1. THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL SON
The wrought iron gate lets out a sharp groan, a sound that seems to pierce the veil of fog enveloping the valley. Elias grips the steering wheel of his old sedan, feeling cold sweat dampen his hands. He’s back.
The villa rises before him like a sleepy titan, its windows resembling empty eyes that scrutinize his every move with silent hatred. Fifteen years have passed since he last crossed that threshold, fifteen years spent trying to forget the smell of dust and the sound of footsteps that belonged to no one.
Meanwhile, rain begins to fall, light and cold, drumming on the windshield with a hypnotic rhythm. Elias turns off the engine and remains still for a few moments, listening to the ticking of the cooling metal.
He knows he shouldn’t have accepted that inheritance. His father’s debts represent an abyss that threatens to swallow up everything he has built, but returning to that place seems too high a price to pay... yet he has no alternative. Renovating and selling that property is the only way out.
He gets out of the sedan, and the muddy ground seems to want to hold him back, grabbing his boots with a slimy grip. He heads to the trunk and pulls out his tool bag. The weight of the metal gives him a bit of relief, a semblance of control in a context that has become foreign and hostile to him.
He walks along the path ravaged by weeds, noticing how the vegetation is trying to reclaim the estate, with climbing plants resembling gnarled fingers climbing up the gray stone walls.
When he reaches the front door, Elias searches for his keys in his jacket pocket. He feels his fingers tremble slightly as he inserts the key into the brass lock, but before he can turn it, he feels a shiver run down his spine. The door is not locked.
A sliver of darkness opens between the door and the frame, like a whispered invitation. He slowly pushes the heavy wood, which turns on its hinges without a single creak, a silence that seems unusual for a dwelling that has been neglected for so long.
The interior is plunged into thick darkness, broken only by the grayish beams of light filtering through the closed shutters. The air is heavy, filled with a sweetish smell of mold and rotten wood, mixed with something older and more acrid.
Elias takes a step forward in the corridor, and the sound of his boots on the marble echoes like a cannon shot in the void. He stops, holding his breath, expecting to hear an echo or a response, but the silence that follows is total. He puts his bag on the floor and turns on his flashlight. The beam of light dances across the walls, revealing peeling wallpaper and family portraits covered by white sheets, like waiting ghosts. Elias feels like an intruder in his own home.
Every object, every corner seems to protect a fragment of a past that prefers to remain buried.
He heads toward the main hall, where his family once gathered for celebrations, but now there is no trace of warmth, only the icy insensitivity of a dying home.
As he examines the condition of the walls, noticing cracks extending like dark veins beneath the plaster, Elias feels a cold draft hit the back of his neck.
He turns around quickly, but finds no one there.
The front door is still ajar, and the mist seems intent on creeping inside, like a gray snake. He forces himself to calm down, attributing that feeling to fatigue and the influence of the place. He is not a man who believes in ghosts; for him, the villa is simply a complex of bricks and mortar in need of hard work. Yet the sense of anguish does not leave him.
He decides to go upstairs to inspect the bedrooms and the roof, where he suspects there may be water leaks. The wooden stairs creak under his weight, a mournful sound that seems to guide his ascent. Each step becomes a challenge, a forced return to memories of his childhood, to Clara’s room, which has remained locked since the day she disappeared.
When he reaches the landing, Elias stops in front of his sister’s door. His hand remains suspended a few inches from the handle. He can almost smell the lavender that Clara loved, a fragrance that is now just an illusion of his tormented mind. He shakes his head and continues toward the master bedroom, but just as he is passing the hallway leading to the attic, he stops.
A sharp noise, like something metallic hitting the wooden floor, comes from directly above his head. Elias turns off his flashlight for a moment, plunging himself into total darkness. The only sound he can hear is his own heartbeat, pounding frantically in his chest. Then he hears it again: a slow, heavy dragging sound, followed by another metallic thud. It’s not the wind, nor an animal... someone or something is in the attic, right above him, waiting.
