New Shard Story of My Experiences Spent Growing Up In Colorado Springs, Sweetwater Canyon, and Other Areas. . .

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment


Ghosts, Witches, Guns, and Washed-Out Roads



Strange Experiences

My sisters, Sandra and Valerie, and brothers Fella and Peter, and I grew up in Twilight Creek Canyon above Colorado Springs.

In many ways, we lived in a heavenly place. But years later, in the shared reflections of five siblings- Peter’s wife, Heide, Sandra, Valerie, and Fella, and I- as well as our cousin Patty and the current owner, Trey Spiller, we realized there had been an inordinate number of odd occurrences and deaths in the area of our childhood home. 

The home our Dad built was the first and only permanent structure I know of in the canyon, so it was unlikely to be a haunted house. This makes you wonder who previously died on that land and might have been drawn to our house. Were other spirits trapped in that canyon?

Perhaps there were lonely souls who suffered in those mountains. Maybe there had been graves, or an altercation between miners and prospectors leading to arguments and gun fights. We know of at least one robbery, but were there cave-ins, mine claim battles, or Native American skirmishes? Perhaps there was a turned-over wagon, a flood, or a fire along the Twilight Trail. Something had left a mark! The land’s history had become a blended tapestry, whether we liked it or not.

My brother, Peter, my sister, Sandy, and I slept in a children’s bedroom on the upper floor. The first remembered eerie experiences came in 1954-5 for both Sandra and me. We were aware of the shadow (or shadows) watching us from our built-in closets when the sliding doors were open.
We chose to believe the shifting figure was a benevolent, if unnerving being. Yet, later on we considered that it might have been someone feeding on the helplessness, depression, and loneliness our Mom was suffering. Or, perhaps, was it a caring soul trying to help?

A few years later, Peter saw a witchy-looking woman outside that same little upstairs bedroom window, looking toward the hill in the back of the house – from his crib in our bedroom.
But the sightings didn’t stop. Later on, Peter and Heide noticed a figure standing in the alcove of our hallway, watching them as they were gazing at the full moon (necking?) over the cliff across from the house, in the living room with the lights turned off. 

They got the sense it was a woman, 35-40 years old. A motherly feeling came to them, and they guessed it was, likely, our mom – that was very specific. Peter didn’t see the figure Heide saw, but he felt a wind pass by. Heide said, “It felt like she came to bless our upcoming marriage.”

Also, Peter and Heide, other family members, and guests got terrible “creeps” on the stairwell that had been cut out of the floor of our baby bedroom. At the bottom of those stairs was a storeroom built off to the side, which was originally made to be a bomb shelter and later used for a storage pantry. It was very dark, lit by a bare bulb on a pull string when needed. It could be spooky down there. I remember getting the heepy-jeepys in there a time or two. 

In fact, we children made up a boogeyman-type game. One of us would hide along the darkened basement hallway, usually on or around the chest freezer or furnace, armed with a pillow. Runners would yell, “Here we come on the run with a burger on a bun,” a phrase lifted from a Flintstones episode, and one or more of us would be smacked by that pillow on our way down the hall.

The weird thing is that the scary feelings disappeared, according to Peter and Heide, when Fella came back from Lake Havasu after one of his early teen “walkabout” excursions. Peter said, “All the creepy feelings just left.” 

A unique vision, remembered by my sister, Valerie, tells of a time she was sleeping downstairs past that storeroom, in a makeshift bedroom at the end of a long dark hall by the laundry room. She had a vision in the dark of a radiant, glowing Being smiling at her for several long seconds…

Another odd occurrence that Fella mentioned was an incident that happened while he was walking with his current wife Pat off the Old Stage Road from the gate to our access road on their way home. They had climbed up a couple of hills past the old Stratton Home orphan cabin, and the upper mining claims turnoff at the top of what we called the “Long Hill.” It was a saddle on the Twilight Ridge, and a nexus for two or three of the earliest trails in the area 

Fella and Pat were suddenly struck by how eerie they felt. The forest became too quiet; no birds, no blue jays, no tanagers, and no squirrels. There were always tufted-eared black squirrels, or their chatty little red cousins. But that day there weren’t even insects buzzing or humming. It was like the woods were dead. The forest stopped breathing; no air moved. Fella described that he and Pat felt like they were in a sensory deprivation zone. 

I told him I recalled feeling that way once in Sweetwater Canyon, over by Cassatt’s cabin ruin in the Green Settlement. Breathless, eerie. I left.

Another time, by the gate off the Old Stage Road, my sister, Sandy, was standing in the site of a former picnic area and a few yards from a burned-down home with only a chimney still standing, waiting to open the gate for a friend who was coming for a visit. “Suddenly, everything got really quiet – not even bird sounds. Then, I thought I heard voices; maybe they were in my head – like telepathy, but I couldn’t understand the words. The hair stood up on my arms. I told my friend after she arrived; she thought I was nuts.”

These stories of eerie quiet remind me of some of Mateo Arguello’s preludes to contacts with Sasquatches.

Our cousin Patty doesn’t remember seeing anything specifically, but felt that the house was pervaded by a discomfort that could only be relieved when she walked up the new road along the creek for about a mile. Then her head could clear. I found myself going up that same direction, many times, to sort things out. I’d climb to one of the rock outcrops to sit and think, and listen to the wisdom of the forest while trying to de-stress.

Another strange event featured a German Shepherd. Our neighbors in Sweetwater Canyon, Mert and Laurette, and my parents each had a German Shepherd. The two dogs were brothers and were well loved. One day, the friends’ dog came up over the road from Sweetwater Canyon into our backyard. It wasn’t for a friendly visit. Mom was alone, hanging laundry on the clotheslines on the hill behind our home.

Without warning, the dog viciously attacked and sank its teeth into Mom’s back without any known provocation or warning. Mom eventually got a pistol from inside the house and shot the dog in the head before it left and ran back home. She was quite shaken, but had to drive down to Colorado Springs to see the doctor for tooth marks, stitches, and cleanup – and rabies treatment, I believe. 

The greater tragedy was that the incident caused irreparable damage to a strong and loving friendship. The neighbors were justifiably horrified by the injury to the dog’s head. The bullet apparently had glanced off the thick bone of the skull and left near the ear, to the best of my recollection. They were crushed by the thought that their friend would do this. Our parents were devastated to think that their longtime neighbors and best friends wouldn’t believe that their dog had done such a thing. What drove that dog into our canyon to attack our Mom?
No one could figure it out.

Residual Hauntings

Beyond the sightings, weird occurrences, and feelings, there were residual hauntings in the canyons. One morning I rode the palomino mare up the road, and I saw a gentleman rider on a stylish dappled grey horse. He wore a fox hunt outfit with a red jacket, black boots, and a black top hat. I saw him clear as day, picking his way on a path by the stream below where I was riding. 

I thought that my horse, who was socially deprived, might whinny or something. I kept waiting for her to react to the other horse, for her ears to twitch, or for a beckoning nicker. She was always lonely for her kind. But she didn’t bat an eye. Then after a couple of minutes, the horse and rider were gone, no noise – nothing. Poof!

Some people said they could hear the rush of a phantom stagecoach, and also a train from the tunnels on the Gold Camp. I strained my ears, but I never heard anything up there. I did, however, hear the clear echo of a train chugging and whistling several times in our canyon. In retrospect, it seems like there were a number of other hauntings in that valley before we arrived.

Loneliness, Isolation, Depression and Sorrows Inside Our House

I had ridden our mare all over those mountains and canyons and decided that the language those mountains spoke, or emphasized, was indeed loneliness. Sometimes just looking at those peaks made my heart ache. But for much of our lives, we siblings weren’t aware of any deaths in our home or the surrounding area until our Mom died on October 24,1964. Nearly a hundred friends signed a register during her memorial, including Gertie, Laurette, the Carpenters, Kyers, Al Colt, and many others.

