Camp Monsters - La Llorona

Episode Date: October 17, 2024

A woman takes her young son, 'Nesto, to a riverside park in the Southwest, where they pass by an old woman dressed in black, weeping by the river...This episode is sponsored by Coleman. Shop Coleman's amazing products in store or at REI.com. Take the Camp Monsters Listeners Survey.

REI Co-op Studios You're in a dark, cold, quiet place and you're fighting as hard as you can. Striking out with your arms and legs, wild in every direction. But you're stuck in slow motion. Helpless. Powerless to stop what's happening to you. Then suddenly your face breaks back in the noise and brightness of the day And your gasping snatches of air mixed with water

Coughing Heaving, crying The surging water of the river rapids Have you in their grip They do whatever they want Up and down Piling mountains of brown water Round and round

Horrible worlds that pull you down So, you think you'll never come up again. But then you do. It ran, unexpected. You feel parts of your body break the surface. But when you twist your face in that direction, the current has thrown you around again. Your precious air is gone. Three eternities later, when you think you're way down deep, your head rips back into the light and noise and you can't breathe it in fast enough.

You can't get as much of the air as quickly as you need it. But even more important than breathing is looking. Blinking your eyes and looking all around whenever you can. The blue of the sky and the yellow of the hills, the red of the cliffs and the green of the trees streak by you, unnoticed. You're looking, blinking your eyes furiously, looking all around you, but not at the world. You're looking for them, for the others. For your loved ones.

You could endure this. You could endure all of this. All the way to the watery end. If only you could see them. See them on the bank over there. See them and know that they're safe.

But all you can see with your eyes is the river and the swirling color of the shore so far away. And all you can see in your mind is the face of the thing that lured you close to the water. Lured you, and then pulled all of you in. And as it pulled you watched that face that had been human change horribly change into something pale tinged blue blackness in its mouth no iris in its black eyes eyes black all over black is the darkness at the bottom of the dirty river and in moment, before the river took you, you realized who this was.

Who had lured you. Who had seized you. It was the creature. The witch. La Llorona. And then from behind you, an unseen wall of water rises up and slams you out of the world again. Out of the world and into the Camp Monsters podcast. No fire tonight. But who needs a fire with a sunset like this? Clouds towering like billowing smoke, lit red by the glowing coals of these cliffs and hills

banked all around us. Even the river here, flashing flame with a sunstrikes sparks in it, and carbon black in the shadows. The river is everything in this southwestern part of the country. It made this canyon. It carved these hills. These trees and all the green things drink from it. Do you hear the birds and bugs singing their evening songs? It's the water that brings them here. People, too. About as long as there's been a river, there's been people on both banks of it. Notice

that notch up on the cliffside over there? That arch, like a big room cut back into the red rock. Well, the river made that too, about a thousand centuries ago, when that was the riverbank and the water undercut the stone. But you see how the roof of that arch is black, while the rest of the rock is red? Now, the river didn't do that. People did. The smoke of 10,000 generations of campfires built to cook and stay warm. People falling asleep under that arch of stone with the sound of the river as a lullaby. Of course, nowadays we don't need a campfire to cook.

Even with a fire ban on, it's easy to fire up a hot meal in a mug of this delicious, spicy hot chocolate. All thanks to our Coleman Classic 3- three burner propane camping stove. I guess my days of feverishly rubbing sticks together to try to get my Tinder started are finally over. This Coleman's push button insta-start technology provides simple matchless ignition for all three of its adjustable burners. And Coleman's even temp technology radiates heat right across the cooktop. So I can use up to three 8-inch or two 12-inch pans at the same time. That's 28,000 BTUs of heat. What's a BTU?

If you have to ask, you aren't cooking with enough of them. You don't want people whispering about your lack of BTUs, do you? So head on down to your local REI or jump online at rei.com to get yourself one of these Coleman Classic three-burner propane camping stoves. Then grab your friends, your family, your Coleman, and whatever else you need to enjoy camping, camaraderie, and quality time. Coleman, and whatever else you need to enjoy camping, camaraderie, and quality time. Coleman, the outside is calling. Do you hear it? The river, I mean.

