Don'T Summon Them

By Carlos Ramos

These stories encourage the reader to remember their deepest fears; stories that many of our elders still tell to this day, travelling by word of mouth through towns and neighbourhoods. Almost everyone has had goosebumps reading these stories and again the doubts appear: Can it be possible? For some, they are just stories to pass the time, to frighten children, or to teach morals, for others, they serve as idolatry, pretensions of magic and superstitions.

It will be you, dear reader, who will decide how to interpret these stories which are taken from the townspeople and there they return, between what is told beyond our borders and our own myths and legends. These stories may be between reason and fantasy and you will decide. The author is clear in that he does not bow to either of the two sides, he only recounts what he has heard.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tektime
• Release date: Feb 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9788835425960

Book preview

Foreword

Don’t Summon Them is a collection of ten stories that talk about fear. Provoking fear is complicated because the genre is very broad. What is more, we are influenced by monsters and fantastic beings of all kinds, but those who are spoken of here are those we were told about when we were children, either to frighten us or because they are actually real. Who remembers those nights with friends or family telling these stories? Similarly, who remembers the fear of being alone after these stories? Because each of us has our own imagination and at some point, we are all left alone with these words.

These short stories encourage you, the reader, to remember your deepest fears and ask after reading: Can it be true? I want you to question each story, talk about them, and with your imagination, find an alternative ending or at least one that you believe in. Let yourself come to your own conclusion and choose between what we have called reason and logic, or, conversely, decide if they are nothing more than inexplicable, fantastical beings.

The aim of this book is to remember the stories that many of our elders still tell to this day, travelling by word of mouth through towns and neighbourhoods. Everyone has been told about the shape shifter, the witch, the devil, and other beings who are there lurking, waiting for night to appear. Almost everyone has had goosebumps reading these stories and again the doubts appear: Can it be possible? For some, they are just stories to pass the time, to frighten children or to teach morals, for others, they serve as idolatry, pretensions of magic and superstitions, and for the others, they describe things that happen but cannot be explained. It will be you, dear reader, who will decide how you interpret these words. Words, by the way, which are taken from the people and so they return, leaving you to take sides between what is told beyond our borders and our own myths and legends. Just to be clear, whether true or not, the stories which are narrated here, we make our own.

I invite you to read these ten stories, to enjoy them and to judge their truthfulness and possibility, or to simply entertain yourself. Don’t Summon Them is considered another book of the suspense genre, and so, if any of these stories make your hair stand up on the back of your neck, then we will have met the objective. Enjoy these words that are written very simply and speak of what Mexico is.

Of these stories that lie between reason and fantasy, you will decide. I do not bow to either of the two options, I only tell what I have been told.

Carlos Ramos

Don’t Summon Them

For Adán, Hugo and Ramón,

for that trip to Xicuco

What would I have been thinking about at that time? I still didn’t understand why or what had been the reason that made me go with them that morning. I had seen that hill countless times and they had told me of the devil and his cave, but that was nothing new; all hills have a cave and a devil that dwells in it.

We had walked a lot but weren’t tired and the summit from where we would be able to see the city wasn’t far off. Right there, I suppose we must have begun to look for the cave, because none of us knew where it was, to the point that we even assumed it was a story made up by the local people. I still don’t know exactly how, whether by instinct, curiosity or perhaps because it was in our interests, but we found the way.

The first thing that impressed me was the shape of the entrance, as if it were the hill’s most intimate zone, and the second thing, the abundance of witchcraft-like objects that were strewn about the place. Don’t summon them, please, I heard in that moment, but no one else heard it.

We walked on, trying not to step on or move anything, not noticing the messages written on the walls. I noticed a strange smell, but I couldn’t tell exactly what it was. We also felt the pressure of something that made us breathe more deeply and become agitated. I heard the voice again, don’t summon them.

Once inside and perhaps a result of our imaginations, someone said he felt dizzy, another that his head hurt, and the third said he felt a pain that shot up his leg at the very moment he realised that he was walking on what had been a campfire and what seemed like melted sweets. I didn’t feel ill like the others but now I felt tired, maybe even sleepy. I tried not to think about what was in the cave, because I was reminded of my grandfather who said that sometimes bad things that are in our path latch onto us, but we must distance ourselves from them, not think about them, nor name them.

In all honesty, we only entered the first chamber of the cave. We didn’t want to continue because, to keep going, it was necessary to climb, and it was very dark. Our trip had been so unplanned that we barely brought water or any food. No one thought of taking a torch. With the flash of the camera, we tried to light up the next chamber, but we didn’t manage to see much.

Moreover, the people we had met on the way advised us to be careful, as several groups had got lost by choosing the wrong path. Those who didn’t get lost had even found money. Nevertheless, we preferred to return with everything, including the ailments we had.

We stopped to cut some branches off a peppercorn tree to brush over our bodies, as is customary, to ward off evil spirits. The others began to ‘cleanse’ themselves, but I didn’t end up joining them because I heard a truck passing very close and preferred to run after the noise. It was a pick-up truck that was carrying a whole family who were sat together in the rear of the vehicle. I explained where we had come from and asked them to take us to where they were going, otherwise we would have far to walk.

When we returned home, it was late and I was exhausted, so I had a bath and before long the tiredness overcame me. Just before I fell asleep, I heard a deep voice echoing in my ear that spoke to me in another language, but one that I understood: fuse with me. At that moment, my hair stood on end because at the same time, I heard a noise under the bed.

The next morning my dog didn’t recognise me, making it very difficult to take him for a walk as he kept running away from me. I had a strange sensation of being distanced from the world. I felt tired and was nostalgic for the hill. Sometimes I just wanted to sleep, that same feeling you get when you have depression, although I have never suffered from it myself. The second night after entering the cave, I woke up screaming. My parents spent a good deal of time by my side because I was unable to move about and again the voice, you’re here. I felt quite unwell. Dogs barked at me, terrified, the neighbour's cat bristled with fright when it saw me, and I noticed several shadows that were hovering around me.

The voices and noises under the bed continued, causing such desperation that I cried because my head hurt. I continued to have that feeling of not belonging to this world, of being taken little by little to somewhere I didn’t know. I didn’t eat. People who saw me said I was pale. I stopped seeing my friends with whom I had gone to the hill. I wasn’t myself or at least I had stopped being myself.

I was never superstitious, but in the condition in which I found myself, I began to believe that something had stuck to me, but what? It was contradictory, because in answering my question I would have to assume that there are beings, spirits or other things that go around doing evil, that there is life after death, that there is a whole, hidden world that can harm people. That confused me, but I still felt awful, and each day more I heard voices that whispered complete sentences to me. In places with light, I was afraid. I was terrified to look under the bed because there was a noise, a most chilling noise. I had the sensation that from that cave, several kilometres from me, someone had control over my life.

As the days passed, the nightmares continued. I saw shadows. I never saw their faces, but they told me to go with them. Then I began to see them while I was awake. My dog bit my hand because he was frightened to see me. I couldn’t sleep well, I was always restless, my hands were sweaty, and my body trembled.

I was taken to the hospital because it was getting worse day by day, but the pills didn’t work. It was unbearable to continue like this. Several times I tried to kill myself or kill what was inside me, which would be the same thing, but I failed. Why? they all asked me: when the world is uninhabitable, you will all understand why I think about suicide. They make me feel crazy when they are crazy. That’s why they took me to the psychologist, but he became bored with me; the voices in another language didn't convince him. My despair, my desire to stop this suffering caused him to distance himself from me. He ended the sessions and I continued in the same vein, between the shadows, anguish, and voices.

As it did not improve, they took me to a man who they said was healer. Upon entering his house, I