Chapter 5
Jimena arrived at the house the next day, but it didn’t feel like a victory. She came accompanied by one of the twins, as Mónica had stayed behind at the hospital, unwell. The doctors were running some tests on her.
"But it’s nothing serious," Jimena hurried to say. The week-long hospital stay had taken its toll on her body, usually athletic and muscular, now gaunt and sad. "Dad’s with her, and she’ll probably be discharged tomorrow."
Javi helped her sit in the kitchen, offering her the only chair in the room that wasn’t plastic. He draped a crocheted blanket with little flowers over her shoulders and kissed her sunken cheek. The freckles on the redhead’s face looked like stars surviving in a dying universe.
"Are you hungry, Jime?" Javi offered. "I could cook something…"
"I’m dying for Chinese food," she said suddenly. Javi frowned. "There’s a place near the hospital; the smell was driving me crazy. Why don’t you and Ron go grab some? They don’t do delivery."
It was true—almost no businesses in the area worked with delivery apps. Javi made a face, clearly reluctant, signaling that he’d rather stay with her. But unable to refuse his girlfriend’s wishes, he motioned to Ron, and they left the cabin that served as their home.
The cicadas vibrated in the night, barely interrupted by the distant sound of cumbia music playing somewhere.
Herminia sat down, and leaning on the table, just a few inches away, she realized her friend was holding back tears.
"Jime, is everything…?"
"I want to talk to you," Jimena said. Her voice was rough, bitter, as if unsure of what she was about to say.
"Did something happen?" Herminia asked. The redhead looked at her, her eyes glistening, wet, and full of fear.
"Mini, while I was in a coma… I dreamed the same thing every day," Jimena whispered, letting tears fall into the hollows of her cheeks. "He has a message for you."
"What?" Jimena suddenly seemed consumed, her bloodshot eyes and skeletal face giving her a haunted look. Her body seemed to blur, merging with the image of the drug addict who had accosted her on the first day at the beach.
"Who?"
"He's a man. I don’t know who he is; I’ve never seen him. He’s... handsome, with black hair, slicked back. He told me… he told me he’s waiting for you."
Herminia opened her mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come.
"Jime, maybe what they gave you made you…" she began.
"You know there’s something strange about everything that’s happened since we got here," Jimena interrupted. "The woman on the beach, the key in your bag, the house of riddles, the dead man we saw. Mini, I don’t remember anything from the night I almost died, but there’s one thing I can tell you. I would never take those pills. I would never try to kill myself."
The redhead's desperation was building, and Herminia could feel the vibration of the room shaking, announcing a presence, as if part of hell had seeped into the space with them.
"Enough, Jimena! Stop scaring me! That damn house means nothing!" Herminia stood up, ready to leave the room when Jimena’s phone started vibrating frantically on the table. Ron’s picture appeared, and Herminia felt fear grip her stomach like the tip of a hook.
The redhead answered, frightened.
"Hello?"
What little color Jimena had in her face drained away. The phone slipped from her hand, hitting the floor with a dull thud, her mouth open in a silent scream and her blue eyes unfocused.
"What… what happened?" Herminia asked, bracing for the worst.
A moment passed before Jimena could respond. Her voice broke through, but her spirit seemed completely absent.
"Mom… Mom had a stroke. Dad’s in jail."
"What?"
"Mini, we need to go to the police station."
Across from the police station was a square where hippies performed acrobatics. She let the wind tousle her hair, shaking off some of the fear she had felt. Arturo had suffered a panic attack, and the doctors deemed it necessary for the police to intervene while they treated Mónica. He’d only spent a short time in the police station’s holding cell—a wonderful treatment for a poor man who had just had a panic attack. After shouting a bit and committing the crime of impersonating a real lawyer, the cops apologized and released a calmer but still anxious Arturo, eager for news about his wife. The Weasleys had all marched off to the hospital together, but she thought it would be better to have a moment alone.
What a disaster of a vacation, she thought. They probably won’t invite me next year.
