Tag Archives: scary stories


The girl with bare feet and moonlit hair walked closer towards a mound of fresh earth. She stared for a moment and felt anticipation crawl over her skin (maybe it was just the dirt falling off of it).
“I’m here,” she said, her words flat. She waited for something, someone, and looked about her, as the wind whispered for her hair to tickle her jaw.
“You hear me? I’m here.” This time she spoke louder, her words breaking through the air. She watched the mound of earth at her feet. “Can’t…can’t you hear me?” she said, sitting, pulling her knees into her chest.
She waited a moment, expecting an answer, but one did not come. She traced her fingers across the top of the dirt, barely breaking the surface.

Hours later, she found herself strewn alongside the mound, and the waxing moon baring down upon her. She stood and sighed, flared her nostrils and as she opened her mouth to speak again, she felt the ground underneath her shift. A whimper of excitement left her lips. She fell to her knees and immediately began clawing at the earth like a furious rodent. She listened for a sound, and she felt for more movement, digging and digging anxiously.
Suddenly, a pallid, grimey hand broke through the surface, like a drowning man in an ocean coming up for air.


She smiled.


Happy Halloween!

In the Spanish and Mexican culture there is a vast amount of tradition. Chiefly among them, the folklore, which are stories based in part on truth, and have been passed down from one generation to the next. Notable examples are La Llorona or The Crying Women, the myth of La Lechuza or witch/harpy bird, and of course, the legend of Chepita Rodriguez, whom many say was the first women to be executed in Texas. Wrongly accused of theft and murder, the legend says she haunts San Patricio County in South Texas to this day-with a noose around her neck.


The following is a similar story, albeit one lesser known. In fact, beyond that of my family and my elder’s closest friends, it may not be known at all. Today, it will be. In the late 1930’s there was a young man named Andres. Andres was a little over 13 years old. Andres was, to say the least, a very angry child. Here is the account of Andres, as it was told to my father, by his father Bruno, and how this young boy’s life was forever changed.


I call it,




Socorro and Alejandro were immigrant workers in South Texas and prided themselves on a hard day’s work. They did their part during the day, toiling in the heat of the summer, and each evening when the sun would start to fall, they went home, tired but happy. Whatever food they could afford was more than enough and Socorro would always provide a decent meal for herself, her husband, and their only child, Andres. Somehow Andres, when he was actually home, found room to complain. The food was too hot or too cold, too bland or too spicy it was always never good enough. When he was younger, Socorro made excuses for him and blamed it on simple child-hood pickiness. As the years went on however, she began to believe that he truly meant to discourage her. This attitude was true for everything she did in the house. Alejandro intervened and begged Andres to listen and to show respect, after all, she was his mother. Andres cursed his father each and every time. When Alejandro went to further discipline his son, Andres would be gone in moments, prowling the neighborhood, looking for algo que hacer, something to do.

“¡Tienes que obedecer, hijo! Tu eres el unico que tenemos!” “You must obey, son! You’re the only one we have!” his mother would cry out to him as he walked away. She loved him unconditionally.

He would yell back to her, “It’s not my fault your barren!” among other curses and obscenities. He was getting worse and worse and the more they tried to discipline him, the more he resisted.

The elderly neighbor, Mariana, a close friend of the family’s, would hear every curse thrown at them by Andres. When she would visit, Socorro would appeal to her and ask her advice. Many times Mariana would console her and explain that it must be a phase and to keep disciplining him. But she knew it was not enough.

One day, while Alejandro was away, Mariana tried to intervene.  Andres threw piedras, rocks, at her and cut her cheek with one of them as he cursed at her. Fed up with how he treated his parents, she yelled at him, “¡Nino miserable! Los demonios le mostrara si no aye nadie mas puede!” Miserable child! The demons themselves will show you, if no one else can! Forget about me, obey your parents!”

He spit at the ground in front of him; a sign of disgust towards her and kept on walking.

“I pray to God for your protection but Lord knows!” she yelled at Socorro before slamming the screen door of her home.

Later that evening, Socorro paced the living as Alejandro sat on the couch. It was after midnight and Andres had not come home yet. This was rare. He would be in his room by this time, everynight, regardless. Then they heard a noice outside.

“Andres?” his father yelled out.

¿Que te importa? Ya bete a dormir, pinche hombre viejo. Tu y tu mujer! Voy para el bano! Ya dejame!” he yelled.

“What’s it to you? Go to sleep already, you old man. You and your women. I’m going to the bathroom. Leave me be!”

In those days, an outhouse served as a bathroom for families.

Alejandro and Socorro looked at each other and their faces fell in sadness. “What do we do?” she began asking him. Not having any solutions, they stood in silence and bowed their heads.

Their voices were drowned out by Andres’ sudden screams coming from outside. His screams were so real and horrible, his parents froze for a moment, but soon Alejandro gathered himself and darted out of the door. He grabbed his machete. Socorro ran behind him. The screams became louder and ominous.

