October 30, 1921

I have no memory of what happened once I was left alone with the crowd of souls. Although I assume that my legs must have unlocked at some point during the night, because by the time I regained consciousness, I was no longer on a narrow forest path, but in a sort of clearing, right next to a stone cross I was certain I hadn’t approached the night before.

Where was this clearing, and how had I arrived there? At first, I didn’t know.

I woke up on the rocky ground when the sun was already rising over the horizon, more disoriented than ever. I was alone, and my entire body ached, though when I stood up and checked myself over, I realized that aside from the fear I had endured during the night and the lingering shock, I didn’t have a single scratch. It was likely that my soreness was due to overexertion the previous day, or perhaps from collapsing in an awkward position while fainting on my way back.

Because I had fainted, right?

As the minutes passed, I slowly began to recall the moments just before I lost consciousness the day before. What I had seen and heard could only be compared to the nightmares that tormented me as a child, or to the macabre legends the old folk loved to tell to keep tourists away from their land. Nothing could be real, and yet, I was sure my eyes hadn’t deceived me.

Whether they were ghosts or not, my encounter hadn’t been an illusion. I knew this as soon as I looked around and saw the same cross that the woman had given me during the night. A cross I had taken without thinking, as if the same force that had kept my legs frozen had compelled me to grasp that crucifix, just as the woman had.

Seeing that cross on the ground, just a few meters away, filled me with horror. I didn’t even want to touch it again.

All I wanted at that moment was to get away from that clearing, to run as I hadn’t been able to before and forget everything that had happened. I would lock myself in my house and not leave for the entire day, not even to meet the Malvedo family at the church doors, as we had planned when I left their home. With any luck, I thought, I could use the whole day to calm down, and by the time I had to go on my rounds again, I’d have nothing left to fear.

It was obvious that this was a fanciful thought, out of touch with reality. When I stood up, I was still trembling, and my legs seemed to struggle just to hold my weight.

I was exhausted. Deeply tired, as if I had spent the entire night on my feet, wandering through the fields. But I didn’t want to dwell on that.

Where the hell was I? It took me a while to orient myself, but when I finally did, I realized I was standing near the stone cross about two kilometers from my village, in the opposite direction of where I had come from, Ribera. How had I ended up here? Had I somehow passed my village and…? No, it didn’t make sense. None of it did.

Given the panic I had been feeling for hours, it was impossible to believe that I would have deliberately made the reckless decision to enter a village and then leave it again, plunging back into the darkness of the woods without even seeking help.

And speaking of living creatures… where was my donkey? I scanned the clearing without moving far from it, but saw no trace of him. Perhaps he had taken advantage of my sleep to escape. I tried to be optimistic, thinking—without any real evidence—that he might have made his way to where I was now. But what about the lantern the Malvedos had given me? That was gone too, and there was no way I would have discarded it willingly.

Without it, my journey would have been like walking blindly into the wolf's den.

Disregarding what I had lost, I told myself I needed to return home immediately. I would worry about finding the donkey, talking to the Malvedos, and everything else later. First, I needed to lock myself in a safe place and try to put behind me what I had just experienced, even if only for a few hours.

I began walking in what I believed was the right direction… only to find myself back at the same stone cross less than ten minutes later.

How had that happened? There was a crossroads in the clearing, the villages were signposted, and given the layout of the terrain, it was impossible to walk in circles, even if I wanted to. But that’s what seemed to have happened.

I tried taking the same path again, but before long, I found myself back at the same spot. What if I tried a different path, even though I was certain it would take me farther away from home? My mind might have been playing tricks on me, making me think I was choosing the right direction when I wasn’t.

So, I took another road, and after about fifteen minutes, I ended up at the same cursed stone cross.

I couldn’t understand what was happening, and after almost an hour lost in a forest I couldn’t seem to escape, I finally gave up, sitting at the foot of that stone monument that, no matter what I did, I couldn’t shake off.

I don’t know how long I sat there, head down, trying to calm my breathing. But when I finally looked up, it was because I heard a voice calling me.

“It’s the cross,” said the woman, as she walked toward me. “You have to carry it with you. Otherwise, you won’t be able to leave this clearing.”

I didn’t know this person—or rather, we hadn’t been formally introduced. But when I saw her face, I recognized her immediately: she was the same young woman who had led the procession the night before, the one who had handed me the very cross she was now referring to!

“Who are you?” I asked cautiously.

I knew I hadn’t been mistaken in identifying her. Although her expression wasn’t as terrified or distant as the night before, her clothes were the same. But I needed to confirm that she was a flesh-and-blood person, not a spirit or a product of my imagination.

"We met last night, remember? I was leading the procession, holding the cross."

"Are you...?"

"I was lucky to make it out alive, yes," she interrupted, anticipating my doubts.

As she took a couple more steps forward, it seemed for a moment that she wanted to grab my arm, maybe to prove that she was real. But I instinctively pulled away.

"Listen, this is very important," she said, abandoning her attempt to get closer without asking further questions. "You've been recruited by the Santa Compaña, and tonight it will come for you again."

