Page 6 of Morena

III.

I saw her again. This time, from across the dance floor of the club.

The night smelled of sweat and cigarette smoke, the kind of air that stuck to your skin.

She was dancing with the music, her hips moving slowly to Girls Just Wanna Have Fun .

Neon strobes flickered over her. She wore high-waisted Levi’s that hugged her curves and a white blouse with tiny daisies stitched into the collar.

A thin sheen of sweat glossed her forehead, catching the light of the silver disco ball, but she looked so happy, laughing with every spin, every toss of her hair.

Her lips mouthed the words of the songs. Hoops swayed at her ears with each dance move she took. For a moment, she wasn’t human at all. She was like life itself.

Then her eyes caught mine. Or maybe I only wanted them to.

She pointed in my direction. The disco ball above us spun too fast, scattering fragments of color across her body like shards of a mirror.

“Hola, 1 guapo ,“ she said, weaving through the crowd, voice low but sweet. “What are you doing here?”

“I can’t get you out of my mind, Morena.” My whisper trembled as I leaned closer.

She grinned, still dancing. “Then I guess you’ll have to sleep forever, guapo .”

The song changed, Time After Time. The crowd melted into pairs, moving slowly, but she only circled me like a predator, biting her lower lip and keeping her eyes locked on mine.

“Wanna dance, Morena?” I asked.

“If you say my name again…” Her laugh was a taunt, warm breath brushing past me as she slipped around my shoulder.

“If you promise you’ll stay, Morena.” My hand shot out, seizing her arm.

The last syllable tasted like a curse.

Her skin drained of color beneath my grip, fingers blackening and nails lengthening like talons. Her eyes rolled white, hair wilting as curls fell limp across her face. Still, I clung to her, desperate, believing I could drag her back.

I was wrong.

Her nails plunged into my arm, deeper, until the pain split me open. She screamed with a high pitch that rattled the walls. My ears filled with wet warmth. I was bleeding. Then darkness swallowed me.

I woke up choking, gasping, my hand clamped to the other arm. Blood stained my palm, leaking from ragged crescents gouged into my flesh.

2 ?Cono? How could this be? How was I bleeding from a dream?

Before the question could form, the old woman came above me, her face hovering above mine. Gray hair hung in tangled ropes, and her teeth were yellowed and jagged.

Her shadow bent over me, just before she said, “You saw her, didn’t you?”

“Who?” My voice cracked as I pulled away, curling my legs up against the couch.

“Morena.”

I froze.

She shuffled to a cupboard behind the sofa, hand pressed against her back for balance.

The door creaked as she pried it open and dragged out an old album.

It was thick, with a brown leather cover, filled with yellowed newspaper clippings, curled photographs, and missing posters pressed flat against its pages.

She carried it to me and set it on her lap. Her fingers, trembling, turned the pages until she stopped. And there she was. 1984. Morena.

“I remember it like yesterday,” she began. “She was the most beautiful girl in town. 3 Pero muy extrana. ”

“Strange?” I asked, staring at the photo. For a second, I swore the picture moved.

“I heard she was into dark things,” the old woman said. “Some claimed they saw her dancing naked beneath the full moon, that she drank salt water. That she knew what was coming before it ever happened.”

4 “ ?Cómo la bruja? “ I asked, my brow lifting.

She nodded slowly, whispering, 5 “Ajá.”

“When she disappeared, it rained three days straight. The streets turned to swamp, and even the air felt rotten. No one left their homes.”

“What happened to her?” I asked.

“She met El Trece. Some say she made a deal with the devil so he could die. Others believe he killed her, and her curse was loving him back.”

“And the truth?”

6 “Nadie sabe,” she murmured. “But her body was never found. Stories grew instead, and through those stories, she came back. Some say a mirror is the door between our world and the spirit world. If her name is called, she will answer. She will come.”

I watched her trace the photograph with her fingertip. The album was full of clippings, missing posters, and scribbled notes. She kept them all.

“If you did something you regret,” the old woman said, “she will feed on it. She knows what you’ve done. She will haunt you for it.”

I stood too quickly, tension clawing at my chest. “I did nothing.”

7 “ Puede ser, “ she whispered, closing the album with a shaking hand and pressing her palm to its cover. “Then maybe you are safe.”

I rubbed at my temples, said nothing, and slipped out of the living room, trying to find the bathroom. And as soon as I did, I locked the door behind me.

What’s past is past.

That is what they say. But what if the past is the thing gnawing at you day and night, dragging you back when you try to step forward?

They say you must let go of ghosts to grow.

But what if I am the most haunted ghost of all?

What if I cannot die because I have already been dead for years, trapped inside this rotting human shell?

Maybe life is not life at all. Maybe this is hell.

Living in pain. Unable to live. Unable to die. Tragic. My life is tragic.

I turned the faucet, letting the water run warm. Steam came quickly, fogging the mirror. When I wiped my palm across the glass, nothing looked back at me, only emptiness.

I leaned closer, my breath shallow. A chill crept over my skin, and cold fingers brushed the back of my neck, claws dragging down my chest, pausing over my heart. My reflection blurred, then sharpened into hers. Her eyes burned like a storm, jade blue, drawing me in.

