Trying to understand, the old woman looks at Felicity, who, like Nené, has stood up and is anxiously peering into the darkness of the fields.Show your face, come on, the women’s voices can be heard ever closer. Felicity and Nené look at each other. Beneath their feet they feel the ground tremble as hundreds of desperate women advance through the field. “What’s happening?” asks the old woman. “Who are those voices, what do they want?” She kneels down and picks up the marriage certificate. Like Felicity and Nené, she backs toward the highway without turning around, without taking her eyes from the black mass in the dark fields that seems to be moving closer and closer to them.“How many are there?” asks Felicity.“A lot,” says Nené. “Too many.” There are so many curses and insults coming from so close by that it’s useless to respond or try to placate them. “What should we do?” asks Felicity. The three of them back up faster and faster. “Don’t even think about crying,” says Nené. The old woman, clutching at her wedding dress and wrinkling it in one nervous hand, grasps Felicity’s arm with her other. “Don’t be scared, Grandmother, it’s okay,” says Felicity. But the taunting is so loud now that the old woman can’t hear her words. On the highway, off in the distance, a white dot grows like a new ray of hope. Perhaps this is the moment when Felicity thinks, for the last time, of love. Perhaps she thinks to herself: Don’t let him leave her; don’t let him abandon her. “If it stops, we get in,” shouts Nené. “What did she say?” asks the grandmother. They are close to the bathroom now. “That if the car stops—” says Felicity.“What?” asks the grandmother. The murmur is converging on them. They can’t see anyone, but they know the women are there, just a few yards away. Felicity screams. Something like hands brush against her legs, her neck, her fingertips. Felicity screams and she doesn’t hear Nené, who has moved farther away and is telling her to grab the old woman and run. The car stops in front of the bathroom. Nené turns back toward Felicity and tells her to move, to drag the grandmother with her. But it’s the grandmother who reacts and drags Felicity toward Nené, who is already next to the car and waiting for the woman to get out so she can get in herself and order the man to drive. “They won’t let go!” screams Felicity. “They won’t let go of me!” And she desperately tries to break free of the last hands holding her back. The old woman pulls. She yanks on Felicity with all her strength. Nené is waiting anxiously for the door to open, for the woman to get out. But the one who emerges is the man. With the headlights shining on the road, he still hasn’t seen the women, and he gets out in a hurry while he fumbles for the zipper of his pants. Then the din grows. The laughing, taunting voices forget Nené and fixate purely and exclusively on him. They reach his ears. In the man’s eyes, the fear of a rabbit facing the furies. By the time he stops, it’s too late. Nené has gone around and gotten into the man’s seat. She restrains the woman, who is trying to escape, and she opens a back door for Felicity and the grandmother. “Hold her,” says Nené, and she lets go of the woman to leave her in the grandmother’s hands. The old woman obeys the order wordlessly.“If she wants to get out, let her,” says Felicity. “Maybe these two do love each other and it’s not for us to stand in their way.” The newcomer wiggles free of the old lady but she doesn’t get out of the car. She asks, “What do you want? Where did you come from?”—one question after another, until Nené opens the passenger door. “Get out, quick,” she says. They can hear the women’s cries even once they’re in the car, and in front of them, detached from the darkness by the headlights, stands the frozen, terrified figure of a man who is not thinking about the same thing he was a minute ago. “No way am I getting out,” says the newcomer. She looks at the man without tenderness, and then at Nené: “Get going before he comes back,” she says, and she locks the door from inside. Nené puts the car in drive. The man hears the noise and turns to look at them. “Go!” shouts the newcomer. The old lady claps nervously, then squeezes Felicity’s hand; Felicity looks fearfully at the man as he approaches. The tires on one side are off the road, and the car skids in the mud. Nené turns the steering wheel wildly, and for a moment the car’s headlights shine into the fields. But what they see then is not precisely the fields: the car’s light is lost in the immensity of the night, but it’s enough to distinguish in the darkness the swarming mass of hundreds of women. They’re running toward the car. Or, more accurately, toward the man standing in front of the car, waiting motionlessly for them, as though for death. The newcomer presses her own foot down on Nené’s to floor the accelerator. And with the image framed in the rearview mirror of the crowd of women falling upon the floor. What was that they hear

