Mexican Ghost Tales of the Southwest (4 page)

O
ne night, while walking down the street after drinking heavily at the local cantina, Luis felt like having a cigarette. He stopped and searched his pockets for a match, only to discover that he was out of matches. With nowhere to go for matches at that hour of the night, he happened to see a man coming down the street in the dark. He walked toward the man and asked him for a light.

The stranger did not say anything, but reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box of matches. Luis put the cigarette to his mouth and moved closer to the stranger in order to light it. As the stranger struck the match, he held the flame close to Luis' cigarette. It lit up the stranger's face. Luis tried to scream, but fright had frozen his vocal cords. He jumped back and ran down the street in haste. What he'd seen by the light of the burning match was the face of the Devil himself.

T
wo friends walked out of the cantina where they had been drinking pretty heavily. They had had their fill and were heading home to sleep it off. They felt good and happy as they walked down the street. Suddenly, the sound of a crying baby in an alley caught them by surprise. They went into the alley and started searching for the baby. The crying was coming from deep in the alley. There were no lights in the area, but they were not afraid of a crying baby. Perhaps someone had abandoned it.

They found the baby behind some broken wooden boxes and picked it up in the darkness. Both men were still a little tipsy from the tequila they had drunk earlier. They looked at the baby. It had stopped crying. It had a funny smile on its face and was making gurgling noises. The man who was holding the baby began to strain. The baby was getting heavy for him.

“What a heavy baby!” he said.

And his friend added, “What a cute baby!”

The baby looked at both of them with its wide pretty eyes and said in a very deep voice, “Yes, what a cute baby I am!” And fangs started to grow out of its mouth.

Startled, both men stiffened. The one holding the baby threw it to the ground in fear, and the men ran out of the alley and back to the cantina much wiser and sober than before.

THE DEVIL'S WIND

THE DEVIL'S WIND

I
t was a warm sunny day when the pigs were slaughtered in the arid brush-filled desert within sight of the town. The flesh was cut up in small pieces and placed in large iron cauldrons used to make fried pig skins or cracklings. The hard, crackly fried skin was a delicacy among the local people. Most of the people had started early, finished their cooking, and had walked back to town to sell their wares. Only Salvador and his friend Sebastián, with his dog Pansas, were still feeding their fire and stirring their cauldron.

Once in awhile a bit of fat would boil over the lip of the cauldron. It would sizzle and pop hideously when it hit the fire. This would scare the dog, gnawing the flesh off a deep-fried bone nearby. The animal would jump up startled by the sizzling sound and move back snarling with his tail between his legs. Salvador and Sebastián would laugh at poor Pansas' fear.

Suddenly, a surge of wind arose not very far away and formed itself into a whirlwind, something quite common in dry desert areas where it is known as the Devil's Wind. The cylinder of air picked up dust, and the two men were hoping it
would not move towards them for fear it would dump the swirling dust on their boiling fat and cracklings. Meanwhile, they continued stirring their pot and feeding more brush to the fire.

Strangely, the whirlwind grew in intensity, spinning in wider and wider motions and making a high-pitched howling sound. As Salvador and Sebastián—who now sensed something was wrong—watched, it grew wider and wider. Pansas, in turn, had now forgotten about his bone and stared with bulging eyes, shaking violently, hair standing on end like a frightened cat, his tail between his legs.

Pansas darted and headed toward town in a cloud of dust, and the two men heard the sound of a woman's screams churn within the howling of the wind. And as the funnel gained on them at a fast pace, the screaming face of La Llorona looked at them from the swirling wind.

“Let's go, let's go!” Salvador yelled at Sebastián while both men grabbed their pot by its hot handle and started down the road, running for their lives. In spite of their terror, however, they would not drop their hot tub of cracklings and lard, and as they fled, the pot splashed and spilled, leaving a trail of grease and pork skins on the dusty road.

Filled with terror and with the screaming whirlwind right behind them and getting closer, the two friends ran. They were beginning to tire, but their fear gave them strength. They did not look back, but they could sense La Llorona closing in on them by the feeling of doom in the air. Still they moved onward with their heavy metal pot.

Finally, they were coming close to the town. They looked back at their screaming, howling pursuer.
But then, La Llorona abruptly disappeared in a swirl of dust. The two men stopped and set their pot down. It was half-empty by now because with their running much of the fat and the cracklings had spilled out. Panting and perspiring, they looked around and discovered they had actually reached the church, the first building on the outskirts of their town.

They now understood what had happened. La Llorona could not approach the church. Because La Llorona was cursed for being evil, she was forbidden to come close to God until the end of the world. For that reason, the whirlwind vanished the moment Sebastián and Salvador reached the church. They bowed their heads and said a prayer, thanking God for saving their lives and their souls.

THE FUNERAL AND THE GOAT DEVIL

THE FUNERAL AND THE GOAT DEVIL

T
he river was rising and the heavens were puffed black with rain clouds that sent a million drops of water to the earth. Small streams of water, like so many slithering snakes, flowed endlessly along the path. Above the howling wind and rain, one could hear prayers respectfully chanted by the local folk from a dilapidated shack near the riverbank. A wake was being held for an old man who had recently passed on to his ancestors.

Within the packed shack, the only free space was a narrow aisle for those who wanted to view the deceased in the open wooden casket one last time. Women huddled under their mantillas, and men clutched their sombreros tightly and shivered under wet serapes. As the sky thundered and lightning flashed, some whispered softly that this was a night for the Devil and other evil spirits.

Everyone was praying loudly when out of the darkness of the storm there appeared a woman dressed in black with a black mantilla covering her face. The hem of her soaked dress dragged along the wooden floor, and the cold air from outdoors
made everybody shiver even more. They stared at the stranger as she walked to the front and peered into the casket. Turning around, she gazed right and then left at the assembled people. Moaning softly to herself, she exited as mysteriously as she had come.

A few moments later, a long unearthly shriek from outside cut off the prayers of the people. The frightened villagers strained to see what was going on. They saw the woman in her black dress and mantilla standing in the storm. Against the bolts of lightning, they made out the silhouette of a goat standing on its hind legs. They were shocked and horrified. The accursed thing galloped away along the now overflowing river.

The people moved quickly out of the shack and headed up the muddy path to the hills. The swift and churning floodwaters reached the old house where the funeral was held, shattering it. By the brilliant flashes of lightning, some of the villagers could see the casket twisting downstream among the wreckage of the house. Tears welled in their eyes as they watched the casket with the old man float away. There was nothing they could do. They stood there like dead stumps on the darkened hillside. The coffin was never to be seen again.

It rained for three more days. When the sun finally came out, the villagers no longer visited the place by the river where the shack used to be. It was bad luck because the Goat Devil had been there.

Today, if one listens carefully in the twilight shade of the trees by the riverbank, one might hear the old man croak from his mossy coffin, “I'm here! I'm here!”

“He's here! He's here!” chirp the small beeper frogs in response.

THE DEAD MAN'S SHOES

THE DEAD MAN'S SHOES