The witch's house

 The witch's house was situated on the outskirts of the village, in a secluded corner, on the bank where the river gently meandered at the foot of the talking stones. There the air was filled with the scent of damp earth and the oldest trees in the forest stood. The village children often came to the river to play, but they always kept a safe distance from the house, which was made of dark, weathered wood. They often spoke of it in whispers, telling stories about the figure of the old woman who lived there. They said that dancing shadows could be seen inside through the heavy, dusty curtains of the house's windows, and they claimed to have heard children's laughter coming from within. Some even claimed to have heard the house itself singing to attract them to it. However, despite the gossip, everyone was unaware of the true secret that was jealously guarded inside the river house. Hidden in one of the basement rooms lived Valeria, the witch's daughter. Valeria was born under mysterious circumstances and had deformities that made her different from the others. For this reason, the witch decided to hide her in the basement, away from the prying eyes of the town. When the witch's daughter reached an age, she began to feel her loneliness and long for something more: company and love. And over time, loneliness became a more difficult weight to bear. She began to regret her single life and complain about her mother's lack of support. One night, after wandering around the house and looking through the window curtains at the starry sky, she faced her mother. "Mom," Valeria began, in a firm voice, "I feel like an overwhelming emptiness is my only company. I want to meet a man and have children, but it seems like there is no one." "Don't be discouraged, dear," the witch replied with a smile. "Love can come at the most unexpected times." Valeria frowned, doubting her mother's words. "Do you really believe that?" Sometimes I feel so alone," she said, letting out a sigh. "Every day that passes, I become more convinced that my destiny is to be trapped in this darkness." The mother nodded. "I heard something fascinating about a nun. After forty-three years of religious life, she left her habits and ran away with the convent gardener." Valeria's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? That sounds incredible. How could that happen?" The mother smiled and began to tell the story of the nun. "Love can arise in the most unexpected places." The nun always felt affection for the gardener and in the end, she could not ignore her feelings. So she made the brave decision to follow her heart. She left her habits and one night she kidnapped the gardener. "Mother," she said with a trembling voice. "What will I do when you are gone? I need to get out." I want to see the outside world and find someone to keep me company. I can't hide here any longer. The witch looked at her daughter with sadness in her eyes. She knew that the world is very cruel to those who are different. However, she also understood Valeria's burning desire to meet a man who would turn her into a woman and give her a granddaughter to whom she could teach everything she knew, as they had done to her before. "My daughter," she replied softly, "men can be very cruel. But if you really want to find one to keep you company, I will help you. So be prepared. In two days, at the full moon, you will perform a ritual in the village church so that you will have the companion you so desire. It was a dark and mysterious night, the full moon had long since risen and shone brightly in the sky, illuminating the landscape with its silver light. The witch, wrapped in her long black cloak, looked around cautiously. Her eyes shone in the darkness. At her side, Valeria, marked by her deformity, followed her mother, with difficulty, with determination. Both had to act with caution; in order not to be discovered, they moved stealthily to avoid being seen. Upon reaching the village church, a sacred place that contrasted with the dark intentions they had, the mother stopped at the entrance. With a gentle but firm gesture, she indicated to her daughter to enter the church. The young woman nodded, feeling the weight of the rite she had to perform. “Remember,” the mother whispered, as the shadows danced between the trees, creating an atmosphere of unease and magic, “stay hidden and don’t stray too far. What you are going to do tonight is crucial.”

With those words echoing in her mind, the daughter entered the dimness of the church. The door creaked open and closed behind her with an ominous echo. Inside, the air was filled with the scent of melted wax and the smell of incense, a reminder of the ritual that took place in that sacred place. And while the young woman remained silent, looking around, surrounded by the shadows that the flickering candles on the altars cast on the cold stone walls. - the image of Saint Anthony whispered to the image of the Virgin, —It is the witch and her deformed daughter. What do they want at this hour? Does the witch not know that they are forbidden to enter the church? and the Virgin answered, —You keep quiet and do nothing. The one you call deformed is still pure and has not known any man. Let's see what the two of them want? After a few minutes of silence, the young woman, seeing where the man she was looking for was, walked determinedly towards the altar where the image of Saint Anthony rested, the saint known for helping those seeking to find a partner. With a bold gesture, without him protesting or showing resistance, she grabbed the saint and turned him around, facing her face down; and after grabbing him by his private parts with a trembling but firm voice, she began to murmur her plea. “Saint Anthony,” she said, “I ask you to grant me a man to keep me company. Someone who sees beyond my appearance and quells the heat I carry within.” As she said these words, the flames of the candles lit on the altar began to dance with greater intensity, as if responding to her call. Seeing the flames move with such vigor, she felt a current of energy run through her body and understood that her request had been heard. With gratitude in her heart, she returned the image of St. Anthony to its original position, making sure everything was as it was before. A slight glow lit up her eyes as she smiled; she felt that something had changed in the air. With a determined step, she left the church to join her mother. The witch was waiting for her at the entrance, her eyes shining in the darkness, full of curiosity and concern at the same time. “Did you get it?” the mother asked, seeing the glow on her daughter’s face. “Yes,” she replied. “I asked for company and I feel that I have been heard.” The two women looked at each other with complicity and understanding. As they walked under the cover of the starry night sky, back along the forest path, illuminated by the cold light of the full moon, the trees with their threatening shadows, and their twisted branches that reached out towards them like claws, seemed to whisper ancient stories about lost loves and fateful encounters. When she got home, Valeria, exhausted from her walk - she rarely went out into the outside world - returned to her room in the dark basement of the house. Before going to bed, the witch lit several candles and prepared some potions for the next day, mixing ingredients with a purpose that only she knew. Thus, mother and daughter sank into the darkness of dreams, anxiously awaiting the result of the spell they had performed. Mamadour was a young Senegalese man from the Casamance region. From a very young age he dreamed of going to Europe, the land of opportunity, with the desire to help his family and achieve a better future he decided to undertake the risky journey to Spain. After months of preparation and saving, Mamadour joined a group of migrants who, like him, were looking for a new life. Together, they boarded a boat on the coast of Morocco, facing the danger of the open sea. The journey was hard; The weather worsened, the waves battered the fragile boat and fear gripped everyone. However, the hope of reaching the promised land kept Mamadour and his companions together. Finally, after days of uncertainty, they reached the Spanish shores. Exhausted but grateful for having survived and without knowing the language or having any contacts, Mamadour had reached Almeria.