In a small town surrounded by dense woods, mysterious legends of monsters and skin walkers have been whispered for generations. One moonlit night, a group of friends decided to explore the woods, hoping to unravel the truth behind the tales. As they ventured deeper, they stumbled upon an ancient ritual site and were startled by a sudden transformation—a member of their group turned into a werewolf before their very eyes. Terrified, they realized that the legends were more than mere stories. The creatures of the woods were real, and they were not alone. Werewolves in the woods and skinwalkers have long been a part of folklore and mythology, captivating the human imagination with their mysterious and enigmatic nature. The concept of werewolves, humans transforming into wolves under the light of a full moon, has been a prominent theme in many cultures around the world. Similarly, skinwalkers, a part of Navajo legend, are believed to be shapeshifting witches or sorcerers with the ability to transform into animals. In various folklores, werewolves are often depicted as both terrifying and tragic figures, representing the duality of human nature and the struggle between the civilized self and the primal instincts within. The dense and mysterious woods serve as the perfect setting for these mythical creatures, evoking a sense of primal wilderness and untamed nature. Skinwalkers, on the other hand, are deeply rooted in the Navajo tradition and are considered taboo subjects due to their malevolent nature. They are believed to possess dark powers and are often associated with witchcraft and evil deeds. The notion of encountering a skinwalker in the desolate wilderness strikes fear into the hearts of those familiar with the legends. Both werewolves and skinwalkers embody the allure of the unknown and the fear of the supernatural. Their existence in the woods and remote areas adds a layer of mystery and danger to these environments, perpetuating the age-old fascination with the unseen and the unexplained. Whether viewed as symbols of primal instincts or as malevolent entities, the tales of werewolves in the woods and skinwalkers continue to captivate and intrigue, serving as a testament to the enduring power of folklore and the human fascination with the mysterious and the macabre. Werewolves and skinwalkers are recurring figures in folklore and mythology, often associated with mysterious and eerie encounters in the woods. The concept of werewolves, humans transforming into wolves under the influence of a full moon, has been a prevalent theme in various cultures for centuries. Similarly, skinwalkers, believed to be shapeshifting beings in Native American folklore, are often linked to the wilderness and the enigmatic forces of nature. The portrayal of werewolves in literature and popular culture frequently depicts them as fearsome and untamed creatures, evoking a sense of primal terror. Their presence in the woods symbolizes the unknown and the inherent dangers that lurk within the natural world. This concept serves as a potent metaphor for the primal instincts and inner turmoil that humans grapple with, particularly in the untamed wilderness. Skinwalkers, on the other hand, are deeply rooted in the traditions of various Native American tribes, where they are often regarded with a mixture of fear and reverence. These enigmatic figures are said to possess the ability to assume the forms of animals and wield powerful magic. In the context of the woods, the presence of a skinwalker conjures an aura of mysticism and spiritual significance, as the natural world becomes a realm where the boundaries between the physical and spiritual realms blur. The woods, with their dense foliage, obscured paths, and haunting silence, provide an evocative setting for tales involving werewolves and skinwalkers. The interplay between light and shadow, the rustling of leaves, and the echoing howls in the distance all contribute to the atmosphere of mystery and apprehension. These elements serve to heighten the sense of unease and anticipation, creating a narrative backdrop that is rich with primal symbolism and psychological intrigue. In conclusion, werewolves and skinwalkers in the context of the woods embody age-old fears and mysteries that have captivated human imagination for generations. Their presence in this setting serves as a potent reminder of the untamed aspects of nature and the enigmatic forces that lie beyond the boundaries of human understanding. Whether as harbingers of primal terror or as embodiments of spiritual power, these legendary beings continue to evoke a sense of wonder and trepidation, weaving themselves into the timeless tapestry of folklore and myth. The legends of werewolves in the woods and skinwalkers have long captured the imagination of many cultures around the world. These mythical beings, often associated with shapeshifting abilities and a connection to the natural world, have been the subject of numerous fol