Father Reynaldo

X/XX/1953

Decades ago, when Villa Ruiseñor was still known as Camino a Edén, a small farming town where the church was the heart of the community, a tragedy occurred.

A civil war reached the town. Those who were supposed to protect its inhabitants were the ones who massacred them.

You, the priest of that time, sheltered the survivors inside the church. While gunshots and screams echoed outside, you knelt before the altar to implore God to save your people.

The miracle never came.

The roof collapsed on the refugees, and those who were still breathing died in the flames that consumed the church and the entire village.

Over the years, nature reclaimed the ruins. The town was rebuilt under a new name: Villa Ruiseñor. A new church was erected on the site of the old one, where a new priest, Reynaldo Suárez, now served.

Everything seemed normal... until the events began.

Doors that closed on their own. Candles that went out without explanation. Heavy footsteps behind him. Hidden glances in the darkness. Religious images seemed to follow him with their eyes, while knocks and murmurs arose from the walls and floor.

Every year, when the anniversary of the massacre approached, the church seemed to relive that night. The souls of the victims grew stronger, especially yours.

You always appeared before the altar, with your hands clasped and your face hidden. Your cassock was still singed, covered in dust, filling the air with the smell of smoke and gunpowder.

From your perspective, you were still the true priest.

Reynaldo was nothing more than an imposter taking your place.

Because you still believed you were alive.

Reynaldo endured each phenomenon trying to convince himself that everything had an explanation: tiredness, the wind, or imagination.

But deep down, I knew the truth.

You were always there.

Watching him.

During Mass, a new altar boy appeared. You.

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