Читать книгу Colorado Ghost Stories - Antonio Boone's Garcez - Страница 16

My meeting with Martha was a joy I’ll not soon forget. Her eagerness to make me feel welcome in her house and her genuine nature was something I’ll always remember.

Our interview was held in her living room, surrounded by numerous framed family photos she had arranged with care. During the interview, whenever she would speak of a particular family member, she would get up off her chair and return with one of their photos, saying “Here, this is him, oh, he was such a handsome man,” etc.

Martha’s story is a winding story of secrets, travels, and heartfelt sincerity, and it is so very telling in its moralistic description. I admittedly was emotionally moved.

— Antonio

“Originally I was born in Colorado, then moved to Seattle, Washington, in the late 1960s. In 1984, I returned to Colorado, and remain to this day in Cañon City. My story is about an aunt of mine who lived most all her life in Cañon City. She was my favorite aunt, Aunt Billie. Both she and I kept in close contact with each other throughout her life. There was a similarity in our lives, which we were both somewhat proud of, in that we never did marry, remaining spinsters.

Aunt Billie was born in 1904 and was the oldest of three children, a boy and two girls. My mother was the youngest. For as long as I could remember my Aunt Billie always wore her hair in a tight bun in the back of her hair. And she never did change this hairstyle. From the start, my mother told me that my aunt was a very strong-willed girl and had her own way of doing things. From time to time when the question would arise as to why she had never married, Aunt Billie would respond, “Men are too complicated. I like my life to be simple. I don’t need a man hanging around me like a lost calf.”

In her later years, Aunt Billie began to suffer from rheumatoid arthritis in her spine and joints. This condition worsened as the years came and went. Because of this chronic disease she never once visited me in Seattle. When I’d ask her to visit she would answer, “Oh, it’s too wet and cold. Opossum, you know my back can’t take the wet rain.” ‘Opossum’ was an endearing name she would call me. Having been a premature new- born, Aunt Billie said that when she had first laid her eyes on me, I resembled a tiny little mouse, or baby opossum. So, from an early age, as soon as I was able to understand people and my surroundings, I always associated my aunt’s face with the special endearing name she’d call me. Our bond as aunt and niece grew stronger as the years past. I would attempt to visit my aunt at least once a year, or once every other year. I always remembered special days in her life, like birthdays and holidays until the day Aunt Billie abruptly died. It was a fall day. Her death was due to the rupture of an abdominal aortic aneurysm. Up until the end of her life in 1984, we both remained very close.

Aunt Billie wearing a red hair-bow.

Within the week of her death, a few close friends from her church had cleaned her house and boxed up all her personal items, then placed them in her garage. After selling my house in just two weeks, I decided to make the move to my aunt’s house in Cañon City. I made the long move in the fall of 1984 from Washington State, and as I’d stated before, have made Canyon City my home ever since.

Aunt Billie’s personality was that of a very quiet person. To those who did not know her well, at times she would appear to be a bit of a secretive individual. Overall, she was friendly and filled with compassion for those who knew her at church. She never gave me any reason to doubt that she would hide any secrets from me—ever. But as the months went by, I would soon find out a secret that she kept well hidden all her life.

There was a period in her life, about two years, when she left Colorado to work for a water faucet manufacturing company, in Kansas City, Missouri. This was what she told my family. She never did say much about her move, except, “I’ll never want to visit that town again.” There was not more she would add to this except to say that the weather was too humid, the people were not friendly, and she could not wait to pick up her check at the end of her employment and return to Colorado. This was the extent of the story she had told my mother regarding her two years spent in Missouri. Because my aunt, on rare occasions, was known to display a bit of anger, my family never did press this issue with her. But my mother could sense there was something “not right” about her explanation, so instead of asking the question of what really transpired during those two years, we just never mentioned it again.

After I moved into my aunt’s house, there was nothing unusual that immediately took place that I could claim as being haunted. Everything was going along well, and I spent the fall at the house in peace. I kept the majority of my aunt’s furnishings, but purchased a new mattress for the bed. The garage still contained the taped and sealed cardboard boxes of her personal items that her fellow church friends had stored for me. I didn’t even think of going through any of the boxes until the weather turned warmer in the late spring. During my first month at the house, my aunt’s friends would occasionally drop by to say hello and to reminisce about my aunt, and the times they had all spent together.

As I said, I had not experienced any strange occurrences but, in late November, I began to notice that something very curious was repeatedly taking place with unusual regularity.