Andres! Que te pasa, hijo?” Andres! Andres!” Alejandro shouted with terror. They reached the outhouse as it moved from side to side slightly. Loud and intense pounding of the walls filled the night as Alejandro tried desperately to break down the locked door, hacking and attempting to slice through the splintered wood. They yelled to him again and again. Andres’s cries were otherworldly. “¡Ama! Ama! Apa! Son muchos!!!” He yelled. “Mother! Mother! Father! There’s many!” The hitting and scraping of the outhouse walls and door intensified with screams of “leave me! Oh, Lord! Leave me!” Andres let out one last cry that shook his mother’s heart and caused her to fall to the ground. Then complete silence. Alejandro, out of breath, gave one final chop to the door and yelled out to his son. There was no answer. Alejandro opened the door and knees buckling, fell to the ground, making the sign of the cross over and over…and over again.

Andres lay huddle in the corner of the outhouse, one bloodied hand almost clutching the wall, the other around his knees. He was brutally beaten. His clothers were torn, tattered, and long, deep cuts crossed his chest. His fingers were bleeding and scratches covered his face. Clumps of his hair were strewn on the ground, covered in blood. As Andres stared blankly at nothing in particular, he whispered a single word, over and over:







Overtime his wounds healed, though the scars remained. His mental state was what the doctors called, “perdido“…lost. Andres was sent to an asylum.

The only word he would ever speak was “forgive me” in Spanish:


 Alejandro and Socorro never had other children. They were never the same.


True story.

*This story was published in Underneath The Juniper Tree’s blog 10/2011. Here is the latest and greatest Halloween /13 ISSUU!


The Passenger: A Short

Recently, I came across a a cover song. Loved it. And of course, I was inspired by it. So I wrote the tale below. In the vain of the legendary ghost stories we have all heard, Tales From The Crypt, and campfire stories. Also, my take on the girl driving with headlights flashing behind her story. Enjoy.

“I-t’s s-o h-o-t, h-e-r-e. C-a-n‘-t w-a-i-t  t-o s-e-e y-ou! <3. Send.” Carver texted his wife while filling up his tank at the first gas station he had seen for miles. He wiped his brow with his sleeve and lifted his Ray-Bans over his forehead to get a better look at the vast stretch of road in front of him.

“Geez. Thank God for air-conditioning.”

The pump stopped and Carver looked at the price.

“3.79 a gallon. Yep. That’s about right.” He pulled his shades over his eyes and remembered to grab some snacks and a drink or two for the drive. His cell went off. It was a text from his wife:

“Please be safe! Almost home, baby! <3.”

Carver smiled and walked into the store and bought a few things to make his trip a little more bearable. As the cashier, a haggard looking older man, rang his order up, Carver put on his hands on his hips.

“Boy, it’s hot, huh?” he asked the cashier.

The cashier grumbled and started bagging the items.

Carver’s brow went up and he exhaled. “Okay then, thank you. So…nothing for another, what 100 miles or so?” he asked.

The cashier cleared his throat. “It’s actually a lot cooler today. And the next station is 228 miles from here. Try and get there before the night falls. All kinds of things come out at night, ya know,” he said leaning in towards Carver.

Carver stood, bags in his hands, staring at the cashier.

“So I’ve heard. Thank you.”

He left the store.

“Seriously? Is there like a script these people pass around?” He mumbled to himself. “All kinds of things come out at night, ya know?” He said in a tone mocking the old man. “Uh, yeah. Owls, bats…geez.”

He popped the hood to double check the oil. Then he heard a sound. A thud. He peered over the hood but there was no sign of anybody or anything.

“Great old man. You got me paranoid now,” he whispered. He slammed the hood down and got in his car. “A little Deftones  anyone?” he asked. He opened his soda, took a big gulp, and put the car in drive.

A few minutes later he was singing at the top of his lungs, “I feeel liiike moooooore!” Deftones. Digital Bath.

Minutes turned to hours and the sun was completely set. He was making the best of his solitude and the long trip in the desert, cranking the volume, singing louder and louder with every song.

He hadn’t noticed that it was night but when he did he took it in stride.

“Oh, well. Almost to the other stop by this time.” He looked at the clock on the display.


Only two hours had gone by. That means he had nearly two more hours of driving before he reached the station. He exhaled and drove on, turning the volume up once more. He thumbed through his iPod until he found what he was looking for. “Ah, Across The Sun. Separate Ways. Yes, thank you,” he said smiling.

The bleak stretch of road lengthened before him and he grabbed the steering wheel tight and began singing.

“Here we stand! Worlds apart, hearts broken in two, two, two!” He hit his fist against the steering wheel. “Sleepless nights, losing-“

Then he lost his concentration as he passed a young women walking on the road. He pressed the brakes as hard as he could, not thinking. He was a good, caring man. And this woman, in the middle of nowhere concerned him. The car came to a halt in the middle of the road.

