The story
The family's old casona, a sprawling traditional house in Bogotá, had always carried a heavy air, the kind that cuts to the bone far deeper than the capital’s chilly drizzle. Inside that home of high ceilings and drafty hallways, Camilo and his father, Hernando, often spent the night in an upstairs room to keep grandfather company, never suspecting that peaceful sleep there was a thing of the past.
Nobody spoke comfortably about the back rooftop terrace. Up there, inside a small brick room that looked like a makeshift addition against the gray sky, rested the buried ashes of their great-grandfather. It was an isolated corner, far removed from daily life, yet heavy with a suffocating gloom. As the months went by, the stillness of that household tomb began bleeding into the rest of the rooms.
Nights in the guest room soon turned into a torment. The moment they turned off the light, an invisible presence would settle over the bed. In the dark, Camilo and his father felt an unsettling physical contact on their legs: at times it was a gentle, almost therapeutic rub, as if hands were trying to heal their limbs, but moments later the touch would turn into sharp, hostile blows. Before they could react, the light switch on the wall would start clicking on its own, flipping the bulb on and off in frantic bursts, while the heavy wooden bed shook with an immense force that seemed to surge straight from the floorboards.
The horror, however, wasn't confined to that room. One night, doña Inés, the grandmother, went up to the rooftop terrace and walked over to the little shed where the deceased patriarch's remains lay. Peering in, the blood froze in her veins: silhouetted against the dark, she made out a demonic-looking entity, a figure whose twisted face radiated pure evil. The creature locked eyes with her, holding her gaze for agonizing seconds before doña Inés could turn around and bolt down the stairs in terror.
The siege continued to plague the household, targeting Patricia, one of the aunts, in particular. In the early morning hours, at the exact same time every night, she would wake up gripped by an inexplicable dread. Opening her eyes, she would find a stranger sitting motionless on the edge of her bed with their back to her, sinking the mattress under invisible weight. Night after night, the apparition lingered there, a silent reminder that the house no longer fully belonged to them.
Worn down by the constant terror, the sleep deprivation, and the chilling certainty that something sinister stalked every corner, the relatives decided enough was enough. The entire family joined together to walk the property carrying blessed vessels, sprinkling holy water over the doorframes, the bedroom floors, the staircases, and the rooftop walls, pleading through desperate prayers that the shadows would finally release their grip on the house.
