Las Mujeres de la Palmera

I drive for a living. More often than not, I'll travel at night. The roads are empty, the sun isn't roasting my skin, and the winds blow with a pleasant gentleness that makes you want to roll your windows down and cruise. I've seen nearly every corner of this country from Oregon to SoCal, New York to the tip of Florida.

I've driven through the winding, windy, frigid mountains of Colorado. I've seen the rolling green hills of Virginia, Tennessee, The Carolinas. I've gotten stuck in the inconspicuous, hidden mud pits of Louisiana and Mississippi . We live in a beautifully diverse country with varying ecosystems that have been amazing to experience for the first time.

But nothing has terrified me like the desert. New Mexico to Southern California has shown me some of the greatest horrors this country has to offer. People often talk about the scary creatures that hide in the woods. I have yet to experience any peering eyes through the trees, but the things I've seen among the sands and shifting dunes can't be described.

I'd like to say I felt threatened, but if anything, I've felt uneasy. The creatures I've seen make your shoulders lock up, your mouth slowly run dry, your eyes widen, and your heart race. Most of them don't attack on site. They just meander toward you or observe from a distance. Plotting, scheming for your death? I don't know. I don't know what could possibly be going through a creature like that's head. I honestly don't want to stick around long enough to know their intentions for me.

It was April 16, 2021 around 12:00 am. The man in my back seat sat quietly, fiddling with his phone. I can only guess that he was texting his wife that he would be home soon.

"How long have you been with the company?" Antonio asked.

"A few months," I replied, keeping my eyes on the barren interstate covered by inky darkness from all around, "Have you lived here your whole life?"

"Yeah. How do you like it so far?"

"It's nice to visit. I wouldn't want to live out here though. No offense."

He chuckled, "I hear you. It's not for everyone." There was a temporary pause between the two of us, "Has anyone told you the stories about this area?"

I briefly looked at him through the rearview mirror. His eyes were focused on the occasional desert bush that came into view from the headlights. His chocolate brown eyes were illuminated by a quickly passing car.

"I haven't. What's up?"

Antonio turned his gaze to the dark horizon, "Those palm trees. What do you think of them?" A line of palm trees was faintly backlit by the distant lights of a small Mexican town across the border.

"They're...cool, I guess," I chuckled awkwardly, unsure of his intention.

"So you haven't heard of Las Mujeres de la Palmera, then?"

"I haven't. Most people talk about the economy or politics. Is that some kind of legend or something?"

"The Women of the Palm Trees. I've known about that legend since I was a kid. Wanna hear the story?" The brown skinned man leaned in with a sly grin on his face.

"Sure, we've got about twenty miles left. Hit me with it." I often decided to entertain my passengers' desire to tell me about their life stories or experiences. I found that it established good company relations and they often express their favor of me to my boss.

"When I was a kid, my mom told me about Las Mujeres de la Palmera. They're women...sort of, that have gotten lost in the desert and were never found again. The people in my town knew about the stories, too. They'd say that something in the desert would wait 'til sundown. As soon as three-fourths of the sun had set, you could hear a child crying out in the openness. Women would usually get curious and worried about the child and throw their caution to the wind and go searching, but they'd never return. There's a lake out this way, we passed by it about ten miles ago, Lago de la Pequeña Camila . "

"What's that mean?"

"Lake of Little Camila. Before the women began to disappear, a kid had drowned there. Her name was Camila. This was before my time, but I heard that Camila was there playing with her brothers and sisters. Her mom was a single mother, and was always drunk. She usually left the kids to themselves to care for each other while she drowned in booze. One evening, when the kids were playing, Camila got too close to the water and she drowned. She cried '¡Mamá! ¡Mamá! ¡Sálvame! ¡Por favor, no sé nadar!' but she never came. She was passed out on the couch of their home, surrounded by bottles. Her siblings ran to get her, but it was too late and she never woke up in time." Antonio theatrically recited and acted out the scene.

I furrowed my brows and expressed concern, "That's awful."

"Yeah. About a week later, after they retrieved her bloated corpse and buried her, her mom began to hear her. They thought she was going crazy. She would say, 'Mi hija! She's calling me! I hear her in the water!' Most of the town figured she couldn't deal with the guilt. One evening, she wandered off toward the lake at sunset, never to be seen again."

