The square of A'coruna shivers under the weight of tension. Villagers crowd the edges, their faces twisted with grief, anger, and fear.
The square smelled of smoke, sweat, and blood though none was freshly spilled. It was the scent of fear, accumulated over too many nights, clinging to the stones like moisture. By the time the church bells rang to mark the hour of the trial, the people of A'coruna had already crowded the square, packed shoulder to shoulder, their eyes burning with a hunger that Manuel recognized all too well.
Not hunger for justice.
Hunger for certainty.
For something…
anything….., to blame.
And standing in the center of it, bound by rope and surrounded by armed hunters, was me.
My face was gaunt, sickly pale from the night's chaos. My wrists were raw from struggling earlier, though he no longer fought. I sat on the ground, back against the wooden post they'd tied him to, staring ahead with a hollow expression. The mark that had once burned across my hands was gone, every trace of it.
But the memory of it wasn't.
Not for Me.
Not for the villagers.
Not for the dozen grieving mothers watching me with eyes dried from too much crying.
Manuel stood several paces away among the circle of hunters. I saw Maria beside him, her posture stiff, jaw clenched. Ivan stood on the opposite end, gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles whitened. And Bruno… Bruno looked at Theo with a father's rage, the kind that came from imagining his daughter Isa torn apart on the forest floor.
The elders raised their staffs. The murmuring softened.
The trial was beginning.
But my heart was already sinking. The villagers didn't come for truth. They came for punishment.
And I…
I believed I deserved it, for I had hidden the truth that if I had told sooner would have saved children's life. No more….
I wouldn't hide.
One of the elders stepped forward. "The accused will speak," he announced. "Before judgment is given."
The crowd snarled, spat curses. Someone shouted, "He slaughtered them! They found him standing over the bodies!" The midday sun cuts hard lines across the stone, but its warmth does nothing to ease the chill in the air. Every whisper from the crowd is a small drumbeat of accusation.
I exhaled slowly.
I knew why they brought him here.
I knew what they suspected.
And I knew I couldn't turn back. I stepped forward, speaking, my voice quiet but deliberate, trembling at first, then gaining strength as the words poured out, as though they had waited inside me all these years to be freed.
I blink, and the stones of A'coruna's square feel unreal beneath my knees. They glare up at me, expectant and accusing. But I am not here yet. I am back there. I am six years younger. I am sixteen, raw with the stench of blood and sweat, my stomach hollow from weeks without food. The sun hadn't touched me for days, only the shadowed walls of the cave, damp and unyielding, pressing in on every side.
I was stuck not alone but it would have been so much better if I was, we were battling for the ports from the English and our shop sank way below level ground and we found ourselves off shore on land or as we would come to know below it, we were trapped, injured and starving for days.
Our best swimmers couldn't reach up top, all hope was lost ...
I could still hear them scream. My comrades. My friends. Their voices rise and fall like waves, each one swallowed by darkness before I can even answer. Their faces float before me twisted, half-formed, their eyes staring past me, into a place I could not reach. I couldn't breathe. My lungs were on fire. My chest cracked with the weight of every death. I was alone, though surrounded. I was small, fragile, and I knew I would die there.
And then I hear it.
Let me in. Let me in. Let me in.
At first, I think it's my own mind, fracturing, splitting, a fevered delirium. But it wasn't me. It was something else. Something ancient. Something empty, whispering from inside the void I felt behind my ribs, curling around my spine, and sliding like ice over my skin.
It didn't have a shape I could name.
It was only hunger, only cold, only insistence. I couldn't fight it. I collapsed. My knees buckle. My hands scrape the rough stone. My teeth grinded. I try to scream, but my throat is a tomb.
And I die...
Or so I thought.
I open my eyes and the cave was gone. The smell of rot was replaced by salt air and sunlight. The cliffs were not above me, they were behind me.
The city lies before me, A'coruna, the place I once called home.
But it is not home. Not anymore. I was wrong. The world was wrong.
Something inside me was wrong. I felt it writhing, tethered to my bones. Something I couldn't see, couldn't touch, couldn't name, but it was there.
I run. I run without direction. I feel my legs carry me as though guided by some invisible hand, as though the streets themselves had known me all along.
I couldn't stop. I couldn't rest. I couldn't trust the light. Every child I pass in the alleys their laughter, their innocence brought a gnawing sense of dread to my chest. I felt it reach for them, and for a moment, panic paralyzes me. What if what was inside that cave, was inside me
I vanish into the shadows of the city. I changed my name. I forged new papers, new friends, new paths. I mapped every alley, every port, every cliff and cave.
I traced the outlines of every building, every secret hiding place. But nothing, I couldn't find it…..
