Twilight was slowly fading, allowing darkness to engulf the village. Carlos Méndez's house, situated on the edge of the neighborhood, seemed even more secluded as shadows stretched across the garden and climbed up the exterior walls. The night breeze barely moved the leaves of the trees, but the cold air that permeated the atmosphere made it denser, almost suffocating.
Carlos was sitting on the living room sofa, staring intently at a cold cup of coffee he had forgotten hours ago. *His thoughts were caught in a constant cycle of doubt and anxiety*, trapped between logic and the inexplicable. In his mind, he tried to cling to any trace of rationality, but with each passing minute in that house, he felt his skepticism crumbling.
He couldn't stop thinking about Lucía, about how much his life had changed since her death. The house, which had been a place of refuge and comfort, now felt like a prison. The shadows seemed to have a life of their own, moving in the darkest corners, always lurking. The noises—those small creaks and murmurs—had become almost unbearable. But the worst was that constant presence, that feeling of being watched, as if someone's eyes were always fixed on his back.
Carlos let out a long sigh, feeling the weight of exhaustion on his shoulders. He bitterly remembered the nights he tried to sleep only to be awakened by footsteps echoing from upstairs, as if someone were slowly walking toward his bedroom. Although he knew the house was empty, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was not alone.
Rationality had ceased to be a safe refuge. The phenomena had gone beyond simple noises. Doors closing by themselves, lights flickering for no apparent reason, and those whispers… *Those whispers that seemed to be heard just as he was about to fall asleep*, as if an unknown voice were speaking to him from the threshold between wakefulness and sleep.
The phone rang suddenly, cutting through the dense silence surrounding him. The sound made his heart skip a beat, breaking the steady rhythm of his breathing. He blinked, confused. No one called at those hours, especially since he had stopped communicating with friends and family, who no longer knew what to say to him after Lucía's death. He had fallen into isolation, sheltering in his home as the strange events multiplied.
He cautiously got up and walked to the phone hanging on the wall in the hallway. The device, an old model, seemed out of place in a digital world, and its insistent ringtone resonated with an intensity that heightened his discomfort. He picked up the receiver and brought it to his ear.
—Hello? —he said hesitantly, hoping to hear a voice on the other end that would provide some explanation.
There was a long silence. At first, he thought the line was dead. Only the echo of the wind moving through the receiver could be heard. Then, suddenly, a soft, muffled voice whispered his name.
—Carlos…
The world seemed to stop. His name echoed in his ears, and his skin instantly goosebumped. That voice was unmistakable, though he could barely process what it meant. The tone, the rhythm of the words, belonged to someone who should no longer be in this world.
—Lucía… —he murmured breathlessly, as if by saying her name reality might snap back into place.
The receiver in his hand trembled, and for a moment, everything he had suppressed during those long months of mourning surfaced. But before he could say anything else, the line abruptly went dead. Carlos stood there, holding the phone, feeling the cold of the house penetrate his bones.
The phone remained silent. The bill, which he hadn't paid for weeks, he knew well. And yet, he had heard her voice. He knew it was real, or at least it seemed to be. But then, how was that possible?
He stepped back a few paces, his breathing agitated, trying not to lose control. He knew something was terribly wrong in that house, something that couldn't be explained by logic. And the call… That call had left him with a feeling of emptiness in his stomach, as if the very air had been ripped from around him. Lucía's presence was still there, somewhere, and her voice now added to the strange phenomena surrounding him.
Time seemed to stretch as Carlos tried to compose himself. He returned to the living room, his steps slower, as if an invisible force was holding him back. He collapsed back onto the sofa, looking around with distrustful eyes. The clock on the wall marked the time, but time felt distorted, as if he were trapped in a bubble isolating him from the outside world.
The night progressed, and with it, the house came to life. The creaks and sounds from the upper floor grew more intense. But this time, Carlos didn't move. He decided not to react, not to give them the power to control him. However, when the footsteps began to descend the stairs, his body tensed instinctively.
The footsteps were slow, deliberate, almost as if the presence causing them were enjoying every moment, every second that their invisible feet touched the old wooden steps. Carlos felt his heart pounding fiercely in his temples. He knew this was different. *Something was changing.*
He stood up from the sofa, the fear in his chest growing with each step he took toward the base of the stairs. And then he saw it. The bedroom door of Lucía, always closed, was now ajar, letting a long shadow cast down the hallway. In the threshold, a blurry figure seemed to be waiting, its diffuse silhouette barely perceptible in the dim light.
The cold intensified, and Carlos felt his legs weaken, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. It couldn't be real. And yet, there it was, a dark figure, motionless, watching him from a distance.
But before he could move, the doorbell rang, breaking the spell of terror that enveloped him. The sound reverberated throughout the house like thunder in a silent storm. Carlos turned abruptly toward the front door, and when he looked back at the bedroom, the figure had disappeared. The hallway was empty, as if nothing had happened.
Carlos's heart was still pounding in his chest as he walked toward the door. He opened it, and there she was: Madam Morgana, standing in the doorway, with a calm yet penetrating gaze that seemed to pierce through him. She wore a long coat, and her eyes seemed to shine in the light of the outside street lamps.
With a half-smile on her lips, Morgana looked directly at him and said:
—Madam Morgana at your service. Sorry for the delay.