La Caja Fantasma

I don’t remember much about it. I was told when people felt I was old enough to hear the story. It was weeks from my second birthday, my parents were taking me on a bus from our home to visit my grandparents. The route took us through some of the most treacherous roads in the world. On one side cliff faces prone to rockfalls, the other vertical drops into the jungle. It was night and the driver hit a rock. The bus left the road and fell hundreds of feet into the deepest, darkest part of the jungle. The crash killed 43 passengers and the driver. There was only one survivor. It took three days for them to find us. All of this I have been told, none of it I can remember.

My memories came back over time. Sitting amongst the broken bloodied bodies of my fellow passengers as their trapped spirits ricocheted around their metal cage, their anger building, their madness growing. One by one they realised their only means of escape was the only living vessel there. They dragged their souls onto mine, their personalities utterly twisted and unrecognisable from their humanity.

Twenty years I have spent suppressing them, their wickedness and their power. Their evil intent crept out as I grew but my loving grandparents kept me centred. I felt the force within me but filled with love, my crimes were small and forgivable. When my Pappy was sick the bank would not loan us the money for his medicine. I worked extra hours, so did Nannu. The extra work weakened her and when his treatment failed she followed him to the grave a week later.

I conceded to the broken souls. Now I have the madness and power to break the world that broke me.