Mil deafening silences erupted in the depths of himself when his head exploded against the current. Then, during the agonizing journey, the waters were responsible for skin that tiny waist, a bright little body of eight springs, stripping at every stroke of the river, suit, shoes, hat and tin train (all their possessions), and pushing an endless sinuous dance between life and death and the soft swirls that hides the liquid element. The waterfall and bubbling ominously, awaiting the end of the road.
sailed. He rushed wildly into the bowels of steel hides deep indigo and rose (or was regurgitated) away, where the sun shines and dries the soul ... Far away from the icy rooms where dwell the demons of death, so far that the demons could no longer reach him again, reborn as to be an instrument of the same demons or incubus or face harlequins with ink to make children laugh, but with mouth, eyes and mind eaters, obstinate, relentless in his wickedness: Lucifer's own organs or the same God.
that child was a stone thrown into the river, a stone that was cast with him and made this course their own way of torture and release. After he was raised, as if asleep in the hand of evil giants, and left to fend for themselves, naked and helpless, with the broken skin and covered with bumps, while the flame that runs from west to east will devour what little sanity that the fates had left. But the fates knew nothing of the stone and forgotten until they, in the hands of the most terrible of beings, a boy crazy. And children should not be treated as inanimate objects or even by the gods, but stones were born, puppets or small pebbles.
This is all that he knew the owner of cascade, Boccor the sorcerer voodooists who had used black magic to capture the soul of that child and give it to maw of the eternal struggle between good and evil.
The Sacaúntos whistles his tune. No hurry, time is on their behalf. Always play to your favor. For men, the monster is a legend, a children's story, a way to frighten those brats rude when you do not finish dinner, do not want to go to sleep or are blinded in that last prank that touts both his parents. You will come to fetch the Boogie Man!, Warn, admonish them. And if the child is ready laugh, cry if gullible, indifferent stares back them if no longer so young. Oh, gods, that's the truth. No longer scare anyone sacamantecas, Sacaúntos, Boogie Man, Uncle del Sebo, Unto Man, Ensundiero, butter, Sagina ... You can not hide behind all those names. No one believes in you. You're nobody! Going to disappear into oblivion if you have not already done so in the darkness of long nights beside the dying fire. The stories about you I frighten to even the fool among fools. You're dead, Sacaúntos!
Today, the English have other things to worry about things much more terrible than the old stories that speak of the Boogie Man. English civil war has just erupted. National and republican armies are fighting on a broad front that converges stubbornly to the capital. However, if they were a little smarter and matched to reflect, they would realize that right there in the custody of the Sacaúntos waterfall is the source of everything. There, in a small town called Villanueva del Alcázar. A place halfway between Toledo and Madrid, near the front line, in full national offensive led by the colonial troops, newly arrived from Africa. On defense, linking disaster after disaster, government troops, Francisco Largo Caballero, prime minister and minister of war, to the front.
men are so absorbed in their complaints that do not look where they look and walk as if blinded by the ways of the earth. The Tabor (battalions) of regular pass just barely a kilometer from Villanueva del Alcázar and have only seen a few houses half in ruins as a result of the bombing and some women gaunt, grim-looking, carrying crying children in their arms. There were no men: men are dying in the ranks of either side. Not even repaired in the river, which is winding away down the slope, or the waterfall, deep down, hidden among the trees.
And they should have done ... because on the edge of the waterfall has been built a Reposoir Arbre , the great leper which saved the souls of all the zombies.
Because the cascade is a deceptive, which reflects all the mirrors.
And today, once again, a child has disappeared again Villanueva: I ate the waters, but that only knows the Sacaúntos. Thus, over time, which has often played against him, returns to play and definitively in his favor so the beast is not in a hurry and lazy whistles his tune. Yes, even we could imagine dancing to dark music that you hear in your head: it is a sound of drums and metal bells, rhythmic, repeated, broken only by the powerful voice of the Hounganikon
Feverish memories, Sacaúntos danced to the sound of the anguish of the good people of the people, who strive in vain looking for the child Gustavo Blanco, just eight years.
Yes, good women looking for the missing child in the midst of war, the sound of the pumps, endless progress of regular Tabor. Everyone is looking for prey. But they do not know how to track their steps, looking on the ground when the prey is caught in the water, looking at the glassy walls of this limited and when they should look out the depths of the past or that dark (and cavernous) future. The Sacaúntos laughs, and her laugh scares the birds.
After a running catch, the Sacaúntos gives a flip, magically turns and turns and rises to a thick branch of the tree that seems to have no end. Has risen sharply, perhaps thirty or forty yards, and scans the horizon from there. The Sacaúntos is the spitting image of the dead prepared for burial, according to Haitian voodoo rituals, wearing a tall hat of felt, cotton plugs in the nose, ragged pants and a black tuxedo, dirty with dried blood, also carries a huge sack over his shoulder, of course, otherwise it would not do justice his condition Boogie Man. The face is white, tinged with show business potions, and highlighted her deep eyes, completely black, iris and pupil, only an overture poisonous, an abyss of darkness. In his right hand holding a long stick pearl handle which resembles a snake that writhes like ivy around the wrist of his master. On the other hand he carries the bag, a bag full of grease, fat stomach of his young victims, which the witch or disemboweled guts (you know that the complicated verb tenses in this land his own demons Villanueva called).
