The Crying Lady

My mother once told me an eerie story about her childhood. She grew up in Buena Vista,a scattered village in Southwestern Honduras. In those days there was no electricity in the village, and once the sun went down citizens depended on candlelight. My family’s land was covered with mango trees, making the surroundings of the house even darker, with the dense branches blocking light from the moon. One night, the family was gathered around the battery-powered TV to watch a soap opera, when my grand father got up to use the bathroom. The bathroom was detached from the house, and he would have to cross through the dark yard to get to it. He was on his way back when he shouted through the doorway to my grandmother, “Emma, why is Daisy outside?”My aunt Daisy was inside with the rest of the family and looked up, puzzled.“What are you talking about, Vivian, she’s right here,” Emma said. Vivian returned with a blank stare on his face.I saw her outside,” he said horrified. “She was washing. I told her to come inside, but she wouldn’t. She would just look up at me and go back to washing.”“Vivian, you saw la llorona!” Emma said.The entire family trembled in fear and my mother immediately knew what she was talking about. Long before this she had heard the legend of Ia Ilorona or the crying lady. In her time she was a beautiful woman and was married to a handsome man. Together they had two children. But the man eventually left the family for another woman. Following his betrayal she was enraged and took her children down to the river to help her wash her clothes. In a rush of madness she drowned each of her children in the river, their screaming echoing through the woods. After realizing what she had done, she couldn’t bear it and killed herself. Now she walks the land in solitude, crying for her children, whom she cannot find.My mother always thought twice about going to the bathroom at night from then on.