{"id":684,"date":"2024-11-01T01:28:06","date_gmt":"2024-11-01T00:28:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dviewpoint.com\/?p=684"},"modified":"2024-11-01T04:16:54","modified_gmt":"2024-11-01T03:16:54","slug":"la-emboscada","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dviewpoint.com\/en\/la-emboscada\/","title":{"rendered":"The ambush"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

Spring was just beginning. I was somewhere in the Argentine Patagonia, near the Andes. I had driven for hours along the forest-lined route. Uncertainty grew with each passing mile\u2014I didn\u2019t know where I was headed, but something, or someone, was waiting for me. Eventually, I reached the shore of a lake. The water reflected a beautifully clear sky, and a wooden and stone cabin\u2014so typical of the region\u2014blended seamlessly into the surrounding mountains and forest.<\/p>

For a moment, I thought it was an open refuge, so I got out of the car and approached. Before I could knock, the door opened slowly. A kind-looking housekeeper in her 50s peeked out, smiled at me, and without saying a word, gestured generously for me to enter. The entrance was through the kitchen. Inside, the blinds allowed in just enough light, and the woman closed the front door and offered me a glass of water. While she chopped some potatoes and carrots, my attention was drawn to an open door leading into the living room. When I crossed into the next room, I noticed how the light grew dim, as though the space itself were trying to hide something in its shadows. A damp smell filled the air, and it seemed like the place hadn\u2019t felt fresh air in decades.<\/p>

The room held an old but luxurious collection of wooden furniture. To my right, I ran my hand along the dusty shelf of an empty bookshelf. In the far left corner, obscured by darkness, I noticed two armchairs. Two vague figures were outlined in the shadows, as if they\u2019d been waiting for me since the moment I\u2019d walked in. I advanced cautiously. As I drew closer, an old lamp turned on abruptly, illuminating the figures. They were two large, unsettling old men. Their pale skin was almost translucent, as though life barely touched them. Their gaunt, aged faces bore an expression of malice I\u2019d never seen. I felt a chill down my spine and couldn\u2019t bring myself to look directly at them.<\/p>

\u2014Welcome \u2014they said in unison, their voices intertwined with a strangely defiant cadence.<\/p>

My heart began to race, until it was the only sound echoing through the room. Something about the way their hands rested on their wooden and silver canes warned me of imminent danger, but my legs were as rooted to the floor as tree trunks. Then, I saw them pull out their canes. In their bony hands, they held knives with gleaming, sharp blades. The wooden handles seemed carved with indecipherable symbols.<\/p>

\u2014It\u2019s just a dream \u2014I told myself, trying to calm the panic that had frozen me in place.<\/p>

Suddenly, I heard the front door slam shut behind me. I turned my head, but it was too late. The two men lunged at me, pinning me to the ground. In the blink of an eye, I found myself struggling to break free from their enormous hands. The sharp blades drew closer and closer to my skin.
Suddenly, one of them plunged the blade into my abdomen, knocking the breath out of me. My heartbeat thundered once more, then stopped, but I felt no pain. There was no blood, only silence. The knife slid into me as though my body offered no resistance. Confusion mingled with terror. This can\u2019t be real, I thought. It couldn\u2019t be. In the midst of the struggle and desperation, everything around me began to fade.<\/p>

I woke up in my bed, gasping for breath. The air in the room wrapped around me like a cold, damp towel. The light of the full moon poured in through the window to my right. I looked straight ahead into the dim light and saw a shadow more than six feet tall rising up to the ceiling. To my right, I saw my roommate lying on his bed, murmuring in his sleep. The shadow drifted slowly from my bed toward his. Once it was over him, my still-sleeping roommate began to cry, writhing beneath the sheets. His barely audible moans filled the air with anguish, as if the nightmare had crossed a portal into our reality.<\/p>

Holding back my panic, I extended my trembling hand to the nightstand, searching for anything that might confirm whether this was a nightmare or reality. I guessed it was 3:00 AM, and sure enough, my phone screen displayed the cursed hour. I let go of my phone and wrapped myself in my blankets, trying to ignore my roommate\u2019s cries and the chill that spread throughout my body. That presence filled the room until I felt as though I was being watched. Trapped under the weight of my own fear, I made one last effort to surrender to a deep sleep.<\/p>

When I woke the next morning, sunlight flooded the room. The shadow had disappeared, but I knew it hadn\u2019t just been a dream. Something from that other dimension had escaped, leaving thoughts in my mind that refused to dissolve.<\/p>

Note:<\/strong><\/p>

Normally, in situations like this, I record everything that happens on my phone. But fear took such control over me that I couldn\u2019t document anything, aside from the imprint it left on my memory. I still question the truth of this story, yet even after all these years, the feeling is as vivid as ever.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\"\"\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Spring was just beginning. I was somewhere in the Argentine Patagonia, near the Andes. I had driven for hours along the forest-lined route. Uncertainty grew with each passing mile\u2014I didn\u2019t know where I was headed, but something, or someone, was waiting for me. Eventually, I reached the shore of a lake. ... <\/p>\n

Read more “La emboscada”<\/span><\/a><\/p>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":713,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-684","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-cuentos"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/dviewpoint.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/684"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/dviewpoint.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/dviewpoint.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dviewpoint.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dviewpoint.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=684"}],"version-history":[{"count":32,"href":"https:\/\/dviewpoint.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/684\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":722,"href":"https:\/\/dviewpoint.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/684\/revisions\/722"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dviewpoint.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/713"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/dviewpoint.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=684"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dviewpoint.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=684"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dviewpoint.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=684"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}