Neewa the Wonder Dog and the Ghost Hunters
Volume One: The Indian Medicine Woman’s Mystery is Revealed!
John Cerutti
Dedicated to Christina, and Jacqueline
ISBN-10 0615408540
ISBN-13 9780615408545 (2/10/10)
Amazon Publisher Code A1GN8FXYXCUYUS
ASIN: B005WVQEP2
Registered® Trademark™ CRCR and CRCReations.Com group and DesignsbyJohnInc.Com, All Rights Reserved ©Copy Right 1999 Designs By John, Inc. ®Registered Trade Mark CRCreations.Com.
Contents
Prologue.....................................................................................................3
Chapter
1 – Neewa's New
Family.............................................................4
Chapter
2 - Yesterday was the Happiest Day of my
Life........................15
Chapter 3 - Ghost at Donner
Pass............................................................25
Chapter
4 - Fetch
.....................................................................................37
Chapter
5 - Dream (Dreaming)
...............................................................47
Chapter
6 - Ghost Hunt
...........................................................................49
Chapter
7 - The
Illness.............................................................................55
Chapter
8 - The Starting
Line...................................................................62
Chapter
9 -
Doc's.....................................................................................70
Chapter
10 - Back to Doc's.................................................
....................75
Chapter 11 - Neewa's
Tongue..................................................................81
Chapter
12 -
Rodeo..................................................................................87
Chapter
13 - Ghost
Town........................................................................93
Chapter
14 - Chester's
Gifts...................................................................108
Chapter
15 - The Tribal
Historian..........................................................114
Chapter
16 - The Pumpkin
Pies..............................................................127
Chapter
17 - Neewa's Spirit
Flew...........................................................133
Chapter
18 - The
Desert.........................................................................137
Chapter
19 -
Horses................................................................................140
Chapter
20 -
Antelope............................................................................144
Chapter
21 -
Fishing...............................................................................150
Chapter
22 - Bang! A Shot Rang
Out.....................................................157
Chapter
23 - Heather's
House.................................................................161
Chapter
24 - The
Storm..........................................................................166
Chapter
25 - Devil
Spirits.......................................................................169
Chapter
26 - Spirit
World.......................................................................171
Chapter
27 -
Cowboying.........................................................................176
Chapter
28 - Cattle
Drive........................................................................180
Chapter
29 - On the
Reservation.............................................................190
Chapter
30 - Go to
Jail.............................................................................193
Chapter
31 -
Basketball............................................................................198
Chapter
32 - Pow Wow
...........................................................................204
Chapter
33 - Linda for
Dinner..................................................................216
Chapter
34 -
Camping..............................................................................219
Chapter
35 -
Howling...............................................................................229
Chapter
36 - Pine
Nuts.............................................................................233
Chapter
37 - Juniper
Berries....................................................................238
Chapter
38 - The Ghost of the Mule
Deer...............................................242
Chapter 39
- Going Back
East.................................................................253
Chapter
40 - Beading Juniper
Nuts.........................................................256
Chapter
41 - Diane's
Secret.....................................................................260
Chapter
42 - The Medicine Woman's Mystery is
Revealed...................262
Chapter 43 - The
End..............................................................................268
Prologue
Adventure and mystery in the uncanny spirit world captivate the young lives of fourteen-year-old Christina and her sister Jackie, eleven. When the family moves 1500 miles from their home in New Jersey to the desert of the American Southwest, they encounter many spirits—some good, some evil.
Out West the family seeks out the paranormal, hunting ghosts with the latest, most sophisticated devices. Their searches take them to several eerie places, including a remote forest, a ghost town and a sacred burial ground. They also explore an isolated Native American stream and investigate an Indian Pow Wow.
Not long after settling into their new home, Christina adopts Neewa, a half coyote female puppy with a mysterious secret. But when the puppy becomes deathly ill, the girl is determined to find a doctor to save her pet. When a shaman vet miraculously turns up, he supplies a charm, a potion and an incantation for Neewa to save her spirit.
Danger lurks around every corner but the sisters surprisingly find protection in most unusual ways through a medicine woman, mythological animals, herbs and other mystical means.
Throughout their extraordinary experiences the young sisters face various dimensions of fear and joy.
Chapter 1 - Neewa’s New Family
Still can’t believe I moved 1500 miles away from our home and all my friends, this is a big mistake. If it weren’t for Dad I would be home right now. I’d be hanging with my friends and living in my house instead of this old broken down place.
I can’t understand why Mom moved to Canada either. It’s not fair that we are all so far apart. I miss her so much. Grandma and Grandpa didn’t want us to leave either. Everyone back home wanted us to stay.
Dad got this job with the government, that’s why we came out West. Monday through Friday he works calculating all kinds of stuff with very fancy instruments, electromagnetic field (EMF) meters, temperature sensors, static electricity & ionization detectors, motion detectors, listening devices, radio frequency detectors, even radiation monitors.
But on the weekends we take, or rather we borrow, this same equipment and use it. It’s a good thing the government doesn’t know what we do with their stuff. We certainly can’t tell Dad’s boss that we hunt ghosts. That’s right! We hunt ghosts, not imaginary ones, but ghosts and spirits that give off real natural energy, paranormal phenomena.
Dad says, “As long as I’m testing the equipment, the boss says it’s okay to take the stuff home.”
When we go on a ghost hunt, we also bring night vision goggles, a special infrared camera and a digital camera with sound recording capability to capture everything that happens on an investigation. Dad thinks if it gives off energy, it can be hunted.
The equipment is the same kind of high-tech gear used to hunt tornadoes, thunderstorms, or even criminals. I’m not exactly sure what Dad does during the day. He doesn’t talk about it much. When we have all of the equipment with us, Dad worries that someone might think we stole the stuff because of the labels that say, “Property of US Government.” He says we have to keep a low profile.