This began one morning when I was seated at my chair in the kitchen. I remember the date and time. It was November 15 at 10:36 a.m. I was finishing up my breakfast and I had just poured myself coffee. No sooner had I sat down that I began to hear the sound of a small kitten, or baby, crying. I love cats, although I hadn’t owned one for more than three years after my last cat had died. I listened for a minute, when I noticed that it began to get louder. I grew concerned for the kitten, and got off my chair and walked a few steps to the door that led outside the kitchen. I opened it and looked around, but didn’t see a kitten, or cat.

I understand that this in itself is not unusual, but while I was standing at the door, I heard the crying sound once more, this time it appeared to be coming from inside the house, from the direction of the living room. I walked over to the living room and now clearly heard the muffled sounds of a baby’s cries. Strangely, the sound was not a very loud sound, but was more muted and repressed. I must have stood in my living room for a good five minutes, listening and waiting for something—anything—else to happen.

The cries were definitely not those of a kitten’s, this was the sound that a very young infant would make. Most importantly, the cries were coming from somewhere in the house. I looked out the front window several times, and never saw a baby in the yard or on the sidewalk. No, these cries were coming from within my house. As the minutes past, the crying also disappeared, and I was left with more questions than answers.

Throughout the day the crying would start then stop. For the coming days, this is how things continued for me. I knew this was not something that I could, or would, tolerate for very long. Sometimes, I would be awakened at night by the sounds, and sometimes I would be lulled to sleep by them. I can’t explain why, but I knew that the child’s crying was of a spiritual nature. The crying was such a distant and soft sound, that I was not very bothered by it, however it did cause concern for me. This continued for just three or four days, not nearly a week before I decided to put an end to it.

During the time I lived in Seattle, I once attended a book signing at a local bookstore for an author who wrote about the paranormal. I remember she responded to a question from the audience that pertained to the subject of spirits in her presentation. In her response, she offered a few spiritual, countermeasures for eliminating unwanted entities. One that remained in my memory was her instruction to speak to the spirits directly. In addition, she also mentioned that lighting a candle blessed the area and intensified the communication process. She described in detail a bit more of the process, but the only portion I could recall was those two simple rules. Talk to the spirits and light a candle. So, the next time I heard the crying, I lit a candle and began to speak to the spirit of the baby that resided in my aunt’s house.

I was sitting in the living room watching television when suddenly, once more the crying started up. I turned off the television, and got up off my chair and lit the candle that I had placed on my coffee table. I was anticipating the opportunity to do this, so I was ready. I was eager to communicate with the spirit. Surprisingly, I was not the least bit scared. After all, it was only a baby. After lighting the candle, I said, “Please, whoever you are, I want you to leave this house and be at peace. I don’t want you to stay around and cry like you have been doing. So, please go and find the peace you need. I do not like hearing your crying, please leave my house, and find your mother.” I also said a few more things that I can’t remember, but those were the majority of my words. The crying seemed to end right after I spoke. I let the candle burn for the remainder of the evening and then I settled into bed for the night.

From my bedroom, I could see the small shadows dance about the wall in my hallway that were created by the somber, flickering flame. I had not heard any further crying since I had stated my concerns to the spirit earlier in the day. I personally felt a peace come over myself and within the house. I slept soundly throughout that night except for the time very early that morning when I had a dream that was so vivid and realistic, I found it difficult to imagine it as being only just a dream.

In this dream, I found myself walking into a large room that was painted white, and was so brightly bathed in a bright light that I had to squint. As I entered the room I spotted a woman who was seated in a chair with her back to me. As I approached her, I immediately saw that it was my Aunt Billie! Her head was bowed down, looking at the newborn baby in her arms. My aunt’s hair was long and draped around her shoulders. It was not at all as I remembered her customarily wearing it, in a tight bun. She seemed relaxed and had a loving smile on her face. She also looked to be so very, very young. I would guess her to be in her mid-20s. There were no words exchanged between us. I tried to speak, but I was unable to form a sentence, not even a single word. We simply looked into each other’s eyes, and that seemed to be enough.

Within just a minute, my aunt stood up off her chair and turned to her side, displaying the newborn to me proudly. This act indicated to me how much love there was between her and the baby. I instinctively reached out to hold the baby in my arms, but immediately, somehow I knew that I could not, so I returned my arms to my side. As soon as I did this, I awoke from my dream. It was all that sudden.

