Prophecy Point: It Has Been Foretold

Remember this: Everyone loves a good prophecy, especially when the bullet points appear to actualize in the conscious realm.

A Conversation Between Two People

I sat with an African-American woman at a table. We were talking about prophecy, and Jesus.

She tells me with much fervor, “I am like Florence Henderson from Good Times. I always knew Jesus to be the white Jesus with the dark hair. It will not be any other way for me. You come to my house that is what you are going to see hanging on my wall.”

Me: “Would you hang a black Jesus on your wall?”

She looked at me with conviction, “No!”

Me: “But geography-wise he could be Middle Eastern.”

She says to me: “Look! There is no other Jesus. I will not hang a black Jesus on my wall. If I die tomorrow, and go to heaven, I am going to yell back from the pearly gates, “Hey you! He’s white, with dark hair!”

Nothing was going to sway her belief otherwise. Jesus is an integral part of a prophecy of the Bible. This prophecy has its own set of markers. She believes white Jesus with the dark hair, will return. I support her belief in that, if that is her belief. This is not about biblical prophecy. 

Jesus was one person, endowed with special gifts to come save the world and people put him up on two sticks, and killed him. Now, people are crucifying each other daily. Jesus is foretold to come back.

I asked her the following questions:

Why do you believe we are given prophecy?

What purpose does Prophecy serve; and for whom?

If the Creator creates, threatens, runs interference on behalf of the created to save, why whip out a prophecy, if the end game is destruction?

I thought it valid questions.

Standing Rock Protester Rants about Colonizing Whites in Camp

I saw post after post proclaiming indigenous prophecy was coming true right before everyone’s eyes. I surfed the comments on social media.

Prophecy needed some problem-solving. The thing about visions and prophecy is rarely detailed, and can’t be depended on. The outcome is vague, vague, vague. Sometimes you need an interpreter. 

Prophecies are thrown down on people with no insight; like a dead fly in your soup. Should you eat the soup, or throw it away?

As an example: The children of white men will grow their hair out long and seek out the teaching of indigenous tribes, or go to support them. (loosely, I state this)

This one person stood out with a post that has made the rounds. Beautiful person on the outside, but poison spewing from the inside.

The general complaint was a portion of white visitors to Standing Rock were there for vacation, disrespectful, and unsupervised. This is not an ethnicity issue, it is an organization issue. 

If random people show up to your camp have a sign in list, issue a name tag, and give them a job. People have to be informed of their role. If there is a special cultural consideration, sit them down and let them know what is up. Most people will understand and respect that information and request. When you have large numbers of people, there needs to be communication, structure, and organization.

Keeping with the Cosmic Code, let us get back on Prophecy Point.

Prophecy Problem-Solving #1: If the prophecy shall state a disliked people are going to show up at your door to support you, in a vague sort of way (in your moment of need), the Universe is tasking you with a job that you didn’t know you were going to get. It is your task, whether you like it or not, to properly instruct this person on what is expected of them. They want to help you. They just don’t know how, or if it will be accepted. 

Everything I see states indigenous people have the instruction for the land and its uses-people show up and now, you have to teach them. One should have the understanding that people aren’t all daft, this being a big world, shouldn’t be insulted on their part either. You are mutually there to help one another. That should be an understandable compromise.

This is the issue that will come back to bite you in the ass. If you mistreat someone that has come to help you, then later, you need help again, that group may be less inclined to come to your aid. This is applicable to anyone.

There is nothing in the prophecy that states the outcome or consequence of bad choices will prevail or occur, other than the dominating theme. Lesser themes affect the dominating theme.

If prophecy states, the white man has to make a decision between destruction, or peace-those white people showing up have to be schooled on why peace is a good idea-so they can carry it back to the outer world.

Prophecy illustrates a hidden point: Different peoples with personal issues in the Great Cosmology have to learn to compromise to get along to serve a common goal that is necessary to all. They must learn the task of working together.

Problem + Problem = Solved

Prophecy illustrates here the need to forgive and sacrifice for the end goal. Do not revisit the past interactions of bad ancestors. Bad ancestral choices gave us all these problems to solve. Can we solve them?

The truth is: It is Possible and doable

In order for the prophecy to get from Point A-verbal speaking of the prophecy, to point B-which is the occurrence of the prophecy, to point C, which is the execution of the Prophecy, then on to Point D, the fulfillment of the prophecy’s end-that means you need to realize your job and do it. 

Otherwise, all those people are going to come and go with no transfer of knowledge-no enlighten-no spiritual elevation to move the prophecy in the more beneficial direction.

Brotherhood and Sisterhood has to be built. Trust has to be built. Bonds have to be built. Work on that; inter-personally, personally, and on a bigger stage. Fear-mongering has to be squashed. Prejudices have to be squashed. Resentment has to be dealt with and an understanding reached.

Pissy, for-the-moment truces aren’t going to get it in the long run either.

Stop bitching and do your cosmic job that you didn’t ask for, Oh Chosen Ones. No person in a prophecy wants to be the Chosen Ones. That means work. That means sacrifice on the part of the few for the whole, even if they aren’t that deserving.

People need to sit with clearer minds and determine the root problem, instead of what is the symptom.

Sometimes the Complaint department only has the complaints-they don’t find the solutions.

Yet, Prophecy is not done with us. There has to be a truce called between ethnicity-that is binding-because it isn’t just about the relationship between Caucasians and Indigenous people, but People of African descent, and anyone else willing to smoke the Peace Pipe that has an issue, or bone to pick with the other.

That’s right, Prophecy has some fine print. White man has to decide between technology that incites destruction, being an Earth person, and getting along with his fellow ethnicity. When you stick this under a magnifying lens, the White man is no longer just White people. Its greedy people of many ethnicity brought about by a different kind of pollution.

Prophecy is whispering in your waxed up ears that your eyes need to open and see what you hide from yourself. Laying blame isn’t working anymore. Moving past the blame has to happen.

Prophecy is the passive-aggressive verbalization of a message hidden in messages intuitively articulating a path of choices in hoped the fools involved will get it, and change their ways.

One prophecy read, “People need to know what they are.” Exactly what are you? Answer that question.

