I didn't sleep that night. Again ….
The incense flames stayed lit, though they no longer burned: they seemed to be waiting.
The next day, I returned to the cemetery with the codex wrapped in a shawl and my hands marked by the dried blood of the failed ritual.
The crack remained open.
But now… it wasn't alone.
Around the tree, the air was heavier, darker, as if it breathed inward. And what it breathed… knew me.
—"Citlali…" something whispered from the roots.
It wasn't a voice.
It was a memory spoken by another mouth.
And then I saw him.
Emerging slowly from the crack:
A human body.
Rigid. Torn.
Covered in dry earth stuck to his skin.
His hands crossed over his chest.
He wore the same shirt he had when we buried him.
The same black stone necklace I gave him when we were children.
My brother.
But he was not him.
His empty eye sockets oozed hot wax.
And from his mouth came no voice, only a wet groan, as if his breath melted before it could become a word.
I froze.
—"You can't be here," I whispered.
"You're not…"
The corpse lifted his head.
His empty eyes searched for me.
And then he spoke.
With my voice.
—"It was you…
You opened the crack.
You let in what should never return."
My throat closed.
The gravedigger appeared among the graves, but this time he was not alone: shadows followed him—neighbors, children, even Doña Mariela.
All bowed their heads like sleeping puppets.
—"What you opened doesn't just unearth bones," said the gravedigger.
—"It unearths guilt."
My brother—that thing that was my brother—took a step toward me.
Each footprint in the earth bloomed a black flower, as if death itself sprouted behind him.
—"You forgot me…"
—"And that's why I returned."
I tried to run.
But the tree's roots rose and grabbed my ankles. The crack whispered in an ancient language, not from the codex… but from me.
—"Close the crack if you want," whispered my brother.
—"But it's already too late."
I bent over the codex.
The letters trembled, alive, unwilling to be read.
And then I understood.
I'm not fighting to close the crack.
I'm fighting to not open it further.
Because something… or someone… on the other side waits.
And it looks too much like me.