Much later I came to find that Mom’s depression, mental breakdowns, and eventually, her suicide were not isolated incidents. Living up in the mountains without a car, phone, TV, or entertainment to distract the mind was tough for a socialite and former WAF pilot, now stuck on a mountain with three young children. Her small support group included Laurette and Myrtle, Mrs. Lennox, a girl named Cookie, whom she invited to our September breakfast cookout up by St. Peter’s Dome, and Uncle Al.

Peter’s wife, Heide, pointed out that several women who spent time up there, including my stepmother, who married Dad after my birth mother’s death, and Fella’s second wife, were beset by increasing depression and mental instability. Patty said that her mom, Aunt Betty, and her sister, Pam, were in that category, as well. 

The family that bought our old house before the current owners apparently had lost their sons and daughters to suicide inside that house. Trey told me that the woman had big problems that might have been exacerbated during her stay up there. He also told me that there was an inscription in the basement rafters when he bought the place from them: “hell house.” 

We have no way of knowing if this was the case for our female neighbors at the time. But females in our family definitely experienced discomfort, depression, mental instability, alcohol addiction, and even a touch of irrationality in our home on the mountain. 
There was the isolation; it had been felt by farmers, ranchers, and others who were trapped in silence and left with their own grief, especially during winter. 
Mom had no car of her own for years. She couldn’t drive into town to see her friends or get a job. There were no electronics until the late 1940s. As a child in the early 1950s, I remember a radio that we listened to: The Black Shadow, Superman, The Lone Ranger, etc. The telephone and TV came later. Eventually, we procured a CB radio from our techie friend, Clint. 

Our mother’s and Fella’s second wife changed on the mountain. All had been very social and fun-loving before moving to the mountain. I remember my parents going on treasure hunts, elk hunts, parties, and other activities that they enjoyed. 

Over time, demeanors changed. Drinking became a huge factor. My birth mom had acquired death sentences of incurable emphysema and cirrhosis of the liver. Her cigarette habit exceeded a carton a day towards the end. 
It became increasingly interested in mainstreaming alcohol – even mouthwash. For them, the substance abuse and depression went over the edge.
My stepmom, who married Dad after my birth mother’s death, became increasingly interested in mainstreaming alcohol – even mouthwash. For both moms, the substance abuse and depression went over the edge.

Fella’s second wife, Christina, was beset by increasing depression and mental instability. Patty said that her mom, Betty, and sister, Pam, were in that category as well. 

At least five people associated with that house committed suicide within several decades.

Were the females “targeted?” Or were there other factors?
This was the conclusion of multiple family members. Some have suggested there were unseen influences, which, after all we had experienced by then, wouldn’t have been much of a surprise.

There were other factors. Instability has followed my maternal family line. A number of the women had a family history of mental health issues, instability, and alcoholism.
There were other pertinent health and marital issues that exacerbated the discomfort. Both of our moms suffered from Dad’s infidelity. He was a ladies’ man. 
Also, physical issues plagued them, like untreated thyroid issues and menopause complications. And Mom never fully recovered from bearing her third child. She felt like she was no longer attractive, strong, or capable.

Interestingly, Patty wondered if there could have been something in the water. Our stream was one of the most mineral-rich in the area. Over 50 minerals and even heavy metals were mined above our location. Also, toxic chemicals were used in mining, like arsenic to leach away impurities from gold. We used to draw our water from a pump in the stream. After all, our decay-resistant teeth were a product of the fluorite in the water. 

Fella remembered that Herscheiser and Pence didn’t leach minerals at their mining locations near the Long Hill. Yet the main mines up in the St. Peter’s Dome Mining District likely did.
We later had a well drilled, and the water was regularly tested.

Other Deaths

Besides the five suicides associated with our house, at least four people froze. I found that since people started building permanent homes up there. A seemingly large number of them had succumbed to depression and suicide, beginning with Joel H. Wade, who settled the Stage Stop area. The limo driver for the Broadmoor, who lived in the Carpenter’s cabin, killed himself and burned the cabin.

Not too long before that, he had driven over the edge of the Shelf Road in the dark of night. His vehicle slid down the gravel and stopped without rolling, and he was able to walk out. What a horrible nightmare that must have been for him. You’d take one step up the gravelly hill and slide three steps back. We always feared that might happen to our car when the driver had over-imbibed.

Many residents were marked by loneliness, isolation, depression, negative influences, and a fascination with guns.

There may have been as many as fifteen tragic deaths in this very sparsely populated area, in a very short period of time. Through the years, perhaps dozens of others lost their lives in the area, considering the sorrows. 

Our kind neighbor, Mert, died in 1957 of a heart attack. Several cabins burned in the Sweetwater Canyon, including the one my parents had helped Mert and Laurette build. The fire was suspicious, and perhaps someone died inside.

In addition, there was mention of a family of four that all froze to death one winter. They lived in a cabin built in our old horse corral with no amenities, bathroom, or electricity. They became chilled and tried to start a fire inside during a severe snowstorm. Apparently, the cabin caught on fire, and they attempted to access the house to use the phone and warm up.
However, the power and phone line were cut off, perhaps by the storm. The father tried to walk out, down the mountain to get help. He froze on the way to the long hill. Grimly, the woman tried to walk out with her children when he didn’t return, and they all froze. 

There is another sad tale about a ranch couple near Mt. Baldy who had tried to walk out a few years earlier, freezing under similar circumstances. I rather doubt these were isolated events. May they rest in peace.

Guns 

The pistols and rifles in my father’s collection were always kept loaded. He said that way there would be no doubt. Both mothers used guns; on themselves, or to threaten family members.

Apparently, my birth mom threatened to shoot herself on a number of occasions in front of one or more of us children. I, personally, remember sitting in front of her in the living room near the wall by the fireplace. She had a pack of her ever-present cigarettes, which had given her the emphysema, on a small lamp table next to her chair; but also, there was a pistol lying near the cigarettes. I was likely trying to get her to stop smoking what Aunt Betty called “coffin nails.” Mom acted like that wouldn’t matter if she shot herself. Doctors told her that dying lungs and the cirrhosis were going to kill her anyway within five years. 

I didn’t know how to proceed with that. She then picked up the gun and offered it to me to shoot myself. I considered the situation and declined; I must have been ten to twelve.

My cousin Patty Peacock recently told me that she also remembered seeing a pistol on that table beside Mom in the living room.

Peter also told me that he and Sandra had stolen a pack of cigarettes, perhaps Tareytons, off the table. They took them outside and proceeded to try to smoke them all to get rid of them. Perhaps not the best choice, but I understand the intent of trying to make them disappear. Well, Mom caught them and hauled them into the living room, where she proceeded to threaten to kill herself with the pistol.

Don’t get me wrong, my Mother wasn’t that person when I was small. She dressed nicely and did up her red hair every day, and put on Channel #5 and bright red lipstick. She was loving, stylish, and cheerful. She placed wildflowers beside our plates to celebrate birthdays, and sang “Our Father” to us each night before bed. It is maybe worth noting that our Dad taught us to say, “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.”

In the end, Mom took her life with that pistol. But that is not where the gun play ended. My Dad remarried in January, three months after my mom shot herself. Our stepmom had been a manager in two hotels and was a boisterous, efficient woman full of pranks and jokes – to begin with.

Two weeks after we moved back up to the mountain from our temporary home on Mayhurst Avenue in Broadmoor, where we had moved to recover after Mom died in the house, Sandy, Dad, and I were sitting quietly, talking in the living room when the door to the little bathroom in the hall opened. 

