Spirits In The Dark -Story 2: The Familiars Curse
Have you ever heard of familiars? It's a concept more known in European witchcraft, but you probably have one by your side…
Not for one second had Graciela forgotten it was All Souls Day. The darkness felt unusually uncomfortable. Every logic-defying event from the past 21 years increasingly rushes through her head with each rustle, whisper, or shadow she sees.
“What if I see a ghost? An entity? Something!?”
She has seen too many unexplainable things to not believe in the world of spirits.
Cuba breathes and lives Santería. While everyone is a devout Catholic during the day, it’s a Santero they look for at night. To get a job, find love, ruin one’s life… A Santero is the one who will help you with those things. And more.
The night feels dense when the souls are at work. The veil that divides our world from the spiritual world has never been as thin as tonight. There is no good or bad, no white or black magic. It’s all a grey area, filled with spirits, saints, and manipulation of energy.
Tonight is the night to pretend not to hear the whispers or see the dark figures.
The heavy clouds hid the Full Moon, making the roads darker than usual. As soon as Graci comes out of the bus, the air reeks of rotten meat. With each step taken, the malodor is stronger.
“Oh, great. A night of death and the air is filled with the delightful stench of death.” As soon as the last word leaves her mouth, she hears a low chuckle that came from something so close its warm breath brushed Graci’s right shoulder. She turns to look around, standing still for a couple of seconds, but didn’t see anyone.
Her mom always told her that people who don’t believe, don’t see them. People who believe will inevitably see them. But the problem is when you talk to them. “When you look at them, they look back. When you talk to them, they will never leave you again. The dead are lonely, they want company,” her mom told her when she was just a 5 year old girl. Since then, Graciela learned to ignore disembodied voices and look past the spirits in the dark.
“It’s late and I’m tired. I just need to go home and rest.” Graciela says the words out loud as much to convince whoever (or whatever) could be around as to convince herself.
Once she turns into Paz Street, Graci smells the offering before she sees it.
An offering at Las Cinco Esquinas.
Offerings are not unusual, but this one was particularly gross. Three red glasses with rum, three half-melted black candles, and three bowls of blood surrounding a skinned bull’s head.
Even though the head has empty sockets, Graciela stares intently at where the eyes would have been, giving one step closer. The smell should be unbearable, but she feels nothing. She only feels the need to get closer and look deeper into that pool of darkness.
“Graci!” A faint whisper, she can’t tell where it is coming from.
“Yes?”
“Don’t answer!” Said a third voice.
“Come closer. See.” The faint whisper is coming from inside the bull’s head.
“Graci, don’t! Stay away.” The man says while materializing between her and the offering.
She looks at the man surprised and confused as if waking up from a terrifying nightmare. Shortness of breath, heart racing, taking steps back desperately, “Who… Who are you?”
“Go home.” He said. “Now!”
The smell of blood, alcohol and rotten meat that were nonexistent a second ago now turns Graciela’s stomach. Even the sound of flies buzzing around the offering is all too clear now. “What the hell happened?”
“Let’s go home. I’ll explain there.”
“ ‘Let’s go?’ I do not know you and there is no way in hell you are coming home with me.”
“I’ve come home with you for years.”
From all possible answers, this was not one she expected to hear.
“Graci, please. They are coming. Let’s go home.” He insists, visibly nervous.
“Who is ‘they?’” As soon as she asks, indistinguishable whispers come from every direction. A strong wind blows and she has to cover her eyes from the dust. When she opens her eyes again, was to see a woman walking in their direction slowly. Dark, human-like figures were forming in the unlit corners of the walls.
The woman smiles ferociously, then opens her mouth in a perfect oval shape, blood slowly streaming down the corners of her lips, while a multitude of voices roar, shriek, yell, howl, and murmur “Graciela”, in a repetitively chaotic chant.
Graciela wants to run, but her legs won’t move.
“Come. Now!” The man tells her while offering his hand.
Without giving it a second thought, like breaking out of a spell, she reaches for his hand and hears the man say words in a language she can’t recognize. All went black.
In a span of time of two blinks, Graciela now sees her living room ceiling -and realizes she is lying on the floor. She closes and squints her eyes, processing what could only be…
“It was not a dream if that’s what you’re trying to convince yourself of. I’m Marco. You are safe now. They can’t get in here. Your house is protected against spirits.”
“And how did we get in here? How did YOU get in here?” One thing was clear, Marco is not human. Not a living one, anyway.
“I’m your guardian. Your familiar. Not like most familiars. We are family. Well, extended family, I guess.” He said.
“My mom told me about our family having guardian spirits. She said they -you?- are always with us, even though we cant see you.” She always thought her mom meant something like guardian angels -distant, in heaven, just watching over them.
“Our family is unusual in that regard. Most familiars are assigned or created through pacts. Agreements. In our family, we are bound to the 7th generation’s gifted ones.”
“I have no idea of what you just said. But more importantly, I usually walk past offerings without paying them any attention. Why was I so attracted to that one?” Graci asks while standing up quickly enough to realize how light-headed she feels. “And who is that woman?”
“You were unusually attracted to it because that is not an offering, but a portal. A portal made especially for you. And something was about to come out through it.” Marco said while walking past Graciela and towards the window. “And that woman is Alena.” He said while touching the window, his eyes suddenly sad, staring outside. “She is here for you.” He says slowly turning to look into Graci’s eyes.
Turning around and walking hesitantly towards the window, she can see the woman is still there. Standing right in the middle of the intersection. Crossroads are powerful places for spirits. A portal, of sorts. A five-street intersection is atypical and exceptionally powerful.
“Alena. Who is she? What does she want from me?”
“Not from you,” Marco says while turning to look at Graci. “She wants you. And she is family as well.”
Would love to read all my stories? Join Medium using my link! ❤