My goal is to be the world’s most famous ghost hunter that ever lived. I’m talking about having my own TV show and everything, that’s what I want.
My name is Christina, I’m fourteen years old and I hunt ghosts. Jacqueline, my sister, we call her Jackie, is eleven years old.
We kind of look alike but we are so different. She has straight auburn hair while mine is black and curly. Dad says I look really great with my hair up. That’s how I hide all the curls that annoy the heck out of me and make my hair frizz out all over the place. I’m always straightening it.
I react to everything. If Dad says something I don’t like, forget it. I fire right back at him. Then he says, “Stop it” or he’ll punish or ground me. I blast him, call him a name or tell him to shut up. By the time I think about what I’ve said, it’s too late.
If he keeps his cool and says stuff like, “That’s no way to talk to your father,” he makes me feel guilty so I apologize.
But if he yells or says I’m mean, then I say more bad stuff and really get him mad. We won’t make up till the next day. Usually I feel bad all night and that sucks, but that’s what happens.
Jackie on the other hand is more of a trickster type. Oh yeah, she’ll start trouble all right and mostly for me. If she doesn’t get her way, she goes into a major screaming tantrum until the roof is shaking and all Dad and me want to do is run away. But we can’t because she just keeps coming at us until she gets what she wants. Then she blames me, saying I did it! Or, “What did I do?” claiming her innocence.
What I hate most is when she says, “It’s your fault I’m late. I was supposed to be there a half hour ago! You’re making me late!” she yells.
The argument goes back and forth and gets pretty ugly, if you know what I mean. It ruins the rest of the night unless someone apologizes, which only happens if the one who gets hurt stays calm and says things to make the other one feel guilty, but how often does that happen?
Jackie and I never dress alike although I borrow her stuff and she takes clothes from me when I’m not looking. It makes me so mad. Give me jeans and a hoodie with a tight top and I’m happy.
Jackie and her friend Amanda are into designer clothes, chic tops and name brands. She’s wearing pink today with her favorite sandals. She even paints her fingernails different colors from one day to the next. My nails are always natural, never painted.
I’m taller than Jackie by about five inches, but she can put me in a headlock and make me say uncle, but I won’t. Dad is like a foot taller than me.
Some day I’m going to be a writer. Jackie wants to be an actor. She likes dance and singing classes too.
I tell her, “You already are an actress.” She gets really mad.
My green eyes and long lashes are gorgeous, that’s what everyone says.
Whenever someone hears my last name they say, “Is your Dad John?”
“Yes,” I always say smiling, then they say, “I know your Dad.” I just grin.
One thing though, I’m very self-conscious about my nose. It has a bump on the bridge from a couple of falls I took when I was little. Jackie’s nose is perfect but she still has braces. I had mine off last month, now I wear a retainer every night.
I’m so excited I finally got my puppy, the one I’ve been waiting for. Dad has promised me I could adopt a puppy for the last seven years. Now I finally have one, but she has no name and I have to pick a really great name. I’ve been looking on the web, and everywhere for the perfect name, but I can’t decide. Jackie thinks she is going to name her but that is out of the question.
Everyone is sitting in the TV room as I go through a box of stuff not yet unpacked from our move. Boxes are still in closets, bedrooms and everywhere. In the bottom of this one is a book I’ve never seen before.
“Hey, look at this Native American Language Book.” I thumb through the pages to a section on names. They’re in columns with the English word next to the Indian word. I read through name after name.
“Wow! I had no idea there were so many Indian names, page after page of them,” I mumble spellbound reading one after another.
Suddenly one name jumps out at me. “Neewa is the word for snowberry, pronounced Knee-wa. Snowberry would be a great name for my new puppy. She’s all white like a snowberry. That’s it! I’m going to call her Neewa.”
There is silence in the room. I think everyone likes the name.
Grinning, I look around. “So that’s that, I’ve picked her name, it’ll be Neewa.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute, I have some names for her,” Jackie adds. “How come you get to pick her name anyway? What about Snowball, Ghost, or Snowflake?”
She stares at me, then Dad.
“Jackie you can’t name my puppy. I’ve waited years to get her. You can walk her, feed her, pet her and love her. But she is my puppy, and I’m going to name her.”
I stomp out of the room determined.
“What are we having to eat? I’m hungry,” I yell to Dad shutting myself behind the door of my room.
Dad now darting around the kitchen answers, “Grandma’s Florida chicken, mashed potatoes and string beans. And Christina it’s your turn to set the table.”
I act like I didn’t hear him.
“Christina, NOW!” Dad adds.
“In a minute, stop bugging me, I will,” I shout knowing he’ll do it if I wait long enough.
Through the paper-thin walls, I listen to Jackie give a speech on why she should pick my puppy’s name. She makes me so mad as she continues her appeal to Dad.
“It’s Christina’s puppy so I should get to name her. This isn’t fair, she gets a puppy and I get nothing. I can’t even name it. I want my own puppy,” she complains.
After a good amount of silence, we all sit down to eat. The conversation continues about naming my puppy. Dad doesn’t really want to answer Jackie so he tells her the puppy is for all of us to enjoy. Christina has always wanted one and this is the way it turned out, blah, blah, blah, he goes on and on.
I’m really getting mad, “She’s my puppy Jackie! I’m naming her so get over it!”
Hum, let’s see, what can I say to send her over the edge, make her lose her temper and blow up? Hum, so many choices, let me pick one. “So Jackie, what song are you rehearsing for the talent show?”
Dad jumps in immediately, “Christina stop it right now. I know where you’re going with this. Jackie don’t listen to her, she is just trying to get you going.”
I glare at her from across the table. By this time my stomach is in knots, I can hear rumbling, gurgling, and I’m about ready to throw up.
“My mind is made up and that’s that. Why can’t you get it through your head?” I burst out.
