Chapter 3: Violent Gang Outbursts
The gang's favorite hideout—a dimly lit garage with old posters plastered on cracked walls and a sagging couch shoved against a corner—had never felt this hostile before. Ali and a few gang members leaned against the walls, each of them quiet, eyeing each other with suspicion. The air inside was thick with tension and something else, a darkness that seemed to settle over them like a suffocating fog.
Luis, sitting on an overturned crate, was the first to break the silence. "Mira, I don't know what the hell we did in that place, pero esto no se siente bien. Not one bit. I've had this…thing, man, like a bad itch, right here." He tapped his temple, his eyes wild.
Ali glanced at him, not quite meeting his gaze. She had bruises under her eyes, exhaustion weighing her down, but she'd seen too much to ignore what was happening around them. "That's because we're not done, Luis. Whatever we stirred up back there, it's in us now. This... curse, it's—"
"Pfft," Carmen cut in, her voice sharp as a blade. "Bullshit. It's all in your head. Y'all just psyched yourselves out."
But she was jittery too, her knee bouncing as she talked, eyes darting toward the door every few seconds. Like she was watching for something. Or someone.
From the back of the garage, Miguel snorted. "Hey, Carmen, you said the same thing when we saw that thing—hell, that thing—in the mirror last night, remember? 'Oh, it's just the light, Miguel.' Light doesn't move like that, chingada."
She shot him a look but didn't say anything.
"Basta, basta." Ali held up a hand, trying to keep the lid on what felt like a bomb about to blow. "Listen, we all saw what went down. And now we're marked. This isn't just—"
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the other side of the room. Everyone spun around. An old, half-rusted wrench had fallen off the tool shelf, rolling across the floor with an almost mocking slowness. They all stared at it, hearts pounding, breaths shallow.
Luis let out a shaky laugh. "Right. A wrench. Big deal."
Then, as if in response, a voice whispered out of nowhere, low and growling, like a threat from the darkness. "Corre, bruja. Run, witch."
Ali's blood went cold. The voice was familiar—echoing that same mocking tone she'd heard from Katie in her nightmares, only more sinister. She took a step back, her hand instinctively gripping the chain around her neck.
Miguel whipped his head around, eyes wide. "You heard that, too? Right? That wasn't just me?"
Before anyone could answer, Raul—a young, wiry guy with too many tattoos and not enough patience—suddenly lunged at Luis, his hands wrapped tight around his throat. "¡Deja de mirarme como eso! You think you're better, huh? Think you're not marked?"
Luis thrashed, gasping, trying to pry Raul's fingers off his neck, his face twisting with panic.
"¡Raul, déjalo!" Carmen shouted, rushing forward. She yanked at Raul, trying to pull him off, but he was like a man possessed, his eyes wild and unfocused, lips pulled back in a snarl.
Ali stepped forward, putting herself between them, her voice sharp and commanding. "Raul! Basta! Whatever's making you do this, it's not you!"
Raul froze, his grip loosening just enough for Luis to pull free, coughing and stumbling back, his hands pressed to his neck. Raul blinked, his expression shifting from rage to confusion. He looked down at his hands, horrified.
"What…what did I just—?"
Before he could finish, the lights in the garage flickered, dimmed, and then went out completely. They were plunged into darkness, with only the faint glow of a streetlight seeping in through the dirty window.
Someone whispered, "La marca… it's in all of us now."
The others huddled close, their breathing ragged. Ali's heart hammered in her chest as she fought to keep calm. Whatever force they had unleashed, it wasn't just a haunting. It was feeding off them, turning them against each other.
A low chuckle came from the shadows, chilling and inhuman, echoing around them. Ali clenched her fists, grounding herself, trying to push away the voice that whispered in her mind, urging her to let go, to lash out.
Miguel took a step toward the source of the laugh, his voice trembling but defiant. "Hey, hijo de puta, you think you're funny? You think this is some kind of game?"
The laugh grew louder, turning into a mocking, guttural growl that seemed to come from all around them. And then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.
Carmen, breathing hard, whispered, "We need to get out of here. Now."
Ali shook her head. "No. If we leave, it follows us. It already has."
Just then, Luis let out a scream, clutching his arm, his eyes wide with terror as he pulled up his sleeve. There, on his skin, a dark symbol was slowly appearing, as if being branded by an invisible flame. He panted, his face twisted with pain as the symbol darkened, etched into his flesh.
Ali watched, horrified. She could feel something pulsing under her own skin, too. She'd been marked the same way.
Miguel muttered under his breath, "I don't know what you're bringing us into, Ali, but if this gets any worse… we're gonna be real sorry we followed you."
Ali didn't answer. She knew they were already in too deep. And whatever lay ahead, there was no way out—except through it.
The garage had gone dead silent except for the ragged breaths of everyone inside, each one staring at the mark searing itself into Luis's arm. No one dared to break the stillness, the air thick with something old and malevolent, like a predator waiting for them to make the wrong move.
"Ali, man," Miguel finally whispered, his voice a low, urgent rasp, "What the hell did you drag us into?"
Ali kept her eyes on Luis, feeling a mix of guilt and dread twist in her stomach. "Look, I didn't drag anyone," she shot back, voice barely steady. "This thing, it started with my family. And whatever we woke up…it's just taking what it wants now. Doesn't care about who or how."
Luis clenched his jaw, breathing through the pain as the mark burned brighter, like embers under his skin. "You know what? Screw this. I'm not playing sacrificial lamb just 'cause your family pissed off some spirits."
Raul, regaining his composure after the violent outburst, muttered, "Yeah? And you think leaving's gonna fix it? Man, we're all marked, like freakin' targets. Look around you—this isn't just Ali's curse."
