The Narrator
It continued to rain cats and dogs in La Paz and the regions in and around El Campamento del Bosque De La Muerte. Shifaly didn't feel like just sitting in the hotel room, watching Netflix that night. Any night would have been perfect for that, but not that night.
From the passport that she discovered under the bed, she found that its holder was an Irishman born in Termonfeckin, Ireland. The owner had multiple entries to the United States and departures from the United States.
She didn't pay much thought to the passport and put it on the dressing table. She was more focused on the rain, which reminded her of the cloudbursts in Sri Lanka. She enjoyed the chill, which usually permeates a room whenever it's raining. She covered herself with a warm and cozy fur blanket and sat on the chair by her dressing table, which was in front of a window overlooking the hills and valleys of La Paz. Shifaly thought about her friends and family in Doha, Qatar. Arjun Jawardena would be playing cricket in their school's friendlies with Delhi Public School and Doha Modern Indian School. Ayesha Akbar would be playing girls' netball against GEMS American Academy - Qatar. Her classmates who didn't come on the trip to Bolivia would be hanging out in Villagio, Doha Festival City, Souq Waqif, and Katara.
Shifaly's sister and mother went to Sri Lanka, where she wanted to go, if not for the trip. They went to see Shifaly's grandmother, who helped Shifaly's mom raise Shifaly and her sister after the death of her father.
The temperature in the room was becoming too cold. Shifaly turned the A/C down. She then drew her feet into the blanket, wrapping it tightly around her body. She loved that overwhelming, fantastic feeling of wearing a fur blanket when the cold that comes with a downpour fills the air.
She turned around, looking at her hotel room, which reminded her of her bedroom. Not even a day had passed, and she already customized the bedroom to her liking. She had hung two posters of BTS on the wall.
Turning back to the dressing table behind her, she looked at a perfume bottle, which her mother gifted her. She opened the cap, releasing the smell of lavender mixed with the scent of rose. She took a deep breath, absorbing that perfume. That was when an idea struck her. It was a crazy idea, but at that moment, with that vibe, she found the idea irresistible.
It was a cloudburst, a seasonal occurrence in Bolivia. Lightning and thunder accompanied the downpour. Sergio could feel the bus gently, very gently, swaying along with the wind. The wind blew off the half-burnt logs from last night's campfire into the forest. Heinrich woke up, unable to sleep. Wrapping himself in a warm blanket, he walked to the front of the bus. Kirt went to the lobby, an area with chairs in the front of the bus. He wished there was some hot chocolate; he'd love to have a cup of hot chocolate with them. The weather was perfect for that, along with some freshly baked cookies. He rubbed his eyes and found Sergio there in the lobby, smoking. Heinrich spent some time with Sergio that night. He didn't converse with him but just was with him, watching the droplets of rain which were streaming like tears down the window.
Shifaly was on top of the tall hotel building. She swung around on the terrace amid the rain, laughing and enjoying every moment. The sheet-like, thick, lightning lit sky bore the color of ash. She could smell a pungent zing and a slight touch of ozone. One never needed a shower if they went into that rain, for it was so heavy that one could bathe in it.
That night there was no need for streetlights; the incessant lightning sufficed. Roars of thunder reverberated in the valleys. Except for the sound of distant honks, all Shifaly was able to hear is the continuous "shhhhhhh" sound of rainfall. The rain had washed off her makeup. Little drops of rain fell off her eyelashes. Her dress was dripping wet.
About 100 kilometers from where the Wolfgang children were a bunch of unruly teenagers. They were hiking. They had just finished their Secondary School leaving examinations and were on a break before college. There were four girls and three boys in this group. They know that according to local legends, the place where they were La Tierra Del Sangre is a forbidden place, a haunted forest. But these kids don't care. For them, it was a thrill; it was something cool, camping in a haunted forest. They were the rebellious sort of kids, wanting to experiment and challenge everything conventional and so they were there in that part of the forest.
Jorge and Velasco were searching for the rest of the group who have gone missing. Where could they possibly be? All they remembered was that it began raining when they were climbing up a hill, The visibility reduced to such an extent that Jorge and Velasco could no longer see them who went ahead of them both on the trail. Jorge stepped on a branch that made a loud noise, which frightened him. "Phew." He heaved a sigh of relief after realizing that he had stepped only on a branch. The light in his lamp began flickering. Velasco was following him for a while, but then Jorge couldn't hear his footsteps anymore. Alarmed Jorge said, "Velasco?" There was no response. "Velasco, where are you?" asked Jorge frantically, disturbed by the lack of response.
A scream tore through the jungle, sending birds flying through the foliage. Jorge wasn't there anymore. He disappeared, like Velasco. Only his lamp lay broken on the muddy ground, its glass shattered with blood lacing the shards.
Timothy McAllister
I woke up at 8:00 a.m. I was the last one to wake up if one doesn't take Franciso Adelante to account. After I brushed my teeth and took a shower in the boys' shower room at the back of the boy's deck, I walked to the lobby and sat down. The lobby downstairs (even though it was the general lobby) was filled with boys. The reason why it was only boys downstairs was that the girls had theirs in the second deck of this converted bus.
It was raining from 9.30 p.m. yesterday. For that reason, we couldn't engage in any of the activities Sergio had planned for us that day. The rainfall was so heavy that visibility was reduced to ten meters. The darkness, resulting from the thick clouds, made everyone on the bus feel gloomy. The gloomy vibe, dark ambiance, and the rain reminded me of the day my parents died.
It was a rainy day like this in our vacation home in Littany, Washington State. My parents were brutally murdered after letting in a little girl, who claimed to be lost in the rain. It turned out that she wasn't that helpless little girl, after all. She was a trojan horse sent by her paedophilic 33-year old boyfriend. The pedophile and her murdered my entire family. They mutilated the bodies of my parents and my brother. And, they left behind a crime-scene too horrific for even the most experienced of all cops. I witnessed everything because I slept in the attic, and through the holes in the attic floor, one could see clearly what was going on below. I didn't understand why they killed my parents. The Police are still on the search for them. Ever since it started raining, I couldn't stop thinking about all of those memories. They were so ingrained that I couldn't get them out. That night and the grisly scenes of murder flashed before my eyes.