Camp Monsters - The Mujina

Episode Date: October 18, 2023

Honolulu in the late '50s was changing about as fast as a place can change. People and money were pouring in as quickly as the new jets could fly them— so no one remembers what had once occupied the spot that was paved and set up as the Waialae Drive-In Movie Theater. One night, Leilani was trying to catch a movie at the new theater when she walked into the bathroom and found a redheaded woman peering suspiciously into the mirror. Maui Wildfire Support:Hawai'i People's FundCouncil for Native Hawaiian Advancement Hawai'i Community Foundation - Maui Strong FundThis episode is sponsored by Roark. Check out all of their amazing gear in store or at REI.com. Sign-up for the Camp Monsters LIVE show in Denver on Saturday, October 28th from 5:30-7pm MT.

This is an REI Co-op Studios production. You're in a bright, familiar place, surrounded by bright, familiar people. Friends are there, and strangers who seem like they could be friends after a few moments' conversation. There's bustle and laughter and joyful noise all around. And then you see a face through the crowd. A face you think you might know. You crane your neck and look again, and... And everything becomes very quiet and very cold. Your heart hammers and your guts lurch.

You're feverish and sick. Your mind races and you feel a battle raging within it. The battle of whether or not to let yourself remember. Let yourself remember where you've seen that face before. Because to remember is to relive when some things you don't want. You hunch down and you try not to be seen by them, by that other face,

at least until you can get a hold of yourself, until you can remember. But where your memory should bring you names and places and times and ages, all that fills your mind are feelings. And none of them any good. The face is smiling at you now. And you can see something behind that smile.

Behind those eyes. But you don't know what it is. And you don't think you want to know. Your whole body gives a little jerk, like a small electric shock, and you want to run or pass out, but you find that you can't do either. So you sit, and you watch the face come closer and closer, and you wonder what horrible memory it should conjure, what you're hiding from yourself, and if anything, is really as it seems. Then your vision narrows until all you can see is that terrible, smiling face. And a high-pitched sound descends from directly above you,

getting lower and louder, until it fills your ears completely. This is the Camp Monsters Podcast. I'm sorry, do I know you? I mean, I feel like I've seen your face before, and I've run into so many people from so many different places on these beautiful nights in Honolulu, Hawaii. Couldn't help but notice you were... Well, it felt like you were staring at me a little bit.

I thought maybe we'd met before, or... Oh, right. It's the shirt, isn't it? I guess I should be used to it by now, it draws so much attention. Even here in Honolulu, where folks are used to interesting shirts, people stop me on the street just to ask about it. Yeah, this shirt is a perfect fit for me and you can see there's a a blend of influences in its fit and pattern there's a lot of that here in the islands that blend of influences you find it in the food like the Manapua descended from Chinese char- Bao, I hope I'm saying that right,

or the Hawaiian sweetbread influenced by the Portuguese Pau Doce, or my personal favorite, Spam Musubi, inspired by both Japanese food and Second World War rationing. You see that mix of influences in the language, too. Hawaiian pigeon borrows words and grammar structures from Hawaiian, Japanese, English, Cantonese, Ilocano, Okinawan, Portuguese, and a range of others. And all that reminds me of a story. A story that borrows from Hawaiian and Japanese traditions to make something unique.

The story of the Mugina. Of course, the name Mugina has its roots in Japanese folklore, where they are supernatural badger spirits. But the Mugina here in the islands are very different. And the most famous sighting took place not far from here, on a perfect Hawaiian night just like this one, back in 1959, at the old Wai Lai Drive-In Movie Theater. Even if you've never been to a drive-in theater, you can imagine the scene that night. The bright colors of the big screen reflecting off row after row of cars.

Those great big 1950s cars, all fins and chrome, most of them still so new that the salty sea air had only just started to pit and corrode them. Everything was new in Honolulu in the late 50s. It was growing as fast as a city can. The big airliners had torn the town wide open, turning it from a sleepy local city into a world destination in just a handful of years. That kind of change brings a lot of good and a lot of bad, but the wildlife drive-In was trying hard to be a part of the good. It was an inexpensive place for all kinds and creeds of people to come and enjoy a little entertainment. It had a nice location not far from the action on

Waikiki, well-stocked snack shack, good speakers, all the modern amenities. By 1959 it should have been humming along. But it was just something about the Wiley Drive-In. Locals told stories of it being built on top of old, unmarked graves spilling over from the cemetery beside it, but folks will always tell stories like that about a place that has more than its fair share of bad luck. Construction problems. Technical problems with the projectors and speakers. Some kind of intermittent electrical issue that burned out the motors on the snack stands,

freezers and refrigerators almost faster than they can be replaced. Then when all that got hammered out, there was a big hassle over screening rights with the distribution company that was supposed to supply the films. And after even that got squared away, well, maybe the shine had come off the place in the eyes of the public. Maybe that's why the crowds were rarely what they should have been, considering the location. But the crowds were just fine the night that we're going to the Wiley Drive-In, that particular night in 1959.

