The story of Villa Azul goes back decades. Maybe centuries. Of course, I wasn't there at the beginning. I only heard the tales, and over the years, the need for work made me set aside many of my doubts.
Ana clutched her coffee cup tightly to steady her trembling hands. She stared at Leon, eyes filled with both fear and curiosity, while he kept stirring sugar into his tea. This time, he wasn't trying to find the right words. He just needed to say what he had seen.
And perhaps that's why he always showed kindness and care toward the neighborhood homes, even if most of them never returned the gesture.
To him, it was important to tell what he had lived. What he had seen during so many visits behind closed doors.
– I grew up nearby. About five minutes from here, close to the creek. My parents worked in the city, so I spent all my afternoons at my grandmother's house. From as far back as I can remember until my uncles offered to take care of me... then I was old enough to look after myself. I'll always be grateful, because that woman terrified me –he said.
He paused, as if marking the end of a prologue. Ana had rarely felt as safe in her life as she did next to that young man.
She took her first sip.
– She barely spoke to me. I hardly knew what her voice sounded like. It was raspy and cracked with age. My mother always said she'd once been a beautiful woman, but the old lady I knew had been devoured by time. To me, she was a witch –he added.
A breeze whistled through the window and lifted the tablecloth over their improvised breakfast. That single word made Ana's skin crawl.
Leon saw in the young woman the same haunted innocence he'd once carried in his own eyes. He wanted to tell her she wasn't alone. Wanted to convince himself that he wasn't alone.
– She spent her days in a shed out in the backyard, muttering strange sounds. Sometimes there were bangs. She always wore torn or stained clothes. Except once a week, rain or shine—she would transform completely. She spent hours doing her makeup, picking out dresses and jewelry from a wardrobe filled with pieces so expensive they could've bought several more mansions. Then she locked herself in the guest parlor for hours. No one was ever allowed in. Thankfully, I rarely had to be in that house when her special dinners took place –he continued.
He paused again. His gaze hadn't left his half-empty teacup or the small kitchen window. The eerie silence of the village seemed to soundtrack his story, and Leon wasn't sure how to continue without sounding insane.
The quiet stretched long enough for Ana to show how deeply invested she was.
– Why didn't you want to be there on those nights? –she asked.
Leon looked up and found Ana watching him with an intensity he hadn't felt from anyone in years—perhaps ever. And it stirred something in him.
– Some nights, nothing terrible happened. Just whispers, voices, giggles... sometimes laughter. At first, they scared me—I was just a kid. But as I grew older, those special nights changed. And they terrified me –he confessed.
Outside, the wind howled with renewed force.
– I used to cry and pray for those whispers and laughter to return. But they vanished. Instead, a deadly silence filled the house until three in the morning—when my grandmother went completely mad. I heard the most chilling screams of rage. She'd curse every person she'd ever known. There were crashes from every corner, furniture slammed, dishes shattered into pieces. I always hid in the same wardrobe, behind old drawers. My nightmares were always the same: that she would find me like that –he said at last.
Leon finished his tale and took the last sip of tea. He didn't know Ana well enough to open up like that, but he needed to. He had never understood what was really going on with his grandmother, and for years he tried to suppress the memories.
Now, he had to walk past that damned garden every day.
The air held its usual chill. Ana's thoughts drifted from old superstitions to vanishing memories.
What had happened the night before? In every blink, she could barely make out a pair of crimson rings staring at her from the dark, but she couldn't turn those fragments into images that made sense.
And Leon's story—was that the witch? A mad old woman haunting the neighborhood?
– And... your grandmother...? –Ana struggled to find the right way to ask.
– She died years ago, thankfully –he replied with striking calm–. I know it's not proper to feel relief about such things. But even now, the thought of entering that house gives me nightmares.
So it wasn't her. Which opened the door to other possibilities.
– And you never found out why she behaved that way? –Ana asked.
– No. I never dared talk to her about anything, let alone ask something so personal –he replied.
Ana turned her eyes to the dining room window and sighed. Clearly, understanding her motives was key to unlocking part of this mystery. There had to be a way to dig deeper.
– Don't you know anyone who might have an idea? –she suggested.
– My mom, maybe... –he answered.
Ana raised her eyebrows. She wasn't sure if asking would be appropriate, but it could bring them closer to some real answers.
Maybe Leon's grandmother had just been insane. But paired with what the neighbor across the street had said, blaming everything on coincidence felt naïve.
