The Pebble Room

I was only eleven years old when I was given the worst news of my life, although I still lacked the proper mental maturity to be aware of it.

My mother had died in an accident, when the bicycle that took her every day to open the doors of her flower shop in the city centre was brutally rammed by the Range Rover Evoque of a driver intoxicated by the treacherous favours of alcohol and drugs who, of course, ran away.

My father's mind, seized by the shadow of the sinister one and whipped by the impossibility of forgiving the murderer of his soul mate, decided that the most sensible thing would be to run away as far as possible, forgetting that love story with such a tragic ending and the fruit of it: myself.

So it was my paternal grandmother, the charitable soul, who decided to take care of me.

I crossed the threshold of the large dark oak door that crowned the entrance to her huge house in the mountains. The bright colours of the stained glass window that adorned its centre contrasted with the black colour of the wood.

The house was practically isolated, being an hour away from the nearest town, limiting its company to the wild nature and protected by the celestial vault.

My grandmother was cheerful, funny and friendly. I, in contrast, was shy, quiet and so introverted. My mother's death plunged me into a strange macabre dream that accompanied me both day and night, and the feeling of unreality became a shadow that accompanied me when I woke up and seemed to give me a break when I went to sleep. 

The day after I arrived at the house, my grandmother kindly asked me to help her clean the pool, claiming that the summer season was approaching, thus trying to distract my mind and help me return to my childhood soul, which seemed to have been reduced to ashes.

That first week was spent adapting to my new home. We adapted the pool, helped my grandmother to cook and clean, read some chapters of "The Five and the Treasure of the Island", watched movies, ate popcorn and went down to the village to do the shopping. Really, I was happy with her and she was happy with me, for her every word was enveloped by an intoxicating aura of affection. We were building the foundation of a small but happy family.

The second week, he gave me a soccer ball and I decided to go outside and play with it for a while.

I was skirting the house, absorbed in the movement of my feet as the ball passed from one foot to the other, when I saw the door.

Located on the back façade, it had been painted the same color as the wall, making it difficult to see with the naked eye.

Of course, my curiosity dragged me like a magnet there and I lifted the small bolt that kept it sealed. A few steps down the stairs welcomed me when I opened the door. I peered out, trying to catch a glimpse of something in the darkness which increased the further down I tried to take my sight. I looked for a switch which I soon found, and a "click" turned on a light bulb which hung down the middle of the stairs.

I started to go down slowly. The steps creaked with every step I took, as if they were crying out in ungrateful welcome. But that dismal sound of crunching wood did not dampen my insatiable curiosity to find out what was under the floor of my grandmother's house at the end of that curious uneven passage. I felt like the hero going into a dangerous cave, looking for a treasure hidden by some lame, bearded pirate.

When I got to the bottom, I could see that a corridor continued where there were several boxes piled up on the right, while on the left only a metal door could be seen. I took a look at the boxes and saw that they contained only tins and cans of preserves, sacks of flour and corn, and the odd bottle of wine.

My disappointment came when I saw that there was nothing of interest in that hidden cellar. And then I fixed my gaze on that door. I approached and grabbed the handle, but when I tried to open it I couldn't, it was completely locked from the outside. I banged on the door with my fist a couple of times and only the echo answered me.

The impending question of why Grandma would have taken so many precautions with the safety of that room stuck in my mind, of course, but the reasoning that one can have at eleven years of age brought me back to reality. "More food," I thought, remembering that Grandma only went down to shop once in a while, and she stored a lot of it to avoid unnecessary trips.

She would probably lock it up to protect it in case of thieves or even animals.

I decided to get out of there and look for my grandmother to clear up that doubt. I had already placed my right foot on the first step when a screeching noise startled me.

It sounded like someone or something dragged a piece of furniture behind that door into the room. I just stood there at the bottom of the stairs, not turning around. I waited a few thousandths of a second for such a noise to be repeated, but it did not happen. I turned on my heels and crept to the door. I waited. I heard nothing but the singing of the birds outside. I put my left ear to the door. Nothing. I looked at my feet. A faint yellowish light was streaming under the door. I decided to bend down and look underneath. I had just rested my left knee on the floor when something small rolled out of the room, under the door and collided with my slipper. I felt my heart racing in my chest as I jumped backwards, bumping into the boxes. I looked, I'll never know if out of curiosity or instinct, down to see what had rolled into me.

