The First Potato Bake – An Incan Supernatural Adventure

High in the misty mountains of the Incan village of Pisac, where ancient terraces carved the hillsides like steps to the heavens, there lived a spirited little girl named Yutu. While the rest of her family worked diligently to weed the lush community fields, Yutu preferred to wander the wild paths nearby, collecting fragrant herbs and curious flowers that grew in hidden corners of the land.

The villagers sang as they worked, their voices blending in rhythmic harmony with the whisper of the wind. Yutu’s small feet danced along with the music, swaying to the ancient song that had passed down generations. As she twirled between the tall grasses, she noticed a peculiar sight—a lone corn cob blossom swaying gently, almost as if it were dancing with her.

Yutu giggled. “Do you like to dance too?” she asked the flower. The delicate petals trembled in the breeze, and Yutu, enchanted, decided to replant the blossom by her family’s kitchen window, where she could visit it every day.

Seasons changed, and when the blooms faded, the leaves still swayed whenever the wind brushed past. Autumn soon wrapped the land in its golden embrace, and Yutu watched sadly as her little dancing friend withered, its leaves curling into yellow husks of sleep. She whispered softly, “I hope you’ll dance with me again in the spring,” and gently trimmed its dead leaves.

With the flower tended, Yutu turned her attention to helping her older brother, Sinchi, prepare the oca—the vibrant Andean tuber—for winter storage. She laid out the oca on wide drying blankets spread across the courtyard. Just as she was arranging a fresh batch, a loud crash echoed from inside their home.

“Sinchi, are you alright?” Yutu called out, startled.

Sinchi emerged from the back of the house, carrying another drying blanket. “I’m fine, little bird. I just needed more cloth.”

“But I heard something fall,” she said, frowning at the house.

Before Sinchi could respond, a strange sound reached their ears — a soft scraping and a tapping, like claws scratching wood. Yutu shivered and quickly hid behind her brother.

“W-What was that?” she whispered.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” Sinchi declared, picking up a sturdy stick. Step by cautious step, he led the way into the house, with Yutu trailing closely behind.

In the kitchen, they discovered the clay pot where Yutu had planted her dancing blossom shattered on the floor. The soil was scattered, and thin, muddy trails snaked across the dirt toward the back of the kitchen. Sinchi followed the marks cautiously until they led behind a sack of dried peppers.

Suddenly, multiple glowing eyes blinked from the shadows.

Before Sinchi could react, a grotesque creature leapt at him. Its entire body was covered in staring eyes, and its pale, hairless limbs sprouted in wild, erratic places. It screeched, swinging its many arms with terrifying speed.

Sinchi thrust his stick at the beast, managing to pierce it, but the creature shrieked and yanked the stick free with one of its squirming limbs. Without hesitation, it resumed its attack, and soon Sinchi and the monster were locked in a brutal struggle on the floor. He tore at its limbs, ripping some free, but the creature seemed tireless, regrowing or ignoring each injury.

Frantic to help, Yutu scanned the room for something useful. Her eyes landed on her father’s heavy cloak hanging nearby. Quick as a flash, she grabbed it and threw it over the creature, muffling its screams and blinding its many eyes.

“Hold it still!” Sinchi shouted. With determination, he grabbed a thick rope and tied the creature up tightly, knotting the bonds until the beast’s thrashing ceased.

Breathing heavily, Sinchi dragged the bound creature to the hearth, where the fire crackled with warmth and light. Without a moment’s hesitation, he heaved the cloaked monster into the flames.

“Sinchi, you’re so brave,” Yutu said, tears of relief streaming down her face. “I didn’t know what to do without you.”

Sinchi placed a comforting arm around his sister. “It’s alright, little bird. You’re safe now.”

As the flames consumed the creature, its flesh sizzled and its bones softened, turning into a strange, mushy form. But the siblings remained cautious. Once the fire died down, Sinchi pulled the remains from the embers, slicing the softened creature into chunks.

“This is the only way to be sure it never returns,” Sinchi said gravely, handing Yutu a piece of the strange flesh.

They ate in silence, each bite a grim reminder of their encounter. As the last morsel disappeared, a curious realization dawned upon them—the flesh, despite its ghastly origin, tasted unexpectedly like baked potatoes. Neither of them spoke of it, but a mutual understanding passed between them: this was no ordinary enemy — and perhaps, not the last of its kind.

From that day on, Yutu and Sinchi kept vigilant watch over the village, ready to defend their home from any lurking creatures that might awaken from the soil. And though they never spoke of that terrifying night, a new dish quietly appeared on their table—crispy, fire-baked oca and potatoes—forever known as the first potato bake.

Moral of the Story

Courage and quick thinking in the face of fear can turn even the most terrifying encounters into something transformative. Even from darkness, there can emerge strength, tradition, and unexpected discoveries.