The story
Julian arrived at the house after midnight, his steps unsteady and his head fogged by aguardiente, a strong liquor. The key trembled in the lock, but he managed to get in without waking anyone. In the dim hallway he barely made out the dog, a lazy criollo that was curled up like a ball next to the kitchen. On the floor, tucked in a corner, lay the red rubber ball they had bought him that very week; the animal hadn’t even bothered to bite it. Julian slipped off his shoes, fell onto the bed with his clothes on and closed his eyes, hoping the drowsiness from the drink would kill the dizziness.
The pre‑dawn silence in that quiet corner of the city was thick, broken only by the breeze shaking the clay tiles. Yet just a few minutes after he switched off the light, a dry sound shattered the calm.
It came from the laundry patio.
At first Julian thought the pet had gotten up late and wanted to play. But the dog usually huffed loudly and scraped its nails on the cement; instead, what could be heard was the swift, precise impact of an elastic object smashing against the clean brick wall. The rubber hit the wall, bounced off the floor and was caught again with an almost impossible dexterity in the dark.
Julian opened his eyes wide, frozen. The warmth of the alcohol vanished in an instant, replaced by an icy chill that raised the hairs on the back of his neck and ran down his spine like frozen water. He didn’t dare get up or turn the light back on.
That’s when, over the rhythmic bouncing, murmurs rose.
They were high, hissing, hurried voices, like children fighting over a turn on the playground. But no children lived in that house, and there were no neighbors close enough for their voices to slip in with such clarity into the bedroom.
“Throw it to me!” whispered one of the presences, almost pressed against the back door. “Give it to me, pass it over!”
The ball slammed against the wall again with unusual force. A tiny, light scurry darted across the wet tiles, followed by a dry giggle, lacking any innocence, that seemed to tear at the patio wood.
Fear pinned Julian to the mattress. He clenched his teeth, held his breath under the blankets and was convinced that the slightest creak of the bed would betray his wakefulness. Endless minutes passed as the bounces and the whispers alternated in a macabre round, until, suddenly, a tomb‑like stillness fell.
Dawn rose gray and heavy. Julian dragged himself out of the room, his feet dragging, his eyes darkened from the sleepless night. In the kitchen, Mariana was already filtering coffee into the little pot, while the dog stayed sprawled in its corner, oblivious to everything.
“Mariana… something really strange happened in the patio last night,” Julian confessed, his voice hoarse, pouring himself a cup with trembling hands. “I swear it wasn’t the drink. I felt the ball bounce off the wall and heard voices asking for it over and over.”
He expected a joke or a skeptical comment about his night of drinks, but his companion didn’t even blink. She lowered the flame on the stove slowly, looked at him with a stunned calm and let out a sigh of resignation.
“Ah, don’t pay any attention to that,” she said naturally. “It’s the duendecito, a little goblin spirit. When the house is empty or you’re not around, it always takes the ball out to play. I’ve gotten used to it.”
