A Haunted Hike

and proof of healing

Yesterday I woke up itching to hike.

I had no right to think about spending hours on the trail because I was behind on work. I’d been locked into interviews the day before and had an important one the next day to prep. But, it was sunny and warm in March and this was Colorado. The glorious mountains flirt from every roadway and window, from snow-capped to flattop, red dirt to hogbacks, miles of trails awaited.

After stuffing my To-Do list under a stack of books, I found a backpack and added snacks, water, ID, earbuds, my phone, and at the last second, a red stone, then drove to Clear Creek State Park. The trail winds along a river and goes for miles. In November, Jefferson County extended the trail adding more miles and five new bridges. I was excited to see the improvements.

Legs fresh, I zigzagged up Lookout Mountain and followed the Welch ditch. This bit of trail is the lofty cousin of the main route and intersects with a rock climbing area. Creosote siderails wall in the former water route and the wood warmed in the sunshine smelling of motor oil and resin. These troughs once channeled melted snowpack down the mountains, giving birth to the city of Golden.

Roughly a year ago as I walked this upper stretch, I noticed a rusted out truck body up the embankment dotted with bits of red paint and bullet holes, and took a photo. I felt someone looking over my shoulder and turned to find I was alone.

I continued the hike and in an hour or two was home again.

After showering and changing into fresh clothes, there was some residual tension in my body and spirit I couldn’t quite name. I felt angry and sad at the same time. With my husband out of town there was nothing to distract my attention from this strange cocktail of bitterness and ire. Cooper nudged against my hand and I stroked the dog’s minky fur, and he began to tremble, then his eyes glitched.

I recognized the signs from years of taking care of our epileptic cat, these meant a seizure was imminent. I held my hands onto Cooper’s back to steady him and his twitching stopped. I was overcome with rage. “It’s one thing to attach to me, but leave my dog alone!” I shouted.

My subconscious had known all along what my voice just acknowledged. I had an attachment. I grabbed palo santo, sage, matches and went outside with Cooper at my heels. I doused both of us in smoke as I asked the angels to cut all ties and tethers. I fell to my knees and cried. My ears rang and I had a vision. It was a girl, the color red, she was lost.

I saged and cleansed and cleared until the only emotions left in my body were mine, then returned to the house, texting my dear friend, Monique who lives across the country. We are bonded like soul sisters, knowing innately when one of us is in need of help.

She’d already texted me, something like, “Are you okay? I just had something weird happen to me.” I told her about Cooper and the spirit that had followed me home from the hike. Ten states away, she’d had a red cardinal fly at her car windshield. She’d avoided crashing the car, but was pumped full of adrenaline. Something about the color of the bird and the aggression had made her worry about me. And she felt a girl was reaching out to both of us in dramatic form.

“Check google maps for a pin,” she texted. “Something happened to someone near that trail.” Then she typed, “Red. This has something to do with the color red.” I got that too, I replied.

Sure enough in minutes I was scrolling through stories about the brutal rape and murder of fourteen year old, Brandy Rose Duvall. As she waited for a bus that would take her back to her grandmother’s house, she was spotted by gang members who took offense to her red Chicago Bulls jersey.

The rest is documented in news articles I’ve linked to below, but after committing brutal crimes to Brandy, they drove out Highway 6 and tossed her over an embankment, thinking her dead. She hadn’t been. Bloodied, hands cuffed behind her back, she tried climbing the rubble and died.

Her remains were found in Clear Creek the next day by two men who had been compelled by the beauty of the waters and the heat of the day to stop their car and climb down to soak their feet.

It was Brandy that had followed me home. She was lost. For nearly three decades her soul had been trapped, stuck between the trauma of that night and the Beyond. She identified me as a mother and someone that crossed people over. Multiply that by two, because Monique, my crow sister? She is an amazing mother in her own right, and a powerful, gifted intuitive.

As Monique set a boundary around her property, her chickens, her home and her family across the country, I said words into a firepit, asking Brandy to release all that pain and move on to the other side. I felt the wall of pain that had formed around her death, built brick by brick by every person that had read the story of her murder. She had to mitigate not only her pain and suffering, but all that as well. I reminded her I was here, another set of shoulders to help her move past all that.

The smoke died out in the fire pit and I grunted out an exhale. In the sky overhead, a golden eagle swooped, then flew off towards the foothills.

I saged Cooper and myself and returned to the house.

Some days later as I recovered from a flu, I woke up from a dream. Congested, I sat up and remembered a thick, tall Hispanic man who asked me to cross him over. He’d told me he was part of Brandy’s murder and knew he didn’t deserve my help. His droopy pants, a chain leading to a wallet in a back pocket, he couldn’t meet my eyes. “I’ll cross you over, but I’m sick, so you have to wait.” He nodded. “Wait on the porch.”

It would be a month or more before I’d remember the young man. I rushed onto the front porch and spoke to what would’ve appeared on the Ring camera to myself. My words were for that that young man. “I am sorry I left you here so long. I forgot. It felt like a fever dream,” I explained. “I am here to cross you over. Let go of the past, the pain, release all that and step into the Beyond.”

A breeze swirled, kicking up leaves and dirt. Then everything settled and I knew he had crossed over. I told Monique via text and then, as is the norm for me, a sort of amnesia set in.

Back to the Clear Creek trail this week...

Traffic on Highway 6 accompanied me up the new stretch of trail as I hiked towards Tunnel 2. There was something desolate to this bit, uncomfortable, but also familiar. I stopped and took a moment to tie my boot laces. Why did I feel this way? Steps later, I saw it, a white cross made of metal with red roses, and a name, Brandy, on a metal tin that hung crooked, one nail long gone.

I remembered the red stone I’d packed, and pulled it out of a side pocket. I held it in my hands and thought of the love I have for this girl, her family and those that still feel trauma from the horrible violence that ended her life. I said words and tossed the stone over the fence where it nestled beside other offerings.

How are you, Brandy? I asked her in my mind as I continued the hike. Have you found peace?

A massive golden eagle swirled in the air above a ledge of rock across the roadway. It spun in lazy loops on the breeze, and was soon joined by a second eagle. They flew in synch, turning and dipping in an aerial ballet and I knew I had my answer.

Brandy was free.

Sources:

Brandaline Rose “Brandy” Duvall, b. July 28, 1982, d. May 31, 1997

Part One, Dealing with the Devil, Westword

DA Blasts Resentencing of Frank Vigil Jr. in “Horrific” Killing of Brandy DuVall, Fourteen, Westword