The Haunting Of Indian Mounds Farm
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The first full moon of October rose beautiful and bold. It came up over a limestone ledge that faced our farm and slid to the south, big, orange and soundless. It traveled through the sky, glowing over every field, hill and valley. Magic was in the air, you could feel it.
It was warm for that time of the year, and I remember how the warm, dark wind of the autumn night felt like a human lover, whispering in my ear.
How I loved the great womb of the night, with its deep folds of quiet and peace. The stars, dewy with autumn clouds, held their ancient places.
I was ready to do something that night, that could change my life forever, and indeed, after that night, nothing was ever really the same again.
As I gazed at the moon, I remembered the words of my dying grandfather and the secret he told my brother and me about the Indian mounds located on our farm.
“At the first full moon of autumn, they rise out of those mounds, on their Indian ponies, and they come back to their village, which is right here where this house now stands. You will think the cows got out and are running around the house, but its not the cows, its those long dead Indians on their painted Indian ponies. Now you “kits" be sure that the cows are in the barn, and the dogs too when the moon of October comes full. And whatever you do, stay in the house.”
And so my brother and I waited through that night of the full moon of October. We sat by the window in a third floor bedroom of the big old white farmhouse where we were raised. I can still smell the old wood, and hear the way the windows rattle when the wind blows just right. I remember the certain way the floors creaked and the whine of hinges when a door was opened to a certain degree. It was hard to imagine this place had once been the site of an Indian village, had once been the beloved home of some other people, especially people who were so alien to our way of life and us to theirs.
Finally the moon slid to the western skies and even from the house, we could see each and every Indian mound well, bathed in orange light. My brother had his binoculars and guns on the ready, like either would be able to stop a supernatural force.
Right around 3 am, I began to feel odd, as if I were out of my body and I was buzzing with electricity! And then, we saw it, the beginning, a bluish light over the mounds, it got brighter and bluer with time. We stared, transfixed believing and unbelieving at the same time.
We held out breaths, and then I let mine out in a loud gush as I saw 6 huge wolf like creatures, 2 by 2 they materialized. They came first and right on their heels were the Indians on their painted ponies, their manes and hair fluttering in the wind. Not only did we see, we heard too, heard the ponies whinny as they started out toward our house, heard a whine and howl from those huge wolf dogs. Behind the ponies I saw women and children on foot and behind them, yet more dogs, ordinary dogs this time. I heard our own animals, secured in the barn as our grandfather warned us to do, I heard then mooing and barking like I never heard them before. Then suddenly the din from the barn stopped.
The huge wolf like creatures were now on our back yard. They looked up at our window, they KNEW we were there. There eyes shone an eerie orange/red in the moonlight, and I felt a chill slither up my neck. I got up my courage to look again, and this time, every Indian looked up at our window as they went by! Their ancient, long dead eyes, staring at us, seeing yet unseeing! And the strangest part of all, their faces held no expression whatsoever!
I looked at my brother, he was as white as a ghost, we both shook. We were too scared to move. THIS WAS NOT HAPPENING! Yet, my grandfather warned us that this had been happening for a very long time, to him, and his father, and his grandfather who was the first white man on the land. And, as long as our family lived there, we would see this ghostly parade, a reminder perhaps that these gentle people were forced off their land? It gave me the creeps that our huge white farm house was built exactly where their village once stood.
For two hours those long dead Indians circled around our house! I will never forget it, not ever. I saw them, heard them, I even smelled them! They smelled of a wonderful smokey odor that reminded me of an elk purse made by the Indians of Canada. A purse my grandfather gave me when I was 6 years old and still have to this day. All I have to do is smell that purse and the events of that night come back to me, crystal clear!
I don’t think I slept that night, or the night after that. My brother and I waited the next few years, but we never saw the Indians of the mounds again. And, then, my grandmother sold the farm, much to our sadness.
I did go to the Indian mounds one last time to say goodbye. I had always loved being there, even before I knew what the mounds actually were. That day, like so many other times, the wind caressed my check ever so softly! I felt as if I were leaving someone I loved deeply , but a voice in my head told me that they, whoever they were for sure, would always be with me!
I have had many supernatural, paranormal experiences in my life, but this one really topped it all. As far as I know, I have no Native American blood in my family tree, however, DNA proves we are all inter related over and over again. Maybe these spirits were tied some way with my great grandfather and his family? I know when the immigrants came to this area of Wisconsin, the Indians had left that area years before…or so we were told, that is what we want to believe, who knows where the real truth lies?
I think its very important to live your life morally, because the dead can and do come back, and who knows what revenge they can extract if you have done them wrong? Better to be safe, rather than sorry. Read about another Indian haunting http://hubpages.com/hub/When-the-Thunder-Sounds
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