(08/07/23)
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Junglepixiebelize - Recollections of a Gringa Pioneer
Nancy R Koerner - Copyright@2023 - All Rights Reserved
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
"Miss Carmen's House"
It had been one of Johnny Roberson’s employees at the sawmill who had told us about the house. The old woman had passed away, and now her nephew wanted to rent it out. The second floor had a living room, kitchen, two bedrooms, and a craft room, and the enclosed ground-level would be perfect for expanding our woodshop.
“I guess it was a mess while the old lady was living there,” my husband said, “but the landlord has it all cleaned up now, and will have finished repainting before we move in.”
"Did she die in the house?" I asked, uneasily. "Yeah, I guess so. Why? Is that a problem? I mean, she had to die somewhere, right?”
(Hmmm… I wasn’t thrilled. But I’d deal with it.)
“I guess it was a mess while the old lady was living there,” my husband said, “but the landlord has it all cleaned up now, and will have finished repainting before we move in.”
"Did she die in the house?" I asked, uneasily. "Yeah, I guess so. Why? Is that a problem? I mean, she had to die somewhere, right?”
(Hmmm… I wasn’t thrilled. But I’d deal with it.)
“Besides, the landlord only wants a hundred Belize a month,” he continued, excitedly. “We'll have a flush toilet, with running water and electricity, twenty-four hours a day. Won't that be great?"
I let go my apprehension. It did sound great. In fact, life was feeling pretty good again. U.S. dollars were coming in from the crystal moons, and my pendant carvings at Airport Camp were in high demand. Our son would start attending Sacred Heart in the fall. The Swiss had paid the balance for Alta Vista, in cash, and on time. They would move onto the property just as soon as we vacated.
I let go my apprehension. It did sound great. In fact, life was feeling pretty good again. U.S. dollars were coming in from the crystal moons, and my pendant carvings at Airport Camp were in high demand. Our son would start attending Sacred Heart in the fall. The Swiss had paid the balance for Alta Vista, in cash, and on time. They would move onto the property just as soon as we vacated.
NOTE: As author of “Gringa Pioneer,” my fans know that I write these episodes strictly from my personal historical perspective. I make it a point not to embellish. However, the only way to relay the legend of Miss Carmen’s house, is to pass it on in the same way it was told to me.
Life was already over for old Miss Carmen, as she sat and waited for the demons of darkness to take her. She rarely ate, did not sleep, and the only word she uttered was her dead son's name. "Emil. Emil."
The two boys had been lingering on the hill behind the house, near Cahal Pech, above the ball field. Near sunset, they descended. The taller one, hesitated for a moment before climbing the back steps of the old two-story frame house. In his hand, he held a tin can containing a fat Bufo toad, and his friend, Juan, egged him on excitedly. On the landing at the top, Julio stopped and drew a deep breath. He used his foot to push gently on the lower corner of the door where the wood was rotten, and then took out the toad and shoved it through the irregular opening. As the wood sprung back into position, one of the toad's hind legs was crushed. Then the boys ran away, suppressing their laughter.
The superstitious old woman had lived alone for years in the house on the hill in San Ignacio, located right next to the tiny satellite British Army base known as Placey Camp. Even on the brightest days, she'd kept the wooden shutters locked tight against the forces of Obeah. The spirits were coming for her, she knew. It was just a matter of time. Ever since her son's funeral, she no longer left the house – not even to shop for provisions. If it hadn't been for the daily meals left at her door by her nephew’s wife, Carlita, she would have starved. Two months before, her son had died a gruesome death – a freak accident at Millonario when workmen were squaring a large mahogany log. The six-inch-wide blade on the tall band saw had seized-up in the cut. The resistance had broken the welded seam, and the fifteen-foot blade had sprung from the carriage. It had coiled like a serpent around the man’s form, cutting off any part of his body that protruded beyond its wicked teeth. Within minutes, the man had bled to death. |
Life was already over for old Miss Carmen, as she sat and waited for the demons of darkness to take her. She rarely ate, did not sleep, and the only word she uttered was her dead son's name. "Emil. Emil."
The two boys had been lingering on the hill behind the house, near Cahal Pech, above the ball field. Near sunset, they descended. The taller one, hesitated for a moment before climbing the back steps of the old two-story frame house. In his hand, he held a tin can containing a fat Bufo toad, and his friend, Juan, egged him on excitedly. On the landing at the top, Julio stopped and drew a deep breath. He used his foot to push gently on the lower corner of the door where the wood was rotten, and then took out the toad and shoved it through the irregular opening. As the wood sprung back into position, one of the toad's hind legs was crushed. Then the boys ran away, suppressing their laughter.
