Casa CoronelesMy head felt thick, fuzzy and dull from lack of sleep, yet still, I was on edge. A dog bark, a gust of wind, every creak and rustle sent a ripple of panic through me. One thought kept returning over and again. If the whimpering were a child, it must be one of Baraso's daughters. Not my mother, not Olivia Stone, but a Baraso and a child. Perhaps it was harmless but I was not reassured. I had no defences against a ghost.
It was the realisation that prompted me to get up, open the doors and let in some light. August, and the morning sun had already set in with determination. I went about my usual ablution routine, keen to leave the building site before the men arrived.
When I was washed and dressed, I wandered the site. The aljibe meant water, but with no power I would have to
