The First Translation
336 Words
Marisol didn’t go back to sleep after the shadow at the window. She sat awake until dawn, knees hugged to her chest, the red notebook open beside her like a sleeping animal. When the first pale light crept through the blinds, she finally stood, legs stiff, and padded to the kitchen.
The house felt different in the morning—less haunted, more hollow. Her father had already left for work, leaving behind the faint smell of coffee and the clatter of a spoon in the sink. The normalcy of it made her chest ache.
She placed the red notebook on the kitchen table and set the cipher wheel beside it. The wood gleamed softly in the morning light, as if it had been waiting for her.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s see what you’re hiding.”
She opened the notebook to the page filled with symbols—lines, spirals, geometric shapes that looked like they belonged in a secret language. Her mother’s handwriting looped around them, frantic and uneven.
Marisol aligned the three-line symbol with the letter A.
The wheel clicked.
She matched the next symbol.
Another click.
Slowly, painfully, the coded lines revealed themselves:
“La historia se repite. La niña regresa en pedazos. La que observa se fortalece.”
“The story repeats. The girl returns in pieces. The one who watches grows stronger.”
A chill swept through her.
She whispered the words aloud, tasting the fear in them.
The kitchen lights flickered.
A cold wind swept through the room, though the windows were shut tight. The eucalyptus plant on the counter rustled violently, leaves trembling as if something had brushed past it.
Marisol slammed the notebook shut.
Her heart pounded so hard she felt it in her throat.
Magic wasn’t real.
Except… something had happened.
She pressed her palms flat against the table, grounding herself.
“Mom,” she whispered, voice cracking. “What were you doing?”
The notebook didn’t answer.
But the house felt like it was listening.
- Writer