Jackie continues to taunt me by suggesting silly names like Spot and White Fang. I ignore her. Those names don’t have anything to do with my puppy. Jackie always has to get her way, but not this time. She’s my puppy and I’m naming her, no one is going to change that.
Neewa is playing around the table trying to get my attention. Frolicking and jumping around, she spins and then leaps up. Quickly she circles me, bumping into my shin to make sure I reach down to pet her as she loses her balance and stumbles over her oversized paws.
Neewa’s nose starts sniffing the air. She smells dinner and sits perfectly straight at my side. Her tail is curled around her legs, occasionally thumping the floor. Her head is pointing at the food on my plate, eyes and nose focused, not even blinking.
“We can’t feed you at the table. You have your own bowls for food and water.” It’s Dad’s rule for now, we all agreed to it before picking her up at the pound. But I’ll have that rule changed in no time.
“You made me wait seven years to get my puppy,” I blurt out.
Dad answers in a serious tone, “Christina, you were not ready for a puppy seven years ago. I’m not sure you’re ready now.”
After dinner I fake a kitchen clean up so Dad will jump in and get it over with. I just want to slip into the living room and watch my TV shows.
Jackie is looking for the book with the names but I hid it way in the back of the shelf where she will never find it. I’m not telling her where it is. I know what she’s up to. Oh crap, that’s it, she found it. She’s looking through the pages for another name for my Neewa. I pretend to pay no attention to her.
Turning to Dad she says, “Here’s the section on names.”
She pauses, studying and turning the pages. “What about the name White Cloud or White Star? They are perfect names.”
“Those are not Indian words you widget.” She makes me so mad.
Jackie ignores me, usually she goes ballistic when I call her a name, kicking and screaming at me.
She snickers, “Hey look at this, they have a word for ghost. It’s —ha, and more than one ghost is —nee.”
Jackie reads a passage from the book, “Indians believe the Spirit lives forever. When the body dies, the spirit is called a spirit being and may take the body of another living creature such as a butterfly, a wolf, or even a bear. Or a spirit being may live in the wind or earth not taking any form at all.”
Silence fills the room, even Neewa is motionless listening as Jackie continues reading, “The spirit being seeks a resting place in the sacred burial ground of his tribe among all the others who have died. This sacred ground is the doorway to the spirit world, the final resting place where all the spirit beings gather and celebrate eternal peace and happiness.”
“That’s creepy!” Smiling, I look at Dad and Jackie.
“Yeah, that’s really creepy,” Jackie adds, “Gives me the chills.”
“Do you believe that, Dad?” I look at him.
Dad walks back into the kitchen to finish putting stuff away, “I’m not sure I believe it, I wish it were true though. Most of the guys at work believe it.”
Jackie is so spoiled. Before Mom moved she would ask her, “Can my friend sleep over, Mom?”
At first Mom would say, “No, no, and no.”
Guess what? Later she always got her way and had her friend sleeping over. Most of her friends are odd, they love to sit around singing Broadway tunes and choreograph dance routines to the music of online karaoke websites.
I hate it when she sings off key. “You’re off key,” I yell from my room.
She gets so mad, really crazy, and even throws stuff at me. Except for maybe Dad, she’s got the worst temper of all of us.
At night I shut my door to get away from everyone. I need time to myself to read books and do things. My favorite authors are Stephenie Meyer and Dan Brown. But most of the time I’m online talking or texting to my friends back home. One of my friends, I met on line at FanFiction. It’s a web site where we critique TV shows and movies. We all write stuff and then comment and critique each other’s writings. I call my friend Ohio, because she lives in Ohio. She’s home schooled.
Jackie loves to read, mostly mysteries and action-adventure like Harry Potter books and lots of other ones too.
“Good night Dad, love you,” Jackie says as she glides to her room.
Sleep, I need sleep. “Good night Dad, love you.”
“Goodnight Christina, night Jackie, love you.”
My new home is beat, it’s an old one-story ranch in a neighborhood laid out in a perfect grid. Of all the houses in this part of town, ours is the oldest and the smallest. It’s the worst looking too, never been updated like the other ones around us. I’ll tell you one thing, I’m not planning on staying here long. I’m getting out of here.
The outside is a mess. The driveway in front is full of potholes. We have to use a bumpy dirt path around back in the alleyway. The only good thing about it is the back pathway ends just a few feet from the side door, the only door we use to get in and out of the place. But watch out when you turn off the alley, there’s a big tree right there. Dad almost hit it a few times.
Beige stucco covers the cinder block structure we call home. And burgundy red paint outlines the windows, doors and roof. The color of the house was white, but after years of harsh sun and wind, it’s got a layer of encrusted dirt over the top. It’s not white any more.
An old wood fence that’s falling apart goes around the front yard. It has double rails made of 2 x 4’s that run along the border between the neighbor’s yard and ours. Oh my God the railing colors alternate between burgundy and off-white, with dirt caked on to match the house, Yuck!
The painter must have run out of the burgundy and added white paint to make it go further to finish the job. You can see where the shade of burgundy gets lighter, turning into pink and fuchsia at the corner. His painting ladder still rests against the house where he stopped, splattered with paint drips.
Flowerbeds on either side of the walkway haven’t been cared for in years. They still have beautiful flowers blooming, attracting colorful hummingbirds at dusk. Iridescent tiny green and blue birds hover, while using their long beaks to slurp the nectar from the flowers. I’ve tried to take pictures of them but they get scared off so easily and fly away in a flash.
The landlord said we could rent the house for a few hundred dollars a month. That’s if we take care of it until he gets out of the nursing home. Dad says he’ll never get out.