I have read several prophecies:

The running theme of mistreated people verbalizing a prophecy to warn the abuser to change their ways, or else bad will come upon the whole. The mistreated person is the disenfranchised person that doesn’t feel they have the power to change their condition-a universal curse has been uttered.

Deep inside, people want to know that the wrong done them by someone they loved, trusted, and cared about will not go unpunished. Deep inside…

 Enter the Single Child Born Under Special Circumstance

For any child born under special circumstance built around the markers of a prophecy, adults get half excited.

The child does not know the conditions surrounding its birth; only that it is born.

There’s probably more than one parent that wants to take credit for giving birth to the Anti-Christ.

Prophecy Problem Solving #2: Let the child live a normal life until the moment when something extraordinary occurs. The child will be given decisions to lead the child’s life in the direction of a prophecy eventually. Let it be free until until the Prophecy comes to collect like a mad pied piper.

The problem of a child born within the setting of what looks like a prophecy is:

The child will struggle with other people’s expectations versus choosing its own destiny. Do not lock an innocent child into a predetermined destiny that you are not certain beyond 100 percent of a doubt is linked to a prophecy.

You do not have the right as a human to screw about with someone else’s cosmic thread.

One prophecy read this way: “It’s not the return of a single individual who embodies what we’re becoming, but a process of emergence available to all peoples.”

Prophecy Problem-Solving #3: Prophecy will see fit not to tell you the mysterious ways in which it will speak to you, and through who, or what.

You better be listening with your eyes open, ready to receive.

A couple of prophecies I read:

The Seven Fires Prophecy of the Algonquin:

There are good and evil people in the world. Retrace your ancestor’s steps to find what was hidden and lost. People can either choose the road to destruction, or prosperity. (For prosperity it means you do not use destruction to prosper). It warrants universal cohesion between all people of the Earth.

Tuscarora Prophecy by Mad Bear:

“Every human was created by the Great Spirit, and we can’t hold malice in our hearts toward anyone. This is our way of life, this is our religion. The Great Spirit made the black man, the white man, the yellow man, and the red man. If we were to condemn and beat these people or keep them away we would be going against the Creator because he created them.”

“The governments of the world that are collapsing are those that have been blinded by the material things.”

There are people out there that go by Matthew 7:15 “Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves.”

The prophecies I have read are not articulated to harm but to warn, and give the hope that someone out there will act human and do right by others as the Great Spirit intended. It could even be the hope a Universal Creator will intervene and punish those that stray from the path of Good. These prophecies are vocalized by people worried about the direction the World is being navigated, and how it is a dishonor upon the Universal Creator, and disrespectful through the human to human interaction to harm each other. 

There is the predicament for the way Mother Earth is being sucked dry by the human parasites living on it aka those people that think there is an unlimited supply of everything for the currency of choice.

I would suggest this, as a Relative Stranger, do not hang onto the punishments of the Prophecies. Read between the lines at what is conveyed, for that is the problem, the symptom and the way to find the cures. When you have that, do not be afraid to be a Chosen One. 

Even if you are not, there is no rule in the Great Cosmology that says you are not allowed to do your very best to bring about peace, diplomacy, understanding, love, unity, and the infinite, universal cohesion amongst humans and those things of Mother Earth. Sometimes, you have to fight for those things.

Quite frankly, it is a tragedy that one need invoke a prophecy because Earthlings don’t have the social skills to do several simple human acts; love, compassion, kindness, and forgiveness.

There are many doorways. If everyone did the work to ensure a better world-Prophecy's threat over time, as we wait on it, will be void.

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

Boat Ramp Shenanigans with Space Chimp.

Remember this: Poke a measuring stick in it. That hole might be deep.

Yesterday, my son and I went to a boat landing way in the woods on a WMA area. We weighed ourselves before setting out. Humans do not learn anything valuable unless through intrepidity and caprice.

My God, I could have been on the internet looking at naked men, fighting faceless strangers, and looking at mindless crap. But no...I was out in the world.

The state has been under drought watch. The water was low and the road was driveable two days ago. Going in we saw one turkey, then a second. I told my son, “Wait for the third. That will be a show.” The third time we saw turkey there was a herd of about thirteen standing on the sandy road sides, wings a flapping, then strolled nonchalantly in the woods. This was the point I realized the road scraper had loosened the dirt up too much. The boat and truck was at risk to getting stuck. I put her in a different gear and drove on through. We got down to the boat landing after the scenic drive.

The reason I am writing this is for newbie people or anyone that hasn't gotten the details of going off as unseasoned people. This can include people that lack a mentor or just another person. Think before you act. At the very least try to avoid a metaphoric tar pit of nature.

We got the boat down to the landing. There was one truck and it was parked in such a way as to block anyone pulling out. I walked down to the river's edge. The water was low. There was nothing in the water to indicate the end of the boat ramp or the depth of the bottom a ways out. The boat ramp is actually a big canal shoot with disappearing gravel road. Just looking at the water, you can't tell if you back the trailer and boat out, if the trailer is going to fall into a hole you can't see.

I backed the truck up. After the boat came off my rear driver's side wheel found that one place and slide off of what looked to be a traction panel. I had one job and failed. No need spinning wheels in the mud and getting nowhere. You have to learn when to stop. If you don't stop, you make it worse.

It appears someone stuck a piece of pig panel down in the water. I was stuck. I keep finding myself stuck. Yet, if it weren't for me being stuck I wouldn't get great ideas for this blog posts. Other people with their squinty eyes tell me, “You are stuck.” I think it should be an Olympic sport. I would be devastatingly good at it; an unpaid life's career.

Before I left my father told me if I got bogged down to call him. He knew where I was going. Being my dad's child, I trust him. I fell prey to one of my dad's booby traps meant for would-be thieves.

I swamped the boat as well.

Never let it be said that there is nothing man can build that women can't tear apart. Yet on the positive side, we build just as much. It's the weird balance scale of the universe. You never know when it will strike with its shits and giggles. My father and the Universe were having a laugh-fest on me.

