The wind howled through the ancient cobblestone path leading up to the old monastery. Perched atop a hill, the building stood like a forgotten monument—a relic of stone and shadows. Javier, a writer plagued by weeks of creative block, had sought inspiration in every corner of his life without success. He had heard of the Parador of San Geppetto Monastery, a place steeped in legends, the perfect retreat during the off-season, when the corridors' echoes seemed to whisper secrets from other times.
Upon his arrival, Javier was greeted by an elderly receptionist with trembling hands and sunken eyes, a man who seemed as much a part of the ancient furnishings as the monastery itself. He handed Javier a heavy iron key, fitting perfectly with the gothic and aged atmosphere of the place. The silence in the corridors felt oppressive, as if the stone walls harbored the weight of countless years of solitude.
Javier was led to his room in the eastern wing, where the candle flames of the candelabras flickered with the drafts slipping through the window's cracks. The room was austere, with a four-poster bed draped in dusty lace curtains. A crucifix hung on the wall, its wood darkened by time, and in the corner, a full-length mirror reflected his figure, distorting the shadows around him.
That first night, exhausted after hours of fruitlessly attempting to write, Javier collapsed onto the bed, enveloped by the profound silence of the Parador. His eyes barely had time to close before he drifted into a strange dream.
In the dream, the room felt colder, the air thick and heavy with the scent of ancient incense. A soft murmur came from the hallway, like the prayers of a spectral congregation. Javier rose in the dream and opened the door, finding himself face to face with a solitary figure—a nun, dressed in a black habit and veil as dark as the night itself, her eyes reflecting an unfathomable sadness.
"You shouldn't be here…" the nun whispered, her voice resonating like a distant echo, fading before it could reach the silence.
Javier tried to speak, but the words died in his throat. The nun turned away, but before disappearing down the hallway, she cast a glance over her shoulder, her eyes conveying centuries of solitude.
When he awoke, the writer found himself sweating and trembling. The room was as cold as it had been in the dream, and the scent of incense still seemed to linger in the air. He glanced at the clock—barely two hours had passed since he had gone to bed, yet he felt as if he had lived an entire night within that dream.
But instead of feeling fear, Javier felt inspired, as if the apparition had planted a creative seed in his mind. He sat at his laptop and began writing down the details with surprising precision, as if someone else were guiding his hands.
The first encounter had been brief, but there was something in the nun's gaze that he couldn't shake. He wrote for hours, describing the dream with an almost feverish obsession, feeling every word like a whisper in his ear, each line an echo of a story that yearned to be told.
During the day, Javier wandered around the Parador, exploring its deserted halls and the empty gardens surrounding the ancient monastery. He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched from the windows or from the shadows in the corridors—a ghostly presence following him in his solitude. In the afternoon, he spoke with the receptionist, who shared some stories about the monastery, hinting at a tragic tale of a nun who lived centuries ago. The old man refrained from giving too many details, but he mentioned that her soul had never found peace.
Javier felt an irresistible pull towards the story. Could it be possible that the nun in his dream was the same spirit from the local legends? That night, he went to bed with anticipation, hoping to see her again.
The second night, the dream returned. This time, the nun lingered longer at the threshold of the room, her eyes holding an eternal gaze of pain and melancholy. She introduced herself as Sister Catalina and spoke softly, her voice rhythmic and hypnotic. She told him fragments of her life at the monastery, of her lonely nights praying for forgiveness that never came, of a forbidden love condemned by the rules that bound her.
Javier awoke again, breathing heavily, with the nun's face etched into his mind. Without a second thought, he began to write down everything he could remember, feeling an inexplicable connection to her, as if every word he wrote was a thread tying them together across time.
In the days that followed, the writer continued his solitary routine at the Parador, and each night, Sister Catalina returned in his dreams, revealing new details of her life and tragedy. With every encounter, Javier felt something dark and ancient stirring within him—a desire to learn more, to delve into her pain and share it, to save a soul lost in the shadows of the past.
The somber, gothic tone of the story deepened with each night, and deep in his heart, Javier knew he could not escape the nun's presence, nor the fate that seemed to have been set in motion the moment he crossed the threshold of that ancient monastery.