Our stepmom came toward us, then pointing a gun to her head and threatening to shoot herself. Sandy and I looked at Dad in consternation – expecting him to get up to do something about it. He didn’t; it seemed like he figured it was a joke. I was frightened and couldn’t believe the poor taste of our new mom pulling something like this in front of us. I felt like she was seeking attention, but it was just bizarre. I still don’t know what caused her to do that. It wasn’t like her at all.
I think I asked Dad outright to do something; then, I believe, Sandy and I just left the scene.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only time guns became an issue. Over time, holidays became difficult and uncomfortable rather than celebratory, especially at Thanksgiving and Christmas. But when I returned with my husband to introduce baby Andrew to his grandparents on Thanksgiving in 1981, out came a pistol. Things escalated until she threatened to shoot me if my husband and I didn’t leave – Which we did immediately. 

My sister Valerie had a similar experience when she brought her son to meet his grandparents.

I got the feeling that there was a sorrow underneath all of that. Like she didn’t really mean for that to happen. Maybe she was influenced. Drinking didn’t help. Both moms and our dad were alcoholics, but I wonder if their depression wasn’t a major factor in that increased drinking of alcohol.

After I had left Colorado Springs, our stepmom’s close friends, the Traftons, came to visit from El Paso, Texas. Peter and Heidi took Heidi’s brother, Frederick, up to the Cliff overlooking Twilight Creek, across from the house. The last few steps to the end of the lookout could be fatal if extreme care was not taken. Going to the end of the lookout was difficult and dangerous. There weren’t any trails back then, like there are now.

Apparently, thinking it would be funny, Eleanor grabbed a 30.06 rifle and began taking potshots at them up on the cliff. Peter said that at the time, he thought it was a joke, but Frederick never forgot that incident and felt it was a much more serious matter…


Saying Goodbye

From the Lookout at the top of our hill driveway – the end of the Twilight Trail- one can look down on Colorado Springs, or what Peggy used to call “My little gem city.” Sparks of white, and occasionally red and blue, cuddled in the inky night. I remember thinking as a teen that I could never survive if I left the mountain. It turns out that I may have survived – because I left. I believe Fella, Peter, Val, and Sandy might agree in their own ways.

       But the land never left me. I started this story in 2014, when I remembered more of the details than I do now. So, it is only due to the excruciatingly patient help of Valerie and Sandra, cousin Patty, and Peter, Heidi, Fella, Trey, and a newly found “brother” Eric Swab, that this could be written to this degree of completion. We were, and still are, so very blessed to have followed the trails of South Cheyenne Canyon, despite the sorrows. Thank you, God.


Washouts

The mountains gave so generously, but it seems like they got tired of the senseless clamor from time to time. The road washouts on the mountain were commonplace, but those of 2014, and especially the spring and the first week of June 2015, seemed to have ended all access. Perhaps a time of reflection.

The Stage Road was cut off from both Colorado Springs and Cripple Creek. The roads into the properties of Twilight and Sweetwater Canyons were gutted along the creeks. The place that used to be a large fourteen-table picnic area under Bathtub Falls was nothing but a deep gash filled with debris, boulders, and new trees when I saw it in 2024.

There was another gash where there had once been a wooden bridge and a reservoir on Sweetwater Creek. Although there had been occasional “frog-stranglers” in previous years that washed out the roads in North and South Cheyenne Canyons, maybe the mountains decided the experiment that started in the late 1870s was over – at least for a while.

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A New Exciting Shard Short Story From ‘Rising Wind Series Book 5 – ROCK MY SOUL.’

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment


Dazzling Visitations

(Editor’s note: Heidi Cobblehoff was used as a pen name of anonymity for my cousin Patty Peacock, who would now like to acknowledge that she is the source for this story from “Rising Wind Rock My Soul.”)

 
The Missoula team for the water collection projects in Afghanistan was ready to fly home from Armenia. Secora Gideon and Tario Cyr would spend fifteen hours in travel time, not counting a four-hour layover in Chicago, but to Secora it felt like forever. During the layover, Tarkio and Gideon were already dozing, and Secora’s eyes were drooping, but suddenly they opened too wide, as a cheerful older woman introduced herself as Heidi Cobblehoff.

Not knowing what to do but smile when the lady sat in the open chair beside her, Secora focused her full attention on the woman, who began regaling her with fascinating stories of UFO’s, clones, and lizard men. Heidi’s eyes sparkled, and her curly white hair glistened, as she opened with an eye-popping account from years ago in Colorado Springs.
 

“My friend and I were on our way to a ‘goodbye dessert party’ at Fort Carson Military Base, Saturday evening, September second, Labor Day weekend, 1963. It was a social function to honor the GIs heading out to Vietnam on Monday morning. We had driven from Peterson Air Force Base to the south end of the Springs when we became lost. We’d looked for the proper dirt road exit to Fort Carson for about an hour before we pulled over. The clock on the dashboard read 10 p.m.
“Our vehicle was parked facing west, across the street from the northeast corner of the base perimeter wall, near a railroad crossing. I asked my girlfriend to hand me the map and snap on our flashlight. The whole interior of the car lit up, and I remarked how strong that little light was – much stronger than I’d anticipated. She told me in a nervous voice that she hadn’t turned it on.

“I looked up from the map. Across the road, at eye level, just in front of us, was an airborne triangular vehicle hovering 20 yards away, even though it appeared much closer. The vehicle itself was around twenty-five feet long and eight or nine feet tall with a large window that covered most of that expanse.

“Three clones appeared to have identical East Asian facial features, bowl-cut black hair with bangs, and brown-yellow skin. They were wearing dark gray Nehru jackets with short upturned collars as they were seated at control desks with panels, concentrating on their work. I supposed that they controlled the flying triangle. Now, they were looking out the windows of the cockpit at the center of the triangle – at us.

“Between the two clones on the left stood a seven-and-a-half-foot-tall individual, thin, with a praying mantis-like head shaped like a slice of pizza from which the first third had been bitten off. He had brown hair, but I don’t remember much of a mouth or nose. Long arms hung to his knees, and he donned a doctor’s white lab coat complete with a stethoscope. I got the impression he had a cold personality. No empathy.

“To the right of the 7 ½ foot bug stood a six-foot-two-inch-tall man who appeared to display Nordic qualities – extremely pale skin and light blonde hair. He wore a light gray uniform that might have signified an engineer or a commander, with a medallion hung around his neck. He seemed kinder. He then turned his head and talked to the bug man.”

“Well, that’s different,” Secora managed. She could feel Gideon rousing beside her and noticed Tarkio was listening intently.

“That’s nothing.
Next, I felt as if I were somehow mentally transported to the vehicle, and a scan of everything I knew was taken. Later, I realized I was back in my vehicle, and I looked at the dash clock; it read 10:18. I looked across at the ship’s window.

The Nordic in the grey uniform waved and smiled in a friendly manner. I waved back and smiled. It seemed I knew him, had seen him before – not now, but at a different time – earlier that night. We had communicated before this – likely a mind probe. I knew this was goodbye.

“The tall bug individual bent over and looked out the window. I was not surprised that this praying mantis person had no feeling for me. I knew I wasn’t of value. To him, I was worthless. There was no smile or wave. Then he stood up again, and a large screen rolled up, covering the entire window.

“The spotlight turned off, and they sped toward the entrance of the underground facility at Cheyenne Mountain, where they again turned on the light. The window rolled open as they paused to view or scan the thick metal doors of the North American Air Defense Command. The light illuminated a fifty-foot swath above the doors to the entrance and the surrounding concrete road. It felt as if my mind was still captured by the ship even though my body was still in the car. I saw the scene as if I was still in the craft.

“Next, I could see the silver-gray color of the triangular ship, distinguished from the surrounding mountain. Quickly, the vehicle closed its window and turned off the spotlight before rotating upward, then it shot westward. In a flash, it disappeared over the top of Cheyenne Mountain. Gone in a split second – super fast! I lost connection with the ship as it shot over Cheyenne Mountain, and found myself seated in the car again. My car’s engine was no longer running, nor would it restart for some time. 

