Thursday, October 20, 2016

Werecoyote by Paty Jager

 I take a 2 mile walk every morning. My min-pin/Chihuahua, Tink, usually goes with me. We live in the high desert and have lots of wildlife. Every day we see 1-5 coyotes out in the alfalfa fields catching rodents. Which we like. 

However, the coyotes come down out of the hills to catch the rodents and their path crosses my walking path. Therefore, I am extremely alert to any movement in the tall sagebrush that could be a coyote. My little Tink would be two bites and gone.

One day as we walked the more invigorating path, I heard yipping ahead of us. I called to Tink to get closer and we ended up turning around sooner than normal because it sounded like the coyote was chasing something right toward us. I started walking faster and the sound appeared up above us on the rock cliff. I looked up and there was a coyote staring at us and yipping. I don’t know if it caught Tink’s scent or what. I picked Tink up and kept walking. The coyote followed us along the ridge yipping and finally stopped, turned, and left.

Another day I had both Tink and my hubby’s dog with me. We were walking the other trail. The two dogs were playing a good twenty to thirty feet ahead of me. I saw movement to my right and spotted two deer running up the side of the ridge. Two their left was a large coyote staring down at the two dogs. I called them closer and hurried on by that area. 

This morning, it was cold and I left Tink at the house. She doesn’t like the cold. I was trudging along over the more rugged trail and I spotted the biggest coyote I’ve ever seen in the field just beyond our fence line. I took a photo but it’s fuzzy from trying to zoom in.  He didn’t see me at first. He wandered along, then disappeared. He either noticed the doe and fawn running up the hill or caught my scent. As I stood there trying to get a glimpse of him again, he stood on his hind legs to look over the four to five foot sage brush between us and I was looking at a werecoyote.  His head with perked ears, neck and shoulders were all I could see but as he stood on his hind legs he looked like a man standing there with the head/features of a coyote.

It was eerie and probably came to my mind so quickly because I’ve been judging paranormal books for a contest and they’ve had werewolves in them. 

As quickly as the werecoyote thought emerged in my mind I clicked over to Native American myths and thought how it also looked like images I’ve seen of American Indians wearing buffalo heads and wolf heads during dances and ceremonies. 

A Nez Perce Legend 

How Coyote Created People
One day, long before there were any people on the Earth, a monster came down from the North. He was a huge monster and he ate everything in sight. He ate all the little animals, the chipmunks and the raccoons and the mice, and all the big animals. He ate the deer and the elk and even the mountain lion.

Coyote couldn't find any of his friends anymore and this made him very mad. He decided the time had come to stop the monster.

Coyote went across the Snake River and tied himself to the highest peak in the Wallowa Mountains. Then he called out to the monster on the other side of the river. He challenged the monster to try and eat him.

The monster charged across the river and up into the mountains. He tried as hard as he could to suck 
Coyote off the mountain with his breath but it was no use. Coyote's rope was too strong.

This frightened the monster. He decided to make friends with Coyote and he invited coyote to come and stay with him for a while.

One day Coyote told the monster he would like to see all of the animals in the monster's belly. The monster agreed and let Coyote go in.

When he went inside, Coyote saw that all the animals were safe. He told them to get ready to escape and set about his work. With his fire starter he built a huge fire in the monster's stomach. Then he took his knife and cut the monster's heart down. The monster died a great death and all the animals escaped. Coyote was the last one out.

Coyote said that in honor of the event he was going to create a new animal, a human being. Coyote cut the monster up in pieces and flung the pieces to the four winds. Where each piece landed, some in the North, some to the South, others to the East and West, in valleys and canyons and along the rivers, a tribe was born. It was in this way that all the tribes came to be.

When he was finished, Coyote's friend, Fox said that no tribe had been created on the spot where they stood. Coyote was sorry he had no more parts, but then he had an idea. He washed the blood from his hands with water and sprinkled the drops on the ground.

Coyote said, "Here on this ground I make the Nez Perce. They will be few in number, but they will be strong and pure." And this is how the human beings came to be.

Top Photo: © Can Stock Photo Inc. / Pixelia29

Monday, October 17, 2016


Ghosts are a fascinating subject for all of us. I’ve also had in interest in thing paranormal; reincarnation, psychic ability, ESP, the whole shebang. But my real enthusiasm for the supernatural came after I began writing.

In 1971 I was in the process of getting a divorce when a friend talked me into going to a Tarot Card reader. I knew nothing about Tarot, but I say “What the heck!” This card reader proceeded to tell me that I was in the midst of a huge change in my life, that I was probably getting divorced and that I would soon move a good distance away. She knew all about my past from the cards and was shockingly accurate. But that was all that showed in my cards—my past.

She said there was one final card that indicated a man, but she couldn’t tell me anything without doing another run of cards. That second run showed a man coming into my life. He was, she said, a Leo, never married, no children, within a couple years of my age and water would play a part in our meeting.

Well, that December, I got my divorce and moved to Utah. I got a job at a private club. One night, I was waiting for a group of ladies to sit down so I could take their order. One of them looked at me and said that I had lost someone in my immediate family when I was a teen. I said, “Yes, my father.”

She proceeded to tell me the exact same story the Tarot card reader told me, that I would meet a Leo, never married, no children, yada, yada. I got to know this woman, and it’s still hard for me to believe how psychic she was.

But I never met my Leo.