- Where are you, my child?
there a way entangled in the plants of the bank reports (the Sacaúntos not know anything about plants, so in his world are plant organisms of any kind and could be any). Our hero finds his prey and jumps off the endless wooden post before call tree (tree knows nothing, so in your world the forest is a simple mixture of wooden pillars, more or less long, more or less wide. The leaves would have hindered in its function as a watchtower, so this "tree? has imagined without leaves).
- Uuuuyyy!
already tripped. Plans ... are planning. A gull (what does a seagull in the woods?) Spellbound watching that bird that flies tuxedo beside it on high and then turns away abruptly flew out.
- Uuuuyyy!
Gustavo bleeding from the nose, ears, has many broken ribs, maybe a dislocated shoulder ... Sacaúntos but not enough. The small right eye appears red, swollen, an ugly crust begins to form rotting in the heat of the sun ... Sacaúntos but does not have enough. Fumbling with his stick in the wounds of the dying and maybe smile. Yes, smile, smile on your face as a clown.
- Does it hurt? Does it hurt? Will my child?
Dam sobs as the stick breaks, relentlessly pierces his wounds.
- Does it hurt? Does it hurt?
The child, as a Christ hyperbolic lies trapped by the hands and feet, stretched on the cross members, staring into the glare blind winks from above. The child cries:
- Please! -Exhausted. Please! -Pleading. For favooor! -Pain pain, pain. Favooor Poor ...! "Whining.
play Vines entangle, entangled around the dam. The foliage of certain plants dream, a green monster arms almost obscene, as roots have penetrated in wet ground and have left the river bank to venture to the first line of the water. There have rescued the tottering dam to bring certain death to the martyrdom of the non-existence. Like a spider web, the foliage sticks to the prey to her waist and twists to the sound of snapping fingers flashing Sacaúntos. The child cries:
"Please Please, sir! My name is Gustavo ... Gustavo Blanco. My parents live on the street Sendra number seven, right here at Villanueva. Help me! Go get them, sir. By God, I ask.
I can not, boy. It's too late. Breathed the dust of the witch and no one can save you. "The Sacaúntos seems remorseful, sad, ashamed, and turns his head.
Gustavo, still blinded by the sun, winking his one good eye, trying to see better. Recognized his clothes, see the sack on his shoulder. All children have heard of him.
- You're the Boogie Man? Are you going to kill me to take off my belly fat?
Only a child could ask something similar to that naturally. Maybe you're so tired, so terrified, that not even death or torture can scare you more than this nightmare that has you trapped. But Sacaúntos shakes his head.
"I'm the Boogie Man. The people of this country called me with that name when the witch brought me from death to life, for over thirty years. I take your old legend Sacaúntos to go unnoticed. Actually, I'm Baron Lacroix, the first death of this cemetery. You see all the other souls? "The Sacaúntos reaches out to the east.
Baron Lacroix, Gustavo thinks, but never heard that expression and not say anything. Continues to view the course notes that the outstretched hand of his tormentor and then discovers he's not alone. Every few meters on both sides of the river, lies the body of an inmate of that prison whose bars are born infinite from the swirling water of the waterfall. Trapped by the vines there are hundreds, thousands!, Of souls, his face sunburned in silence for all eternity. Many are dressed in soldiers and arms stretched, open and close the middle finger twitching, as if pulled the trigger imaginary weapons.
-zombies are, my dear child, dead. In the real world move, speak and think they are free to kill each other in your beautiful English war. But their souls are here, and the magician has his will as the air we breathe now.
- Are they alive or dead? Gustavo asks. And then shut up, because he knows that soon he will also be one of them. Duda. Swallows. Do not expect a reply. Why? -Dares to add and break to mourn, because it is a boy, and he still tears shelter.
There is nothing more to say. Explain what can not be understood by someone so young would only delay the inevitable. So the white monster mask, the eternal clown, the storyteller, Boogie Man, Sacaúntos, sacamantecas or Baron Lacroix, no matter how you call up your cold and majestic ivory wand and make it fall again and again on the child's forehead, the dam, stone thrown into the river to meet a bad end.
"Now you're a mort-vivant. A zombie, my dear boy! We have taken the soul and I teach them to obey before returning to the living world as slave Boccor , the witch, our lord and master.
child's screams could wake the dead, but they can be heard on the eve of the living. The Sacaúntos ends his thankless task when the head of his opponent has finally become flesh and the screams is succeeded by a vast silence. It splashed on to its prey and eager to start their bonds. Breathe! Caught in arms, Gustavo rises in the air in the hands of Sacaúntos, and together they walk on the treetops.
"Your sacrifice will not be in vain, little, give you a place at my right hand in the underworld.
But Gustavo and can not hear. He's asleep, is dying, or almost ... because survive. Several pieces of their brains have been adhered to stave off his tormentor and soil from the old blood new blood of Sacaúntos tuxedo. Fear not, part of the child's sanity will survive for a day last face to anyone who wants to engulf us all with a big bite.
- My child! Forgive me! It was necessary Do you understand? It was much needed ...!
And then the beast understands the reason for their pain, their remorse. Suddenly, he has remembered itself, the day began, when the witch killed him and made him Baron Lacroix, this monster that men call Sacaúntos or Boogie Man.
- Damn you, Boccor ! Damn you a million times! Cursed are you for forcing me to destroy the spirit of another child!
Immersed in a fleeting period of repentance, he Sacaúntos eyes light up and two tears carve two separate threads of meat, which is drained from his face stained white.
And memories bubbling spring. While the north, the guns of the national troops tap on Madrid. It is writing the destiny of a people. As always, be written with blood. But this time, it will be bloody ... and zombies.
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