Short Horror: The Lady With No Name

[fli]

I've noticed that all my stories are always about White people, which shouldn't be a problem for me... but it is because I don't connect enough to my heritages.

So here is a short horror story (under a 1,000 words)-- about an ancient Mexican story, La Llorna-- done in my way. (Sorry for the no italics with Spanish words... but the context should be clear enough that you don't need a dictionary.)

This story is not as engaging as my Devil's Food Cake, but... it was fun to write. Anyway... THE STORY...

THE LADY WITH NO NAME
By Che Enrique MR

Why did my mama tell scary stories at bedtime, I keep wondering. And it was always the same story, my babies, mis hijos-the same story that I tell you right before bed.

There once was a lady, that's how my mommy, tu abuelita, started out each night. And that's how I start my own right after I've tucked you in bed.

There once was a lady...

Mami, was she a good lady, or a bad lady-that's what I would say to my mommy, mijitos. And you two would ask the same thing of me.

Was she a good lady, or a bad lady?

My mommy, your abuelita said that she was a sad lady, a very sad lady.

Why was she sad, mami, you two would ask.
I don't know. Because she is a sad lady, my children. Because she was sad.

But still you wanted to know if this lady was good or bad. Let me tell the story, I would say-so anxious you were to hear it.

What is her name, you two would ask. I could have made up a name. But I didn't. It is a Mexican tale, mis bebes, I would say, and she has no name. If she had a name then it must have been forgotten long ago.

How sad it must be to have your name forgotten, to be a lady with no name.

But she must have a name, you two protest. I too said the same thing to my mom when I was a little girl. She must be called something!

La Llorona...
They call her La Llorona...

What does La Llorona mean, you ask. Ahhhh... It means in Spanish The Crying Woman. What does she cry for, mami-you two would ask.

Because she cries, mis chiquitos, because she is a sad woman.

And here comes our favorite part, when you two would ask me how La Llorona cried.

She would cry just like this:

Ay, mis hijos...

And then, I would wail the words and make them sound scary.
Ayyyyy, missssss hi-joooooooosssss....

What does that mean, you two would ask me, though you know what it means because you two kiddos are smart, very smart. 'Ay, mis hijos' means 'oh, my children,' though it doesn't sound nearly so scary in English as it does in Spanish.

Why does she say, 'ay, mis hijos,' mami, the two of you, my darlings, would ask.

Because she threw her children in the river.

No! You two would gasp but always in jest. The story of La Llorona never scared you two, and how you two would giggle-your grins as wide and toothy and bright as Jack-O-Lanterns.

Yes! I would say, also in that mocking exaggerating way, trying to scare you but I could never scare you.

But maybe this would scare you-

Your abuelita said that when she was a little girl she once saw La Llorona standing in the river. Her mommy said that La Llorona had a skull for a face, or the face of a horse, or nothing at all. But they're all untrue. Your grandma had seen the face of La Llorona and she does not have a skull for a face, or a horse's face, or a blank patch of nothingness.

La Llorona's skin is dark-dark as me-brown like the open mouths of rivers. And she is beautiful with small almond shaped eyes and large lips. Her hair is black, shinny, and long-reaching all the way down in the water. She has a petite figure, but with large breasts heaving with so much milk that they leaked on her white hupil, which is a type of blouse Aztec women used to wear. And her nipples are so brown and perfectly round like pebbles that your grandma could see them through the fabric. And La Llorana wears shells, many shells, on her wrists, on her ankles, and her neck. And in her hand she carries a black obsidian knife, stained red. And her face is sad but fierce at the same time.

Are you scared yet, my babies? Don't be...
It's just a story.

At this point, the little cogs in your heads are turning, and you would ask-but mami, why did La Llorona drown her kids.

I don't know... I don't know, I say aloud.

You are muttering to yourself again, my lawyer says- that's good, he says. And I see their eyes, the eyes of the jury, and they say-what kind of mother are you.

Your honor, the lawyer says, my client suffers postpartum depression, and psychosis. The lawyer presents testimonies, tells the judge about me. But they can't know me, at least not in the same way like you my little babies. They want to know... why.... why... WHY I did it.

Why did I kill you two, mis hijos?

I don't know...
I don't know anymore, my babies.

What kind of mother would tell scary stories to their kids at night?
Me.

