Hellboy: Odd Jobs by Christopher Golden, Mike Mignola

returned home, she started to panic. She had gone but a few yards from the house when she found him wandering, dreamy and distracted.
    He told her he had been to the river, and there he had met a beautiful woman who told him his mother loved him and that she was well, waiting for the day they would be reunited. At this, Dona scolded Malcolm and told him to never, ever go to the river at night. Sometimes, of course, forbidding a child from doing something was the worst advice an adult can give, as the young are naturally curious about things they should not do.
    The next night, Dona insisted Malcolm stay home. Surprisingly, the boy agreed and read in his room.
    Relieved that he calmly accepted her request, she went about her household chores not thinking anything was amiss. But when she went to call Malcolm for his supper, she discovered the bedroom empty, the window wide open.
    Jamie was beside himself when he heard the news, so distraught the base commander refused to allow him to join the search party. Besides, it seemed straightforward. A technician driving in from Jemez Springs reported seeing what he thought was a young boy by the side of the main road. He had stopped to investigate, but the figure disappeared into the woods a mile from the river. However, a night-long search proved a failure.
    Malcolm MacDougal had vanished into thin air. There was no stopping Jamie the next morning.
    Every stream and tributary was searched, and the section of river where Malcolm had told Dona he had seen La Llorona was dredged. A week later, with the hunt for the boy dissolved, I was Jamie's last hope.
    Coming out of the arroyo, I headed in the direction of a lush sloping pasture and the forest beyond. Half an hour later, I located a stream and sat down to wait, hoping my instincts were right.
    At midnight, my suspicions were confirmed, my patience rewarded. The sound started low, mournful at first, then rose steadily in pitch. To the unsuspecting, it could have been a coyote call, but I had heard that soul-wrenching cry before. It was impossible to forget. For a moment, the years slipped away, pulling me back to the banks of the Santa Fe river. Then, suddenly, it stopped. The silence following felt eerie, almost suffocating in its intensity.
    I waited, my eyes trying to penetrate the jet-black shadows cast by the trees. Nothing moved.
    When the hand touched my shoulder, I nearly leapt out of my red skin.
    I turned. There, beside me, stood the Weeping Woman. My first encounter had been hectic, fraught with frantic actions; I had never got a clear look at her. Now, I saw her beauty was remarkable, almost too painful to gaze upon. To try to describe this ethereal creature would be foolish. Besides, the deep, dark olive of her haunted eyes drew me in, made me a fellow prisoner of her sorrow.
    "The boy," I said softly, barely a whisper. "Please, take me to the child."
    La Llorona took me by the hand, leading me away from the stream and into the stygian secrets of the forest.
    She remained silent. I didn't know what to say. What could I say to this spirit?
    We reached a clearing. Although Old Man Moon's light was largely obscured by the towering oaks, spruce, and Douglas firs, I could make out a rocky hill ahead. She led me around it and, on the opposite side, stopped before a thick tangle of bushes. Those sad eyes stared at me a moment before she stepped forward. Since she touched me she had appeared solid. Now, she dissolved through the bushes, letting go of my hand, freeing my arms to fight through the undergrowth. Behind them was a small cave mouth, and I stooped to enter.
    Instead of pitch blackness, the cave was softly illuminated, and it took me a moment to realize she was the light source. La Llorona glowed from within. The cave floor sloped down, and she took my hand to steady me as we descended. The natural rock walls narrowed, the ceiling lowering, forcing me to bend. The tunnel curved before opening into a subterranean