This story was told by my Grandma. Although the verasity of this story is questionable, my Grandmother was never one to lie or exaggerate about her life.
It all started one faithful afternoon at school in Mexico. My Grandmother was finishing up her studies when one of her wealthier peers invited her to a party. Being seventeen years old at the time, my Grandmother giddishly accepted the invitation. She rushed home, donned her classiest gown, and headed to the party in the late evening.
Throughout the night she had enjoyed all the luxuries the party had to offer. Out of the clear blue, while she was sitting down sipping her drink (she wouldn't say what it was) a young man approached her, extended his arm, and asked her to dance with him. She studied him intently and was overwhelmed by her luck, as he looked to be the most charmingly handsome man there.
They were up and about as soon as she accepted his offer. As they were waltzing, she couldn't help but notice that there was something a bit odd about him. For one, his dancing was terrible and she was constantly tripping over his feet. She looked down to see what was going wrong and got more than she bargained for.
Portruding out of her partner's pant legs were chicken feet. She panicked, let go of his grasp, and stepped back, trying to soak it all in. At first, he didn't know what was wrong. But as soon as he followed her gaze down to his feet, he looked up with a frustrated expression on his face and fled the party.
She pursued him only to find that he had vanished. She went inside to consult one of the local witches about the boy to see if she could help him. After she told the witch about her encounter, the witch smiled and said:
"You know who you were dancing with, right?"
My Grandmother shook her head. Then the witch smiled maniacally and croaked: