Living Ghosts and Mischievous Monsters

by Dan SaSuWeh Jones

  It was the last thing the man saw. He was now blind.

  The Little People

  TOLD BY DAN SASUWEH JONES, PONCA

  In our culture, the Little People are mysterious and often mischievous. They are said to create colored balls of light that people sometimes see floating off the ground at night or flying through the air at high speeds. Little People may use these lights to help them see in the dark, or to defend themselves. Or the lights may have a power unknown to us. Where Little People live is a mystery, too. It could be underground, or in trees. Sometimes they appear to climb out of solid rock or thin air. At times they can be friendly and at other times harmful. If you make Little People angry, they may punish you by taking a family member for a short time—or for a lifetime. In any tribe, it is the elders who know the Little People best. As a person grows older, the Little People visit more and more often.

  He was ninety-four years old, so I tried to visit him every day, about the same time each day. I thought being on a regular schedule would help him remember me. His memory had been slipping for a year now. He had been telling me some very strange things, but this day his account was exceptionally strange. When he told me stories like this, I would listen intently and do my best to be as understanding as possible.

  When I arrived at his home, I let myself into a comfortable environment filled with memories of my childhood. The same photos of family now grown or passed away covered the walls. There was an unfamiliar smell of old people, musty but not unpleasant. “Hey, Dad, how are you doing today?”

  He always answered the same way: “I’m good, and how is the world treating you, young man?”

  As he shuffled from the kitchen into the living room, I paused just to look at him. By mainstream culture he is technically my uncle, my father’s younger and only brother. But my father had passed away, and in our tribal culture, his brother then becomes my father. Now he was my dad, and I honored him.

  “Has your health really been good, Pop? No problems, right?”

  He found his favorite chair and slowly got comfortable. “I don’t have a whole lot of people coming by these days,” he said.

  “The problem is you have outlived all your relatives and friends.” I smiled, keeping it light. “So what’s on your mind, Pop? Is there something I can do for you?”

  “I don’t know … you’ll probably think I’m losing my marbles,” he said.

  “No way,” I shot back. “Try me! I’m a pretty easy listener.”

  “OK, but don’t say I didn’t warn you, son,” he sighed. “I have been seeing those little people our folks talked about all my life.”

  Now he had my attention.

  He continued: “I started seeing them a while ago. At first I’d see them out of the corner of my eye. Or I’d see something move and turn my head, to see it dart out of view.”

  I nodded.

  “And then they began showing themselves. They dart around here all the time now.”

  Taken aback, I searched for words. “Are they here now? What do they look like?” I asked, looking around the room.

  “No, of course not—not when you’re here!” he snipped back. “Yep, I had forgotten what the old folks used to say—that the Little People make orbs of light and use them to spy on us. Well, I’m seeing those, too.” He looked up at me.

  I knew what the old people said. They said other things, too, about the orbs. But he had never mentioned it before, and it worried me. I was concerned that he was lost and struggling for a memory.

  “Dad,” I said, “I’m calling your doctor to make an appointment. Maybe have him check on your medications. Hey, what if I stay here with you tonight? I’ll sleep on the couch here.”

  He just smiled. “Well, if that’s what you want to do, nobody is going to stop you. Maybe your sister can come over for dinner also? Be nice to have you both, and her little bread snappers,” he said.

  I was glad to see that his sense of humor and love of my nieces and nephews were still doing well.

  “OK, I’m going to call sis and run over to my place to pick up my overnight bag—and I’ll be back.”

  Back at Dad’s a while later, I opened the door to find him watching Dragon Ball on television.

  “I see you’re up with the latest programs on TV, Pop.” I smiled. As I watched, I saw the characters from the show throwing balls of brightly colored light as weapons. I wanted to believe that this was the reason he was talking about orbs of light.