The two boys had been lingering on the hill behind the house, near Cahal Pech, above the ball field. Near sunset, they descended. The taller one, hesitated for a moment before climbing the back steps of the old two-story frame house. In his hand, he held a tin can containing a fat Bufo toad, and his friend, Juan, egged him on excitedly. On the landing at the top, Julio stopped and drew a deep breath. He used his foot to push gently on the lower corner of the door where the wood was rotten, and then took out the toad and shoved it through the irregular opening. As the wood sprung back into position, one of the toad's hind legs was crushed. Then the boys ran away, suppressing their laughter.
Miss Carmen had been familiar with the usual sounds of the kitchen, the cockroaches and occasional scuttling rat. But now, the mutilated toad, dragging its leg, crabbed into the darkened room where the woman sat. She heard soft plopping noises behind her, and the scratching of tiny feet. Cold terror gripped her. She turned, and tried to focus her failing vision on the demon, but could not see it. Suddenly the chill, slimy body dragged itself across her bare foot. The old woman clutched her chest in terrible pain – something clamped down on her heart and lungs like a vise. She could not move, or breathe.
"Emil, Emil," she cried, as she lurched sideways, and fell to the floor.
The next morning Carlita discovered the previous day’s food still outside. She opened the door and called out, but heard no answer. The house was a tomb of stale air, befouled by the smells of urine, rancid lard, and human sweat. Cautiously, she entered the kitchen and opened a wooden shutter. A beam of sunlight fell on long-forgotten dishes, scummy with mold. Encrusted pots squirmed with maggots. Steeling herself, and trying to control her panic, Carlita passed through the doorway into the living room, stepping over piles of clothing and filthy rags, discarded Fanta bottles, wire hangers, papers, and trash. Flinging open another shutter, cruel daylight streamed in on the prostrate body of the woman. Miss Carmen had been, literally, scared to death. The hungry rats and cockroaches had eaten away much of her face.
********
As I carried the last box of our belongings upstairs, I noticed Miss Carmen's primitive Jesus painting, still hanging on the wall of the living room. I hadn’t like it the first time I saw it, and didn’t like it now. The flat white Caucasian face angled oddly from the canvas, and its blue-eyed upturned gaze seemed to follow me around the room. Not only had the artist fallen far short of divine inspiration, the painting was a caricature – like a cartoon. With bleeding wounds from the crown of thorns, it was just plain creepy-looking, and I was at a loss as to what to do with it. I couldn't just throw it in the trash. It was too corny to give away, too awful to leave in view. Finally, I slipped the painting behind a cabinet, turned its face to the wall, and tried to forget about it.
Let it be said that I don’t, generally, believe in spirits. But I also must acknowledge that some influences, both good and evil, do exist beyond the conventional realm of human understanding.
And it would not be the last creepy experience I would have in that house…
"Emil, Emil," she cried, as she lurched sideways, and fell to the floor.
The next morning Carlita discovered the previous day’s food still outside. She opened the door and called out, but heard no answer. The house was a tomb of stale air, befouled by the smells of urine, rancid lard, and human sweat. Cautiously, she entered the kitchen and opened a wooden shutter. A beam of sunlight fell on long-forgotten dishes, scummy with mold. Encrusted pots squirmed with maggots. Steeling herself, and trying to control her panic, Carlita passed through the doorway into the living room, stepping over piles of clothing and filthy rags, discarded Fanta bottles, wire hangers, papers, and trash. Flinging open another shutter, cruel daylight streamed in on the prostrate body of the woman. Miss Carmen had been, literally, scared to death. The hungry rats and cockroaches had eaten away much of her face.
********
As I carried the last box of our belongings upstairs, I noticed Miss Carmen's primitive Jesus painting, still hanging on the wall of the living room. I hadn’t like it the first time I saw it, and didn’t like it now. The flat white Caucasian face angled oddly from the canvas, and its blue-eyed upturned gaze seemed to follow me around the room. Not only had the artist fallen far short of divine inspiration, the painting was a caricature – like a cartoon. With bleeding wounds from the crown of thorns, it was just plain creepy-looking, and I was at a loss as to what to do with it. I couldn't just throw it in the trash. It was too corny to give away, too awful to leave in view. Finally, I slipped the painting behind a cabinet, turned its face to the wall, and tried to forget about it.
Let it be said that I don’t, generally, believe in spirits. But I also must acknowledge that some influences, both good and evil, do exist beyond the conventional realm of human understanding.
And it would not be the last creepy experience I would have in that house…