Maybe it was the movie they were showing that night, the scary kind that the kids always love, one of those movies that's perfect for a drive-in, where the main characters are out in their car on a rainy night, but they break down on the side of some lonely road. So one of them gets out to try to fix the car or flag a ride, and of course they never come back. And the other character is sitting there in the dim light of the car, trying to explain to themselves what's happened,

why it's all going to be alright. Trying, and slowly failing to convince themselves not to be scared to death, they call out into the darkness for the other character, and then, they hear a sound. A sound like dragging footsteps on gravel.

Dragging footsteps on gravel. Just like the gravel of the drive-in movie lot. And footsteps coming closer. of the drive-in movie lot. Footsteps. Coming closer.

Leilani jumped so high in her seat that her head would have gone through the fabric top if the roof of the convertible had been closed. Too terrified to scream, she twisted in mid-air through the buttery, ice-cold blizzard that a moment before had been her popcorn and soda, and she landed squarely on top of her best friend, Margaret. Margaret screamed something unrepeatable and shoved Leilani off and down onto the spilled soda floorboard. And then Margaret realized what had happened, and she started laughing and laughing and laughing. Some help she was.

Oh, I'm so sorry. I was just coming by selling popcorn at Soda Pop. I tried to hold that sneeze in, but, you know, I've got one of these terrible summer colds. Well, I guess it's not summer anymore... Leilani would have been embarrassed enough, walking across the packed parking lot with popcorn in her hair and soda soaking her skirt. But it was so much worse, with the soda jerk following closely behind her, drawing everyone's attention to her plight with his stream of noisy apologies. No, it was fine. It was fine. It was all right.

It wasn't his fault. She kept murmuring in response to him as he trailed along, offering everything but his little paper hat and apology. She couldn't shake him until she reached the bathroom at the very back of the lot and closed the door firmly in his face. Then she turned

away from the door and covered her own face and wondered, wondered what it was that made her so sensitive, so easily frightened. Ever since she was a little kid she couldn't stand to be left alone in the dark, didn't like to listen to the silly ghost stories the other kids told. Her grandmother had always comforted her, told her it was because she was special.

She was closer to the other side than most people were. That you could feel and even sometimes, sometimes hear things that other people couldn't. But that was just silly, superstitious talk. And this proved it. There were no ghosts around here, just a scary movie. And still, Leilani felt shaky. She pulled her hands down from her face and looked around the bathroom.

The bright drabness of the place was a relief after the darkness of the drive-in lot. Double rows of fluorescent bulbs buzzed overhead, bouncing light off the white tile walls and banishing even the shadow of a shadow from the room. Leilani felt the comfort of familiarity. There was the row of dingy stalls, the crumpled paper towels on the floor beside the trash can. There were the cloudy metal mirrors over the little wet sinks. Best of all, there were other people inside. One person, at least. A woman in a light print dress,

primping her long, dark red hair in one of those shoddy mirrors. Leilani walked to one of the sinks, pulled the popcorn from her hair, and used paper towels to try to do something about her soda-soaked skirt. It didn't do much good, but it gave her another moment to calm down. She couldn't shake that lingering feeling of dread, that afterglow of the terror that she'd felt out there in the car. In fact, it almost seemed to be creeping up on her again.

That fear. It was ridiculous. In this bright place where there was nothing to be scared of. She turned on the cold water and splashed some of it over her wrists. Her hands were shaking a little bit. She took her time washing them Running them under the water Trying to get her breathing to slow down Trying to coax a calm that for some reason she couldn't feel

So silly Shameful what little scare the movie has done to her Leilani's long dark hair had slipped off her ears as she bent over the sink, dropping a curtain between her and the red-headed woman. But Leilani could feel the woman glancing at her, probably wondering why it was taking her so long to wash her hands, concerned at her shaky looks, wanting to make sure that everything was alright. For some reason, Leilani had always hated being the object of such concern from strangers.

