It was around five in the morning. Parked cars near the curb rocked like going over potholes as an invisible wave rippled down the quiet neighborhood street. Some jolted forward five feet or so before resting back against the curb. At the same time, porch lights flickered as shingles flew off rooftops like a flock of nesting birds spooked out of their tree. Meanwhile, Eddie jumped out of bed when he heard car alarms going off, opened the blinds and watched with a gleam in his left eye (He had his finger in his right eye.) at the ghostly activity occurring outside.

Six blocks away, I was in our living room asleep on the floor, in front of the TV. My legs were crossed with my feet up against the wall. We lived three miles from Sandy Beach in Kalama Valley. That same morning, I woke up hearing footsteps walking across the roof. Thinking it might’ve been a large cat or a big Hawaiian bird, I hit the wall with my foot hoping that the loud thump would scare whatever it was off the roof. But all I did was put a big hole shaped like my foot into the wall.

As the sound continued, shingles snapped with a frightening “Thump - crack - thump - crack!” At that same moment my neighbor, from across the street, was warming up his car - a little blue two-door sedan. Its taillights would illuminate our front window when he’d leave for work. The air was still and warm that morning as I dashed outside to catch him.

“Hey Gary! Did you hear anything strange a minute ago?” I asked while rushing up his driveway.

He shut off his motor, got out of his car real fast and said that he sure did.

“When I was closing my garage door, I heard something on my roof,” he said. “But when I looked up, there was nothin’ there. Then, I heard it on your roof. Then, you came outside,” Gary said as he pointed to my house and then asked what I thought.

I told him that it was probably just one of those Hawaiian owls that fly only at night. But I knew what it really was. I first heard that sound two years earlier in 1974. When I was fifteen.

Back then, my best friend was Eddie Brasco. I always thought he looked like Clint Eastwood from those old westerns. Whenever he’d talk about ghosts, his right eye would twitch. His affliction wouldn’t have been so bad if he just didn’t like talking about the subject so much. Anyway, neighborhood kids used to say that the valley was haunted by Hawaiian spirits and Eddie was one of them. I never believed a word of it though, until…

It was two o'clock in the morning on one of those same windless, muggy nights. Too hot to be inside. So, me and Eddie were sitting on the curb – under the streetlight in front of my house talking story when I asked him if he was going to get a car soon. As I took the last drag from my cigarette and got ready to toss the butt, Eddie reached over and grabbed it out of my hand, took a puff from it and said that his father had a ‘71 Ford Pinto.

“My dad said I could have the car, but it barely runs. I think it might need a tune-up,” Eddie said as he flicked the smoldering stub into the street.

Being the expert hot rod mechanic that I thought I was gonna be, I told Eddie, “Bring the car over tomorrow night. Maybe we can get it going.”

Eddie crossed his legs, leaned back against the light pole and asked, “Did your dad give you the garage yet?”

“Yeah,” I said. “He finally gave in, but I gotta quit working in it after ten o'clock. He said I’ll make too much noise.”

Hopeful that he’d finally have a car to drive, Eddie asked, “So, you want me to bring the Pinto over tomorrow, bout this time?”

I stood up, leaned against the light pole and told Eddie it would be too late to use the garage by then. “We’ll have to tune-up the car right here, on the corner under the light,” I said. “I’ll have everything setup for tomorrow night.”

As I sat back down on the curb, I reached over and picked up a bottle of Elmer’s glue that I had laying on the grass.

Eddie curiously asked, “What’s with the glue, Johnny?”

“Watch!” I said as I held the bottle close to the curb and began to squeeze out my name on the concrete. It was a trick I learned from Kathy (Legs) Turner, one of the more attractive neighborhood hooligans who had an affinity for street graffiti. She wrote her name and drew wild designs using that technique on nearly every curb in the valley.

Eddie stood up, gazed into the valley for a moment as I continued squeezing out the last bit of glue. Maybe he heard something, or maybe he just had an intuition of what was coming. I didn’t bother to ask.

I looked up at Eddie, “Quick! Grab a handful of dirt!”

Eddie broke from his stare, sat back down on the curb and pushed a few rocks aside from the parkway. Then with both hands he scooped up some of the loose dirt.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Sprinkle it on top of the glue,” I said.

Eddie did just what I asked. Then, I moved in closer and blew two short puffs at the loose dirt, revealing my name from what was left stuck to the glue.

“Legs showed me how to do that,” I said. “She said it would last forever.”

Eddie got up again, dusted off his hands while I carried on.

“For all eternity. Or, until the next time they repave the street,” I said with a smug look. Then, I also got up from the curb, pointed at my newly created graffiti and told Eddie, “When we work on the Pinto tomorrow night, we’ll add your name along with the time and date.”

