The Pale Widow

Rumors slither through the tangled, grimy alleyways of Medellín, always whispering the same tale. Everyone in the city believes it’s just a hallucination… until their time comes.

They say that in the streets of El Poblado, a woman once roamed, her features indescribable. She was draped in tattered white garments, her skin so pale it reflected sunlight in an unnatural way. Her hair, dark as a moonless night, seemed to devour even the faintest traces of kindness. Her mere presence was enough to steal the sleep of even the most overworked laborer.

In bars and cantinas, whispers spread: she was doom incarnate. No one knew if it was a myth or warning, but one thing was certain, whoever spoke to her disappeared, never to be seen again.

As the disappearances grew more frequent, fear took root in every corner of the neighborhood. Then, on a rainy May night, the unthinkable happened. A group of drunken farmers, emboldened by liquor, decided to confront the strange woman. Laughing and boasting, they invited her to join them at one of the most popular bars in town. They thought they had conquered the unknown. In truth, they had sealed their fate.

As the night went on, the bar grew cold, eerily dark. A mist, barely noticeable at first, thickened until it obscured everything in sight. The laughter died into an unbearable silence. Outside, the few witnesses who dared to look swore they heard muffled screams and wails that curdled the blood. No one ever saw the farmers again.

They say the souls of the wicked are her nourishment, that she drains the warmth from their bodies only to give it to those who truly need it, the homeless, the forgotten of the city.

So, if you ever feel lost in life, if despair weighs heavier than existence itself, you may find yourself in the presence of a woman dressed in white. And in her icy embrace, you may finally find the shelter you seek… or the end you never saw coming.