That night, while everyone except the watchmen slept, a cry rose from the darkness.
"My baby… my baby…"
The voice was distant, yet it pierced the camp as though whispered beside their ears. Every soul awoke in terror — especially the Torres brothers. They usually slept behind their carriage, a few meters from Francisco's and Carlos's camp. That small distance, once harmless, now felt like a great chasm. Trembling, they lit a torch and hurried toward the others.
"Who goes there?" cried a nervous servant, musket raised, his voice tight with fear.
"Wait! It's us — Camilo Torres and my brother, Darío!" Camilo called quickly, afraid the frightened man might fire.
The servant lowered his weapon, exhaling. "You know the masters don't trust you enough to sleep close by—"
Before he could finish, another cry came — louder, nearer.
"My babies… my babies! Where are my babies?"
The brothers froze, a chill running down their necks. They ran the last few steps toward the firelight.
"Do you think anyone can sleep after hearing that?" Darío muttered, pale and breathless.
Carlos and Francisco had already risen. "Let them stay," said Carlos grimly. "No one's sleeping after this."
Catalina, her face pale in the firelight, whispered, "It sounds like a woman. Should we look for her? Maybe she's lost her children."
Francisco and Carlos exchanged a glance — both thinking the same thing, neither daring to say it.
Carlos finally spoke, his tone low. "If it were truly a woman, the firelight would've drawn her to us. Whoever — or whatever — that is, doesn't want help. And tell me, who searches for their children in the dark without a lamp? Look — ours is the only light for miles."
Francisco nodded, unwilling to admit how afraid he was. The darkness around them felt alive, as if devouring the world. Only the faint halo of firelight kept it at bay.
"Listen," he said suddenly. "Do you hear that?"
Catalina frowned. "Hear what?"
"Nothing," Francisco murmured. "That's what I mean. The jungle's gone silent. No insects, no birds… just that voice. It's as if we're the only ones left in this place."
A shiver ran through her. "Do you think it's a witch?" she asked softly.
The servants, overhearing, began to mutter prayers and make the sign of the cross.
Francisco sighed. "I don't know. I've never seen one — only heard the stories. In catechism, they said witches laugh like madwomen and devour children. But this voice… it doesn't sound like that. It sounds desperate. Manipulative, maybe — but not mad."
Camilo, who had been silent, raised his hand. "I don't think it's a witch. Or perhaps… depending on one's beliefs, it could be. But I've heard of something similar."
Francisco looked at him sharply. "You know what it is?"
Camilo nodded slowly. "A legend. An old farmer told us once — they say it's known even in New Spain, or that they have their own version. I can't say if it's true."
Francisco sighed. "True or not, we won't sleep tonight after hearing that. Tell us the story. Wait —" he turned to a servant, "call the others. We'll all stay close to the fire tonight. I don't want anyone wandering in the dark."
The servant nodded quickly. The men posted on the perimeter exhaled with relief, grateful to return to the circle of light. Alone out there, between the black jungle and the faint glow of torches, they had felt like castaways adrift in a sea of darkness.
As they moved the torches inward, one young man suddenly stopped. His torchlight caught something beyond the trees — a woman, or what looked like one, in a white dress. Her face was pale and lovely, her legs bare beneath the fabric. For a moment, he forgot to breathe.
"Miss… do you need help?" he called, his voice strangely gentle.
"Mario, what are you doing?" one of his companions muttered, glancing up. "Don't start with your jokes now."
But Mario didn't respond. His eyes stayed fixed on the woman. "Miss… I can help you," he said, stepping forward, his face slack and dreamy. "You're too beautiful to be alone out here."
He took another step toward the dark, then another. Just before he reached the edge of the firelight, the woman lifted her head. Her skin shimmered a bluish-white. Her eyes had no pupils. Tears of blood streaked her cheeks. Her once-lovely form was shriveled and twisted.
"Where are my babies?" she shrieked.
Mario screamed as a hand suddenly gripped his shoulder. "Let's go, Mario — back to camp!"
He spun around, howling, "A ghost! A ghost! God save me!" His terror sent a ripple through the camp — men grabbed weapons, others stumbled backward in fear.
"Don't kill me!" he cried, struggling wildly. Two men caught him before he could run into the dark.
The leader arrived, sword drawn. "What's going on?"
One of the servants, still shaken, explained, "He was staring into the darkness, talking to someone. When I touched him, he started screaming."
The soldiers whispered among themselves.
"Possession," hissed one. "A witch saw him, seduced him — now a demon's inside."
"My grandmother said witches could twist a man's will," muttered another. "Make him do whatever they please."
"I heard him say she was beautiful," added a third. "They say witches can disguise themselves to lure men."
The leader scowled. "Tie him. Don't let him move. When we reach Mompox, we'll find a priest to see to him."
They bound Mario tightly. He thrashed and screamed, "Let me go! She's coming for me!"
Exasperated, one of the men stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth. They dragged him back to the campfire, where his trembling finally slowed.
Francisco met the leader's eyes as he recounted what happened. His frown deepened. "This sounds more and more like witchcraft," he muttered. "Everyone — prepare the salt. Better to be ready."
The men obeyed without question. Across the fire, Camilo stared at Mario's pale, sweating face, a cold realization creeping over him. If my brother and I had stayed out there a few minutes longer… he thought. It could have been us.
"Camilo," Francisco said quietly. "Tell us the story."
Camilo blinked, returning from his thoughts. "Yes," he said after a shaky breath. "Give me a moment… I'll tell it."
The group fell silent. All eyes turned toward the fire — and to the trembling shadows that danced just beyond its light.