  My sister and her kids stopped by. They didn’t stay long. Then after dinner Dad and I continued our talk about the old days. At last I could see Dad was tired, and I walked him to his room. I had made up my bed on the couch, and it didn’t take me long to drift off.

  Sometime in the middle of the night I woke up in what should have been a dark room. Instead, it was glowing blue, from a light coming from under Pop’s closed door, all the way down the hallway. I also could hear a humming sound like an air conditioner running. But it was winter!

  In three strides I was at his room, opening the door. I gasped. Dozens of ball-like orbs of different colors floated in the air. They were all sizes, but a blue orb was the largest and brightest, its light flooding the entire room. The size of a basketball, the orb hovered right above my father’s chest as he lay in bed. Other smaller orbs were everywhere. One passed in front of me and I tried to swat it away, but my hand passed right through it.

  As I started easing toward the orb above my father, I had to partially cover my eyes because its glare was so bright. My father, his eyes closed, lay on his back, totally still, as if in a trance. There was no hint that he was aware of the orbs, and there was no sign of pain or distress.

  I was in total shock! I didn’t know what to think or do. Within seconds, the smaller balls of light began dimming and disappearing. A split second later, the large blue one above my father shot backward like a bolt of lightning, passing through the wall as if it wasn’t even there. The room turned dark.

  I felt around for the light switch. Strangely, the light blinked a few times before it came on. My father, still lying motionless, wore a tranquil look. But a feeling of fear was sweeping through me. As the different colored orbs crossed my face, bathing the room, the bed, and my father in shimmering light, I was terrified. I knew what the orbs were up to. I shook him to try to wake him, then I felt for a pulse on his wrist. Slowly he opened his eyes. I talked to him calmly, telling him the ambulance was on the way. It seemed like forever, but I finally heard the siren.

  At the hospital, my father slept. I don’t know if he could hear me, but I told him that the Little People had been with him and that he had not been imagining things.

  “I saw the orbs myself, Dad!”

  When the doctor came in, I excused myself to the waiting room. My mind was racing through so many things about this evening. The orbs. My father’s peaceful face. His words about the Little People.

  My sister had arrived, anxious to see him. As we sat there, waiting to go back into his room, it suddenly came to me. I turned to my sister as the words slipped out: “Do you remember what the old people would say about the Little People coming?”

  “No, I don’t remember anything like that. Why are you asking me that?” My sister was glaring at me, waiting for an answer.

  I started to speak as the doctor walked into the room looking sadly at us, shaking his head.

  “They’d say the Little People come to take you home.”

  La Llorona

  BASED ON A TRADITIONAL TALE FROM INDIAN TRIBES OF THE SOUTHWEST, TOLD BY BROCK BATTENFIELD, SMALL TOWN MYTHS

  The spirit La Llorona—the weeping woman—is said to come from an ancient omen that foretold the ruin of the Aztec people of Mexico and their ruler, Montezuma. Aztec goddesses predicted that just before Montezuma’s downfall, the voice of a woman would be heard crying in the night for the fate of her children. In 1521, it came true: Soldiers led by the Spanish conqueror Hernán Cortés marched into Montezuma’s kingdom and destroy
ed it. Just before they arrived, Montezuma is said to have heard “a woman who roams the streets weeping and mourning.” As the centuries passed, Nahuas and other descendants of the Aztecs, including many Indian tribes across the American Southwest, have told their own versions of La Llorona. The tales usually involve a rich Spanish man who marries an Indian woman—then betrays her.

  Maria was a pretty young Nahuan woman who lived in a rural village in Mexico. Her people were descendants of the ancient Aztecs. One day, as she went about her usual chores, she was approached by a wealthy and handsome young Spanish nobleman who happened to be passing through. The man was so taken by her beauty and grace that he asked her to marry him.

  “Yes,” she answered shyly. She was very excited, as was her family. The nobleman’s father, however, was less enthused. By marrying a girl who was an Indian, he thought that his pure Spanish bloodline would be spoiled. But the young nobleman was in love, and he would not listen to his father.