Just then, Eddie told me to shut up. “Listen!” he said.

Almost every roof on the block started to rattle. The sound resonated rapidly into the street, “Thump - crack - thump - crack!” Seconds later, just as quickly as it came, it faded into the distance toward Sandy Beach.

“I told you the valley was haunted!” Eddie said while rubbing his right eye. “Do you believe me now?”

At that moment, a shadowy figure emerged from up the street and it was slowly coming towards us. Miraculously, I was able to break from my frozen state of panic, without Eddie noticing, and hit him in his chest with the back of my hand. “Do you see what I see?” I asked.

It was Legs. When she heard the sound on her roof, she came out to investigate. She was a bit taller than Eddie and me, hence, her nickname. Plus, when she wore these white shorts that were kind of baggy around her thighs, it was hard not to notice that she really did have a great pair on her.

“Did you guys hear that?” Legs asked as she reached into her pocket and took out a crinkled pack of Marlboro's.

I looked at Eddie, smiled and asked, “Yeah Eddie, what was that?”

Legs drew three smokes from her pack, held one between her fingers and handed Eddie and me the other two.

“You got fire on you, Johnny? I dropped my lighter up the street and I wasn’t gonna stop for it,” she said. “I really liked that lighter too.” Then, Legs looked at Eddie and asked, “So, c’mon Eddie, tell us. What was that sound?”

I took out a book of matches from my pocket and lit Legs cigarette first. Eddie leaned in and I lit his next. As I brought the match up to light mine, Eddie cleared his throat. “Hey, hey, Johnny, three on a match is bad luck, man!” he said.

“I told you, Eddie, I don’t believe any of that stuff,” I said as my heart rate was finally returning to normal.

Eddie took a drag and then asked, “You guys really want to know?”

Legs and I looked at each other, then back at Eddie and shouted, “Yes!”

“They’re just playful spirits, is all. Friendly ghosts. They won’t hurt anyone. They just like makin’ noise - try to scare you by goin’ over rooftops, moving things around, objects and stuff, you know? The valley is full of ‘em. What you gotta watch out for are the Night Marchers.” Even the valley ghosts are afraid of ‘em.”

I looked up at the night sky and called out, “Hey Mister Ghost! If you’re out there, please make sure no one messes with my curb until we get Eddie’s name down.”

Legs looked down at my name on the curb. “Good job, Johnny! But you gotta draw something to go with it,” she said.”

“I ran out of glue,” I told her. Then, I looked at Eddie and asked who were the Night Marchers?

While holding his eye shut with his finger hoping Legs wouldn’t notice his tic, he said that they were ancient Hawaiian Warriors. “If you ever hear ‘em, just stay out of their way,” he said.

I cracked a smile and said, “C’mon, let’s walk Legs back home. Maybe will find her lighter on the way.” 

“It’s yellow. You can’t miss it,” she said. Then, Legs put her arm around Eddie, and we walked up the street with our shadows following behind.

TUNE-UP AT 2:00 AM

That next night I waited for Eddie under the streetlight. My tune-up equipment, timing-light and parts were laid out on the curb. I even had a droplight plugged into a long extension cord that went across our front yard and into the garage.

As I sat at the curb admiring how organized I thought I was, an odd heavy breathing came from down the street. Nah, that didn’t scare me - much. It spooked the hell out of me. I was ready to make a run for it back into my garage until I saw that it was Eddie, when he passed under a streetlight. He was pushing a little mint green Ford Pinto. He had the driver door open with one hand on the steering wheel, and the other on the pillar, huffing and puffing.

“I couldn’t get it started. I think the battery went dead,” he said between gasps.

I quickly went behind the Pinto and helped Eddie push the car close to the curb. “You pushed this thing all the way from your house?” I asked.

“Yeah. Good thing it was downhill all the way,” he said while finally catching a full breath.

We worked on the Pinto for an hour. By three o’clock the battery had a full charge, but we still needed to make a few adjustments before taking the car for a test drive. Eddie held the droplight while I gapped each sparkplug with precision. But I couldn’t quite see the numbers. Weird shadows kept bouncing across the engine compartment.

“Hey pay attention! Hold the light steady, will you!” I said to Eddie.

“I haven’t moved an inch!” he said.

But like the night before, Eddie was actually staring into the valley. Looking back, I guess he really did have a sixth sense for the supernatural.

FLIGHT OF THE PINTO

I screwed the last sparkplug in, removed the hood-prop and quietly shut the hood. “Grab the timing light,” I said. “We can’t start the car here.”

“What do you mean we can’t start the car here?” Eddie asked as he brought the droplight to his side.

“Just cranking the engine will make too much noise. We’re gonna have to kick-start it up the street.”

“You steer, I’ll push,” Eddie said.

