Читать книгу American Indian Ghost Stories of the West - Antonio Sr. Garcez - Страница 8

During our interview, I sat across from Benjamin in a humble and thankfully, very air conditioned neighborhood Mexican restaurant, located in Phoenix. Surprisingly Benjamin’s right arm was in a sling due to having been in a car accident just a few days prior. Benjamin was happy to know that I had contacted him for his personal story and stated: “It’s great, it’s all great. I’ve been wanting to tell my story for a long time, and you’re just the guy I’m hoping will get it out there for others to know about.” I assured him that I would do my best.

Thus, before you I present the first story I’ve chosen which will set the tone for all the others. I know you’ll enjoy Benjamin’s personal story for its emotionally inspired content and at times frightening character.

— Antonio

“My one and only experience with a ghost took place in the summer of 1991 when I was twenty-six years old. Up to that point, I can’t remember ever having had any type of a paranormal experience. Of course there have been times when I’ve overheard friends and family discuss such things as ghosts and haunted areas, but I’ve never given the subject much attention. All this changed for me during one summer night in Montana. I had completed four years of graduate work in Art History at the University of Colorado, and with a master’s degree under my arm; I made plans to give myself a break from all my hours of study. I thought that rewarding myself with a trip to Canada would be a nice change. Also, I knew that once I entered the job market, it would be a long time before I would have the opportunity to travel for quite some time. In fact, I already had two job offers waiting for me once I returned home. Honestly I was in no hurry to return to an office, so I was very eager to begin my trip.

My reason for driving all the way up to Canada was to visit Jerry, a Cree Indian friend, whom I met while attending school. Jerry lived in the province of Alberta, and was a real joker of a guy. Among us Indian students, Jerry was known for his wacky sense of humor. I couldn’t wait to get on the road. I packed my small Toyota with all the necessary camping gear—tent and snacks—then got on the interstate heading north to Wyoming, Montana, and my ultimate destination, Canada. Along the way, I spent nights in public campgrounds, which were located in state and national parks. Before leaving the northern-most portion of state of Wyoming, I spent six days in the town of Sheridan. Another friend from college, Tom, lived there. Tom is a Lakota Indian who graduated two years before me with a degree in Marketing Management. Tom told me about his friend Joseph who lived in the town of Billings, north of the Crow Indian Reservation. Tom gave Joseph a call and arranged for me to spend a couple of nights at Joseph’s house. Joseph was known as a maker of award winning horse saddles. Tom and I said our good-byes, and off I left to continue my journey north.

I took my time, stopping frequently to take pictures and observing the beautiful prairie landscape. Because of my many sightseeing stops, I arrived at the Crow Reservation late in the evening. I turned off the highway and found a rest stop where I made camp for the night. In the morning I packed-up my things and drove to the nearest restaurant, got breakfast, then drove to the Little Bighorn Battlefield Monument to have a look. Given its history, and I being Native American, the battlefield was an unsettling place to visit. The Monument’s Visitor Center was filled with historical paraphernalia. Being a history buff, I spent a good two hours reading the informational texts, and taking in all descriptions of the artifacts on display. Reading about the major battle that was fought and jointly won by the Sioux and Cheyenne against the invading General Custer was fascinating. I felt proud to be Native American, and at the same time, saddened knowing the present social state that most Indians are locked into. After a few hours, I got in my car and drove on the two-lane road, which meandered through the battlefield itself. At one point, I decided to park and go for a hike over the rolling hills and small valleys of the battle site. As I said earlier, I had an uneasy feeling about the place. Standing on the actual ground where the battle was fought many years ago gave me an eerie feeling. I didn’t at all feel frightened, just uneasy. After spending several hours hiking about the area, evening was approaching and it began to get dark. I decided to head back to my car, where I had a quick dinner of warm coke, an apple and cookies. Billings was about an hour or two away, so I got back on the highway, anticipating that I’d have a bed at Joseph’s house. This plan, as it turned out, was not to be.

After just a few miles on the highway, I noticed that my car was strangely jerking. I knew something was going to give out. Sure enough, just after getting on the interstate, my car altogether stopped. I got out and pushed it to the side of the road. Having been told by a mechanic back in Denver that the car’s fuel line filter needed to be changed, I suspected this was the cause of the problem. I had the foresight to buy a new filter before I left on my trip. Because it was already too dark to get under the hood and replace it, I decided to tackle the problem the next morning. After all, it was not a very long, difficult job to change out the old filter for the new one—maybe a total of 30 minutes, max. Not far up ahead, I noticed a flat area with tall trees. I decided to push my small car over to this area. I parked the car away from the highway traffic. It seemed like a safe camping site for the night. All the hiking earlier in the day had tired me out. I couldn’t wait to get into my sleeping bag and fall asleep. I opened the car’s trunk, took out the sleeping bag, and lay it on the ground, with the car creating a buffer between the highway and me. I soon fell asleep.