"Wow," I expressed with remorse, "That's so sad. You mentioned palm trees and the other women, though. What does that have to do with this story?"

Antonio turned his eyes up at me, "The day after she disappeared, a palm tree appeared on the side of the lake. It was bent over into the water, right where Camila had drowned."

"That's crazy, that can't just happen." I said, glancing over my shoulder at him.

He shrugged his shoulders, "That's the legend."

"So you're saying this woman was turned into a palm tree by her aggrieved baby daughter's drowned spirit? That's a bit silly to be afraid of," I laughed, "I understand the creature stories, but not this one."

"Believe what you will, I'm just here to tell the stories." Antonio sat back in his seat and let out a groan as he stretched out, "Are we there yet?"

"We are, actually." I turned my wheel, pulling into the hotel parking lot, "Thanks for the story, I enjoyed our conversation."

Antonio began unloading his bags from the back of the vehicle, "Yeah, me too. It was a fun three hours," He closed the back door and walked up to the passenger's side window.

I rolled the window down, "Have a good night."

"You too," He began to turn and walk toward the sliding doors of the building but stopped and looked back at me, "If you see a palm tree shaped like a woman, though, don't stop. For anything."

I tittered, "Alright, Mr. Antonio."

He had a slightly worried expression on his face, hidden under his charming smile. He adjusted his bag on his shoulder and made his way in to the establishment.

Unphased, I turned the vehicle around and started my drive back to the hotel I was put up at. It had been a long day and a long drive. I had another three hour trip back to the origin city.

I was about ten miles away from where I had dropped off Antonio, twenty miles from the lake, when his story occurred to me again over the sound of the radio. I had been passively listening to low playing music and zoning out on the endless interstate before me.

What broke me out of my trance was a sudden quiet voice in the back of my mind, the faintest whisper, " ¿Puedes verme?" I looked around in shock at the black abyss around me, the moon faintly shining against the scarce desert brush.

I don't speak any Spanish. How did I think that? Maybe I had heard it from a television show or on the radio or something. My mind often pulls up obscure words and references to keep itself from getting bored.

I decided to ignore it and keep driving, I had no choice if I wanted to finally hit the sheets. Maybe that was it, too, I had been awake since nine in the morning and it was almost one in the morning. Driving tired is an unfortunately common occurrence and can sometimes make you hallucinate.

"Sé que puedes verme." The voice came again, but louder. My back and shoulders pulled themselves into me, my breath stuttered. I looked at my GPS. I was about to pass Camila Lake. There's no way. I'm being paranoid.

I looked up into the distance. I could see faint moonlight reflecting off of disturbed water. A barely visible figure began to rise slowly, stiffly from the water's surface. All that poked through was a small child sized head, staring dead at me.

My eyes grew wide and nearly crossed from panic. My breath hitched and I gave more to the acceleration. I couldn't believe my eyes. In my panic I didn't notice the palm trees. There were palm trees that weren't there on the trip here. I swear it.

They had scraggly looking leaves that stuck out from the top above a gaunt, ghastly face with empty black eyes. Their necks were long and thick. The midsection of these creatures was full and round, like the middle part of a normal palm tree. A trunk-like bottom protruded from their midsection and ended in long gaunt legs. Their skin was as white as the moonlight and parts of it were scaly like the skin of a dried palm.

They all stared at me intently before they began to meander over to the roadside. My breathing quickened as I gassed it even more. The engine screamed as I pushed it to it's limit. The screech of the tires resounded in my ears with an echo as everything felt like slow motion. I could feel the adrenaline running through me as my face turned red and hot.

I must have gotten three miles away in a minute. I looked back in my rearview and through the back window. The faintest outline of palm trees still pursuing me but not quick enough to catch up with me.

I turned my eyes back to the road and spotted an approaching town and sped my way there. The sound of high pitched shrieks rung behind me. Just out of view, I took one last glance in my rearview mirror. The trees were all bent over toward the water of the lake, as if they had never moved. All were sat around the edge of the water, bent forward as if looking into its depths.

Needless to say, I don't ever want to come back to the desert at night again. And I thought the Black Dog was the scariest driver's legend out there.