The Night Marchers
The Night
Marchers

THE SCARE

Growing up as a child in Hawai'i meant being surrounded by legends. We knew very well never to take that piece of pumice we found floating on the ocean back to the house. This would anger Pelee, the Hawai'ian god of fire, and bring upon bad luck. We were also told never to disturb a well placed field of stones. The Menehune, ancient, miniature Hawai'ian builders, would make short work of you then.

But the most terrifying legend instilled in the darkest recesses of my childhood mind was the story of the Night Marchers. They were the feared and revered elite warriors of King Kamehaha who united the main islands centuries back. It is said that their spirits still walk the island and, even in death, demand the same respect they were afforded in life. Any deviance would mean death.

The rain forests of O'ahu are beautiful collections of colorful flora and fauna. But there is much unknown behind the thick and moist foliage. They say it starts as drum beating in the distance. Then, the sound of marching follows. Torches being held then shine brightly beneath the dark canopy of trees, marking their presence. The flickering light would reflect off of their emerging faces of terror. As if fighting an eternal battle, they hold their spears in defiance underneath emotionless faces.

An unfortunate fellow stumbling onto them had only one hope for survival. In an instant, turning their face from the warriors' sight and falling to their knees in a show of humility and respect was required. The victim would hide his eyes by burying his face in the dirt, as their common eyes were not worthy to view them. Some even urinated on themselves in a desperate attempt to show themselves as sub human and undeserving of the soldiers' consideration.

To this day, many emerge from the rain forests with soiled faces and dignities. The Night Marchers still rule the woods.

I kept this in mind as I entered the mountain trail. We were staying at the Saint Stephens Diocesan Center overlooking Kailua on the windward side of the Koolau mountains. The sun had retreated below the mountains behind me. It was a cool Hawai'ian evening in the late fall.

A bird coo'ed in the distance and I smiled. I walked further down, not really noticing how much darker it was getting. But there was still a pleasant aura about my surrounding.

Then I heard it in the distance, just beyond the wind blown trees. It started as an almost indistinguishable tapping, but grew louder. I stopped and listened. It stopped, and I smiled again. Then, not a few steps later, the drums slowly restarted. This time it was louder and more defined.

Through the thick canopy of leaves ahead of me, I could see lights flickering in the distance. Dread came over me. I knew it was them.

I tried to run, throwing branches to my side and ignoring the thorns ripping my skin open and spilling blood onto the moist ground. I stopped in an open field to catch my breath, the blue waters of the Pacific ocean reflecting the moon's light behind me. Above the wind, I heard the drums again. It was close enough to echo off the trees around me. I heard indistinguishable voices, shouting and screaming. I knew they had seen me. I had no choice.

I turned from the drums and the rustling of leaves. I fell to my knees and clasped my hands. I dug my face into the cold mud and whispered a prayer. Then I waited.

The
Scare

The
Truth