The days went by, and the energy in the house kept fluctuating. My godmother, who at the time helped us with the cleaning, claimed to feel the same things I did: doors and windows opening and closing for no apparent reason, objects falling, unexplained noises, and that constant unease, as if something were prowling through the rooms.
I tried to cling to skepticism, but the tension kept building.
One day, I came home from university with my friend. While she made something for lunch, I went up to my room and collapsed onto the bed, overwhelmed by the invisible heaviness in the air. I closed my eyes and immediately fell into a deep sleep.
It was nighttime in the city. I was driving through a neighborhood that looked like San Telmo. I wasn’t sure if I was the protagonist. I had someone with me, though I don’t remember who. At an intersection, the car in front of us was struck by a truck. We watched as the driver and passenger were crushed in a matter of seconds.
I felt the impact as if it had gone through my own body: the crunch of the ribcage, the skull ricocheting, the vertebrae snapping... one last breath. Then, darkness and silence.
On reflex, I yanked the handbrake just in time, and we avoided crashing.
Even so, the horror of the accident stayed with me. Fear took over. We backed up and turned onto a side street, as if trying to rewind time and forget everything. In the rearview mirror, I saw the flashing lights of the ambulance and police. I stepped on the gas. We didn’t want to be witnesses—we just wanted to vanish without a trace. I turned corner after corner until we hit a dead end. The light behind us grew more intense. My mind went blank. There was no escape. Blinded, we gave in.
I woke up with a jolt. I jumped out of bed, still shaken, ran downstairs, and sat at the far end of the table. My friend was still eating.
— Are you okay? she asked.
— I don’t know what’s wrong, I said. I had a really strange dream, and I feel an urgent need to write it down.
Without thinking, I opened my laptop. The words poured out on their own; my fingers moved like those of a puppet. I wasn’t thinking—I just watched the text form on the screen. As if the dream, or whatever it was, needed to escape through me.
When I finished, I closed the laptop and got up to get a glass of water.
— Hey, seriously, are you okay?
— No…
I sat down again and read what I had written. A strange sensation swept over my body. That story—that vision—didn’t belong to me. It was foreign.
For months I had been practicing lucid dreaming, exploring my senses on other planes. But this was different. Something—or someone—had used me as a vessel to manifest.
I remembered what a friend had once told me: "You either believe it, or it breaks you.”. I asked him for the contact of a medium who had done an energy cleansing in his house.
The woman replied the next day. She said she would perform the cleansing remotely, through the astral plane, and that she would need half a day to complete it. She also asked that no one be present during the process. That weekend, my friend was going on a trip, my godmother wouldn’t come by until Monday, and I was planning to visit my parents. It was the perfect time.
On Sunday, the medium sent me a voice message describing what she had found. According to her, there were five entities inhabiting the house. Four of them were disembodied. The fifth was the former owner, who had taken his own life with a shotgun in the kitchen. He wasn’t hostile but a prisoner, trying to escape from the others. Apparently, he had been the one trying to communicate with me. He was, she said, the one who caught the cat’s attention that time, the one who projected into my dream, the one who sought a channel for liberation.
One of the entities matched the dark-haired woman a friend of mine had once seen. She was the most powerful. The other three had humanoid shapes with no defined features. Each occupied a different corner of the house and fed on those of us connected to it. The woman fed off my mother, influencing her obsessive need to protect the home. The others fed on my father, my friend, and me.
My godmother was the least affected, perhaps because she maintained order. My friend and I, on the other hand, were seen as food.
The medium said she had broken the karmic ties that bound us, purified every corner of the house, and guided the soul of the former owner toward rest.
I didn’t tell anyone. I wanted to see for myself.
On Monday, after university, I went straight home. As soon as I walked in, I could tell something had changed. The oppressive atmosphere was gone. I walked through every room, even the back bathroom—the one I hadn’t used in nearly a year because of a lingering sense of threat I couldn’t explain. Everything felt ethereal. For the first time in a long while, I felt at peace in my own home.
An hour later, my godmother arrived. As soon as she crossed the threshold, she looked at me:
— It feels different, she said before I had said a word. Like there’s nothing here anymore… it used to scare me to be here.
So I told her everything.
My friend came back that same afternoon. She felt more energized too. The cats started running around and playing like they used to—without fear.
Nothing ever happened again after that day, though the echo of those presences still lingers between the lines.
