The story
The old house with its thick rammed-earth walls and clay-tile roofs kept secrets that the wind blowing through the mountains of Boyacá made sure to silence every night. Those were times when the mountain breeze blew down freezing cold, chilling to the bone anyone daring to wander through the dark hallways. That building had witnessed a tragedy years ago, the dull pain of a woman who decided to end her life and her child's before their time. The locals whispered about the restless soul still wandering the cobblestone courtyards, searching for what she had lost.
Mateo, at barely thirteen years old, was all alone in one of the back rooms. Night wrapped the property in a blanket of thick shadows. The only flash of light in the gloom came from an old box television flickering with unsteady images. Outside, the silence was absolute until, suddenly, the screen blurred into a screeching, gray static. The boy blinked, bewildered, trying to figure out the technical glitch.
At that exact moment, a loud crash broke the calm. A heavy wooden door that led directly to the interior courtyard began to slam furiously against the frame, driven by a blast of freezing air that came from nowhere. Feeling a shiver crawl up his spine, Mateo hurried up and ran to secure the bolt, convinced he had simply been careless with the region's weather. But the moment he took two steps back toward his spot, the door to his own bedroom came to life. It opened and closed with extreme violence, a rhythmic and macabre swinging motion that seemed to defy the laws of physics.
The boy's heart hammered in his chest like a runaway drum. Fear, thick and paralyzing, took over every corner of his mind. Right when he thought the tension couldn't possibly rise any higher, a deafening sound echoed from the back of the property: the violent rush of a huge amount of water being dumped all at once against the bottom of the stone pool, known as an alberca. The splashing was so real, so forceful, it filled the air with the illusion of dampness.
A second later, the metallic squeak of the street door announced the arrival of his uncle. Without thinking twice, driven by a visceral panic, Mateo ran toward the entrance and bolted out into the dark street, terrified and out of breath. When he managed to explain what had happened to his relative through sobs, the two of them went back with flashlights in hand to inspect the courtyard. When they shined the beam of light toward the alberca, the confirmation froze both their blood: the stone pool was completely dry, covered in dust and dry leaves, without a single drop of water to justify the crash that still echoed in the boy's memory.
