For many Latinos, their childhood was shaped not just by toys or cartoons but also by haunting tales that kept them connected to their culture and strengthened their intergenerational relationships.

Passed down by word of mouth, these myths have long served as bridges within families and across generations. Today, especially as the country’s Latino communities are targeted by the Trump administration, they serve as cultural anchors, stories that travel and take root no matter where people are.

That enduring role has inspired contemporary artists and thinkers to reinterpret the myths for modern audiences.

“I think there is a remarkable effort by contemporary Latine writers, filmmakers and creatives in general to recreate and make those myths relevant today,” said Marcelo Sabatés, a philosophy and Latin American studies professor in the School of Communication and Culture. “This has been a conscious effort by artists going back at least to the early and mid 20th century.”

He attributed the role storytelling plays to both families and creatives such as Frida Kahlo, Rufino Tamayo and Diego Rivera.

Ángel Hernández, a first-year animation major, said he used to trade stories with his cousin in Mexico to see which one was scarier. One legend that stuck with him was the tale of The Owl Lady.

“She’s a witch that takes the form of an owl with humanoid features,” he said. “Her elongated neck and her black eyes look normal, but her face is an owl.”

The legend of The Owl Lady, or La Lechuza, warns that she preys at night on children who cause trouble. The witch is said to snatch children away by their hair. Only holy places are safe from her.

The story originates from a small northern town in Mexico. At the edge of that town, an old woman lived all alone. Here it was said that a young boy went missing. Since the old woman lived alone, the townspeople were already suspicious of her. This led them to accuse her of being a witch who stole the child to satisfy her deal with the devil.

Historically, stories like this have been used to pass down lessons from generation to generation. In immigrant families, they often double as ties back to a homeland, and a way of keeping cultural lessons alive even when children grow up far from where the tales began.

“It’s our culture, our traditions, our families,” Hernández said. “It’s our country in a way. We are like a chain connected together, and that chain cannot be broken.”

Kevin Turcios, a sophomore animation major, grew up hearing the tale of El Cucuy, also known as El Coco, a myth that originated from the Iberian Peninsula and has been passed down for centuries. 

The shadow-like figure is rumored to snatch misbehaving children, and parents would use the story to reinforce good behavior. 

Julia González, a senior music major, and her cousins also grew up alongside the myth of El Cucuy. The tale was passed down throughout generations in her family and she expected that to continue. 

“I’m sure when our aunts and uncles were younger, they were probably told that by their parents,” González said. “And I think that’s pretty cool how that kind of stuff travels in the bloodline.”

Stefanie Valle Aguilera, a senior fine arts major and co-president of Latino Alliance, is reminded of her childhood in Guadalajara, Mexico, whenever she hears the classic Mexican legend of La Llorona, meaning “the weeping woman.” 

The tale tells of a grieving mother who drowned her children and still wanders the earth looking for their souls. Passed down through generations, the story is often told with the warning that she still roams the night. 

After hearing the story from her classmates as a kid, Valle Aguilera became fascinated by the legend and now spends her time listening to spooky podcasts, watching YouTube videos and researching similar stories. 

“It changed my life, because now everything is spooky,” she said. “Everything that has to do with Latino folklore or anything like that, it really gets me now.”

Adilene Vega, a senior art history major, also grew up hearing the La Llorona tale. It was one she remembered fearing as a kid. 

Vega first heard the story at school, and her mother confirmed that the weeping woman would come if she misbehaved. Over time, the story gave her a way to connect with other Latinos who grew up hearing the same legend.

“They’re not limited to just Mexico; they travel wherever you go,” Vega said. “I went to Mexico for the first time, and my cousins were telling me about it. I felt really connected to them in that moment, because it’s a universal thing to us.” 

Fabiola Carreno-Rodriguez, a senior social media and digital strategy major, recalled a story from her own family about the deep wells around her mother’s home in Guanajuato, Mexico. Some were 10-feet deep.

According to family legend, you can hear the screams and laughter of people that have fallen in. Some nights you can even hear the sounds of hooves clipping by because some of the holes were big enough to swallow a horse.

Looking back, Rodriguez said she now realizes the stories were told to children to keep them away from the wells so they wouldn’t fall in. 

“It would just be something to kind of terrify them not to run over there or not to go over there at all,” she said.

Valle Aguilera recognized how La Llorona and other legends have and continue to preserve the culture and its history across Latin America.

“That’s something really important for the culture,” she said. “I feel like telling the story also helps feed the culture in some kind of way. You’re also telling the story historically, but giving it more of an interesting look that gets kids’ attention.”

Sabatés said the essence of these stories carries through time, and they sometimes develop into modern versions, such as feminist takes of the La Llorona tale that reframe the woman’s weeping as a sign of vulnerability and bravery.

Turcios also recalled being told the story of El Cadejo, a tale of an evil-spirited black dog that left him uneasy whenever he would see one in real life.

As a first-generation American, Turcios said the legends sometimes make him feel closer to his Honduran heritage when he feels disconnected from it.

“I think it’s important, because it does preserve Latino culture,” he said, “and it shows the generations where the legends really come from.”

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