My son and I pulled the boat up on the bank. We figured out what he had done. While waiting I noticed a white and black bird flying over the area. It was a swallow-tailed kite. I could hear babies squawking somewhere close by but couldn't visualize the nest. If you see these birds please report a siting. It is an endangered species and of the highest conservation concern. The swallow-tailed kite winters in Brazil. You can call or go to The Avian Conservation Center and The Center for Birds of Prey (1-843-971-7474) websites to report sightings.

On to the debacle.

My father shows up unable to talk. He is humored by my state of affairs. My son was not amused. I thought I was going to die.

We pulled the truck and trailer out. It wasn't that bad. It was just off the track in a soft spot. It could happen to anyone at this ramp.

We pulled the boat up. Fixed it and used the bilge pump to get the excess water out. This was the second time I took this boat out. My dad had just purchased it and kept nudging me to take it out. I thought this odd behavior. I should have known. Send the test chimp to see if she can make it to outer space or watch her spaceship blow up and fall from the sky.

The first time I took this boat out I turned around because the gas line would not stay in the motor. I didn't think it prudent to spew gas into the river, strand myself or anyone with me. I am here not to put the fear of going outdoors in a person. I would rather have them enjoy life. Sometimes invisible and human gremlins decide they do what they want at your expense. Their evil plans know no bounds.

I looked at my dad and said, “Daddy, I don't think this is meant to be.” He didn't look at me and said, “Yes it is.” He might have realized to some degree this was a discouraging situation. He was never one for worry over my feelings. I traded the hitches off the two vehicles. He drove in a truck with 4WD and left it with me. My dad goes back and test drives this boat down the river, leaving it running. I was dubious. My son and I got in the boat then drove off. My dad left. I drove off with the boat. I liked it actually. It maneuvered easily. I could sit up in a seat. I can tell you when you drive your first car you are worried about wrecking into someone. When you drive your first boat on open water with no problems, it just feels awesome.

I looked down at the water. It had debris in it and looked nasty.

We went a ways but then I felt the boat motor kick. My son wanted to know if we hit something. I told him it was either air or water in the line. After the second or third bump, I just got this feeling to turn around because we were heading for this lake. I thought to myself, “There is no way I am stranding my baby and me on this river this day.” I made a U-turn right in the middle of the river and went straight back to the dock. There is no need in letting stupidity overrun common-sense. I got back to the boat ramp. The motor dies. Not to be deterred, I plopped the trolling motor in the water and thought Land Ho. Always have paddles or a back-up.

The problem with driving someone else's used purchase is there is a reason someone sold it. I figured out all the quirks in that boat but I am sure there will be more to come. It is better to do a test run with equipment without unknowing individuals aboard, instead of getting people out on a river then scaring them half to death. I can imagine if this were someone who had never been acclimated to river life. Probably would have shit their pants. If you are not somewhat concerned for yours or others safety and plight....you have a serious problem.

The boat would not crank. I didn't call my dad back either. I backed the Cherokee with the trailer down the slew to the river to float the boat up to hook it then cranked the boat up enough to pull it out the water without busting the motor. The boat motor wouldn't tilt. I wanted to (RAWR!) and gnaw on something, I tell you. I laugh now.

I drove up to a hill and used gravity to slide the boat up to the top where the crank handle was. Once we anchored it down, my son drove us out. He looks at me and says, “Mom, we go camping in a couple of weeks. It will be better. This was one hiccup.”

We got back to the house and weighed ourselves. Everything I do with my son is to teach him something. I told him if you wanted to lose some pounds go down to that particular river and just sit or walk around. He lost 4 pounds in less than 2 hours. I lost 6 pounds. We were constantly drinking water.

I have a reason for writing this. Prior to this, I had talked to several old timers or seasoned boat landing people. There was a pivotal theme traveling through these conversation. That theme was the avoidance of utilizing boat ramps in the area I am from and local areas. I traveled around to look at the landings. Some are great, some hellish.

I learned from working with the public that consumers will avoid bad service and places that provide dreadful experiences.

This is the growing case with some boat landings, their ramps, and engineering. The complaint on ramps were: the steepness of the ramp itself, low-maintenance or upkeep to the ramps, especially out of the way boat ramps. There was a complaint of visualization of where the ramp ended or erosion maintenance at the water's edge to keep boaters from bogging or sliding in. Also the lack of traction in a wide enough area at the mouth of the boat ramp. Some landings have a floating dock where others have nothing but a dirt hill. This doesn't provide a place to tie the boat. I got this from people on the river all the time. These outdoors people are being blocked by the thought of the boat landings being unsafe in some way as to warrant avoidance. There is the issue of once questioned by officials, the landing users will declare no problem. No one wants to be seen as ungrateful or a complainer. Wait until some gets hurt then everyone is bad mouthing the area.                                                                      

You begin to understand why some people die right at the ramp. They are in the water or struggling with the boat somehow. If you lost fluids at the rate my son and I did, compounded with some physical problem you are not aware of, I could see how someone could die. One landing near me is notorious for people dying. It is a steep drop off into the water you can't see. Back a boat up, walk in the water around the motor after you pull it out some and in the drink you go, sucked down. You don't know where the edge is. The person assumes it is naturally there. It could easily happen when you think beyond yourself.

One ramp I went to looks like a ledge when you stand at the top even though from the side it is a gradual incline. Most people do not own a Dualie trucks or a 4 X 4 to pull a trailer. They have little small or mid-size vehicles with questionable brakes and motors two steps from fried. They go fishing to enjoy themselves and get food. I could see where fishermen would be afraid of watching their truck roll back into the river. Some smart person would say, “Don't go down there then.” Yet the landing is there for everyone. There was a section on the other side of the river that was lower.  A decent ramp could have been built there. It would be great if the water were high, but most people do not go when the water is high.

The ramp itself is an obstacle to the river and enjoyment when no appropriate. I wonder if landings are reassessed?

When going to a landing, tell someone where you are going. You might need to send out an S.O.S. If you have no one, become acquainted with the DNR and who to call, if in trouble. Get out your truck and walk down to look at the ramp. Look for hazards. If you find some report them. If it looks shady, don't go in. Go on the premise: out of sight, out of mind. Take electrolytes and water. You don't want to get dehydrated. When in doubt, turn around. Have a back-up. Check your boat with a mental checklist. Someone might have done something to it. On the trip in, something might have become ajar or loose. Talk to people and find out what the potential problems are you might be facing or unaware of. It is worth the oxygen to ask.

