The story
Andrés grew up on the edge of a housing complex in Pereira, where the city spilled into a drainage ravine that the neighborhood elders called “the whisper of the duendes, mischievous forest spirits.” That crack between the paved street and the riverside jungle was the setting for childhood games, and also, unknowingly, for the first encounter with the inexplicable.
Every afternoon, when the sun began to warm the earth and the smell of wet grass mixed with the perfume of nearby sugarcane, Andrés, Julián and Mateo built makeshift huts out of soda cans and cardboard. They would sit on the riverbank, under the shade of a willow that seemed to lean in to hear their confidences, and share a bottle of soda while the water sang over the rocks.
One of those afternoons, as the sky turned orange, Andrés's two friends felt a slight tremor in the vegetation behind an old wire fence that bordered the ravine. The branches shook as if an invisible hand were brushing them. Suddenly, an unseen but felt force clamped onto their shirts, pulling them backward through the mesh. The kids screamed, and the sound of their voices was swallowed by the river's murmur.
Andrés, who had been standing aside, felt the urge to run. Without thinking, he bolted, his feet slapping the damp earth, while hearing his friends' cries and the fence creaking under the pressure of that ethereal hand. He reached the area where a tired‑eyed woman, Señora Rosa, was looking after a little girl with golden curls who was playing with a rag doll. Seeing the terror on the children's faces, Rosa welcomed them with a protective hug and led them into the shade of her house.
When the three tried to describe what had happened, the woman pointed a trembling finger at the ravine. In the distance, the trees and foliage swayed with frantic energy, as if the wind had taken on a life of its own. Between the trunks, silhouettes emerged that defied logic: large, furry creatures covered in hair that reflected the evening light, with huge eyes that flashed like lanterns. The beings' eyes seemed to soak up the scant daylight and return it in glints that hypnotized anyone who looked at them.
The children, still trembling, stepped away from the woman and ran back to their homes, too scared to look back. That night, the memory of the shining eyes was etched into their minds, and the whisper of the ravine turned into a warning song they repeated silently.
Years passed and childhood was left behind. Andrés, now an adult, found refuge in the solitude of an urban park that rose among Pereira's buildings. It was a clear night, the moon hanging like a silver lamp over the rooftops. A group of young people had gathered to chat under the glow of old streetlamps when, suddenly, five lights appeared in a horizontal line, floating over the roofs like a row of wandering stars.
The display lasted only a heartbeat. The luminous cluster halted at a certain distance, spun on its axis with a speed that defied physics, and in a blink vanished into the night fog. The silence that followed was louder than any sound; the park‑goers were frozen, staring at the empty space where the mysterious formation had shone.
That event marked the beginning of a series of encounters Andrés would have in the years that followed, always under the cover of night. Every December, the tradition of the “birthday of Señor Jesús” gathered families on the main street to share food and prayers. In three consecutive Christmases, while carols rang from the balconies, Andrés spotted strange lights crossing the street, forming patterns that none of the onlookers could explain.
Three years ago, while riding in a taxi over the viaduct that spans the city, an unexpected vision took his breath away. Over the buildings that lined the bridge, a triangular craft with three flickering lights hovered, as if gravity were merely a suggestion. The craft slipped behind a skyscraper, vanished briefly, then reappeared to disappear behind another building, leaving only the echo of its light behind.
Two years later, Andrés rode the city bus that climbs to Alto del Nudo, a spot where the city opens onto the mountain and the air turns colder. Peering out the window, he saw five elongated lights, like incandescent cigarettes, lined up along the slope. Each cast a glow that stretched side to side, painting the rock with bands of blue and white. The bus kept moving, but the image was etched into the traveler’s memory.
Despite the number of sightings, Andrés never felt any telepathic communication with those entities. There were never whispers in his mind, nor messages that crossed the barrier of thought. All that remained was a sense of awe, that blend of fascination and fear that had followed him from the ravine of his childhood to the illuminated skies over Pereira.
As time went on, Andrés learned to accept that some questions would remain unanswered. Whenever the wind rattled the treetops or an unexpected light crossed the horizon, a part of him recalled the shining eyes of the furry creatures and the line of lights that one night had halted over the roofs. The awe, like a faint flame, kept burning inside him, reminding him that the universe holds mysteries that, even if not understood, deserve to be contemplated with the same reverence with which one watches a shooting star streak across the sky.