My house back home was twice the size of this one and brand new. Bedrooms, living room, every room was bigger and it had lots more closets and big wide windows with windowsills to stack stuff on. The kitchen had cherry wood cabinets, and bathrooms with satin nickel faucets and fake marble counter tops on top of matching vanities. The place was so cozy and the apartment downstairs was perfect for Grandma and Grandpa, with gorgeous southwestern motifs in the ceramic tile covering the floor. Everyone was so mad when Dad said we were selling the house and Grandma and Grandpa would have to move.
It was on a dead-end street, the last house, and there were lots of kids. We played games, went fishing in the pond and had lots of fun. Jackie’s friend, Debbie, who lived on the block, had a swimming pool and we had a trampoline for everyone to jump on.
Grandma and Grandpa were always there on holidays and weekends to give us presents. I miss my family and friends so much. Sometimes at night I look at their pictures and cry myself to sleep.
Here, our new neighbors won’t even talk to us. Worse than that one night when I was coming home, I saw one neighbor turn away from me as I went in my door.
One exception, the banker and his wife made an effort to be hospitable and welcoming. Hank and Jane Burns are very nice people. From time to time they come over to the house, talk to us, and even brought brownies. Meanwhile, they try to find out everything they can about us. Dad says Mr. Burns wants us to take out a loan or invest in cable TV or something.
Jackie started babysitting for their daughter, Brice. That gives Hank and Jane time to go out for dinner and a movie without having to worry. They trust Jackie and she’s paid pretty well.
Besides Brice, there are no other kids around here, it’s like they rounded them all up and sent them away. The streets are deserted, no skateboards, scooters, or jump rope. This place sucks.
Chapter 2 - Yesterday Was the Happiest Day of My Life
It was early morning when Dad woke us up. Usually, when he tries to get me up on a weekend morning I tell him, “Leave me alone, go away, don’t bother me!”
Yesterday morning was different. Getting up and dressed and being ready was easy. Finally we were going to the animal shelter to get the puppy I’ve been waiting for my entire life.
Jackie on the other hand was moving as slow as a snail. I stood at the door, tapping my shoe on the floor. Annoyed, I waited while Jackie had to have her morning bowl of cereal.
“Jackie let’s go, we’re late,” I plead with her to hurry.
“Christina shut up! I can’t hear the TV,” she replied.
“Dad, Dad, Jackie is having cereal, tell her to leave it, I wanna go now,” I begged Dad.
Finally after a lot of yelling, we got in the van and left.
After we drove a while into the desert from town I saw the sign, “County Animal Shelter.” The arrow pointed up a long dirt road. At the end of the bumpy road was a dull gray building.
Around back was the kennel area. At this distance, the compound looked neat and tidy, with animal pens in neat rows. I could see some of the area where the dogs were kept. In the front were a few parked cars and a big front door with one window.
Loud sounds of barking dogs came from behind the building. No wonder they put this place way out in the middle of nowhere. But the closer we got, the noise got so loud it sounded like a fox hunt was going on in the back. And the building seemed to turn even grayer.
I was very nervous as I led everyone across the stone parking lot. Jackie and Dad followed close behind me.
After knocking on the steel door, a man in black coveralls, hair slicked back and parted down the middle, slowly opened the door. The barking got even louder and I was hit with a wave of the pungent smell of a dog pound. The older man with a kindhearted smile greeted us. My guess, he’s the dogcatcher. His appearance and pale face made him look like Dracula, lacking only the makeup and cape.
“Looking for a pet?” he grinned.
“Yes,” I answer back.
“Right this way, you folks just look around,” Dracula said.
“Follow me,” I ordered.
I whispered to Jackie, “That guy looks like Dracula, look at his hair.”
We laughed as we walked through the hallway into the inner chamber.
Dad reminds me, “Christina remember we want a nice, friendly, house-broken and fully grown dog.”
“Poppy, Poppy, (I call Dad Poppy sometimes) I heard what you said, now stop with the pressure okay?” trying to get him to back off and leave me alone.
I wandered from side to side on the walkway between the large and small cages with big and small cats and dogs of all colors inside. Creeping through the maze, I looked left then right, checking each animal, yet passing one after another. Occasionally I hesitated for a moment to take a closer look, but continued my journey down the endless corridor of forlorn and cast-off pets. I was heartbroken looking at all the cats and dogs with no homes. Surplus animals, once loyal and loving pets, now no longer needed, discarded members of society wanting to be taken care of.
Dad whispered in my ear as if the animals were listening to him, “After sixteen weeks in the pound they will be put to sleep.”
“Put to sleep? What does that mean?” I blurt out loudly. Is he saying that they are to be killed or murdered?
“They have to be euthanized, destroyed,” he finished his thinking.
Instantly I became flushed, face red-hot. Each one of them needed a home, to be loved, before it’s too late. Gasping for air, I was horrified at the thought that any one of these animals would be destroyed.
Now my morning at the pound was no longer joyous and full of promise. It was more like a slow motion death walk in a horror movie. Frame after frame passing before me with animals being led to the gas chamber where they were to be taken care of all right.
The morning was slipping away, there seemed to be more and more animals, and choosing just one became more complicated. I wanted to save them all. Maybe even lead a jailbreak and set them all free.
Jackie followed me through the aisles of animals while Dad was left behind somewhere.
Nearing the end of death row, I became full of fear and anxiety. Animals jumped toward me as I passed their cages, wanting to be saved from their ultimate fate.
If I reached out to one, it lunged to the side of the cage, crashing into the wire wall trying to kiss my fingers. It was as if they knew their fate and knew that I was their savior. But nothing could save all of these animals.
Unexpectedly, I spied a little white puppy curled up in a ball with its littermates. It looked up at me with pointed ears too big for its head and a shining black nose. It was the cutest puppy I had ever seen. It jumped up on the side of the cage letting out a yelp, calling me.
