An alux (pronounced al-oosh) is a mythical figure from Mayan culture in the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico. I read once that they occasionally appear as small animals wearing sneakers or button up shirts. This happens when they are caught shapeshifting from their leprechaun-like form to more secretive forms like Tejones (racoon-like critters with long, ringed tails).
Mayan farmers leave offerings out for these unpredictable changelings in hopes of soliciting help in the growth and maintenance of their crops. They fear, if they neglect to leave offerings, the little beasts, (Shhh, don’t let them hear that!), may play not-so-nice tricks on them.
Of course, I am breaking all the rules just by telling this story, because you are NEVER, EVER, EVER supposed to mention the word ...alux.
I had moved from my little apartment in Puerto Morelos to a grand penthouse a half-hour south in a boating community called Puerto Aventuras. The penthouse was eighteen-hundred square feet of marble floors and glass walls looking out over the Caribbean’s sea-glass blue water. I was enjoying the six-month splurge I’d bought myself immensely, swimming in the lap-pool every day and sitting on the palapa-covered porch gazing out at the Southern Cross at night.
When you see the Southern Cross for the first time
You understand now why you came this way
‘Cause the truth you might be runnin’ from is so small
But it’s as big as the promise, the promise of the comin’ day
That was until I started hearing voices.
Someone was calling me by name and waking me up as I slept at night. I would bolt upright, jarred from my sleep.
To matters weirder, my daughter, Sarah, and her Mexican boyfriend, Javier, who were staying with me at the time, were sharing my odd experiences. They both confessed they were hearing voices too.
Javi, who understood Mayan folklore, said it was an alux.
I, of course took his comment in stride.
Until the foot prints appeared.
It was early morning and hot. The sun was streaming in the east windows and illuminating the long hallway to the bedrooms. I was a little irritated because there was a trail of water on the floor all the way down the hall. The wet marble tile would be dangerously slippery. I figured someone had showered or been in the pool and carelessly dripped all over. But, as I started down the hall toward my daughter's room to reprimand her for whatever she or Javi did that left that slippery trail, I stopped.
It wasn’t just a trail of water running down the hall. It was a trail of wet footprints. Tiny, child-sized, wet footprints.
No children lived in our house.
I carefully avoided disturbing the trail and went to my daughter’s room and roused her and her Mexican boyfriend.
“I told you, you have an Alux.” Javi insisted they are very real. I could see the conviction in his eyes.
I was left wondering. There was zero explanation for the tiny footprints in the hall. I do believe in fairies, I do. At least I think I do, and I have proof now that something I do not understand exists.
I wonder what else exists that I have dismissed.
PS: My cave-diving shaman friend, William, is full blooded Mayan. He and his wife, Crescent, own a dive shop in my favorite little Mexican fishing village. I asked them if they knew anything about aluxes. William said, “Of course!” and explained how the fishermen see child-sized foot prints in the dew on the boats in the mornings. I had mentioned nothing about the footprints.