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Lonewolf
Amores Perros!
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 View Single Post Posted: Sat, May 10 2008, 12:09 AM Post subject: ANY GOOD OLD SPOOKY STORIES?
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There was a time not so long ago in which our tias and our viejitas would tell these stories during evening gatherings of the family, and our heartbeat would accelerate with every word uttered by the storyteller all up until the scary ending from which afterwards we youngsters would be afraid to go to bed with the lights off.
Las tradiciones y leyendas are an important part of our history and culture. The leyendas are a mix of fantasy and reality, narrations of events in which the origins are lost with the passage of time, yet they remain expressions of our historic reality, most of them from the Spanish colonial era but many others born thereafter.
A story version of "La Leyenda De La Llorona
One of the most widely known legends “La Llorona” has its roots in Aztec mythology.
It was said that the goddess Cihuacoatl would appear during nighttime dressed with white vestments, likewise in the chronicles of the conquista, there’s a registered mournful gloomy omen apparition to the Aztec priests, with the premonition of the doom that was to befall the empire. On their return journey to Tenochtitlan, after a discouraging meeting with Cortez and the Spaniards, as they walked home during the night and they reached the outskirts of the lake on which their city stood and beheld their magnificent city, they heard the voice of a woman crying in distress, announcing; Oh my children, your destruction has arrived, for we must go far away, my children where will I take you to?
With the arrival of the Spaniards and once the conquista of Tenochtitlan was consummated, the Aztec Empire ceded, then years later after the death of Doña Marina, better known as la “Malinche”, it was rumored that she was the llorona who would come back from the beyond to do penance (penitencia) for having betrayed treacherously the Indians of her race by having helped the Spaniards to subdue and enslave them.
The legend continued on with the passage of time, and during the mid-16th century, it is said that the dwellers of the City of Mexico would hear during the midnight hour on full moon nights, a long and prolonged wailing and lamentation from a woman who without a doubt was afflicted by a great and shameful punishment. During the first nights that these lamentations were heard, those who heard her would satisfy to make the sign of the cross (persignarse), then as the wailing and lamentations continued on and prolonged for a long time, some of the people began daring looking out their windows or to go out onto the streets when the wailing was heard and, they are said to have seen a woman dressed in white, with a thick veil that covered her whole face, slow walking the streets, and every night she would walk through different streets of the city, but she would always walk “La Plaza Mayor” today known as el Zocalo de la Capital.
In this place she would give the last anguished lamentation for the night, before continuing on, step by step until little by little she would fade away like a shadow.
The silence of the night, the white dress, the slow burdened steps from that anguished woman and, above all, that deep and prolonged wail, formed a group of element that terrified all who would see or hear her. Thus, with their ignorance of who she was, where she came from, or where she would disappear to, she was named “La Llorona”. Such is the popular legend that has been etched in the memorias of Mexico City residents.
This legend then spread to other parts of Mexico, and manifested itself in various story forms. In some towns it was said that La Llorona was a young maiden in love who had died on her wedding day, and she kept returning to bring to her bridegroom the white rose wedding crown that she never got to wear.
In other places, she was believed to have been a mother who threw her children in the river drowning them and was condemned by God to find no peace for her soul until she found them, there on after she would weep for them in her search anyplace where there is a body of water.
Still a bit of a twist to the story, is the one where she was a deceased mother coming to weep for her orphaned children.
Little by little this old legend has steadily been fading from the memory of the populace, with the remaining record of it left only in Aztec mythology, or in the pages of the chronicles of Mexico City and, en las memorias de las abuelitas that in retelling the story, they hope to put a little scare on their naughty grandchildren with the classic: Si no te portas bien o sigues llorando, vendra la llorona por ti!
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MAGIC
On my way!