So she shut off the water and she shook her hands, drying them roughly on a paper towel to hide any lingering unsteadiness. Then she smiled and turned in the woman's direction, trying to think of some cheerful small talk she could make to disarm any concerns. But now the red-headed woman was peering back into her own mirror, leaning toward it over the sink, combing her hair with a little black comb. Leilani was struck by how thick and red her hair was, how the light and darkness seemed to ripple through it, And she was struck by

how lousy the mirrors in the bathroom were. Glancing into the little clouded rectangle in front of the other woman, Leilani couldn't make out her face at all. So she cleared her throat and told the woman how much she loved her hair. The woman stopped combing Set the comb down on the sink in front of her She lowered her head like she was embarrassed And the red hair cascaded down either side of her face Leilani felt a rising anxiety Greater than she should feel about saying something wrong Had she said something wrong?

What was going on here? The woman slowly turned toward Leilani with her head hung down. The pale skin along the part and the vivid red hair on top of her skull looked strange. Deathly pale and papery, laced across with tiny white lines like cobwebs or a thousand fine scars. Leilani backed away another step. As the woman raised her head and the veil of red hair fell away, and her face met Leilani's gaze.

At least, her face would have met Leilani's gaze, if she'd had a face. But where there should have been eyebrows and eyes and a nose and a mouth, all that Leilani's horrified stare revealed was a blank, smooth, featureless expanse of pale, pale flesh. The air heaved out of Leilani's lungs in a rush and she made a little sound like you do when the wind is knocked out of you. The faceless woman stood still with her hands hanging down at her sides. Leilani, just a few steps away,

frozen. The brightness of the bathroom was suddenly oppressive, terrifying. There was nowhere to hide. There was no corner to crouch down in and hope to go unnoticed.

The door was the only way out, but the creature was just as close to it as her, so the question in Leilani's mind was, when her terror thawed enough for her to bolt, could she possibly make it to the door in time? And as that question repeated, louder and louder and louder in Leilani's head, suddenly there was a sound. It started so quiet. Leilani wondered if it came from herself or from the faceless thing. It began as a high whine, then fell into a faint whimper, then rose into a smothered howl like someone

restrained, screaming the unbearable through tight-sewn lips. And Leilani felt a hunger. A hunger so palpable it jolted her like the shockwave of an explosion. Hunger, jealousy, longing, and threat emanating from the featureless woman, stronger and stronger. Leilani threw herself backward away from the creature, just as a handful of rigid fingers tipped with bright red nails swiped with incredible speed past her head. She slammed back into the thin steel wall of one of the stalls, dazing herself and making a terrific sound like a clap of thunder.

And at the sound, the creature charged, long nails reaching like blood-stained scalpels aimed right at Leilani's face. She staggered to one side, ducking the things, thrusting fingers by the fraction of an inch. Then she slipped, almost sprawling on the cold tile, but with one hand on the floor, Leilani gathered herself like a sprinter. She lunged for the bathroom door, slamming it open with all her weight and then spinning wildly out into the night.

She could feel the thing right behind her, snapping like a stiff wind at the tips of her flying hair. Leilani ran toward the only light she could see, toward the big floating light of the movie screen. And as she ran, as fast as terror could drive her through that pleasant, fragrant Hawaiian night, she found the breath to scream. And it was a very long time before the gathering crowd could get her to stop. They took Leilani away in an ambulance that night, but I'm happy to report that she made a complete recovery.

Well, as complete a recovery as one can ever make from an experience like that. Once she'd calmed down enough to read the patient, patronizing skepticism in other people's faces, Leilani stopped repeating the story of what had happened to her that night, except to her grandmother. Her granny was the only one who didn't look at her that way when she told the story, but just listened and gave Leilani a look that said she believed her. Leilani would have told Margaret too. You remember Margaret, Leilani's best friend, the one in the car with her when the soda jerk had come by and scared Leilani out

of her seat. Well, it was a funny thing, but the whole time Leilani was recovering, she never got a visit, or even so much as a phone call from Margaret. And when Leilani was finally well enough to start going back into the office where she and Margaret had worked together, no one had seen or heard from Margaret in, well, quite a while. Nobody thought much of it. Margaret was just a temp, anyway. One of those new arrivals who'd probably come to the islands after seeing them in a movie, then dropped her job and headed back from the mainland when the dream didn't match the reality.

That kind was a dime a dozen in Honolulu in 1959. But Leilani was worried. She went to the police and everything, but nothing really seemed to get done. And then, a month or two later on a sunny afternoon, there was Margaret, walking right down Wailai Avenue. Leilani saw her through the crowd up ahead, less than a block away, crossing from the other side of the street. She had big sunglasses on, and she was wearing a wide sun hat, but that didn't matter. Margaret had one of those kinds of faces, memorable, instantly recognizable.