I tried to pull my hand away from the mirror, but it would not move. It felt glued to the glass.

8 “ Cono, “ I hissed, clutching the sink with my free hand.

The water surged hotter and hotter, steam filling my lungs. Then, in the drain, something moved, like it was growing from the drain.

I cut the faucet and slipped a finger under the stream. The water was icy cold. My skin prickled.

9 “Qué…?” I whispered.

The drain gurgled. Something snapped around my wrist, like a braided chain dragging me under. I tried to scream, but no sound came, only the rasp of air caught in my chest.

“Fuck,” I gasped, straining. “Fuck, Morena. ”

“You called me.”

Her voice came from behind me. Breath against my ear. Her hands slid from my hips to my chest, nails scoring lines until blood warmed my skin.

I hissed through my teeth.

“Don’t tell me you are in pain,” she whispered, mouth brushing my ear, then lower along my throat. Her body pressed hard against mine.

“Is my touch cold enough for your heart?” she growled softly. “Or is it the fire inside you that burns?”

“What would you know?” I forced out. “You are the one who is dead.”

She laughed, her nails grazing my neck. “That is low, even for a failure like you.”

I locked my eyes on the mirror, searching for her. “Tell me, Morena, how is it to be dead, and still long for a body? How is it to crave life, when you can never feel it again?”

She laughed, the sound bouncing off the bathroom tiles, too loud, too close. “You really think this is what it’s about?” Her laugh dropped lower, darker. “You called me. Remember?”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “I was forced.”

“Tsk, tsk.” She appeared in front of me, tilting my chin away. “Don’t look, 10 mis ojos tristes. You’ll go blind.“ Her chuckle was wicked, intimate. “I can’t help hunger with pretty eyes like yours.”

“What do you want?” My voice cracked against the steam.

Her fingers trailed from my chest up my throat. Her leg slid between mine, pulling me in. The sink dug into my hips.

“ 11 Tú, “ she purred. Then softer, with a growl beneath it, “But not yet, lust burns sweeter when it’s left to starve.”

“I’m no good to take.” I strained against her grip, trying to look at her, but the force on my hand pressed me harder against the sink. Her palm held my face in place, denying me her eyes.

“You carry something of mine,” she breathed at my neck. Her voice curled warm against my ear. “You’re broken. And broken things…” Her lips grazed my skin. “…belong to me. ”

A sudden bang rattled the door. Carlos’s voice cut through. “Matteo, you good?”

“Yeah!” I shouted, chest tight. “I just need a minute.”

She turned my head, covering my eyes with her hand. Her finger slowly traced the edge of my lips. “Liar.”

Her hand slid lower, down my chest, further still. Pain knotted in my groin, my body betraying me even as I fought it.

Then her hand was gone.

I opened my eyes. The bathroom was empty. The water still gurgled in the drain. My palm tore free from the mirror like it had never been bound.

“What the fuck is happening?” My whisper broke.

The sink bit into my hands. My chest heaved. The ache between my legs pulsed once, then faded into nothing, leaving me hollow and cold. Fear devoured it, so fast.

My reflection stared back at me, pupils blown wide, sweat streaking my temple. My chest was still tight, my pulse hammering against my throat like I had been running for my life.

Carlos banged again. “Matteo?”

My mouth opened, but no sound came. Her breath still lingered at my ear, phantom touch still burning on my skin. The drain whispered with water circling down, down, down.

I wasn’t just afraid of what she could do. I was afraid of how easily she owned me. Control was the only thing I had left, and she was already tearing it away.

I forced myself back from the sink, stumbling to the door. Carlos stood waiting, his eyes wide with questions.

“I…” My words broke apart. “I have to go.”

I pushed past him, down the hall. The walls tilted in my vision, the floor twisting like I was walking upside down, until the front door finally came ahead.

I burst outside, air hitting my lungs. The street stretched before me. I staggered down the street, weaving left and right. My body tilted like I was drunk, but there was no drink in me. My legs carried me without thought, and somehow they led me back to the house.

Maybe if I broke inside, I could rest. Even if she haunted me, I would rather face her ghost than another night on the street.

I slipped into the narrow alley behind the house. A dumpster groaned under my weight as I climbed, my arms shaking as I dragged myself to the window frame. The wood splintered against my palms, but I pushed, lifted, and tumbled inside.

The room was new to me; I hadn’t seen it before. The wallpaper hung in strips, and dust floated in the still air. The only thing left inside was an old mattress, stained and sunken in the middle.

I didn’t think. I just collapsed onto it, my body sinking into the rot. My eyes closed before I could even breathe.

I was so damn tired. Tired of life, tired of hauntings, tired of being hunted. All I wanted was the darkness, deep and endless, to finally catch me and pull me under its spell.

1. Handsome.

2. Fuck/ Damn.

3. But very weird.

4. Like a witch?

5. Aha.

6. No one knows.

7. Could be.

8. Fuck.

9. What?

10. My sad eyes.

11. You.