Chapter Text
“Is everyone ready?” asked Pluto, settling into the driver's seat and fastening his seatbelt. “I don't want anyone saying they forgot something along the way. This time, I'm not coming back,” he grumbled, in a bad mood.
“Don't worry, everyone's ready... I hope,” said Morella, opening the door and sitting next to Pluto. She placed a bag between her legs. “Lenore and Berenice are putting the last bags in, and Eulalie is doing a trick to keep it from raining when we get to the beach.”
Pluto sighed, laying his head on the steering wheel with a slight thud.
“I hope everything works out this time... Duke is so excited about this lifeguard job...” he said, squinting his eyes.
“Everything will be fine, Pluto,” Morella said, her voice now softer.
“I... hope so,” Pluto muttered against the steering wheel.
Pluto raised his head to look at Morella, but his attention was diverted outside the car. Eulalie was running right in front of them, carrying two eco-friendly beach bags with a marine theme and a huge smile on her face. She got into the car—which looked more like a van, it was so spacious, with room for eight people to sit.
She threw the bags on the seat on the other side and soon got out again, running to the trunk, where Lenore and Berenice were still organizing the last few things.
Morella giggled.
“Well, it looks like no one is going to forget anything... they're taking more than they need, just in case,” she commented, opening the glove compartment in search of her sunglasses. But instead, she found a box of cigarettes. She turned slowly to Pluto, one eyebrow arched.
“I thought you said you quit smoking,” she said, narrowing her eyes.
Pluto's eyes widened, like a cat caught in the act. He cleared his throat and unbuckled his seatbelt.
“I'll see if your glasses are in the back,” he said, getting out of the car without looking at her.
Morella snorted, but went back to rummaging through the glove compartment.
Outside, Pluto let out a sigh of relief.
Pluto went to the back of the van, muttering under his breath as he pretended to look for the glasses among the backpacks, towels, and inflatable flamingo floats. Lenore was crouched down, trying to close a suitcase that looked like it was about to explode.
“What are you carrying in there? Berenice's body?” he muttered.
Lenore didn't even look up.
“Her clothes, which is pretty much the same thing,” she replied, pulling the zipper with clenched teeth. “You know how she is... she brought four swimsuits, three beach dresses, and a toiletry bag that looks like a traveling pharmacy.”
Berenice, who was stacking umbrellas nearby, turned with an offended expression.
“I have sensitive skin, okay? I don't want to turn into a shrimp in the first hour of sun.”
Pluto raised his hands.
“Okay, okay... I'm just saying that if the van breaks down on the way, we can build a house with your stuff.”
“And at least there'll be sunscreen,” she retorted.
Eulalie reappeared, now without the bags, and raised her arms dramatically.
“Done! I finished the weather spell. No clouds for at least three hours after we arrive. After that... well, luck is in the hands of the summer gods.”
“I hope they like us,” Lenore muttered.
Pluto took advantage of the general distraction to slip the sunglasses he had found in a corner of the trunk into his pocket.
“I found Morella's sunglasses!” he announced, as if he had discovered a treasure.
He returned to the front seat with the rescued item in his hands, triumphant. Morella looked at him sideways, suspicious, but took the sunglasses without saying anything.
“Uh-huh. What a miracle.”
Pluto just shrugged and started the car.
“Everyone ready? Last call! If anyone forgets anything now, they'll have to live without it.”
Eulalie, Lenore, and Berenice got into the car, each trying to find their place amid the junk, cushions, and bags. After some noise, confusion, and a “YOU'RE SITTING ON MY LEG,” everything calmed down.
Morella put her hand on Pluto's shoulder.
“Let's go.”
“Beach, sun, and Duke saving swimmers... what could go wrong?” said Pluto, more to himself than to her, putting the car in gear.
The engine roared, the van shook a little, and then they started driving down the road toward the coast—with a spell in the sky, three tons of luggage, and a slight suspicion that something was going to go wrong along the way.
The trip itself was going smoothly. Eulalie had brought some games to pass the time—after all, it would be almost two days on the road, and that was too long to just sleep and stare at nothing... or was it?
Lenore had curled up in the back seat, sleeping next to the surfboards and some backpacks.
Berenice was lying on Eulalie's lap, watching a series she had already abandoned before and, out of boredom, decided to resume.
