Speaker 1: Calaruga Shark Media, Hello and welcome to Ghost Scary Stories.
This episode is titled Dia de los Mortos, Part three
Pan de los Mortos.
Speaker 2: The third day dawned with an eerie stillness. The usual
sounds of the city were muted, as if the world
held its breath. I woke feeling both physically and emotionally drained,
the weight of the previous days pressing heavily upon me.
Yet there was no time to waste. I made my
way to the workroom, noticing that the marigolds had extended
their reach, vines creeping along the walls and door frames.
Their blossoms were brighter than ever, but there was an
undercurrent of urgency in their glow. As I stepped through
the mirror, the atmosphere in the spectral kitchen was tense.
My grandmother moved swiftly, gathering ingredients and utensils with a
precision born of necessity. Lakatrina stood nearby, her expression unreadable.
What's happening, I asked, sensing the shift. The veil is
at its thinnest. My grandmother replied. More spirits are crossing over,
and not all of them are benevolent. Indeed, Lakatrina added,
the balance is precarious. We must work quickly. Spirits crowded
the space, their faces etched with desperation. They clamored softly,
their voices overlapping in a melancholic chorus. Each held tokens,
some familiar, others from eras long past. I rolled up
my sleeves, determination settling in. Tell me what to do.
We dove into the work, the rhythm of baking becoming
a frenetic dance. I mixed batches of dough, infusing them
with collective memories. My grandmother handled the oven, its heat
radiating and other worldly warmth. La Katrina orchestrated the flow,
directing spirits and insuring order. As the hours passed, the
strain became palpable. The boundaries between the living and the
dead blurred further. I could feel the spirit's emotions, joy, sorrow, longing,
swirling around me like a tempest. Marisol focus, La Katrina urged,
noticing my distraction. I'm trying, I replied, my voice strained,
it's overwhelming. She placed a skeletal hand on my shoulder.
You must anchor yourself, remember who you are, I nodded,
taking a deep breath. I recalled moments from my life,
a picnic in the park, laughter with friends, the comfort
of my mother's embrace. The memories grounded me, providing a
beacon amid the chaos. We continued, the pile of completed
loaves growing. Each was unique, tailored to the spirit it
would nourish. The air was thick with the rich sense
of baking bread and the intangible essence of memories. Suddenly
a commotion erupted near the entrance. A group of shadows
had breached the perimeter, their forms more defined and menacing
than before. They moved with purpose, eyes, if they could
be called, that fixed on the loaves thereafter the bread.
My grandmother exclaimed, they want to consume the memories. Can
we stop them? I asked, panic rising, La Katrina stepped forward,
her presence radiating authority. She spoke words in an ancient tongue,
and a barrier of light formed between the shadows and
the bread that will hold them temporarily. She said, But
we need a more permanent saluttion. I racked my brain,
trying to recall anything from the recipe book that could help.
An idea sparked, what if we create a special loaf
one that can satisfy their hunger. It's risky, my grandmother cautioned,
we don't fully understand their nature. We have to try.
I insisted. If we don't, they'll consume the other spirit's bred.
La Katrina considered for a moment before nodding, very well,
but we must proceed carefully. We gathered ingredients that resonated
with the shadow's essence, charcoal from extinguished fires, night, blooming jasmine,
a pinch of salt harvested under a new moon. I
infused the dough with fragments of forgotten memories, the ones
that lingered at the edges of consciousness. As we worked,
the shadows grew restless. Sensing the shift, the barrier flickered,
straining under their renewed assault. Hurry, La Katrina urged. The
loaf was unlike any other, dark and dense, emitting a
faint glow that pulsed rhythmically. We placed it at the threshold,
stepping back cautiously. The shadows hesitated before approaching. One reached out,
tentatively touching the loaf. As it consumed the bread, a
transformation began. Its form shifted contours, becoming more human like
the others. Followed suit, each undergoing a similar change. They're
remembering my grandmother, whispered awe in her voice. Faces emerged
from the darkness, men, women, children, all with expressions of
wonder and confusion. Their eyes held a glimmer of recognition,
as if awakening from a long slumber. One of them
stepped forward, a woman with streaks of silver in her hair.
Where am I? She asked, her voice trembling. You're between worlds,
La Katrina replied gently, we are here to help you.
Tears welled in the woman's eyes. I I remember my
name is Isabella. I was lost. Welcome back, Isabella, I
said softly. As the shadows turned, spirits regained their identities,
the atmosphere lightened, the oppressive tension dissipated, replaced by a
sense of relief. But our respite was short lived. A
sudden chill swept through the room and the lights flickered ominously.
Something's not right, I said, glancing around nervously. La Katrina's
expression darkened. This was a diversion. Before we could react,
a massive shadow loomed at the far end of the room.
