by Whispering Wind
Deep in the heart of the Amazon jungle, nestled within the embrace of ancient trees, lay the village of Tarumã. Here, tales of the “Caxiríka,” where “Caxi” could be derived from indigenous terms relating to head or face, and “ríka” implies a sinister or frightening nature.
So Caxiríka was a ghostly head said to roam the night—were whispered with genuine fear. The villagers believed that this eerie head, with its wide eyes and unnerving grin, was a symbol of bad luck and death. As the stories went, anyone who saw it at night would soon face illness or worse.
Naia, a young woman of the village, did not believe in such tales. She often laughed them off as silly superstitions. But one fateful night, her disbelief was put to the test. As someone who often worked late on her weaving, she found herself out in the dark jungle paths to complete an urgent errand.
That night, the jungle seemed different. The usual comforting sounds of wildlife were replaced by an unsettling quiet.
As she walked, Naia noticed a shadowy figure standing in the gloom, turned away from her. Curious and a little afraid, she called out, “Hello?”
But the figure did not answer. Instead, it seemed to sink into the ground. In its place was now just the glowing head—eyes wide and filled with an unnatural light, its hair trailing behind like a dark river.
The head began to move toward her, slowly at first, rolling and jumping through the underbrush. Naia’s heart pounded in her chest. Frozen in fear, she could not look away from its fixed grin, which seemed to promise only dread.
Suddenly, the instinct to flee kicked in. She turned and ran, her feet barely touching the jungle floor as she sprinted toward her friend Tupa’s home. The head picked up speed, chasing her silently through the night.
Arriving breathless at Tupa’s small wooden hut, Naia banged on the door, hoping he was still awake. To her relief, the door opened quickly, and Tupa pulled her inside. His eyes widened as she described the horror outside.
Together, they peered out into the night, seeing nothing but shadows. The head had stopped its pursuit, lingering just out of sight, as if marking its territory.
As the first light of dawn crept through the trees, the fear in the village did not fade. Though the head had vanished with the night, its visit left behind a curse. Many villagers soon became ill, their homes touched by the shadow of death.
Naia, who had narrowly escaped the head’s touch, began to weave protective symbols into her tapestries, praying they would ward off future evil. Though she had once scoffed at the tales, she now knew that the jungle held secrets she could no longer ignore.
For in Tarumã, deep in the Amazon, the line between myth and reality was thin, and the fear of Caxiríca was very real indeed. The jungle, with all its beauty and mystery, would forever be a place where legends walked among the trees.