This puppy was so pretty, a German shepherd looking girl. She had the deepest steel gray eyes and a long snout on its big head. Her tail curled up over her hind legs like a Husky as she stood on her back legs up against the cage, nibbling on my fingers with her pointed white teeth. She was so beautiful, and had such soft ivory fur. And those big floppy paws were too big for her body, just like her ears. I hope she doesn’t grow into those paws.
Jackie,” I shrieked, “here’s the one, here’s the one!” feeling joy that I have not felt for a long, long time.
Just then Dad caught up to us. I petted her through the cage as she ran around my hand like it was a toy to tease and chew on.
“Can we take her home Dad?” I looked at him.
“Hey,” Dad moaned, “I thought we agreed on a grown dog, one that’s already trained and house broken.”
Jackie stooped down next to me and the puppy licked both our faces through the metal mesh. It was love at first sight for her too.
“Jackie you want this one right? Say yes,” I pleaded with her.
“Dad let’s get this one,” she agreed.
“Dad, I want this puppy, she will be a good watch dog and protect Jackie and me. Grown up or not, please Dad,” sounding like a beggar but not caring.
Dad was reluctant to commit, something about it being too much work, or some other reason. I didn’t know and didn’t care what he was thinking. A long pause followed. He seemed to be weighing his options.
I didn’t see it as a difficult choice. On the one hand he could disappoint us and spend the rest of his days in hell, or take the puppy and win the Greatest Dad of The Day Award.
“Okay, Okay,” he says as he steps up to the podium for the Best Dad Prize.
Jackie and I disagreed on almost everything, but not this. The puppy was coming home with us. This was the first thing we had agreed on all week, maybe all month.
Dad was surprised there was so little paperwork to adopt our puppy. He only had to sign a release and the puppy was free to go.
Holding her in my arms, we headed for the exit when Dracula, the dogcatcher, came from his coffin to wish us well.
I stopped and looked at him, “Where did she come from?”
He replied as if he knew the origin of every animal in the pound. “That one came from the desert. Someone found the three of them roaming around and brought them in.
“They had no mom or dad with them. Not much chance they would have made it to sunrise out there in the desert. Something would have had them for dinner. I think your shepherd pup is a coy dog.”
“A coy dog? What’s a coy dog?” I inquired.
He answered, “A coy dog is half coyote and half dog.”
Stunned by his answer, I feel my face flush and my eyes blink rapidly. Did he say coyote? Did Dad hear what he said?
“Thank you,” I hastily turned heading for the door.
Running, I cradled her in my arms and dropped my face into her soft fur hoping no one else heard what the dogcatcher had said. They might want to take her away. I’ve never heard of a coy dog before, never knew such a thing existed. But the dogcatcher said it, so it must be true.
After that, I don’t remember very much, just holding my puppy and running for the car.
“Hurry Dad, drive, drive,” I shouted, “I don’t ever want to lose her.”
He answered, “Don’t worry Christina, no one’s going to take her away from you.”
A few minutes later we were driving home. I keep thinking about the news of my puppy being only half dog. Even our drive though more desert wasteland doesn’t distract me from worrying about her. I’m so tired of this place, nothing but desert everywhere.
The desert is a dangerous place compared to the place we used to live. Back East there is little risk of being killed by a scorpion, rattlesnake, or a pack of coyotes. Nor is it likely you will die from starvation, thirst, or exposure if you get lost. But out here in the desert you can die from any of these.
I can imagine how Neewa got separated from her mother. She had to go hunting for something to eat. Probably, all the puppies were running, playing, and wandering around before they realized they were all alone.
Neewa isn’t a regular dog. She didn’t grow up in a house with a picket fence and kids running around. Neewa may have a mom, dad, brothers and sisters, but she’s part wild animal.
Wild animals have to eat raw meat and whatever their mom brings them to survive. I’ve watched programs on National Geographic and Nature channels about how animals survive in the wilderness.
“Yuck,” I say picturing Neewa eating raw meat, regurgitated from her mother’s stomach onto the ground.
“Gross,” comes out of my mouth as I try to shake off the disgusting thoughts I’m having, but they continue.
“She’s a wild animal,” I blurt out not thinking what I’m saying. Jackie and Dad look at me startled by what I say.
My mind continues to race. Maybe Neewa’s mom was the alpha female in the pack. The other female coyotes took care of the litter. Neewa’s mom did what alpha females do—whatever that is.
After a long silence, “Will a half coyote and half dog be a good pet? Content to live with us or will she run off into the desert to be with her own kind?”
Dad spoke to reassure me, “Yes that may be true but her natural instinct is to be loyal to man. I’ve read that coy dogs can be good pets. We’ll see how it goes. Everything should work out fine. But if she’s too wild, we’ll bring her back.”
Not another word was spoken the rest of the trip home. Everyone was in deep thought about my new puppy, our new family member.
***
That’s what happened yesterday. Today Neewa is running and playing all around the house. Already she is settling into her new home.
She must be very confused from all the changes, too many for her to understand. I can relate to that, all the changes I’ve been through lately with Mom and Dad separating and selling our house and even now moving way out here.
It was only a few days ago she was on the wide-open desert, happy and playing with her brothers and sisters. Then, wham! In the blink of an eye, she’s in a cage, with no room to roll around and nowhere to explore.
“Dad look, here is the definition of a coy dog,” my finger on the mouse.
Dad and Jackie stop what they are doing. Everyone is silent and all eyes are focused on me. It is so quiet, you can hear the birds chirping outside our windows.
I read, “A coy dog is the hybrid offspring of a male coyote (Canis latrans) and a female dog (Canis lupus familiaris).”
“Poppy can we keep her? Coy dogs need to be adopted too,” I plead. “Dracula will destroy her if we take her back.”
Dad shrugs, “We’ll see how it goes.”
Neewa has checked out everything in the house, all the bedrooms, living room and the barely functional toilet and tub in the one and only bathroom.
