Witches of Cañon Charro

By Jesus A. Gomez

Our parents believed that if the children were told stories of monsters, the children could be controlled through fear. I can remember all the stories told to me as a child growing up in the Southwestern desert of Arizona. We feared witches and monsters and the darkness of the night, in which they thrive.

Our inner searches lead us to three living witches who reside in the lonely and quiet desert of Central Arizona, cascaded in the beauty of the mountains and all the life that lives within. The three witches are intent on being left alone to survive in a world ignorant in the ways of freedom and choice and who fall victim to persecution and prejudice.

As the three witches, May, Ursula, and Dru, attempt to protect their property and life from the greedy leaders of Plata Chiflon, we come to realize that our innermost identities reach into places that are profoundly more real than superstitions or religion. It is then that the real monsters come out to play.

Witches of Cañon Charro is about small-town politics and the people who help to fight bias, prejudice, and social injustice. It is about keeping the balance of social interaction within the community.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984570796

Jesus A. Gomez

Jesus A. Tito Gomez is a free-lance writer and multi-media graphic artist. He has written about, and painted, numerous renditions of the American Southwest. He studied art in Taos, New Mexico and attended the University of New Mexico as a Fine Arts student. He is a retired U.S. Army military veteran with over 24 years of service. He worked 10 years as an underground hardrock miner in various mines of Arizona and New Mexico. He worked as a Classification Officer in the New Mexico prison system and retired as a Probation and Parole Officer in 2016. Wife Donna and he live and play in the United States, often traveling from adventure to adventure, acquiring stories to tell the abundant grandchildren.

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 by Jesus A. Gomez.

ISBN:                  Softcover                        978-1-9845-7075-8

                            eBook                             978-1-9845-7079-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 12/10/2018

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

786954

Contents

Foreword

About the Author

Chapter 1   Contact

Chapter 2   The Banker’s Green

Chapter 3   The Legal Way

Chapter 4   The News

Chapter 5   The Angels Wrath

Chapter 6   The Battle of Cañon Charro

Chapter 7   The Dream

Chapter 8   Retaliation

Foreword

Our parents believed that if the children were told stories of monsters, the children could be controlled through fear. I can remember all the stories told to me as a child growing up in the Southwestern desert of Arizona. There were so many different characters involved in the stories, most of them folklore of years past. Still, not to undermine the strength and power of fiction or fact that go hand in hand in our lives, I must say that the strongest emotional factor of life is the fear of the unknown.

In witch lore we will find many types of witchery; some stirring of dark, black magic, some invoking the untrained innocence of white magic. Nonetheless, we feared witches, and monsters, and the darkness of the night in which they thrive.

Our inner searches lead us to three living witches who reside in the lonely and quiet desert of Central Arizona, cascaded in the beauty of the mountains, and all the life that lives within. The three witches are intent on being left alone to survive in a world ignorant in the ways of freedom and choice, and who fall victim to persecution and prejudice.

As the three witches, May, Ursula, and Dru attempt to protect their property and life from the greedy leaders of Plata Chiflon, we come to realize that our innermost identities reach into places that are profoundly more real than superstitions or religion. It is then that the real monsters come out to play.

Witches of Cañon Charro is about small-town politics and the people who help to fight bias, prejudice and social injustice. It is about keeping the balance of social interaction within the community.

About the Author

author%20photo.jpg

Jesus A. Gomez is a free-lance writer and multi-media graphic artist. He has written about, and painted, numerous renditions of the American Southwest. He studied art in Taos, New Mexico and attended the University of New Mexico as a Fine Arts student.

He is a retired U.S. Army military veteran with over 24 years of service. He worked 10 years as an underground hardrock miner in various mines of Arizona and New Mexico.

Wife Donna and he live and play in the United States, often traveling from adventure to adventure, acquiring stories to tell the abundant grandchildren.

Chapter 1

CONTACT

I’m not in the mood for misunderstandings, Laura.

"But, Señor Antacio, the community wish for it. They are asking for changes and they want you to talk to the witches!" Laura Serrano urged.

Laura said that she was speaking for the community, but where was the community at this very moment? Why did they send one person to speak for them when it was the community I needed to hear saying these things? Why was the community afraid, or above coming to my home?

Where is the community right now, Laura? I suppose I’m supposed to just get up off this mighty fine sofa, drive to Cañon Charro, and confront the witches? I looked deeply into Laura’s eyes but she dropped her head and stared at the floor. I just arrived in town after being away for five months and now I am being asked to take care of a problem with the witches that was most likely started by the community. The mishaps that beguile the village are self-imposed, you know?

I paced the humble room from one end to the other, speaking loudly to ensure that Laura could hear every word of thought came out of my mouth. As I paced I looked to Laura. She wasn’t looking at my face, but stared at my bare feet as I paced to and fro.

