Argentine folklore horror stories

Legend:

For generations, in northeastern Argentina and especially in regions near the Guaraní area, people have told the story of the Lobizón.

According to popular belief, the seventh consecutive male child in a family could carry a curse. Upon reaching a certain age, on certain nights, he could transform into a creature resembling a wolf or a wild dog and roam the fields, forests, and outskirts of towns.

The legend has different versions depending on the region. Some say that the Lobizón appears on Tuesday or Friday nights; others associate it specifically with nights of the full moon. It was also said that he could wander around cemeteries and feed on carrion.

The fear caused by this belief even influenced a tradition that still exists in Argentina.

Since 1907, there have been records of presidential godparenthood for the seventh son, a custom that was later formalized by the State. In 1974, Law 20,843 established presidential godparenthood for the seventh son and also for the seventh daughter in a family whose children were all of the same sex.

Thus was born one of the best-known stories in Argentine folklore.

A story about a child marked from birth.

A story about something that, when night falls, stops seeming like a simple legend.

Story:

The countryside was silent.

Martín and his friend ran around the campfire while their parents prepared the barbecue.

The grill crackled. Fat dripped onto the embers, sending up small flames. From the house came the sound of an old radio.

It was Friday.

The full moon hung high over the fields.

—Don’t wander too far —Martín’s father shouted.

The boys kept playing.

The Dogo was lying near the fire. The other dogs rested beside the house.

Everything seemed normal.

Until the other boy stopped.

Martín ran a few more steps before realizing.

—What’s wrong?

The boy didn’t answer.

He was staring at the moon.

He was breathing heavily.

—Are you okay?

He put a hand over his chest.

Then he fell to his knees.

Martín approached him.

—What’s happening to you?

The boy dug his fingers into the dirt.

His breathing became deeper.

A low, harsh sound came from his throat.

Martín stepped back.

—I’m going to get your father.

—No.

The boy raised his head.

His eyes had changed.

—Go away.

Martín didn’t move.

Then he heard a crack.

The boy grabbed his jaw with both hands.

Another crack.

Then another.

His back began to arch.

His fingers lengthened.

His fingernails turned dark.

Martín felt his legs trembling.

—Dad...

The boy’s father turned around.

—What’s wrong?

He saw his son.

He dropped what he was holding.

—Son...

The boy raised his head.

For a moment, his eyes seemed to recover something human.

—Son, look at me.

The man took a step forward.

The creature backed away.

—Don’t be afraid. It’s me.

Another growl came from the boy’s throat.

The man kept moving toward him.

—Son...

The creature lunged.

The father fell to the ground.

Martín screamed.

—Dad!

Martín’s father grabbed the boy by the arm.

—No!

The man tried to get back up.

The creature turned on him again.

It sank its teeth into his neck.

The scream stopped abruptly.

Martín stood frozen.

His friend’s body slowly went limp.

The creature raised its head.

There was blood around its mouth.

It looked at Martín.

Then it ran toward the forest.

The dogs reacted instantly.

The Dogo jumped over the fence.

The others followed.

Their barking disappeared among the trees.

Martín kept staring at the body.

His father grabbed him by the shoulders.

—Inside.

—But...

—Inside, Martín!

He led him toward the house.

Behind them, the barking continued.

A growl was heard.

Then a whimper.

Then several barks at once.

And finally, silence.

Several minutes passed.

Martín remained beside the window.

His father held the rifle.

—Where is it? —Martín asked.

—I don’t know.

They waited.

First, one dog appeared.

Then another.

They came running.

Frightened.

The Dogo appeared last.

It was limping.

It had a deep wound in its side.

One of its legs was covered in blood.

Martín ran outside.

—Dad!

The animal collapsed beside the fire.

Martín’s father knelt down.

—Goddamn it...

The Dogo was breathing with difficulty.

Martín stroked it.

—What happened to him?

His father looked toward the forest.

—The Lobizón.

He went inside the house and came back with the rifle.

The night had changed.

The radio could no longer be heard.

Neither could the crickets.

Only the wind.

Martín remained beside the dog.

Then he heard something.

A step.

Then another.

They were coming from the forest.

His father raised the rifle.

The footsteps circled the house.

Slow.

Heavy.

They stopped in front of the window.

Martín stopped breathing.

There was no one there.

Then something struck the roof.

Once.

Then again.

The footsteps began moving across it.

Martín looked up.

—Dad...

—Under the bed.

—What?

—Under the bed!

Martín ran toward the bedroom.

His father grabbed a bottle.

—Pour vinegar on yourself.

—Why?

—So it can’t follow your scent.

Martín poured the liquid over his clothes.

—Don’t leave me.

His father loaded the rifle.

—Don’t come out of there.

—Dad!

The man opened the door.

—Do what I say.

He went outside.

Martín crawled under the bed.

The footsteps continued across the roof.

Then they stopped.

Silence.

Martín heard the door open.

His father had gone outside.

A gunshot.

Then another.

One more.

The shots echoed across the fields.

Martín covered his ears.

He heard his father scream.

Then running footsteps.

The footsteps moved away.

The chicken coop door suddenly burst open.

Martín remained under the bed.

He didn’t know what was happening.

He heard banging.

A growl.

Then the desperate squawking of the chickens.

One.

Two.

All of them.

Then a shriek.

And then nothing.

Martín waited.

He couldn’t hear his father.

He couldn’t hear the other man.

He couldn’t hear the dog.

Only silence.

Several minutes passed.

Then the door to the house opened.

Martín closed his eyes.

The footsteps entered.

Slow.

Dragging.

The creature stopped.

Martín could hear it breathing.

Deep.

Wet.

The smell of blood filled the room.

The footsteps came closer.

One.

Two.

The creature stopped beside the bed.

Martín covered his mouth.

A claw appeared underneath.

It searched.

Scraped against the floor.

The bed began to move.

Martín closed his eyes.

Then the Dogo appeared.

Wounded and almost out of strength, it threw itself at the creature.

The impact knocked the bed over.

Martín ran.

He heard a growl behind him.

He ran toward the fields.

He didn’t look back.

He kept running until his legs could no longer carry him.

He fell.

He got back up.

He ran again.

When he finally hid among the trees, he could no longer hear anything.

The night passed.

The cold began to disappear with the first light of dawn.

Martín remained hidden.

He didn’t know how much time had passed.

Then he heard footsteps.

He froze.

The footsteps came closer.

A figure appeared between the trees.

Martín picked up a rock.

It was a boy.

The same boy.

He was naked, covered in dirt and blood.

He stopped when he saw him.

—Martín...

Martín stepped back.

He raised the rock.

The boy began to cry.

—Don’t come any closer.

—It’s me.

Martín looked at him.

He couldn’t see his friend.

He saw the animal.

He saw the blood around its mouth.

He saw his friend’s father lying dead on the ground.

—No.

The boy lowered his head.

—I remember.

Martín didn’t answer.

—I remember everything.

The boy began to cry.

—Your dad...

His voice broke.

Martín tightened his grip on the rock.

—You killed him.

The boy nodded.

—Yes.

—Why?

—I don’t know.

Martín took a step back.

—Don’t come any closer.

The boy didn’t move.

—I’m sorry.

Martín stared at him for several seconds.

Then he slowly lowered the rock.

But he didn’t move closer.

He never did.

Because even though a child stood in front of him again, Martín knew that during that night he had seen what was truly inside him.