“What the?” Carver looked into the rearview mirror and the girl was already running towards the car.

She reached the window and tapped on it, looking in at Carver. She was beautiful. Her dark hair lay atop her shoulders and in it she wore a bright blue and yellow feather.

He hesitated for a moment but unlocked the door. She sat down and didn’t say a word.

“Hi, I’m Carver. You…you okay? Out here? Alone?”

She said nothing just sat and caught her breath.

He remembered a few miles back seeing a car on the side of the road but it didn’t mean anything to him until now.

“That car back there…yours?” he asked her.

Again he got no response.

Sensing her nervousness he attempted to calm her.

“Look, again, I’m Carver and just know I’m happily married and us meeting here on this long and winding road is a coincidence and we’ll get you some help. I’m not a psycho-killer!” he smiled.

She hadn’t looked at him until he said psycho-killer. She turned slowly to him and turned slowly back.

“Okay,” he said and started to drive.

“Well, I’m coming back home from a long business trip away from home. I made regional manager. I would’ve flown but, you know…” the more he talked, the more uneasy his passenger seemed to grow.

“Okay…uh, you like music? I’ll tell you what. Next station is some time away. I understand you might be a little uncomfortable with all of this…so…” He turned up the volume and focused on the road.

Carver began singing under his breath and he looked through the corner of his eyes at the girl. She shook her head from side to side suddenly. He turned his head towards her and frowned as if he was imagining it.

“Did you…did you say something?” he asked, looking at her then at the road.

She said nothing.

He clenched his jaw but shrugged it off.

Hmm,” he mumbled.

A few minuted later, the girl shook her head again.

He turned quickly.

“What? Did you say-do you need something?”

She said nothing, only stared out in front of her.

The drive then started to feel longer and longer with each minute. And Carver was regretting his rash decision to pick up this stranger.

He gulped and leaned forward to change the song. He noticed her skin was clammy and she looked nervous.

“Okay. Do you need anything?! Are you okay?”

This time she shook her head as if in response to his question.

He was growing frustrated and could only think of doing two things. Stop the car and leave her in the middle of the desert or ignore her. She obviously had a harder time dealing with her car breaking down. Who knows what she was shaking her head about. Maybe she left home. Maybe she ran away from a life of boredom, seeking a new lot in life.

These were Carver’s thoughts. He was not about to leave her, so he leaned back and drove.

But once every few minutes, she would shake her head. Each time more violently than the next.

He gripped the wheel and tried his best to ignore it. He kept watch at the clock and mileage and with every minute, he came closer to the gas station and leaving this strange and very unsettling girl there. He would give her some cash and be on his way home.

He saw the lights of the gas station in the distance. Made it, he thought to himself. Made it.

He turned to the girl. “Almost.”

He turned back and once agin the girl shook her head, gripping the top of her legs tightly.

“Alright, look! Right there! There’s the store. I don’t know what’s going on! But after we hit that store…I mean good luck and everything but I mean…you’re behavior is…is pretty effed up!”

She didn’t react to his louder tone only shook her head once again and by this time the store was only a mile away.

He turned to her and shook his head.

“Psh.You know, a thank you would have suff-“

Then suddenly the girl turned her waist towards Carver and yelled in the most haunting, visceral scream he had ever heard!

“Stanton, no!”

Carver’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest as she yelled, and he jumped off his seat.

“What?” he yelled.

The girl looked behind them and shook her head.

Carver looked in the rearview mirror and his whole body shook. His eyes widened and he turned the wheel hard, loosing control of the car. “What the f-?!” he yelled before slamming his car into a steel post out side of the gas station.

The air bag deployed and Carver’s forehead was cut open, Separate Ways blasting from the speakers. He was gravelly injured.

Hearing the ruckus, a number of customers and the attendent ran out to help.

“Dammit! We got another one! Call 9-1-1!” the cashier yelled. “Call 9-1-1!”

The song blasted louder and louder.

“Sir! Sir, you’re going to be okay! Sir?” the cashier yelled.

Carver tried lifting his head and could see the girl sitting next to him, seemingly unharmed, looking down at him. This time, she nodded, and he fell into unconsciousness after whispering, “What the f…?”

Another one? What do you mean?” One of the customers asked the cashier.

He looked at the customer then down to Carver.

“Years ago…there was a madman. Stanton Pearl was his name. He was crazy.” He looked down the long, dark and lonely road. “He killed six people in this desert. He had a girlfriend. I forget her name. Betty? Betsy? I don’t know. They say when she found out what he did, she ran from him and tried to call the authorities. She ran, shaking her head in disbelief. She didn’t make it. He killed her too. They say her last words were: “Stanton, no!” He was caught and killed on the spot. Legend says they both haunt these roads. One trying to kill. The other…trying to stop him…” He turned his attention back to Carver. “Hold on tight, sir! They’re coming! They’re coming…”

“…and if he ever hurt you, true love will not desert, youuuu…oh, nooo!”♫


The Passenger

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