No, Laura, I will not lift a finger to help until the village leaders have come to me personally. The very thought of them sending you to plead with me is preposterous. Let them know, Laura, that I will not consider this until they have come to me to make the requests in person. Go now, I must unpack before I retire for the day.

She looked at me for a few seconds before saying, I will relay your message, Señor, but remember, time could be running out.

Laura was looking to the floor as she said her farewell, glimpsing once to the grandfather clock perched on the mantle of the fireplace. With her words said, she swung around towards the front door and swiftly began walking away.

Laura, I said in a more compassionate voice.

Yes, Señor Antacio? Her hand had opened the front door ever so slightly, but the rays of the evening sun had cut through her auburn hair and sprayed through then low-lit room. From where I stood near the sofa, the sunlight caused me to squint and I could barely make out the features of her face, but I was aware that she was looking at me, waiting for my comment.

I brought you a gift from my last assignment that I will bring to you later after I unpack. I will see you then, okay? I stated calmly.

Without a word and only a slight nod, Laura was quickly out the door and on her way back to the village.

I had just returned from a lengthy stay in Atlantic City. Five months of Jersey was not my idea of play. I was burned out on gambling the first day that I was able to get away from work. I loved the boardwalk, loved the ocean, but had trouble enjoying the hurricane-like weather coming from the Atlantic Ocean. I enjoyed the Pacific coasts much better, California, Oregon, Washington and Hawaii were splendid attractions for the single guy. Along with the humidity and the swarms of dive-bombing seagulls on the boardwalk, I was challenging my love for the place. Still, I had a job to do and when the job was done for the evening it was time to study for the next day just to make sure the job was done right. There was no room for costly mistakes.

I was in Jersey to install and program the newest software in underground technology. By underground, I’m referring to brazen technology, upside level security systems that haven’t be mass produced and thus, breached by hackers. The company I work for is called Dynosaurtronics, a large front concealing the moving of computer software designed in dark, shadowy rooms. Why a black market in something that was legit on the outside, you might ask? We didn’t charge the Apple of Microsoft prices for similar or higher end products. For a nominal fee you could be standing in forerunner technology and security consultation. I was good at it, but not the best. I rested and played when I could.

Dynosaurtronics appeared to be a stockpile warehouse of obsolete computer parts, a junkyard. In reality, our staff and technicians, if you don’t mind me calling them that, were creating new merchandise that was MS and Apple compatible, unlicensed, and graphically superior to most other applications. It was stealth stuff that was requested by major companies around the better part of first-world contries. Even a couple of governments in high-profile countries were calling.

One area of proficiency I was called for was in mapping parallel frequency spectrums. It was found that beyond the normal spectrum of vast radio waves were the little known Lazarus waves. Profound results were acquired when Lazarus waves intermingled with random frequencies. It enabled Dynosaurtronics to utilize satellites alive and dead. The links were enormous and cheap. I was a pirate of sorts.

Now, I was in Soutrhern Arizona, in my retreat, taking a couple weeks off from the hectic, dog eat dog world that we all called existence. In my retreat I could relax and watch the clear, cool nights from the front porch, devoid of city noise, pollution and crime. I could drink a fifth of JD and never wonder about what fool might be climbing in my window to steal my three-hundred dollar snake skin boots.

Once unpacked I began to think about the witches. The witches who reside outside the community are three of the most unruly women I have ever experienced. Don’t get me wrong, women are women, and witches are witches. Never be it that the two should intertwine and collaborate somehow. Not only were the witches feared for this by surrounding communities, they were also feared by the stretches of local imagination and folklore, for their powers set boundaries for the superstitious villagers of Plata Chiflon.

May, Ursula, and Dru are their names. May being the elder and Dru the child. When I first realized the witches existed, I was a young man. I had heard stories of La Llorona, El Cucui, and other ghostly apparitions, but the witches of Cañon Charro were real. In those early years there were actually four witches who terrorized the district. The other was Lora, the eldest, who died nearly twenty years ago from multiple gunshots to the body and head. No one was ever convicted of the homicide, and no one was ever arrested or charged with the crime of murder. No one dared speak of the incident for fear that the remaining witches would retaliate somehow.

I first met Lora, May and Ursula in my youth while working for old man Chopo Signolio in his small grocery store in Plata Chiflon. I would usually be in he back of the store stocking items, when a pair of witches would knock on the back delivery door. They would normally ignore me as they shopped for produce and canned items, until Dru was born. It was then that the elder witches would have to communicate with me to order grocery. On few occasions I would deliver larger orders of food and other items to their home in Cañon Charro at night to avoid detection from the community. I was scared on the first couple of deliveries but soon realized that the witches would not harm me.

