The Desert Vigil

Many believed that the desert was a desolate, lonely place. Miles of arid sand and sun-bleached brush interrupted only by spine-like mountains never seemed like a place for life. No, the desert seemed like a distant planet more than anything else: forbidding and alien. But life always found a way.

Even when that barren land seemed built to keep the living away from the things not quite living and not quite dead.

Maria had lived on Abuela’s ranch her entire life. She was used to the scorching days followed by nights cool enough to chill her to her bones. She had learned from years of wrangling cattle that the day was the least of her worries. The cows were built for the sun, but the night, well, not many creatures were built for the night. At least, not the night those lands brought.

The back porch of her Abuela’s ranch had become a perch to Maria's watchful vigil. The porch’s old panels, with their creaks and rickets, were as familiar of a sound to her as her morning coffee machine. On the porch sat a lone rocking chair fashioned decades ago by her Tío, its wood deeply worn from human hands and years of oppressive heat. That rocking chair was where she sat with her rifle resting across her lap and a rosary in her right hand. The rancher was a watcher, a protector of her family’s ranch from the things that came lurking in the night. There were wolves and mountain lions, but she was used to those creatures.

What Maria was concerned about were the things the people who lived in those hills were too scared to name. She gripped her rosary tight at the thought and sent a couple of prayers to the Father to deliver her safely through another night. She wasn’t certain that the darkness feared her God or if they listened to other more ancient deities, but it didn’t hurt to try.

The old porch offered a beautiful view of the Catalina Mountains. If she didn’t fear what the following hours had in store for her, she would have enjoyed their beauty. Sure, Maria was used to the tickle in her spine warning her that things were not quite right, but that didn’t mean the fear ever went away.

Fear kept her sharp, and focused.

Maria rocked back and forth in her chair as the sun set the Arizona sky aflame in its final minutes. Purple clouds painted the burning orange sky, and the last rays of sun hit the Catalina Mountains, turning them a deep shade of pink. Hummingbirds buzzed past, their small wings zipping as they searched for their last meal before the long night. As the sun's final light dipped below the horizon, the bright white flowers on the Saguaro cacti closed as they finally gave up their search for light. The rancher smiled against a cooling breeze; the desert did have its beauty if someone knew where to look.

And as the moon rose above the crest of the shadowed mountains, the desert prepared for the night.

Soon the darkness was so complete that Maria struggled to see past her porch. She had learned from her Abuela never to light a candle or carry a lantern outside of the ranch's walls. The light was only seen as a challenge to those who called the night their home, and it would enrage them more than it would ever scare them off.

Maria muttered a prayer as a few coyotes howled in the distance. Their cries were excited as they built in energy, the sound haunting as it echoed across the desert. The rancher tracked the howls as they died down, her trained ears concluding that the predators had most likely been a pack closing in on prey. She always made sure to pay close attention to the creatures' calls in the night and trained herself to detect the difference between what was natural and what was a cry that warned of something far more sinister.

The hours tracked on, but Maria didn’t grow tired. She knew an entity of some sort had its eyes on her that night. She didn’t spend every witching hour on that watcher’s porch; typically, she let herself sleep through those darker hours of the night with candles shining protective lights around her room. That ranch had attracted negative energies for generations, and sometimes those energies came knocking. On nights like that, she preffered to be waiting outside.

The morning before, Maria had woken to the cries of her chickens beckoning her to their coop. There, in the middle of the pen, were three chickens left beheaded, their blood sprayed across the hay like a primal sacrifice. She knew then that something wanted her attention. Coyotes or wolves would have taken the entire body with them. And only the dark creatures of those lands were sinister enough to mock the holy trinity by killing three. Not two, not four, but precisely three. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

“I ain’t got all night,” Maria grumbled, rocking to her feet to stand at the edge of the porch. She was getting drowsy and would like to retreat to her more intensely warded house for some hot tea and her quilted blanket. She knew she wouldn’t sleep a wink that night, but it would be nice to get out of the desert chill for at least a few hours.

Something approached across the dusty ranch in the darkness. The moon cast just enough silver light to make the newcomer stand out against the shadows. But it wasn’t until the figure reached the first step of the porch that Maria made out any features.

“Sorry, hija,” Maria’s Abuela smiled, “I didn’t mean to scare you by staying out so late.”

Abuela was a warm presence against the dark behind her. Her eyes were a welcoming brown, the shade of the desert sands, and her hair, grey with age, was tied in a long braid down her back. Abuela’s smile in greeting was so loving that it melted her heart. But Maria didn’t have time for affection. She was on watch.

“Did the wards give you any trouble, Abuela?” Maria asked, pointing her rifle to the medicine wheel above the porch step.

Medicine wheels were cousins of dream catchers, with their circular shapes denoting balance. While dream catchers caught malicious dreams, medicine wheels were protectors of a home. Those ancient charms called on the four seasons, the four cardinal directions, and the four elements to bring physical and spiritual health. They could protect from those meaning to harm it—in whatever form that harm might take. Maria’s family had used spiritual objects as protective barriers around that ranch for generations. Medicine wheels, spices, candles, and aloe were all essential in making a spiritual barrier to keep that darkness out when it came looking.

Unfortunately, some forces were more potent than others.  

But no matter how powerful that force was, it needed an invitation to enter its prey’s home. That didn’t mean they couldn’t draw their prey away from their protection- or trick them into being let inside those barriers. For that reason, Maria was always wary of guests who came after sundown.

Abuela reached out a frail hand just above the last porch step. “Do you mind helping your old grandmother up the stairs?” She asked kindly, “The walk from the truck has my knees aching.”

A smile ticked Maria's lips, "Why don't you come across the steps yourself, Abuela? You know the hour."

Abuela stepped away from the porch, her movements almost too quick for a frail woman of her age. "Ah, yes," the crone mumbled, "we must mind the wards."

Maria reached out. But she didn't grab Abuela's hand. The vigilant rancher extended her rifle and fired a bullet made of silver and salt. She frowned—but it wasn’t in mourning— as her Abuela collapsed into the dirt. Her eyes narrowed as she watched blood as black as tar began to pool around the pitiful replica of a human body. Despite her very bones telling her that something was terribly wrong, she had a moment to consider if she might be slowly going insane. The part of her that wanted to cling to the natural order of things was begging her to realize that she had just killed her grandmother on her front porch step.

Unfortunately, Maria knew that she had a proper head on her shoulders. She had buried her Abuela in that backyard two years ago. Whatever had come to haunt her that night, well, she would bury that too.