What kind of mother would put her sleeping children in a car, and let that car slowly-so very slowly-roll in that deep river.
Me...

The judge orders that I be put on death roll for my crimes, mis queridos hijos. Then he asks if I have anything to say.

And I do-the words well from my insides, escape from my lips. And from now on, they will be the only words that I can say.

Aye, mis hijos...
Aye... mis hijoooooss....
AYE ... MIS ... HIJOS!!!!

[Deathcon7]

If you're trying to have the story told by a narrator, then narrate the story from that person's point of view, both clearly, and concisely. If you want someone to recount a story, have that person recount the story. As it stands, while potentially good, what you have here is way to disjointed and difficult to follow. Fix these structural issues and I think this would be an awesome addition to your repertoire.

[InsertFunnyUserName]

Well, first off, your narration is written far too much like someone would speak and not enough like what makes sense to a reader. Now, a first person narration is expected to reflect natural speech patterns, but not so much that the reader gets confused about what is being said and has to reread for comprehension's sake. The way that she constantly interrupted her story to address the children made it difficult to follow.

A little detail: it's a little strange that she keeps addressing them using different synonyms. Usually, if someone is going to use a pet name like "mis hijos," they'll consistently use the same one, maybe two. Though, that's not that important.

You spend a lot of time talking about what's not important (her name, what kind of lady she's like, et al) and not enough about the actual story. I recommend spending more time talking about what the woman actually did.

The part about the lawyer and the mother killing her babies is a bit... sudden. The transition between the mother's story telling and her telling the babies she's going to kill them, although logical in its progression, is disjointed and made me think, "huh?"

At 6/9/10 05:38 AM, fli wrote: Why did my mama tell scary stories at bedtime, I keep wondering. And it was always the same story, my babies, mis hijos-the same story that I tell you right before bed.

It seems somewhat unnecessary to say "mis hijos" right after saying "my babies."

Mami, was she a good lady, or a bad lady-that's what I would say to my mommy, mijitos. And you two would ask the same thing of me.

I believe it's m'hijitos or mis hijitos, not mijitos.

By the way, I had to look this one up. It's not clear in this sentence that it's an address for the children.

What does La Llorona mean, you ask. Ahhhh... It means in Spanish The Crying Woman. What does she cry for, mami-you two would ask.

What does that mean, you two would ask me, though you know what it means because you two kiddos are smart, very smart. 'Ay, mis hijos' means 'oh, my children,' though it doesn't sound nearly so scary in English as it does in Spanish.

If these people are Spanish-speaking (because, if the mother speaks Spanish, I would think that the kids would, as well), wouldn't they already know what La Llorona and mis hijos meant, particularly since she keeps calling them Spanish synonyms all throughout the story?

La Llorona's skin is dark-dark as me-brown like the open mouths of rivers. And she is beautiful with small almond shaped eyes and large lips. Her hair is black, shinny, and long-reaching all the way down in the water. She has a petite figure, but with large breasts heaving with so much milk that they leaked on her white hupil, which is a type of blouse Aztec women used to wear. And her nipples are so brown and perfectly round like pebbles that your grandma could see them through the fabric. And La Llorana wears shells, many shells, on her wrists, on her ankles, and her neck. And in her hand she carries a black obsidian knife, stained red. And her face is sad but fierce at the same time.

It doesn't make sense that the mother would describe the woman's nipple to her young children.

The judge orders that I be put on death roll for my crimes, mis queridos hijos. Then he asks if I have anything to say.

Mis hijos queridos

[FilthyFilthy]

I like the disjointed narration, but I just wish you had either gone a little further with the awkward sexual talk (about the nipples) or just taken it out all together, as it stands it seems out of place.

[fli]

At 6/10/10 05:31 AM, FilthyFilthy wrote: I like the disjointed narration, but I just wish you had either gone a little further with the awkward sexual talk (about the nipples) or just taken it out all together, as it stands it seems out of place.

I've never saw nipples being sexual, especially in this context where I'm blending the image of La Malinche with La Llorona-- both being culturally important mother symbols (after the Virgin Guadalupe) to the Mexican and Chicano psyche.

I see it something that's more about motherhood than sexual pleasure...

After all... this is a crazy mama...

After some light editing, I think this could be a unique story to try to publish. I know a few of you guys don't seem to "get it"-- but others "got it" and the use of this type of disoriented narration.