“To say the least, my friend and I did not go on to the goodbye party as planned. We were petrified and went home. She never said she was transported to the vehicle, only that she saw it. But she was so shaken by the events that she would not discuss her feelings with me. She did talk later with her stepfather, who was a master sergeant in the Army. He counseled her never to speak of those events. And she never did as far as I know.”

As an aside, Heidi added, “I checked later to see that I still was a virgin.”

“And?”

She quickly offered that she had taken no drugs or alcohol, just the Coca-Cola and chips they had in the car.


“She was. I later heard on ‘Coast to Coast’ in 2016, or 2017, that a career Army officer stationed at Fort Carson saw triangle-shaped vehicles flying around Fort Carson during the Vietnam War – and ‘out of this world’ technology.” He corroborated what happened, and the poor guy went to Vietnam two days later.

Gideon, who was now looking on sleepily, was skeptical. He said, “Wow, remind me to stay away from that place, Secora.”    


The Lizard men

Heidi’s eyes glistened again with excitement. “If you liked that, wait till you hear what happened to us in Arizona!” Not waiting for much of a response, she began. 

“During spring break in April of 1984, my family and I were returning home to Scottsdale around midnight, from a shopping trip to Tucson. Our five-year-old daughter, Cindy, and our three-year-old son, Tony, were sleeping in the back. We left Tucson about 6-6:30 that evening and headed north on a two-lane road, only to notice we were running out of gas south of Phoenix.”

“We neared the southern end of the South Mountains, which were on our southeast side as we traveled north. We wouldn’t make it very much longer without stopping for fuel. In those days it was nearly impossible to find an open station in the middle of nowhere – at midnight.

“At last, we spotted a gas station with its pump lights off, but the store’s lights were still on. We noticed as we pulled in that six Humvees appeared to have recently filled their tanks at the pumps, so I went in to pay for some gas.

“The sales clerk was very nervous. He asked me why I was there. 

“I told him we were out of gas and that he could either let us fill our car tonight or tomorrow morning, since we had coasted in on fumes. He took my twenty-dollar bill, turned on the pump, and told me to leave. 

“When I turned around to do so, I saw six clones in a line – reptile men dressed in desert camo uniforms and wearing black wigs. Their oval-shaped bodies looked like horny toads with three-foot-wide shoulders, and they stood five feet eight inches tall. Their hands and fingers were also similar to the claws of a horny toad, and the arms were short.

Their faces had tan skin with 1-1/2-inch-wide by 2-inch-long dark brown overlapping rectangular scales that looked similar to horny toad belly scales or the overlaid shingles on a roof. Their noses and mouths came to rounded points – like the head of an iguana- and the chins were bumps to the neck. No ears were visible, perhaps because the wigs covered them. They looked at me with dark brown eyes.

“I returned to the car where Philip was already pumping gas, and I took over that task. Giving him a dollar, I told him to go and buy some gum. He said he didn’t need gum. I told him to go inside the store and pick out any gum, then pay the clerk. Look at the people in line, and then come back.

“He was shaken when he returned – as shocked as I was. He described the same horny toad men I saw. One of the ‘soldiers’ came over to our car. He was drooling from his slit mouth when he looked at my son, Tony. I said, He is mine – not yours! ‘He is not for you. Go away.’ As he left, I added, ‘Leave him alone!’

“After the lizard-man left, we pulled away from the pumps, then pulled over to the side of the road as if to switch drivers, and pretended to study a map. We waited while the Hummers drove in a convoy directly west, then followed as they chugged down a dirt path toward the SE corner of South Mountain. For our vehicle, that pathway was impassable, so we watched from a distance.

“When they arrived at the South Mountain, a type of garage door opened up in the mountainside and closed behind them.

“The next day, I drove back to the gas station by myself. It turned out that the primitive dirt road was just a cart trail – a path just wide enough for the Humvees, but not passable for cars. I couldn’t see the ‘door’ even with my binoculars, but that wasn’t the end of the story.

“About three days later, Tony came running into the master bedroom at night. He’d seen his first reptile man, ‘closet monster,’ a problem that continued off and on from 1984 until June of 1993, when we moved. My son and daughter had loved to play with horny toads before the event. After the lizard man started visiting him at night in his room. Tony became terrified of horny toads.

“In fact, his fear spread to all living reptiles, even dinosaur skeletons, and mechanical dinos. He’s still afraid of them as a grown man. I heard a similar story on Coast-to-Coast radio that also took place at South Mountain four to five years ago.”

Tarkio observed, “You’re one gutsy lady.”

“You have to stand up for what is yours. I’m hungry. Anyone want something from the vending machine?” The others declined, and she stepped away. 

A few minutes later, everyone had taken a bathroom break or gotten a snack from a small café before reconvening at the chairs. Secora noted there was still an hour left to wait if the plane was on time. She felt herself becoming drowsy with boredom again. Gideon returned looking all spruced up and gave her a kiss on the cheek as he sat down.

“Where’s Heidi?”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t gotten back yet.” Almost as if she had heard them, she strolled up smiling, opening a package of cookies, eating them as she sat down. “One more story if you have the time.” “We do,” acknowledged Secora.

Tarkio rubbed his hands together and answered, “I was hoping there was more.” “It was a visit from a ghost grandmother.” She winked. 

“I think you’re going to like this one. We moved into our new house in Phoenix, Arizona, on a Thursday, actually Halloween day, 1982. Four nights later, Sunday, November 4th, I was sleeping alone at our home since my husband was away on a trip.

“I woke up at 3:00 a.m. and put on a robe to go to the bathroom. As I returned to the bed, I saw a dark brown or black human-shaped shadow against the gray-black wall.

I panicked, and I asked out loud in a quivering voice, ‘What do you want?’

“She mentally asked me, ‘Where is my family?’

“I responded, ‘Houston.’ Then she evaporated. The next morning my neighbor across the street was outside, so I went over and introduced myself and asked her if anyone had died in my house. She said yes, but she wasn’t supposed to tell me. The previous family’s grandmother had died peacefully in her sleep several years ago, but not in my bedroom, a different room.

“I told her I had seen and spoken with her, and sent her on to Houston. Her phone rang. After answering it, my neighbor handed it to me – it was the former owner. Apparently, Grandma had shown up at their house this morning.

“While the family still lived in Phoenix, her ghost would come and go, and had been away for two weeks before they were transferred and had to move ‘instantly’ according to both the daughter and the neighbor. She must have been looking for them since then.

But now that she had ‘moved on’ to Houston, I never saw the grandmother again.”

Gideon said, “Thanks, Heidi; those stories were fascinating. Made the time fly by.”

         “Sounds like she also made Grandma fly by. No small feat!’ laughed Tarkio.


***************


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Rising Wind Shard Story From Book One ‘Thunder Beings’ – Part Two ‘Gideon’s Dilemma.’

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment


‘Part Two: ‘Gideon’s Dilemma’

The sister of the one who seeks the little humans.

Wakinyan grew ever more distant, only a speck now, and then gone. I was hyperventilating when I opened my eyes, and my knuckles were white as I snatched the walker to find Jane and Iris folding clothes for their trip to research the Duendes.

Who was Secora James, and how could the two of us find Wakinyan – let alone help a mythical creature?

“Okay, girls, hold everything! I’m coming with you.” I panted and teetered stiffly. Jane rushed to steady me. “Just get me out of here, will you?”

“Change of heart?” asked Iris.

“You can hardly walk, brother, and your right arm is just about useless.”

My teeth clenched against a wave of pain. “I’m getting better. Listen, Iris, I need to talk to your sister. I’ll pay my way and cover any additional expenses. No interest.” That snagged their attention.

“Maybe Jimmy can come along to help me get around. I need help packing, Kyah can y…?”

