Terlingua Tales: The Ghosts of Terlingua

There they were just a rockin’ and rollickin’ along the long and dusty trail in a gnarly looking Ford Ranger. They had on their usual attire and the smell of booze was a buzzin’ in the air. These three amigos were in the mood to walk around the ghost town just to shoot the cool evening breeze with a hard day’s sweat. You see the rambling three were about as much of a mystery to the locals as La Llorona was to the Desert Southwest.

“Who are those guys over there?”
“Is he wearing a dog chain?”
“Why are they using sign language?”

The tourist gawk and stare at us while the locals whisper hooey amongst themselves. Of course, we pay them no mind and tend to ourselves. One is off to the get a pack of smokes. The second went to the jail to take a piss while the third sits on the porch taking mental pictures of the situation. The shine of the sun is slowly fading off the tips of the mighty Chisos Mountains while fiddles and strings tease the atmosphere with ear grabbing notes. Everyone watches the eastern sky, as the hues of blues appear to consume the sheds of reds. A sunset has come and gone. The night has come and is ready to play. So play she said and play they did.

One declares the need to assist the Crisis Center by initiating a real crisis. The second proclaims that there are cops and fascists pigs swarming all over this here porch. The third hops off the bench and flips off the closed circuit camera as he hollers a loud burst of “Whooo-ey!” They all laugh and chuckle at the stunned audience and together they gather beside the ice chest to plot the next sequence of Truth.

After each getting another cold one, they return to the bench on the porch and resume their rude awakenings for the dormant masses that walk about with hardly a clue as to what separates them from us. Of course, they knew it mattered little that the people were terrified of them and it would be awhile later that perhaps the people would suddenly get the idea and awaken the spirit within. This approach doesn’t always prove to be effective but it certainly riles up many. It stirs them up to a point that they actually write about it in their local papers and publications that are found far and away.

Yet, as you would have it, the ghost haired lady by the name of Rude Anne approaches the three and points to the one in the middle as she grimaces her face and questions the other two,

“Who does that dog belong to and why is it on the porch and why doesn’t it have a leash?”

The three wryly look at each other then slowly they turn towards the Ghost Haired Lady and as they bare their teeth, they start barking like rabid canines. One was chomping wildly at the air, another was growling as he frothed beer from his mouth, the third was mad dogging her with the evil eye. As all this commotion takes place, the crowd begins to disperse and immediately the porch had been swept clean of any lingering trash.

All that remains are three wild animals and power hungry bitch, who having stepped three steps back, reaches for her cell phone and announces that she’s calling the Sheriff.

One replied: “You call the Sheriff, I’ll burn your house down.”

The second says: “I reckon you ain’t from around here, huh?”

The third mutters: “I’m gonna get a shovel.”

The Ghost Haired Lady scrambles to get into the Trading Post and seek shelter from what looked like Hell to Come. The Three amigos then slowly sit back down on the bench to finish their beer and cigarette before loading back up into the truck and rolling on once again down that long and dusty trail. As they wrap up the night and discard the trash, they fly past the cemetery passing the Sheriff and with a hootin’ and a hollerin’, they yell in unison,

“I still wish you the very best, with a FUCK YOU AND FUCK HER TOO!”

And so it is told, beware, for the Ghosts of Terlingua are out and about.