The Alley of the Winds. A horror story.

adncabrera (62)in #flashfiction • 5 years ago

The Alley of the Winds

My house was very close to Windy Alley. It was narrow, dark. A surviving stone construction from ancient days. It was part of another building, but no one remembered it. There was talk of a fort, a convent or a church. When you looked out at the passage, you heard the murmur of the air, a distant litany. Those who had entered claimed that the currents were fierce, that you might lose your clothes in transit. We made bets on who dared to go through it. My friends walked through it many times. I didn't.
All sorts of legends about the Alley circulated in the town. My grandmother had told me about the dog that ate children's bones and the black men that stole organs. I had also heard the stories that my friends told: the vampire, the unborn, the ghost mother who kidnapped children and took them to hell. I had collected others at school; so I became a collector of alley stories. With time, this hobby came to interrupt my sleep and created within me a fear that until then was unknown: the fear of darkness. My mother was exasperated. I didn't understand how, when I grew up, suddenly I couldn't sleep without lights. "Daughter, you're ten years old," she said.
But the stories were repeated in my head. And it got worse.
A day came when I couldn't even sleep with the lights on. I began to consume myself, while my mother was wearing herself out, taking me to doctors who couldn't cure me. And it happened, predictably, that one day I had to face my fears, but it wasn't because of a silly bet, but because of the Gentile Lady. She saved me from despair.
When she came for me, I was with my mother. She cradled me like a baby and sang to me. The lady looked out her pale face and the room was filled with a fresh, vegetable breeze. "Girl," she said, "come with me to the Alley". I remember my mother's light eyes, exorbitant. She nailed her nails to my side, to my shoulder. But I knew I had to go, and I told her. Her hands became weaker.
When I crossed the threshold, my mother sighed. It was relief.
There is no exit to the other side when you cross Windy Alley with Gentile Lady. She carries you by the hand and you only walk on the fragrant air, on the murmur of the wind.

Gracias por la compañía. Bienvenidos siempre.