BY Angie Loveday
“Ever heard of nímbulos before?” We were nearing the end of a two hour car ride to one
of the highest peaks and coldest places in Costa Rica when my cousin turned to me and asked. I
thought he was screwing with me. Surely it was a made up word. After two hours of non-stop
repetition of Mago de Oz’s Fiesta Pagana, the only song my cousin had downloaded to his newly
acquired flip phone, the last thing I wanted was to acknowledge his existence. However, right
then we drove off the Southern Interamerican Highway and onto a side road, a sign flashing past
my window with the name Los Nímbulos Biological Station.
“What are they?” I could tell he was excited to lecture me on the matter. I wasn’t.
“They’re kinda like kids but magical. They try to get people lost in the forest just for
fun.”
I turned to my mom in confusion but she just shrugged.
“Tell her about the fairies,” said my gruncle. “Don’t forget about them.”
“Fairies. Right. So you need to be wary of the nímbulos but you’ll be fine with them.
They just like screwing around with people. The fairies are the dangerous ones. They will imitate
people’s voices to get you to come to them AND THEN they kill you.”
“Fairies eat humans?” I said. The only fairies I knew of were friendly cartoon characters.
“I don’t know if they eat humans, I just know people go missing.”
The car pulled up next to a small wooden cabin, the dormitories for the researchers, and
the four of us exited the car. Immediately we were hit by freezing gusts of wind that us kids had
to fight against to move forward. The sun shone brightly upon us but provided no heat, just
taunting us. I slammed the car door shut and said, “It’s a dangerous mountain. People go hiking
unprepared and of course they get lost.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” intervened my gruncle. “Even prepared people go missing here.”
In that case, I wondered, why on earth would you bring your 10-year-old grandson and
11-year-old grand-niece here?
* * *
The research station cabin had a common room and two bedrooms filled to the brim with
bunk beds. However, the rooms were way too cold and the only existing heating was a small
wood-burning stove in the middle of the common room. We were the only ones there, so we
chose warmth over dignity.
Between the three of us, my cousin making himself scarce when help was needed as
usual, we dragged a few foam mattresses out to the common room. On top of the mattresses, we
set up our two kids camping tents. We most definitely wouldn’t be camping out in the wild but it
was fun. It made the adventure more real. Also, they would help contain the heat during the
night, or at least that was the hope.
Outside the cabin, the repeating thumping of my cousin launching rocks against a tree-
trunk could be heard. After setting up our sleeping arrangements, I was finally free to join him.
“Trying to hit a bird?”
“I’m practicing,” he replied “in case we are attacked out there.”
Thump.
“Attacked by who?” I said, picking up a couple of long, sturdy branches that could serve
as walking sticks.
“The nímbulos, I told you.”
Thump.
“You said they were harmless. You’re gonna hit children with rocks?” My cousin
lowered his slingshot and looked at me with the most deadpan expression he could muster.
“What? I still don’t know what they are.”
“Children are a menace.” He raised up his slingshot once again and, without looking,
launched one more rock.
Thump. Squawk. The pained cry of a bird followed the rock this time.
Talk about a child being a menace. I thought.
With nothing else to do between now and nightfall, my gruncle proposed we go for a hike
right then and there.
* * *
We set out on our hike on a clearly open path between the wilderness. We weren’t at the
peak of the mount, but we were high enough that the cloud forest had given way to a mix of
alder forest and cold highland terrain. The wind coursing between the trees gave the impression
of whispers all around us. Every few minutes, my gruncle would take out his switchblade and
mark a tree to the side of the path, in case we needed directions getting back to the cabin.
As we made our way up the steep incline, the path was becoming less clear. There was no
longer rocky terrain in between batches of trees. A combination of low dry grass and fallen
leaves covered the ground. We became more and more immersed between the trees. For a
tundra-like area, the vegetation was all surprisingly tall and, soon enough, we couldn’t see the
cabin at the bottom of the mountain area we were climbing. My gruncle pushed on, fairly
confident of the direction we were following. Me and my cousin’s compasses were rendered
useless when we realized we didn’t check the direction of the cabin nor the path we were taking
as we set out.
None of us could see any fauna around us but we could sense it. The four of us could hear
various types of birds calling out to each other yet never revealing themselves. More unsettling,
we were all on alert with the impending feeling that a large mammal may be accompanying us
on our adventure. It was time to return to the cabin.
We looked to our gruncle to guide us back down but his expression made it evidently
clear that he had no idea where we were or how to get back. With no other choice, it was decided
we would set out in the general direction we thought we had come from. Unfortunately for us,
there were no slash marks on the trees indicating our passing. Our only choice then was to find
the electric towers that lined the side of the mountain and led straight to the cabin. We could see
the tip of one from where we stood.
We all headed straight in the direction of the tower, straight into the thickest part of the
forest. We were completely immersed in trees and the ground in the area wasn’t visible,
completely covered by an odd carpet of yellow leaves. The leaves crackled as we made our way
through, crunching under our weight. The wind whispers were no longer audible, instead
replaced by the occasional low growl and leaf crackling that didn’t belong to us. We had to get
out of there fast.
