Leaving La Llorona

Darkness comes early to our sleepy neck of the woods. Sunshine dapples through ancient oak trees as squirrels give chase through the myriad of branches. Peacocks strut and preen, their honking cries indicating the liminal times of the day, namely sunrise and sunset. The creek behind our house, run-off from the unattended graveyards a little further on up the hill, provides a steady stream of white noise. It's an oasis from the bustle of the 21st century. A place where the neighbors always say hello and you know every car that travels down the hidden streets. We look out for each other in the canyon. It's always been the way here. Even from when the first cabin was built. Of course back then it was a hideout for bandits and bootleggers, until it became a weekend vacation spot for the then newly glittering Hollywood crowd. There's a vibe to this canyon. A feeling that is hard to shake. Most likely because it's old. The hills are old. The trees are old. The roots run deep. And possibly so do its memories. 

A couple of winters ago on the solstice, an auspicious time of the year, I learned our little hamlet has a dark side as well. I'd heard whispers of strange happenings; apparitions, gravity hill, UFO sightings and that the canyon was originally an Indian burial ground, but never I'd never given much credence to those things. They were mainly tales told around pints at the local watering hole.  

I went to bed around midnight which is the normal time for me, pulled up the duvet and turned out the light, readying myself for restful night's sleep on the longest night of the year. A little after 3:30 in the morning, I heard a sound that woke me out of my deep sleep. It was hysterical sobbing and crying, a truly mournful noise. I lay in bed uncertain what to do, convinced someone was hurt down in the creek. But there was a reedy tone to the sound, something that grated against me, rattling in my bones. It might have been human, but it also made my skin prickle. The closer it came the more I became convinced it wasn't someone in trouble. There were no discernible words, only long, keening, heart-wrenching wails echoing down the creek. Frozen with fear, I realized this was neither human nor animal, but rather something distinctly unnatural. A little voice inside of me said do not enagage. Do not look as it goes by. Let it pass through as though it never existed. So I closed my eyes and did just that. The wailing passed by, colder than the night outside, heading down the creek, fading into the distance. Finally, it was gone. I sighed with relief, falling back into dreamless sleep. 

The next morning I was tired and cranky, the strange encounter from the night before felt like a bad and distant dream. It had been a trick of the imagination. Some lone coyote looking for his long lost pack. I felt silly for having had such a strong reaction to the wailing. That is until I saw my downstairs neighbor, her face pale and tired as she spoke to me. "Did you hear that noise late last night? What the fuck was that? I couldn't get back to sleep again I was so freaked out." 

I nodded, the dread of the night before flooding back. "I don't know what it was," I replied. "I do know that I was so frightened I couldn't move so I never saw a thing."

"I had the exact same reaction. It was like let it pass by and pretend that it never existed." She laughed to herself. "I even pulled the covers up over my eyes." 

"Ditto." It was my turn to laugh, but it was a nervous laugh, not a happy one. We peered at the creek behind our old house, but it was as bright and bubbling as ever. Above it, the crows sat on branches having a raucous conversation which was the norm for them. Sunlight glinted on the steady rushing waters. Nothing disturbed or out of the ordinary. But now there were two of us who had heard the exact same thing and that made it harder to discount. 

Our neighbor across the street waved us over. He was still in his robe, coffee mug in hand. "Was there anything weird down there? Like something dead?" 

"Nope," I answered. "It's business as usual." 

"Oh..." He was quiet for a moment. That's when I noticed the dark circles under his eyes as well. It was obvious he hadn't gotten any sleep either. 

"I take it you heard it as well last night," I said. 

"I did." He paused, choosing his words with care. "Can I show you something?"

"Sure." I answered. 

We walked over to his porch. He was holding his phone in his hand. "This is the CCTV footage from last night. The front door camera points across the street toward the creek." He pushed play and we watched a strange light traveling through the trees and down the creek. 

"Well, that's freaky. Can we hear it with the sound on?" asked my downstairs neighbor. 

"That's the thing--when the light travels down the creek the sound totally cuts out. Listen." He played it again and there was no sound, just the faint glowing light through the trees at the edge of the creek. 

"Was the sound off all night?" 

He shook his head. "There's the regular night sounds up until the light shows up, and then once it leaves, there's sound again. 

"Whoa," I responded. "Now that is really weird. 

"Oh, it only gets weirder. I checked the other cameras to see if they captured that pitiful wailing noise but no go, the sound cuts out at exactly the same time on all of them."

We all stared at each other not knowing how to respond. But is there a proper response in these kind of  situations? 

Imagine my surprise when later on I googled on 'apparitions of a wailing woman' and came across this: La Llorona - In Hispanic American folklore, La Llorona; "The Wailing Woman" or "the Cryer" is a legend about a woman who drowned her children and mourns their deaths for eternity, roaming Latin American areas as a ghost or apparition. She is deemed pathetic because her lover betrayed her and then her children died. This tragedy in the Chicano culture portrays a woman doomed to walk the earth for eternity. La Llorona is often seen as an omen of supernatural danger. Could it have been her?

Now I wait with growing trepidation as the nights get longer and the winter solstice creeps up on us once again. The wailing woman has yet to make another appearance. Sometimes I can't help but wonder what if I had seen her face? What if I had paid attention to her and made my presence known? Would she be a blackened void filled with a thousand half dimmed stars? Would tears run like ravines down a skeletal face? Or would she be something made of mist and moonlight and baneful things that shape-shift in the night. Perhaps this is the year I finally find out.