It's nighttime in Honolulu and you're sitting on the beach under a waning crescent moon.

In front of you, waves crash on the shore, and behind you sits a campsite that you and your friends just put the finishing touches on, nestled in some trees.

It's so peaceful. You and your friends sit in the sand, sipping beverages around a campfire, sharing memories.

When all of a sudden you hear something in the distance.

It catches you off guard and your friends laugh when you flinch. You look around to see who made the sound at the campsite,

but you notice that there's no one

camped here besides you three and what little you can see in the dim line of the

crescent moon just underscores how alone you are.

In between the trees behind you is just empty blackness.

And then you hear it again. This time, closer. One of your friends tells the rest to stop messing around,

but how could it be any of you?

It sounds like it's coming from the other end of the beach.

But when you look down there, it doesn't seem like anyone is on the beach with you.

Then it's silent the horn doesn't sound again after that you

start to think maybe it was all in your mind or maybe it was a ship in the distance, invisible in the thick cover of night, the

three of you laugh it off. What's that? The sound of pulsing drums start in the distance. First quiet and then

growing louder. The horn blasts again. And now you can hear people chanting. This time when you look, you

notice little lights at the other end of the beach,

about a dozen of them, bobbing up and down in a line

as if they're being held by soldiers marching.

Before you can even make sense of what you're seeing, someone grabs you by the shoulder.

Get down!

...