She has bowls for food and water in our outdated kitchen. But her bed is in my room along with her toy box full of the latest squeaking playthings for her favorite games, fetch and tug of war. The squeaky toys that look like bones are her favorites, but she will spend hours gnawing on the real soup bones that Dad cooks for her.
As she lies under the kitchen table, I daydream of her fitting into our family. Her ears perk up, and she looks at me.
“Good girl, Neewa,” I say to her.
I blink away the tears in my eyes, praying she will never go back to the pound.
In my new school, I walk into classrooms full of kids I don’t know and who don’t know me. Some of them look at me funny. One or two make comments, but I ignore them. If one of them tries to bully me I tell them where to go. Honestly, I’m not going to be here long enough to become friends with any of them anyway.
I’m always online or on Skype with my best friends back East. Right now I’m telling them about Neewa my new puppy. My friends back home and me are always messaging or texting each other about everything in our lives. We talk about who’s dating, who broke up, and who’s drinking and drugging.
Dad and Jackie don’t know that I stay up so late. They have no idea. It’s three hours later back East, so it’s already twelve o’clock there when it’s only nine o’clock here.
When I’m on my laptop, don’t bother me. I’ll drop F-bombs on you till you have a stroke. When I was younger, I’d have said I’d maul you like a lion.
I watch movies, YouTube videos and TV shows on my laptop. Most nights I stay up watching horror movies.
What I really want to do is hunt ghosts, spirits, angels and demons. They do exist, no doubt in my mind. They’re everywhere. In the wind, earth, fire and even in other living things. But they are not the only paranormal phenomena. There are orbs, aberrations and objects that move totally by themselves. While I’m out West, I’m going to hunt them down in haunted houses, deserted towns, everywhere.
The moon is full tonight and the sky is clear as I gaze out my bedroom window. The light reflects off everything in my yard, it’s so bright out it looks like daytime.
What’s that running across my front yard in that shadow of the tree? It looks like a dog or maybe a fox or coyote. Whichever it is, there it goes over the fence, disappearing into the night.
Maybe it was a spirit? An Indian warrior’s soul wandering in the night. He was a brave warrior who died in a raid, a revenge attack of another tribe. His soul took possession of that coyote. Now he returns to his tribe. The coyote has chosen this path across my yard.
The Indians around here hide their sacred burial ground. I’ve heard some Indian kids whisper about it.
That would really be something to find one of those graveyards and capture one of their ghosts on film. I’d be rich and famous, move to Hollywood and have my own TV show.
Chapter 3 - Ghost at Donner Pass
Dad is reading the newspaper at the kitchen table when he bursts out, “Hey a ghost was seen at Donner Pass.”
Confused I ask, “What and where is Donner Pass?”
Dad looks over at me, “Donner Pass is in the mountains about three hours south of here and the Donner Party disaster was a historic wagon train headed west that got caught in a blizzard and most of the pioneers died.
Dad reads me the article. “Mrs. Eleanor Waldo of Phantom Hill, Texas, told her story. She said she and her husband were stopped at the overlook rest area, sitting at a picnic table when she saw it.
“’It was a ghost all right. It looked like a thick cloud of smoke with a head. But it was a woman with a stone face and a broad smile. She hovered right in front of me, staring at me.’
“The ghost asked me, ’Would you like to come to dinner?’
“I followed it up the mountain as it kept saying, ’Come with me, I would love to have you for dinner.’
“Interrupting Mrs. Waldo I asked, ’Wait a minute, the ghost said I would love to have you for dinner?’
“Mrs. Waldo looked surprised at the way I phrased my question as she replied, ’Oh you don’t think she meant I am the dinner do you? Oh my, maybe she did.’
“Mrs. Waldo squealed, and continued with her story, ’I followed it up the mountain and when we started down the other side, I saw an old rusted-out car with a skeleton sitting at the steering wheel, driving.
“’As I got closer and closer to the car, a great gust of wind blew right through me and kicked up so much sand, I had to close my eyes. When I opened my eyes I gasped, the skeleton was gone.’
“She said she heard her husband calling her to come back. When he caught up to her she told him about the ghost.
“He exclaimed with frustration in his voice, ’That’s nonsense, its ten o’clock at night and one hundred and nine degrees, Elle. It’s the heat. You didn’t see anything.’
“She told her husband to hush up, then sat in the old nineteen thirty-five Buick for a while. ‘It’s a nineteen thirty-five Buick. My family had one of these when I was a child.’
“Mrs. Waldo continued her story saying, ’I checked out every nook and cranny of that car. My husband and I checked the car from its headlights to the taillights. Under one of the seats we found an old empty bottle of whiskey.’
“She said that she was feeling around under the dashboard and found that hidden compartment she and her sister had stored stuff in when they were kids. In the compartment were chips, poker chips, lots of poker chips.
“Her husband counted them up. There was twenty thousand dollars.
“’Twenty thousand dollars!’ he said again and again.
“Mrs. Waldo cried out, ’Can you believe it?’
“The newspaper reporter asked the casino manager how much the twenty thousand dollars in poker chips are worth?
“The casino spokesperson said, ’The chips are worth twenty thousand dollars at our casino.’”
Dad puts down the paper saying, “Mrs. Waldo was lucky her husband followed her over that mountain and caught up to her. I don’t think it was a good ghost that appeared in front of her and wanted to take her to dinner. It could have been an evil ghost from the Donner Party. I’m sure Mrs. Waldo saw something, she could never have made that story up.”
Spirits use ghosts to trick humans and take possession of their body and soul. After the body dies the spirit lives in the wind or earth and seeks the body of a human. That’s when it possesses the body, returning from that supernatural world to the natural world.
I have read about people who imagine seeing ghosts. In fact they saw moonlight reflecting off a rock or a broken piece of glass. What they saw may have looked like a ghost to some people.
