The story
Night in the foothills of the Tolima mountain range always carried a peculiar heaviness, as if the fog rolling down the canyon guarded ancient secrets among the guaduales, thickets of native bamboo. Julián was all alone in his parents' country house on the outskirts of Ibagué. Lying in bed, the bluish glow of the TV was the only beacon in the pitch-black room. Outside, the distant murmur of the creeks and the steady hum of crickets formed the familiar backdrop of the vereda, a small rural district.
Around midnight, he felt the urge to get up and use the bathroom. Pulling back the blankets, the chill of the tile floor sent an involuntary shiver through him. He walked barefoot down the dim hallway and flipped the switch. The bulb flickered for a second before flooding the space with a harsh, sterile white glare. He washed his hands slowly, trying to shake off the grogginess, when a sharp, violent crash shattered the silence.
It was a terrifying crack, a dull boom like an old beam snapping or a heavy boot stomping down on dry wood. The sound tore through the house so close and with such force that Julián’s blood ran cold. A jolt of electricity shot down his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck and along his arms. He stood frozen, holding his breath, his eyes glued to the doorway. That was no house settling, nor was it the wind rattling against the roof.
His first thought went to the two dogs sleeping in the inner hallway. “They must have knocked something over,” he told himself, grasping for any logical explanation. With his heart hammering against his ribs, he crept toward the entryway. But when he peeked in, he was only more baffled: both dogs were sound asleep on their mats, curled into balls, completely oblivious to the noise. Their deep slumber felt unnatural; the slightest sound usually sent them into a barking frenzy, but right now they were sleeping peacefully, as if under a heavy trance.
Unease drove him toward the back door that opened onto the yard of the finca, the country farm, where thick vegetation brushed against the outer walls. He flipped the outside light switch and slid the iron bolt. The exact moment the wooden door swung open, the beam of yellow light cast something impossible. An elongated silhouette, blacker than the night itself, streaked across the cobblestone ground at mind-boggling speed, cut past the whitewashed wall, and vanished into the shadows of the trees as if the air itself had swallowed it whole.
Julián stepped out into the yard, jaw clenched, scanning the darkness around him. Pure, absolute nothingness stared back. There were no broken branches, no footprints in the damp earth, no sign whatsoever of any flesh-and-blood intruder. There was only a bone-chilling cold hanging in the air, and the eerie certainty that elemental forces dwell in those mountains—unseen guardians that don’t always tolerate the intrusion of the living, and that, every now and then, choose to reveal themselves for just a split second.