It was a small pebble.

I ran up the stairs in a panic.

When I told my grandmother what had happened in that strange basement discovered by chance, she answered with a loud laugh and blamed the disturbing event on rats or even a ferret that had snuck in. Regarding the contents of the room, he didn't give me many details, he simply assured me that it was a storage room where there were antiques that he was thinking of selling to some collector on the Internet.

—I like to lock it up— she said, —because I wouldn't like to have my stuff stolen. I know some of that furniture has value.

The next morning, an emerging adventurous spirit that I had not known before forced me to go down those stairs again. To my surprise, I found the outer door slammed shut from the outside. I pulled on it with all my might and forced the knob several times, but there was no success. I gave up and decided to forget all about it by taking a bath in the pool.

The same day, after eating, I helped Grandma clear the table and went up to my room to rest for a while. I fell asleep and I don't know what time it was when a sound outside woke me up. I looked out the window and saw Grandma pass by with a couple of bags. I watched her until she turned the corner of the house and then I ran down the hall, where another small oval window looked out just where she should be passing by at that moment. When I looked out, I saw her standing right underneath. She had left her bags on the floor and was looking for something in her trouser pocket.

She took out a key and put it in the lock of the camouflaged door which, although I could not see it from my position, I knew was just below the window from which I stood, lurking like a vulture.

The lock gave way, grandmother opened the door, took the bags and went in, closing behind her. I heard the slight sound of the old wood creaking as I descended those stairs, until at last it was camouflaged by the noise outside.

There was really nothing interesting in that gesture. I assumed that the contents of the bags would be more food to store in the boxes, yet the uncertainty wrapped itself around my neck like a snake. I needed to open that metal door.

That night, as Grandmother slept, I slipped like a ninja into her room and stuck my thin fingers into the pockets of the trousers I had worn that day, now inert on the chair in front of the dressing table. There was the key! But no matter how hard I looked, I could not find the one that would open the metal door. I decided to cease my search and leave the room, for Grandmother would wake up if she continued to make noise, rummaging through her things.

I went outside. The cool night air from the mountain flooded my lungs. The song of the crickets included a perfect melodic composition for that landscape before my eyes. The wind swayed the branches of the trees gently, and at the top the full moon gave me enough visibility to walk without using a flashlight. It was summer, but the temperature there was low enough to make the hair on my arms stand on end. I stride around the house and reach the door. I put the key in the lock and could open it without any difficulty.

I preferred not to give the light in case grandmother got up and saw her from a window.

I walked slowly down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible.

There were still the boxes piled up on the right and the metal door, which was locked tightly.

I moved my face closer to the door and glued my ear. Nothing. I raised my right fist and tapped the metal three times. There was no immediate response. After a few seconds, however, something moved inside the room.

I clearly heard the sound of the springs of a bed base and how someone was standing on the mattress and putting their bare feet on the wooden floor.       

It was clear that someone was there.

I waited with my ear still on the door. Whoever was on the other side hesitated for a few moments, probably sitting on the mattress, and then finally got up and started shuffling to the door.

I took a couple of steps away. My heart was pounding.

There was someone right behind that door, just a few inches away from me. He stood motionless, as if waiting for me to take the first step.

—Hello...? —I whispered in a trembling voice.

No one answered. This being was still there, unmoved. I knew for certain that it was standing behind the door, for I had not heard it move again. I decided to insist.

—Who are you and what are you doing locked up in there?

Again, my question was left up in the air. I advanced very slowly to the door and put my ear back on the cold metal. I concentrated as much as I could, trying to ignore the outside sound of the crickets and the swaying of the tree branches. I could not hear anything coming from the other side... until, seconds later, something activated my senses.

