The Medina Place by Buffalo Hair

The Medina Place

by Buffalo Hair

I lived in a house that was located on the Santa Fe Trail, in Southern Colorado. It was an old adobe homestead with corrals and some out buildings. The view of the Rockies was magnificent from the livingroom. The only neighbors were miles away but it appeared that early in the century other people lived near the house. All that remained of their presents was ruins of their ranches and corrals.

The house had a special appeal for me. It was rich with solitude, the coyote would speak to me, in the day time. The home gave warmth, even from the rodent population, my new room mates.

It was a little run down. Possessions from the former occupant littered the rooms. Dishes and silverware were in a rack on the sink. The items were vintage and predated the second world war. Yellow newspaper and dust gave witness to the years that transpired.

I moved in at once. Spent weeks making the home livable again. Things just fell together once I got started. Then finally, the perfect home, I was done.

In my heart I knew others lived there with me, I did not mind since they could not eat my food. The only place we ran afoul was my interior design.

At first I did not notice but little by little things began to vanish. I noticed a collection of skeleton keys was missing, than some old religious icons. It looked as if someone was stealing me blind. I knew someone was in the house since the furniture was re arranged also. “What a rude thief,” I thought.

Fall was in the air so I went into the basement to start the coal burner. To my surprise I found my lost items in the coal burner. Gathering up the bounty I returned to the livingroom.

As I was falling asleep the room began to shake and rattle. The wall seemed to pull away from me as I reached for the light switch. making a run for it I flipped the light on. Everything looked OK in the bedroom. I went to the living room.

At first glance the room looked fine. Closer examination revealed many changes. The room was in order, neat, clean and tidy, but not the order I left it. Pieces of furniture were replaced, little nick nacks disappeared.

Items that disappeared were found not far from the house later. The items I found at old homestead sights made their way back to the point of origin. A metal toy soldier returned to the old ranch site. I tried to pick up the piece but it would not move.

For a moment I could not move. I was given an impression of the item and the desire for it to remain at the original home. Without question I agreed to let lay all items I found at the ruins. There were many things. They went back home in an interestingly mystical way. I just looked the other way in the belief it was rude to look on while medicine worked.

An old cowboy later ask if I lived in the house were the chairs dance around. I acknowledged that I lived there but brushed off further queries about my ghostly roommates or make mention of their enchanted friends. My relationship with them was a private matter anyway.

Life was good for a long time after our agreement. At times they would help me find things around the yard, a contrast from the old days of thievery. The prarie whispered stories about my people. Words would come from all that was livings, if you were ment to hear them. I was never alone.

Spring broke the spell of winters trance. On a moonlit night horses would break from their corral. They would circle the house altering from counter clockwise to clockwise, kicking and whopping, while they ran. Than as if by command, the horses stopped in their tracks, turned toward an old cemetery and began the 1 mile walk. The horses demeanor changed from giddy to gloomy.

In stealthful Indian fashion, I followed the last horses on this strange walk, fell over some cactus than tripped over a piece of volcanic glass. In the commotion I sprang to my feet not realizing how close the animals were. “Call me Thunder Foot”, I thought.

I smelled the sweat from hides as they brushed past me. The trance held fast their concentration, in spite of my racket. My journey came to a halt on the north side of a arroyo, the equestrian parade continued to the cemetery were they did the same ritual, kicking and whooping as they ran around the grave yard.

I walked into that negative energy thing when I approached the arroyo. Again, without words I became aware of the need for privacy, I was not allowed to cross.

In an act of defiance, I glanced at the arroyo and the circling horses. For a fleeting moment I thought of running across the arroyo and breaking up this bazaar gathering. On second glance the arroyo got dark, an overwhelming presents dominated my senses. My ancestors were yelling, “Go away now! Go on!”. I took the hint and went back home. I did not want to view secret things anyway.

The Medina spirits were curious to me, quite intrusive indeed. I grew fond of an old Indian lady spirit. She would watch over me. Other spirits kept their distance from her. Many pranks stopped, I was at peace.

Old Woman was very busy spirit. She would come and go checking on me. She looked content with her moil, unlike some people that cross over. Must have been special when she was living also.

Many people visited me with little or no experiences. Some people would get the treatment though. One summer during rodeo season my buddies and I arrived from Texas, full of piss and vinegar after a few weeks tramping around the Panhandle riding horses and bulls.

The yard quickly filled with pick-up trucks and those funny big green cars with no hubcaps filled with rowdy rodeo cowboys. Nothing like a Texas Barbeque with live music and girls with long ponytails. Our party drew to a close late in the evening. Most people left except one other couple. I retired with a guest to my room. I was a happy Indian and sitting next to me, the most beautiful woman in Levi’s and Tony Lamas. We were getting along very well when our mouths dried like a desert. I went for water.

Feeling impressed with my manliness I sauntered to the room with two glasses. I approached the hall, heard a loud crash of glass and wood, a blood chilling scream, frantic foot steps, than the sight of my lady running hysterically down the hall.

Taking her to a well lit truck stop we drank some coffee. Physically shaken, she related this story. “As I laid in the bed, I dosed for a moment. I thought you came in the room since I was awaken by a cool breeze. Than I felt the sheets being pulled off of me very slowly. Once the sheets were removed I thought I felt your hands pulling on my feet at first. Than the pulling got ruff, I was being dragged off the bed. I looked down but nobody was there. I sat up and screamed as loud as I could, that I looked to my right as the mirror came loose from the wall and came for my head. I ducked as it crashed on the opposite wall. Than a voice told me to get out, I’m gett’in,” she said. I never saw her again.

Old Woman did not care for my version of cowboys and indians. No longer in her favor, my experiences with he became darker. Bad things would happen to visitors. A friend on a motor cycle crashed in a freak accident in front of the house. Coal oil would be splashed around the coal burner. The ovens would be ignited while I slept.

The water in my well suddenly became rancid. I found an array of farm animals dead and bloated in the water, chickens, goats, and a cow. That was it for me. Without water I was through.

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