FORWARD: This story was recounted by a friend. The story takes place some time ago in Mexico. It was in a simpler time. Only the heavily populated areas had electricity. People went about their lives not knowing they were missing many modern conveniences.
Thanks Juan.

A CRY IN THE WOODS BY: WR DOUGHTY

The old man had a small wooded ranch. He didn't have a lot of cattle but he loved tending them. He was an old widower. His children were grown and off on their own. He was well known in the local bar. He would drink and talk with his friends until late hours. It was a matter of routine for him to check on his cattle after the bar would close.

All the town folks took faith in the legend of the wailing in the woods. Some said it was the sound of a child others the cry of a wolf. The old man had never heard the cry and he felt quite secure with his routine. His friends all warned him about venturing into the woods at night. He thought to himself, "hysterical foolishness."

Upon the cantina's closing the old man swaggered out into the night. It was the fall of the year and there was a chill in the air. He shrugged it off and continued about his appointed rounds. There was only light given by the moon to light his way. Tonight was the beginning of the full moon cycle. The sparsely leafed trees cast eery shadows. Less hearty men would have been uneasy.

A custom was to visit his wife in the cemetery. It was along the way home. Tonight was not an exception. He had no fear of the night or the dead and was quite at ease with visiting her late in the night. Some how tonight he had a feeling that he was not alone. He could see no one yet he could sense eyes watching.

He walked the half mile back to his house and went about the task of hitching up his donkey to the cart. This chore completed, he tossed on a sack of grain and some hay.

He had an ancient old pick up truck sitting on blocks. The donkey and cart suited his way of life better. He didn't like to pay for gasoline. It was expensive and in short supply. Money was reserved for producing hay, grain, food and for wine at the cantina.

The old man knew the woods and the path he had followed hundreds of times in the past. He knew the open flat that was beyond the first patch of woods. His children as he had come to think of his cattle would be waiting for him around the pond.

As a hundred times before they were there and glad to see their Popey.

He was distributing the hay and grain, lovingly being sure each got their fair share. It was his custom to walk among them and distribute the grain. This made him feel close to them and he could tell if there was something wrong. Tonight they were unsettled.

Like children they crowded in around him each questing for his favor. At this point he noted that Emilita's new calf was missing. He became alarmed as he noticed the fresh slash in her right hip. It looked as if it had been torn by a sharp knife. The blood was still oozing from it. He knew it was only hours possibly minutes old.

Again he had the perception of eyes watching. He reeled to search the woods but saw no one.

A few moments later he heard the cry. The cry was muffled at first, then reached a high pitched wail.

In the corner of his eye he just caught the figure in the edge of the trees. To his confusion, the vision appeared to be that of a woman in a white gown.

Un afraid he angrily shouted at the manifestation: "Stop! Wait! Who are you? Wait!"

The form retreated deeper into the woods.

He quickly seized the shot gun from the cart and ran after the intruder. His rapid steps brought him closer to the entity. It was clearly a female form.

Again he entreated: "Wait! I must speak with you! Stop! Please!"

The form ceased movement and stood waiting for him. As he drew closer  he felt. less secure. His eyes focused on fresh blood stains upon what he perceived to be a white burial shroud.

A raspy voice said, "stop come no closer."

The old man stood frozen in place. The sight of blood stains on the white shroud made him pause. Good sense told him to be frightened and he was listening.

His thumb cocked the hammer on the shot gun.

The entity made a sound some what like a snicker after the click of the hammer's action.

The old man shouted, "why won't you turn to face me?"

The form was hesitant, then the raspy voice said: "It will serve you no good! To look upon my face is to see the face of evil! This was not always so."

The old man asked, "did you kill my Emilita's calf?"

The voice replied: " Is it not better that I take a calf during the full moon than a town's person--possibly your self? I must feed during the full moon cycle. Warm human flesh and blood would serve the hunger better than an animal.

Will you feed me or shall I prey upon the town people. The choice is yours.

Here are some words of warning before you answer: Many people have tried to renege on their promise. They sought to cheat the devil. I can not be killed; evil does not die it changes form."

There were a few moments of silence. The old man could hear his own heart pounding as though it could burst from his chest.

"Again I ask, will you feed me?"

The old man answered, " what choice do I have? Yes. I will feed you."

The entity turned slowly to face him. He was frightened but had to look into the face. There were tufts of matted brown hair--clearly a woman's--framing the face of a wolf. It's eyes seemed to burn into his.

The creature spoke another time: "Go now and never seek to look upon me again. The next time you look into my eyes shall render your death."

The old man turned and walked from the woods. His hands shaking and his legs were barely able to keep him up right.

He would never speak of that night to anyone.

He spent the rest of his days caring for his children. Every so often a new calf would go missing during a full moon. He could only take heart from the knowledge that this sacrifice kept his neighbors safe from harm.