Some people believe that in the heart of Waikīkī, the lingering presence of Hawai‘i’s last royal princess has never quite faded.
Her name was Victoria Kawekiu I Lunalilo Kalaninuiahilapalapa Kaʻiulani Cleghorn, also known affectionately as Princess Kaʻiulani.
Born on October 16, 1875, in Honolulu, Kaʻiulani was the daughter of Princess Miriam Likelike (sister to both King Kalākaua and Queen Liliʻuokalani) and Scottish businessman Archibald Cleghorn. In 1891, Queen Liliʻuokalani named Kaʻiulani her successor to the throne, making Kaʻiulani the last officially designated heir of the Hawaiian Kingdom.
Her childhood home was a lush 10-acre estate in Waikīkī called ʻĀinahau, gifted to her by her godmother, Princess Ruth Keʻelikōlani. Located in the area of Waikīkī known as ‘Au‘aukai, the estate was where Kaʻiulani spent much of her life with close family, friends, and her beloved peacocks. Her father was a serious horticulturist who introduced plants from around the world, so the ‘Āinahau estate was always lush and green. Archibald Cleghorn is also widely credited with planting Hawaii’s first banyan at ʻĀinahau, sometime around 1870.
In 1899, after a brief illness, Princess Kaʻiulani died at the age of 23. That night, her peacocks reportedly screamed loud enough for people to hear them miles away. Many believed the birds were mourning their mistress. Her mother, Princess Likelike, had also died at ʻĀinahau years earlier. Her father, Cleghorn, passed away there in 1910.
After the royal family was gone, the estate changed hands. From 1913 to 1917, ʻĀinahau was leased and operated as a hotel. Then came the transformation of Waikīkī itself.
Along Kalākaua Avenue, just in front of the driveway to ʻĀinahau, stood Waikīkī’s first grammar school, a humble graveyard, and a small church affiliated with Kawaiahaʻo Church. Nestled among coconut trees, the small chapel served a congregation of working-class residents of the neighborhood.
Time continued to march on, and in 1916, Kawaiahaʻo Church sold the Waikīkī church and graveyard property to the Territorial Hotel Company, which planned to expand the Moana Hotel. The remains of dozens of people were exhumed and quietly reinterred at the main cemetery on Queen Street. The land was cleared to make way for progress.
Just a short time afterward, in the late 1920s, the dredging of the Ala Wai Canal drained the waterways that once nourished ʻĀinahau. Nature dried up, and so did some of the memories of old Waikīkī.
Today, the Sheraton Princess Kaʻiulani Waikīkī Beach Hotel sits on what was once the long driveway to the ʻĀinahau estate. Beneath the hotel’s swimming pool area and souvenir shops lies the site of the old church and graveyard. And perhaps something else is there, too.
Guests who’ve stayed at the Sheraton Princess Kaʻiulani Hotel have reported unexplainable chicken skin (goosebumps), the feeling of being watched, and glimpses of shadows in empty hallways. Others have mentioned cold spots that never warm and a heaviness in certain rooms.
Some say they’ve encountered the gentle presence of the Princess herself as an apparition wearing an old-style Victorian gown, quietly observing and sometimes even offering comfort to the weary.
For several years, the hotel workers were kind enough to let me bring my ghost tour through their lobby while I shared stories of the area with my guests. Some might remember how the lobby was once filled with paintings and photos of the late princess. One particular portrait stood out to me, and I always made a point of showing it to my guests.
A life-sized picture of Princess Ka‘iulani hung on a wall near the porte cochère. The young woman wore a black Victorian-style dress and a large black hat, but it was her lifelike appearance that caught my attention. Her eyes seemed to follow you as you moved. She seemed almost present, as though at any moment she might step out of the portrait and into the hall with us.
One day, as I stood in front of the picture contemplating what life might have been like in her day, I swear I saw her blink. Perhaps it was my fervent imagination or wishful thinking, but I went on with my day, walking through Waikīkī. Later, I ran into a gentleman who used to work as a concierge at the Ka‘iulani Hotel. I shared my story with him, and he smiled and nodded.
“I know which one you’re talking about,” he said. “You’re not the only one.”
He didn’t say anything more on the subject, and I was left to wonder how many people had the same experience I did. Was it a glitch in the lights above the painting? Were we all subject to the same hallucination?
Months later, I brought my tour group through the hotel lobby like I did every week. We stopped in front of the portrait, and I began to share the story about the young princess attending school at Great Harrowden Hall in England when a woman in my group let out a yelp.
“She blinked!” the woman shouted. “The woman in the picture just blinked!”
Although the woman was the only person who saw it, the entire group suddenly huddled closer together, training their cell phone cameras on the portrait. I don’t think anyone got a video of the portrait actually blinking, but it was certainly an interesting night.
A few months after that, the hotel began a series of renovations and redecorating, and I made sure to stay away from the area to avoid any injuries or complaints. But when the grand lobby reopened, my heart ached a bit when I realized that the portrait was gone. I asked a few employees at the front desk and concierge where it went, but no one was really sure.
I never found out what happened to the portrait. Maybe it ended up in a storage room somewhere, or in someone’s private collection. Perhaps it was given to an employee or simply discarded. Wherever it is, I like to think that the princess is still watching through the eyes of the portrait.
‘Āinahau and the tiny church and graveyard may have disappeared, and much of old Waikīkī may have been buried beneath concrete and asphalt, but if the stories are true, maybe Princess Ka‘iulani never really left.
The authors can be reached at hawaii.mysteries@gmail.com
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