The Rook

The Rook

by Ramsés Dávila-Luna @ The Writer’s Cavern

Summertime. The coastal breeze swept through the valleys of the Santa Lucia Preserve, a gated community in Carmel, California. Vicente Torres drove his white 1989 Chevrolet Silverado up the hill, marveling at the giant homes nestled in the mountains. A freshly minted decal on his door read, Torres Builders LLC.

          Mr. Vicente Torres was tall and dark-complexioned. A large tattoo of a Rook chess piece covered his right shoulder. He wore a gray long-sleeved pocket shirt, blue denim jeans, and new steel-toe boots with his company logo etched onto them.

Vicente glanced at a picture of his wife and daughter on the dashboard as he kept to the speed limit. The sight of large homes and their royal greenery made Vicente feel small. With a defiant right turn of the radio knob, he turned up the volume to his tunes and lowered his windows to take in the fresh scent of the pine trees along the way. In his rearview mirror, he spotted a security golf cart tracking his vehicle.

           At the center of the cul-de-sac to his right, the front gate to his destination came into view: 222 River Oaks Boulevard. A video camera peeked out among the Italian Cypress trees around the home as Vicente’s truck pulled up to the front gate intercom. Before he even managed to speak into the intercom, the gate slowly opened on its own.

           The tall pillars at the home's main entrance emerged as the front gate cleared. It was an elegant concrete Victorian-style home with modern Georgian windows, and the front oak pivot door was well over ten feet high. Vicente parked his truck at a distance from a Rolls-Royce Cullinan SUV on the circular driveway as he noticed the front gate closing behind him. He turned off the ignition and gazed at the portrait on his dashboard one last time.

           Whistles rang out in the distance. Vicente looked up and saw a stout, bearded older gentleman waving at him to come inside the house in front of the pivot door. He reached into the backseat and pulled out a clipboard with invoice paperwork addressed to “Marcus,” nestled behind a luggage bag.

           Vicente’s walk towards Mr. Marcus wasn’t as intimidating as he imagined it to be. His mind had made up an image of Marcus in expensive clothing, but reality was the opposite. Marcus wore plain workout gear and could pass as any normal person on the street.

           “Hello, Mr. Marcus. It is nice to meet you,” Vicente confidently said with his chest puffed out.

           “Welcome to the neighborhood. I’m glad you’re here. Come on in,” Marcus replied as he held the door open for Vicente.

           The home was a modern-day palace—marbled floors, a spiral staircase that looked like something out of City Hall. The kitchen was high-end and resembled a Michelin 5-star establishment, with the finest titanium steel counters. The entire place was so well renovated that Vicente started to wonder what he was called in for. Past the kitchen, a wall with a small hole in it stood next to a sitting room.

           “This is what I want you to fix,” Marcus said as he pointed to the hole. As he stepped forward, his foot pressed down on a marbled tile that clicked beneath his weight. A section of the floor slid open beside them, and a staircase emerged that led down into a dark basement.

           Vicente closed in on the hole and inspected it. There was no structural damage. It was just that, a simple hole in the wall. Perplexed and frustrated, Vicente gripped his clipboard tightly.

“You brought me all the way up here to fix a small hole in the wall? I could get that done in a couple of hours,” Vicente told Marcus.

           “The last three guys ran out on me.”

           “Is this some sort of joke?”

           “Wait here. I’ll be right back,” Marcus told Vicente as he vanished into another room in the house.

           Vicente edged closer to the steps leading into the basement and peered into the blackness below. As his stare zoned in on the void, there was a strange feeling that won him over. It was almost as if something in the basement was looking back at him.

           “Here’s your bonus, bud!” Marcus said as he playfully struck Vicente on the shoulder with a heavy, white envelope.

           Extending the clipboard contract towards Marcus. “You haven’t even signed off on anything,” Vicente replied.

           “That’s three thousand dollars in the envelope. You’ll get another three if you stick around. You finish the job, and you get another ten thousand on top of that.”

           “Look, I don’t want any trouble. I have a wife and daughter. I’m not sure what you got going on here, but nobody has ever thrown money at me like this. Are you the real deal?”

           Marcus pointed to the hole in the wall with crazy, wide eyes. “It’s real, Vicente. I got a wife and kids too. They’re on vacation because of this hole. I think you’re the guy who can fix it.”

           Vicente snatched the white envelope and put it into his back pocket. “I thought you’d be all prim and proper. You’re like a Wild West cowboy, old school. No contracts. Under the table. I get it now.”

           “Yes, but you have to stay here and finish the job.”

           “I’m too old for sleepovers, bud. I planned to check into a nearby hotel at night.”

