In Mexico, Ghost Stories Are Always Real

I cannot sleep when I am in Mexico – especially my father’s hometown of La Rivera, Jalisco. This is because I feel powerful force that I don’t understand, and I fear does not understand me either.  He died several years ago, and I am not saying that I believe in ghosts, but what I am saying is that there is some credence to souls that cannot, or will not, rest.

My extended family there has short memories, perhaps for this reason they have come to terms with the dead. They have some unspoken bargain or treaty where everyone stays behind their side of the line. I take the Shaggy from Scooby-Doo approach and I run the other way from the presumed threat. They tell me I need to fear the living because the dead cannot hurt you. I beg to differ because I fear the living and the dead.

When I would visit Mexico as a child, my sister and I would stay in the guest room in my Tía Rafaela’s house. The guest room was dilapidated with hornets nests in the corner of a ceiling. The adobe would wear thin. The room was decorated with candles and pictures of those with whom we shared our lineage. All of the relatives had lived, but no one knew exactly how they died.

We would always hear weird sounds that we attributed to Mexico. I would hear someone dragging something or someone who didn’t want to be dragged on top of the ceiling. Sometimes I would hear loud bangs that no one else in the house would react to. It later turned out that this particular room had some history attached to it. It was used to mourn our dead relatives. One of my aunts even died during childbirth. Some of the relatives claimed to have seen her in the room – going as far as interacting with her.

There were a couple of times, when I felt someone in the same room, but I would pretend to be asleep. I could feel whatever it was, come and brush up against my feet. In my mind, I felt that if I opened my eyes and acknowledged whatever it was, I would give it some kind of power over me – somehow I would allow it to enter this world. I would close my eyes and hold on to my blankets and wait for morning. I used to be a little atheist, until those small wrinkles in time when I would pray to every deity to shift the earth and make the sun appear.

But now I am a grown man. I am not afraid of ghosts or specters or things that go crash in the middle of the night. This is because I have taken precautions. Every time I go to Mexico, and plan to visit the family, I stay in a hotel in the next town of Yurécuaro. I stay at the fabulous two-and-a-half star Gilton in the middle of the plaza. By the way, you read that right. The owner’s name is Gildardo and he decided to name his place of lodging – the Gilton. It is right by the center of town, and best of all the hotel is ghost-free. I do not have to worry about relatives roaming around the hallways.

In fact, the only one I have to worry about pulling my leg is the priest from the neighboring church. Perhaps one day I will be able to rest in Mexico, even if everyone else is resting in peace.

Follow Oscar Barajas on Twitter @Oscarcoatl

[Image By José Guadalupe Posada]

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