He spent the first few days in hiding for fear of being discovered until he was discovered by a local NGO that was dedicated to helping migrants like him. This organisation had been looking for him after receiving news of his arrival from other compatriots. From Almería he moved to Madrid, the capital. There, he attended Spanish classes at an NGO that offered him support: a place to stay and food. In the bustling streets of Malasaña and Chueca, he met other migrants and locals who helped him adapt. Mamadour began to learn the language and decided to get his driving licence; he wanted to be a truck driver. The NGO supported him in this process, helping him prepare for the theoretical and practical exams. After spending almost a year in Madrid, he decided to explore the north of the country. He travelled by train to Bilbao, from there he went to Barcelona, ​​where he worked as a street vendor on the Ramblas. In Barcelona he heard about Galicia, its coasts and its estuaries and the hospitality and kindness of its people. And moved by these stories or perhaps by his adventurous soul, he came from Catalonia to Galicia. After several weeks of fruitless job searching, through an advertisement in a newspaper, he found work in a small bakery and one day Mamadour was the bread delivery man for the bakery in our village. Every morning he got up early to help knead and bake the flour. Once the fresh bread came out of the oven, he would load the bakery's white van and set off with the bread ready to deliver to the customers. Mamadour soon won the hearts of the women of the village. He always had a kind word and a friendly gesture, accompanied by a wide smile that showed off his pearly teeth, which made his presence highly valued. The customers eagerly awaited his arrival, not only for the fresh bread he brought with him, but also for the warmth and joy he radiated. His natural charm transformed the simple purchase of bread into one of the best moments of the day. It was a quiet morning and the delivery van, with its characteristic white colour and the aroma of freshly baked bread accompanying it, was moving along the road. Mamadour was thinking about sending money to his family in Senegal so that he could bring his sister to Spain so that she could study. In the midst of his thoughts, he had deviated from the usual route to the village and taken the route that runs along the river. Suddenly the engine began to fail, making a strange noise and, after a few seconds of hesitation, the van stopped dead at the side of the road. Mamadour frowned when he realised that he would not be able to continue his route. With a resigned sigh, he got out of the vehicle and looked around. There was no choice but to seek help. In the distance, he saw an old house, with dark wooden walls and sloping roofs covered in moss. The windows, framed by yellowish lace curtains, seemed to watch him with curiosity. Determined, he began to walk towards it. As he approached, he thought about how inconvenient this situation was; He had to deliver fresh bread to his customers before the day began. When he arrived at the house, he knocked on the wood with the rusty door knocker. A kind old lady opened the door and smiled when she saw Mamadour. “Good morning! How can I help you?” she asked curiously. “Good morning,” he replied, smiling nervously. “Unfortunately, my van has broken down and I need to make a call to ask for someone to come and pick me up. Could I use your phone?” “Sure, dear,” she said in a friendly tone that belied any preconceived ideas about her appearance. “Come in, no problem. Here is a phone so you can call whoever you need.” The old lady nodded understandingly and let him in, offering him a coffee as well. Mamadour accepted the invitation without suspecting that, when boiling the water for the coffee, the old lady had added a handful of dried herbs, among which were feverfew and poppy. The atmosphere in the house was welcoming, but a shadow of uneasiness was beginning to loom over him without his knowing it. After drinking coffee, he began to feel the weight of his eyelids. He sat down on a chair and, little by little, in a matter of minutes, drowsiness enveloped him and he fell asleep on the kitchen table, oblivious to the dark plans the witch had in her mind. When Marmadour fell asleep, the witch told her daughter to leave the basement room and go up to the kitchen. "Look, look, it's the result of our spell, a man like you wanted and he's black as the devil himself," said the witch pointing to Mamadour who was sleeping with his head resting on the kitchen table. "Valeria," the witch whispered, "I think it's the result of our spell. We have to take advantage of this opportunity." Valeria looked at her mother curiously. "What do you mean?"
—We have to kidnap him. Not to hurt him, but to tell us his story. Maybe he's an adventurer or someone who's lived through extraordinary things. Imagine the nightmares he could tell us! Valeria hesitated for a moment, but what her mother suggested began to shine in her eyes. —Okay, Mom. But how do we do it? The witch smiled slyly and together they came up with a plan. The next morning, when Mamadour woke up confused and disoriented, tied to an armchair in the basement, he found himself surrounded by the two women. —Good morning! —Valeria said with a wide smile—. Welcome to our house. We've been waiting for you. Mamadour blinked several times before answering: —What... what's going on? —We've kidnapped you —Valeria said in a playful tone—. But don't worry; we're not going to hurt you. Mamadour laughed nervously at first, but soon realized that they weren't joking. However, there was something about their looks that scared him. So he decided to play along.

MVF