Mexican Ghost Tales of the Southwest (3 page)

The sound of flapping wings was getting closer. He struggled to lift himself up. He looked into the early morning sky and spotted an owl flying in the pulsing wind. The owl was a totem of his Tarahumara fathers. A sign! The gods were with him. Hope arose in his tired body. The flapping of wings was drawing closer. He looked back into the sky and saw his tormentors. They were flying high, way up in the sky. They flew knowing they had reached their prey, and they had to move fast. The dark sky was beginning to turn light. Death was but a few moments away. They would taste fresh blood, and their fangs would bite deep into his tender flesh.

Cuco sat on the grassy slope, the wind hitting his face. His final moments were near. He clasped his hands and prayed to the god of the Spaniards, repeating the prayer the village priest, Padre Juan, had taught him. Then it came, like a thousand voices of angels piercing the early morning sky, roaring and echoing across the valley. It came from a
distant village—“Koo-koo-roo-koo!”—a rooster's crow

tant village—“Koo-koo-roo-koo!”—a rooster's crow calling the people of the earth to the dawn of a new day!

He looked upward and saw the witches descending, their wings shredded into a hundred pieces. They came tumbling down from the windy sky, downward, down, onto the hard surface of the arid slope. He could hear the grisly sound of bones and gristle smashing on the ground. The evil hunters were dead. The deadly plunge sent them back to the pit that had spawned them.

It is said that the crowing of the rooster has magical powers. It takes away the witch's ability to fly, robs her of her supernatural powers, and blinds her cat eyes. She becomes helpless. Woe to the witch who is caught wandering about when the rooster crows! Death becomes her reward.

Cuco lay there exhausted. He would live to walk the ancient land of his ancestors, and he would never again disobey his father and the teachings of his elders. He felt good in the gusting wind as he picked himself up and headed up the slope to his distant village.

THE PEPPER TREE

calling the people of the earth to the dawn of a new day!

He looked upward and saw the witches descending, their wings shredded into a hundred pieces. They came tumbling down from the windy sky, downward, down, onto the hard surface of the arid slope. He could hear the grisly sound of bones and gristle smashing on the ground. The evil hunters were dead. The deadly plunge sent them back to the pit that had spawned them.

It is said that the crowing of the rooster has magical powers. It takes away the witch's ability to fly, robs her of her supernatural powers, and blinds her cat eyes. She becomes helpless. Woe to the witch who is caught wandering about when the rooster crows! Death becomes her reward.

Cuco lay there exhausted. He would live to walk the ancient land of his ancestors, and he would never again disobey his father and the teachings of his elders. He felt good in the gusting wind as he picked himself up and headed up the slope to his distant village.

T
he old man lived in a weather-beaten shack on the road that led to the river. He had seen many good times as well as bad times, and the fires of life had made him hard and wrinkled. His one dream was to return to his home, a small town in Chihuahua called Meoqui. But he was poor, and for this reason, he had to accept an existence of hardship and exile.

“What a life! One of these days I'll go back home,” the old man would mutter to himself, dreaming of a better way.

Sometimes, sitting on a stool in front of his shack, he would look toward the grove of cottonwoods and watch the crows cackling and flying among the trees. Here and there, like lonely sentinels, grew the old pepper trees. Their ancient gnarled branches and trunks made them look like old men beseeching the clouds to release them from the curse of standing in the fields to be scorched by summer's hot sun and numbed by winter's frosty winds. The ground beneath the trees was covered with messy piles of small leaves and berries.

The wind came that night, howling and whistling around the shack. “The Devil himself,” the old man mumbled as he lay down to sleep. “He's searching for evildoers to carry away.”

At midnight, the clock on the wall seemed to tick louder than usual. The old man awoke suddenly and was seized with fear. Something was in the room. He peered into the darkness. A moan came softly from the other side.

“Who is it?” he asked fearfully of the moaning shadow.

“I have gold!” The voice echoed in the room. “I have gold!” it repeated again.

All the old man could do was stare across the room trembling. He wanted to say something, but fear was choking him and he could not utter a sound.

“I have gold! I have gold!” the ghost repeated again and again. Then it disappeared, and only the gentle howling of the wind could be heard.

The old man could feel the pounding of his heart. He felt faint, and his trembling hands could hardly grasp the bedding.

The next day he thought about what had occurred the night before. He told himself that he had to overcome his fear and ask the ghost about the gold and its location. “The ghost must return and reveal the secret of the gold so it can find peace in the other world,” the old man reasoned. And he silently assured himself that he would succeed that night in finding out the location of the treasure.

Again that night at the hour of midnight, the ghost returned. “I have gold! I have gold!” it repeated.

The old man overcame some of his fear and in a frightened, hoarse voice asked, “Where is the gold?”

The ghost slowly answered, “In a pepper tree. In a pepper tree.” And it again disappeared. The lonely hoot of an owl could be heard from the faraway pepper trees. The silence of the night returned to the shadows of the room.

“The gold escaped me again!” the old man muttered. “Perhaps tomorrow,” he consoled himself as he fell into the peaceful slumber of the living.

The following night the old man was determined to learn the secret of the gold. Greed had overcome
his fear. “If I find out the secret of the gold, I could return home to Meoqui and Chihuahua, to my homeland. To my country!” he exclaimed aloud. He would find out tonight.

The ticking of the clock was loud that night. He could not sleep. He could only think of the gold.

Suddenly, he heard the low moan and felt the presence of the ghost. It stood by the window, pointing in the direction of a huge pepper tree that grew beside the large grove of cottonwoods. He could not see the features of the ghost, only its tattered shroud and the bony fingers of its meatless claws pointing in the direction of that tree.

“In the pepper tree. In the pepper tree,” the ghost moaned softly across the room to the now wide-eyed, greedy little old man.

As the ghost disappeared, the old man raised himself from his bed, quickly put on his serape and his leather sandals, and headed across the room. He looked out the window in the direction of the tree. “My treasure. My life!”

As he opened the door, the cold night air hit his face and a chill ran down his spine. But his mind was made up. The gold was beckoning him on. Not even the dark of the night nor its demons would stop him. The craze for gold possessed him and was the driving force that quickly moved him across the dry grassy field in the direction the ghost had pointed.

He could make out the silhouette of the pepper tree in the distance. He started to half run, looking around, hesitating at times as if he were expecting

THE DEVIL AND THE MATCH

someone to step out from the darkness and wake him up from his dream.

As he approached the tree, the sky seemed to get darker and the shadows faded. The remaining light was disappearing. As he got closer to the tree, he could hear the ghostly voice softly repeat, “I have gold!” The words inflamed his desire to move onward.

Now he could make out a figure standing near the tree. “It's the ghost waiting to show me where the gold is.”

As the old man got closer, he said out loud to the shrouded figure, “Where's the gold?”

The shroud slipped off the ghostly head. The old man was terrified by what he saw. A white skull gleamed in the darkness. “The Bald One, the Bald One!” he screamed in the darkness, his eyes riveted on the talking skull of Death, as the ground opened up beneath his feet.

“Your treasure is death,” the ghost said as the old man plunged downward into the bottomless pit of death, his screams piercing the stillness of the night.

Don't be like the old man and let the lust for gold blind you or greed be your guide. Remember the saying that gold and greed go hand in hand, and that if you do not know when to walk away from them you could well meet their master, the Bald One, in the shade of the pepper tree.

THE DEVIL BABY

THE DEVIL AND THE MATCH