After I awoke that morning, the crying baby sounds never returned. I knew that my attempt to communicate with the spirit, and lighting the candle triggered some sort of cleansing that cleared my house of that poor innocent baby’s anguished soul. My dream sealed these thoughts for me, and I was so happy to know that my aunt’s spirit was also helping me get through this. I was very happy to have dreamed such a beautiful dream about my aunt and the baby in her arms.

A few months later, as the weather warmed up a bit, I decided to bring from the garage, into the house, one of Aunt Billie’s cardboard boxes. I wanted to finally search through my aunt’s personal papers, and whatever else she might have stored. There were about 10 boxes and two big, old trunks. I decided to leave the trunks for last.

Aunt Billie with “Freddie” during the winter of 1941.

I discovered a few surprises such as photos of relatives, and an old photo of my aunt, my uncle and my mother, which was taken in the year 1910. I also found a hand-beaded necklace, and two pewter spoons that belonged to my great-grandmother. There were linens, Christmas cards and a collection of small hats, and other non- valuables, but that was about it. It was not until I decided to open the remaining locked trunks that things got very interesting indeed.

Because they were so heavy, and I was not able to carry them into the house, I took a folding chair into the garage and seated myself before the first trunk. I looked all over for the keys, but was unable to find them. I asked an older gentleman friend of my aunt’s who lived nearby to help me open both the trunks. He used a large screwdriver and hammer, and after spending a few minutes, he eventually opened them both.

While attempting to open the second trunk, the poor man missed hitting the screwdriver and accidentally struck his hand, breaking his skin, which caused a nasty cut. Because he was taking a prescribed blood thinner, he bled quite a bit on the cement floor.

It wasn’t a serious wound, but it did need attention. So, he left me and returned to his home to clean the wound. After cleaning up the spots of blood on the cement floor, I sat myself by the first trunk and began my discovery of what other items my aunt had stored.

The first trunk contained papers, mostly cancelled checks and additionally included a beautiful quilt. The quilt was unusable because it was damaged from mouse droppings and moldy spots. The trunk also contained a large tin box that was filled with Christmas ornaments. That was the extent of its contents. Now the other trunk was next in line.

As soon as I opened its lid, I knew that this trunk’s purpose was for much more important items. The small boxes it contained were stacked neatly and my aunt had taken great care by stuffing wadded newspaper between them, in order to secure them from movement. Slowly, I opened the first box and discovered letters that were typewritten from a hospital in Kansas City, detailing its cost for services rendered. The invoices were made out to my aunt, and were marked ‘paid in full’.

One box contained a baby rattle and blanket. Another box contained the most surprising items of all. As I opened its lid, I found placed on top of it a small stack of invoices, a four-by-five-inch picture of an infant who appeared to be asleep on a large white pillow. I picked the picture up and turned it over, on the back my aunt had written in pencil the words, ‘My precious, Elizabeth Lavender Owen. Age 11 days. Mother’s dove and life.’ My jaw dropped wide open!

The papers that the picture rested upon, I discovered, were paid invoices describing funeral and cemetery services rendered from a funeral home and cemetery in Kansas City. My heart was broken. I must have cried and cried for a full hour. I was emotionally on the verge of collapsing. Everything was now making such sad sense to me. My dear aunt had gotten pregnant out of wedlock, then moved out of state, to Kansas City, to give birth to a child she would eventually lose to a very early death. I was devastated. Although I was so sad, I could only imagine how terrible of a time it must have been for my Aunt Billie, to have to deal with this difficult situation on her own, so many years ago and in secret. It must have been an awful period for her.

Then, as I was trying to process it all, the realization of hearing the crying sounds, and the dream I dreamt, hit me like a ton of bricks. I now knew the meaning of my experiences at my aunt’s house. There was a reason for it all. I believe it was a divine reason. I believed that when, and only when, I would discover the truth behind my aunt’s hidden life, would be the moment she, her daughter, the cousin I never knew, would achieve a final peace. Although I felt that I had reached a sort of personal family discovery, more than that, I wanted to believe that there was a divine hand that had played a major role in the whole process.

Several days later, I would look at the picture of my little dead cousin on that dark pillow and would start to cry all over again. It was a long time before I was able to look at the picture and smile with a sense of peace, knowing that she, Elizabeth Lavender Owen, and her mother, were now forever together.

Today, I keep both my aunt and my little cousin’s picture by my bed and I light a candle to both their memories on their birthdays. On Christmas, I decorate a tree and place their pictures within the branches of the tree. Aside from the other decorations, to me, they are the ornaments that matter the most.”