From that moment on, strange things began to happen. Objects that changed places, barely audible whispers in the walls, and dreams… dreams that didn’t seem to be hers.
I dreamed of a little girl.
A little girl was running through that same house, laughing.
A girl who one day stopped laughing.
On the third day, Elvira found a trapdoor in the floor, hidden under an old rug. She hesitated before opening it, but the need for answers was stronger.
He went down.
The basement was completely untouched, as if time had stood still there. There were drawings on the walls. Children’s drawings.
And in all of them, the same figure appeared: a woman.
Closed.
Elvira felt a chill.
—What happened here…?
In one corner, he found a box. Inside, there were letters. Dozens of them.
She read them one by one.
They belonged to a girl named Lucia.
Letters addressed to his mother.
But never sent.
“Mother, I’m scared.”
“Mother, he says I shouldn’t go out.”
“Mother, I promise to behave if you come back.”
Elvira felt a lump in her throat.
Then he understood.
The house was not abandoned.
She had been buried.
On purpose.
