Horror Town, Bloody Night

By Manuel Ávila Cazorla

Juan José Berrón, a retired UDEV policeman, tells us in the first person how his happy life took a terrible turn towards Terror in the middle of a rural festival. The doubts about the causes of so much evil will surround him until the end of the story, where he will struggle to flee and survive in a town surrounded by death and destruction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Manuel Ávila Cazorla
• Release date: Mar 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781071592946

Book preview

Chapter 1. Once upon a time in a town not yet cursed

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Sometimes I wake up at night thinking that it was all a simple nightmare. Just another bad dream, like the ones that have always tormented me during the darkest moments of my existence. An evil caused by the nocturnality that has led me to doubt the reality that surrounded me, leaving me in a temporary void of fear and insecurity.

A terror that during childhood can torment for a long time without being able to be remedied even to the bravest, but when we grow up, it is left behind in our memory as a simple grain of sand in front of a beach whose extension exceeds the horizon, buried and humiliated by our conscious and rational being.

The maturity of the human mind in front of the world that surrounds us helps us to overcome the fear that a nightmare produces in us, needing only a few minutes to understand the candor of our environment, really trusting that our reality is different from the one we visualized during our disturbing dream. Calming and rejoicing that everything was caused by our subconscious.

Unfortunately, in my case, it isn’t so although I wake up thinking that it has only been a wretched dream, it only takes a few minutes to realize that it wassn’t just a dream. A few minutes that serve to crush my desires for relief and escape from my gloomy and troubling memory.  A few minutes to return to the harsh reality, which as they say, sometimes surpasses fiction.

A reality that experts continue to question me despite the documentation and physical evidence that they should have found. Some even thought that I had deliberately provoked it,

that I had invented everything to get some kind of economic benefit or even others, that it was the result of a schizoid delirium. There were all kinds of theories about my case that even appeared in numerous media, and the worst thing is that almost always in a critical way and in a tone of delirious humor. I became the laughing stock of the world, and only a few conspiracy theories websites with dubious reputations echoed my message, but as always in these cases, they lacked credibility. Worst of all was how it affected my personal life, destroying it completely.

My name is Juan José Berrón.

I was born into a working family forty-six years ago, and I grew up in the neighborhood of Carabanchel, one of the most humble areas of Madrid. I have always considered myself an incredulous and intelligent man, although lately, I doubt everything that happens around me.

I was married and I am the father of two teenage children, I say I was, to describe it in some way so you can understand me. I guess the correct term is separated since my wife couldn't even ask me for a divorce. It was all so quick and so radical, that they fled my side as soon as the media started to spread the word of my story. I don't blame them, my poor Beatriz did the right thing. My life was being ruined no doubt, but so was hers and our children's lives. Not to mention that it is easier to believe the masses when faced with what a single person says, whoever it was.

And this is probably obvious but you can't imagine how I miss my family at all times. My dear Beatriz with that unique sensibility and beauty, a faithful and strong partner, hard-working and intelligent. The looks of Juan and Lucia, my beloved children, who despite the challenges and mismatches of their age always welcomed me smiling in our house (even if it was to ask me for something later). Our dog Jara and her absurd way of seeing the world, who always held me in high esteem and surprised everyone with her obedience. And our house, a semi-detached house in Rivas Vaciamadrid that we were able to enjoy without complications. I remember both the good and the not-so-good moments of family life, and you know how life is... you never know what you have until you lose it.

In case you are wondering, I am or used to be a police inspector for the UDEV (Specialized and Violent Crime Unit), Homicide and Missing Persons section. And again, I don't know if I was or am legal, because the last news they had about me was a leave of absence that will last as long as my psychiatric follow-up lasts. And the way everything is going, I may never be able to go back to that police station or any police station. After everything that's happened, I wouldn't want to either. I could not bear to see again those faces of sorrow and even fear, of those who once considered me a colleague or even a friend. After twenty years of service, professional and incorruptible, loyal and close, and giving the best of myself at all times, I ended up like that... just like that. A whole working life thrown away, although in comparison with the personal life I lost... it doesn't matter.

And it all started with a visit to a family friend and long-time co-worker, Sandra Lago, who was on leave for a few days in her beloved hometown, La Puebla de la Concepción. She was in the mountains of the Alpujarra, in the province of Granada. And yes, I said right, the village was there. Now there is nothing, absolutely nothing. Only buildings in ruins, dust, and oblivion.

That leave was deservedly granted to her because of her high personal involvement in the case she had just solved. And, without going into details about it, I can tell you that she had good reasons to deserve that peculiar rest more than anyone else. And I, who was present with her at the end of the case, can attest to all that. At that time, to provide all the support that my friendship could offer, I decided to spend a couple of days in the village with my family, enjoy its rural charm that she always boasted about and, while I was at it, spend a few days keeping her company.

It was certainly a wonderful place. Both Beatriz and I were captivated by its attractiveness in those few days. We were staying at the Alicantino hostel, only two stars but quite acceptable. I was surprised to discover that it wasn't the only option available in town, although they were all around the same price and quality. And at least during those dates, we had no difficulty staying (even we chose two double rooms together). We liked everything: the warmth of its people, the natural hiking trails,