1

The production truck advanced slowly along the narrow dirt road, surrounded by dense tropical vegetation. Mary, sitting in the passenger seat, observed the landscape with a mixture of fascination and apprehension. The humid heat filtered through the half-open windows, bringing with it the dense aroma of the jungle.

"How much longer?" asked Carlos from the back of the vehicle, his voice loaded with impatience.

Mary turned to look at him. The cameraman held his equipment firmly, protecting it from the bumps in the road.

"According to the GPS, we're close," Elena replied, her eyes fixed on her phone screen. "Although the signal here sucks."

A dull thud shook the vehicle. Joseph, the young sound technician, let out a muffled cry as his microphone almost slipped from his hands.

"Relax, rookie," Carlos mocked. "If you keep this up, you're going to need a change of pants before we start filming."

Anna looked up from her notes, giving Carlos a disapproving look.

"Don't be a jerk. We're all nervous."

The vehicle came to an abrupt stop. George, their local guide, pointed through the windshield.

"There it is. Welcome to Old San Juan."

The village materialized before them like an apparition among the vegetation. Adobe houses with palm roofs and some with tile roofs lined up along dirt streets. Curious faces peered out from doors and windows as the team descended from the vehicle.

Mary took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the gazes upon her. This was her moment, her chance to reconnect with her roots and create something meaningful. She remembered her grandmother's voice telling her stories of Ek Chapat when she was a child, stories that had haunted her all her life.

"If I could prove it's real," she thought, "I could honor my grandmother's memory and maybe, finally, understand who I really am."

"Alright, team," she said, trying to project a confidence she didn't entirely feel. "Let's get set up and then we'll do a tour to familiarize ourselves with the place."

As they unloaded the equipment, Mary noticed the tension in George's shoulders. The man was constantly looking around, as if he feared something might jump on them at any moment.

"Everything okay, George?" she asked in a low voice.

The guide startled, as if he had forgotten her presence.

"Yes, yes... it's just that..." he paused, looking towards the dense forest surrounding the village. "There are places here where it's better not to go, you know?"

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group. Mary felt something cold settle in the pit of her stomach. She looked around, noticing for the first time how deep the shadows were between the trees, as if night was lurking, ready to fall upon them at any moment.

2

The camera focused on the wrinkled face of Don Esteban, an old man with sunken eyes and sun-weathered skin. The man shifted uncomfortably in his wooden chair, his gaze nervously jumping between Mary and the lens observing him.

Mary leaned forward, her voice soft but insistent.

"Don Esteban, tell us about Ek Chapat."

The old man visibly shuddered at hearing the name. His gnarled fingers clung to the cane resting on his knees.

"You shouldn't ask about that," he muttered, his voice hoarse like dry leaves. "There are things better left alone."

Carlos adjusted the camera, his lips pressed into a tense line.

"Come on, Mary," he whispered. "Don't tell me you're believing this."

"Why do you say that, Don Esteban? What dangers are there?"

The old man closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering strength. When he opened them again, there was a feverish gleam in them.

"Ek Chapat is not a story to scare children. It's real. And it's hungry."

A shiver ran down Mary's spine. The conviction in the old man's voice was undeniable.

"What do you mean it's hungry?"

Don Esteban leaned forward, his voice dropping to barely a whisper.

"It feeds on curiosity. On ambition. On those who come seeking fame or fortune."

Mary's throat closed up, rough as sandpaper. She swallowed hard, trying to moisten her suddenly dry mouth. Was the old man implying...?

"You're not the first to come asking," Don Esteban continued, his gaze fixed on Mary. "Others have come before. Journalists, explorers, treasure hunters. They all disappeared."

A dull thud made Mary startle. Joseph had dropped the microphone, his face pale as paper.

"I... I'm sorry," the young technician stammered, bending down to pick up the equipment with trembling hands.

"Great, Joseph," Carlos muttered. "If Ek Chapat doesn't kill us, the ruined budget will."

Don Esteban didn't even seem to notice the interruption.

"Ek Chapat lures them with its riddles. It makes them believe they can outsmart it. But no one can. Its seven heads think as one, but each is more cunning than any human."

Mary felt a knot in her stomach. The description matched perfectly with the legends they had researched.

"Don Esteban," Anna intervened, her voice trembling slightly, "have you ever seen Ek Chapat?"