Air, coming and going. Someone was breathing behind the door. But it was abnormal breathing, like a gasp. It became more and more audible, more and more intense. It seemed to be getting closer to the place where my face was stuck. I could clearly hear that breathing on the other side of the metal, at the level of my ear, it was very intermittent. The sound was very similar to that of a dog sniffing... was it trying to smell me?

Then a groaning bronco behind the door frightened me so much that I jumped backwards and stood by the boxes. I bent down and put my arms around my legs, crying with fear. The man or woman behind the door, who seemed to have identified me as an intruder by the smell of my body, began to utter a symphony of agonizing howls, similar to the cry of someone undergoing horrible torture. He pounded hard on the door several times with his fists. My heart was pounding with each of those blows against the metal. He grabbed the handle and began to move it sharply, up and down, pushing the door with the weight of his whole body. Fortunately for me, he didn't give in.

I was still petrified in the same position, cowering above myself, under the cover of the boxes. Tears were rolling down my cheeks and I felt my pants getting wet, right in the crotch.

Somehow, I managed to awake from that sporadic trance which terror had caused in my brain, and I rose quickly to my feet, hitting one of the boxes with my elbow in the process.

A sack fell from the top of the pile of boxes, opening up and letting a pile of pebbles flow out of it. The whole floor was covered with those little pebbles. I ran up the stairs like a devil's soul, while behind the door it continued to tear its throat out with every scream.

I didn't stop running until I reached my room, where I got into bed crying my eyes out and shaking with fear. I saw a light come on in the corridor, followed by some light steps that went up the stairs. Grandma went downstairs. She probably would have heard those awful screams coming from the basement and was heading there.

I closed my eyes and struggled to fall into a deep sleep from which I could not wake up until the next morning.

Grandmother gently woke me up. It was cloudy and hardly any light came through my bedroom window. It took me a few seconds to react, remembering what I had experienced that night.

—Grandma! —I exclaimed. —Who's down there?

She looked down at her hands, which rested on her lap.

—Don't worry about that, son—she said with a small smile, —it's nothing to worry about, but you'd better not go near it again.

—Grandma, don't say that. Whatever it is, it must be dangerous. It scares me. I think, if I'd managed to open the door last night, I would have hurt myself without hesitation...

The tears come to my eyes. The memory of that terrifying pack of screams and blows on the metal made my blood run cold.

—Nothing will happen if you stay away, really...— she insisted in despair.

—Grandma, I can't live here with that under the house! What is it? A wild animal or a lunatic?

The woman put her hands to her mouth and began to sob.

—I'm afraid —she said at last, —that what's underneath is both, dear.

I felt my heart turn over. I was speechless. My mind was unable to come up with a logical theory to justify Grandma locking a monster in the basement...

She got up and went to her room. She returned immediately with a red folder in her hand. She sat down next to me and opened it, showing me a series of papers that she kept inside.

—The one downstairs— she began, —is my son Gabriel, your father's older brother.

I watched her in total bewilderment.

—He has a severe disorder of schizophrenia and bipolarity. Ten years ago, there was a... mistake. He has always been with me at home, I have taken care of him since he was born, because his illness prevents him from being independent. I had to go to Madrid for work and left him in the care of a nurse for a couple of days. However, Gabriel is very selective with people and does not allow anyone to come near him... She tried to give him his medication and he... attacked her —she started crying inconsolably. —He stuck his fingers in her eyes so hard that he took them out, left her eye sockets empty... He could have killed her. She groped away, screaming in terror, and the neighbours came to her aid. After that, Gabriel was condemned to spend the rest of his life in a psychiatric facility, but I refused. I couldn't let my son end up locked up for life. I thought I could take care of him... And then I claimed he had run away. I hid him at a good friend's house and after a few months I moved in with him. Everyone thinks he's missing, including your father.

I was shaking. I felt like I was part of a horror movie.

—Come with me. If you come down with me, he won't be scared. He's not going to hurt you. Let me show you that our life can go on as well as it has. He won't bother us.