People high on drugs or alcohol have vivid imaginations when it comes to seeing ghosts. There are always stories in the newspapers about people seeing ghosts in the desert or mountains. They see a shadow and think it’s a ghost. Their imagination causes them to see things that are not there. They make mistakes, people always do.
Smiling I give Dad a hug, “Dad can we go to Donner Pass and find that ghost? We have to go right away while the trail is still fresh.”
Dad seems distracted as he replies, “Oh, yeah that sounds good. I’ve been working with a brand new thermal scanner for the hurricane search planes. It’s going to be installed in all of them if we can only get it to work right. It’ll read the temperature inside the storm within a hundredth of a degree. I’ll bring it home on Friday, we can use it for the weekend, but I have to return it by Monday morning.”
Dad always tells the boss the truth, he tells him, “I’m bringing this equipment home to run some tests.” But he doesn’t tell him what tests we are running and he especially won’t tell him we use it to hunt ghosts.
Later at dinner we plan our upcoming trip for this weekend. I’m so excited, this is going to be so cool.
Oh no, I just realized we’re gonna be in the van together for three hours.
Dad tells Jackie and me, “Okay this is the plan. We’ll camp out Saturday night at the Donner Memorial State Park. Before sunset we set up the equipment where Mrs. Waldo saw the stone-faced lady. I think that is the most likely place to catch that ghost. That is also where the Donner Party was trapped in the winter of eighteen forty-six.”
“Okay Dad, Jackie and I will pack our stuff, you make a list of everything we need and we can check it before we leave,” I add.
When we go on a hunt we bring all kinds of equipment. Not all of it is ours. Some of it comes from Dad’s work.
An absolute must is the electromagnetic field meter and the infrared thermometer, which detects infrared energy and converts it to a temperature reading. Two more devices measure the electricity in the air, the electrostatic field meter and the air ion counter. We also have a radio frequency (RF) field strength meter that detects electrical fields like FM radio and microwave transmissions from .5 MHz to 3 GHz, and expresses the strength as power density (.001 to 2000 microwatts/cm2). It measures the electricity given off by stuff like transformers, computer screens, telephones and electric motors. For extra safety we bring a Geiger counter or radiation monitor that detects dangerous alpha, beta and gamma rays.
I ask Jackie, “Did you pack the motion detectors? We need them for the cameras we will set up on the trail. If anything moves in front of one of them, the camera will turn on and we will catch that phantom.”
My new digital video camera has audio capability, which allows me to record every sound. The recordings are important because we can capture electronic voice phenomena (EVPs), or footsteps, knocks and banging during the event.
Temperature changes like uncommon cold or hot spots can be detected with our infrared thermal camera and the infrared thermometer. Both of them will detect variations in temperature signaling the presence of a spirit.
Difficult to document events like telepathic communications, odors and scents like sulfur, ammonia, perfume and flowers are written down in my notepad. I take a writing pad with me on every investigation.
If I’m checking out a house haunting and someone is still living there or a past resident is near-by? I like to interview them to find out if they’re having nightmares, apparitions, seeing moving objects, or even just having simple electrical problems. All the notes from my interviews have to be written down in the notepad.
“Jackie, you packed the anemometer? That’s the weathervane looking thingy with the four cups. It spins and records wind speed.”
“I’ll get the spectrometer which analyzes light intensity and somehow figures out what an object is.”
This weekend we are bringing the cameras, motion detectors, EMF meters, digital thermometer, night vision goggles, light meter, anemometer, radio frequency field strength meter and a spectrometer.
Of course we always have flashlights, cell phones, a laptop to view the video we take and our camping stuff. We try to bring all our equipment, but it doesn’t all fit in our backpacks. It makes no sense taking more then we can carry.
Hunting the Donner Party ghost is going to be scary for two reasons. First, this ghost is active. It’s trying to lure someone for some reason. Mrs. Waldo almost fell into its spell. Who knows what would have happened to her if she had followed it to “dinner?” Second, some of those people in the Donner Party died horrible, agonizing deaths. I think this ghost is still in pain and is dangerous.
I learned about the Donner Party in school. They were settlers headed to California in a wagon train in eighteen forty-six. There were about ninety people of all ages. Winter came early and heavy snow trapped them in the mountains. Not all of them lived through it.
The wagon train didn’t have enough food and blankets, and many of the settlers died of hunger, exposure and frostbite. Those few settlers that did live told stories of terrible hardship and horrible acts. They did things that people are not supposed to do.
I’m pretty sure this ghost we are going to hunt is not resting in peace, if you know what I mean.
***
Finally it’s Saturday morning. We are packed and ready to go. A three-hour ride will give me plenty of time to do my homework. I have to finish writing a book report about ghost hunting. I’ll do my math and chemistry after that.
Let’s see, I have Neewa’s bowls and a chain to keep her tied up. I’m sure Neewa will love hiking the trails, camping and ghost hunting. She loves to play with me-- this trip will be fun for her too. I feel so much better, just having her around.
As I carry the last of our gear out to the van Dad announces, “Okay we’re ready to go, all aboard. Jackie you sit in front, Neewa and Christina in the back.”
“No Dad, I’m sitting in the front, I called it. Jackie, you get the front seat on the way home.”
Jackie scoffs, “You always say you called it, but I never hear you. That’s okay, I get to sit next to Neewa, ha.”
We all get in the van and drive off to Donner Pass on our ghost hunting adventure. Driving on the interstate is fun because the speed limit is eighty miles an hour. This is so cool. We will be driving over mountains, through deserts, and valleys. Small towns about the size of swimming pools dot the highway.
When we get to the Sierra Mountains it’s going to be just like back East, all green with lush meadows and streams. Nothing like this boring desert where everything is flat and faded beige with nothing but sand, sagebrush and empty wasteland.