She could hear children laughing and saw them clapping their small hands, cheering for the hippies walking on their hands or juggling oranges. They hadn’t even bothered to dress as clowns, she thought irritably. The performance was half-hearted, and yet they had the audacity to ask for donations. But the truth was, there was so little to do in this town that the novelty of the acrobatics at least deserved the applause they had just received.
She sighed. Well, the place would be boring if it weren’t for all the secrets it hid.
People came and went. Some walked their dogs, others chatted with their partners, and a few carried books in their hands, using their fingers as placeholders. She sat there for a while, not thinking about anything, feeling the darkness inside her begin to settle, when a familiar figure blocked her view.
"Javi," she greeted him with little enthusiasm. "Did they send you to find me?"
Javier sat down beside her and pulled out a cigarette. He shook his head as he lit it, struggling against the stubborn wind.
"No, I just need a break too." He took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled, the smoke scribbling shapes in the wind. Herminia turned her gaze away; she didn’t want to see the image of the skull materializing there as well.
"What a vacation, huh?"
Javi nodded, his eyes distant, his glasses slightly askew on his face.
"Yeah. What a vacation."
"I want to think that in a few years we’ll look back on this and laugh," she said, fully aware of how insincere the words were.
"That’s if we’re even still talking by then. I don’t think the Weasleys will invite me again."
Herminia laughed. Javi felt the same as she did—that they were the common denominator in all the disasters that had unfolded.
A woman was yelling at her husband, "Fifteen sausages for twenty people? You’re such an idiot, Mario!" and Herminia managed to laugh again. She glanced over at Javi, who was also smiling at the absurdity of the scene.
"Any news about Moni?" she asked, breaking the spell of their shared ignorance.
Javi shook his head. "Having a stroke is tough. My Aunt Margarita, who also lived around here, passed away like that—from a stroke. Her gardener found her. It was horrible because she’d been stuck in the house with her dogs for days, and, well, the animals did what animals do. Anyway, I don’t know why I’m even talking about this," he added nervously.
Herminia chuckled.
"It’s okay, Javi," she said, sighing as the smell of his cigarette seeped into her, giving her a headache.
"What did Jime want when she kicked us out of the house?" he asked suddenly.
Herminia looked at him, surprised by her friend’s perceptiveness. To be fair, the redhead hadn’t been subtle about clearing everyone out except her.
"It’s nothing."
"No, tell me. Even if it’s nothing, I want to know. She didn’t seem okay."
She sighed. Javi usually had a steady hand when it came to irrational matters. He’d played for Tigre’s youth football team for a season, but after injuring his ankle—and after a motivational talk from her—he’d started studying engineering. The discipline had straightened him out, making him the person she leaned on when her emotions got out of control and she needed serious advice.
"She talked to me about a recurring dream she had while she was unconscious."
"A recurring dream?"
Herminia bit her lip, unsure of how to proceed.
"She dreamt about a man leaving a message for me. Look, before you say anything—" she cut him off as he opened his mouth to respond. "I know what I’m about to say will sound insane, but hear me out, okay? Just listen. Ever since I got here, weird things have been happening. On the first day, when I went to the beach alone, this crazy woman showed up and handed me a key. She told me her master had a message for me and that I’d find answers in the house. And then Jime told me about this abandoned house in San Bernardo. She said the key probably belonged to that house—the one where the witchcraft groups, the macumberos, meet."
She paused, unsure if she should go on. Should she mention Tom Riddle? The mystery surrounding him? The dunes hiding secrets?
"Did anything else happen?" Javi’s voice brought her back to reality.
She decided that Javi deserved her honesty, as he’d always been loyal, even before her relationship with Ron.
"You know me, Javi. I wasn’t going to just let it go. I started looking into that abandoned house. I went into a shop around here—you know the one next to Havanna, the café? That antique shop?"
Javi shook his head, but she kept talking as if all the unsaid words demanded immediate release, incapable of holding back any more secrets.
