As soon as the sun set on the horizon, at Holtcom all activity was stopped. That afternoon, Eric made a ditch to drain the water from the pig pen, and although it was only a couple of meters away, he let go of the tool and put it aside. He took a filthy handkerchief out of his pocket and ran it over his wrinkled, sweaty forehead. Then, he quickly approached a corner of the house and rang a bell. Inside, his wife, Mariam, stopped what he was doing and went out to help him. They gave food to the animals in the stable and closed their door with a padlock, but not before storing all the tools. The sky was tinged with oranges and reddish sparkles when they were already inside the house, but they didn't enjoy the beautiful sunset. At night only the main door bulb illuminated the Hock´s residence.
Holtcom is a small enclave of a couple of dozen farms where corn, pumpkins, sorghum and fruit trees are grown mostly. Most, like the Hocks, have farmyard animals, and all take refuge in their homes at nightfall. They live from the sale of the small production in the village of Holt, about 10 kilometers away, where the children go to school, thanks to the transport service offered at a good price by Mrs. Helen.
Protected inside the house, Mariam began to prepare dinner, pasta with ground pork sauce; while Eric chose fruits to make a juice. They were silent, quiet. Sometimes he talked to her and she answered. Suddenly, two knocks on the door. They are soft, like a child's. Ten seconds later are two more blows, but stronger. Immediately it is a battery of blows that lasts a short time.
When a minute has passed without a knock on the door, Mariam breathes deeply and looks at her husband. Both are relieved and sit down to eat.
It's three kids or demons. Nobody knows if they are alive or dead, but every night since Halloween four years ago, they knock on Holtcom's doors. Whoever attends the call will be dead just like the rest of the people inside the house.
Everyone remembers that Halloween, but no one comments on it. The children came home full of candy before nine o'clock at night. All but three came back. The Smith brothers.
The eldest, 11, was forced by his parents to take care of the two youngest. Michael was dressed as the devil, with horns, a red cape, a tail and a trident. Robert, who was almost 8 years old, disguised himself as a mummy. And little Emily, 5 years old, was a lovely ghost, with a white sheet over her head and two openings that showed her big lively blue eyes.
Being such a small and closed community, there was no suspicion of any neighbor. Emma and Scott Smith thought of a kidnapping perpetrated by someone who did not belong to Holtcom. They went to the police to find out if there was any unusual activity on the road that is the only way in and out of Holtcom, but there had not been a single car different from those of the residents.
They disappeared for three days. All the neighbors helped in the search. Day and night. In the fields, the stables, the houses. They did not find them.
The third night someone knocked at the Smith's house. The mother opened her mouth full of hope. There were her three children. She smiled, cried, and put her hand on her mouth to stop the crying. When she tried to call her husband, excited, she noticed a suspicious attitude in the children, who stared at her, without a reaction of joy.
Although only three days had passed, the children seemed to be wearing those costumes for years and were already part of the body. Robert's fake bandage really seemed to adhere to his rotten skin, which oozes and attracts flies; Emily's eyes were sad and malevolent, the sheet was dirty, stained with blood; and the plastic horns that she herself attached to
Miguel were now black bone coming out of his forehead, where dry blood was present, he was really a devil.
The Smiths were found dismembered in their home. Emma, the mother, in the receipt, a few yards from the door, and the father, Scott, torn to pieces in his armchair, in front of the television.
That same night, the Smiths' neighbors, the Cooper, were also murdered. The bodies were dismembered, as if pulled out by someone with a massive force, without using a knife or any other weapon or tool. The father at the door, the mother in the kitchen, and the eldest daughter, Wendy, in her room, with loud headphones still in her ears. The youngest son, who attended the same classroom as Robert and was with the Smith children on Halloween night, was able to hide in a small hole in his parents' bedroom closet. When he was found, he was absent.
The police couldn't find a way to persuade little Scott to talk. A couple of hours later, an officer with some knowledge of child psychology approached him, greeted him and left him sheets of white paper and colored pencils. A few minutes later, little Scott started to draw. In one drawing, a girl was seen with a bloody sheet on top, holding one foot in her hand. In others were the three children in disguise, but they were not cheerful. Their eyes had been coloured with reds and oranges.