Kyah and Jimmy were already silently standing by. “Kyah, road trip?”

“Ready.”

“Hetchetu aloh. One big happy family. So be it.” Jimmy smiled. I rolled my eyes at my unsought mentor and sighed. “Whatever.”

After we arrived in Bolivia, it was extremely difficult to find her. She must have been chased, attacked, and injured on several occasions, according to my visions. By then, I was thinking that not only Wakinyan needed her, but for some reason, so did I. I fretted until Jimmy and I got a lead on a church in LaPaz from a postcard that seemed like the one I’d seen in the most recent vision, which seemed more painful than the others.

My hand was shaking as I held up the postcard image of the church I’d envisioned and compared it to the stone edifice that towered before us in La Paz. The Basilica de San Francisco. It was dedicated to St. Francis of Assisi. The beautiful cathedral, an example of Andean Baroque architecture, had been completed in 1758, or so the postcard said. I grinned. “This is the place where I will finally find Secora.”

However, my intuition hadn’t told me how long Jimmy and I would need to wait in the church courtyard. It had already been a couple of hours. It was time for the elusive Secora James to make her predicted appearance.

Half an hour later, I pointed. “That’s gotta be her.” The woman was wearing a tight white dress with broad brown stripes along the sides. We were sitting close enough to catch a bare whiff of her floral perfume, which we inhaled deeply.

I stood with my cane, stretched, then began a hobbling approach, wondering, at long last, how to introduce myself.

Jimmy grabbed my sleeve. “Hey, you sure? Doesn’t look much like the picture Iris gave us.”

I braced against the cane and responded impetuously. “Has to be her, Jimmy. Look around; no one else is even a candidate, and I know she’s here. I can feel it.”

Jimmy Lizardeye chuckled and said, “Remember how Iris laughed when she told us that Secora’s fashion statement was ‘huh?’.No sense of style. Fringe and boots, not tight dress and perfume.”

I faded into disappointment as we again sat on the bench to wait.

The plaza filled and emptied a few times. I could tell Jimmy was tired. He’d even taken off the beaded shoulder bag, which held the sacred pipe, and set it beside him. Jimmy grinned as a black car parked long enough to drop some people off.

I saw two men jump from the back seat and pull out someone, possibly a woman. When the vehicle left, they all looked around surreptitiously before moving down the steps toward the church. The cloaked person appeared to be limping badly. Jimmy asked, “What about that one?”

“The cripple? I can’t even tell if it’s a woman. At any rate, no fringe, and… okay, so there are boots. Darn. If that is Secora, who are the guys?”

The walk from the car looked rough. The suspected woman’s steps were hesitant, and she was panting- or was that weeping? The young man without a hat half-dragged her forward. She seemed to be drawing back and pleading with him. Jimmy hefted his beaded sacred pipe bag. “Maybe they’re trying to baptize her?”

I regarded Jimmy, my face twisted in consternation. “Or maybe they are abducting her.” I took a cleansing breath. “Man, I’m not even sure I want to mess with that.”

“What does Wakinyan want?”

I could hear crying now. “Maybe we’re already too late.” I limped forward, slowly at first, psyching myself up for a confrontation. When I was only a few feet away, I froze, puzzled by a comment made by the man with the hat.

“We must get you out of sight now. Those people will not stop until you are dead.” The woman’s voice said. “This is crazy. Other people need you.” The curly-haired one said, “No, we’re in this together. What will be, will be.” She wobbled, grabbing for a bench. Then she pulled the hat and ruana away so she could see.

I hurriedly hobbled with my cane, coming up on the trio to confront the men, and managing to alarm everyone. The older man with the hat said, “Step away from her.”

I turned my eyes onto the unexpectedly attractive woman. “Are you Secora James?” She stared boldly back. “What do you want?” “I’m Gideon Yellow Thunder, and I’ve come through hell to find you.”

“I’m Guillermo, said the middle-aged man with the hat. He held his hand between Secora and me. Then, twisting his palm into an offer to shake, he said, “Sorry about the trip through infierno, son. She’s safe with me and my son, Diego.”

Secora’s mouth dropped open as she squinted at Guillermo.

“You’re kidding–he’s your son?” Guillermo nodded with a grin. Diego was also smiling and nodding. She told Jimmy and me that these men were healers, Kallawayas, who recently saved her from poisoning. I stammered, “What? That makes no sense. I’m supposed to be the one who saves you.”

Jimmy stepped between us and looked into Guillermo’s eyes. He turned to me. “Gideon, you can believe what he says. This man and his son are entirely dedicated to the service of the Great Mystery.”

I was in shock as I looked away, unsure how I felt about this whole thing. It was nothing like I’d expected. Diego suggested anxiously, “Perhaps we should rest inside the church to dodge prying eyes.” He took Secora by the arm and helped her to stand. As we crossed the plaza, she asked Jimmy, “So tell me, who are you?”

“Name’s Jimmy Lizzardeye, Wichasha Wakan from Pine Ridge at your service. And my momentarily speechless friend is Gideon Yellow Thunder, who is also from Pine Ridge, but he won’t admit it.”

“Really, Pine Ridge?” Secora’s smile could have lifted the clouds. “Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Wichasha Wakan, and you too, Gideon.” Still puzzled, I scratched my head. “This doesn’t feel right. I expected to rescue you, but my plans didn’t include dealing with two other heroes.”

Guillermo nodded. “Secora and my son Diego have become very close. It was a fabled love at first sight. Their souls recognized each other immediately.” Shaking my head, I said, “I just don’t get that. There was nothing about him, or you in my visions. I’m just trying to wrap my mind around everything.

“I imagine that would be very disturbing. We are taking her to our island to hide and protect her until we can figure out why she is being attacked. She is still quite weak, and we need to keep her out of sight.”

Diego turned to me. “So, who are you, Mr Yellow Thunder?”

“I am beginning to wonder about that, myself.” I snapped. I’ve been trying to find Secora for weeks to save her. Even though we have never met before. ”I slowly shook my head and tapped the cane by the kneeling bench. Diego stared at the cane. What happened to the leg?” “That was the lightning strike. But my friend thinks a sniper took a shot at me at the same time.”

“Those people must not like you very much.” The Kallawaya slid to the side to get a better look. “You should seriously change your lifestyle.”

I glanced sidelong at Jimmy. “So I’ve been told. Look, Diego, Secora and I were meant to be together. Wakinyan said she needs us, and we won’t survive without her.” Diego solemnly acknowledged, “So, I’m not sure who this Wakinyan is, but you’re saying it is your destiny to work with Secora?”

“More than that. I think we’re supposed to be together.” I paused.

“What if she decides she wants more from me?” Diego laughed, “Oh, so you like her? She is pretty, no?

You are most welcome to find out. I think she will do what she will do.
No matter what we wish . . .

***********

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Rising Wind Shard Story From Book One ‘Thunder Beings’ – Part One ‘Gideon’s Dilemma.’

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment



Gideon’s Dilemma – Part One

“All the time I wondered who Secora James was, and how we both could possibly find, let alone help, a mythical creature.“

Wakinyan Tanka, the Great Thunderbird, contacted me in a dream while I was in the hospital healing from a lightning strike. She was perched atop a misty cliff and stood at least eight feet tall as far as I could tell. Her stare had a primitive fierceness that made me feel paralyzed, unable to move or speak. She was aware and said telepathically, “All life is tenacious.” You have survived what most men would not. My kind has survived what many of the large ones from a cooler time did not.

She marked the statement by raising a Mohawk of crimson-tipped feathers that ran from the crest of her head partway down the back of her gray-black neck. Awestruck, I noticed that her face and lower neck were lighter in color, but overall, there was a golden eagle-like impression and, just maybe, a little hawk thrown in. Yet, there were also definite differences.