Luis shot him a glare, barely holding it together. "Fine. Then what are we doing about it?"
Before Ali could respond, Carmen snapped, "Do any of you get it? There's no 'out' on this one. I don't care what the plan is, but sitting here like we're some detective squad isn't getting us closer to any kind of answer. Someone's gotta talk to someone who knows more than us."
Ali bit her lip. "Martine," she said finally. "There's…someone I know who's dealt with this before. She warned me to stay away, but if anyone knows what's going on, it's her."
"Then we're doing this, no more games," Miguel said, looking around with hard eyes, his tone carrying the weight of finality. "If you're all in, I'll get us there."
No one argued. With a last, uneasy glance at each other, they pushed out into the cold night, each of them feeling the brand on their skin as it pulsed with a grim and chilling heat.
They drove in tense silence, the hum of the engine only adding to the dread that grew with each passing streetlight. Martine's house lay on the outskirts of town, a rundown old place with herbs and strange symbols painted on the walls. When they finally pulled up, Ali felt her pulse spike. She'd been here before, but tonight, everything felt different. The air was thick, the shadows deeper, as if the darkness itself had weight.
Carmen knocked on the door. A few seconds passed before it creaked open, revealing Martine, her expression wary as her eyes scanned each of them.
"You brought more trouble," she said, looking Ali dead in the eye. Her gaze drifted over the gang, landing on Luis's arm and the fresh symbol still raw on his skin. "Come inside. But I warn you—what you want to know, it's not something you can just unlearn."
They shuffled in, awkward and restless. Inside, Martine's house smelled of sage and something pungent, almost metallic. Strange relics and herbs hung from the ceiling, a mix of candles and old photographs lining the shelves. She motioned for them to sit around a low table, her face grim as she took a seat across from them.
"Alright," she said, her voice as steady as stone. "You're all marked, I can see that plain as day. These symbols—they're a calling. It means you're tethered to something…ancient, something that's not letting go anytime soon."
Luis, exasperated and visibly worn down, interrupted, "So we're supposed to just what, wait for this thing to kill us?"
Martine shook her head slowly. "These marks, they're a gateway. If they're already branded into your skin, it's because you've been chosen. But not chosen to be killed…chosen to serve."
Carmen leaned forward, her voice incredulous. "Serve what? Some vengeful ghost?"
"No," Martine replied, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It's worse. This thing—it's older than ghosts, older than death. It's something that feeds on fear, on chaos. It wants you to destroy each other, to turn everything you care about to ashes."
Ali felt a shiver crawl up her spine. She thought of her family, the terrifying nights, the rituals, the darkness that had followed her all these years. "How do we stop it?"
Martine studied her with a sad look. "There's no stopping it. The only chance you have is to break the link it's using to mark you. But that requires a sacrifice—a life."
The gang went silent, each of them casting glances at each other, horror dawning on their faces.
"You mean…one of us?" Miguel asked, barely above a whisper.
Martine nodded, her expression unyielding. "It's either a willing sacrifice to cut the ties, or you live with it, let it consume you piece by piece, mark by mark. The spirit doesn't care if it's fast or slow. It just wants power."
Luis shot up, looking around wildly. "So that's it? We're just sitting ducks here until one of us…" He couldn't even finish the thought, his voice trailing off into stunned silence.
Martine's face softened, but she didn't flinch. "This thing has deep roots. It's taken lives for generations; it will take yours, too, unless someone makes the ultimate choice."
The room went deathly quiet, each of them feeling the weight of her words like stones in their chests. Ali closed her eyes, trying to steady herself as the terrifying reality set in.
The darkness wasn't just an external force anymore—it was in them, under their skin, and it demanded payment. And deep down, she knew… they were running out of time.
As they sat in stunned silence, Luis ran his hands over his face, muttering under his breath in a mix of Spanish and English, grappling with the realization that their options were terrifyingly limited.
"This is some real twisted brujería," he said finally, breaking the silence, "but if it's blood this thing wants, I'm not gonna be the one giving it."
Miguel gave him a hard look. "You think anyone else is lining up for that, hermano? We're all in this mess together. If you think you're walking away, think again."
"Enough," Ali interrupted, her voice low but firm. She met Martine's gaze, desperation edging her words. "If there's anything—anything else we can do..."
Martine sighed, her eyes shadowed with years of secrets and half-truths. "There is… one other way. But I'll warn you, it's just as dangerous. You can trap it, seal it off, but it's going to take everything you have, and if you fail, you'll be lost to it."
Raul, who had been silent up to this point, finally spoke up. "So either someone gets sacrificed, or we try this trap and risk all of us going down?"
Martine nodded solemnly. "It's all or nothing."
Ali could feel the tension in the air thickening, every eye in the room on her as if they were waiting for her to make the decision. She took a deep breath, wrestling with the weight of it.
"Let's do it," she said finally, her voice trembling but resolute. "I can't keep running, and if there's even a small chance we can end this without losing anyone, we have to try."
The others exchanged glances, each one visibly uneasy but nodding, one by one, until even Luis reluctantly agreed. Martine leaned back, closing her eyes as she began to chant in a low, rhythmic murmur, a haunting melody that seemed to reach into the very walls of the room.
The shadows around them grew darker, stretching across the room like tendrils reaching out, eager to claim them. Each member of the gang braced themselves, feeling an icy chill creep over their skin as the ritual began, the weight of their choice settling heavily on their souls.
Ali clenched her fists, swallowing hard as she felt the darkness swirl around her, knowing that this was only the beginning of a battle far greater than any of them could truly understand.