bok

got to the Tamarindo I should raise my arms and facing the Sierras
Bermejas I should say “everything for others”; that demons were after him
and that the devil wanted him to form a new religion; that he and his wife
saw human shadows on the doors of their home. The things he was telling
me were a blend between E.T. and The Exorcist.
The things he said were scary but what he drew on the ground were
terrifying. He tried very hard to get me to admit my encounter. I couldn’t
get rid of him. I didn’t want to meet Mr. Martín. That’s all I needed, two
lunatics people talking crazy. I judged Mr. Martín without knowing him; a
grave mistake on my part. The thing was that if Mr. B represented that
magazine then I simply wasn’t interested.
In time I met Mr. Martín and it turns out he is the complete opposite of Mr.
B. I met him because of a strange dream I had. I know it sounds weird but
that is how it happened and so that’s how I’ll write. A little heads up: from
now on things start to get even stranger. The dream went like this: I found
myself in the Tamarindo. It was night and my hot dog cart was nowhere to
be found. With me was a local dog named Flaca. I was feeding her with
pieces of hot dogs. I saw a man standing in the darkness below one of the
trees. He approached and I noticed he was dressed in black. He was about
my height and had shoulder length hair. He wore it back, like an Indian. I
didn’t remember feeling scared. This young looking man said “send the
pictures to Jorge Martín, the one from the magazine”. After he spoke I
suddenly woke up. It was so real, and I knew I met that man before but I
couldn’t place him. “The pictures!” I thought. Sure enough he was the
same person as in the photographs. He wore the same clothes. I had never
dreamt about him, only about the beings with the fetal heads. That night,
after going over it thoroughly, I concluded that my subconscious created
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