The Stain That Breathes
My name is Diego, and I’m sixteen, living in a cramped apartment on the third floor of a four-story walk-up in the old colonial zone of Santo Domingo. The building...
My name is Diego, and I’m sixteen, living in a cramped apartment on the third floor of a four-story walk-up in the old colonial zone of Santo Domingo. The building...
My great-aunt Marta was the one who told me this, years after the family had buried the memory of it. She was a practical woman, a farmer’s wife, not given...
I grew up in a small coastal town in Puerto Rico, where the heat was a constant companion and the electricity flickered like a dying firefly. My best friend, Miguel,...
I never believed in omens, not until that sweltering August night when the air in our barrio thickened like congealed blood. My name is Rafael, and I grew up in...
When I was eleven, my family moved from the city to my grandmother’s farm in the rural heartland, a place called Grey Hollow. The farm had been in our family...
My name is Clara, and I have a peculiar affliction. It began in childhood, a strange sensitivity to the unseen. I can smell the dead. Not decay, not exactly, but...
My name is Mara, and until last summer, I’d never believed in ghosts. Growing up in Brooklyn, the only spirits I knew came in bottles at my abuela’s apartment, and...
Listening to the woods...
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