Editor’s Note: This story is a work of fiction published in the fun spirit of Halloween. This story is on the opinion page and is a work of fiction, not a factual account of events in Cibola County.
It was the last night of their camping trip. The stars had vanished, swallowed whole by the heavy clouds that gathered over Bluewater Lake. Thin wisps of fog began to creep up from the still water, winding their way toward the dam like pale fingers searching for something lost. The Ruiz family sat by the dwindling campfire, their laughter fading with the crackling embers. Little Alejandro, with his arms wrapped around his knees, stared out into the mist. Something about it made him uneasy, but he said nothing. He was old enough to know better— his older sister had teased him all week for being afraid of the dark.
As night deepened, the fog thickened. It coiled around their campsite, the trees on the far side of the lake vanishing into its swirling depths. The air grew damp, the scent of wet earth clinging to everything. It wasn’t long before Alejandro could barely see beyond the faint glow of the firelight. His father stood up, brushing ash from his pants. 'Time to turn in. We have an early start tomorrow.' His voice sounded oddly muffled, swallowed by the fog.
One by one, they retreated into the tent. Alejandro was the last to climb inside, his eyes lingering on the shimmering surface of the lake, now almost entirely concealed by the mist. It was cold tonight. Colder than it should’ve been.
As his family slept, a strange quiet settled over the campground. No insects buzzed, no night birds called. Alejandro lay awake, staring at the tent ceiling, listening to the silence, to the steady breathing of his parents and sister. His eyelids were heavy, but something gnawed at him, an unease that kept him awake, heart pounding. Then, from somewhere in the distance, he heard it.
A cry. It was faint, almost a whisper. The sound barely broke through the thick walls of the tent, but it was unmistakable—the sound of a woman sobbing. Alejandro held his breath, straining to hear. Another sob drifted through the fog, clearer now, closer. It sounded as though it came from the lake, as though someone was calling out from beneath the water.
“Mama…” Alejandro whispered, tugging at his mother’s arm. She stirred but didn’t wake. “Mama, someone’s out there.”
Her arm fell limp beside him as the sobbing continued, growing louder, echoing through the fog like a mournful melody. Alejandro sat up, heart racing. He crawled to the tent flap and peeked out.
The fog was so thick now, it was like the world outside had been erased. The dam was completely obscured. Only the faintest outline of the water remained, and yet...something moved. A figure, dark and indistinct, was standing by the edge of the lake, barely visible through the swirling mist. The sobbing was louder now, each wail sending a shiver down Alejandro’s spine. The figure didn’t move, but the fog seemed to pull toward it, twisting and curling around it like a living thing.
Suddenly, the figure turned toward him.
Alejandro gasped and fell back into the tent, his small hands shaking as he fumbled to zip it closed. His breath came in quick gasps as the crying became frantic, desperate, and then suddenly stopped.
The silence that followed was even worse.
He could hear nothing now but the sound of his own heartbeat thudding in his chest. Alejandro crawled back to his sleeping bag, pulling it up to his chin, eyes wide. He waited, terrified to hear the crying again, but instead, there was another sound.
The soft squelch of footsteps.
The footsteps circled the tent, slow, deliberate. The fog pressed against the fabric, making the air inside cold and clammy. Alejandro could see the faintest shadow move along the side of the tent, trailing around it like a predator circling its prey. The shadow paused at the front, just behind the flap. Alejandro bit his lip, holding back a sob. He knew it wasn’t his mother standing outside. He knew it wasn’t human.
The flap fluttered as if tugged by a cold breeze, and then, in a low whisper, a voice called out. It wasn’t his name, but it felt like it was meant for him.
“¿Dónde están mis hijos?” The voice was like broken glass, each word cutting into the night.
Alejandro clenched his eyes shut, willing the voice to go away, willing the shadow to vanish back into the fog. But the voice only grew closer, more insistent, calling again. “¿Dónde están mis hijos?”
Tears streamed down his cheeks as he curled into a ball, desperate for it all to be a dream. Outside, the fog twisted and writhed, the crying return-ing— louder, shriller. The figure was no longer just by the lake. It was everywhere. The fog itself seemed to cry out, the mist pulling closer, suffocating the camp. It crawled into every crevice, cold and damp, as though it was searching for something…someone.
And then, just as quickly as it had come, the fog began to thin. The crying faded into the distance, and the footsteps stopped.
Alejandro didn’t dare move until the first light of dawn broke through the thinning mist. He stumbled out of the tent, his legs shaking. The lake was calm again, the surface still as glass, but the chill lingered in the air.
His family woke one by one, groggy and unaware of the terror that had unfolded in the night. They packed up their things in silence, ready to leave the lake behind. But as they approached the car, Alejandro stopped, staring at the shore.
In the mud, leading to the edge of the water, were small footprints.
A woman’s footprints.
Check out the Cibola Historic Society’s presentation on La Llorona. There is no admittance fee. Refreshments will be served. The event starts on October 19th at 2 PM, Cibola County History Museum, 525 West High, Grants.