I could go on.

Read other people's experience and learn from it. It could happen to you. Just because things go wrong doesn't mean you have to give up your plans to enjoy yourself or experience something new. There are always obstacles that get in the way. It is your job as a human being to use your brain and heart to dodge or make the best of things to get over a hump. There might be a reason for this. You might be laboring under some plight for the sake of someone you don't know who will benefit. Take classes provided by the local DNR or other organizations. Every little bit of experience helps. You might even save a life. You never know.

Go forth River Noob and be awesome.

Written by: Angelia Y Larrimore, the Undaunted.

Hunting: A Ghost Story, Part IV

Mich sat inside the speakeasy drowning his conscious in the rotgut booze made out back by Frank Delano. He was listening to the songstress belting out rhythm and blues while begging the Lord for mercy because of her devious ways. He stared at her. Her pecan skin and plumb lips quivers as she sang, “I need forgiveness from you”, while hitting the high note. When the song ended, Mich walked up and put five one-hundred dollar bills into the jar labeled Inaskye's Swear Jar. Inaskye looked at the jar now full of money and picked it up. “Hey Candy Man.” She gestured with the jar. “You need forgiveness?” She picked up a lace shawl and put it around her shoulders.

He looked at the woman and she walked off while looking back. “Come on then.” He followed her to a backroom.

The dark shape followed the woman back to her SUV and stood in the shadows. The dark shape was watching and waiting. Waiting for opportunity. The dark shape's need to expose and destroy the woman grew inside with each glance of her. No one would have her.

The shape never saw it coming. The ghost appeared from behind and began to merge into the dark shape's physical being, holding still the dark shape's form. The apparition encircled her arms around the dark shape and began to squeeze. The ghost let go and the dark shape was flung through the air near the clapboard house it was standing next to. The dark shape could feel its soul being ripped from its body. The mouth harboring the last scream, began to crack and the eyes bulge. There was a thud to the body. The dark shape was impaled into the boards of the house by the straggled breathing of a stag, pushing the dark shape deeper into the wood until the wood bowed. There were gurgles as the stag pulled itself away with the dark shape hanging from its horns. Shaking the dark shape like a rag doll, the dark shape slipped free to bleed out on the ground. The ghost hovered above. The ghost turned and moved to where the dark shape stood to see the woman safely get into her SUV and drive away.

Inside the clapboard house, Minnie Miller could hear noises outside. Burglars again. She picked up her 38 revolver from the place she shoved it between her knitting needles and yarn. She slipped on her fuzzy house shoes. She took a first glance outside the window. She didn't see the body lying underneath the window. She went outside onto the porch and walked to the end where she heard the noise. She saw a body under he window, took aim and let a bullet fly.

“If you're not dead. You are now!” Wait until all her friends down at the local Senior's club learn how she thwarted a burglar or worse yet, a rapist caught in the act. She waited to see if it moved. Minnie walked back into the house and dialed 911.

The 911 operator came onto the line. “Hello, 911. What is your emergency?”

Minnie Miller straightened her flora printed moo-moo. “I would like to report a dead body. At least I think it's a dead body. Right outside under my window.”

Eli returned to the area where Hugh took a spill out the deer stand. Night occluded the day and the sounds of the woods began to make their mark on the silence. He wanted to know what was going on. He asked Mich to meet him but Mich had a prior engagement. He wondered why Correlia had not returned his call. He called her twenty times so far. He was beginning to worry.

Eli knew Correlia's stand was not to far behind her father's house which abutted the area the three men had hunted days earlier. He always liked to be close by so if she shot something he and the boys could help her load it up. He walked through the woods to see if he could find her stand. When he got to the lean-to he pushed the nylon screen aside and scooted inside. He sat down and found a journal scrapbook. He wondered should he do some investigative work and spy on what she was into. He thought not to but curiosity got the better of him. He opened the journal and found deeply personal information written in its pages. Some of it disturbed him. He found the entry from days ago to find some photos of Correlia and Hugh trying on wedding dresses and tuxedos. Eli snorted and thought those two. Why would she leave this behind? Eli sat there for a moment then began to feel a little worried. No, this wasn't right. Something wasn't right here. He got up and crawled out. He looked in different directions. He saw a light off in the distance and began walking towards it. He lost track of the time, but walked a short distance through the woods. As he got closer to the edge of the woods, he could see the shape standing. As he stopped, the time it took for the apparition to transverse the distance knocked Eli down as the ghost screamed the wail of a Banshee. He yelled and got up to run but no matter where he went it was there. It growled and moved back to the edge of the woods then disappeared.

Eli recovering his composure crawled across the ground to stare down the path leading to the open area. Woman's things were hanging from tobacco string in the limbs of the trees. Puzzled yet oddly pulled, he got up and walked to the edge of woods to see Old Man Pierce out in his back yard hanging his daughter's things in the trees. It was strange behavior. Eli saw something flutter from the clothes line. It was lace of some kind. He then began to wonder if Old Man Pierce had gotten wind of what his daughter was planning?

Rachel Gray Owl lay on the porch soaking up the night air. The sounds of frogs interrupted what would otherwise be a quiet night. Her Auntie Mallory sat beside her in a white wicker rocking chair. She pulled the Peruvian blanket over her feet. The blanket was one her Aunt had given her after purchasing it at a local pau wau. Red Threads were woven as a background with the image of white fish swimming in a blue and yellow geometrical shape. The borders reached out to the edge. It brought her comfort.

Her Auntie Mallory stared out into the night sky.

“Rachel, do you think you need to go to the Elders? Talk to them about your troubles? I think it might help you.”

Aunt Mallory picked up her glass of sweet tea before removing a magazine from the small porch table. She was thankful for these quiet, cool nights. The mosquitoes were gone and she could engage herself in the sounds of nature while perusing the latest bird and flower magazines. Spring was going to be there soon enough and she had to prepare for the planting. Bulbs, yes that would be nice she thought, some real Dutch bulb from Holland.