Eulalie, for her part, seemed distant, her gaze lost out the window — imagining her imaginary friend running between the cars, trying to catch up with theirs.
Morella slept hugging a pillow almost as big as she was, and Pluto kept driving. He had turned on the radio, but the volume was low so as not to disturb Morella's sleep.
The road stretched out before them like an endless gray ribbon, cutting through golden fields and stretches of dense forest. The sky was clear—as promised—and the sun was beginning to set, tinging everything with a melancholic orange.
Pluto blinked slowly, fighting fatigue. They had been driving for most of the day, and he was beginning to feel the weight on his back and the tingling in his fingers. A yawn escaped without permission.
Ahead, the road seemed empty, except for an old truck moving slowly in the right lane. Pluto adjusted himself in the seat and looked in the rearview mirror.
All quiet.
Almost too quiet.
From the back seat, Eulalie let out a sigh.
“I think my friend got tired of running...” she murmured, still looking out the window.
Berenice made a sound of disdain, without taking her eyes off the screen.
“What friend?”
“An imaginary one.”
“Oh. Sure.”
Eulalie smiled slyly, as if she knew something the others didn't, and pulled a piece of candy out of her pocket. She popped it into her mouth and offered another to Berenice, who accepted without comment.
Lenore grumbled and turned away, hugging an inflatable clownfish pillow.
In the front seat, Morella muttered something incomprehensible in her sleep and snuggled even closer to her pillow, her head tilting slightly toward Pluto.
He smiled slightly.
“These people are weird,” he whispered to himself affectionately.
Then the radio emitted a strange crackling sound, followed by brief interference. A sharp, quick hiss—as if something had passed through the frequency.
Pluto frowned and tapped the dashboard lightly. The sound returned to normal.
“Old road... always does that,” he said quietly, more to himself than to anyone else.
The rest of the trip went smoothly... at least until three o'clock rolled around and the commotion began.
Lenore woke up with a grimace, her head still half-reclined on the inflatable pillow. She wrinkled her nose at the same moment.
“What's that smell? It smells like burnt coffee mixed with... sadness.”
Pluto looked in the rearview mirror, offended.
“It's my coffee! I made it before I left home!”
“That explains a lot,” Lenore groaned, stretching. “That stinks, Pluto.”
She turned away with a look of disgust and tried to open the window, but it was one of those “safety” windows that couldn't be opened.
It was then that, in a dramatic (and sleepy) move, she tried to push the thermos that was between the front seats with her foot.
“Get that liquid abomination out of here!”
“OH MY GOD! MY BOTTLE!” Morella screamed, jumping up from where she was almost asleep.
She caught the bottle in midair with a catlike reflex, grabbing it as if it were a baby about to fall off a cliff.
“That bottle is a limited edition, don't you touch it again, Lenore!”
“Then keep that biological bomb away from me!” Lenore replied, cowering on the bench.
“It's just coffee, you ungrateful creature.”
“It's toxic gas in an aluminum container, that's what it is!”
Berenice paused the series again and let out a deep sigh.
“Are we fighting over coffee now? Really?”
Eulalie, without taking her eyes off the window, commented:
“I would defend coffee, I love coffee, but that smell is really diabolical.”
“No one insults my coffee,” muttered Pluto, now more awake thanks to the commotion.
“Pluto, with all due respect,” said Lenore, stifling a laugh, “this coffee smells like it was extracted from a washing machine that went through trauma.”
Morella looked at the bottle as if she were protecting a sacred artifact.
“You guys have no taste. It's artisanal coffee. Made with love and... soul.”
“Restless soul, perhaps,” retorted Berenice, adjusting herself on the seat. “It tastes like regret and Monday.”
“You think that's bad?” Eulalie smiled, still looking out the window. “I've drunk mandrake root tea that screamed in my throat. This is nothing.”
Pluto grunted and swerved sharply to avoid a pothole. The van jolted, and the bottle almost landed in Morella's lap.
Morella grabbed the bottle reflexively, like a mother protecting her baby from a stumble.
“If that bottle breaks, I swear I'll summon a spirit just to pull your foot at night, Pluto,” she growled, hugging the container with religious fervor.
“What if the spirit comes thirsty for coffee?” Lenore scoffed. “Then you two will get along.”