– You could ask her –Ana suggested, trying not to sound too assertive.
For the first time, Leon looked at her directly, a mix of seriousness and curiosity in his eyes.
– Why? –he asked.
Ana lowered her gaze, as if embarrassed by her own thought.
– I don't know... It's just, there seems to be this recurring 'witch' thing in the village. Maybe you want to uncover the mystery of your childhood, and I want to sleep at night. So we could dig a little deeper –she explained.
Leon didn't fully buy Ana's reasoning. After all, she was still a stranger. But there was a quiet desperation in her voice, and something utterly sincere in the way she carried herself.
People always said he had a gift for reading others, though he'd never paid it much mind.
– Well... maybe –he conceded.
Ana could tell her idea hadn't fully convinced him. He dropped his gaze. She had to show him she was just as invested in solving this as in helping him.
– I could try talking to the neighbor across the street –she offered hesitantly.
– Mrs. Oswall? Ha –he rolled his eyes–. Good luck. I don't know anyone who's ever heard her speak.
– What? She's super nice. She told me a witch had cut my power cables –Ana replied.
Leon's eyes widened, suddenly searching hers again.
– Mrs. Oswall spoke to you? –he asked.
– Y-Yeah... –Ana wasn't sure now if it had really happened, or if her mind had made it up.
Leon stood and grabbed his coat, as if in a hurry.
– Well... I'll talk to my mom. See what I can find out. I'll be back—maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after. But I'll come back, even if it's just to say I learned nothing –he said.
Repairing the power was quick. Within fifteen minutes, the crew Leon had called installed new wiring and sealed a conduit underground.
Now the witch would have to work harder if she wanted to mess with Ana's electricity again.
Ana lingered on the front porch, staring at the gloomy mansion across the way. It didn't look abandoned because of age or ruined marble. Nothing like that. It just felt utterly devoid of life, despite the lush pines and willows surrounding it.
From there, it was almost impossible to see the balcony where she'd spoken with Mrs. Oswall the day before.
Evangelina, her cat, rubbed against her legs, announcing her return—and likely her hunger.
– Evangelina, where have you been? –she asked.
The rest of the day passed fairly normally.
With the electricity restored, Ana reconnected to her work network and resumed her editing tasks, which were piling up again.
For the first time, work felt like a safe haven from a life that was clearly veering off course.
The town's stillness echoed in her mind, where no outside noise could distract her from her thoughts. She was entirely trapped with the unnerving task of figuring out what was going on in the silent Villa Azul.
Hours later, sunset painted the drifting clouds orange. Though night pressed closer, the intense afternoon light still colored the landscape.
And for the first time all day, a single lamp turned on in the house across the street.
Ana quickly shut her laptop and rushed to the porch. She almost sprinted across the newly trimmed garden and stood in the dirt road, eyes locked on the balcony where she had seen the old woman.
Five minutes passed. Then fifteen. Thirty. An entire hour.
Ana waited, hoping the woman would reappear. But it was futile.
Darkness had settled over the sky, and as she turned back toward her own house, a shiver reminded her how dreadful it was to live in that eerie mansion.
Compelled by her surroundings, Ana went back inside with empty hands and a mind full of questions.
It would be her second night in that haunted house, and she still repressed a disturbing string of nightmares: darkness, glowing red dots in the corner of her room, and giant wings thrashing against her walls.
The air inside remained frigid, as if immune to the seasons. But even so, she didn't wear much. She'd realized that no matter how many layers she added, the chill crept through everything and reached her skin.
She couldn't be warmer. Or colder.
She dined alone once again. Evangelina always disappeared at night. A strange habit, but Ana had other things to worry about.
Climbing the stairs felt like descending into hell. Yet slowly, she was growing familiar with fear and uncertainty, like she was becoming part of her own story.
The sharp creak of every door added suspense to her movements. Ana stepped timidly into her bedroom and lay on the bed.
She had never owned a canopy bed. In movies and series, it always looked magical—like sleeping among silks, loosening a corset beneath a designer dress.
But that wasn't her reality. She was terrified, staring at strange shapes in the shadows behind the hanging curtains.
Minutes crawled by until she heard the voice again—the one from her nightmares. But this time, it didn't sound like it came from the underworld.
It spoke with the allure of night.
– I can make you feel like a princess –it whispered from somewhere in the room.
END OF CHAPTER 4.