Rachel was silent inside her blanket. She thought about the course her life was taking. She didn't like it. She use to believe activism was for the greater good yet she ended up fighting with everyone that had a difference of opinion. Was life suppose to be this way? The constant case of battling with everyone while no one solved the problem. Her Aunt Mallory discarded the current magazine for a fashion magazine.

“Auntie Mallory, I have never tried to be pretensions on my attitude. It is what it is. People want to judge me. I am trying to do good in the world. If it weren't for Correlia Pierce, I would have no problem. She is more of a problem for me with her killing animals and posting her images online. Who does she think she is?”

Auntie Mallory looked away from her scrutiny of the latest runway fashion.

“Rachel dear, you can't help what you feel passionate about. I would tell you that when questing after anything there are going to be obstacles. You have to fight the good fight. Not everyone is your enemy. Stop looking for people to validate your suspicions of them and pushing them away. Just take this investigation to find your half-sister who was adopted out at birth. You haven't given up on that. I hope it doesn't disappoint you.”

A wine colored SUV slowly made its way down the woodland path to the Gray Owl Residence. Amber Jennerett flipped on her high beams as she coasted slowly between pine trees and oaks on the lonely drive. She could see the light of the porch up ahead. She hoped Rachel was ready to hear the results of her investigation. She lived in town and knew the Gray Owl's well. She could see Rachel's Aunt Mallory and Rachel on the porch. She sucked in her breath and took a drink of her soda. Amber pulled up into the yard, parked the SUV and got out. She walked to the other side and opened the door to retrieve a manilla envelope. She shut the door. As she was walking up the drive she waved and called out, “Hello Miss Mallory.”

Rachel Gray Owl motioned for Amber to take a seat in one of the wicker chairs. Her anxiety and excitement began to mount the moment she saw Amber get out her vehicle. She felt a chill in the air.

The ghost was standing in the center of Rachel, Aunt Mallory, and Amber. She wasn't sure why she was here but felt it important.

Amber sat down and looked at Rachel.

“Rachel, when you first asked me to investigate this missing half-sister I wasn't sure if I would find her. I did find her and I hope you will understand that things don't always turn out the way we would like. Not that I am saying this is bad but I want you to keep an open mind.”

Rachel didn't like the sound of where this was heading. “Oh God, is it bad?”

Amber looked Rachel in her eyes. “It will be a bit of a surprise to you.”

Rachel glanced at her Aunt Mallory. “I am a big girl. I can take it.”

Amber opened the envelope and pulled out some documents and a photo. She handed the photo to Rachel. “This is your sister.”

Rachel looked at the photo. Upon looking at it, she realized who it was and put her hand over her mouth to stop from crying out. “No this can't be...”

Her Aunt Mallory got up and looked over Rachel's shoulder. The suspense was killing her. When she saw the photo she even looked at Amber in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

Amber flipped through the papers to find the birth certificate. “Yes. This document confirms it. This little girl was taken from the hospital and raise not to far from here. She never knew who her family was. She thought her father was all the family she had. He was a bad man from what I hear around town.”

Rachel got up and walked off the porch. She couldn't digest this. She could hear her Aunt's worried voice calling to her, “Rachel dear!” The air was getting colder as Rach walked inside of the woods. She began to cry erratically before falling to her knees and burying her face in the leaves. The ghost kneeled down and showed herself to Rachel.

Rachel opened her eyes to see the angry face of the ghost dressed in lace. She screamed, fell back, and began to scramble into a tree. She could hear her Aunt Mallory and Amber calling for her. The ghost blazed. The eyes were the most angry she had ever seen. Eyes of revenge, retribution and fury. The ghost took a step then as if realizing slowly back away evaporating into sparks that resembled fireflies. Rachel turned her head into the tree. She didn't want to look up not even when her Aunt Mallory began to pull on her shoulder.

“What is wrong with you child? What did you see?”

Eli sat in his truck with his bottle of bourbon. He was crying while smoking a cigar. The CD player came on. Ty Herndon's voice came from the speakers. He looked up out of the front window. Coming through the woods was the glow of a light, the ghostly woman.

The radio was blaring the voice of Ty Herndon's bridge:

     Ashes to Ashes dust to dust

     I'll lay beside you forever in love

Eli got out of the truck. He walked toward the visage. He started to run towards it. The glow stopped.

The music from the truck waif through the woods as it changed songs. Eli stopped in front of the specter. She lifted her veil and let it fall away. The ghost of Correlia stood before him. She put her hands out and started to sing with the voice on the radio:

    they say for everyone,

    there's that certain one

    Out there, somewhere......

Eli  walked towards her. She was dead, wasn't she? He thought about it for a second but decided he didn't care. He walked right into her arms.

Correlia murmured. “I want you to come with me.”

Eli pulled away. “I am not dead.”

Correlia laughed and pointed to the truck. Inside was Eli, dead with a burning cigar in his fingers.

Eli looked at the truck in his usual realistic philosophy.

“I guess that solves it then. Can't say I'll miss it.”

Correlia softly laughed. “You are as tart in death as you were in life.”

Eli grabbed her again and kissed her dead lips. “Like I say, to be continued.....”

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

Hunting: A Ghost Story, Part III

Two Days Prior:

Correlia Pierce put on her boots and reached into the gun cabinet to pull out a box of 30-30 rifle shells. She pulled three bullets out and slipped them into the camouflaged pouch. She wanted to keep some handy while she was in the woods. Correlia was sure there were already bullets in her gun. She liked to be prepared. She took a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Pulling her backpack open, she slipped the bottled water and pouch into the bag along with her flashlight and a scrapbook journal. As she was unhooking her cell phone, she heard a horn blow out in the front yard. She peered out the window.

“What is she doing here?”

She walked over to the door with her backpack, opened it and walked outside on the front porch.

“Rachel Grey Owl. What do I owe the pleasure?” Correlia knew this wasn't a good thing. Wherever Rachel Grey Owl appeared, trouble followed.

Rachel Grey Owl opened the door to her sedan and walked up to Correlia. She stared brazenly at her in contempt.

“I know about you and Mich.”

“You do now.” Correlia laughed.

Rachel pulled a photograph out of her pocket. The photograph showed Correlia and Mich in an embrace, kissing. Correlia took the photo from Rachel and looked at it.