It's no wonder there are so many stories about this river. About all the rivers in the American Southwest. And you can tell they're very old stories too because there's so many different versions and things that we'd call right and wrong get all jumbled up in them. Heroes become villains, become victims, become heroes again. And all through these ancient stories they do things that don't make much sense, just like real people do. And I guess I better warn you a bit here that the story we're going to tell tonight deals with something that we don't usually stumble upon on the Cat Monsters podcast. This tale has a fair bit of sadness to it, because tonight we're going to talk about La Llorona. And there isn't any way to escape the sadness in La Llorona's

story. Oh, there's plenty of thrills and chills and action and suspense and all that, but if a little tear jerking isn't what you're looking for, switch now to almost any of our other Camp Monster stories. Except maybe that

Florida Skunk Ape one. Anyway, we were talking about the ancient stories that are told about this river. Anna had heard those stories, so many of those stories, as she grew up, mostly from her grandmother, who was born just on the other side of this big river. And Anna's mind was filled with jumbled memories of her grandmother and those stories as she walked quickly along the path that follows the riverbank not far from here, not long ago. It was the kind of day that couldn't make up its mind, though Anna had made up hers. A blustery wind that

blew in gusts kept pushing wisps of Anna's hair into her eyes, and she kept brushing them back. The blue sky was spotted with big puffy clouds, which took turns covering the sun and then running from the wind. The big trees of the Riverside Park laced their fingers together with a gentle rattle and sigh. Anna should have stopped before. She knew that now. But she hadn't, so she was going back to try to make it right. Has that ever happened to you? Something unexpected happens so fast, you act act on instinct and right away you can feel that you did wrong but it takes you a while to think out why and what would have been better. When they pulled up to the park beside the river and stopped the car little Nesto had

undone his buckle and jumped out right away. He knew his friends would be here. This was just about his favorite place in town. Anna had to go around and grab the bag with the snacks and sweatshirts and all that, but when she closed the door and looked along the path beside the river that led to the playground, Nesto wasn't running down it. He was standing, just a little ways along, beside an old woman on a park bench nesto is a wonderful boy very curious very precocious anna loved every sparkle in his wide eyes every sticky little question that piped from his five-year-old mouth there were so many of those but anna was his mother She was always a little anxious of him around other people because

she knew if they weren't the patient, indulgent, kid-loving type, Nesto could be a real pest. His questions never stopped, and he hadn't learned not to stare, and most of his stories were really only decipherable to himself and Anna. So she hurried along the path beside the river, down to where Nesto was standing, right in front of this old woman, who was dressed all in black. And as Anna drew close, she was horrified and embarrassed to see that the old woman was crying. Crying quietly, but violently, trying to use a tight old knobbly fist and a balled up bit of handkerchief to stifle sobs that shook her whole frail body nesto was standing right in front of

her uncomfortably close staring as only a five-year-old can anna was mortified and apologies tumbled out of her in a non-stop whisper as she took Nesto's arm, maybe a little roughly, and hauled him away from there. Ouch! Why is she crying? Nesto asked loudly and immediately. Anna's hissed reply that he should be quiet told him they'd messed up, but he didn't see how. I just want to know why she's crying so much, he protested even louder. It didn't seem unreasonable to him, but Mama squeezed his arm a little tighter and hissed some more. She said she didn't know why, but it wasn't their business anyway,

and it was rude to stand and stare like that. I didn't stare. I asked her, too, but she wouldn't tell me. Nesto protested as Anna rushed to haul him out of the old woman's earshot. Was that your grandmother? Nesto asked. No. Anna replied sharply. But Anna should have stopped. It was as simple as that. And she hadn't dragged Nesto very far before she realized it and glanced back. Poor old woman. Out here all alone in the wind. She did kind of remind Anna of her loved late grandmother, though they looked nothing alike.

Anna should have stopped. At least asked the old woman if she was alright. If there was anything Anna could do for her. But, well, it was too late now, wasn't it? And in the moment, she'd just been so embarrassed by Nesto's curiosity that all she could think of was dragging him away. She couldn't go back now, could she? No, she'd just looks silly. It would only make things worse.

