My abuela always told me to never go to el valle.

“Mijo,” she said in her tremulous voice. “Please don’t go there. Everyone who goes there never comes back or they come back not quite right.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked her. I was merely entertaining her. I knew she was telling me one of her leyendas. The stories she’d told her own children when they were little so they wouldn’t go outside at night. She held these stories close to her heart and always shared them with me when I visited her. I didn’t mind. I loved hearing her stories and adding my own twists to them in my head.

La llorona transformed into my next-door neighbor who liked to water her garden at night while wearing a pale nightgown, completely unaware of how much she frightened the kids who saw her. El chupacabras turned into the stray dog that wandered the neighborhood. It had scraps of fur missing and took any food it found in a skittish and tentative way.

I knew her stories had no real merit behind them, but my abuela believed they did, so I did, too. Her knuckles turned white from how hard she clutched her rosary between her withered, brown hands as she recounted her stories. She always changed small details during each retelling, but it was the same story nonetheless. I took it as my cue to join her as soon as she settled down into her wooden rocker, moving her legs just enough to not make the chair creak. I sat across from her in another identical rocker and enjoyed the cool summer breeze on her patio.

Night was falling and her broad garden came alive with twinkling fireflies, their lights materializing for a few seconds before being swallowed by the unrelenting darkness. A few outdoor lights had flickered on earlier, attracting mosquitoes, moths, and beetles alike, drawing them close and causing them to crash into one another, their little bodies hitting the ground where they writhed on their backs, unable to roll over and fly away. A few bats flitted overhead, above the lights, their silhouettes shadowing any critters unlucky enough to become their dinner for the night.

A small creak broke the silence. My abuela had rocked too far, but this seemed to snap her back into reality as her eyes had been slightly unfocused before and she began her story.

Our ranchito is isolated. It’s a good hour from the nearest city and it’s surrounded on all sides by cerros. Between two of these cerros lies a hidden valley that only the most experienced of people venture into. This valley has only been mapped once, hundreds of years ago, but no one dares to do it again. People are too afraid to go in there, and the few that have, either never returned, or came back as if they were a different person. Whole search parties have gone missing inside the valley with only remnants left here and there around the area.

One lone shoe belonging to Mr. Marquez was found on the outskirts of the valley one year, and a little girl who had been missing for months never showed up, just her tattered scarf that her mourning mother held in her limp hands as the rancho prayed to an empty coffin in the small town chapel.

A handful of people were able to escape the valley and return to el rancho. But everyone agreed that there was something wrong. Their eyes were glazed over and they walked with a limping gait that didn’t seem to go away. Some of the family members described them as soulless. They didn’t show any emotions and they would only eat if they were forced to. They never seemed to have an appetite.

However, the more time passed, the more people noticed something different. They noticed that those who had come back from the valley lost their limp and moved a lot faster, faster than a normal human. The glaze that had covered their eyes was gone and they seemed a lot more like their old selves. Family members were happy, but only the town dogs could see the truth. They’d growl and snarl at the valley returners, their fur on end and their hackles raised as they passed them. They knew what they really were, creatures that came back looking like loved ones, but they weren’t. It didn’t matter how much they tried, they couldn’t replicate the mannerisms and movements that made people human.

The valley returners would twitch unnaturally, move too quickly, forget how to express emotions, and their eyes had no pupils. Soon enough, they started preying on what they really liked: human flesh. They began to sneak out of the valley, becoming more bold as they lured people closer and killed them, each morphing their bodies into their first prey and returning to the poor families that knew nothing of the horrors that would shortly unleash.

“Mijito,” my abuela said as she finished her story. “Swear to me that you’ll never go to el valle.”

I promised just like I did every time she asked me. “I swear abuelita.”

—

The day my abuela died, I was shattered.

I got the call in the middle of the night from my parents. I dressed haphazardly and grabbed the earliest bus to get there. I had just seen her a few weeks ago and she seemed fine. My brain was in a haze as the whole family went through the motions. I couldn’t focus when my parents asked me to write a eulogy for her, saying that I had known her the best out of all her grandkids. I agreed numbly and didn’t even bother checking if what I wrote made any sense. I just knew that I needed to wake up from this dream that seemed to go on forever.

The whole rancho was in funeral mode. A lot of older women dropped by my abuela’s house to offer their condolences and brought over some food, soon covering the kitchen table with dozens of dishes ranging from frijoles, arroz, pan dulce, picadillo, and freshly made tortillas. The heady smell of coffee wafted from the stove, snaking its way through the murmuring crowd that was milling around my abuela’s patio. A few of them touched my shoulder and gave me solemn nods, words of encouragement and some que dios la tenga en su santísima gloria.

I merely went through the motions robotically. I allowed my parents to lead me from one thing to the next, finally going to the chapel, where she was waiting in her coffin. They gently pulled me to the front of the church, behind her coffin, and my breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t suck in any air and I felt suffocated, my chest heavy and empty. The tears I had held back so well came pouring out, leaving hot tracks on my cheeks and causing my vision to blur heavily. I couldn’t read her eulogy. Not in front of all these creatures staring back at me with pupil-less eyes. I staggered forward and fell heavily on her coffin, which echoed hollowly in the now quiet chapel. My parents stared at me blankly from the first row of pews, their faces devoid of any emotion they had shown earlier at my abuelita’s house. Their eyes shone brightly under the yellow chapel lights and their legs twitched unnaturally even as they tried to sit still.

I willed myself to open the coffin, hoping to see my abuelita laying in there peacefully, asleep, but it was empty. I let it shut close with a dull thud and my knees gave way, hitting the cold white floor. My abuela’s voice flooded my head.

Mijo, if you ever find yourself surrounded by these creatures, make sure not to let them take you. Protect yourself. They will sound and look like your loved ones, but they are not. Do not be fooled by them. Otherwise, they will eat you alive.

I reached into my inner jacket pocket and closed my hand around the hilt of the small hunting knife I had stashed in there due to her warning. I wanted to believe she was still alive, that she had heeded her own words and escaped. I held on to that small hope as I slashed my way through the creatures that stood in my way, their black blood soaking into my clothes and making the floor slippery as I made my way to the doors.

It was twilight outside already and I could feel the change in the rancho. It was unpleasant like the earth had opened up and a hot, viscous air made its way into my lungs as I tried to take a deep breath.

I knew I couldn’t look back anymore. I had to get out of here. I hurried to my abuela’s house, trying my best to ignore the prickling feeling of fear at the nape of my neck, my little hairs standing on end. I was just grabbing the little things I had brought and leaving this rancho. I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder when I saw her.

She was hobbling through her garden, the tall magnolias shrouding her small figure as she made her way towards me.

“Mijo,” she said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

The small hope I had felt in the chapel grew exponentially in my chest, and I dared to hope even more as I saw that she was walking how she always did. I couldn’t see her eyes from here, but I wanted to believe they were hers. I wanted to believe that she was still alive, and not murdered by one of those creatures. I blinked away the tears that had gathered in my eyes and she was gone.

An ice-cold feeling encased my body as I felt her circling behind me and that’s when I knew it was too late. Before I could fight back, I felt a set of sharp scissoring teeth rip into my neck. The pain was blinding, causing my vision to instantly turn black. I felt my last pair of tears run down my face and felt blood course down my neck before I took one last breath and thought I caught a glimpse of the bats flying overhead as my black vision cleared for just one second.

– Maite Don

Author’s Note: “El Valle Inquietante” was a mix of her missing el rancho in Mexico and missing her abuelita, with a supernatural twist.