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View Single Post Posted: Sat, May 10 2008, 8:37 AM Post subject:
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NOT THAT SPOOKY BUT IT'S 'TILL GOOG
The Bells
retold by
S. E. Schlosser
There once was an evil priest who did not fear God or man. His duties for the church included counting the offerings and ringing the bells to summon people to Mass. But his heart was filled with greed, and he began to take advantage of the good people of his parish. The priest stole money out of the offerings to keep for himself, and when he had filled a chest full of gold, he killed a man and buried him with the chest so the murdered man's ghost would guard it. Anyone who tried to dig for the treasure would be devoured by the skeleton of the murdered man.
The evil priest planned to return to Spain with his ill-gotten treasure, but he fell ill with a fever a week before his ship was scheduled to leave. On his deathbed, the priest repented of his crime. He swore to his confessor that his soul would not rest until he returned the gold to God. The priest died before he could reveal the place where the treasure was buried. As he gasped out his last breath, he said: "Follow the bells. They will lead you to the treasure."
The Padre who attended the dying priest did not heed his words. But the sweeper who was working in the hallway at the time of the evil priest's death was struck by the notion of buried treasure. He was very poor and wanted a better life for himself and his family, so the sweeper determined to take the treasure for himself. Each night for a week, he took a shovel and dug in the monastery gardens, searching for the priests treasure. He found nothing.
One night the sweeper was awakened from his dreams by the sound of the parish bells ringing out loudly in the darkness. He leapt to his feet, fearing some emergency, and then realized that his wife and children had not stirred in their beds. Remembering the evil priest's last words, the sweeper felt sure that the mysterious ringing of the bells was for his ears alone, to lead him to the treasure.
Taking his shovel, the sweeper followed the sound of the church bells up and up into the hills. He was gasping for breath when he reached the source of the sound. He was on a wide ledge overlooking the valley. Two trees guarded the spot, and it was beside these trees that the glowing, ghostly church bells hovered. Taking his shovel, the poor sweeper dug a deep hole among the roots of the trees. After several moments, his shovel hit something hard! Eagerly, he swept the dirt away from the object and found a small chest. He hauled it out of the ditch with trembling hands, placed it on a rock, and broke the lock with the edge of his shovel. when he opened it, piles of yellow gold met his dazzled eyes. He gathered up a handful of coins, reveling in the weight of so much money. The coins were cool to his touch, and he felt the smoothness of the metal as he rubbed the coins between his fingers. And that was when he heard the moaning...
Looking up, the sweeper saw the skeleton of the murdered man whom the evil priest had buried with the treasure. It was rising out of the pit under the trees, eye sockets glowing with blue flames. "Mine," the skeleton intoned, stretching its bony arms toward the sweeper. "Mine!"
The sweeper screamed in terror and leapt away from the box of treasure, dropping the coins that he held in his hands. He ran down the hill as fast as he could go, the skeleton in hot pursuit. Behind him, the bells began to ring again as he fled for his life from the ledge.
The sweeper kept running long after the sounds of pursuit ceased, and did not stop until he reached his home. It was only then that he realized he had left his shovel back with the buried treasure on top of the hill. it was an expensive shovel and he could not afford to lose it.
Waiting until daylight, the sweeper went reluctantly back up into the hills to retrieve it. When he reached the ledge, there was no sign of the skeleton, the chest of money, or the hole he had dug the night before. He found his shovel at the top of a tall tree whose first branches began nearly twenty feet above his head. The skeleton must have placed it there after it chased him down the hill, he decided grimly, knowing that there was no way he could retrieve it.
Turning sadly away, the sweeper's eye was caught by a gleam in the bushes near the rock where he had placed the treasure chest the night before. Carefully, keeping his eye on the place where the skeleton lay buried, the sweeper felt around the rock until his hand closed on two gold coins that the ghost had missed. Casually he put the coins in his pocket and hurried from the ledge. When he got home, the sweeper put the coins into a sock and hid it under the floorboard for safekeeping.
The sweeper never went back to the ledge to retrieve the evil priest's buried treasure, though sometimes he was still awakened by the mysterious sound of the bells. He knew it would take someone more pious than himself to banish the ghost of the murdered man and reclaim the money for God. But he did use the gold coins to send his eldest son to school, and with the left-over change, he bought himself a new shovel.
