El Chamuco: The Devil Comes in Forms

By Corina Mota Salamanca

No one truly knows what is out there or what is made up. One thing is for certain: there are evil people in this world. But what do we call the unexplained events that happen to us or the thing that keeps us away from places? These short stories of unexplained creatures and occurrences are sure to keep you questioning. Does the devil really come in forms?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9781662485268

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El Chamuco

The Devil Comes in Forms

Corina Mota Salamanca

Copyright © 2023 Corina Mota Salamanca

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2023

ISBN 978-1-6624-8522-0 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-8526-8 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Suited Man

House Party

Bus Stop

Witch

What Is It?

Ms. Rosey's Toy Shop

What We Shouldn't See

Home Invader

Horseman

Not All Places Are Holy

Repent

Come To Hell

A Mother's Word

Ghosts Just Might Be Real

Disturbance while Mourning

Bathroom Incident

Death Comes to All

Nightclub

Under the Bed

Dreams Come True

Granny's Home

I Just Want to Go Home

Shape-Shifter

About the Author

Stories aren't always meant to scare or help us escape our world. Some are simply meant to remind us that the devil comes in all shapes.

—CMS

Suited Man

When I left my beautiful town in Mexico, it hurt but not nearly as much as it was then to leave my parents behind, Daniel SR and Margarita Socorro. Although it was very hard to leave my parents, more specifically my mother, Margarita, I felt that it was the best thing to do. I wanted a better life, not only for myself but for my parents as well, and it gave me an excuse to see the world. Once I arrived in America, I quickly became a very successful businessman in Los Angeles. But my success happened so fast that I would eventually begin building a business in Santa Fe, New Mexico. My business was growing, and I was able to give my parents and myself a lavish life and help my town in Mexico grow as well. I know what it may sound like, and honestly, I am a bit ashamed to admit I was a bit of a workaholic. But I couldn't help it. My dreams were all coming true at the age of twenty-four.

Everything was moving rapidly for me. Business decisions had to be made, and soon enough, I was setting my eyes on Europe, but along the way, I did neglect to visit my parents. I guess the young me thought that money could fix any emptiness they had felt about me not being there. On one of my many trips to Santa Fe, I left the hotel I was staying at to attend some meetings and didn't return until around 3:00 p.m.

When I walked in, the lady attending the front desk waved to me and said, Mr. Socorro, a telegraph was left here for you.

Oh, um, okay. Thank you.

You're welcome.

That night, I headed back home to Mexico. My mother had fallen severely ill, and along my trip back home, I couldn't help but feel disgusted with myself. It took the decline in my mother's health for me to finally go home after two years.

When I arrived, I remember my father had opened the door for me and we held onto one another crying. My first night home, I didn't sleep much. The thoughts of if I ever spent enough time with her ran through my mind, thinking if I had told her enough how grateful I was for her and for everything she had ever done for me. For weeks, my mother and I spent every waking moment together. I remember her apologizing at one point for being so sick, she couldn't cook me my favorite foods. But why should I have cared about the food when I had her? Eventually, my mother passed away peacefully. Like many mothers who had to raise their sons alone, my mother did so much for me. I loved my father, but life growing up was very hard and sad. The few memories I have of my childhood that were happy are related to my mother. As far back as I can remember, my father drank almost every day and when he did, there was no telling who would meet his flying fists first. I took care of the farm animals and handled the trading of livestock for us to survive and have money to eat. I learned to be a man at a very young age. I am seventy years old now, but my mind has not managed to forget the countless women my father slept with or any other painful experience my eyes and heart has been through. After he'd take my money that I'd make for selling chicken eggs or milk, he'd sometimes take me to his cousins' homes while I sat outside. My father was never the best father or husband, but he was the only parent I had left. I needed to stick by his side at all costs.

After a few months of being in Mexico, I had to return to Los Angeles for business, but I knew that my father was not the same at all. I began to make plans to close every deal I had and move back with my father to care for him. We only had a limited amount of time, and I was not about to make another mistake. Many of my family members would reach out to me, informing me that my father was drinking again but stayed isolated more than ever. What also added to my pile of worries regarding my father was the fact that he had stopped talking. He'd rarely eat or maintain himself but had only enough energy to drink and sleep. While I didn't agree with his actions, I did empathize with him. And once again, I returned home because of my parent's failing health but this time, determined to help my father through everything. He was drinking himself to death, and I refused to sit back and watch as I did when I was a child.

Once I settled a few more deals, I went back home. The first thing I did was sit down with my father's doctor. He had plainly told me that the years of drinking had finally caught up to my father, which in turn began to attack his organs. At this point, it was a matter of time until he didn't wake up from his hangover. And the fact that he was also very old made it all the worse. Instead of sitting, allowing my father to drink, I made sure to stay on top of him. But most of all, I tried so desperately to make sure he felt he wasn't alone. Every now and then, he'd tell me how he could see shadows or hear voices, but given his current health and age, it didn't surprise me that his mind was leaving as well. Everything regarding business continued, and once again, I had to return to Los Angeles and Santa Fe to settle business deals in person. I left my father in the care of my uncle and his family. I wanted to make sure that everything was handled and that for the time being, nothing would push me back to return to the States, so when I returned, my father would have my undivided attention. Before I left, my father did slow down his drinking, which gave me some sort of comfort.

I felt entirely responsible to care for my father, especially then. But I also had to remind myself that my father had always had a drinking problem and he should have stopped many years ago. A few months after my mother passed, my father gradually began to talk more, but it wasn't exactly what I was hoping for him to say. He'd tell me that everything bad happening to him was punishment for the things he had done to my mother. I, of course, knew what he was referring to the cheatings, lies, the moments of abandonment. Within those few months, he also began to hear voices and see shadows. It scared me because I couldn't see nor hear anything he'd speak of, but he was entirely convinced of what he saw and at times, would hide from what he saw. In one incident, he left me with a pounding headache. I left for the city to clear my mind and buy some household items. When I walked inside the house, I found it strange to not hear anything moving or people talking. My uncle Salvador and my cousin Karina would come to check on my father when I would leave the house and usually stay there until I was home. Nonetheless, I put my things down, hung my coat on a hook, and began to move carefully around the house, calling out to my cousin, father, or anyone who was there.

Papa? Are you here? Karina? Tio Sal? Anyone? I couldn't stop it in time. I saw the stick of a broom coming straight for my face followed by a loud yelling. I fell back, and with the little strength I had, I put my hand up to cover myself from any more blows.

Daniel?

Jesus, Papa. Yes, it's me.

Sorry, I thought you were the man who's been trying to get in. We have to go now, mijo. Your uncle has sent demons to come and take me for my sins.

My Uncle Salvador was my mother's little brother, and as you can imagine, he painfully knew the life my mother lived alongside my father. But the man didn't believe in any of that. He was your average Catholic, no strings attached. Look, Papa, give me the broom and sit. You need to relax. Tio Sal isn't after you. In fact, he stopped coming around so Karina and Fernando come to make sure you are doing fine and to feed you. So let's lie down for a little.

Anyone who has cared for someone, whose mind slowly began to leave reality, understands how difficult and lonely one feels. My father was the only parent I had left and the only closest family member. I couldn't be judgmental now when he was at his lowest. I was no one to judge his past. After all, I saw myself as the son who abandoned his parents.

He had his moments he'd be doing well, then moments where he wasn't doing so well. The good times were when he wasn't drinking. There was no hallucinating or even rambling about shadows. On those precious good days, he could carry a conversation so well. I