by Aggie Santillanes
I lived in a small village in Northern New Mexico. Our farm was in the outskirts of this village. It was late November 1943 and a storm was brewing.
Wind had picked up and was very cold. My father, my two brothers and I locked up the animals for the night and gave one last round securing the farm for the night. My mother had supper on the table. We prayed before we ate. It was a blessing because my mother always served us a good and warm homemade meal, breakfast, lunch and supper. We sat around the fireplace after supper and we would read or play games.
That particular night I could hear our dogs barking. They seemed very restless. My father said it was the wind. I had an uncomfortable feeling.
It was a weekend night so I stayed up later than the others reading a book I had brought home from school. The fire was dying down and I was growing tired with heavy eyes. I could hear the wind. It had picked up quite a bit.
I decided to look out our living room window. As I pushed the curtain open I felt chills run up my spine and I looked out hoping to see the trees sway back and forth with the wind, but there right before me was a face–looking back at me–the only thing that separated us was the window.
He had a long hooded cape and his eyes were set so deep in his face. I tried so hard to scream but nothing would come out, as I was trying to scream I closed the curtain, and ran for my father. I ran, without knocking, into my parent’s bedroom and with sweat and shock on my face I told my father what had happened.
He jumped out of bed and ran to the living room window and opened the curtain and there was the face still looking right back at my father. I became short of breath and the chills on my spine were still there. My father yelled to my older brother to get his shotgun and scrambled to put his boots on. At the same time my poor mom holding her rosary and praying the Hail Mary as loud as she could. My dad and brothers ran for the door and opened it and ran out yelling “Who’s there?” as my mom and I stood at the door. The only thing answering was the wind. One of my brothers ran back and said, “There is no one there anymore.” My father fired a shot from his rifle just to scare whoever it was. We all came back inside and my mother made coffee and we all sat around the kitchen table waiting to see if this person would return, wondering how close by he was. I could see the scared look on my father’s face.
The next morning we all went outside to look around by the window and there were no footprints or any sign of anyone being there. As my father walk to the front gate that leads to the road, there outside the gate were two hoof prints of a goat, not four. My father and mother called for the priest to come and bless the farm.
We never spoke of this to no one ever.
Story by Miss Aggie. Aggie Santillanes is from Northern New Mexico. (Las Vegas, NM). She just began to write short stories and poems. She is a retired Middle School Language Arts teacher. She is a proud wife and mother of 4 children, 2 boys and 2 girls. She and her husband have 7 grandchildren…. They are their life.