As we picked up the pace, we began noticing the occasional shadow rushing by. Barely
visible, a flash of darkness in the corner of our eyes. But there were no leaves being crushed. My
cousin raised up his slingshot in alert, rubber bands pulled taut, pointing it frantically in all
directions. A glimpse of a shadow moving caught his eye and whoosh went the slingshot as he let
go.
Thwack. We couldn’t see where his rock had made contact but it sounded different,
sloppier than the thumping noise he’d been making against the trees earlier. He wanted to check
it out but the presence we’d been feeling around us seemed to be closing in.
Running as best we could in uneven woody terrain, we made it out of the forest and
found ourselves next to an electric tower, the path back to the cabin now clearly visible with no
trees blocking the way. Our biggest trouble now was the bumpy terrain covered with dried up,
thorny bramble. It was a struggle but we returned, the walking sticks I’d picked up previously
coming in handy for balance. We were scratched up and exhausted but the occasional blackberry
find had kept up our spirits the last stretch of the way.
* * *
Night fell and we went to sleep inside our tents, the cold seeping through every crack and
the wood-stove providing little relief. The exhaustion from our previous adventure took over and
in minutes the four of us were fully knocked out. That is, until I heard a repeated whisper outside
me and mom’s tent. My cousin’s name was being called over and over. It was faint, as if
whoever was saying it was far away and the wind was merely relaying an echo of the message.
The moonlight was bright and shone through the wide windows of the cabin. From inside
the tent, I could see tall shadows sneaking around. I climbed over my mom and silently unzipped
the tent, crawling out of it. Suddenly, I noticed my cousin was standing, reaching for the front
door. I tried reaching him without calling out but it was too late, he was outside and let out a
blood-curdling scream. I rushed to his aid, grabbing one of the walking sticks we’d left at the
entrance in an attempt to defend him.
Tall, muscular, humanoid creatures, at least two of them, were standing in front of me
with my cousin struggling in their freakishly long arms. Their skin, a dark gray that could not
belong to a human. I swung the stick with as much force as I could but how much damage can an
11-year-old really do. One of them grabbed the stick as I still held onto it and swung me with
force against the doorframe. The wind knocked out of me, I saw their glowing red eyes turn back
to my cousin. The creature who had stood by as I was attacked grabbed him, its long nails
ripping into his skin. I tried to get up, scream, but there was an insurmountable pressure on my
chest. My voice was not coming out, instead I produced a gargled scream that turned into
sobbing.
* * *
I woke up with a start, my mom’s hand on my chest pinning me down. My sight was
blurry from tears and a sound that didn’t seem to be mine was coming out of my throat. I
couldn’t breathe.
“Nímbulos. They took him.” I was repeating raspily in between the screaming attempts.
“Calm down. Breathe.” My mom’s words echoed distantly as I tried to get a hold of my
bearings. “It’s just a nightmare.”
A nightmare? Could it be? My mind raced trying to make sense of what I saw.
I was back inside the tent, the same spot where I had gone to sleep. Mom was kneeling on
the floor with half her body outside the tent and her other half inside, leaning over me.
“Is she alright?” My gruncle called out from outside the tent. He sounded calm. I guess
my cousin’s stories really got to me.
“Yes. She’s fine now.” Mom looked at me with some concern but it wasn’t unusual for
me to call out asleep, sometimes even sleepwalking. “Come on, you’re the only one who hasn’t
had breakfast and we need to leave soon.”
I stepped out of the tent and looked around the room in search of my cousin. No trace of
him. I figured he was probably outside with his slingshot again.
I quickly scarfed down my breakfast and helped take down the tent.
“Ready to leave?” my gruncle called out impatiently.
Mom and I wrapped our arms around our remaining belongings and shuffled out of the
cabin. My gruncle was already seated in the car. Mom went to the trunk and deposited our stuff
there. I handed her what I was carrying when I noticed my cousin was still nowhere to be seen.
Mom slammed the trunk shut and got in.
“Where is he?” I asked.
“Who?” replied mom.
“Let’s get moving! Get in!” My gruncle seemed unconcerned with his grandson’s
whereabouts.
I took one final look at the cabin and saw it. Right by the door laid my cousin’s slingshot,
the wood cracked as if someone had stepped on it. I ran over and picked it up, carrying it back
with me to the car.
Ever since that day, my cousin was wiped from existence. His words about the nímbulos
come back to haunt me at night. I can’t be sure those creatures were nímbulos, but whatever they
were took him and I’m the only one who knows. No one remembers him. No one except for me.
So if you are ever out in the forest and you hear someone calling your name, run. Run fast and as
far away as you can because fairies may take your life but nímbulos? Nímbulos rip your memory
from the fabric of this world.
Angie Loveday is a writer and filmmaker from Costa Rica specializing in serialized content. Her poems, flash nonfiction, and short plays have appeared in The Maze, New Plains Review, En*gendered, and Salmon Creek Journal. She is currently a reader for The Selkie and Vocivia Magazine. She particularly enjoys cosmic horror, rom-coms, and mythology imbued stories. You can find her on Instagram at @ang_lovestheday, at angieloveday.creatorlink.net or on YouTube at Romano Productions.