I couldn't find the place where I was so sure my comrades had died. So I try to logically explain it to myself, maybe it wasn't real….
Maybe the war had messed with me.
So I decided I was given a second chance at life, I wouldn't waste it searching for something that may not be real.
Until….
Until the children started dying.
I felt the tug. It is subtle at first, a vibration under my skin, a whisper behind my thoughts. I fight it. I push it away. I hide myself deeper, avoiding contact, avoiding warmth, avoiding connection. But one night, Paul; my only friend here, a person who truly made me feel like I belonged, was killed, because he wanted to play hero.
His limbs ripped apart as though by some inhuman machinery. The darkness fed, it laughed, and I felt it surge inside me. It wanted me. It wanted me to open the door. And I realize… if I hide, others innocent like Paul would die. If I act, I may die or worse I would realize that I killed my only friend.
So I needed to know more, I needed to know if I had truly succumbed to this creature or if maybe I could be the one to stop it .
And now… here I am.
Tied. Surrounded. Expected to answer for sins I may not have committed but cannot deny might exist. The rope cuts into my wrists. The sun warms my face. I do not know if I will survive the hour. But I know one thing:
If it is me, I will end it. Even if it means ending myself.
The courtyard held its breath.
Theo's final words
"If it's me… I'll end myself to stop this" hung above the crowd like a ghost refusing to leave.
It wasn't silence. Not really. It was the sort of soundlessness that forms right after an explosion, when dust still hangs in the air and everyone is waiting to see what survived.
Faces twisted. Fear. Confusion. Rage. A few flickers of pity, quickly stomped out.
Because pity made you vulnerable in A'coruna now.
Bruno was the first to step forward, jaw clenched so tightly the veins in his neck bulged.
"Enough."
His voice cracked across the square like a whip. "You tell us this story to spare your life? You expect us to believe you didn't slaughter those children? That you didn't tear Paul apart like an animal? That a voice in your head absolves you?"
Theo didn't look away. Didn't defend himself. Didn't beg.
"I don't expect anything," he said, voice barely steady. "I only told you the truth."
"That's the problem," Bruno snapped. "Truth doesn't matter anymore. Fear does."
A murmur rolled through the villagers agreement, desperation, the rising panic of people drowning in uncertainty.
Someone shouted, "Hang him now!"
Another yelled, "Before nightfall! Before it comes back!"
A third, voice cracking, screamed, "My daughter died because of him! KILL HIM!"
The fragile thread holding the crowd together snapped.
Parents surged forward, held back only by the hunters forming a shield around the platform. Weapons drawn. Shaking hands. Eyes wide. Nobody wanted to fire. Nobody wanted to spill blood in a situation already soaked in it.
I raised both arms.
"STOP!"
Shockingly, they did.
"If Theo is bound to this creature," I said, breathing hard, "then killing him recklessly might unleash it even faster."
This shook some of them. Others only grew angrier fear twisting into something uglier.
Bruno turned on me.
"You're willing to risk Isa's life because of a maybe?"
Maria stepped in before I could respond, her voice cold steel.
"And you're willing to murder a man because it's easier than admitting we don't understand the rules of this monster."
Bruno snarled. "My daughter"
"You are not the only one who stands to lose their loved ones if we are wrong," Maria shot back. "Don't preach about loss, cause we have all dealt with it. If killing Theo guaranteed safety, I'd slit his throat myself. But it guarantees nothing."
Ivan crossed his arms. "Arguments waste time. Night falls soon."
The villagers roared again, demanding blood, demanding safety, demanding answers no one had.
And in the middle of the chaos, Theo lowered his head not in shame, but in a kind of weary acceptance.
He looked like a man already standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting for the wind to decide his fate.
Meanwhile on the outskirts of town, Matteo's granduncle hut was located there, smoke-stained, crooked from age, and filled with thousands of secrets no one had ever been brave enough to read.
Inside, the air was thick dust, ink, the faint scent of burnt herbs, the hut felt even smaller tonight.
The air itself seemed to shrink with every passing breath, the walls packed tight with shelves of brittle scrolls, cracked leather-bound books, and loose sheafs of paper inked with a language older than Spain itself. The single lantern hissed as if suffocating, its flame flickering low with every gust of wind that pushed against the half-sealed shutters.
Francisco couldn't sit still. His knee bounced beneath the table, fingers drumming against the wooden surface, movements sharp and frantic. Every few seconds he'd tense, look over his shoulder, then force himself back into the books.
He could hear his heartbeat in his teeth.
Ana sat across from him, her hands trembling violently though she tried to hide it under folded fingers. The dried blood beneath her nails, blood that belonged to someone innocent, It looked like rusted guilt etched into her skin. She turned through another page of Matteo's granduncle's manuscript, staring so long her eyes watered, then blinking hard as she whispered,
"Dios… why can't we find anything…?"