  The couple built a home in Maria’s village. For a few years they lived in happiness, and together they had two young boys.

  As time passed, the man traveled more often. Maria and the boys missed him, but they always looked forward to his return and their time together as a family.

  Then, one day, he returned home with a younger woman. He said goodbye to his sons, and he told Maria that he was leaving her to take the woman as his new wife. She was wealthy and had been born to nobility. They would live far away, on his father’s estate.

  As her husband and his new bride rode off, Maria became furious. She grabbed the two boys by the hand and pulled them to the nearby river, the Rio Grande. Enraged, she drowned her children in the fast-flowing waters. As if in a trance she watched them float away. After the two were gone, she realized what she had done.

  “My children!” she screamed. She frantically searched the rapids for her sons, but could not find them.

  Days later, Maria was seen, delirious, on the riverbank. Her clothes were wet and slick with mud. When a passerby tried to help her, she clawed at him, then ran away, screaming, searching like a madwoman through the tall grasses on the riverbank.

  Legend says that Maria had drowned herself, but she was stopped at the gates of heaven. There, she was questioned about the location of her children. When she didn’t have an answer, she was sent back to find them. Now she is cursed to walk the Earth as a tormented soul, searching for her sons. With screams and wails and cries, she will stop travelers along the river road, asking where her children are.

  The local people have named her La Llorona—the Weeping Woman.

  One South Texas man claims that while making his regular drive home one night, he met La Llorona. The road was black and deserted beneath the dim, faraway light of the stars. He could see nothing but what was in his headlights, not even the river beside him. Then he came across something he had never before witnessed on the road.

  A woman with long black hair and a white dress was walking along the shoulder. As he pulled up slowly behind her, he noticed that she was soaking wet. Concerned, the man rolled down his window and called out, trying to get the woman’s attention. Unluckily for him, he succeeded.

  Slowly, in the headlights, the woman turned to him. She was pale and very thin, and her flesh appeared to be decaying, almost falling off her bones. She was crying loudly.

  The man was still worried for her—until he looked her directly in the eyes. The sockets were empty—nothing but solid black holes.

  “My babies!” She opened her mouth wide and let out an earsplitting scream.

  Racing toward the car, the emaciated woman extended her bony arms and reached for the handle on the passenger door. The man floored his gas pedal, spinning his tires to get distance from the monstrous creature.

  When he looked back in the rearview mirror, she had vanished.

  A witch is a type of medicine man or woman—usually one who goes to the dark side. Witches can do terrible things, such as putting curses on people. In the worst cases, they use the human emotions of hate, greed, anger, jealousy, or revenge to help a person get even with someone who has wronged them. But witches can also do good things. They can find things that have been stolen or lost—or even a loved one. They can also help a person regain self-respect or another’s affection. A witch must always be paid twice. Once when their service is requested—as a small offering, such as a blanket or some money. At that time you tell the witch what was taken from you or done to you. The witch will then determine what he or she is prepared to do for you. Later, you are expected to pay up when the witch determines the agreement has been fulfilled. If the witch finds out that your complaint was actually your fault, the witch may come after you! What can witches do to you? They can make you or your family sick. They can burn down your home without setting foot in it. They can even send an evil doll to kill you.

  The Walking Doll

  TOLD BY DAN SASUWEH JONES, PONCA, VISITING THE WARM SPRINGS CONFEDERATED TRIBES, OREGON

  Languages, ceremonies, and governments can differ greatly from tribe to tribe and region to region. This tale took place on the Warm Springs Reservation, in Oregon, where three tribes—Warm Springs, Wasco, and Paiute—live close to one another but have different traditions. Supernatural spirits are different, too. Ghosts, monsters, and witches have different roles in different cultures. That includes the role of the walking doll witch. Depending on the culture, a medicine person may fashion such a doll out of deer antlers, or cloth, or perhaps leather. Maybe it is carved from wood. Whatever their origin is, all walking dolls have one thing in common. Each one is inhabited by an evil spirit, and each one “walks” to deliver its frightening message.

