The story
The breeze coming down from the foothills of the mountain range used to pound hard against the zinc roofs of that old family house, but the real cold didn't come from the weather, but from the dark corners left behind by Lucía's ex-partner. That woman had crossed the thresholds of the forbidden, inheriting dark trades of santería and witchcraft that little by little were poisoning the atmosphere of the home. In one of the corners of the main hallway, guarded by elongated shadows and a thick silence, lived a small bundle of cloth that they affectionately called "the baby." It was a rag doll with crude features, a receptacle for twisted intentions that emanated a heaviness hard to explain.
One day, tired of the tension that was suffocating his family, Andrés tried to move the doll out of his way. As soon as his fingers brushed the worn-out fabric, he experienced an unnatural phenomenon: the small object acquired the density of pure lead. No matter how hard he tried, digging his boots into the wooden floor and tensing his muscles, the doll seemed fused with the foundations of the house. However, minutes later, the original owner returned, approached with a icy smile, and picked it up with the exact same ease with which one holds a sheet of paper, leaving them all plunged into bewilderment and dread.
The dark favors were paid for dearly in that house. Lucía, trapped in a web of invisible manipulation, had gone so far as to light red candles in front of the doll, imploring worldly desires that strangely came true, but that dragged along a wake of misery. When the bond finally broke and the woman left the place, she left behind a graveyard of ritual objects that urgently needed to be purged.
Following the strict warnings of a wise local hermit, the sisters undertook a desperate mission. They had to destroy the amulets and throw them into the turbulent waters of a distant river, carrying them on their backs and never looking back. With trembling hands and their hearts pounding in their chests, they beat and burned whatever they could of the doll, feeling how it still resisted, exhaling an unnatural heat before being thrown into the dark current.
That night, the river seemed to calm the fury of its current for an instant, and the house experienced an ephemeral respite. Nonetheless, the shadow of that woman persisted, weaving invisible threads that continued to sabotage their job opportunities and sowing a dull anguish in the spirit of the family. They understood then that, even though the doll rested at the muddy bottom of the river, the chains of witchcraft are not always broken with water and fire, leaving a permanent mark on those who dared to cross paths with it.