For a while, during my friendship with this psychic, I too started to know things before they happened, like who would come into the club that night, and when I would see the guy I was dating, things like that. One day I couldn’t stop thinking about a fellow I’d met a year before. Later I learned he died that day in a trucking accident about the same time I was thinking of him. 

And still, to this day, I don’t know what to believe about the paranormal.

My mother, who was the least superstitious person I know, told me my dad came to see her one night. She woke up, and he was standing at the foot of the bed. She spoke to him, and he vanished. She didn’t believe in psychiatry, let alone anything psychic.

Plenty of people have had similar experiences and are uncertain what to make of them. What about you. Have you had any psychic adventures? Share them with us here.

Writing my latest story, A Ride Through Time, for the anthology, The Good, The Bad, and The Ghostly, was a lot of fun. I loved delving into the research on ghost hunting and digging up the little details that helped bring my story alive. I found lists of proper conduct for ghost hunters, what ghost hunters should take with them, equipment and how to use them. I gleefully used all of this information that I could in my tale.
Did I have any paranormal experiences while writing and researching the tale? No, not really, but I’m open to any that might yet appear. Who knows, maybe the spirit my ghost hunter tried to exorcise will come see me.

Yipe! I hope not. He was nuts.

Be sure to download the free sample book of The Good, The Bad, and the Ghostly here:    Excerpts, recipes, ghost stories

Or buy it at Amazon

Blurb for A Ride Through Time

Ghosts. Murder. Love. P.S.I. Agent Burke Jameson traveled to Eagle Gulch, Colorado to investigate a report of ghost activity at a house where a murder had taken place in 1881. When his vehicle carrying his P.S.I. equipment dies, and a saddled but riderless mare appears, he mounts up so the horse can take him to her fallen rider. Instead, he is taken to a whole new life he could never have anticipated.

Clorinda Halstead believes she’s a widow. After all, she did shoot her husband, Horace, one violent night in 1881. He deserved it, the jury concluded. Living with the town marshal and his wife, all Clori wants is to be left alone. Then a stranger, Burke James, joins the household, and nothing is ever the same again.

How did Burke find his way through time to the year 1881, and who is haunting the lovely but distant Widow Halstead? Can Burke find the ghost of Eagle Gulch without his P.S.I. equipment? And how will he ever choose between going home to his own time and a life of love and happiness with Clorinda?


Burke’s gaze cut to the house and that eerie deja vu sensation washed over him again. Cold wafted around him like icy arms. He shivered.
Likely scared off the mare with his unprecedented howl at the moon. Nothing more.
Didn’t matter anyway.
What counted was doing his job.
He drew in a deep breath and smelled smoke.
Gray plumes curled up from the chimney, ghostly pale against the darkening sky. Someone must be inside. Why hadn’t he noticed the scent right away? And the faint candlelight behind the lace curtains? Burke prided himself on his powers of observation. Hadn’t done too well this time.
Whoever was here had likely come to check the house’s condition and do repairs. They had set a fire for warmth while they worked. Nothing spooky or dangerous about that. They must have parked in the back. He shook off the niggle of dread on his spine, stepped onto the wooden pallet that served as a porch, and raised his fist to knock.
Plain, unadorned wood.
Where was the plaque proclaiming the place a historic site? And the vinyl-protected display stand that related the Halstead story?
Had the historical society given up maintaining the property? That could explain the house’s poor condition—the peeling paint, the sagging porch roof—but not the missing deadbolt lock that had been there seventeen years ago. Who would ignore badly needed repairs, yet replace a perfectly fine door with one that had never seen a deadbolt?
Whatever was going on here, he’d get to the bottom of it. In fact, he couldn’t wait.
If only Gabe would arrive with the P.S.I. equipment. Burke’s instincts screamed paranormal, louder than ever. His nose itched with urgency. He looked at Spook. The Vizsla sniffed among the leaves; just a normal dog.
Lifting the cuff of his jacket, he checked his watch. Not an ordinary watch, but a specially fashioned piece of modern equipment that not only gave the time, date and weather but acted as a recorder as well. It contained an EDI meter, an Infrared thermal scanner, an EMF detector, and GPS. Right now, the detector showed red, indicating a disruption in the electronic field. That likely meant a ghost disrupting the frequency. The scanner also showed the temperature continued to drop.
So why had Spook's highly trained instincts gone offline?
Burke pressed the communication button and texted Gabe. While he waited for a reply, he walked the grounds searching for an injured man thrown from a horse. He found nothing and received no reply. Damn.
On his way back to the house he tried his phone again. Nothing. He would have blamed it on the multitude of trees that had surrounded the place, but they were gone.
He peered through an old, distorted glass pane, past the lace curtains. The furniture appeared much the same—what hadn’t been stolen before the historical society took possession. No sign of occupants but they could be in the kitchen or upstairs. Each floor had two rooms, the living area in the front, kitchen in back, and two bedrooms upstairs.
Flummoxed. Burke felt plain flummoxed.
Hell, where had he come up with that antiquated word? The house and its atmosphere were getting to him.
He glanced at the window again. A face—stark, shadowed, creepy as hell—looked back.

 About the Author
Charlene Raddon’s first serious attempt at writing fiction came in 1980 when a vivid dream drove her to drag out a typewriter and begin writing. Because of her love of romance novels and the Wild West, her primary genre is historical romance. Kensington Books originally published five of her novels. These were later released as eBooks by Tirgearr Publishing. Currently, they are self-published with new covers designed by the author.