Echoes in the Canyon

     The tracks were gone by morning. 

     Liz snapped blurry photos of them the night before, but daylight erased the prints like the ground had taken a breath and smoothed its skin. Chickens pecked nervously at feed; feathers fluffed in agitation. One was missing—again. 

     Abuela Rosa didn’t seem surprised. She just poured black coffee into a chipped mug, then sprinkled cinnamon on top like it was sage for warding off evil.

     Liz slid her phone across the table. “Claw marks. Weird sounds. Something’s out there.”

     Abuela nodded slowly. “It’s awake again. Always wakes when the heat cracks the earth and the moon starts bleeding.”

     “You mean summer?”

     “Same thing.”

     Liz tried not to smile, but it tugged at her mouth anyway. Her grandmother’s cryptic poetry made the mundane seem sacred—and more than a little spooky. But what if there was something out there? Not a chupacabra exactly, but a coyote with mange or an escaped exotic pet? She needed to know.

     So that afternoon, while the sun scorched the sky and locusts screamed from tree limbs, Luz walked to the canyon’s edge with her sketchbook and a flashlight. No one had gone there in years—not since the storms washed out the old trail. Wild fennel grew tall and sunburned along the path, scenting the air like black licorice.

     She found a crevice near the cliff that looked like something had burrowed or nested—too big for a fox, too deliberate for erosion. Inside, tangled feathers and animal bones glinted in dry shadow.

     She took a slow breath. “Okay. Not a meme.”

     Something moved behind her.

     She spun, flashlight beam cutting through juniper branches. Eyes glowed back, low to the ground, too close together.

     Liz froze. Her breath came in shallow gulps. The creature stepped forward, silent as dusk, its body thin and sinewed, patchy like its skin couldn't decide if it wanted to be fur or scale. It looked at her—not hungry, not angry, just... tired.

     So, she didn't run. Instead, Liz sat down slowly, sketchbook trembling in her hands. The creature blinked, then turned and disappeared into the canyon mist like it was part of the stone.

     She didn’t speak on the walk back. But she carried its image with her, drawn on the page in tentative lines.