After twenty years in prison, no one was waiting for Elvira at the exit. No flowers, no hugs, not even a familiar glance amidst the city’s hurried crowds. The fresh air felt alien, almost violent, as if the world had continued turning without her, erasing any trace of her existence.
Elvira wandered aimlessly, carrying only a small cloth bag. She had learned to expect nothing, to survive with the bare minimum. But that freedom, so longed for over the years, now felt like an immense emptiness.
Night fell quickly. Without enough money or anywhere to go, she ended up leaving the city, guided by an ancient instinct, as if something were calling to her from afar. The road grew narrower and narrower, surrounded by withered trees and forgotten hills.
After hours of walking, he reached a strange terrain. The earth appeared disturbed, as if someone had tried to hide something beneath it. In the middle of this landscape, a barely visible structure stood out: the roof of a buried house.
Elvira stopped.
“It can’t be…” he murmured.
Curiosity overcame fear. He approached slowly and began to remove the earth with his hands. Little by little, he uncovered an old wooden door, covered in roots.
He pushed.
The door gave way with a deep creak, as if waking from a long sleep.
Inside, the air was cold, but not deserted. There was furniture covered in dust, but untouched. A table, a chair, a bed… and something else. A feeling.
As if someone had been waiting.
Elvira closed the door behind her. She had no other choice. That buried house would be her refuge.
May be an image of tree
That night he slept soundly for the first time in years.
But she was not alone.
In the early hours of the morning, a noise woke her. Footsteps. Slow. Dragging.
He sat up suddenly.
“Is anyone there?” he asked, his voice trembling.
Silence.
He got up and walked around the house. Nothing. Only shadows.
He thought it had been a dream… until he saw something that wasn’t there before.
On the table, there was a cup.
And it was hot.
Elvira stepped back.
—No… I’m not alone here…
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.
Locked up.
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.
And the girl…
He never left.
A noise interrupted her.
Stronger this time.
Steps, again.
But this time, they were coming from upstairs.
Elvira ran upstairs.
The door was open.
And on the threshold…
There was a figure.
A girl.
Pale. Motionless. Looking at her.
—Lucía…? —Elvira whispered, not knowing why she said that name.
The girl did not respond.
But he slowly raised his arm… and pointed towards the forest.
Then he disappeared.
Elvira didn’t hesitate. She ran off in the indicated direction.
The forest was dense and dark. But something guided her.
After a few minutes, he found something buried among the roots of a tree.
A chest.
He opened it.
