Page 46 of Morena
What is happening?
It was around three a.m. when I heard a weird scraping along the walls. I climbed out of bed and walked to the wallpaper. One corner was peeling, and when I pressed my face to the plaster I heard it again, a slow, patient scratch, like something trying to claw its way out.
I peeled the paper back a little and found a thin cut in the wall, barely wider than a fingernail. When I leaned closer, I saw something move inside the dark slit.
I gasped and took a step back. When I looked again, an eye slid into view, wet and round, then a tongue. A male voice said,
“She is coming.”
I screamed and shut my eyes.
The scraping stopped, and footsteps crossed the hall. Carmen opened the door and ran to me. I pointed to the hole in the wall, and she covered my eyes, guiding me out of the room and back to her bedroom.
“I will make some tea,” she said, nodding, and left for the kitchen.
My body shook. I bit my fingertips until the taste of blood crowded my mouth, and went to the window. Outside, Francisco stood below, watching.
“I thought you were in the hospital,” I whispered as I cracked the window.
“They let me go. Just a concussion. I have to rest,” he said. “But I can’t sleep.”
“Maybe you should have fallen harder,” I said, a faint smile breaking through.
He laughed then, his voice soft. “Maybe.”
He wore a black blouse and black jeans, hair slicked back. His green eyes found mine and didn’t look away.
“Will you dance with me tomorrow?” he asked.
“Dance?” I raised an eyebrow. “You should rest.”
“Please,” he said, palms pressed together like a child asking for something.
“What time?” I asked.
“Nine,” he answered.
My boat left at eleven the following night. Maybe this could be a last goodbye. Maybe I owed myself one.
“Okay,” I said, and left him smiling.
“Meet me at Malorca,” he murmured as Carmen returned with a cup of tea.
Turning, I noticed a small heart medallion on her nightstand. It looked familiar in a way I could not place, but I said nothing.
Carmen came to the bed and set the tea on the nightstand. She slipped the necklace into her pocket, but I pretended not to see.
5“¿Me estoy volviendo loca?” I asked.
6“No, mi vida, claro que no,” she said.
I lay down with my head in her lap. She brushed my hair with long, sure fingers. “Then why do I see things that are not there?” I asked.
“Sometimes,” she said, “we get sight when we are close to something not of this world.”
“Like death?” I whispered. “Am I going to die?”
She shook her head. “Do not say that.”