He stood up and pulled my hand. I, who at that moment felt more like an automaton than a human, gave in. She guided me down and when I started to be aware of reality, we were already by the camouflaged door. 

—Grandma! —I shouted, pulling back.

—Trust me! —she pleaded. —He won't hurt you!

Although I was terrified, something in me urged me to follow her. At last I would see that room that was attracting my attention.

And I followed her downstairs.

She tried to make as little noise as possible and I imitated her. We stood in front of the metal door. I hid behind my grandmother. She pulled out a chain around her neck, which she hid behind her clothes, from which the key hung. He put it in the lock and turned it.

She slowly pressed the handle down and the door began to open in front of me. Something hit the bottom edge of the door and squeaked a little. I soon realized what it was. The whole floor was dotted with pebbles, small and white. The room was dark, only a small lamp illuminated the room. A stinking smell hit me right in the nose.

There was no other furniture than a bed in the corner, a small table where the lamp rested and a chamber pot, all tucked away between four white, padded walls.

And, on the bed, that individual remained seated. He wore green pyjamas and was completely absorbed in something he held in his hands. Grandma came over and I stood in the doorway.

She put one hand on his shoulder and he reacted suddenly, letting go of what he was handling. Then I saw that what had just rushed out of his hands was more pebbles.

—It's his greatest entertainment— explained grandmother as if she had read my thoughts, —I bring them to him from the river. He tells them over and over again...

That's when she told him about me.

—That boy is Juan José... he's very good and he's your nephew...

And he turned his head abruptly, staring at me with his alienated gaze. His eyes were disproportionately large, and so prominent that they seemed to be about to pop out of their sockets. His face, furrowed with remarkable wrinkles, was thin, with protruding cheekbones. His nose was aquiline and his mouth had horrible yellowish deformed teeth. He stood up, not taking his terrible gaze off me. He was thin, to the point of touching anorexia. He began to move towards my position. I stepped back. Grandma put her hand on his shoulder trying to stop him.

—Be careful, Gabriel, he's very young. Don't scare him!

That sick man's eyes seemed to light up with every step he took towards me. A strange shadow of fury crossed his face. He was going to kill me, I thought.

Grandmother was frightened and quickly stood in front of him.

—NO! —she shouted.

And that's when it happened.

He grabbed her by the neck so hard that she lost consciousness and fell to the ground. He took the lamp and started hitting her on the head. One, two, three, four, five times. The blood splashed on the white walls. I saw her shattered skull and viscera on the floor.

And I, crying and almost convulsing, grabbed the door and closed it, leaving that terrible scene inside. I didn't have the key, so I just ran upstairs and locked that one too. I ran inside the house and looked for Grandma's phone. I hid in the bathroom, since it was the only room with a lock, and I dialled the number of the police.

They told me that they were coming from the village, an hour away, and would try to be as quick as possible.

That hour was the worst of my life, the longest.

I heard footsteps clumsily climbing up the stairs. It was him. He was looking for me.

I said all the prayers I knew. I covered my ears, crouched between the toilet and the bathtub, trying to pace my breathing to make as little noise as possible.

He made his way to the bathroom door. I could see his shadow underneath. He tried to turn the knob.

I could hear his hoarse panting on the other side. I started to cry. I was short of breath.

New footsteps were heard downstairs. They rushed up the stairs.

—Hey! —shouted a male voice. —Turn around and put your hands up!

But the individual did not seem to hear. He was still determined to open the door behind which I was hiding.

—Hey! —insisted another female voice.

I heard the footsteps approaching. One of the policemen had approached him and I supposed he had tried to grab him because the brainless man had started screaming like mad and there was a great struggle outside. The policeman let out a piercing scream.

—You shot! —he shouted to his partner, —KILL THIS BASTARD!

And a loud shot deafened me.

The one who had been my uncle died that day from a shot in the head. The screaming policeman had lost an ear, for he had bitten it off. They took me away from there and that horrible nightmare ended.

My father came back for me when he heard what had happened.

Yet even today, thirty years later, I still go to a psychiatrist every week because I keep seeing those white pebbles in that wretched room in my worst nightmares.