diving. And I’m not sure my insurance would cover it.”
I’m with Hudson on this one. I can’t afford to ruin these jeans. But I suspect Derek is on a mission.
“We’ll just look,” he says.
The squeal of a child interrupts. Through the window, we see a little girl with blonde curls playing on the lawn at the side of the house. She’s hugging a white rabbit that’s trying to escape. A woman of about my age and stature is reminding her to be gentle.
“They’re back already.” Hudson sounds disappointed. “Come this way.”
As he directs us back to the front door, I stop by the old photographs Derek was looking at. Several views of the house in its grander days, taken by a professional photographer. The wide verandah wraps the side of the house, where the garden is lush with palms around a natural pool. Is the pool still there? I hurry to catch up to our host.
Back on the front deck, Hudson shakes our hands. “If you don’t have any other questions, I’d better get back.”
Why is he in a hurry to get rid of us?
“We’ll look in the dumpster,” Derek says, “and do some more research into the history of the area. If there was a tragedy here, we’ll find it.”
A tragedy that created a ghost? It would explain why it’s so cold inside. I push the thought aside. It’s time to face the mouse skeletons with an intrepid attitude.
“Thank you both for making the trip out here,” Hudson says. “It was a long shot. Let me know if you find anything, but let’s keep it between ourselves. No need to disturb the family more than they are by the renovations.”
When he closes the front door, I expect Derek to react to the dismissal. But he’s seen that the dumpster is accessible from the raised deck. I follow him to the broken wooden rail and stare at a mountain of smashed kitchen cupboards, while he goes to his car for work gloves. Using a metal pipe from the dumpster, he lifts the old cupboard doors stacked on top and we peer into the detritus underneath.
“What are we looking for?” It’s my best assistant’s voice.
“Anything that isn’t building rubble. Old kitchenware, bottles or tins that might contain a clue to the previous occupants. Personal trinkets. A tile with writing on it. Old letters. Sheets of newspaper.”
We begin fishing out anything within reach that looks interesting.
“What do you think so far?” Derek asks as we work.
My mind spins a scenario. “A former resident killed his wife and buried her under the kitchen floor. He told everyone she went back to the mainland. He’s dead now but his spirit doesn’t want her skeleton found. It would complicate things for the living.”
“It’s a pretty cryptic message, sitting on Hudson’s ankle.”
“That’s the point. It’s not going to send Hudson a dream about a skeleton. He’d just call the police. It wants to drive him away, to stop the renovations.”
“So you believe in messaging spirits?”
I hesitate. Only Gretel knows about the strange events that led me to leave Andrew. “I believe that odd things can happen,” I say, “and the reasons will eventually be explained.”
After fifteen minutes we’ve collected a dented tin canister, a drawer full of tarnished cutlery, a large wad of very old newspaper and a bottle containing a roll of stained paper. It’s not much but a quiver in my belly makes me wonder if we’ve found something. Or I’m just missing lunch.
Derek grabs the bottle and reads the clear embossed letters. “Sun Rise Soda Water. Old bottles like this can be valuable.”
“It doesn’t look like much of a time capsule, DD.”
“Someone saved it for a reason.” He tries to shake the paper out through the narrow neck, then gets a dowel from the dumpster and pokes it into the bottle. But the paper keeps unravelling and stays put. “Can you see what’s written on it, Selkie?”
It’s unfurled enough to reveal some pale markings. “A child’s drawing. Old. Maybe the child put the picture in the bottle for safekeeping and couldn’t get it out.” I used to hide invisible writing from my stepmother, Stella. A reminder of my secretive childhood. We put the bottle aside and I kneel down to flip through the newspapers. “These are covered in news about Elvis.”
“Really?” He whistles.
“He was over here to shoot Blue Hawaii. There are pages about him. Lots of photos.”
“What’s the date?”
I scan the smudged printing. “March, 1961.”
“That timing might mean the child who drew this picture is a grandparent now.”
We turn to the canister. It’s full of dried leaves that might be tea. I sniff it and pass it to Derek.
“What did you smell?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“Mamaki, I think. A local herbal tea with no aroma. Way past its use-by date. I wonder if Hudson’s been drinking it.”
“Does it cause hallucinations?”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
“Wanda might know. She’s a bit of a hippy.” I send her a text.
We’re looking through the cutlery drawer, reminding me it’s a long time till dinner, when the front door opens.
Hudson emerges with his wife and daughter. And the rabbit. He introduces Gracie and Sage.
“Pleased to meet you,” Gracie says. “Thank you for coming. I hope you won’t be offended,” – she looks at her husband – “but we’re getting a little desperate.”
“Time to call in the Surreal Deal,” Derek says.
“Exactly. But Hudson forgot to tell you something.”
Is that why he tried to keep our visit from her?
“Aloha,” Sage says. “This is my new rabbit.” She holds the ball of white fur towards me. “She’s a girl.”
I lean down to face its twitching nose. “What’s her name?”
Gracie says, “We’ve been trying to think of a name for her, haven’t we Sage?”
My face is at Sage’s level and her eyes engage with mine for a long moment. The connection is deep and instant, making my head swirl. Then she breaks contact and rolls her eyes upwards. “Noodles!”
Just what I was thinking about. We must be kindred spirits. “Do you like Chinese food?”
“That’s her name, silly. Noodles. She just told me.”
“Be polite,” Gracie whispers.
“Sorry,” Sage says to me. “You’re not really silly. Noodles is shy. But she likes you. She told me you’re nice.”
“Noodles is nice too.” I reach out and fondle its ears.
Sage has more to say. “Noodles is a name for food. Like mine. Sage makes things taste delicious. Like parsley ... and rosemary.”
I marvel at how articulate she is. “Sage is a pretty name too. It suits you.” A sage is also wise, like a kahuna.
“Sel-kie is a funny name. What does it mean?”
“It’s a fairy tale name.”
“I love fairy tales. Mommy, can Selkie tell me her fairy tale at bedtime? Please? Then I’ll go to sleep. Promise.”
Did my mother tell me a bedtime story about my namesakes? I don’t remember and for a moment I’m like Sage, five years old and longing to hear the selkie story more than anything.
Gracie has other ideas. “Not today, sweetie. You choose another fairy tale and I’ll read it tonight.” She scoops up bunny and child. “Now let’s make the new hutch comfortable for Noodles while Daddy talks to our visitors. Don’t leave anything out, Huds.” The light tone belies the meaning in her parting look.
As they leave, Sage calls to us, “Aloha.” Then she says to her mother, “Let’s show Noodles the pond!”
“Rabbits don’t really like ponds, sweetheart. She’ll get wet fur. And she can’t swim.”
“But she might be thirsty.”
“That’s a good thought. We’ll put a bowl of water in her hutch.”
When they’re gone, Hudson misses a few beats. “Something else happened.”
Beside me, I can almost feel the uptick in Derek’s heart-rate.
“Before I felt the weight in bed. Before we started pulling out the kitchen.” Hudson’s having trouble getting it out. “It was my birthday and Gracie got me this.”
He lifts the leg of his overalls. Peeping above his work sock, on the skin around his ankle, there’s a design of curved black marks.