"What? No... That can’t be," I insisted, more out of my need to convince myself that none of this was real than for any other reason, cutting her off before she could continue. "Such a thing doesn’t exist; it’s just a legend."

"And yet, here we are. Look, I’m not going to try to convince you of the truth of my words, because I believe deep down you’re already aware of what’s happening. You just need a bit of time to process it... But time is exactly what you don’t have right now!" Kneeling in front of me, so she was at eye level and I couldn’t avoid making eye contact, she continued. "I’ll give you the information you need, then it’s up to you to decide what to do with it." Seeing that I had no intention of contradicting her, she went on, "Two days. You have two days to deal with this. The Santa will reappear at sunset, and when it does, you’ll lose control of your senses again. So, I suggest you use these daylight hours to eat, rest, and come up with a plan."

"A plan to free myself from a supernatural presence, you mean?"

It wasn’t that it sounded ridiculous — unfortunately, I had already moved past that point. It was that, really, what power could a mere mortal have to rid himself of such a thing?

"There are always ways, though you may not like them."

"I doubt salt circles and pentagrams will do me much good at this point," I muttered, remembering the old stories of people saved from the Santa by enclosing themselves in protective circles. How they had found salt in the middle of nowhere and managed to draw three squiggles on the ground before the procession got close enough to abduct them still baffled me.

"No, that only helps those who aren’t already under its influence. In your case, the only thing that could save you is passing the cross to someone else."

"I see, but I imagine you didn’t come to me just to take back the cross you gave me."

"It’s not that simple. If it were, we’d just leave the cross in the basket of some poor shepherd and walk away for good, not caring what happened to them afterward. But it doesn’t work like that. The cross is cursed too."

"I’d figured as much," I muttered.

All those times I’d tried to leave but couldn’t must have had an explanation. Whether it was supernatural or not, I didn’t like where this was heading.

"The cross must be passed to another mortal during the night, while you’re in a trance, and in the company of the Santa. Only when you manage to give the cross to someone else can you regain your consciousness and escape your fate."

"And how do I do that, if I may ask? You must have noticed, since you were in my position, that I have no control while I’m leading the procession."

"It’s a matter of luck," she admitted, almost as if she were apologizing for not having an easy solution to my problem. "Unless you arrange for someone to meet you in the early hours, somewhere where you estimate the Santa might pass, without mentioning why you need them to wait for you."

"You want me to drag someone else into this ruin to save myself?"

The very thought outraged me, though I couldn’t deny that I was scared. And who knows, maybe after those two days she had given me, I might be desperate enough to try such a thing. Even if it was out of sheer desperation, having found no other way out.

"That’s not what I’m suggesting. What I’m saying is, aside from passing the cross to someone else, I don’t know of any other way to break the curse. As for how you manage that... it was just a suggestion, perhaps the one with the highest chance of success. You can take it or leave it and try to find another way. Whatever you do, I recommend you conserve your energy and resolve what needs resolving as soon as possible."

"Two days, you said."

"It should be three, but you’ve already spent the first night wandering with the Santa."

How much difference could that make, given that I was trapped with no immediate way to free myself? I didn’t know yet, but I wasn’t aware of how much I needed that information until the woman continued:

"The deadline is important because the procession will slowly consume you without you realizing it. Even now, though daylight has broken and there’s no chance of you being affected by it, you’re not entirely free from its spell. I speak from experience. I spent two days wandering these lands against my will, and I felt myself weakening bit by bit: Even though I spent the night walking without rest, I lost my appetite, and when I tried to sleep during the day, it was impossible to drift off. It was as if something — or someone — was playing with my consciousness, reminding me that I had a greater purpose than any of my earthly needs."

She didn’t seem to be lying, at least not about this. I hadn’t noticed before, but aside from her clothes looking as though she’d been wearing them for days, her face was shadowed by deep, dark circles.

With or without paranormal influence, it was clear this person was exhausted.

"They say three days," she continued. "Three days is how long the human body can endure at this pace, and that’s why I’m urging you to carry out your plan as soon as possible."

Then, perhaps to add credibility to her story, the young woman introduced herself as Delia Tasende. A name that, rightly so — she confirmed this herself — sounded familiar, as I’d heard of a family by that name living in a village a couple of towns away.

As she told me later, Delia had been herding her flock back to the barn a couple of days before when night fell and she crossed paths with the Santa. What followed was an experience she barely described, but which could be summarized as very similar to mine, having woken up at dawn on a strange path with hardly any memory of what had happened during the night.

She knew so much about the Santa, thanks to popular beliefs and also to her own research during the more than fifty hours she had been trapped by the unwanted spell.

What was clear at this point was that she wasn’t lying when she said she only intended to give me the information I needed to escape — or at least to know how I might perish. For as soon as she finished speaking with me, she left, without looking back.

Delia didn’t want to get involved any more than she already had. And though it’s true I now had her address and could verify her erratic behavior with her family over the last few days, I got the impression that I would never speak with her again.

It wasn’t just a matter of helping or not — the young woman looked so terrified when she left me by the stone cross that she seemed ready to take the next carriage to anywhere, far from those mountains.