During my college years, I hosted a radio program that featured a segment called “Leyendas del Rancho,” where listeners could call in or message their spooky and scary stories. Most of these tales were passed down from parents or grandparents from the motherland. I heard all kinds of wild stories about duendes (elves), rooms in homes with off-putting vibes, various versions of La Llorona, and devil babies. Through these stories, I learned about the evil that can exist in humans. One story that always sticks with me was told by a woman I knew from my hometown named Doña Elvira.
She was the nicest little lady you could imagine—generous, funny, and warmhearted. She shared that she was a joyful little girl growing up in a rancho near the small town in Guanajuato, México. Unlike most children, she was never afraid of the night. In fact, she would make the trek to an outhouse located a good distance from her house every night. As she walked, she would sing songs while crossing a bridge over a creek, passing by the long, dark branches of giant trees, unfazed by the sounds of critters fleeing her approach.
One night, as she made her usual trip to the bathroom, she felt a strange warmth behind her. When she turned around, she saw a bright red glow. It was a long, pointy nose, and surrounding it was a wide, grotesque smile. As she traced the face with her eyes, she realized it was the devil, complete with long horns protruding from its head. The creature was staring at her with a wicked grin.
Doña Elvira screamed at the top of her lungs—so loud that even she didn’t recognize her own voice. Her mother, tucked away in her room, heard the terrifying scream and raced down, navigating past the dark branches and over the creek to reach her daughter, who was still in shock.
“Vi al demonio,” Doña Elvira told her. Her mother did her best to comfort her, but the following day, when family members asked what she had seen, they brushed it off as an encounter with an animal. This disbelief caused Doña Elvira both mental and physical trauma, as she believed that from that moment on, she would struggle with going to the bathroom, which persisted throughout her life.
Years later, when she was a young adult, Doña Elvira was asked to visit her uncle, who was on his deathbed. She willingly went to comfort him. While spending time with him, he looked at her and said, "Mija, do you remember the time you were scared as a child? It was me. Forgive me.” They both cried, and she forgave him.
After he passed away, her family began to clean out his house. While packing boxes filled with memorabilia, she stumbled upon a grotesque mask—the very same face that had terrified her as a child.
She later discovered that her parents had a disagreement with her uncle, and as a prank, he decided to scare her out of spite.
-Memo Duarte