“Oh, no, let him bring his own bottle,” Morella retorted, adjusting the cap as if shielding a relic.
“That is, if he doesn't pass out from the smell first,” added Berenice, covering her nose theatrically.
Pluto snorted.
“If you think coffee is the biggest problem here, you clearly haven't seen the map yet.”
Lenore leaned forward, interested.
“Wait. Are you using the map?”
Pluto nodded, glancing in the rearview mirror.
Pluto nodded, glancing in the rearview mirror.
“Sure. The fastest route is via the canyon road. It looks pretty good on the map. It shouldn't be a problem.”
Eulalie slowly lifted her face from the window, staring at Pluto as if he were a pet trying to stick his snout into an electrical outlet.
“Did you take the route that goes through the gorge of souls? The one with the sign that says ‘no entry after sunset’?”
Pluto hesitated.
“...it was a little crooked, hard to read.”
“The sign or the road?” retorted Lenore, already clutching the armrest.
“Both,” Pluto replied, embarrassed.
“Great,” Morella muttered. “We're going to become paranormal statistics.”
“If we die, I'm coming back just to haunt your driver's license,” Berenice grumbled, pulling her hood over her head as if it would offer some mystical protection.
“Relax,” said Pluto, trying to sound confident. “It's just an old road. It's the name that's dramatic. ‘Gorge of Souls’? It sounds like something from a horror theme park brochure.”
Eulalie stared at the horizon for a few seconds.
"You know what else has a dramatic name? The Black Death. World War. And my great-aunt Griselda. They all left permanent marks.
Silence fell like a heavy blanket, and even the van's engine seemed more cautious as it moved forward. The trees along the road were increasingly twisted, as if they had been drawn by someone angry at the world. The sunlight weakened, swallowed by a thin fog that had appeared out of nowhere.
Lenore frowned, observing the landscape.
“This place... smells of abandonment.”
“And mold,” added Berenice.
“And burnt coffee,” added Morella, still clutching the bottle in her arms.
Suddenly, the van swerved involuntarily to the left. Pluto turned the steering wheel back, sweating cold.
“I... I think the steering wheel locked up for a second.”
“The road is alive, great,” Lenore muttered. “It's official. We're in a collective nightmare.”
“Don't exaggerate. Just stay calm and don't think about ghosts,” said Pluto, his eyes fixed ahead.
“Uh-huh,” replied Eulalie. "Just like that time you said the lake was ‘too calm’ and we were almost swallowed by a ghostly squid.
“One squid doesn't justify all this panic,” Pluto retorted nervously.
“It had ethereal tentacles!” Eulalie replied, her voice shrill. “That's very justifiable!”
“And tentacles where there shouldn't be tentacles,” Berenice muttered gloomily, huddling a little closer under her hood. “I still have nightmares about it grabbing my backpack...”
“Guys, focus,” Lenore said, her eyes fixed on the winding road. “We haven't become dinner for a spiteful spirit or a supernatural mollusk yet. But if this van jumps again, I'm going to open the door myself and roll down the ravine.”
“Please don't,” Morella pleaded, her eyes now wide open. “I only have one pillow, and it's not good for cushioning people in free fall.”
The van lurched again, as if to interrupt the conversation with a warning.
“Okay, that was weird,” Pluto admitted. “Very strange. Like... ‘this place shouldn't be on the GPS’ strange.”
Everyone looked at each other. The radio crackled on its own. For a second, a hoarse voice—incomprehensible—cut through the static.
Eulalie turned slowly to Pluto.
“Say you turned off the radio.”
“I did.”
“Liar.”
“Truth.”
“PLUTO!”
“The map said it was faster!”
“FASTER TO HELL, MAYBE!” Lenore screamed, clutching the back of the seat as if she could force it to turn into an emergency exit.
Out of nowhere, a figure crossed the road — a gray blur, too tall, too slender.
Pluto slammed on the brakes. The van skidded. Screams echoed like miniature sirens. The coffee bottle flew — Morella, in an Olympic reflex, grabbed it in midair as if it were worth a medal.
Silence.
“Did anyone see what that was?” whispered Berenice, pale.
“No,” replied Lenore, her voice dry. “And honestly? I'd rather keep it that way.”