Sometime during the night, I was awakened by the touch of someone stroking my neck. Because the stroking feeling was not at all sudden or discomforting, at first I was not frightened. Then the thought hit me that someone—a stranger was touching me! I opened my eyes and, still lying in my sleeping bag, I turned around. I gazed in the direction, which I imagined a person would be standing. At first I saw nothing in the darkness. Then I saw some movement to my left. My heart was beating hard and I was getting anxious. I turned to look to my left and I saw the image of a small Indian girl. She startled me, and I think I let out a little yell of surprise. I immediately knew this person was a spirit, because her image was vapor-like. She was the same luminous color as the moon, and I could see the trees right through her. I got scared and thought I was going to have a heart attack. I couldn’t move. My body was trembling. I don’t know why I couldn’t find the strength to get up and run. It was if my body was locked with fear. The ghost stood about five feet away from me with a very sad look on her face. She was dressed in a yellow-colored dirty dress, and wore several necklaces made of big beads. She just stood there in front of me staring. I tried to speak, but my voice was weak and my throat was dry. One thing I do remember clearly was the strong scent of wet grass. It was a very earthy scent that I can remember to this day. It’s difficult to explain, but I was able to smell and to “feel” the odor of mud, water and grass of a long time ago. It’s weird, I know, but that’s how I can explain it.

Soon, and with much effort, I managed to get out a real yell. She then began to fade away, beginning at her feet and ending at her head. I yelled again, and soon it was all over. She was gone. Sweat was dripping down my face. My ghost encounter took place in what appeared to be all of about five minutes. I got out of the sleeping bag and jumped into the front seat of my car. I locked all the doors, turned on the radio, and after some nervously exhausting minutes past, I managed to fall asleep. In the early morning I was awakened when a large noisy semi-truck past by on the highway. Inside the car, as I moved around, I felt something at the back of my neck. I reached my hand up to scratch, and was surprised when I felt a hardened substance which had attached itself to my hair. I pulled some of this off and looked at my hand. It was hardened mud! I pulled more of this hardened mud off of my neck and head, and then I carefully opened the car door, got out and shook the remainder of the dirt from me. I didn’t know what to think. Did I have a bad dream during the night, and rolled about on the ground? Or, did the apparition of the ghost woman rub this mud on me? I didn’t care to think anymore about the mud. Frankly, I was eager to repair my car and get the heck out of there!

Now that there was plenty of morning sunlight, I replaced the fuel filter in my car, and after several false starts, got my car going again and hit the highway. Driving north on my way to Billings gave me a few hours to think about what I had experienced the night before. I couldn’t believe that I had seen a real ghost just a few hours before. I had lots of questions, with no answers. But the most disturbing question of all was why did she cover my neck with mud? Was she trying to heal me of an injury? I soon arrived at Joseph’s house. Joseph was not home, so I asked his whereabouts at a neighbor’s house. After introducing myself to the older woman, she informed me that her neighbor, Joseph Dances Straight, was dead. Apparently, two months prior, while visiting his sister in South Dakota, Joseph and two friends went hunting for deer. One of the shotguns accidently went off, and the blast hit Joseph at the base of his skull, killing him instantly. I was caught off guard by this information. The neighbor was not willing to give me any more information. I could tell that she and Joseph were close friends. I left her house filled with a personal mental numbness. Eventually, I arrived at my friend Jerry’s house in Canada. I told him about what I had experienced during my short trip, describing the short ghost woman, and ultimately finding out about Joseph’s death. Jerry got seriously quiet, and then told me that an Indian spirit messenger in the form of a woman had visited me. Also, because earlier in the day I had immersed myself in a powerful area—The Little Bighorn Battle Ground—I had “opened myself up” to this spiritual visitor. He went on to say that the messenger had rubbed “medicine” on my neck, which symbolized the manner of death, which had taken Joseph.

After spending two weeks with Jerry, I returned to my home in Arizona. Never will I forget about my experience with the ghost in Montana. There are lots of things that us Indians need to be aware of. I know that modern society is a very powerful force, but we need to respect and honor our traditions from long ago. These are also very important, and necessary for our people.”