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chicanas3xy13
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MAGIC
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chicanas3xy13
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chicano
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View Single Post Posted: Tue, May 13 2008, 9:46 PM Post subject:
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I'll share an urban legend I heard that really got to me. Please read it all, trust me it's well worth it.
Of all tales of the supernatural, this one is perhaps the best documented, the most disturbing and the most difficult to explain . . .
The Princess of Amen-Ra lived some 1,500 years before Christ. When she died, she was laid in an ornate wooden coffin and buried deep in a vault at Luxor, on the banks of the Nile.
In the late 1890s, 4 rich young Englishmen visiting the excavations at Luxor were invited to buy an exquisitely fashioned mummy case containing the remains of Princess of Amen-Ra.
They drew lots. The man who won paid several thousand pounds and had the coffin taken to his hotel. A few hours later, he was seen walking out towards the desert. He never returned.
The next day, one of the remaining 3 men was shot by an Egyptian servant accidently. His arm was so severely wounded it had to be ampu.tated.
The third man in the foursome found on his return home that the bank holding his entire savings had failed.
The fourth guy suffered a severe illness, lost his job and was reduced to selling matches in the street.
Nevertheless, the coffin reached England (causing other misfortunes along the way), where it was bought by a London businessman.
After 3 of his family members had been injured in a road accident and his house damaged by fire, the businessman donated it to the British Museum.
As the coffin was being unloaded from a truck in the museum courtyard, the truck suddenly went into reverse and trapped a passerby. Then as the casket was being lifted up the stairs by 2 workmen, one fell and broke his leg. The other, apparently in perfect health, died unaccountably two days later.
Once the Princess was installed in the Egyptian Room, trouble really started. The Museum’s night watchmen frequently heard frantic hammering and sobbing from the coffin. Other exhibits in the room were also often hurled about at night. One watchman died on duty, making the other watchmen wanting to quit. Cleaners refused to go near the Princess too. When a visitor derisively flicked a dustcloth at the face painted on the coffin, his child died of measles soon afterward.
Finally, the authorities had the mummy carried down to the basement figuring it could not do any harm down there. Within a week, one of the helpers was seriously ill, and the supervisor of the move was found dead on his desk.
By now, the papers had heard of it. A journalist photographer took a picture of the mummy case and when he developed it, the painting on the coffin was of a horrifying, human face. The photographer was said to have gone home then, locked his bedroom door and shot himself.
Soon afterwards, the museum sold the mummy to a private collector. After continual misfortune (and deaths), the owner banished it to the attic.
A well-known authority on the occult, Madame Helena Blavatsky, visited the premises. Upon entry, she was seized with a shivering fit and searched the house for the source of an evil influence of incredible intensity. She finally came to the attic and found the mummy case.
Can you exorcise this evil spirit? Asked the owner. There is no such thing as exorcism. Evil remains evil forever. Nothing can be done about it. I implore you to get rid of this evil as soon as possible.
But no British museum would take the mummy, the fact that almost 20 people had met with misfortune, disaster or death from handling the casket, in barely 10 years, was now well known.
Eventually, a hardheaded American archaeologist (who dismissed the happenings as quirks of circumstance), paid a handsome price for the mummy and arranged for its removal to New York. In Apr 1912, the new owner escorted its treasure aboard a sparkling, new White Star liner about to make its maiden voyage to New York.
On the night of April 14, amid scenes of unprecedented horror, the Princess of Amen-Ra accompanied 1,500 passengers to their deaths at the bottom of the Atlantic. The name of the ship was of course, the H.M.S. TITANIC.
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her [9:59 P.M.]: phss im never letting you go..
i'll be bugging you if your not with me.. cuz you know what?
aha Y0UR MiNE.. jUP Mi0.. S0 fCK EVERY0NE ELSE.. CUZ i L0VE
Y0U & iM G0NNA BE WiTH Y0U f0REVER. Y0UR tHE 0NE f0R ME.
Right..
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chicanas3xy13
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