In my city there are several places that are haunted. Everyone knows them and avoids passing by. One of them is the stone staircase that leads to the neighborhood known as “El bajo”. It is a staircase that was built at the beginning of the 20th century, used mostly by the workers of the old refrigeration factory. Nowadays it is hardly used because there are many other asphalt streets that lead to Bajo, and also because, as I said before, everyone knows that there is something wrong with it.
Many inhabitants who used these stairs claim to have seen a hooded figure ascending step by step, making a creaking noise like paper. The face is never seen, it appears covered by the hood, but some neighbors say that sooner or later the apparition raises its head and then one's destiny is marked, because what he sees is horrible and he will never be able to get it out of his mind. more.
I have a friend who once saw this thing, although he only told it once and to this day refuses to do it again. He said he was twelve years old when it happened, he played rugby at the yacht club at the end of the ravine and he always took great detours to avoid using the ladder. But that day he was late for practices and the coach, who was very severe, had warned him that he would be left out of the team if he was late again. So my friend did not hesitate to use the stairs to descend, because although he feared the famous site, he was much more afraid of the coach, a ruddy and somewhat overweight guy who everyone nicknamed "The Bear."
My friend grabbed onto the old wooden handrail and started down. He thought that if he did it fast enough, fear wouldn't beat him and he wouldn't have time to regret it. The problem is that those stairs, which are located in a lonely place and surrounded by vegetation, are very long and the stone steps in many cases are broken or do not exist, so one has to descend with some care unless want to break a leg.
So my friend soon slowed down, and about halfway through the journey he began to hear some strange creaking sounds, coming from the bottom of the stairs. Alarmed, he saw that someone had started to climb, step by step, very slowly, as if their legs were sick. His face was not visible, it was covered by a hood. My friend tried to turn around and flee, but he couldn't, he was paralyzed, he could only contemplate that apparition that was approaching him little by little, emitting those creaks that sounded in the silent afternoon like dry paper.
The distance between him and the mysterious figure was rapidly closing, there were ten steps between them, then five, then two. And there the hooded figure stopped. And raised his head. And it was him. He was my friend. Only much older, and rotten-faced because he was already dead. His cheeks were sunken and his eyes had been eaten by maggots. The apparition reached out a cadaverous hand and stroked his arm. And then he smiled at her.
"This is how you will look when you are sleeping in the coffin," he said in a hideous voice. Sixty-nine years from now.
Only then did my friend come out of his paralysis. He turned and ran up the stairs screaming like a madman. The neighbors came to his aid and went to look for the alleged aggressor, but no one was on the stairs. At night my friend had a nightmare. He dreamed that he was dead and looked exactly like that thing on the stairs. When he woke up, he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and sighed in relief at the sight of his hairless adolescent face. He washed his face and remembered that that day was his birthday, he was already thirteen. He returned to the bedroom and when he looked towards the window he gave a cry: on the misted glass, someone had written: "Sixty-eight" ...
