The Wailing Woman

When I was little, I would play by the irrigation canal that ran behind the houses and separated the little cluster of houses from fields of cotton, citrus trees. Of course, this was expressly forbidden. My mother told me that the spirit of the Wailing Woman walked up and down the canal, looking for children to throw into the water. I wasn't clear on why she wanted to drown them. I think she was sad, or jealous. Maybe she just didn't like kids. I could understand that. Kids were mean. I had no siblings to play with. That's why I would go down to the canal. 

The canal was rough concrete, with steep sides, and the edges were hard packed dirt. I would draw designs in the dirt with a stick, or skip stones across the water. Mostly, I fished. Not for actual fish. I'd found a piece of rope and a twisted piece of rebar, like a big fishing hook. I would throw it in the dark green water and drag it along until it caught on something. Then I'd drag it up. It was an irrigation canal, so there wasn't supposed to be anything down there really. Kids threw all kinds of junk in there. Adults did too, but it was mostly the kids.

I'd caught a dozen tire-less bikes, a few rusted shopping carts, and once an entire bed frame. I'd leave it all in a pile and the city would come and haul it away. No one knew it was me, I don't think. 

One day, after a long afternoon of fishing, just as it was getting dark enough for the streetlights to come on and signal it was time to go home, I heard the laughter of some of the neighborhood kids. Then I heard the yowling of a cat; a splash more laughter, and I knew immediately what had happened. I ran towards the noise and saw the cluster of kids at the edge of the canal. I howled, and charged at them, brandishing my rebar hook like an axe. The kids scattered and ran away. 

I looked down into the canal. It was a terrified little black kitten, and it was trying to claw its way out but the canal walls were too steep. I hesitated. The water was deep, and there were hidden currents that could drag you down even if you were a strong swimmer, which I wasn't. But I had to do something. I grabbed the rebar fishing hook and stabbed it into to the dirt at the edge. I tested it, and it held, and I lowered myself down the rope. As I reached the kitten, the hook came free and I fell into the water. I was able to grab the kitten with one hand and swam as hard as I could, but I could feel the water pulling us down. 

I tried to shout for help and water filled my mouth and I coughed and spluttered, then I was under. I tried to hold the kitten up out of the water. I gathered the last bit of my strength; maybe I could throw the kitten out of the canal. Then I'd figure out how to save myself. 

I felt an icy cold hand grip my wrist, and I was lifted completely out of the water. Not up along the side, but lifted entirely, straight upwards. I shook the canal water out of my eyes and looked right into the face of The Wailing Woman. 

She was glowing white in the evening dusk, like a cartoon ghost. She was ethereal; I could see right through her, although her grip felt like iron. She carried me and the little black kitten to the edge of the canal and placed us gently on the hard-packed dirt. 

Then she was gone. There was just me and an unhappy kitten, both shivering in the warm night under the antiseptic orange glow of the streetlights. We had to get home or I was going to be in real trouble. 

I had to explain to my parents why I was showing up to dinner soaking wet. I explained as best as I could about the kitten being thrown in the water, although in my version I told them my fishhook had held and that I had been able to pull us both out of the water, eventually. 

My parents were mad, but I could tell they were proud too. I felt bad for lying, but I knew they would never believe me. They even let me keep the kitten, and she and I still have all kinds of adventures to this very day.

My mom even came up with her name: "Llorona."

THE END

Author's Note: It's really late, but I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow/today so I can sleep in a little. I just can't eat until they draw my blood or hit my knee with that little hammer or whatever it is they do. 

Anyway this one was fun to write. There's a trope called saving the cat where a character saves an animal to show their sensitive side or something like that. I'm not clear on it, but I did work in animal rescue and sometimes cats and dogs just need saving. 

The last sentence was originally a paragraph and I'll put that here for my reference:

My mom even came up with her name: "Llorona." She said it was because the little kitten was always meowing whenever I wasn't around, but sometimes, I still wonder. I think moms know a lot more than they tell us. 

It isn't terrible, but through most of the story I'm kind of trying to have the narrator phrase things like a kid, and then I threw that bit in about ongoing adventures and I don't know...too much scmaltz, not enough mystery. It's cute though. But if the mom knew the kid was nearly drowned then saved by a ghost she herself falsely maligned, then she'd be a real jerk. 

Goodnight!