At 6:30 p.m. on July 29th, 2023, 15-year-old Talia Deila Diaz stood just outside the back door of her house, staring into the thick, shadowy rainforest that made up her backyard. She lived in a tiny, isolated village in Peru—right in the heart of the Amazon rainforest.
As she looked out into the jungle, she would have seen towering tropical trees and heard the haunting sounds of howler monkeys, exotic birds, and creatures rustling in the underbrush. The air was heavy with heat and humidity. But Talia wasn’t thinking about any of that.
Her focus was on a grapefruit tree just a few yards away. She wanted to grab one, bring it inside, and make juice for her family. It was a simple, familiar task—she’d done it many times before. But tonight, she was scared.
There were two reasons for her fear. First, this was the Amazon at night, and it was dangerous. Predators like snakes and jaguars roamed freely. But the second reason was far more chilling: her village had recently been haunted by sightings of mysterious, shadowy figures in the trees—figures with glowing green eyes that seemed to stalk the locals.
Rumors spread quickly: the villagers believed these were Pelicaras, which roughly translates to “face peelers.” According to local legend, Pelicaras were foreigners who kidnapped villagers, slit their throats, peeled the skin from their faces, and sold their body fat on the black market. The fear was so widespread that the community had started organizing nightly patrols for protection.
So, even though Talia was terrified, she tried to be reasonable. The patrols were out. The tree wasn’t far. She had done this before.
After one last scan of her surroundings and hearing nothing unusual, she took a deep breath and dashed toward the grapefruit tree. She picked a fruit, turned to go back—and froze.
Standing between her and the safety of her home were two towering, dark figures. One was so tall it seemed almost as big as a tree. Both had glowing green eyes and were staring directly at her.
Talia was paralyzed with fear, locked in a stare with the inhuman figures. Their faces looked grotesquely elongated, almost like they were wearing masks. Then, the taller one began to glide—not walk—toward her, hovering just above the ground.
In the next instant, Talia was tackled to the ground. Both figures descended on her, pinning her in place. One of them clamped a hand over her mouth and nose—she couldn’t breathe. The other held what looked like a knife or box cutter and brought it close to her throat.
That’s when it hit her—these weren’t just rumors. These were the Pelicaras. They were going to kill her.
But in a burst of desperation, Talia fought back. She shoved one of them off, freeing her mouth just enough to scream for help. Voices shouted back from the village. Footsteps pounded toward her. The night patrol was coming.
Suddenly, the figures released her. She scrambled to her feet and ran for her house just as the patrol arrived. One of the men raised a gun and began firing at the attackers.
Talia turned to look, expecting to see the figures fleeing into the jungle. Instead, she saw them levitating above the ground, glowing green eyes locked on her and the patrol. Slowly, they floated higher and higher, disappearing into the night sky—even as gunfire continued to ring out.
Miraculously, Talia suffered no physical injuries, but the psychological impact was immense—not just for her, but for everyone who witnessed what happened that night. The fear in the village skyrocketed.
Eventually, the Peruvian government launched an investigation. Their official conclusion? There was an illegal mining operation somewhere deep in the jungle. They claimed that some miners, trying to scare people away from the area, had obtained jetpacks, armor, and masks to impersonate otherworldly beings and frighten off locals.
But for Talia and many others in her village—and across the Amazon—this explanation didn’t add up. They remain convinced: those weren’t miners. They were Pelicaras… or something not of this world.