GrowingOlderHopeWiser

Rosalita pushed her bike through the field of overgrown grass, weeds, and rocks. The bike struggled to stay on course. She approached their new home, an old convent under renovation.

Rosalita, 14 years old at the time and quite impressionable, felt something was not right about the place; a heavy, eerie feeling pervaded both the interior and exterior of the convent. Her family dismissed her concerns, saying it had once been a holy place; what could be wrong? Rosalita’s senses told her otherwise. 

The facade of the old building was crumbling, the result of disrepair and centuries of neglect. The property was huge and lay on the outskirts of the main city. Rosalita’s family was wealthy, and the restoration of the convent was their new pet project. They were to live on the property until the project was completed. Upstairs, several rooms were designated as living quarters, and a large downstairs area served as the kitchen and servants’ quarters. The convent was a maze of hallways and rooms; some sections were impassable after an earthquake destroyed part of it. Scaffolding was everywhere, and men worked all day removing debris and replacing sections of the crumbling walls. 

Rosalita approached the south side of the property, still on her bike. She noticed the curtains were drawn on the new section of the building, the recreation room. The sun sliced across the tall windows of the round room. As she got closer, there seemed to be a commotion. The curtains moved as if something were hitting them. With her heart pounding, she got off the bike and stood by the corner of one of the windows. Suddenly, the curtain was pulled open, and a pair of very evil eyes glared right at Rosalita. She was so startled that she fell backward onto her bum. Her fright was so intense that she felt nauseated. When she looked up at the window again, it was covered. She scrambled to her bike and went around the front of the convent. Here, the hustle and bustle of construction was underway. She felt safer. Her father, Don Alphonso, was talking to one of the construction managers, who had plans in his hands. 

She approached him timidly. “Papa, there is someone in the recreation room.” 

“Not now, mija. I am busy. Go find your mother.” 

Rosalita was the youngest of the 5 children of Don Alphonso Garcia and Doña Rosalia. Often, she was on her own, with a wide age gap between her and her siblings. She made her way across the great hall and into the kitchen, where everything was bustling again in preparation for the afternoon meal. Doña Rosalia was busy adding her secret to the bubbling pot of aromatic spices and stewing chicken. Bread was baking, and yellow saffron rice was steaming. A tabletop filled with all sorts of vegetables: peppers, onions, potatoes, and aromatic herbs was being chopped. Deliveries were being made: sacks of rice and beans and bushels of plantains. 

Rosalita approached her mother, “Mama, there is someone in the recreation room.” 

“It is probably one of the workers, mija. Find your sister, Theresa. Theresa was the oldest, a beautiful young woman with long, raven-black hair and dreamy dark brown eyes. She had her eye on her future, soon to be married to Gregorio Fernandez. A recent graduate of La Universidad Central, he already had prospects of an important position with the government. Theresa was in her room, combing her long hair.

Rosalita came up to her, “There is someone in the recreation room, Theresa.”

“Hay, niña, there you go again, imagining things. Go play with your dolls.”

Dismissed again, Rosalita wandered down the hall toward the recreation room. The double doors were closed and locked. She listened at the door, pressing her ear to it. Nothing. Maybe it was her imagination. The air seemed unusually cold; she could see her breath. She felt someone or something had passed by her, very close, so close her skin tingled as if it had been brushed. Farther down the hallway, she espied an opening in the paneled wall. That was not there before, she thought. It was a secret doorway, narrow and dark beyond. Rosalita went and got a large candle, lit it, and made her way to the door. Curiosity had gotten the best of her; she just had to explore. The path beyond the doorway was narrow and very long. There were twists and turns, and it was cold, and the odor of mildew and dust made her nose itch. The path was so narrow she could touch both sides with her arms outstretched. It finally opened into a huge, cavernous room with very high ceilings and crumbling walls. Along the wall were hundreds of niches that stared black at her, like empty eyes. 

She approached the one nearest her, her light held high. The odor of sulfur and dead things poured out of its inner cavern. She was frozen by the sight of skulls and bones laid out in a circle in the middle of the cavern floor. Frightened and excited to finally have proof about the house, she stepped back from the cavern, ran down the narrow passage, and out through the paneled wall. She found Theresa, still sitting by her mirror, combing her hair. 

“Come see,” she said

“I don’t have time for your nonsense. Go tell Mama.”

Rosalita found her mother on the patio, sipping tea and chatting with the neighbor, Doña Juana.