“Well, I went into an antique shop, and the guy working there offered to help me. He told me about the history of San Bernardo, Mar de Ajó, about the shipwrecks that happened around here, and how there are rumors of some entity roaming the area—a demon or something, I don’t know. According to him, the house is built on the remains of a cattle ranch where horrible things happened. And, oh, Javi, don’t look at me like that—I know they’re just scary stories, but this guy keeps appearing everywhere. And the other day, he took me to a place… don’t freak out, don’t judge me—I know I shouldn’t have gone off with a stranger, but he led me to this spot in the dunes, like a bunker or chamber—a secret place. And then Jime described him to me in her dream. It makes sense because his name matches the last owner of the abandoned house, Tom Riddle. It all fits because every time I see him, something bad happens, Javi, and I feel like I’m going crazy. Do you think that? Do you think I’m losing my mind?”
The tears of fear spilled over, impossible to contain. Javi tried to hug her, but then, uncomfortable, let her go.
“Look, I don’t think you’re crazy. I don’t like coming here either. Sometimes we used to visit my aunt—I don’t know if you knew—but my parents disappeared here, during democracy. That’s why I never managed to file the paperwork for the pension for family members of missing persons due to state terrorism— but of course, you know, you tried to help me. For my aunt, though, this was terrorism. She says there are some unhinged children of military officers in the area and that my parents were pretty active in politics. I don’t know. The thing is, when I was younger and we stayed at Margarita’s, I’d always have the same dream. About my parents, about their death. About an old, abandoned house and a voice—a cold voice, laughing. And then I’d wake up. And this time, it was no different. The same dream, the same house. Ron talked to me about a house he wanted the four of us to visit before all this happened. One in San Bernardo. I said no, but maybe… maybe it’s calling us for a reason, Herminia.”
It felt like someone had drilled a hole into her chest and emptied her of all emotion. It couldn’t be. Not Javi—the person who used to eat the offerings left at street corners for macumba rituals just to defy gods he didn’t believe in—suggesting something so absurd.
“Javi…” she started, hesitating. “Javi, I don’t know.”
The children who had been watching the circus performance formed a circle and began chanting nursery rhymes. A man walked by with a cart selling hot dogs. Two dogs started barking.
She remembered how Tom had felt inside her, how she had screamed his name, the sound echoing through the Chamber, how he had tasted. She could still feel his hands gripping her waist, see him closing his eyes as he surrendered to pleasure, how they hadn’t stopped after the first time, their lust binding them to explore every way of loving they could imagine. How she had felt deeply guilty afterward, realizing she’d let a stranger take her like that, unprotected—but the thrill of the forbidden had whispered, again, let’s do it again. The heavy key in her bag was the answer. If she wanted to, if she desired it, she could see him again.
“Think about it, Mini. Isn’t it an invitation? Maybe we’re meant to find something there.”
“God, Javi, do you even hear yourself? I think—”
But then she made out the children’s voices, rising above everything else as they held hands, their circle spinning, drawing a summoning ring into the worn grass of the park.
Riddle me thee, riddle me thee
Who is the Lord that lies beneath?
Beelzebub, Azrael, Samael, Astoreth?
Or is it simply Lucifer?
In the house, he waits for you,
Hiding just behind the door.
In the house, he waits for you,
Or he’ll destroy you all way through
Ay, ay, ay, oh Mama!
His eyes are just like yararás
Ay, ay, ay, oh Papa!
Your heart is what he’ll tear apart
And the song went on, uninterrupted. Riddle me thee, riddle me thee, who is the lord that lies beneath? The children’s feet, moving as they sang, seemed to sketch a lost world. Beelzebub, Azrael? The streetlights flickered in time with the chorus, as if mocking her. Samael, Astoreth?
She knew what had to be done.
Javi stayed waiting at the shore as she walked away, stepping on the muddy sand toward the sea, a path of dead shells and forgiveness beneath her. Her arm gathered all the momentum it could. The key slipped from her fingers as she threw it away, its threatening weight roaring against the wind. She could hear the whistles of protest and then, the metal sinking into the water, just a few meters beyond the shore, but infinitely lost.
That night, she had no nightmares.