Anna and Nesto followed the path through the trees along the river until they came to the big playground. Like all the other kids, Nesto shunned the brightly colored equipment to go root and dig and run and scream among the trees along the riverside. All the mothers who met here had tried to prevent this at first, nervous at the powerful, rippling brown water that surged deep beside the bank, but there really wasn't that much to worry about. There was a stretch of shore so jagged and rocky that you'd need to work hard to cross it before you got to the water,

so it wasn't like a kid could fall or roll in accidentally and all the mothers watched and warned the kids back sharply if any of them so much as touched those rocks along the shore nesto fell right in with the games his friends were playing donna watched him as she chatted idly with the other mothers she loved the serious look Nesto got when he was listening, and the way his little legs moved when he took off running as fast as he could. She loved the way he picked himself up so quickly when he tripped and fell, and he cried only if someone stopped to ask if he was all right. She chatted and watched Nesto and thought of her own childhood and of her grandmother.

Of how she should have stopped and asked that old woman what was the matter. Try as she might, she couldn't push that out of her mind. She should have stopped. It was too late to do anything now, but... She looked back up the path through the trees, tried to see if she could glimpse that old woman, but she couldn't. To go back there now... No, she'd...

She'd be intruding anyway, right? Anna glanced out across the river, just as the changeful day played a pretty trick. Blue as the light was under the clouds on their side of the river, the sun broke through on the other shore and bathed the far bank in a golden, glowing light, like some beautiful, peaceful promised land. The wind rustled the limbs of the trees like the whisper of memories, and Anna heard her grandmother's voice saying something about not letting embarrassment or pride keep us from helping people. What do we have to be proud of if we don't help each other?

Some saying like that from long ago. Mercedes, watch Nesto, yeah? Anna asked the friend behind her. She started back along the path downstream, back toward the parking lot, back toward the crying old woman, to see if there was anything Anna could do to help her. What do we have to be proud of if we don't help each other? The wind blew Anna's hair into her eyes as she walked the path along the riverbank proud of if we don't help each other." The wind blew Anna's hair into her eyes as she walked the path along the riverbank, and

drifts of old memories gusted through her mind. The doughy back of her grandmother's strong hands, the way her grandmother's house had smelled and the stories that she had told. Anna's grandmother had had to cross a river like this when she was very young. But grandmother had never told her that story. Anna only got little pieces of it second hand from other relatives

after the old woman had died. Grandmother, young, fording the fast river at night, full of fear, ears ringing with the short, drowning cries of those that the current pulled under and away. And ever after, her grandmother never liked to come down here, by the river, by any river.

The grandmother never spoke of that. When Anna was small, she told another story. Little Anna thought explained why grandmother didn't like the river she told a story of a woman by the water what was she called one of those old stories a sort of tragedy more than anything else Ierona that was it grandmother told it to give Anna a healthy weariness of the river when she was very small. But then as she grew older, Grandmother kept changing and adding to the story, trying to teach other lessons. Sometimes trying to teach no lesson at all.

Except maybe that horror exists in the world in the different stories grandmother told La Llorona was a witch or a peasant or a noble woman La Llorona was a victim she was a killer she was a warning a traitor or a tragedy La Llorona was a hungry old crone or a beautiful tempestress. The only common thread that all grandmother's stories of La Llorona shared was a woman and her children and the river. In every version, the river took La Llorona's children away from her, then took La Llorona herself. So La Llorona haunted the banks of that river ever after, searching for her lost children, or suitable replacements that she

could lure down by the water and seize, and pull down to be with her. The wind blew a wild gust through the limbs of the trees above, rattling them together in a way that should make a harsher noise than it does. And on that wind, Anna heard the distinct sound of the poor old woman sobbing. So she knew she was getting close. Maybe just around this next bend. So it surprised Anna when she rounded that corner and saw the park bench up ahead, empty.

The wind dropped and the sobbing faded suddenly. Maybe it had just been the sound of the wind all along. Anna looked all around, but there was nowhere near that the old woman could be. And at that moment, in the near distance behind her, Ana looked all around, but there was nowhere near that the old woman could be. And at that moment, in the near distance behind her, a quick, panicked cry cut through all the other sounds. Words running together like a rising chant. Nesto! Nesto! Nesto! Nesto! Nesto! Nesto! Ana whirled and saw the backs of people running toward the river down the bank where she couldn't see.

