Colorado Ghost Stories. Antonio Boone's Garcez

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СКАЧАТЬ Barnes’ Story

      I conducted Lana’s interview in a local coffee house with a French name not far from the courthouse building. Lana has now been in happy retirement from her career as a museum curator for several years. Aside from traveling to the Middle East, and taking short pleasure jaunts to Italy each year, she occupies her time at home these days, caring for her chihuahua ‘Zobra.’

      Lana was fully able, without any hesitance, to describe her spiritual experience at the courthouse. She also came to the interview prepared to share with me some photographs which she took that captured on two occasions what appeared to be a dark figure looming in two areas of the building. Although these snap shots were impressive, she did not want me to reproduce them for this book. With obvious disappointment, I asked her to give me her reason. She responded by giving me the following surprising answer, “I think I now know who this person might be, and because of this I want to privately honor his memory, and in my own personal way keep it private.” I absolutely agreed to honor her decision.

      — Antonio

      “I’ve lived in Colorado Springs since I was 14, and today just by chance, I’m celebrating my 58th birthday. I began employment at the museum in 1971. The building where the museum is now housed, in years past was known as the El Paso County Courthouse. The building has a history of being haunted, that’s what I was warned about. Prior to working at the museum fellow employees advised me if I were given the choice, “You should not ever spend any time alone in the building at night.” As of this time, I haven’t worked at the museum for more than 13 years. I miss my friends and their fellowship, but after hearing my story, you’ll know why I chose to finally leave my employment at the museum.

      When I was hired, my job was to care for the Indian artifacts that are on display and to catalogue and shelve the numerous items that were regularly donated to the museum by families or individuals. Usually, the bulk of the items would be donated prior to the end of each year. My own thoughts on this regular occurrence was that given the high value of such donations, citizens could use the tax benefits afforded to them as tax right offs. Whatever the reason, we accepted the donated items with much gratitude.

      One typical day as I was working in the basement, busy with a task which I can’t recall at the moment, I was told if I would be available, on the coming Friday, to put in a few extra hours. A party, a fund-raising event of some type was planned for Saturday and I was needed the day before to assist the event decorator. I didn’t have anything planned for Friday, so I agreed to help out.

      Along with the usual paper and floral decorations that were to be placed as a display in the middle of the main table, a sampling of pottery, beaded buckskin and baskets had also been chosen to accompany the flowers. The director had stated because of my expertise, I would be given the task to choose the items carefully, taking into account their value and delicate nature.

      I was very aware that this was a big responsibility, and since I did not want to cause any undue harm, nor to have the valuable and historical items touched in a manner that would damage them, I selected about 10 items which I thought would give a fair representation of our collection, and weather, so to speak, the ‘trauma’ of being moved.

      Friday came, and as the decorators were busy on another floor above, I was in the basement taking my time removing and carefully placing each chosen item upon my four-wheeled cart. As I was placing the first item, a Omaha beaded breast plate upon a tray, for the purpose of transferring it onto the cart, I suddenly heard some unusual sounding footsteps approaching from my right. They sounded as if someone was scraping the ground with each step. It was a sound resembling the grinding of sand, or footsteps upon small gravel.

      I turned my head, expecting to see one of the decorators, but instead I spotted a large and dark shadowy figure of a man! He was not standing looking in my direction, but instead was walking very quickly down the far end of the aisle. He was a misty, more or less, shadow-like figure. Immediately I knew that it was not something of this living earth—it was a ghost! I froze in place and simply waited for it to come charging at me at any moment! It never did.

      A great sense of relief came over me when I saw it quickly move directly through the back wall. I felt better knowing it had decided to kept on moving, and that it chose not to spend any time bothering me. I softly recited a silent prayer and took the time to composed myself. I was contemplating running up the stairs like a scared little schoolgirl, but thankfully my rational self took control and I chose to stay put.

      What I did do immediately, without hesitation, was to turn on all the lights in the basement, then to turn on a portable radio I kept in the area. In just a few minutes I was feeling much better.

      However, throughout the remaining time I spent in the basement, I kept thinking to myself that I must have imagined the ghost. That’s not so unusual to rationalize like that. Most of us I imagine have done this in one situation or another. I thought to myself that since I must have been so unaware of how tired I was, and because of working beyond my regular hours, my imagination had gotten the best of me. In a few minutes, I was feeling much better and moved on to prepare the next item for the display.

      I decided to use an old Mexican serape that was in excellent coloration, as an addition for the Hispanic display. I walked over to the large cabinet where the textiles were stored and pulled out the rolling rack which held the serape. After lifting and placing it on the cart, I moved on to the next item, a hand-made, horse hair lariat that was about 120 years old.

      As I was removing it from the shelf, my eyes caught a movement to my right. I closed my eyes and thought, “Oh no, I hope it’s not a ghost!” I opened my eyes, then turned and saw nothing. But I did heard the voice of someone saying, ”Don’t touch that, I’ll hit you!” Automatically, without thinking about the consequences, the words came out of me, ”Okay, okay, I’ll put it back.” I replace the lariat then turned around and saw no one. Both my hands were shaking.

      I remember that the radio was playing a song by the Beatles that I liked, so I think that happy, joyful tune helped to put me in a positive mental state. Thinking back, I can only imagine how strange that must have been, but I just did what I did without thinking.

      When I took hold of the cart to push it over to the next isle, courage reared up inside me and I thought, “No, I’m going to use that lariat, ghost, or no ghost. It would look perfect on the display.” So with that, I turned around and reached for it, then placed it on the cart. Nothing happened, I was not struck, or even pushed in the slightest.

      I took a few more steps, and placed the next few items on the cart and headed toward the elevator. As I was slowly pushing the cart down the isle, once again I felt the overwhelming presence of someone following, and staring at me. I instinctively turned around and saw no one, but when I returned my focus to the elevator, “something” struck the back of my legs with such a force that I almost fell to the floor!

      I said something to the effect of, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’ll put it back!” Then I quickly abandoned the cart and ran up the stairs like a lighting bolt! When I reached the men, I didn’t hesitate to tell them that I had seen a ghost! I blurted out the words, in a low, almost whispered voice, “There’s a ghost downstairs!” After seeing their faces, and their expressions of what they took as being a joke, I decided the best thing to do would be to coerced one or two of the men to follow me downstairs.

      I told them that I needed help with some of the items, and soon two of them СКАЧАТЬ