She could hear voices,real voices. Not the kind in her head. The words were harsh and guttural, unlike her own natve English. A few words she could pick out, such as "Dream," and Monster," but most of the Native words were lost on her.
"Trinity, you know better than to eavesdrop." The child named Trinity turned and lookes up into the stern gaze of her neighbor.
Unlike most of those that lived by the Navajo Reservation,the woman was of African American who lived nearby were Hispanic or White. The woman was stooped with age, her hands roped with thick veins. She had been tall once, but that had changed.
Trinity gave a small cry as her arm was grabbed firmly and she was pulled into the kitchen. Small and modest, it was covered in pastel pink tiles. A small red mat sat in front of the kitchen's sink and the wooden table supported a myriad of books and magazines.
Trinity's arm was gripped hard and she soon found herself being pulled into the kitchen towards the women.
"Look who I caught snooping," said the elderly woman. Black hair swished as Trinity's mother turned to face her daugher.
"Triny, .." her mother sighed.
Age twenty four, Trinity's mother had given birth at a young age. She had grown up too quick and her eyes told the story of what she had endured. Trinity looked up the dark-haired woman but to her shock she saw no anger in those brown irises.
Instead, the woman looked at the elder and asked,"Is everything ready?"
The african woman nodded,her eyes holding a strange emotion to the small girl.
The twenty four year old sighed once more and said,"Alright,let's get this over with."
The other three women looked at each other in apprehension but yet they still followed at an amicable distance through the double wide mobile home. Trinity was led by her mother to the very back of the trailer. She had always been told to stay out of this room in particular whenever she came over but now she couldnt help but feel a pang of dread at the thought of entering. hair
The door opened and strange smelling smoke hit Trinity hard. Something told her not to cough so she shut her jaw tightly and took deep calming breaths. Through the haze she could see a slumped figure flanked by two teenagers.
The slumped figure was that of an ancient woman. Where the black woman was old, this woman was a crone. Her white hair hung in this wisps around her face and the night gown she wore was colored with flowers.
Trinity's mother watched as the black woman spoke to the white-haired crone. "Deliah, we need your help. Tell us what you know of this child."
Trinity was pushed forward and she fell to her knees to look up into blank, milky white eyes. Yet, through that vacant expanse, she could feel Deliah taking her in. Slowly, a wrinkled hand reached out and just brushed away at Trinity's white hair.
The hand was withdrawn quickly as if the touch burned her. She began to speak in the language of the Navajo. The small girl tried to wrap her head around the words but fear made the discerning difficult.
Deliah screamed, an other worldly wail that chiiled Trinity to her bones.
"Mommy!" the little girl cried, and she felt two familiar hands lift her into a comforting embrace. Yet over her mother's shoulder she could see Deliah convulsing and shivering as if in a fit. Thos blank eyes would haunt her for years to come.