Anna wanted to go back that way, but her instincts knew better. Unconsciously, she moved in the opposite direction, toward the river where she was, on the quickest path to the water's edge, because her instincts knew that the current was so swift, anything it seized would swirl around the bend into her view in a matter of seconds. So, if... If... If nightmares come true,

if something had happened, to Nesto, if... As she moved toward the river, Anna looked upstream, and her mind stopped the whole world for an instant. An instant of perfect stillness, perfect, terrible clarity. Not a movement, not a sound. Every detail, clear, burning into her memory to last as long as she had one. A memory of Nesto's little face, full of fear and confusion,

bobbing all alone in the thick brown torrent. Anna was through the brush and the biting, tearing thicket. She was down the bank, sliding. She was across the rocks, spraining unfeeling ankles at every stride, moving faster than she could sprint on level ground. Broken, bloodied by speed, she was kicking through the water up to her knees, up to her waist, the current pulling her feet out from under every time she lifted them. But that same current held Nesta tight in its arms,

teasing him ever further and further from her, further away from the shore. Anna was up to her chest. So light in the shoving water it was all she could do not to be blown over and swept away. Like a leaf in the sobbing wind. But here was Nesto now. Gliding swiftly toward her in the grip of that gentle, graceful, killing power.

He saw her, his face so small and his eyes so big, staring only at her, so filled with ... no, not fear now, not now that he'd seen her. His mama. His eyes filled now with trust and apology. Oh, mama, I'm so sorry I got in this mess. I'm so glad you're here. I'm always safe when you're here. She'd only have one chance. And before she was ready for it, here it was. Now, now, now, now, right now. She reached. She lunged. She caught his cold little fingers in hers. Just as that hidden eddy spun him out and away,

his fingers slipped from her grasp. The eddy turned him so that Anna could see his face sweeping away downstream. See the trust that still shone in his eyes begin to falter. Watch his little mouth open a little like he was asking his favorite question one last time. Why? Neck-deep water turns even a desperate leap into a tame sort of bounce. But Anna leapt. Not just as the water would let her, but really leapt.

Burst off the river bottom with muscle-tearing force, driving through the current like a creature born to it. And she just, she just, just, just managed to grasp the swirling hem of Nesto's shirt and pull herself over to him, and pull him into her arms. It felt so good to reach him, so good to press him close to her, and see the love and hope and thankfulness and faith spring back into his eyes that, for a moment, nothing else mattered.

For a moment, Anna didn't care that she'd given up her footing, that she was as helpless now as he was. They were together. They were there with each other, together, together. And that, somehow, was more important than anything. But as Anna pulled him even closer, she could feel. Down there under the water. He was tangled in something.

His legs, something bulky and cold, his waist and legs were trapped, pinned somehow. She thought of a drifting tree trunk, of a snag washed down in the current, maybe, trailing a limb that had knocked Nesto from the shore as it it passed and then entangled him as it swept down river but his honor reached under the water to pull nesto free she felt her hand swept through something like like like hair streaming wildly in the ripping current streaming from something solid and cold and round not at all like a knob on a tree trunk something that felt exactly the size and shape of a hairy human skull.

And as Anna grasped the hair and tried to pull the thing away from Nesto, it began to move. Not in the direction she pulled it, not as the current might push it, but as the cold muscles of the sinewy neck would twist it strongly, back and forth, back and forth, like it was trying to shake her hand off. Back and forth, cold and slimy down there. Down there, under the water. Mump! Nesto said. Mump!

That was all he could manage before he was pulled under the brown, raging river. And Anna, clinging to him, followed him down. They tumbled over and over again, wildly through the buffeting crash of the river. They tumbled, the three of them. Anna and Nesto and something else. Someone else. Someone dead cold and relentless. Anna clung to Nesto, kicking and punching at the freezing skull,

prying at the steel-strong arms that scrabbled their way, claw-like, up Nesto's middle, pulling him further and further and further down. Things got very confused in Anna's mind as the exertion starved her of oxygen, and her lungs screamed out final warnings about what was going to happen any moment now. Any moment. Any moment. Right now. Right now. If she didn't let go and kick desperately for the surface. But she wasn't desperate for the surface.