We moved the Pinto out on the main road leading into the valley. Eddie was in back pushing while I pushed from the driver door. We went two blocks before picking up enough speed. When we hit about five miles an hour, Eddie shouted, “Now! Now!”

I hopped into the Pinto and popped the clutch. The engine instantly sputtered to life. Eddie caught up to the car and jumped in the passenger seat as I kept stabbing the gas pedal, keeping it going.

NO OUTLET

“Where are we going, Johnny?” Eddie asked.

“Straight up the valley. We can set the engine timing by the “no outlet” sign, under the last streetlight. Did you bring the timing light?”

“Yep,” he replied and then said that he hoped that we didn’t run into any mean ghosts in the back of the valley.

"I thought you said they won’t harm anyone?”

“Yeah. Well. Some do,” he said.

“Quit tryin’ to scare me,” I said. “There are no ghosts, Eddie!”

THE NIGHT MARCHERS

We pulled under the last streetlight at the end of the valley road. I left the motor running. Then, Eddie and I got out of the car. I opened the hood and began to set the ignition timing while Eddie stood close by. I told Eddie I’d have to remove the distributor and put a mark on it. With the distributor out, I could also replace the ignition points and condenser more easily.

As soon as Eddie turned off the engine, it got real quiet – you could hear a pin drop in the valley. I didn’t waste any time removing the distributor. But the valley was just too quiet - even for that hour of the morning. Just then, like the night before, roofs in the distance crackled, resembling a string of firecrackers going off. But this time, the sound came and went like lightning.

“Did you hear that?” Eddie asked. “Something spooked the valley ghosts.”

“Knock it off, Eddie,” I said with my head under the hood making certain I didn’t mix up any ignition wires. But those weird shadows came back, weaving about in the engine compartment along with a muffled thumping in the air.

“Quit shifting around, you’re blocking the light,” I told Eddie.

“I’m not moving,” he said.

“I’m not falling for that. And stop banging the sign!” I said as I moved out from under the hood to look at Eddie. But he was nowhere near the “no outlet” sign. And his right eye was twitching like crazy. In fact, what I thought had been Eddie goofing around, were sounds of drums beating a Hawaiian rhythm, and it was getting louder.

At that very moment Eddie lunged at me, grabbed my collar and shoved my head down. He moved so fast I didn’t see him coming. All I could see however, were the tops of my shoes and dark shadows swirling on the asphalt. They looked like the shadow creatures from the 1990 flick Ghost.

While slowly letting go of my shirt, Eddie told me to keep my head down. “Whatever you do, don’t look up!” he said.

As the ghostly shapes passed, a clearly defined Hawaiian chanting rocked Eddie’s Pinto ever so slightly. I know because my hand was on the fender. I’ll never forget those ghostly Hawaiian incantations. They were booming as they swiftly passed above our heads.

“How fast can you put this thing back together!” Eddie shouted.

“It’s ready to go now!”

We jumped into the Pinto, amazingly it started, and we sped off back to my house – under the streetlight on the corner.

While sitting in the car, Eddie asked “Did you see their torches?” 

“Except for those weird shadows flying around us, I didn’t see anything,” I said. I didn’t want to tell him everything that I saw or heard, or he’d think that all of a sudden, I became a believer in that supernatural stuff.

“What was all that about anyway? And why did you grab my neck?” I asked.

Eddie opened the door, placed his right foot on the door jamb and lit a cigarette. Then, he explained. 

“Those were the Night Marchers,” he said. “The Night Marchers are ghosts of ancient Hawaiian warriors. The conch shell we heard - you did hear it didn’t you? - was a warning to get out of their way. When they pass, you’re supposed to lie face-down and hope that they keep going. I guess just keeping our heads down was enough. If you see their torches, you’ll die right where you stand. And I sure didn’t want either one of us to see their torches.”

“Thanks Eddie!” I said as I began to get out of the Pinto. “Man, I thought you were tryin’ to kill me.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “It was the least I could do for gettin’ the car running.”

Eddie then looked down at the curb and saw his name written in glue next to mine with the time and date. Off to the side was an image of some Hawaiian tiki with big eyes. Next to it was Legs yellow lighter.

“Hey look Johnny! Legs must’ve found her lighter and finished this earlier,” he said.

“That’s impossible,” I told Eddie. “Legs split to the mainland with her family yesterday morning for summer vacation.” Then, I sat on the curb, leaned against the light pole and lit a cigarette with Legs lighter. The sky was getting light. As I took a drag, coming from the next block over, a crackling flutter rushed across rooftops, and then faded into the valley.

Eddie looked up at the streetlight just as it flickered off. Then, with a gleam in his eye he smiled and said, “Feels good to have the valley ghosts back.”