As I grew older and became aware of Plata Chiflon history, I understood that the witches knew who the murderers of Lora were. At least they claimed to know the killers and the person who hired the killers. Within four days of Lora’s death, Albert Arellano, Simple Casias, and Octavio Silva had died from unexplainable illnesses. None of these men were over the age of thirty, yet they died from complications, symptoms and ailments attributed to physical degeneration. They died from old age and appeared to have aged twenty years on the day they died. Afterwards, the living witches were feared even more so. Up to this day the villagers do not dare go beyond the village boundaries at night, and utilize every religious entity and idol to ward off the witch’s powers. Little did the villagers know, that the witches were not dangerous to the commoner or the superstitious person. The witches just liked to be left alone to tend to their own beliefs and isolated lifestyle.

I was sitting in my study when there was a knock on the door.

Señor Antacio? I heard the familiar voice through the door even before I opened it. It was the old man Domingo Borrego. I hadn’t noticed the sound of a vehicle drive up to the parking area, so I took it for granted that Domingo had walked the two miles from the village.

Entra, Domingo. Come on in. Sientate aqui. Would you like a drink? I asked as I watched him scurry across the carpeted floor, holding both his hands on the top of his Navajo walking stick.

Yes, please, he responded. I never failed to offer Domingo Borrego a shot of Two Fingers tequila.

Would you like some ice for your drink, tambien? I asked.

Yes, please. It was a routine, a ceremonial tradition between two men.

And would you like a soft pillow for your aching back, Domingo? I continued.

No, hijo, I will not stay long. The village council is in a meeting at this very moment. They are urging courage among themselves to ask a favor of you. It has been a long time since they have asked a favor of this kind from you. They will be here this evening if I know that pinche mayor. He graciously accepted the shot of tequila from me and slowly brought the shot glass to his mouth. Prior to tilting his head back in preparation for the shot, he wagged his tongue inside the shot glass, tasting the tequila fumes like a snake might taste the air. Then he cleared his throat and shot the tequila down. He licked his lower lip and cleared his throat once more. Then he laid the empty shot glass on the floor in front of him. That was the signal that he ws ready for another shot of tequila.

I paused for a moment, pondering the possibility that Laura could convince the village leaders to make the short, two-mile trip to my home. I was certain that the villagers would meet after I sent Laura back without a definite answer. I was positive that Domingo came out here on his own accord.

Do you have any idea what this request is all about, Domingo? I asked while filling his shot glass again.

"Mayor Allen, he is the new mayor, had a run in with la bruja Ursula. It was about the land above Cañon Charro. The mayor and Mr. Cabot and Mr. Cabot’s wife say that the land belongs to them because they have paid the property taxes at the courthouse. Las brujas no pay taxes, mijito." Domingo took a sip of tequila.

And who is Mr. Cabot, Domingo? I asked.

Señor Cabot is the owner of the bank, now. Domingo said. He came to the village about three years ago and right away he began to take away land from my neighbors. He paid their taxes and took away the land! I think his wife is behind most of it.

Domingo was trying to tell me that Cabot, his wife, and the mayor were conspiring to take all the property that had back taxes overdue. This is legal in Arizona, but not ethical by any means. Men and women who understand the law have little conscience when money is involved, and they conduct business daily. People lost their homes and land in one courtroom gesture.

Domingo, who will the village send to talk to me? I asked. Domingo was staring into his empty shot glass. He reached down and placed the shot glass on the side of the chair he sat in. This was the signal that he had had enough of the Two Fingers.

He then exclaimed, I think it will be the Lady Donna and her friends. They were very successful the last time they asked you for a favor.

I paused and thought for a second or two. The last time I did the village a favor I was shot in the leg, and had a chair broken over my back and my head. Sure, Donna was able to talk me into doing the craziest things, but tangling with the witches was something else altogether.

Go home Domingo. I will talk to the people when they arrive. For now, you must go home. Would you like a ride down the hill to your home? I asked.

Domingo looked out the window and said, Yes, please.

On the way back from dropping Domingo off at his home I began to think back to when these favors for the local villagers began.

I must have turned fifteen when I performed my first favor. I was walking home from school when along my route I saw an elderly lady pulling a blanket from one end while the rest of the blanket dragged on the ground. I stopped for a second and then walked to where the elderly lady was struggling to pull the blanket and its contents. I asked her what she was doing as I circled the blanket, attempting to see what might be inside of the roll. In the blanket was an old dog, a mutt, laying on its side in a small puddle of blood while blood dripped from its mouth. The injured dog wheezed when it breathed.

The elderly lady, exhausted from her efforts, looked at me with forlorn eyes and said, Pinche pendejo Turney just ran over my Santo. Ran over him with his car and never stopped to see if my perro is okay or what. I’m taking Santo to the doctor por animales. Maybe he can do something for Santo.

I remember that it was a very bad feeling I had inside. I felt pity for the old woman, but also felt bad for the dog. It was as if I could feel his physical pain, somehow. In a deeper recess of my soul I felt even worse for Turney. His lack of conscience will surely eat at his spirit someday.

I offered to help the old woman with her dog. I lifted the dog from the blanket and ‘shushed’ his whelps. It was obvious that the dog’s