When she'd made it across to Leilani's side of the street, Leilani called out to her. Margaret! Margaret stopped and looked right at her. She smiled that big, familiar smile and gave a little wave. And she stepped off the sidewalk into the shadows of a busy cafe. Well, maybe she wanted to have a cup of coffee together and explain what had happened, where she'd been. A few quick strides brought Leilani into the cafe,

not 15 seconds behind Margaret. But though she went through the whole place twice, there was no sign of Margaret anywhere. Leilani couldn't believe that she'd intentionally avoid her. Margaret just wasn't built that way. If she had a problem with you, you'd hear about it. As Leilani walked away down the block toward home, she almost convinced herself that she'd been mistaken.

Impossible as that scene had come to think of it the woman that she thought was margaret had looked different in the few moments she'd seen her taller maybe definitely thinner bonier sharper looking and and when leilani remembered the last thing that had been different, the quaking that began in Leilani's leg soon spread to her whole body. She had to sit on a bench and lean her head down into her hands to try to keep from passing out. Because as the woman she thought was Margaret had ducked into that cafe, Leilani realized that the ponytail that hung down out of the back of the sun hat hadn't been Margaret's dirty blonde, but a vivid, rippling, unreproducible red. The doctors called that sighting a setback

and told Leilani that it was to be expected. She just needed more rest, more treatments. But Leilani's grandmother knew better. And she told Leilani the story that she hadn't told her before. That she'd never told her, knowing how Leilani didn't like scary stories. Her granny told her of the Mugina, the hungry, cursed spirits doomed to hunt the night, seeking faces that they could steal.

Leilani stopped her there. She didn't want to hear anymore. She didn't need to know anymore. She knew too much already. Well, that's the story. Since then, Magina sightings have kind of come in waves. There'll be a few in a short stretch of time, and then it settles down again for a decade or more. Well, that might just be the nature of stories like this. You know, they come back into fashion and then fade away. Or, of course, it could be that the Mugina only need to make themselves known when they

have to find a new face. Anyway, there's been a few sightings recently. The Wailai Drive-In is long gone, but the Mugina seem to roam all over the islands now. I think the scariest sightings are the ones where a Magina suddenly appears in people's houses or hotel rooms. And maybe those kinds of sightings are more common than we think. Because of course we only hear about a few of those apparitions. Sometimes people convince themselves it was all a nightmare and never tell anyone.

And in other times, well, you can't say that a person disappeared when someone with a face just like theirs is out there walking around. Can you? I guess I could warn you to check the closets and behind your doors and shower curtain before you go to bed tonight. But if you found a Magina, what then? Do you really think you could get away? Camp Monsters is part of the RAI Podcast Network. And don't worry, no Nick Patries were harmed during the recording of that sneeze sound effect from earlier in the episode. Our producer Jenny Barber and our senior producer Hannah Boyd

are munching popcorn in the front seat of their huge 1956 Bel Air, watching that famous scene where our content strategist Lucy Brooks matches wits with both our executive producers, Paolo Motula and Joe Crosby. Best thing since Hepburn and Tracy. Meanwhile, lurking at the very back of the lot, flitting quietly between the parked cars, writer and host Weston Davis searches endlessly, seeking someone who... Who wants peanuts? Popcorn soda pop. I got peanuts here. Ice cold soda pop. Hey, pipe down. We're trying to watch a movie here.

When this season of Cat Monsters ends, don't let the stories end with it. Check out Weston and Nick's new Buried Legends podcast. Terrifying tales that would be, maybe should be forgotten, if they could. But the past has a way of reminding us that nothing stays buried forever. If Whispers had an archive, the Buried Legends podcast would be it. Search Buried Legends wherever you listen to podcasts, and be sure to subscribe now

so you don't miss an episode. Buried Legends launches this November. And that's especially important because next week is the very last episode of this year's edition of Camp Monsters podcast. If you like these stories, please leave a positive review if you haven't already,

and reach out to podcasts at rei.com to let them know how much you enjoy what we do. And as always, tell your friends to listen. It's your support in spreading the word that keeps us recording. Thank you. Next week, we'll pause from swapping stories around the campfire to take a quick selfie. That's a good one. But what's that in the background there? Do you... I don't see anything behind us. Take another one there let's see oh look at that I can see it even better in that one it's like it's like you only see it through a screen but every time you do it's getting closer and closer

and as always the stories we tell here are just stories. Some of them are based on things people claim to have seen and heard, but it's up to you to decide what you believe, and whether or not to look too closely at the faces of the people around you. If they have faces. Thanks for listening, and we'll see you next week.