The old man slowly turned his head towards her, his eyes dark as bottomless wells.

"No. And I thank God for that every day. But I've heard its footsteps in the night. I've seen the marks it leaves on the trees. And I've heard the screams of its victims."

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

A sepulchral silence fell over the room. Mary could hear her own heart beating furiously in her ears.

"Please," Don Esteban begged, his voice broken with emotion. "Leave this place. Forget about Ek Chapat."

Mary opened her mouth to respond, but the words got stuck in her throat. The fear in the old man's eyes was palpable, almost contagious.

3

The team gathered in their room, the tension palpable in the air.

"Maybe we should reconsider this," Elena murmured, her voice trembling.

Mary clenched her fists.

"We can't give up now. We've invested too much in this project. If Ek Chapat is real, imagine the impact our documentary would have."

Carlos nodded slowly.

"Mary's right. This could be our big chance. It's not every day you have the opportunity to discover something that could change history."

The evening light filtered through the cracks of the hut like spectral fingers, drawing a map of shadows on Doña Rosario's wrinkled face. The old healer leaned forward, her dark eyes shining with an intensity that sent a shiver down Mary's spine.

"Ek Chapat is not just a legend," Doña Rosario murmured, her voice hoarse and laden with urgency. "It's a guardian. A protector of ancient secrets."

Carlos adjusted the camera focus, capturing every wrinkle and scar on the old woman's face. Mary moved closer, the microphone in her hand trembling slightly.

"What kind of secrets, Doña Rosario?"

The healer opened her mouth to respond, but a sharp electronic squeal filled the room. Mary startled, looking at Joseph with confusion.

The sound technician frowned, frantically adjusting the controls of his equipment.

"I don't know what's happening," he muttered, panic evident in his voice. "Everything was fine a moment ago."

Carlos lowered the camera, cursing under his breath.

"The image just went to hell. It's all distorted."

Mary felt a knot forming in her stomach. This couldn't be happening. Not now.

"Come on, guys," she urged, frustration coloring her voice. "Fix this. It's our only chance with Doña Rosario."

Anna approached the old woman, trying to keep her entertained while the rest of the team struggled with the equipment. But Doña Rosario seemed to have sunk into a trance, her eyes fixed on a point beyond the walls of the hut.

The squeal intensified, becoming almost unbearable. Joseph tore off his headphones with a muffled cry.

"Damn it!" he exclaimed, rubbing his ears. "It almost burst my eardrums."

Mary looked around, desperate. The equipment they had brought was state-of-the-art, tested and re-tested before the trip. How was it possible that everything was failing at the same time?

Suddenly, the LED lights they had installed for the interview flickered violently, plunging the hut into a frantic alternation of light and darkness. In one of those flashes, Mary thought she saw something move in the shadows behind Doña Rosario. Something long and sinuous, with multiple limbs.

"What the hell...?" she began to say, but her voice was drowned out by a deafening roar.

All the electronic equipment failed simultaneously, causing a shower of sparks. Mary instinctively covered her face with her arms, feeling the heat graze her skin.

When the chaos subsided, the hut was plunged into a sepulchral silence, broken only by the team's ragged gasps.

"Is everyone okay?" Mary asked, blinking to adjust her vision to the sudden darkness.

Murmurs of assent came from different corners of the room. Carlos turned on his phone's flashlight, illuminating the scene.

The equipment lay on the floor, smoking and completely useless. But what made Mary's heart stop for an instant was the empty chair where Doña Rosario had been sitting.

The old healer had disappeared.

4

The dawn light filtered between the tree branches, casting dancing shadows on Mary's face. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her heartbeat as she ventured into the thicket surrounding the camp. The humid air clung to her skin, laden with the scent of wet earth and decaying vegetation.

Mary adjusted the small action camera she carried with her. After the fiasco with the main equipment, these and Carlos's camera were their only options for documenting any findings. Her footsteps crunched on fallen leaves, the sound amplified by the unnatural silence of the forest.

A movement in her peripheral vision made her stop dead in her tracks. She turned sharply, but only caught sight of the branches of a bush swaying gently.

"It's just the wind," she told herself, but not even a breeze was blowing at that moment.

