Blood

The previous night had been a mirage of peace, a trap set with the delicacy of a spider. Julián had gone to bed feeling light, almost euphoric, and had allowed himself the luxury of sleep. Real sleep, no waking, no nightmares, just a deep, dark oblivion.

At dawn, that illusion was shattered.

He woke with a gasp, as if a slab of concrete had solidified on his chest. Every muscle ached; fatigue had returned, multiplied. Relief had evaporated, leaving the metallic taste of panic in his mouth. But his family was breathing beside him. That was real. He clung to that single thread of sanity.

At breakfast, the silence was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Neither Akari nor the children touched their food.

" Dad. " Haru murmured, breaking the silence. Her voice was just a whisper. " Hana and I... had the same dream. "

Julián felt a chill. " The same one? "

Hana nodded, her large dark eyes filled with a terror that was not appropriate for her age. " A lady in a white dress, completely soaked. She was walking down the hallways, but... I don't think she was walking, she was gliding. And she was crying. But when she saw us, she stopped crying and smiled at us. "

" And we couldn't scream. " Haru added, staring at her plate. " We could only run, and she was always behind us, whispering your name. "

At that moment, the hot coffee Julian was trying to swallow betrayed him. It went down the wrong way, not as a liquid, but like a snake of fire. He coughed violently, choking, and tears clouded his vision. The panic in his eyes was not because he was choking, but because of the confirmation: it hadn't gone away. It was stronger. And now it was coming for his children.

Before Akari could reach him, before she could catch her breath, a sound exploded in the morning.

A loud sound lurked at the door. They weren't ordinary knocks. It was the sound of an axe against a tree, dull and violent, as if they wanted to knock the wood down by force.

Julián froze. Terror paralyzed his blood. Was it her, having found a way to materialize her fury? Or was it the police, arriving twenty-five years late to collect their debt?

With hands shaking like leaves in a storm, he approached and opened the door.

He was a middle-aged man from the village, wearing farm clothes soaked in cold sweat. He had no hat; he had lost it in the rush. His eyes were filled with pure terror.

" Are you Julián?, The one who went to Japan? " she gasped, breathless.

" Yes... it's me. What's going on? "

" Sir... you have to come. Right now. " the man crossed himself once, twice, three times, mechanically and spasmodically. " It's Don Mateo. The sorcerer. They... they found him..."

" What did they find? " asked Julián, even though he already knew. He could smell it in the foul air.

" Dead! They found him dead in the square! But sir... " The man approached, his breath reeking of bile and fear. " It wasn't a natural death. He... he wrote something. With what he had left. He wrote... your name. "

Julián didn't wait to hear more. He pushed the messenger of terror aside and bolted. He ran through the cobblestone streets like a man possessed, his family's screams chasing him like distant echoes.

The square was a scene from a nightmare.

A semicircle of locals stood at a distance, some vomiting, others praying the rosary in terrified voices, others simply paralyzed, staring blankly. In the center, next to the dry stone fountain, lay what remained of Don Mateo.

Her body didn't look human. It looked like a rag doll that had been dragged behind a train. Her limbs were twisted at grotesque angles, sharp white bones poking through her skin and torn fabric. Her torso was a mangled mess of flesh and bone. But her face... her face was intact. Her eyes, clouded by cataracts, were wide open, frozen in an expression of such utter horror that it was impossible to look at them.

And then, Julian saw it. The message.

It wasn't written next to the body. It was written with the body. A long, shaky trail of blood and internal fluids trailed from the wizard's remains, forming twisted, stained letters on the gray stones of the square. 

JULIAN, DON'T YOU REMEMBER ME ANYMORE?

The question hung in the air, a whisper shouted from beyond. It wasn't just a threat. It was an intimate cry, an open wound of spite and abandonment.

Julián not only turned pale, but also fainted inside. The world lost all its color and turned into a scale of grays. An uncontrollable nausea, born from the depths of his soul, rose up his throat. He bent over a flower bed and vomited until there was nothing left, until only dry, bitter retching came out.

Not only had the talisman failed to work, it had been an insult to her. An act of arrogance that had sealed the witch's death sentence and unleashed all of Elena's pent-up fury.

No ritual could save them. No forgiveness could appease that thirst for revenge. With the strength he had left, staggering, he began his journey home. The town gate was no longer a way out. It was the mouth of a personal hell that awaited them on the other side. They would not leave Mexico. They would flee through it, certain that the woman in the wet dress would be in the back seat.