Isabella paced the cramped room like a caged animal. Sweat clung to her brow despite the cold. Every turn brought her too close to the shelves; once she knocked into a stack of scrolls and nearly sent them crashing.
"Careful," Ana murmured reflexively but she sounded hollow, as if she didn't expect anything to help anymore.
Matteo kneeled in front of a low chest at the far end of the room, the old wood groaning as he pried it open. Dust plumed out like death's breath. The boy coughed, waving his hand through the cloud. His movements were shaky but determined, he had changed since his granduncle died. His fear had hardened into something sharper.
Francisco watched him sift through the chest, and guilt gnawed at him. He had led them into the forest. He had thought he could track the creature. And because of him,
Matteo was injured.
Jorge was broken.
Children were dead.
Theo was sentenced to die.
And now the creature…
It was getting stronger.
"I don't understand," Francisco whispered. "He must've written something. Something that explains what we're dealing with."
"He did," Matteo muttered, voice tight with frustration. "But it's not in any order. This is years of his life, hundreds of pages and he wrote in three different languages and something else I can't even recognize."
Isabella stopped pacing.
"Something else?"
"Something he called the Shadow Tongue," Matteo said, pulling out a scroll. "He said the creature speaks it in dreams."
Ana inhaled sharply.
"Dreams…? Santa María…"
"You think Theo" Francisco began, but Matteo cut him off.
"I don't know," he snapped, and his voice cracked hard enough that he pressed his lips shut, embarrassed. A tear streaked down his cheek, surprising him. "I just… I just want this to make sense."
The lantern sputtered violently.
The room seemed to dim at once.
Francisco's stomach dropped.
"Is the wind getting worse?"
"No," Isabella whispered. "That wasn't the wind."
Matteo froze, scroll still in his hands.
"Then what…"
A low groan vibrated through the hut's wooden frame faint but unmistakable, like distant thunder folded into a whisper. All four turned toward the door.
Ana's breath hitched.
"It can't be here. It can't…"
"It's not here." Francisco forced the words out even though he didn't entirely believe them. "It's… something else. The storm. Maybe."
Another groan.
Closer.
Matteo swallowed.
"Work faster."
They scrambled.
Scrolls spread across the floor. Books slapped open. Ink-smudged pages littered the table. Each breath sounded too loud, too shaky. Time was grinding down like a blade.
The villagers will kill Theo before sundown.
If we don't find something now, they'll hang an innocent or worse release the creature if it was inside him.
Francisco grabbed a thick, brittle book and flipped through with frantic, clumsy fingers. His eyes blurred. The symbols tangled together. His breathing turned shallow.
Stop shaking. Stop shaking. Stop shaking.
Isabella abruptly slammed a book shut and shoved it aside.
"There has to be something about the possession. Or the symbol. Or the rules. Didn't he say it follows patterns?"
"Yes," Matteo whispered, digging deeper through the chest. "He said everything it does is ritual. Nothing random."
"Then why can't we find the ritual?" Francisco snapped before he could stop himself. The desperation in his voice echoed off the walls.
Ana rubbed her forehead hard with her palms, dragging them down her face.
"We're missing something. Something obvious. Something…"
"Wait."
Matteo froze mid-sentence.
He pulled out a thin leather notebook, smaller than the others almost delicate bound with a faded red string. He opened it slowly.
His breath caught.
"What is it?" Isabella whispered, stepping closer.
Matteo didn't answer immediately. His eyes scanned quicker, then faster, fingers trembling as he flipped through pages. Softly, under his breath, he murmured parts of the old tongue.
Then..
"…I found something."
Francisco shot to his feet so fast his chair toppled backward.
"What? What does it say?"
Matteo exhaled shakily.
"It's… it's about the feeding cycle."
Ana stiffened.
"Feeding?"
Matteo nodded.
"Yes. It says the creature; El Cucuy, or whatever this really is can only manifest fully in physical form after feeding on innocence. It's… like a metamorphosis."
"Like a snake shedding skin?" Isabella asked.
"No." Matteo swallowed. "Like a child graduating into a monster."
A cold silence fell over the hut.
Francisco's mouth went dry.
"How many children does it need?"
Matteo hesitated.
"It depends. On how long it last fed ."
Ana pressed a hand to her heart.
"Dios mío…"
"That's why it took so many at once," Matteo continued. His voice steadied as he read. "It wasn't trying to feed it was trying to ascend. To reach its… true form."
Francisco felt the blood drain from his face.
"And once it does…?"
Matteo lifted the lantern closer to the page.
"Once sated, the creature rests.
It needs time to digest the innocence it's stolen.