Without a doubt, little Scott had recognized his friends and neighbors, or at least their costumes, stature, and gestures. At the end of the afternoon he finally spoke. It was them, but they were not. They were dressed like that, I was with them most of the afternoon.
The cops got little information that would allow them to find the children in disguise. Little Scott assured that they never spoke aloud, but rather approached each other and whispered. He also said that he saw them walking around the house, looking for something. He became speechless again when asked if he had seen any of the crimes.
That same night, little Scott was taken to his grandparents, far from Holtcom.
Although the sun was already setting, the news spread quickly, but unofficially: The Smith children had returned and now, they are murderers. They were the first suspects in the case of their parents and neighbors.
Some Holtcom residents took drastic measures that same night, as a precaution. At nightfall, they took shelter in their homes no matter what, however they heard, they would not go outside until dawn.
Mrs. Helen heard the news and didn't believe it. She loved the children with whom she shared daily when she took them to school, and brought them back. "They can't be murderers”, she said.
Around nine o'clock at night, when she heard a knock on the door, she opened it. She took two steps back and put his hand on his chest.
–Little Michael, is that you? –she asked frightened– what are you doing here? It's not Halloween anymore.
The girl raised her head to say something to her brother. Her gesture was noticed above the bloody sheet; he put his ear to it, but nothing was heard. The devil smiled and his eyes lit up with mischief.
Police found 17 parts of Helen's body, scattered throughout the house and connected by traces of blood and organs. Her right foot in the front door, one of her ears in the kitchen and some toes in the bathroom sink.
Helen's son, who was a hunter but no longer lived with his mother, decided to follow in the children's footsteps. He went into a sorghum field and reached the road leading to the village. He walked a couple of kilometres and met with the traffic police. The trail ended in a creek and a cave. No one saw him again.
That night someone knocked on the Hocks' door, but no one opened or asked from the inside who it was. When they woke up the next day, they were relieved, thinking they did well. But their neighbors, the Merlocks, did not suffer the same fate. Everyone, Grandma Anne, her daughter-in-law Margaret, and little Susan floated in their own blood, quartered, in the bathtub of the main bathroom. The father, Michael, returned when he heard the news and burned down the house with him in it.
With this discovery and the disappearance of Helen's eldest son, the rumor became official. The police invited all the neighbors of Holtcom, without fail, to an urgent meeting, of life or death. The sheriff spoke of the disappearance of the children, the murder of nine people, including children, the suicide of one man and the disappearance of another. Fourteen victims in total, counting the Smith children, in three days. The agreement was unanimous. Everyone at Holtcom would take shelter in their homes at nightfall and not open the door for anything. No one would know the truth. The deaths would be reported as a sad accident and they would try to lead a normal life.
At the end of the assembly, and after the traffic policeman had reported seeing Helen's son walk to the bridge for the last time, a group went to the cave and closed it with rocks and wood.
Eric and Mariam received a visit from their daughter Mary. She would stay a couple of weeks until Thanksgiving, since she had been living in the city for five years and, due to the agreement of the neighbors, she did not know the case of the Smith brothers. They only insisted on arriving by day and forbid her to open the door. On the first night, Mary wanted to have a conversation with her parents and offered to prepare dinner for them. She cut potatoes for a purée that would accompany the pork loin that was already in the oven and impregnated the closed house with a superb smell. Mariam leaned back in her room with a headache, and Eric was in the shower when they knocked on the door. The time was 8:43.
Two soft blows. Mariam raised her head in annoyance, the steam from the boiling water waiting for the potatoes distracted her. She threw the slices into the pot and closed it. They knocked again. Now it was a battery of blows. She wiped her hands with a towel and reached the door as soon as the knocking ceased.
–Hello? –she said hesitantly.
She heard small steps towards the door and mischievous laughter.
–Who is it?" –she insisted.
In the bathroom, Eric had already come out of the shower and was trimming his beard. Mariam was in a deep sleep due to the painkiller for the headache.
Mary was standing under the light of the bulb hanging over the door on the outside, and the light went through the sun blind. She waited for someone to respond, but there were only two new, soft, childlike touches.
He didn't wait any longer: she opened the door.
To read the Spanish version click here