The times are strange, I know, and living in the countryside of this island only deepens the mystery. The peasants often tell stories about strange apparitions along this path, but until that night, I had walked it every evening without incident. I would ride my horse to visit my fiancé, who lives on the other side of the river ahead, and nothing unusual had ever happened, until that one summer evening.

That day, I lingered at my ranch until late, preparing myself for the journey. As I mounted my horse, I noticed an unusual mist settling over the path. The sky was draped in thick black clouds, obscuring even a single star from view. Undeterred, I rode on, galloping across these familiar plains as swiftly as if they were etched in my memory. But as I approached the bridge that crossed the river, I heard a faint sound, a cry, like that of a baby.

At first, I thought it was just my imagination, but as I reached the middle of the bridge, the sound grew louder, clearer, like it was coming from the other side of the river, right in front of me. Steeling myself, I crossed to the other side and saw a small bundle lying near the riverbank, a white cloth, trembling slightly as if something was moving within it.

I dismounted and knelt down, barely able to see in the darkness, but it looked like a baby, a small, fragile creature. As I lifted it in my arms, the crying stopped, replaced by what sounded like soft laughter. “Who would leave a poor child here, abandoned to die?” I whispered to myself. Without hesitation, I decided to take the child with me to the town where my fiancé lived, confident that together we would know what to do.

I mounted my horse, holding the small bundle in one arm, and continued down the path. As I neared the town, the lights illuminated the road ahead. At that moment, I heard a strange, low voice murmur, “Daddy.” Startled, I slowed my pace and lowered my gaze to the baby in my arms.

What I saw froze me in horror. The child’s face was a twisted, dark visage, with glowing yellow eyes and long, fine fangs protruding from its mouth. It whispered again, “Daddy,” in that same eerie voice. Before I could react, I heard a woman’s voice nearby.

“I see you have found my little boy,” she said. I turned, and beside me stood a short, dark woman. Her eyes gleamed yellow, and her long black hair cascaded over her face, leaving only her mouth visible, a mouth from which two sharp, elongated fangs extended down to her chin.

I let out a cry of terror and dropped the monstrous child, who fell into her outstretched arms with a grin. Spurring my horse, I fled at full speed, racing toward safety.

That was my first encounter with the _güijes_—the trickster water goblins that are said to inhabit the rivers of the Cuban countryside. That night, they played their game well, preying upon the unwary traveler.