the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

this post not inspired by the upcoming creepy holiday

A friend of ours, Kath, reported the following on Facebook today:

Kath: There is a vortex of evil over our house. My ceiling fan light turns on and off and flickers, just like in Poltergeist. Some of my computer programs aren't working, and my cell phone randomly called somebody I don't know today while it was laying on a table next to me (not near my butt!) Spooky!

A: Shall I send you my sage bundle?

Kath: I piled up some chicken bones. Let's see if that does the trick before we do something drastic.

A: While at my mom's house helping her clean for one of my Origami Owl parties, she commented "I don't want to frighten you but I just saw a shadow walk from the kitchen into the den." Both me and my husband have seen strange stuff in that house. I may do a sage burning over there while they are in Hawaii next week.

A: When I was seventeen I witnessed a cassette tape floating in the air in my bedroom in the middle of the daytime. No drugs or alcohol on board.

Kath: Was it Karma Chameleon? [My husband] thinks that song is evil.

B: My husband saw the door to the basement open by itself. The door handle turned and it opened.

Kath: How have you not burned your house down?

C: Oh, I hope you're talking to B.... either that, or you remember my cooking skills.

A: It was The Violent Femmes...even worse.

C: But I will tell you. When we moved here, we kept smelling a gun oil smell and we hadn't been using gun oil and don't even have any in the house. I immediately thought maybe I should burn some sage and tell any leftover energy to go away. We have never smelled the gun oil again after that.

Kath: Oh dear! Might be harder to explain burning down your parents' house....

Provided for your entertainment, and to understand what strange discussions I follow and/or engage in which prompt equally strange posts from me. 

These are ex-Churchachristers, by the way, which multiplies the amusement for those of us in the know. I just suggested that they hire a properly trained and credentialed Catholic priest to exorcise their homes....

***

Anyhow. About the time I got to the comment C made about the smell in her house, I got to remembering some of the stories my mother told about our home in Daingerfield, Texas....

We moved to this home, which we rented for about nine months, because Daddy was transferred to be a manager at a chain store in Daingerfield. I was in the second grade; Noel, the third. The home my parents selected was a log cabin--shotgun style--that had had siding applied and the breezeway boarded in. Someone, a bit earlier, had added a somewhat (1960?) modern kitchen and bath to the back of the house. The master bedroom was connected to the living room via a door and they shared a fireplace. The house had a magnificent porch across the front and etched-glass front doors. We had an unspeakably huge, old oak tree in the front, from which hung a tire swing. We were (then) at the end of a quiet, shady lane bounded by cow pastures. Behind the home was a vintage barn with a hayloft, accessible via stairs--something I've never even heard of and would not believe had I not lived there and known it to be fact. Behind the barn were acres of fields where our landlord let his cattle roam. Running through the property was a spectacularly beautiful creek, bounded by trees and crossed by logs, where Noel and I would spend entire days being happily lost in our games. (I've tried without success to find any picture of this old home place on the 'netz. Nothing. :( )

When we moved in, the place had been used as a barn for some time. We--as a family--spent a lot of time moving feed and fertilizer bags from the kitchen to the barn, and then untold hours scrubbing the hay off the walls of our bedroom. 

The town, many believe, was named after one Captain London Daingerfield, who with 100 men fought off the resident Natives in 1830. Stories vary on whether he died in that battle (although his troops ultimately won the engagement) or if the First Americans returned for revenge, finding him and his family in their home and slaughtering them. 

Either way, he bit the big one through there, and it wasn't pretty. 

I'm not sure where my parents got this information, but we were told that the house we rented had been Captain Daingerfield's home, and the Indians had laid siege to it. I do know that Noel and I would go arrowhead hunting in the yard and fields for fun, and finding well-crafted arrowheads wasn't unusual. For what that's worth. 

I don't remember anything truly unusual from the time. I was seven, after all. But Mother and Noel both had stories to tell many years later. 

Noel later said that he's always felt safe there, like he never had before or since. Someone--I know the story is nebulous at this point, but this is from a young girl's memory--pointed out then that they had once taken a picture of Noel in front of the old cyprus trees growing en route to our favorite creek, and the photograph showed a very clear face on the tree behind him. 

My mother's story was more interesting to me and far less comforting. In addition to the fact that, when we would leave for the weekend (the only time we'd bother to shut the windows and lock the house), we'd return to the pungent aroma of lavender and fresh-roasted pork, Mother told us this tale many years after we left that beautiful place. She waited until we were practically grown: 

"I had just laid down for a nap one afternoon in the master bedroom. You and Noel were off in the fields playing. I'd just closed my eyes, but my mind was still fully alert. I heard.... I heard a man's footsteps. I knew they were those of a man because they were heavy and measured. The footsteps approached the bed where I lay, and stopped. I opened my eyes and looked around. There was no one there. I looked everywhere, thinking someone was playing a trick on me. Nothing. So I lay back down and closed my eyes. Then I heard the footsteps turn and walk away from the bed." 

My mother is not given to vain imaginings. 

I know only that I loved that place. I love how it looked, how it smelled, and how it felt. 

I now wonder if that was the beginning of my lifelong fascination with all things First American. Who knows? Maybe I was infused with some "spirit" along the way? Or more likely, I always sensed that these were my people. 

***

Many years later, I was 23, having just left the active duty Air Force and begun school--Bachelor's of Science in Computer Science degree--with the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs. Despite my techy major, I applied for and scored a job with Pioneer Museum in downtown Colorado Springs as a work-study helper in the archives department (in the basement...woooooooo). It was one of the potentially coolest jobs I've ever had. I mean, most of the time, I folded brochures and mailed stuff, or did data entry, but sometimes? I would get to browse through the archived files. I was encouraged to familiarize myself with the archives in my spare time--when I got any--and on one awesome occasion, I found a letter, marked 1840, that said, among other things, "I didn't feel like digging through the wagon for the paper, so I just flattened some birch bark so I could write home...."

 Well I'll be damned. Our forebears were hoarders, too. ;)

Anyhoooo.

My boss then, Sharon, was an interesting woman. She was petite and brilliant, and somewhat outspoken; at the same time, she was on the strangely quiet side (maybe this is what people call being a "lady"?). She'd attained her PhD via a study-abroad program in Ireland. One holiday, she'd come home and, on her last night there, had gone out with her friends to see--you guessed it--The Exorcist. 

Did I mention she was Catholic? :)

The next day, she got on a plane and did that horrible jet-lag-layover jump back to Ireland, where she walked into the village where she lived and discovered that...it was almost identical to the set of The Exorcist. I mean, the old houses, the French windows, the eerie, rolling fog. The whole deal. 

Sharon got creeped out enough to pay a visit to her priest. She said, "I know this is going to sound silly, but...I just came back from America, where there's this new film, see. It's called The Exorcist, about a young girl possessed by a demon? I'm just a little creeped out by the idea and I just need, I guess, some reassurance that this isn't real."

Her priest replied: "Indeed it is. As a matter of fact, I'm the exorcist for Ireland."

Needless to say, that didn't help her much....

;)

Y'all be excellent to one another!

d