‘I am Wakinyan Tanka. Long ago, humans relied on the grace of my people to lift their prayers by the wind of our wings to the Great Mystery of which we are all a part of.’ To those who sought our aid all over the earth, we were the embodiment of effortless grace, the Winged Power who protected and destroyed. Her back feathers were gray-tinged, and there was bluish skin on her face near the eyes and beak. The beak was large and primitive, unlike that of modern raptors. It looked like an upside-down canoe, meant to carve deeply into her prey.

Listen. Do not let your attention stray. I showed myself to you in a vision before the lightning strike because you were in danger. You came outside where I could save you. The Thunder Beings are in trouble, and I am calling on you for help. She adjusted her balance.

In these times, wherever we fly, we are targeted and harassed. Soon, greedy men will want to imprison us and keep us from our lives in the sky. She shifted her massive wings. When the chest muscles moved, I was struck by how beautiful the gold-tinged breast feathers were.

Wakinyan continued, “All life is sacred; even a bug chooses to live.” But change is the way of nature, and many animals and plants I knew are gone since the ice came and went. Only a few remain, even as they slide away with rising heat and drying land. For your kind, change is difficult. Two-leggeds hold onto vestiges of the past as sacred, often with disregard for the sacredness of the now.

She dropped her head, but the reddish-gold eyes never left mine. I, Gideon Yellow Thunder, a successful realtor in Missoula, Montana, was shocked. I purposefully had not chosen the way of the Oglala Lakota. The bird spread her dark, glistening wings, which seemed to exceed the length of a large school bus. Wakinyan’s final thought reached me.

Your life is changing; mine may well be ending. I call on you now to help my people, the Thunderbirds. Either we will continue a while longer, or we will end very soon. It is a thing to be decided by the Great Mystery, not for humans to control. The Wakinyan must accept whatever path is chosen for them by the One who gives life to all. And you must accept the new path chosen for you, or perish. The great bird cupped her wings and rose silently, effortlessly, from the cliff on which she perched. An updraft tickled her wing feathers, which became gilded with sunlight. Still, her eyes seemed to pierce me…

Still recovering from the lightning strike, I was taken to the trailer owned by my sister Jane and her 12-year-old son, Kyah. My eyes were riveted on the winking sun during a beautiful daybreak near Porcupine Creek, in South Dakota. There was an undeniable peace. I was alone except for an irritated roan horse that was stomping a foot, trying to dislodge a botfly that was laying eggs on its hair.


It was late June, but the breeze was tinged with crispness as I savored coffee on the porch, taking in the surrounding beauty and trying to block out every stress that still clung to me. I have to admit, there were times the reservation seemed like heaven. That peace was interrupted when my sister’s friend Iris Snowden arrived to plan their summer trip to South America. Try as I might, I could not ignore the trail of dust that followed a small red car off Bigfoot Road and up the drive.

“Hey, Jane! Somebody’s coming.” I slid my walker out of the way as my sister banged through the trailer door, squinted, and said, “Ah, that would be Iris,” as she trotted down the steps. “It’s been nearly a week since her sister, Secora, left for Brazil, and we still need to finalize our fieldwork travel plans.”

Jane and Iris, who worked for the Anthropology Department in Missoula, plotted and schemed while I sat on the porch and listened to the cricket music. A close family friend, Jimmy Lizardeye, climbed the steps and pulled up the second chair. He was a holy man, but I wasn’t open to that sort of thing.

“Hey, Jimmy, what’s up?”

Jimmy offered me a soda he’d brought with him. “Are you ready to deal with your haunting visits from Wakinyan Tanka?”

Instant panic creased my face as I answered in a whispered voice, “Sh… man, what are you talking about? You know I don’t believe in that nonsense.”

“Deny it all you want. But a Wichasha Wakan is not entirely without abilities.” “What is a Wichasha Wakan again?”

“A holy man. Just think of me as a kind of priest who is ready to share with you the way of the Akecheta Heyoka, and help you unravel the power of your visions. That is, if you are ready.”

“No, I’m not ready!” I rubbed my eye. “I’m not looking to participate in any secret rituals!”

After a long evening of planning and squabbles, I went to lie down for a rest, but another vision awaited me. It was evening, and the wind was blowing. Wakinyan was soaring so high she couldn’t be seen from the earth.

She cut through the atmosphere at incredible speed as she looked directly at me and said, ‘Arise, Heyoka.’ You must find the one who will save us both. We cannot endure that which is coming alone. You need what she can teach you to redeem yourself.

Who? Is her name Secora? . . . Part Two Coming Soon!

***********

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A Special Short Story Titled, “A World of Firsts” From My Multi-Award-Winning Book ‘Ancient Ways’..

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment



A WORLD OF FIRSTS

In the earliest pre-flood accounts, there are tatters of sacred memory
that appear to precede Adam as He is presented in Genesis. The story of
Adam is not unique. There are other stories about Creation and the “First
Man,” in other parts of the world, which are also truly amazing.

All have similarities. Differences arise within mankind. Some
distortions occur from the passing of vast ages, and rumors that spread
over time, and across vast spaces. Others occur from people twisting the
Revelations to suit their particular desires for power and or greed.

Man’s developmental history covers seven million years – at least.
However, the beginning of the last Revelatory Age may have begun
somewhere between 22,000 and 13,000 years ago.
A time when different physical versions of humanity interacted. . .
A “First (named or remembered) Being” or quite probably a
The multiplicity of holy Beings is referred to by people from all over this planet.
There are threads that connect all of the names we will explore to the title
“First,” but it is quite obvious that most of the stories contain combinations
of three or more unique Manifestations, or Revealers of God’s Word, whose
tales and exploits cover a number of divergent stages of human development.
For instance, the “First” may begin His Revelation at the dawn of time,
and then in a cave, and continue through domestication, even into the Iron Age.
This is confusing at the outset. But, it becomes clear that several
event lines have been woven together, and one remembered name is
applied to the actions of several.
Since all Revealers or Manifestations of God’s Word are enabled by
means of the Holy Spirit to mediate between God and man, the teachings
really are a continuum. These several Prophets combined appeared to live
for many thousands of years.
Obviously, there are several separate times and cultural event lines involved, but
the individual accounts get blenderized into a Saga.

One example is the story of Yima, whose tale spans well over 3,600
or up to 12,000 years. A succession of several Great Prophets combined,
so Yima appears to live for thousands of years.
Or consider Adam, said to be the first man, so of course, he preceded
the domestication of plants and animals. Yet He is credited with siring
offspring (most likely descendants) thousands of years later, in
agricultural times, and in cities.
Adam might have been the reference given to the first Man of a New Age.
Perhaps there is an “Adam” at the outset of every Age of man.
The name Adam, as given in the Bible, likely refers to His entire
lineage instead of a single man in a single time or place. When we read
that Adam begot Seth – it could actually mean that Seth built the obelisks
much later, but came from the line of Adam. So some confusion concerning
timing and lineage surrounds Seth, Enoch, and the other “begats.” Yet the
sequence of names was an effective verbal, then written historical aid,
which allowed men to recall and honor some of the Prophets of old.

A very similar case involves Gayomart (Q-mers in Persian) in the
pre-Zoroastrian, Avestan Bundahishn. The tale includes a son, Siamak, and
a “grandson,” Hooshang. They may not be a child and grandchild, but
actually successive Prophets.


Blending also crops up in Egyptian and Greek philosophical texts.
Some of the original names and individual divine purposes have faded or
been destroyed by crises like the flood. Their boundaries have blended
over time, devolved with forgetfulness, or worse, have been re-explained in
terms that made sense only to the tellers. Some elements were dumbed
down to the point, or they bore little, if any, relation to the Revealer or the
Message. Nobody remembers which one of three said what, and is it really
important? They become like a Janus figure, with multiple faces. In the end,
it is only what is given to the world of humanity that is relevant.