“This is nothing. It is an innocent picture of me and Mich. Nothing more.”

Enraged Rachel fumed.

“How can you say that? You and Mich are clearly lovers. How long has this been going on? I demand an answer.”

“Why don't you go ask Mich?” At this point, Rachel was just pissing Correlia off. “He seems to like it by the picture.”

Correlia turned to walk toward the woods. She didn't have time for this. She stopped and turned around in case Crazy Rachel wanted to attack her. “I don't understand you. You are all over the place acting crazy. Did you ever think that might be the reason why Mich broke it off with you? Or can you not get that into that vain head of yours?” She turned back to walk off into the woods.

Rachel Grey Owl glared at Correlia as she disappeared into the woods. She turned around to see the wind had picked up. On the clothes line behind her, blowing in the breeze were curtains and lace bedding drying in the sun.

Rachel Grey Owl thought of all the time logged tracking Correlia's movements online. She followed her from her job and to the laundry; sat outside to watch her fold her clothes. She tried to tamper with her car but someone walked up on her outside of the bar. Someone needed to teach Correlia a lesson.

Correlia walked down the path. Her cell phone began to ring. Hugh's number showed up on the caller id. She answered.

“What are you doing?” She laughed.

Hugh's voice came over the line. “I have the package. I picked it up this morning after I bought groceries. Are you going to be at home later?”

“Yes,but I am in the woods right now. I don't want it left on the porch. I'll come by later and pick it up. Dad is not suppose to be here this evening. I think he is going on an overnight fishing trip down at Lake Mead.”

“Okay Correlia. Just come by after you finish.”

“Okay Hugh. Thanks again.”

Correlia ended the call and put the cell phone in her pocket. Everything was going to be okay. It just had to be.

There was a snapping of limbs. Startled Correlia saw Eli walk out of the bushes.

“Did I scare you?” He began to laugh. “You should have seen the look on your face. It was priceless.” He walked over to Correlia and pulled her close to kiss her. She pushed back.

“Stop being a douche.” Correlia was a bird with fluffed feathers.

“You keep acting like that I am going to cut off the loving.”

“You are not suppose to see me.”

Eli chuckled. “Girl, I have seen you naked haven't I? What else is there?”

“Eli, this has to stop.” She pulled off her backpack and took a swing at him.

“Noooo, it must continue.” Eli grabbed Correlia and pulled her down to the ground.

Mich Blake pulled into the drive of the little, white, wooden church nestled just inside some oaks with flowing Spanish moss. He had been crying for some time. Things were not going as he would have liked. He got out of the truck and walked to the back door of the parsonage and knocked on the door. Reverend Summers answered the door.

“Mich, come in. I wasn't expecting anyone until about 6 pm.”

Mich walked inside the cozy sitting room. He sat down and looked at Reverend Summers.

“I would like to confess a sin.”

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

Hunting: A Ghost Story, Part II

The Next Day:

The next morning, Roger Maldonado walked into Hugh Lorimer’s hospital room. His sharp cut suit was the current bespoke style. He dropped his coat on the faux leather recliner and sat on the bed.

Hugh awoke with a start.

“Hello honey. I just got back from the pastoral conference. Just as soon as you contacted me I hopped the first plane to get here.”

Roger leaned over and kissed Hugh on the lips.

“You are always getting yourself into trouble. When is this going to stop?” He laughed at the grimace on Hugh’s face.

“Now Roger, you know I like to hunt. I simply slipped. I had my gear on to keep me from falling but when I started to get down from the tree I lost my footing.” Hugh picked up a small plastic cup to sip some water.

Roger looked sternly at Hugh.

“At least take some precautions with those ladder rungs. You could have been killed and where would I be then?” Roger started to wipe the creases out of the bed comforter.

Hugh looked out the window like a guilty man. He stayed silent.

“I saw something; out there at the stand.”

Roger looked at Hugh. “What was it?”

Hugh began to tremble. “I think it was a ghost.”

Roger began to laugh. He stopped when he saw the look of worry on Hugh’s face. “Come on now. You want me to believe you saw a ghost?”

Roger was about to respond when the food tray for lunch arrived. He thought it best to question Hugh later. The pain killers must be affecting his mind. Hugh began to eat and changed the channel on the television.

“I did Roger.” Hugh picked at his food in silent contemplation.

Eli checked his cell phone messages. Correlia had not returned his phone call yet. He knew she left town yesterday to visit her Aunt to tell her the good news. It was good news to him but he was sure others wouldn’t think so. He hoped Mich Blake had not gotten wind of the news.

Mich Blake spent the better part of the morning calling local taxidermists to price head mounts for Hugh. Everyone in town doing the work was overrun with pieces not finished on time. One of the taxidermists suggest he call Tim's Taxidermy. The taxidermist did refer to him a Nick the Necrophiliac. Mich thought it was because of the kind of work they were in, mounting dead things and all. He didn't care what the dude was into as long as the price and the work were right.

Mich pulled the head from the refrigerator and walked out the house to put it in his cooler. A gray sedan pulled up behind his truck. Rachel Grey Owl jumped from the car and began to accost Mich verbally.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Mich eyeballed Rachel. “Don't come here bothering me. I got errands to run. Why are you here anyway?”

Rachel Grey Owl pulled out a photo of Correlia Pierce.

“I know this is the tramp you have been sneaking around with in the woods. Did you not think I wouldn't find out?”

Rachel took a swipe at Mich with her hand. Mich sidestepped the blow which landed on his chest.

“So help me God Mich, you and she will pay for this.”

Mich took a step back. Mich thought this sounded like a threat. He didn't know Rachel that well because the relationship started out as a drunk one night stand that developed into a crack habit. She reminded him of the song Jessie's Girl but he wanted to give her back.

“Usually I put up with your jealous crap but not today. I broke it off with you and I mean it. You need to get back in your paddy wagon and head back where you come from.”

Mich crossed his arms over his chest. He had enough of Rachel's melodramatics. It was not like he couldn't find him another woman. He liked Rachel for her activism but when she turned it on him in a conversation right after sex, he figured the relationship was dead in the water.

“I don't know why you came to my yard waving a picture of Correlia Pierce. I can only think you want to fight with her as you do the rest of us. Correlia is a friend. I think maybe you should go.”

