As you, dear reader, may have come to realize, I write reports. I do not make things up. Actually, I am quite often accused of being unimaginative. I thought I'd mention this as the following account might seem like a figment of someone's imagination. Not mine, I have none. What follows is an actual account of what happened last night in La Casa Embrujada.
I met the lady of the house, the bruja or witch. It must have been around four or five in the morning when I woke. The moon had lowered itself into the window of the master bedroom, where I slept curled up in the sleeping bag Yohst had left behind, and smiled upon the skull of the mule on the windowsill. The room was bare and grey, the plaster was peeling and the bedroom door was gone. I heard music seeping through the wood panels. From the darkest corner of the room a female figure extricated herself from the shadows and suddenly she was there, in the middle of the room, stunningly beautiful and all dressed in black, her face hidden behind a veil. Over her head and shoulders she wore a mantilla of black lace. Through her veil she sang to me while the red and black polka dotted fan in her right hand spoke to me of love lost.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and got up on my feet. Never before on any of our urban exploring adventures had we encountered a ghost. Her fan moved ominously from left to right, as if issuing a warning, but her song carried a different tune. Seductive and alluring the voice asked me for a dance and I complied.
Her body was warm and her scent brought forth fond memories of my mother. I felt safe.
'Where is your friend?' she whispered in my ear as she was holding me close.
'Marcello didn't feel like spending the night here. He had his car towed and went home.'
'Not Marcello, I mean your real friend. He didn't give me his name.'
I leaned back and through the veil looked into her eyes.
'Yosht,' I said. 'You met Yosht?'
She nodded and pulled me closer. She swung me around, barely touching the floor. With her head on my shoulder she sang me a song, a lament for her long lost husband who had left and never returned.
'Are you the consul's wife? I asked, moving my hand from the small of her back to her hair under the mantilla. She allowed it and when bringing her head from my right shoulder to the left, her lips brushed mine. The tiny kiss burned like smouldering fire in the woods.
'What's your name? I asked. Suddenly the music stopped. She let go of me and stepped back. Like a charred leaf she floated away from me, back into the darkest corner of the room. Barely audible her last words were: 'Meet me at the fountain.' Or at least that's what I think I heard her say. And then she was gone. All at once I was wide awake and wondered if I had dreamed it all. I went after her but bumped into the wood panels. No trace of her. I sniffed the air trying to detect her familiar scent, but there was nothing but the pungent odors of mould and rot that had permeated the entire house.
I slid back into the sleeping bag and realized that I had just met the bruja of La Casa Embrujada. And so, apparently, had Yosht.