It was larger and more formidable than the others. Its
presence suffocating. Unlike the previous shadows, it showed no interest
in the bread. Instead, it fixated on the mirror. The
mirror is its target, my grandmother exclaimed. We must protect it.
Why the mirror, I asked, It holds the connection between
our worlds. La Katrina explained. If it's corrupted, the consequences
would be catastrophic. We positioned ourselves between the shadow and
the mirror. I felt a surge of adrenaline, fear sharpening
my senses. Use the symbols, my grandmother instructed, reinforce the barriers.
I traced the protective symbols in the air, chanting the
incantations she had taught me. La Katrina joined in, her voice,
harmonizing with mine. The symbols glowed brightly, forming a shield.
The shadow halted momentarily, but then pushed forward, its force,
causing the ground to tremble. Cracks appeared in the shield,
spider webbing outward. It's too strong, I cried out. There's
one more thing we can do, La Katrina said, her
tone grave. But it requires a great sacrifice. What is it.
One of us must merge with the mirror, becoming its guardian.
It will strengthen the barrier and prevent the shadow from crossing.
I stared at her, realization dawning. You mean someone has
to give up their existence? Yes, she affirmed, it's the
only way I'll do it. My grandmother declared without hesitation, No,
I protested, there has to be another way. She placed
a hand on my cheek, her eyes filled with love.
My time has come, Marisol. You've grown so much and
I couldn't be prouder. Tears blurred my vision. I can't
lose you again. You won't, she assured me. I'll always
be with you, within the mirror and in your heart.
La Katrina nodded solemnly. Her sacrifice will protect both worlds.
My grandmother stepped toward the mirror, her form beginning to glow.
She glanced back one last time, a gentle smile on
her lips. Remember you are stronger than you know. As
she merged with the mirror, a brilliant light erupted, enveloping
the room. The shadow recoiled, shrieking in fury, before dissipating
into nothingness. When the light faded, the mirror stood pristine,
its surface shimmering with ethereal energy. I approached it slowly,
My reflection, mingling with faint images of my grandmother. Thank you,
I whispered, placing my hand on the glass. La Katrina
rested a hand on my shoulder. Her spirit now safeguards
the connection. Her love transcends all boundaries. I wiped away
my tears, a mix of sorrow and gratitude filling me.
What happens now now? She said gently, We continue the work.
There are still spirits in need, and the festival approaches.
Despite the ache in my heart, I nodded, yes, let's
finish what we started. We returned to the kitchen, the
atmosphere calmer yet tinged with melancholy. The spirits awaited us,
their expressions a blend of empathy and hope. As we
resumed baking, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. My
grandmother's sacrifice fueled my determination. Each loaf we crafted was
a tribute to her legacy, a beacon for the soul's
seeking solace. The hours flew by, and before long the
preparations were complete. The spirits gathered around the table, partaking
in the feast we had created. Laughter and stories filled
the air, a tapestry of lives woven together. La Katrina
watched over the gathering, her gaze softening. You have done well, Marisol.
Your grandmother would be proud. Thank you, I replied. A
hint of a smile touched my lips. I couldn't have
done it without you both. As the night wore on,
the spirits began to fade, Their energies restored, they bid
their farewells, expressions of gratitude etched on their faces. One remained,
a young girl clutching a worn teddy bear. She approached
me shyly. Will you remember me, she asked? Always, I promised,
kneeling to her level. You're part of my heart now,
she smiled brightly, before disappearing into the soft glow of
the marigolds. With the spirits gone, the kitchen fell silent.
I looked around, the weight of exhaustion, finally catching up
with me. Rest now, La Katrina advised, you have earned it.
What about you, I inquired. I will watch over the
realms as I always have, she replied. I felt a
sense of peace settling within me. Will I see you again? Perhaps,
she said mysteriously, Our paths are intertwined. As I prepared
to leave, I glanced back at the mirror. My reflections
stared back, but I could sense my grandmother's presence woven
into its depths. Good Night, Abuela, I whispered. Stepping back
into the real world, I felt a gentle breeze caress
my face. The marigolds outside swayed gracefully, their glow a
comforting presence. I made my way to bed, the events
of the day replaying in my mind. Though there was sadness,
there was also hope. I had faced challenges I never
imagined and had emerged stronger. As sleep claimed me, I
dreamt of marigolds and moonlit dances, of bridges between worlds,
and the enduring power of love.
Speaker 3: Ghost is a Calorogus Shark Media production written and hosted
by Alexander Ian McIntyre, produced by Mark Francis. Executive producers
Mark Francis and John McDermott. Portions of this podcast may
have been created with the assistance of AI.
Speaker 2: This show, along with hundreds of others from Calaroga Shark Media,
is available commercial free on any player hassel free. Just
look for the link in the episode or show notes.
Speaker 3: Calaroga Shark Media