“Mama, come see,” she begged

“I am talking, my dear. Find your Father. He is in the front parlor.”

Rosalita was not one to give up that easily; she ran to the front parlor to find her father.

“Come see, Papa!” 

She grabbed his hand and would not let go until he paid attention. Her father humored her this time and followed her down the hallway to the recreation room. But there was no entrance on the side panel at all. 

“See what, querida?”

“It was right here, Papa. I swear it was real.” “Please check the recreation room.”

“Okay, querida, Manuel has the room keys. I’ll go get him.”

Rosalita stared at the space in the wall that was no longer there. Again, that eerie feeling that someone or something was passing by. Only this time, she was shoved aside. She ran down the hallway, screaming for Papa. 

“Calm down, calm down. What is wrong now?”

“Someone pushed me, Papa.”

“Who pushed you?”

“I, I, don’t know; I could not see them.”

“You are not making sense, mija. Show me where you were.”

Rosalita was getting frustrated; no one was listening to her. Manuel and her father walked her back to the recreation room, and Manuel unlocked the door. 

The room was a disheveled mess; all the new cushions were tossed around, and some had been torn open, their stuffing spilling out. Lamps lay broken on their sides.

“What happened here?” Papa said.

“I told you, Papa, someone was in this room.”

“What do you mean, someone? Who?”

“I don’t know, Papa; maybe the person who pushed me.”

It seemed to Rosalita like they were going around in circles, not getting anywhere. When a strong gust of cold wind passed them by, it slammed the door shut. 

“You see, Papa, I’m not lying.”

Don Alphonso grumbled that there must be a logical explanation, perhaps the wind. Maybe someone was playing games and messed up the room. 

That very night, when the house was all quiet and still, Rosalita lit a candle and stepped out into the hallway once again. This time, she saw a tall figure in black garments and a veil, who looked like a nun, walking toward the recreation room. Determined, she followed to see where it was going. The nun seemed to float down the hallway, with an eerie blue light in front of her. Rosalita followed her to the open panel again, but she did not go any further; she stopped and scratched a mark by the doorway. Tomorrow, she was going to get Papa to check it out. 

Papa reluctantly followed Rosalita again to the spot where she said there was a doorway to a cavern. He had Manuel and José with him; they both carried pickaxes, shovels, and candles. Rosalita showed him where she had scratched a mark. 

“It is right here, Papa.” 

Don Alphonso tapped along the wall and heard a hollow sound from behind the panel. He tried pushing and pulling to the side. He looked for a trigger along the wall, a sconce perhaps? Nothing worked to open the panel. He finally decided to trust his daughter enough to have the wall broken down. Manuel and José set to work knocking a hole through the wall. Rosalita’s passage was discovered, and the men barely fit through the narrow passage as they made their way through all the twists and turns, finally arriving at the great open cavern Rosalita had described. Immediately, the stench of putrefaction and sulfur assaulted their noses. In the center of the cavern stood what seemed to be a sacrificial altar, with a large bundle of tarp tied with rope. The tarp was stained in large spots, dusty, and ragged. Four tall candlesticks surrounded the altar, and the men lit them—revealing even more of the morbid scene. This can’t be good, Don Alphonso thought to himself. The stains on the tarp were rusty red. Next thing he knew, Rosalita had made it into the chamber. “What is it, Papa?”

“I don’t know.” 

Rosalita wondered how she had missed the Altar and the bundle on top. They were all startled by a squeak from the corner of the chamber. A large rat was crossing from one open chamber to the next. 

Don Alphonso cut a slit in the tarp, which let out a ‘hissss’ as black smoke rose from the opening. The stench was even worse. “Stay back,” he ordered the others and Rosalita. “Don’t breathe that foul air.” “We must get the police. This is a body, and it has been here for a while.”

Rosalita pointed out that there were all sorts of bodies in that chamber. “Look, Papa, in here and in there.” 

“Catacombs,” Alphonso said. “Many churches and convents have catacombs for burying the devout and the wealthy.” “But the body on the Altar looks like murder; someone left it there to rot.”

The house was a circus, with police and reporters everywhere. The body was removed from the chamber by people in full-body protective gear and masks. Rosalita stayed in the corners, observing everything that went on. 

