|
Registered User
Currently Offline
|
Posts: 1674
Join Date: Jan 2008
|
I reported my father missing twelve years ago next Sunday. The Montana police called their counterparts in Arizona and had them check out mile marker 23. You know what they found? Nothing. However a waitress at the truck stop on the exit prior to mile 23 did remember him stopping in their for a bite to eat on the same day I had my vision. She said he seemed agitated about something. Kept looking over his shoulder like he'd been followed.
Since that day my visions have become more frequent. My mother appears often in her coyote form but never as her human one. I don't know why that is but I suspect it has something to do with the fact that was the form she died in. The coyote is always trying to lead me to Arizona. Not to where my father died but to an empty Navajo village out in the desert.
I don't know why I waited until my twenty-ninth birthday to finally follow the coyote's nudges. But I now find myself on my motorcycle racing down the freeway. I decided to take a short detour to the scene of my father's disappearence.
I pull over on the side of the road and look up at the mile marker sign. Other than the cars roaring by it looks just like it did in my vision. Which proves I'm not crazy, because I've never been here before so it couldn't have been a dream.
Looking around however there is no way to tell what happened those many years ago. The trail, as they say in the movies, has gone cold. Nothing else to do about it right now so I climb back on my bike and change direction.
Riding out into the desert with nothing but the clothes on my back and a saddle bag full of water might seem suicidal to some, but I've survived on far less before.
It takes me until nightfall to find the remnants of the village. It is the same village from my first vision, the place where my mother died. The huts have been all but covered over by the desert sands. Then something draws my eye.
As I look up at the top of a small hill I see a hut that is still intact as if time hasn't touched it at all. Cautiously I open its fragile door and step inside. Mystical symbols are drawn all across the walls and etched into the dirt floor.
It's the hut of a witch, a Navajo Skinwalker, my mother's hut. The tears come without warning as I shed a few on the horsehair rug. My mother has led me here for a reason. I must know what that reason is.
Is it my imagination? Or do I really hear the howling of a coyote nearby?
I poke my head outside of the hut, but instead of a coyote all I see is a raging thunderstorm heading my way.
to be continued...
__________________
|