She continued advancing, her eyes scrutinizing every shadow, every nook between the trees. Suddenly, something caught her attention. A tree, thicker and more twisted than the others, stood before her. Its dark bark contrasted with the pale marks that furrowed it.

Mary approached, focusing the camera. Her heart skipped a beat when the marks took shape before her eyes.

"Oh my God," she muttered, her voice barely a whisper.

Symbols. Dozens of them, deeply carved into the bark. Sinuous shapes that intertwined, creating patterns that seemed to move if she looked at them for too long.

With trembling fingers, Mary touched one of the symbols. The wood felt warm to the touch, as if it pulsed with its own life.

"This can't be human work," she murmured for the camera, her voice hoarse from the mixture of fear and excitement. "The cuts are too deep, too precise."

A crunch behind her made her turn sharply. For an instant, she thought she saw a shadow moving between the trees, something long and sinuous.

"Hello?" she called, her voice trembling slightly. "Is anyone there?"

Only silence answered her.

She turned her attention back to the tree, focusing the camera on the most intricate symbols. Some seemed vaguely familiar, as if she had seen them in one of the books Anna had brought.

"I need to bring the others," she said, speaking as much to herself as to the camera. "This could be the proof we were looking for."

As she stepped back, without taking her eyes off the tree, her foot caught on a root. Mary stumbled, struggling to maintain her balance. In that moment of distraction, she thought she saw one of the symbols change shape, twisting like a live snake.

She blinked, sure that her eyes were playing tricks on her. When she looked again, the symbol had returned to its original form.

Mary swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

"I have to get out of here," she muttered, turning around to return to the camp.

As she walked away at a brisk pace, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching her from the shadows of the forest. Something hungry.

5

The laptop screen illuminated Joseph's pale face in the gloom of the tent. His eyes, bloodshot from lack of sleep, scrutinized the sound waves displayed before him. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he adjusted the headphones, focused on his task.

Suddenly, his body tensed. His fingers flew over the keyboard, rewinding the recording.

"It can't be," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Mary leaned over his shoulder, frowning.

"What's wrong?"

Joseph swallowed hard, his Adam's apple visibly bobbing.

"Listen to this."

He pressed play and the sound of the interview filled the tent. Doña Rosario's voice crackled through the headphones, talking about Ek Chapat. But beneath her words, almost imperceptible, something else could be heard.

A whisper. No, several whispers. Intertwined voices that seemed to speak in an unknown language.

Mary removed the headphones, her face a mask of confusion and fear.

"What the hell is that?"

Joseph shook his head, his hands trembling slightly.

"I don't know. It wasn't there when we recorded. I swear."

Carlos frowned, his finger tapping nervously on the camera.

"There must be a logical explanation for what happened with the equipment... right? Let me listen."

Joseph passed him the headphones. Carlos listened in silence, his expression gradually changing from doubt to shock.

"Shit," he muttered, taking off the headphones. "How is this possible?"

Anna, who had been observing from a corner, approached.

"Let me see it."

Her eyes scanned the screen, studying the sound waves.

"That's not interference," she murmured. "It's too... structured."

Joseph nodded frantically.

"I know. And there's more."

His fingers flew over the keyboard again, opening another file.

"This is from the walk we took through the forest yesterday."

The sound of leaves crunching and branches breaking filled the tent. And then, clear as day, a growl was heard. Low, guttural, definitely not human.

Mary felt her blood run cold.

"What animal makes that sound?"

Joseph shook his head, his eyes wide open.

"None that I know of."

The growl was followed by a dragging sound, as if something huge was moving through the underbrush.

"Wait," Anna interrupted. "Do you hear that?"

Everyone leaned in closer. Behind the growl and the dragging, almost imperceptible, a chant could be heard. The same intertwined voices from before, whispering in that unknown language.

A sepulchral silence fell over the group. Mary felt a knot forming in her stomach.

"Joseph," she said, her voice trembling, "do you remember hearing any of this when we were recording?"

The young technician shook his head, his face pale as paper.

"Nothing. Everything was silent. I swear."

Carlos ran a hand over his face, his expression a mixture of fear and frustration.

Carlos passed a trembling hand through his hair.

"There has to be a logical explanation," he insisted, but his voice lacked conviction. "Maybe... maybe the equipment is faulty."

No one had an answer. The silence in the tent broken only by the hum of the laptop and Joseph's agitated breathing.