It will not kill again until the cycle begins anew, which may take days or weeks."
A stunned silence.
Then Isabella whispered the hope they were all thinking:
"Then… tonight… we're safe?"
Matteo nodded.
Ana collapsed onto the nearest stool, relief crashing through her so hard she nearly wept.
"Gracias… gracias al cielo…"
Francisco's chest rose and fell in unsteady gulps. The weight on his ribs loosened for the first time in days.
"We have to take this to the trial," Isabella said. "If Theo isn't the monster, if something else is acting through him, this is our only chance to buy more time."
"We have to move," Francisco agreed. "Now."
Matteo closed the notebook, clutching it like a lifeline.
But as he stood, he hesitated.
"What if they don't listen?" he whispered. "What if they kill him anyway…?"
Francisco looked at him, really looked at him and saw the terrified child beneath the angry grief.
Then he put a hand on Matteo's shoulder.
"Then we shout. Then we fight. Then we stand in front of him if we have to. Because if he's really innocent… then killing him only feeds the monster's plan."
Matteo swallowed hard, nodding.
Ana rose to her feet as well, wiping her eyes. Her grief didn't vanish, but something steadied in her expression.
A mother's resolve.
"Let's go," she said. "Before they do something we can't undo."
Isabella grabbed the lantern.
Francisco grabbed the notebook.
Matteo grabbed what remained of his courage.
And together breathless, terrified, hopeful they sprinted into the night toward the trial.
They ran because maybe just maybe, they weren't too late.
But the elders had gathered.
Villagers pressed forward in a tightening ring around Theo, who was forced to kneel on the wooden platform. A rope hung above him, swaying slightly in the coastal wind.
The sun dipped lower.
Shadows stretched long.
Night was coming.
I (Manuel) stood between the executioner and Theo, breathing hard, his body the last barrier. "We need more time. Killing him now could"
"We are done listening to theories," an elder snapped. "Fear has stripped this town to its bones. We act now or…"
A villager screamed from somewhere in the back:
"Hang him!"
"For the children!"
"Before darkness falls!"
Bruno clenched his spear, jaw trembling.
He was seconds away from endorsing the execution. Not because he wanted Theo dead…
But because terror for Isa was suffocating him.
Theo looked out at the sea of faces none friendly, none forgiving.
"I understand," he said softly. "If I were you… I'd kill me too."
And somehow, that made it worse.
A man accepting his death felt more monstrous than any denial could have.
The elder lifted his hand, ready to signal the execution.
Theo closed his eyes.
Bruno tightened his grip.
I whispered, "Please… not like this."
And then,
HORSES.
Thunderous.
Fast.
Dozens.
The ground trembled under their iron hooves.
People scattered in panic.
And through the smoke of trampled dirt and kicked-up dust emerged soldiers armor glinting in the failing light, rifles far more advanced than anything A'coruna owned.
At their head was a man with a long coat, grey at the temples, scars stitching across one eye, his expression carved from stone.
A General, his medals gave him away but this was not just any general, I knew him from my time in the war.
He was General Suarez .
Cold.
Commanding.
Unreadable.
He didn't slow his horse as he reached the platform.
He didn't look at the villagers.
He didn't acknowledge the hunters.
His eyes locked on Theo.
"Remove that rope," Suarez ordered.
The executioner froze.
The elders paled.
I whispered, stunned, "General…?"
Suarez dismounted with military precision, boots hitting the earth like falling hammers.
His voice was deathly calm.
"Theodore Arguello is a deserter of war."
A beat.
"He is a prisoner under MY jurisdiction."
Guns lifted around the villagers dozens of trained soldiers aiming at untrained, panicked townsfolk.
"You will lower your weapons," Suarez commanded, "or I will consider this an act of treason."
Even Bruno lowered his spear.
The elder stepped forward, voice shaking.
"We….. We have reason to believe he is tied to the monster murdering our children. We can't allow him to leave."
Suarez stepped into his space, towering.
"You have no authority to decide his death."
His tone sharpened.
"Only I do."
"He lives and dies under MY command."
Then the General did something unexpected.
He turned slowly, locking eyes with Theo.
And for the first time, Theo's expression changed.
Not fear.
Not relief.
Recognition.
And dread.
As if suddenly, this… THIS was the moment he'd feared for years.
Suarez's voice dropped low.
"Stand, soldier."
Theo did.
Not because he wanted to.
But because something in Squarez's voice left no room for defiance.
And in that frozen, breathless moment
Matteo, Isa, Francisco, and Ana burst into the square, panting, clutching the manuscript.
Only to see the rope being cut…
…and Theo being marched toward the soldiers…
…and the General watching everything with an emotionless gaze that promised one thing:
The chaos wasn't ending.
It was escalating.