Not at all. She was desperate for Nesto. She felt his small, struggling body slow, and then still, and go limp. She felt the thing still pulling, pulling him tirelessly down into the bottomless river. Then she realized that she'd stop fighting too. That all she could do was cling to the soft little body in her arms.

And then, then Anna saw her grandmother. Not in her mind, not in her memories. She was there, with them, as if a door had opened in the middle of the water and they'd been swept into grandmother's warm afternoon kitchen, smelling of spices and corn flour. Anna was still holding Nestoesto and grandmother had them both in her arms. Stroking Anna's hair as Anna wept and looked up at her. And grandmother smiled and told her the same thing that she'd said all those years ago when the older girls on the playground made fun of her and chased her, taunting all the way home. Oh, pity them, Anna.

Pity them. Think how much they must hurt to harm someone else like that. And Anna knew. With grief that tore right through her whole body, Anna knew what she had to do. She passed one hand all over Nestor's little head, his hair, his face, loose in her arms like he was sleeping. She kissed his brow there, in her grandmother's kitchen under the water. And then... Then she let him go. And he slipped so softly away. And instantly her grandmother was gone, and the kitchen was gone.

And Anna was back in the middle of the icy, black, rolling river. And with the very, very last of her strength, she kicked at the surface. Anna's head shattered into the air, pounding like it would split. Her lungs burned and burned and burned as she spat water up and ripped oxygen down. And then she struck mechanically for the shore, not because she wanted to get there. It was because she had to. But it was difficult and awkward and exhausting,

swimming with just one side of her body while she hauled such a heavy burden with the other. Several times she didn't think she'd make it, but the river seemed to be helping her now. Now. Now that she no longer needed it. Now that she no longer cared. The river finally swept her into a rocky little cove,

where the water was calm and the rocks were barely knee-deep. Anna knelt there a long, sad time, too exhausted to rise. And the burden that she dragged from the river with her bumped and floated in the still shallows alongside. Anna had grabbed it just after she released little Nesto. And it had let her drag it ashore, still and cold as a dead thing. And Anna knew now what it was. It was La Llorona.

But when Anna finally glanced over at it, the hideous, slimy thing that she'd felt under the water had transformed. Had transformed back into the small, sad, silent shape of the little old woman that Anna had seen before, weeping on the park bench. And Anna knew she should have stopped that morning. She should have spoken. She should have asked what was hurting the old woman so. But she hadn't.

So, unable to share her hurt in words, La Llorona had shared it with Anna the other way. It was just like Grandmother's old stories had always said. La Llorona haunted the banks of the river, night and day, crying ceaselessly for the little ones she'd loved and lost. Crying for all the ones the river had taken, and worst of all, knowing that she, Ayerona, was doomed. Doomed forever to help the river take others. If that wasn't worth pity, what was? Anna looked back at the timeless, careless, endless river,

where the current made whirling faces that were born and died every instant, sweeping downstream, and the water of the river that streamed from Anna's hair mixed with her tears so that there was no difference between the two. Finally, Anna guided the frail little form of the old woman, of La Llorona, from the shallows onto the rocky shore. And she rolled her so gently onto one side and prodded and squeezed and kneaded until water poured from the ancient mouth, and the eyes rolled down in their sockets and started to blink. Black. Black old eyes.

Black as deep water. All at once, the old woman sat up, grasping at the air with her wrinkled old hands as if trying to take hold of something that had just slipped from her grasp. When she saw the river, she looked at it wildly and tried to crawl out into it with the strength that she didn't have. And she was crying. From the moment she awoke, she was crying wildly, desperately.

Her black eyes, wide wide looked all around her and when they found only Anna near her they held her with a gaze that matched Anna's in grief and the old woman's arms as frail now as they had been strong in the river sought for Anna and held her so softly that Anna could barely feel. Anna and the old woman, Anna and Ayarona, they sat there soaking wet on the riverbank, holding each other and weeping. Hi, Miss Eels, the old woman whispered. Miss Eels, Miss Eels.

