Like a pack of wild dogs
we arranged ourselves around Stevie,
the eldest cousin in our group,
and headed out over the hills
to find the haunted houses
hidden in a valley along the chaparral
We heard stories of ghosts
seen near the adobe dwellings
victims of the Spanish flu
whole families wiped out in one season
The territory was left fallow
with no heirs to claim the land
neighbors feared to stake out the site
because of the restless spirits
who wandered there
We climbed passed the first hill
turned left at the rotting carcass
of a brown and white cow
One of the youngest kids started to cry
when her socks got tangled in the tumble weeds
I stopped to free her just as a dust devil
swept across the canyon pass
a cold chill ran up our necks
and one of my brother’s vomited
Ahead were the remains of the haunted ruins;
three houses, a barn and a well.
Stevie stepped forward, then my big brother Joe,
the rest of us soon followed
running through the buildings
shouting and screaming
and in no time at all
we ran out the doors and over the hills
with our own tales to tell.
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