Driving along the highway, I get to see a lot of places I want to visit. There are huge cattle ranches and casinos near every gas station rest stop. Located about half way there is a gold mine where you can take trips into the mine and see just how it was a hundred years ago. And near that is the military base where they supposedly keep the bodies of the aliens that have crash-landed on Earth.
After driving for hours and sleeping most of the trip, I realized we have traveled almost two hundred miles through the desert. Ahead in the distance, I see the majestic Sierra Nevada Mountains. Peaks the size of Mt. Everest jutting into the blue sky. Donner Pass is right under one of those peaks.
As we near our destination I see small meadows hidden here and there, fluorescing green, blue and yellow. Then amazingly we pass this huge marsh that goes on and on forever to a distant mountain. The whole swamp is blooming purple at this moment. Deep lavender flowers on pale green stems blanket the landscape. Endless color as far as the eye can see. Miles and miles awash with heavenly violet flowers so thick they look like a carpet extending into forever.
We’ve left the desert and start our way up the lush mountainside, entering a steep gorge on the two-lane road. The route leading up to Donner Pass goes through a gorge so narrow the road has no shoulders. It switches back and forth, meandering up, rising steadily, an endless path disappearing before us into the forest.
Back on the desert the colors are so dull, with beige sand and brown dirt all muddled together with an occasional clump of pale olive sagebrush. Except for a rare grove of green scrub pine, there isn’t any color to see all year round. We have to travel twenty-five miles to a nearby canyon to get away from our drab surroundings.
Only after it rains does the desert come alive with budding flowers, grasses and the wonderful desert smells of wet sage and sand. Too bad it only rains a few times a year.
Dad points out the window, “That road is a runaway truck escape ramp for heavy eighteen-wheelers that can’t stop. Sometimes they lose their brakes coming down the mountain and they have to take that fork or they will crash.”
Shooting off of this road and going in the opposite direction is a mile-long ramp carved into a rocky ledge. It starts upward slowly and then the grade rapidly rises above the trees until it ends abruptly at a pile of sand and a railroad tie barrier.
“That ramp saved a lot of lives,” Dad adds.
“What do they need that for?” Jackie asks.
I add, “Jackie, if a truck is coming down the mountain and loses its brakes, it can turn onto that ramp which is so steep it slows the truck down, even if it has no brakes.”
“Yeah, so what does he do when he starts to roll backwards toward the road?” Jackie counters.
“Yeah, that would be a big problem. Hopefully he slows down enough that he is able to stop his rig somewhere on that ramp,” Dad chimes in.
“Yeah, hopefully,” I comment.
Red cedar and white pine trees reach up into the blue sky. I can see the sap leaching through the bark, reflecting the sunlight. Little bubbles of the stuff drip down the tree creating a stream of juice that eventually forms a droplet. The dribble grows until it is a blob, and the blob to a glop of sap, so oversized it drops to the ground. Plunk.
The steamy air carries the fragrance of pine to my senses. The little needles float down to the ground in the wind. Layer after layer fall, creating a soft bed of yellow and rust.
The forest begins to thin out, only small clusters of trees dot rocky terrain as the timber line, above which little grows, comes into view. A huge peak with a waterfall pouring over its rock face is revealed as we climb to still higher elevations.
Nearing the crest of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, we are about to enter Donner Memorial State Park. At the entrance stands a statue in memory of the settlers who lost their lives on that fateful wagon train trip west to the promised land.
Dad pulls over near a sign on the side of the road that reads, “Elevation 10,000 Ft.” We get out to stretch and have a look around. Neewa runs into the woods for a quick sniffing adventure.
It’s ninety degrees, unusually hot for this late in the afternoon. There is little breeze to cool us down and an unusual amount of humidity in the air.
My face is flushed and red from the heat. I always turn red when I’m out in high temperatures for a while, especially when I play tennis. It takes a lot of time for the redness in my face to go away.
Dad gets all paranoid, “Tina your face is red, do you have a fever?” He touches my cheek.
“Dad stop it,” I tell him, “I’m fine.”
I look up at fifteen feet of statue depicting three pioneers: a man, a woman and a child. The embossed bronze plaque on the monument reads, “The Donner Party Memorial.”
I wonder if the ghost that Mrs. Waldo saw is the woman in the bronze sculpture? Tonight we will be looking for that one.
It’s peaceful around the monument. Whispering breezes curve around the contours of the statue as a trickling stream in the background is fed by the snowcaps still remaining on the highest peaks. I hear a woodpecker tunneling in the hollow tree, gathering bugs.
After exploring around the monument, we drive to the camping area. The Donner State Park campground is about a half-mile in the opposite direction from Donner Pass, where we are setting up our equipment to catch that rogue spirit. Before entering we pull up to the large wooden welcome sign at the entrance for a paper copy of the layout with all the rules, regulations and warnings to campers on the back. The picture depicts a circular dirt road with forty campsites. In the middle of all the numbered areas is the common bathhouse with showers.
Picking a campsite is no easy matter. There is a lot to be considered. After parking in one of the driveways, we walk around the circle assessing the pros and cons of the various available camping locations. About three or four of them are taken and have tents. There’s not that many people up here for some reason.
Each site has a driveway that leads to a small flat picnic area with a table, barbeque, tent platform and a sunken campfire surrounded by rocks.
Jackie, Neewa and I pick out the site with a view of a small meadow and the most shade trees. Dad begins unpacking and setting up the tents, while Jackie and I unload our stuff.
It’s still light out, time to go exploring for the best location to set our trap to catch that phantom.
Next to our picnic table is a sign with the word ”Warning” in big letters across the top. Below that is a picture and description of the many possible visitors that might be lurking around the park during the night. I’m least concerned about bears because Neewa will bark at them and keep them away. Besides, we’ll put our food in the metal bear-resistant food locker provided at the campsite. But the scorpions--they give me the creeps. Good thing our tents zip up tight. Funny thing though, the sign doesn’t say anything about ghosts.
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