Arizona Ghost Stories. Antonio Boone's Garcez. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Antonio Boone's Garcez
Издательство: Ingram
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Жанр произведения: Эзотерика
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9780974098838
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but soon I began to wonder. Sometimes it was so cold that I got goose bumps on my arms. Other times, it was like stepping outside into a cool night. I thought about what the old woman had told me, but then I figured that my imagination was working overtime.

      As the weeks passed, things began to get worse. Day and night I began to see strange shadows all about the house. I don’t mean shadows shaped like a person—they were more like a large blanket that covered the wall! One afternoon, I was washing dishes, and I heard a strange voice. Because I was in the kitchen, I had the volume on the TV in the living room turned up high, so that I could listen to it between the rooms. I thought that perhaps the voice was coming from the television. Suddenly, I stopped washing the dishes when I felt a very strong feeling that someone was in the kitchen with me. I turned around to look behind. I spotted a huge black shadow—it covered the whole wall—move slowly, then quickly across the room and disappear into the hallway!

      It couldn’t have been the shadow of a passing car because the kitchen is located in the rear of the house. A passing plane couldn’t have caused it either, because it would have to be flying level with the house. No, I immediately knew this was something that had to do with the spiritual world. Even though I was a bit shaken, I walked into the hallway and looked in the bathroom, closet, and the bedrooms. As soon as I entered the last bedroom, immediately the same cold feeling once again came over me. I knew I had to get out of there fast!

      I closed the door behind me and left it closed until the following week, when I had someone pay me a visit. I had ordered a pair of new closet doors. Thee doors were delivered by a Nogales contractor who carried the new doors off his truck and into the bedroom. Everything was going fine. As the contractor was doing his job, I was in the living room watching television as the sound of his loud drilling was making noise. I remember walking to the bedroom and asking the contractor if he wanted some coffee. He said “no,” and I left him alone to finish the job of installing the doors.

      Suddenly, I heard him yell, and as I began to rise off my chair, he came flying down the hallway and zoomed out the front door! I thought he had hurt himself, so I raced out the door to meet him at his truck, which was parked in the street. He was pale. He told me that “something” had taken hold of his arm. When he turned around he saw a very large man with angry eyes grabbing hold of his upper left arm. It took all the strength he had to free himself from the man’s grip!

      The contractor did not know anything about the bedroom or the woman who had owned the house before I did. He was shaking. I myself was very concerned about spending any more nights or days in the house, with that “thing” walking about, but I volunteered to go back into the house and return with his tools. I softly prayed to myself as I walked into the bedroom, and I know God helped me because I did not see anything.

      After the contractor had driven away, I walked back to the bedroom and placed a crucifix on the door and closed it. I decided to phone and to tell my cousin, that lives in the town just south of Arivaca, about what had happened. “If there is an angry spirit in the bedroom it must be protecting something. Why wouldn’t it want people in the bedroom?” she asked.

      That weekend my cousin, her husband, Pablo, and a friend came to my house to investigate. We entered the bedroom and searched the closet and tapped on the walls. As we walked about the room, we all took turns walking over one particular spot on the floor that was colder than the rest of the room. “That’s it, it’s got to be here!” my cousin said. “What ever this ghost is attached to, it’s protecting it under this area of the floor.”

      Pablo went outside and located a small door that was an entrance to a crawl space that led under the house. He told us to get flashlights. The two men opened the door and entered the crawl space as my cousin and I waited. Soon we heard Pablo yell to us. The men had found something. As we all gathered in the yard, they showed us a small Indian pottery bowl and some old stone beads. No money, no bones—just a bowl and beads. We placed them into a cardboard box with crumbled up newspaper as packing material.

      I didn’t want these things in my house, so I decided to take them to the nearby San Javier Del Bac mission at the Pima reservation. After driving up the mission driveway, I waited in my car for a moment—just to think things over. I wasn’t sure if giving these Indian things to a priest would be the best thing to do. Instead I decided to take a short drive to the reservation office and talk to someone. I met an office worker and explained to her that I needed to know if there was a person who could help me. She gave me directions to the house of a woman who heals people on the reservation.

      San Javier del Bac Mission

      As I was parking the car on the dirt street, the woman and her son were driving up to the house. I introduced myself and quickly told her what I had in the cardboard box. She seemed uneasy, but said she would take care of it. My meeting with her only took about 15 minutes. I know that I must have appeared very nervous, because I remember speaking to her very quickly. I removed the cardboard box with the pot it from my trunk and left it on her porch. As I drove away, I began to feel very comfortable and relaxed. I somehow knew that I had done the right thing. A feeling of relief came over me.

      Since that night I have not had another experience with El Coyote in my house. Today, I use the bedroom as a workshop for the ceramic figurines I paint. In addition to figurines of people, I paint animals, and flowers, but if you look closely you’ll notice I don’t have one single painted pot. I guess you can tell why I stay away from keeping pots in that bedroom!

      BISBEE

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      The town of Bisbee is located approximately 100 miles southeast of Tucson, directly in the heart of the Mule Mountains at 5,300 feet above sea level. The quaint town was founded in 1880,and thanks to its rich copper deposits, quickly developed to become the most populated settlement in the state. The town’s mineral wealth did not go unnoticed by the Phelps Dodge mining company, who built a railroad into the town in 1880 and soon began to mine the rich ore. The many years of prosperity ended in the early 1970s when Phelps Dodge decided to cease operations. This in turn forced a good number of the town’s residents to leave Bisbee and relocate elsewhere.

      Today, Bisbee is a haven for artists who have settled in the historic buildings and have restored them to their past glory. Bisbee has become a city of diversified yearly events featuring music, crafts, and the arts.

      HISTORY OF THE COPPER QUEEN HOTEL

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      The Copper Queen Mining Company constructed the Copper Queen or “The Queen” Hotel in the early 20th century. With 45 guest rooms, two lobbies, Copper Queen Saloon, patio, swimming pool, and dining room, “The Queen” is Bisbee’s major historic landmark. The hotel is a well-preserved Victorian style hotel that is decorated in the manner of the pioneer West. Given the hotel’s history of hosting such notables as “Black Jack” Pershing and the young Teddy Roosevelt, it is no wonder that a ghost or two (or three) would find such an inviting hotel perfect for an extended stay.

      The following accounts by the hotel’s general manager and the front desk clerk will provide further evidence for the existence of “other types” of guests at the Copper Queen Hotel.

      —Antonio

      CRAIG H. ROTHEN’S STORY

      I have been the general manager at the hotel for one year. Prior to working at the Queen, I was living in the Phoenix area and working as a hotel and restaurant consultant for a corporation in Northern California.

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      Craig H. Rothen