It took a couple of days for things to return to normal; all sorts of questions were asked, and no one knew the answers. The body was apparently that of a nun. She wore a habit. Her face was locked in a grimace, and her hands had clawed at the tarp, trying to escape. How long had she been there? No one knew. The convent had not been a convent in a very long time. Yellow tape still covered the entryway to the chamber. Rosalita was told not to go in there again. 

The night apparition continued as the nun walked down the hallway to the recreation room. 

Only Rosalita saw it. Don Alphonso had a more logical explanation, and ghosts were not part of it. Rosalita’s mother suggested that they might need to consult a priest and have the place blessed. Don Alphonso was an agnostic and refused the suggestion. The murderer is probably still around and wants to scare us into leaving the house. 

Rosalita did her own research, poring over any journals she could find in the convent’s old library and asking questions of the local priest, Father Odoñes. She knew what she saw and what she sensed. There was no human in disguise trying to scare them. One night, she finally snuck into the chamber and looked around the Altar for clues. In one corner of the Altar, she found an ancient text written in a language unknown to her. She took the text to Father Odoñes the next day. 

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

Rosalita explained her adventure to the chamber. 

“This is in Greek and tells the story of Hecate, an evil mythical female who practices black magic and casts spells.” Father Odoñes said. 

“A witch,” said Rosalita

“Yes, a witch, but more of a Greek Titan. Daughter of the Titans Perses and Asteria”

Father Odoñes continued. “Zeus granted her great power, allowing her to hold dominion and privileges over the sky, the earth, and the sea. She was very powerful. She assisted Demeter in the search for her daughter, Persephone, who had been kidnapped by Hades, lighting the way through the night with her torches.”

“Can she be stopped?” Rosalita Asked.

“We must find her hidden treasure; she is protecting something or someone.”

Rosalita said. “In the recreation room! She is always walking in that direction. I thought it was the chamber, but it is that room she is interested in.”

Rosalita became more determined than ever to stop her. Father Odoñes suggested that he help her. “You can’t do this alone. You need the church backing you.” 

“My Father can’t know we are doing this; he does not believe.” 

Father Odoñes prepared himself with the Bible, holy water, and a cross. Rosalita armed herself with a shovel, a pickaxe, and a box of matches. Determined to destroy the treasure and end this. They entered the recreation room and turned on the wall sconces. The room was still in disarray; no one had bothered to fix it up again. It was a semi-circular room, with windows and curtains all around. There were window benches with cushions and carvings of dogs. On one side stood a library and a large, heavy oak desk with carvings of the triple moon. The desk was locked. 

“Look for a key,” said Rosalita instinctively.

They searched the room, under the cushions, under the benches, behind the curtains, and started on the bookshelves. One small book fell off the shelf and opened to reveal a hollow, and inside was an old skeleton key. 

“This is it! Hurry!” 

It was getting closer to 3 a.m., and a sense of urgency overcame Rosalita. They unlocked the desk and found themselves descending into the floor. They held onto the desk for balance. Below, they went into the underworld. Sconces with flames surrounded them; they were in a dark stone chamber. Skulls dotted the walls with blank, staring eyes. Snakes slithered in and out of the hollow eyes. All sorts of plants and herbs were left hanging to dry, and jars of mysterious substances sat on open shelves. It seemed to Rosalita that someone was living there. A large, lazy black dog lay in the corner, too lazy to confront the strangers in the room. 

“What are you looking for?” A disembodied voice came from a dark corner of the room, startling Rosalita and the priest. 

“We are looking for you.” Said Rosalita

“You are brave, my dear, to come here.”

“I am Rosalita, daughter of Don Alphonso Garcia, and I’ve come to put an end to your games.”

“There are no games, my dear. You have me all wrong. I protect oikos, the household, and I protect you.”

“Protect me from what?” Said Rosalita

“For one, the demon disguised as a nun, sent by Hades to kidnap you. I stopped him with my dagger, which banishes evil and cuts through illusions. I was too late to save Persephone from Hades, but I can keep you safe. I wish to protect you, your family, and your home. You are at the crossroads of innocence and adulthood, vulnerable to evil influences. That is what I do.”

Rosalita finally understood and believed her. She did not feel afraid in her presence. 

“You must return now to your world and never come back. Here, take this flame and carry it for me to your world. It will guide you in your important decisions. I will always be with you.”

Rosalita returned to her world, her feet now firmly planted, empowered by Hecate’s wisdom. She kept the flame safe, and it accompanied her wherever she lived. She made offerings of delicious foods to Hecate once a month to thank her for her protection. 

The ghost nun never returned.