All my children, my children, my children. Anna's eyes were closed, her head buried in the old woman's soft shoulder. It was a long time before she looked up again, and even before she looked, she knew that the old woman was gone. La Llorona had disappeared, but for Anna's kindness in trying to save her, she'd left someone else in her place. Anna hardly dared, hardly dared for such a hope, but the desperation of that hope made her brave,

and Anna raised her head, just as little Nesto's eyes flickered open in her arms, and he stirred and coughed and saw her, and said weakly she was crying in the water mama I wanted to help her Anna pulled him close

and her tears came back so strong she couldn't say anything at all except to whisper over and over and over again I'm here here except to whisper over and over and over again, I'm here, here. And of course, there are actually two different endings to this story. This one, where their friends from the park catch up to them and come crashing down the slope, calling out with relief and offers of help. Then there's

the other ending, where a quirk in the river's current has carried Anna and Nesto over to the other shore, the one that Anna saw before, the one lit with gold and beauty. And there are a lot of good people to help them over on that side, too. But either way, Ana and Nesto end this story together. And being together, in the end, somehow, that's the most important thing. Well, and if anyone wants to keep being together for a little while, we can. Because I see that someone had the foresight to bring their Coleman Sky Dome

darkroom six-person camping tent. Did I say six-person? We could practically host a concert in there. If the weather had turned bad, we could probably have moved our whole story circle inside. It's got 20% more headroom than traditional Coleman dome tents, and with its pre-attached poles, it sets up in under five minutes. And on a hot sunny day like this was before the sun went down, Coleman's darkroom technology provides some much-needed shade by blocking up to 90% of sunlight. So come on down to your local REI or go online to rei.com and find out why Coleman is the brand so many people turn

to when they need gear they can rely on. Whether it's hiking the trails, a weekend in the woods, or drift boating down the river, Coleman is there when memories are made and bonds are forged Coleman, answer the call Usually we close these episodes with a warning About how to avoid the monsters we've just told our tale about But tonight I guess our message has to be a little different If, on the way back to your tents and your dreams Beside the lullaby water of this big river, if you see an old woman crying by the water's edge, stop.

Ask her what's wrong. See if you can help. It always feels good to help another person. And in this case, if you don't stop, you might come to regret it very, very much. The only thing that our producer Jenny Barber regrets very, very much is putting yours truly, writer and host Weston Davis, in charge of booking the rafts for this whitewater adventure. Those are just blow-up inner tubes for children, Weston.

And our executive producers Paolo Modula and Joe Crosby have already dropped us off and driven the van downriver to the pickup spot. Worst of all, our sound designer Nick Patry has called dibs on the awesome lime green water wings. Boy, it's lucky for us that our senior producer, Hannah Boyd, never goes anywhere without a fully equipped whitewater raft. Just in case. Thanks, Hannah. Before we get a preview of next week's story, I have a quick favor to ask. We've created a Camp Monsters listener survey that'll take about five minutes to complete.

This survey will help us get to know you, the loyal Camp Monsters listener, and it'll give us some insight into how you'd like to experience the show in the future. So help us out. Head to the link in the show notes to take the quick five-minute survey today. It would mean the world to me and the rest of the Camp Monsters team. Oh, and if you have a hard time finding the link in the notes, just email podcasts at rei.com and they'll point you in the right direction. Thanks. Next week we'll be heading way up north to the little old town of Rhinelander, Wisconsin. Rhinelander is a small place, but has a lot going for it.

It's got a hospital and a paper mill, nice quiet main street, and it's getting to be a popular destination for those heading out to explore the Northwoods. Got a lot of history too. Oh, but never you mind that old tale about the hoedag. That's a myth. Just a tired old hoax. Everybody knows that. Nothing to scare a level-headed outdoors type like you. You just go on out in those woods and enjoy yourself. There could be anything real behind that hoedag story. Just keep telling yourself that.

No matter what you hear around the campfire or out there in the night. And remember, the stories we tell here on Camp Monsters are just that, stories. Sure, some of them are based on centuries of southwestern legends stretching back as far as history records, but it's up to you to decide what you believe, and whether that was just an old log that brushed past you in the river. Thanks to all of you for your support and spreading the word about our Camp Monsters podcast. More than anything else, it's word of mouth and social media shares that expand our Camp Monsters audience. Your help is why we've been able to keep doing this for six seasons, so keep liking, reviewing, and sharing. We hope to keep coming back to tell you more stories. See you again around the campfire.