The fury in Rachel Grey Owl's eyes burned. “A friend? Is that what you call it. You go down into the woods with her and make biscuits then come to my house to do the same thing. I hope you get and STD.”

Rachel got back into her sedan, lit the ignition and tried to pull over onto Mich's foot as she sped away.

“Screw you and her.”

Mich watched as the sedan tore down the road vicariously. His mailbox suffered the consequences.

“Crazy biotch.”

He opened the door to his truck, hoping she wouldn't come back. He knew it wasn't that Rachel was an animal activist but a deeply disturbed woman. It would seem that was the kind he liked; volatile and nutty.

Mich Blake drove down the dirt road to the small white building beside Yadkin's cemetery. He pulled his truck into the unassuming parking lot to the taxidermy building. A non-descript sign with a duck and deer silhouette in black hung by the mail box. The yard looked a mess with bits and pieces thrown around. This made Mich believe there was no woman caring for the place. He rung the door bell. There was no answer. He wrung the door bell again before trying the door. He turned the knob and walked inside. A radio was playing loudly as a man was doing some work on a deer head.

Mich yelled. “Hey guy! I am here to drop off a friend's deer mount.”

Tim Nicholson jumped as Mich tossed something at him to get his attention. He looked up.

“What can I do you for?” Tim stopped what he was doing.

“My name is Mich Blake. One of my friends said you had the best price for doing a deer mount. I brought my buddy Hugh's head by to see if you could pencil it in.”

“Sure. I am just about caught up with everything here. Go get it and I'll write up a ticket. I do require a one hundred dollar deposit. No refunds.”

Mich moved for the door. “I'll be right back.”

Mich walked back out the door to the truck to retrieve the head. When he returned he set the black plastic bag on the wooden work bench. Tim was nowhere in sight. He saw a door then walked over to it because it was partially cracked and pushed it open with his fingers.

Inside of the room was a bed. On the bed was what appeared to be a woman or what use to be a woman. The room smelled of preservatives. The ghastly face stared back at Mich. Mich was startled when Tim walked beside him and pulled the door closed.

“What is that?”

Tim stared Mich in the eyes.

“A man is entitled to the love of his life.”

(To be Continued)

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

Hunting: A Ghost Story, Part I

     The ten point buck made his way toward the edge of the woods, stopping to sniff and taste the wind. He moved slow and languid, stopping every three steps. He sensed something. He elongated his neck and quivered his mouth to nudge a leaf shaking back and forth on a thin vine. He moved on into the clearing of soybeans.

     Leaving the protection of the tree line, the buck broke the woods and slowly wandered out into the field. The wind momentarily died down. There was a creak then a sound he had heard all too often. The arrow thudded into his side, blade cutting its way through. Blood began to spurt from the wound. Its heart raced with fear and adrenaline. There was nothing to know from this point on except abrupt pain and an ever-increasing dark. The woods were its safety and it knew to flee. The buck took flight, but collapsed yards away inside of the woods. The grey-colored lifeless body lay undiscovered as the wind swirled through an ocean of dried leaves. Shadows engulf the dead animal like a dark forbidding vortex.

     Hugh Lorimer sat quietly in his tree stand with his bow in his lap. He watched as the buck ran off after he let his weaponized shaft fly. He knew if he placed his arrow true, the deer would not make it out alive with its life. He was right. Dark fell around him. He breathed the cool dew in. All was quiet. No one would know the drama which had just minutes before unfolded. After twenty minutes, Hugh decided to investigate the whereabouts of his quarry. He unbuckled himself and began to climb down. His hope, the deer was dead and not about to wander away to be lost. He did so hate to track animals in the dark even with the flashlight. After moving down the metal ladder, he slipped and fell. His body crashed onto the ground below, knocking him unconscious.

     Hugh’s hunting companions, Eli Evans and Mich Blake, where located in the woods in the land-managed area abutting private land. There was no gunshot to ring out to let the others know he had downed a deer. No one would know for a while that Hugh lay unconscious at the bottom of his stand.

     Night in the woods has always been a mystery. Off in the distance from Hugh’s body came the sounds of footfall. The high pitched howls and calls of the coyote pack were closing in on his position.

     Hugh awoke with the feeling of someone tugging on his pants. When he regained consciousness, a coyote was trying to drag him off. Hugh came too sharply and looked around. The light of the moon illuminated the eyes of the coyote pack. They were closing in.

     “Get out of here, the lot of you.” He yelled and waved his hands. The coyote moved back to the packs location. The pain in his leg reminded him of his fall. He couldn’t find his bow, nor could he shoot. He yelled for help; silence. Hugh began to shake with the idea of being eaten alive by a coyote pack.

     The coyote pack began to bark out high pitch yips and howls. He closed his eyes in prayer. Hugh wondered why they weren’t attacking. He opened his eyes and in the trees he saw the glow of a figure, standing very still. The soft, transparent body cast an eerie blue light. He could see that it looked like a woman. The terror deep inside began to grow with each breath. What was this thing?

     As the spectre moved closer, the coyotes began to move back into the dark with glowing eyes.

     “Stay away from me. Stay away from me.” Hugh’s body began shaking uncontrollably. He held his breath as he looked away. The spectre crossed the distance then kneeled down over Hugh. Hugh opened one eye to look at the ghostly vision. It was too much. Hugh fainted at the sight of the lace-covered phantom. The last thing he saw was pitiless eyes.

     The spectre moved back and forth over Hugh’s body. It hovered over the broken leg. Rising up, the spectre moved into the forest. Minutes later, it returned with a ghostly deer. The deer Hugh had previously shot. The ghost led the spectral deer to stand over Hugh. Ectoplasmic liquid oozed out of the eyes of the animal spirit. The ghost pointed to Hugh then moved off into the woods. The animal spirit snorted and pawed at the ground. It lowered its head to acknowledge the living man on the ground.

     Eli Evans and Mich Blake did not garner a buck of their own that night. They waited patiently at the front of their trucks listening to the radio.