As was suggested at the beginning, we have never been without
guidance, nor can we know the exact names and times of all of God’s
previous Messengers. So – now we can relax. Speaking of names, there is
another problem (well, at least one more). People of different regions refer
to the same Prophet by a variety of names. So a prophet like Enoch may
have several names, identities, and attributes, depending on how far away
the story is, in time or space, from its source. Although the Hebrews refer to
Enoch,” Baha’u’llah and Mohammad refer to the same Prophet as ‘Idris.”
The Greeks called Him “Hermes,” and He is also “Thoth,” the Egyptian Scribe.
You catch the drift. These distractions can make identities muddy at
first, but remember why they came; it’s not just their names and what
people chose to remember about them that matters.
This way, we might not get so bogged down in the differences.
Taken together, remembrances of these primal Heavenly Kings give us
an accumulated history of our beginnings, which has built up
in layers of traditional lore like Shrek’s onion.
Today, many of these prophets have been demoted, dumbed down,
and nearly forgotten. Some are labeled and re-labeled as gods, titans,
goddesses, demi-gods, and heroes. But if one takes the time to peel the
onion, a special unicity becomes apparent. There are similarities between
various recollections of events or people, yet there are some very
surprising dichotomies which I am sure you will appreciate in the following
renditions of this book, Ancient Ways. Most of them explain the overall
period of time before the flood.

“Creation” Stories share four concepts: 1) Creation of heavens and
earth; 2) proto-human or pre-physical existence; 3) man becomes
embodied on the earth as some form of human to begin the fight of good
versus evil, light opposed to darkness; and 4) the rise of agriculture, helping
to stave off famines, and increase health and prosperity.
This leads to communal living and the need for laws
and governance – the dawn of civilization.
Now let’s enjoy exploring the picture of the “First” Manifestation of the
last Age, as pieced together from many peoples, languages, and
backgrounds. In order of presentation: 1. Nu Wa, 2. Fu-Xi, Shennong,
Huangdi 2. Adam, Seth, Enoch 3. Adapa or Uan and 4. Ram or Rama,
Yama, Yima, or Jamshid, 5. Asclepius/ Aesculapius and Abaris,
6. Melchizedek, 7. Gayomart, Siamak, Hooshang.

Also, please keep in mind that these revealers of God’s word
came to a variety of early human branches – not just Homo sapiens.

***********

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A Shard Short Story From Book Four of ‘Rising Wind’ Series ~ Celebrating Books One – Five Now Available in Audiobooks From Amazon. . .

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment


Hayk’s Country


Kheridan Kocherian showed up, waving a handful of brochures he’d brought to share with his new friends, Gideon Yellow Thunder, and Secora James. Seamus McGill had also arrived at their hotel room to plan their day.

Keridan exclaimed, “My friends, what would you like to do today?

Gideon, I believe it is your turn to choose.”

Gideon wrinkled his brow, saying, “There are so many caves to choose from.”

Seamus commented, “Wait, is there a place with not just a cave but also a castle or a monastery – and no birds?”

“No need to settle, Mr. McGill, our precious Armenia is literally paved with old fortresses, also parapets and walkways reminiscent of the Great Wall, Stonehenge-like standing stones, cathedrals, monasteries, and other stunning ruins. You could spend three lifetimes admiring their staggering aspects, never fully paying tribute to their memories. However, I think I have the right one for you, and I hope it will make it to the top of Gideon’s list – since this is his day to choose.”

Gideon friction-rubbed his hands together and said eagerly, “I’m ready.”

Kheridan took a long breath. “The Geghard Monastery at the entrance of the Azat Valley contains several churches and tombs. Most structures were cut into surrounding rock during the peak of Armenian medieval architecture, dating from the 4th to the 13th century. High cliffs surrounded its northern side, and a defensive wall encircled the rest like a windowless fortress.” As he pulled out a photo, Kheridan pressed his lips tightly to hold back a grin. “Here’s a picture.”

Gehard Gavit or Navix

“Now THAT looks really interesting,” said Gideon. Seamus said, “Needless to say, I am ready to leave anytime. What about you, Secora?”

She was mesmerized by the photo. “Let’s hear more.”

“It began as a small, hillside Monastery called Ayrivank, meaning ‘Monastery in the Cave, because of its rock-cut construction. According to tradition, it was founded by St. Gregory the Illuminator and built after the adoption of Christianity as Armenia’s state religion, beginning in the 4th century AD. We call it the Monastery of Geghard.

Geghard Monastery Complex

Seamus drooled. “Oh, I’m in love already. Kheridan, I’ll say it again, I might never leave this fantastic area. Gideon, you may be on your own with the Afghani water project.”

Gideon did a double-take, then said, “Everyone should come here to see
this. I can’t wait.”

“Okay, but I was going to tell you about one more possibility. A castle from the Iron Age Armenian civilization, also known as the ‘Kingdom of Van,’ or ‘Urartu’ on the Ararat plain, which thrived from 800 to 500 B.C. Unfortunately, it’s under a lake formed by a volcanic crater after the eruption of nearby Mount Nemrut. But it seems you have made your choice.”

Gideon responded, “That does sound cool, but I still think Geghard is the one we want.”

Kheridan clapped his hands, saying, “Okay then, it looks like we have a winner. We need a plan.”

Seamus suggested, “Step one, let’s dive into the pastries we bagged up last night. The meat and vegetable-filled ones are on the left, and the sweet ones are on the right.” Secora added cheerfully, “The teapot is full of Constant Comment tea.
I’ll grab the cups.”


Kheridan’s tale continued as they traveled. “The Geghard Monastery is cross-shaped inside, and it is sometimes called the Monastery of the Spear, named after the spear used against Jesus while He languished on the cross. Legend has it that this spear, dating to well before ‘The Bronze Age,’ was brought to Armenia after the crucifixion, and is now at the Echmiadzin Treasury.”

Once they arrived, they found so much to explore. The immaculately constructed buildings were filled with special touches like beautiful paintings, icons, and the spectacular play of light through sunlit domes, which dazzled their eyes. Earthquakes had destroyed much over the centuries. Still, the location was nothing short of breathtaking.

While wandering through, Secora connected with a painting of Christ and the spear. She reflected, such complete humility and submission to the will of God, born of the deepest affection for the Beloved.

“Thank you, Lord Jesus Christ, for that riveting example during your last moments in this realm. Bless you and thank you forever.”

When she looked around, she was alone. She could hear voices, but she wasn’t sure from where. Was she imagining the chanting of monks, or the chants of wandering Crusaders from centuries past? She thought she could see them vaguely. Their faces raised, bathed in a light which must have been gifted to them by their savior.


Gideon shook her arm gently and whispered her name. She looked at him, her eyes adjusting to his face in the dark of the chamber. “We’d lost you. Are you okay?”

She smiled. “I am, thanks for finding me.”

After finishing the tour inside the complex and cave, she rested on a set of carved stone steps, smiling and absorbing the sun’s rays while the men continued their excursions through various structures. She closed her eyes, listening to birdsongs and the distant voices of visitors, past or present. She wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. The last thing she remembered was a light breeze laden with the fragrance of white blossoms that grew wild among the rocks. By the time Gideon woke her, it was apparent she would soon be dealing with sunburn.

Even though they were exhausted after taking in the astonishing views of the mountain, the monastery, and even the circling raptors above, they felt a deep joy filling their hearts and were then moved to offer a round of prayers. For Secora, this was a healing balm, just what the doctor ordered.

Seamus yawned. “Hey buddy, we would very much appreciate a good meal at your parents’ place after a glorious day like this. Will you be joining us?”

“I’m off shift in an hour. Barring any surprise fares, I could meet you for a bite, and we could chat for a while.”
Gideon groggily mumbled, “Sure, that would be nice.”

“Okay, good then.”

