One very old man, Tomas’ Alcala, a seer, watched as she approached his small patio. She hesitated for a moment, feeling his energy as it raced out to meet hers.
“I know it’s you,” he said, as she finally approached.
“Who am I you silly old man?”
“La Llarona, of course, and far more beautiful than I ever imagined.”
“Flattery will not save you.”
“I did not think so.”
“Then be dead, old man.”
“Before I go, and I know I must, will you do an old man a favor?”
“Perhaps.”
“Will you sit and enjoy a drink with me as I’ve not had a woman grace me with her presence in years.”
“You are a silly old fool,” she said, “But yes, as I’ve not been invited to sit and drink with anyone in more years than you’ve been alive.”
“Thank you and pardon me as I step inside to get the Cuervo.”
Within a minute the man came back with two glasses filled quarter of the way with tequila. He hand on to his guest.
“Cheers,” she said as he downed his in one swift gulp.
She followed suit. No sooner had she emptied her glass than she pierced the night with a shrill scream and doubled over in pain.
“What have you done to me, you old fool?” she hissed.
He smiled, “I added a touch of chlorine bleach to our drinks to help kill the virus.”
She shrieked again, a wail so high pitched that the neighborhood dogs began to bark and car alarms start blaring. With fiery eyes, she glared at him and vanished in a blink of an eye.
Señor Tomas’ Alcala was found dead the next morning. By then he had been taken into the bosom of Santa Muerte, who welcomed him as a hero.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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