     “Eli, who are you dating now?” Mich inquired. Mich rubbed bug spray onto his arms. The mosquitoes were fierce down near the swampy area they scoped out for hunting. Mich had a brawny physique and debonair smile. Women always loved him for his teeth and his muscles, which was always in abundance. Green and black face paint marred his usual ecstatic good looks. He was a go-getter and athletic type. His brownish eyes were hidden in the dark but held a religious innocence.

     Eli Evans was staring at the dark. He wondered where Hugh was. It was well past time for him to come in empty-handed, unless he tagged a deer.
     “I’m not dating anyone. Are you still messing around with Rachel Greyowl? I think she’s a real nutter. What do you see in her?”

     Eli pulled out a Prince Albert cigar. It was chocolate. Chocolate was his favorite. He struck up the lighter and burned the end. The ember glowed with each puff. He inhaled then removed it from his mouth to breath out the smoke in a slow, straight stream.

     Eli was a tall and moderately thin with a model’s body. His dark hair sat atop porcelain skin and perfect features. The only thing that showed marring was a scar that cut under one of his eyes. It stood out with a fleshy gold color. He moved into view of the truck lights and his blue eyes flashed for a moment with agitation.

     Mich began to laugh. “Naw man, I stopped dating her. She took up that animal rights activism mess. I don’t find that attractive. The polar opposite thing wasn’t working out for us. Do you think we should go looking for Hugh? He’s sure to be back by now. Maybe he’s lost a deer in the woods?”

     Eli took another roll of his cigar then ripped off the end. He raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement.

     “Yeah, we better go find him.”

     Eli walked around to the door of the passenger door of the truck to retrieve his flashlight. Mich shut his truck’s ignition off and shut the door. They both walked off down the road toward the field they knew Hugh was set on.

     Eli and Mich traveled down the road until Eli thought he saw something in the distance. They had another five minutes to get to Hugh’s stand. He knew there wasn’t supposed to be anyone else down there. Eli put his hand to Mich’s chest. “Hold up man. I thought I saw something.”

     Mich looked down the road into the dark. He raised his flashlight but didn’t see anything.

     Eli and Mich saw the blue light flicker on and off in the distance.

     “Turn the flashlight off Mich.”

     Eli heard the click as the light was extinguished. In the distance, the glow moved from one spot to the next until it came to rest in the middle of the wet, dirt road.

     Mich began to feel threatened; the firmness in his voice echoed his building panic. He whispered to Eli.

     “Man, my granddad use to tell us stories about those blue lights. He called them wisps. He warned us to turn-tail and run the other way. Nothing good comes from them.”

     Eli stared. “I’m not running from nothing. Hugh’s out there. He could be hurt. Besides, that looks like a person. You’re not chicken shit are you? Let’s go.”

     Mich and Eli made their way to the spot where they saw the blue light before it disappeared. They walked into the woods and found the stand. Hugh was underneath it, lying on his back with a broken leg.

     Mich rushed to where Hugh had landed under the stand. Eli was close behind him.

     “Hugh! Are you alright? Talk to me buddy.”

     Eli examined Hugh’s leg. When he moved it, Hugh came to screaming with pain.

     “My leg!” Hugh whimpered in pain. He was already stiff from lying too long in the dirt.

     Eli sat back and put his hands on his hips.

     “Mich we need to get Hugh back to the truck. Let’s carry him out to the road. I’ll run back and get my vehicle then take him to the emergency room.”

     “Alright, I’ll stay with him. His boyfriend is going to be pissed when he finds this out.”

     Mich reached down to pick Hugh up under his shoulders. Eli stood in between Hugh’s legs to pick them up. Once they got Hugh to a good comfortable position, they carried him out to the edge of the road. Hugh complained the whole time from pain.  Eli ran to get the truck and returned with the 4x4. Once they loaded Hugh in Eli’s truck, Eli backed the truck up.

     Hugh was awake fully from all the indelicate handling. Hugh lunged for the window.  

     “Get my deer. I think it ran just into the woods near the stand. Please.”
     Mich walked over to the window.
     

     “I’ll go back and look Hugh. My truck is still parked down at the opening. If I find it I’ll dress it out for you back at my house.”
     Hugh sat back in the passenger seat. He looked peaked from the wound.

     “Mich, it looked like a ten-pointer. Save the head for me, I wanted to have it mounted.”

     “I’ll get it done for you.” Mich looked at Eli. “Let me know what the Doc says and call me later.”

     Mich patted the truck window to signal Eli to take Hugh on to the hospital. He then walked back into the woods to retrieve the deer.

     Eli began to make his way down the road out of the land managed area. Hugh was in shock. Eli thought Hugh looked like he saw a ghost. Hugh leaned over to turn the radio on.

     “Eli, I saw a ghost. I mean a real ghost. She came right up to me.”

     Eli eyed Hugh.

     “After that fall Hugh, you probably have a concussion.”

     “No I tell you. I saw a ghost. I opened my eyes and she was right in my face. She had holes for sockets and this stringy lace that burned blue then broke off and died like fire embers. It scared the shit out of me.”

     “I think you broke your head.” Eli began to laugh at his friend but given his dire state decided that wouldn’t be prudent.

     “A coyote had me. He started to drag me away and there she was; just standing there.”

     Hugh began to cry. It was just too much for him to take in and now Eli didn’t believe him. Mich would be no better.

     “If it makes you feel any better, Mich and I saw blue lights flickering in the area. I thought it was fireflies. Mich said it was wisps.” Eli laughed out laugh. “Mich can take out a gorilla on his own and he’s worried about a little spooky ambiance shining in the dark. I don’t know how he ever gets laid.”

     “Disco lights.” Hugh laughed but the pain reminded him again of its presence.

     An hour and half went by as Eli drove towards town. Eli pulled his broken Prince Albert cigar out and struck it up with the lighter he fished out his ashtray. He couldn’t get Hugh’s ghost story or the blue lights in the woods out of his thoughts. What was to be made of it?

     He finally pulled up to the emergency room doors and went inside. He came back with a wheelchair to escort Hugh into the waiting room. It was going to be a long night. Once inside, Eli handed Hugh his cellphone.

     “I think you’d better call your boyfriend.” Hugh took the phone and dialed the number.

    

(To Be Continued)

Written by: Angelia Y Larrimore

~Courtesy of the AOFH~