The Rio Grande was shrouded in fog. La Llorona, the Weeping Woman, drifted along the bank in her tattered white gown. "Ay, mis hijos!" she wailed. Wailing Lure. The sound was designed to drive men mad with grief and lure them into the water.
Deep in the cottonwoods, a massive shape stirred. Bigfoot (or the Skunk Ape, in these parts) tilted his head. Echo Mimicry. He heard a call. It sounded like a wounded cougar? Or perhaps a lost calf?
Curious and hungry, the sasquatch emerged from the brush. He stood eight feet tall, a wall of muscle and matted fur.
The Scream Off
La Llorona saw the dark figure. "My child?" She drifted closer, mist swirling. Mist of the Lost. She reached out with cold, skeletal hands to drag him into the river. Claim of the Mother.
Bigfoot stepped into the mud. Tremor Step. He felt the cold hands on his fur. He didn't like it. He swatted at the ghost, his hand passing through the mist.
Annoyed, Bigfoot took a deep breath. His lungs were the size of beer kegs.
He unleashed a primal, territorial roar.
RRAAAAAAAWWWRRRR!
The sound wave was physical. It shook the leaves off the trees and rippled the water. La Llorona, a spirit composed of sorrow and whisper, was simply blown away. The sonic force disrupted her manifestation. She de-cohered into harmless vapor, fleeing downriver to find a quieter spot to cry. Bigfoot grunted, scratched his ear, and went back to the woods.