Sometimes, the stories we hear aren’t just tales, they’re warnings. Warnings from the past, from spirits that linger just out of sight, waiting for the curious to wander too close. In honor of Cinco de Mayo, which celebrates Mexico’s victory over the French at Puebla, these dark legends come to life. The line between myth and reality is razor thin. Listen carefully, because once you hear them, they’ll be seared into your memory forever. First, the screams sound like songs Followed by he comes from the stairs Finally in our last story, guilt has a scent Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
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My dog began barking at nothing in the night, and when I peeked outside, I saw a tall, shadowy figure standing at the edge of the field. The creature turned toward me, its face a grotesque mixture of man and beast, and it said, You've been warned. Hi, I'm Blair Bathory, and this is the Something Scary Podcast.
Thank you so much for being here, whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. Sometimes the stories we hear aren't just tales. They're warnings, warnings from the past, from spirits that linger just out of sight, waiting for the curious to wander too close.
In honor of Cinco de Mayo, which celebrates Mexico's victory over the French, these dark legends come to life. The line between myth and reality is razor thin. Listen carefully because once you hear them, they'll be seared into your memory forever. First, the screams sound like songs. Followed by, he comes from the stairs. Finally, in our last story, guilt has a scent.
Before we get to our stories, I wanted to say hello to all of our new listeners. So excited for you all to be here and sending love to all of our fans and listeners around the world without whom we couldn't be here. Do you have a story you want to share? Send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarl.com. So, wanna hear something scary? La Llorona's deadly wrath.
Sometimes it's not the music you remember, but the silence that follows when someone disappears. Like in this story inspired by the famous urban legend of the woman in white. The Cinco de Mayo parade was louder than ever. Drums crack like thunder, trumpets slice through the spring air.
Vendors shouted over one another, selling agua frescas, roasted corn, and neon toys that lit up like firecrackers in the dusk. I wasn't even supposed to be there. I was just tagging along with my friend Maya, her cousins, and her little brother Nico. I like parades the way I liked haunted houses. Fun in theory, but I never fully trusted the crowd.
Too many shadows, too many places to vanish into without a sound. We were posted near the riverbank, not far from where the floats looped around. A perfect view, Maya said. She was all glitter and flag stickers, filming every second for her story. Nico sat on the curb, slurping a mango palita. He was maybe nine, stubborn, sweet, and too curious for his own good.
Everything was noise and movement, a blur of color and sound, until the moment the crowd seemed too thin and the light shifted just slightly. That's when I saw her. A woman in white. Not costume white. Not mariachi white. Old-fashioned, tattered white. She stood apart from the crowd barefoot on the other side of the street.
Her hair was long, dark, and matted, like she'd been walking for miles through a rainstorm no one else had noticed. Her head was bowed. Her hands clutched her face like she was sobbing. She looked so out of place, too still, too cold, and no one else seemed to notice her. I opened Maya. Do you see her? That woman right there? Maya turned, scanned the street, and frowned.
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