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THE HAUNTED GRAVEYARD
My feet sank into the snow. Suddenly the ground beneath my feet gave way, and I fell into a pit in darkness. At first, I felt an unutterable horror, but then I calmed down. Apparently, I had fallen down in a cave. Maybe there I was safe, maybe there the murderer and his diabolical crow would never find me. I lit the lamp on my mobile phone and illuminated the place. There was a bat cloud flight through a vast room, whose vaults remained in the shadows.
I heard the echo of a distant underground river. The bats returned to their hiding places. I started to walk to see if I could find any way out. Suddenly I tripped against a pile of tattered clothing. I realized it was a human skeleton. I stooped over the old bones and noted their peculiar state. Some of them were badly scattered, and a few seemed oddly gnawed at the ends. Others were engraved with strange signs, with vague diabolical suggestions. The skull had a raven has drawn with old and blurred lines. The cranium showed a charred aperture in the top as if some powerful acid had eaten through the solid bone. What had happened to the skeleton during its long years, its many decades of entombed there, I could not imagine.
The skeleton was dressed in old, ragged clothes; I checked the pockets of his jacket and got his personal identification documents. I opened the yellowed and faded pages of a United States passport. This document was of the year 1918, it means, it had a century of antiquity. I read the name of the deceased: Nathaniel David Walden. Walden... Walden... He was one of my favorite writers. Walden was the man who built that old house in the cold woods of Greystone because he wanted to get away from the malice of human beings. The house ... Walden's house where I was living and writing my novel about Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges. However, Walden had been murdered in that sinister cave.
What a strange coincidence. What was behind this odd coincidence? I was a writer, Jorge Luis Borges was also a devoted literate man. Nathaniel David Walden wrote many years ago several books, among them, the famous book of memories "Greystone", where he talks about his life in the forests of North America. Both Borges, Nathaniel, and I, are connected with the possibility of a murder. In my novel Borges was pursued by strange evil beings who tried to assassinate him, and as for Nathaniel David Walden, it was evident that he had been killed. Human and bird at the same time, a raven chased me frequently. The pursuer had been the clear intentions of killing me. That entire forest and that old house, were a hellish place. It was a cursed and ominous trap for writers; it was a place where death stalked all those engaged in literature, and the cave where I had fallen was perhaps the sanctuary of that terrible murderous raven.