  Cody was driving home from work along the same river that his wife’s family had owned for generations as members of the Warm Springs tribe in Oregon. Ahead of him a construction crew was uprooting some large old cottonwood trees. As he looked at the large root ball of one big old cottonwood, it appeared to have three distinct root balls, as if three young trees had grown together to create a massive old tree.

  Those trees have been in this earth a long time, Cody thought. What a shame they can’t be used for something.

  The flagman waved him through, and Cody drove the short distance home without another thought.

  Later that night, at his home with his family, he heard a thump, thump on the front door. His two dogs started barking. It was way too late for guests, especially because they lived far from the tribal community.

  Cody turned on the porch light and peered out the peephole. He didn’t see anyone there at all.

  That’s strange, he thought as he opened the door. No one was there. He walked to the edge of his porch and peered into the darkness. Nothing. He walked across the porch. Nothing. Then the porch light flickered and went out. He stood there a moment, his eyes adjusting to the darkness.

  Something streaked across his porch from one side to the other.

  In the darkness, he immediately thought it was an animal. But it was too big to be a mouse. Too fast to be a skunk or raccoon. Too close to the house to be a bear. He shook his head, stepped inside, and closed the door.

  Then a scream came from his daughter’s bedroom. “Dad, something was trying to open my window!”

  “OK, that’s it,” Cody shouted. “We have an intruder!” From the hall closet he grabbed his shotgun and flashlight and made his way back outside, with the dogs.

  Cody stood on the porch a few minutes and listened to the night. It was strangely quiet—no frogs from the river or the other usual sounds. Suddenly, the dogs pulled away and ran into the darkness. Moving cautiously around his house, he shone his light into his smoke shack, where the family smoked salmon, then moved down by the river and along a short trail to the family’s sweat lodge and other outbuildings. Nothing. After circling his property, he returned to his front porch.

  That’s when something tore through the tall grass, chased by the dogs barking at the top of their lungs. Swoosh went the
grass as something small sped through it. What was it? He either had to force it out of the grass or run it off.

  Then a dark streak broke out of the tall grass and aimed right toward him.

  He raised his shotgun, but it was too late. The thing had clawed through his pant leg and now latched on to his boot, snarling. Cody couldn’t shoot it for fear of shooting his own foot. He kicked. He swatted. At last he used the barrel of the shotgun as a club to knock the thing away. But it wasn’t letting go.

  What was it? All he could see of the vicious little thing was a snarling, shaking ball of hair, just a little larger than his foot.

  Within seconds one of his dogs snatched the creature off his boot and violently shook it so its hair flew in every direction. Free of the thing, Cody still couldn’t shoot it because his dog had it. Suddenly the dog yelped as the thing lashed out and got away.

  Cody had dropped his flashlight, but by the moon he saw the thing run into a crawl space under his house. Soon the dogs were barking into the space’s black entrance.

  Frantically, Cody walked in circles, looking for his flashlight. He found it and raced to join the barking dogs.

  He scanned the crawl space—past floor beams, pipes, and brick supports for the floor, all hiding spaces for whatever was under there. Then, to get a better look, Cody scooted halfway into the crawl space, shotgun first.

  There it was—its back toward him—a ball of fur. Then it slowly turned around. Cody saw that its decayed face had no eyes. Only its snarling mouth filled with sharp teeth glinted like diamonds in the light from his flashlight.

  “What are you?” screamed Cody.

  The vicious thing flew at him.

  BOOM! In a split second Cody took aim and shot. The blast in the confined space was deafening. What he saw was even more shocking. The hideous thing had exploded. But instead of blood and bones, it left a pile of black hair and pulverized stuffing of white cattail fibers. Cody lay exhausted.