Royal Ghost at the Sheraton Ka‘iulani Hotel
Royal Ghost at the Sheraton Ka‘iulani Hotel
Princess Ka‘iulani and ‘Ainahau
In the heart of Waikīkī, where tourists now gather beneath the glow of resort lights, the lingering presence of Hawaii’s last princess has never quite faded. Her name was Princess Victoria Kawekiu I Lunalilo Kalaninuiahilapalapa Kaʻiulani Cleghorn, also known simply 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. She was the only child born to the Kalākaua dynasty and, by right, the last heir to the throne of the Hawaiian Kingdom.
Her childhood home was ʻĀinahau, a lush 10-acre estate in Waikīkī gifted to her by her godmother, Princess Ruth Keʻelikōlani. Nestled in what was then known as ‘Au‘aukai, the estate became a royal retreat where Kaʻiulani spent most of her life. The grounds were filled with cool streams, tropical plants, and peacocks, the young Princess’s favorite birds. It’s believed the first banyan tree in Hawaiʻi was planted there, its roots sinking deep into lush soil.
Just in front of the driveway of ‘Āinahau along Kalākaua Avenue stood Waikīkī’s first grammar school, a humble graveyard, and a little church, a branch of Kawaiahaʻo Church. The small white chapel, nestled among coconut trees, served a congregation of working-class residents and added a spiritual stillness to the neighborhood.
But over time, the spirit of the land began to shift.
In 1899, after a brief illness, Princess Kaʻiulani died at the age of 23. That night, her beloved 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.
In 1916, Kawaiahaʻo Church sold the old graveyard surrounding the little church to the Territorial Hotel Company, which planned to expand the Moana Hotel. Dozens of burials were exhumed and relocated. The land was cleared. In the late 1920s, the dredging of the Ala Wai Canal drained the waterways that once nourished ʻĀinahau. Nature dried up, and memory with it.
Today, the Sheraton Princess Kaʻiulani Hotel sits on what was once the long driveway to the ʻĀinahau estate. Beneath the surface of the swimming pool and souvenir shops lies the site of the old graveyard.
And perhaps something else, too.
Guests who stay at the Sheraton Princess Kaʻiulani Hotel have reported unexplainable chills, feelings of being watched, and fleeting glimpses of shadows in empty hallways. Some say they’ve encountered the gentle presence of the Princess herself—an apparition dressed in old-style Victorian gown, quietly observing, sometimes even offering comfort to the weary. But not every encounter is peaceful.
Others speak of cold spots that never warm, even in Hawaiʻi’s tropical heat. Unseen figures moving just out of view. A heaviness in certain rooms that refuses to lift. Could these hauntings be the echoes of a beloved Princess, or something older—something buried beneath concrete and forgotten?
In 2008, during the production of the film Princess Kaʻiulani, the cast and crew reported strange events while filming at ʻIolani Palace: whispers in empty rooms, unexplained shadows. Then, tragedy struck. One of the production managers died in a sudden accident—at the Sheraton Princess Kaʻiulani Hotel—just days before filming began.
Some called it coincidence. Others, a curse.
Was it a warning? An insulted spirit? The Princess herself, disturbed by how her legacy had been handled? Or could it be the ancient ones, the iwi kūpuna, whose bones were once laid to rest in that sacred place, only to be removed in the name of progress?
Waikīkī may look like paradise. But sometimes, when the lights dim and the air grows cold, the past rises to the surface.
And if you listen closely, you might still hear the cry of the peacocks.
A Graceful Guide from Beyond
Brad and Peg Jones arrived in Honolulu on March 6, 1999, weary from their long flight from Denver. The Sheraton Princess Kaʻiulani Hotel, where they would also be attending a convention, welcomed them with island warmth. By 3:00 p.m., they were checked in and headed straight to their room to rest before the evening event.
Jetlag overtook them. They awoke with a start at 6:23 p.m.—the convention was scheduled to begin at 7:00. In a flurry of hurried dressing and minor arguments, they raced downstairs to ask for directions to the ʻAinahau Showroom.
The hotel clerk pointed them toward the escalator at the west end of the lobby. “It’ll take you right up,” he said. But when Brad and Peg followed the instructions, they found themselves in unfamiliar corridors with no ballroom in sight. Again and again, they wandered in circles, somehow ending up outside facing Kalākaua Avenue.
Discouraged and still bickering, they gave up and returned to the eleventh floor. As they stepped off the elevator, a striking Hawaiian woman in a vintage gown approached them in the hallway.
“Oh my,” she said with a lilting British accent, “what could be the matter that causes you to argue so?”
Stunned, Brad muttered that everything was fine. But Peg confessed, “We’re just lost—we were looking for the ʻAinahau Showroom and couldn’t find it.”
The young woman laughed gently. “Oh, bother. I can show you the way. Please, we’ll take the cart down.”
Neither Brad nor Peg could recall if she pressed the elevator button, but the doors opened as if waiting for her. Inside, she turned to them and said softly, “It may not bode well for visitors to lose their way here—especially those from far-off Denver.”
Moments later, the elevator opened to the same escalator they had seen before. “At the top of that landing,” she said, “you’ll find the room you’re looking for.”
“May I ask your name?” Brad asked.
“Victoria,” she replied, before vanishing without a sound.
The next morning, while walking through the hotel lobby, Peg noticed something that stopped her cold—framed portraits of the same woman who had helped them the night before.
“Excuse us,” Brad said to the clerk. “That’s Victoria, right? She helped us find our way last night.”
The clerk smiled and nodded. “Go look at the plaque beneath the portrait.”
They did.
It read: Princess Victoria Kaʻiulani Kalaninuiahilapalapa Kawekiu i Lunalilo Cleghorn.
There she was—in the very dress she’d worn the night before, wearing the same gentle smile.
Brad and Peg were covered in goosebumps. As they would later learn, the date of their encounter—March 6—marked exactly 100 years since the young princess had passed away in her beloved home of ʻĀinahau. Since that night, Brad and Peg have heard of others’ experiences at the Sheraton, the chills, the eerie feelings, and they don’t believe those negative feelings were caused by Hawaii’s last Princess.
Perhaps it wasn’t confusion or coincidence after all. Perhaps, for just one night, Princess Kaʻiulani had returned to guide two lost souls through her former kingdom—with grace, kindness, and a royal sense of aloha.
Spooks and spirits in haunted Honolulu
If these tales from the Sheraton Princess Kaʻiulani Hotel gave you chills, just wait until you experience haunted Waikīkī in person. Join us on a Waikiki ghost tour and explore the supernatural side of Honolulu ghost tours, where legends of night marchers, sacred burial grounds, and royal spirits still linger. The Sheraton may be considered by many the most haunted hotel in Hawai‘i, but it’s only one piece of a much larger story. From the shadowy corners of haunted places in Hawai‘i to the lingering echoes of supernatural Honolulu, our tours dive deep into what makes this island both beautiful and mysterious.