Secora was grateful that Kheridan, in his early twenties, was guiding and driving, as his passengers were drifting off to sleep on the way back to Yerevan. She roused with the bustle of the city traffic and sat up, blinking. Kheridan had parked in front of the restaurant.

She smiled when the young man opened her door. As she stepped down, she thanked him for his efforts in helping them take home a piece of Armenia’s heart…


A Short Story From Award-Winning Book Series ‘Rising Wind’ of Book 3 ‘The Weeping God and The Book of Hope’. . .

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment




Little Boy and the Dead Man


Kyah Roanhorse was still feeling rumpled inside due to the lack of closure in his second search-and-rescue case. A grandmotherly friend, Dr. L. W. Dalton, noticed and felt his dismay. She asked him to join her husband, Sage, and herself for lunch. Kyah could smell the freshly baked bread as he sauntered to the main house. It occurred to him that it had been a long time since he had sauntered anywhere. He was grateful to have a warm place to live on the Dalton’s property, where he had recovered from injuries received in South America. There were still things to be thankful for.

He greeted them with a grin and thanked them for their extreme kindness as they beckoned him to take a seat at their dining table. Spaghetti, green salad, garlic bread, and blueberry pie with ice cream shoved away a lot of the hollow ache he’d held inside.

After he took his dishes to the kitchen, Sage asked, “Any news from the deputy yet?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Kyah admitted. He and his search dog, Penny, had done their part to the best of their abilities. They found the trail of the missing boy who had wandered away from his parents at a picnic area several days before. Penny was hot on his trail when she stopped cold and barked twice. Some voice inside told Kyah to prepare for the worst. When he and Deputy Khiergan Sparks caught up to the dog, there was nothing there. Nothing but a set of tire tracks.

No sign of the boy anywhere. It looked as if he had vanished. Maybe he had. Khiergan poured a cast of the tread marks, and Kyah found and photographed a little friendship bracelet a few yards away. Kyah imagined it had fallen off when someone roughly grabbed his little hand. 

Deputy Sparks collected the evidence, and at that point, Kyah said the between-worlds prayer for the soul of the child, who may be confused or frightened. As he chanted, he reached for a rectangular silver tin inside his backpack, opened the lid, took out a braid of sweetgrass, and lit it. He waved the smoke around and raised his arms, as the sacred herbs burned into a fragrant, slightly sweet smoke.

“The spirits are listening. Hey-a-ho. First, I offer this sacred smoke to Wakan Tanka, the Great Spirit who is One. Behold us on this sacred earth. O Wakan Tanka, you are my Father and Grandfather. You are everything. You have always been. Grandfather, this is your herb, its fragrance belongs to you. Behold the good child before you. He may be lost and confused. I beg of you to cause him to move toward you, as is your will. Be merciful. Help him.”

He laid the braid of sweetgrass on a large stone. “Our Grandmother and Mother, you are sacred. Every step you take should be taken as a prayer. It is from you that our bodies come. Take pity on this boy and his parents. They wish to be one with all things. Like us, they serve the good of all Your peoples, the four-leggeds, the two-leggeds, the green things, and the wings of the air. Help him.” Turning his feet to the West, he said, “I now beseech the four directions to help him. First, to you, O winged power from where the sun goes down. Send your servants, ancient and sacred – the Thunder Beings, who come to us in the terrifying storm. Help this boy.” He turned to each of the other three directions, beseeching aid for the lost child. Finally, Kyah announced “Hetchetu alo. It is finished.”

Without knowing what else to say, Khiergan said, “Amen.”

A few days later, Kyah’s phone rang again. It was Khiergan asking him to meet up to find a missing bow hunter. Bow season started on the first Saturday in September and would continue into October. His wife had reported the man missing after he didn’t return, or call. Kyah and the Deputy found the hunter’s truck parked off an old logging road west of Stevensville. They briefly searched the truck, but saw no clue as to what had happened. Kyah did find an old baseball cap in the truck, and gave it to Penny to sniff, then gave her the order, “Search.” She ran around the truck, chose a direction and took off. She was out of sight in an instant. They followed her for almost three miles before they found a hunting stand. The young hunter was slumped in the grass about fifty yards away. He apparently had been cleaning a deer, when a bullet tore into his chest. The carcass was gone, but the gut pile remained – buzzing with flies.

Khiergan suggested, “Rifle season starts in October, so maybe he was shot by an early poacher.” He photographed the scene from every angle and the body’s position in relation to the stand. “This should help the investigation. I think he was shot from a distance – can’t find any traces of another person – except that the deer is gone. You see any tracks, Kyah?”

“I think there’s a boot impression by the tree under the stand. Looks quite a bit larger than this guy’s foot.”

“Good eye.” While Deputy Sparks put up crime scene tape, Kyah kneeled beside the man, ignoring the smell of decomposition. He started saying a Baha’i Prayer for the Departed.

“O my God! O Thou forgiver of sins, bestower of gifts, dispeller of afflictions!

Verily, I beseech Thee to forgive the sins of such as have abandoned the physical garment and have ascended to the spiritual world.

O my Lord! Purify them from trespasses, dispel their sorrows, and change their darkness into light. Cause them to enter the garden of happiness, cleanse them with the most pure water, and grant them to behold Thy splendors on the loftiest mount.”

When he arose, Khiergan put a hand on his shoulder and said, “It’s really nice of you to do that sort of thing. I think people need to know someone cares. I’ll call the corner and meet him where we parked. Be back as soon as I can.”

Kyah sat with Penny, calmly rubbing her head as she looked up at him. “Why can’t we get a simple case of healthy missing people in the forest, girl?” He ran two fingers between her eyes and down her nose, wondering if he had made the wrong career choice. In that moment, he remembered the joy of finding people alive after the earthquake in Peru, where he had found Penny barely alive, herself, under rocks. After Kyah freed her, she almost immediately set about finding others who were buried. Kyah helped to uncover them and find medical care. He and Penny also located the bodies of some who were less lucky, so their families could grieve. “I guess I need to realize we are still doing a good thing by bringing closure where we can.

Penny woofed, signaling Khiergan’s return with the coroner and his staff. A tech began taking photographs, while the deputy began collecting evidence, starting with some of the blood that had drained into the ground, and the coroner began his initial inspection of the body.

At that point Kyah asked, “Are we going to head back now?”

“Not quite yet.” The deputy spoke up nearby, “Say, did I tell you I got an update on the little boy on the way to work?”

Kyah turned. “No, what happened?”

“I think your prayers helped. The little guy was dropped off back at the campground, where his family was still waiting for him in case he somehow found his way back.

“What? That’s amazing. Is he okay?”

“Seems like. Apparently, he was confused and quiet, but was unharmed. A maroon SUV just dropped him off on the road and left. At this point, we have no idea why the guy in the car changed his mind. We hope to know more later.”

Kyah grinned and nodded. “Really appreciate hearing that, Deputy.”

“And I really appreciate how quickly Penny found this guy.”

When the deputy dropped Kyah and Penny off at Sage’s, he said, “We’ll talk again soon.”

Kyah smiled and nodded. Sage and L. W. were thrilled by the good news about the child. 

Sage suggested, “Tomorrow, we should look into getting you a driver’s license and a car of your own. Seems like it’s time.

You’ll need a paying job for insurance, gas, and upkeep. Maybe at the university, or Burger King if you like. But I’m writing a book, and I could use some help collating and organizing the notes, if you’re interested?”

Kyah’s face lit into a smile. “But tonight, you and Penny can sleep in peace.”


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The Rising Wind novel series by award-winning author Diane Olsen is a multicultural action-adventure mystery series that explores themes of anthropology, spirituality, and Native American lore. The series, which includes titles such as The Thunder Beings (Book 1) and Ice and Bone (Book 2), follows protagonists such as paleontologist Secora and Gideon on thrilling, globe-trotting adventures.