Back in early 1994, I wrote one of the most interesting stories of my career with the old Honolulu Star-Bulletin. It described an abandoned view home on an acre of land at the top of Ahuimanu that had fallen into ruin, its owner missing for years, and anyone with a potential legal claim to the property disclaiming any interest.

The kids in the neighborhood called it the haunted house of Ahuimanu.

I learned about the situation from a friend who lived nearby and had tried to make an offer to buy the property, going to great lengths in an attempt to find the recorded owner, or someone able to make a deal on his behalf. He quickly hit a dead end. The owner, a local man about 45, had purchased the house via an agreement of sale which had never been finally paid off. The seller, then living in Australia, declined to get involved, saying there were family friends involved.

After several interviews and spending time digging through public records, I drove up to look at the place myself.

I can vividly remember the moment I hopped a fence and entered the property, now more than 30 years ago. I have photos somewhere. The problem is finding them. That’s for another day.

But I sat down immediately afterwards and jotted down my impressions, and found them in an old archived computer file.

Visited Jan 26, 1994.

Low wrought iron gate. Now wired shut. Chicken wire laid across a surrounding rock wall, now intertwined with plants and shrubs.

Tall grasses are growing on the roof, where trees have also sprouted and grown 10-15 feet tall.

The garage is burned out. On the right as you approach from the street is the rusted and stripped hulk of an MG convertible sports car, license plate intact. On the left and to the rear of the garage is a mound of rubble. Car parts, old beer cans, etc.

A hose is coiled up, but now burned. At the entrance to the garage is another hose, this one looking new and bright green. [A clue–if unused as long as the house, it would not look like this, and it would be overgrown.]

You exit the garage though a door at the right rear. To the right is a door into the former kitchen. It is trashed. Everything inside is charred black, burned in at least two prior fires. Inside the door are the remains of a burned-out washer-dryer set, surrounded by mounds of newspapers, charred, partly burned, now matted down into paper mache.

Straight out the back of the garage is the pool, which sits at the open end of a U-shaped courtyard formed by the house. The pool is covered with a thick layer of green algae. A frog, or something, jumps back into the water.

To the left of the pool are the remains of a wooden bridge that extended across a small stream to the back yard, a field that probably takes up most of the acre of land. The bridge is now collapsed, wood rotted.

Back inside: newspapers stewn throughout are dated 1976 through 1980. I don’t see any beyond that date.

In the living room: large openings across the entire far wall where formerly picture windows were. A beautiful view. Standing at the window openings, you view right across to Kualoa Point and Mokolii.

A stone fireplace and chimney are built-in to the left of the windows.

On the other side of the room, there are the burned out remains of what appears to be a baby grand piano. Top layer is a metal frame, with the sets of wires showing.

On the left of the living room, facing the windows, is a door that goes over to the bedrooms.

At the doorway, another pile of papers. Among them, one set of partly burned papers appear to be part of a book.

I pick up the top page, and print jumps out: “Such is the forgotten man.”

Chicken skin.

I even paid a private investigator to do a basic records check. They found nothing.

No credit history in the owner’s name in any of the credit bureaus.

No drivers license.

No vehicle registration.

A nationwide search of drivers licenses turned up nothing during the last five years.

No criminal records, nothing, either as victim or complainant.

No missing person report.

His family said they had no information about his whereabouts.

But while writing this, I did another online search, and “Find a Grave” came up with new information.

It seems that the owner died in Honolulu in August 2012, 18 years after my story was published.

Court records confirm that he died intestate, without a will. His sister was appointed the personal representative of the estate, which owed no estate taxes.

Real estate records show the agreement of sale was cancelled after his death, and title went back to the former wife of the original seller, who had since also died.

The lot remains empty, according to city records. The last entry was a permit for demolition in March 1995, which listed the City & County of Honolulu as owner. Value of the job was reported as $9,800.

End of story, for now. I’ll have to look at the probate court file to see if there’s any information about the quiet death of this forgotten man.

Read the original story (“Mystery shrouds this old house“) and a folo story published a year later after the city bulldozed the site.