           “That’s not okay. See that couch in the sitting room… That’s all yours. I want you to always be near the hole.”

           Heavy in thought, Vicente looked Marcus dead in the eyes, then turned his attention to the plush couch. “Damn, this is a trip.”

           Vicente walked back to his truck, grabbed his luggage, and set it in the sitting room.

           A sliding door next to the sitting room led to the backyard. A built-in playground sat beside a massive pool, and a glass-walled guest house was visible in the distance. Just outside, Vicente found a stash of building materials and tools—everything from mortar and adhesives to plywood, drills, hammers, and even heavy-duty equipment like a breaker hammer and sledgehammer. He realized he’d be able to handle the repairs without dipping into his own supplies.

           “There’s an entire aisle worth of material out here,” Vicente said.

           “It’s practically brand new. The tools are all yours if you finish the job,” Marcus replied.

           Marcus mapped out Vicente’s designated areas of the home: the kitchen for food and drink, and the bathroom near the sitting room.

           With that, Vicente began his work. He was a no-nonsense, meticulous man. Once he got going, he entered a zone that nobody could take him out of. The repair job distracted Vicente from his own problems, which made his work therapeutic. In less than three hours, Vicente had patched the hole in the wall.

           “You’re good at this,” Marcus said, impressed by the quickness and thoroughness of Vicente’s work.

           “It’s just a hole.”

           “The others didn’t finish until evening time.”

           “Now the quick patch must sit there and dry overnight. I will paint over it tomorrow.”

           Marcus’ body language visibly changed. He got nervous and almost stuttered as he said, “That’s good. I think it’s time.”

           “Yes, it’s time to let the paint dry.”

           “No, it’s time to check out the basement. Let’s go.”

           Marcus took the lead and slowly walked down the first steps of the basement, turning around to convince Vicente to follow. Like two scared children, they both crept into the basement and got lost in its darkness.

           “There aren’t any lights in this-,” Vicente said.

           The cone from a flashlight in Marcus’ hand hit Vicente’s face. The light slowly scanned the room. The basement was about five hundred square feet, with two old, worn-out columns at its center. Mold covered the walls, and the cement floor was badly cracked.

           “Sorry, it took me a while to find this thing,” Marcus said as his jittery hands barely managed to hold the light still.

           “Why is this place so run-down?”

           “The hole wants it to stay like this.”

A cold drift funneled into the basement, and a mysterious heaviness filled the air. Vicente found it hard to breathe.

“Well, there’s not much to see in here,” Vicente said with an eagerness to escape. He hurried back upstairs and tried to shake off the chill that clung to him.

           Needing a moment to clear his head, Vicente took a shower. The eerie sense of dread slowly washed away the longer he let the water gush over his body.

On his way to the sitting room, he passed by the kitchen and saw Marcus eating pizza on the kitchen counter. It was past evening, and the two stayed up a while longer to talk.

           “Would it offend you if I asked something personal?” Marcus told Vicente.

           “Go for it.”

           “Why would you stay at a hotel if your kid and wife are nearby?”

           “I’ve been living in hotels and my truck for the past three months.”

           “So, you’re never going back?”

           “I’m trying to take care of an issue.”

           “I don’t get it.”

           “I’m coming up on 29 days. I’ve been going to those meetings.”

           “Oh, I see. Well, you’re about to hit a month soon. That’s good. My wife and two kids left because of that hole. They said they won't come back until it’s fixed. I’m not trying to scare you. I hope you understand. It’s just something you’ll have to see for yourself. As much as I am throwing money at you, I can’t afford to move into another home. My wife doesn’t know that.”

           “So why don’t you give them a phone call already? The hole is fixed,” Vicente let out with a smirk on his face.

           “I’m going to head upstairs and call it a night. Do you want the lights on or off?”

           “Off, please. See you in the morning.”

           The two parted ways, and Vicente noticed a set of blankets and two pillows on his couch in the sitting room - excellent room service by Marcus. He turned off the lights and tucked himself in with a hammer by his side on the couch. He stared at the patched wall until his eyes finally gave in, and he fell into a deep sleep.

           In the middle of the night, Vicente woke up to somebody nudging his shoulder. He opened his eyes and saw a small shadow by his side. His eyes focused in on the black silhouette, but he couldn’t make out its true shape.

           “Marcus, is that you?” Vicente told the shadow.

           The shadow giggled back in a little girl’s voice and ran into the basement. Vicente sprang out of the couch and looked at the wall with a hole in it again. He slowly crept up to the basement steps and heard more playful giggles.

           “This isn’t funny, Marcus! Come out of there!” Vicente yelled into the basement.

           “My daddy and your daddy liked whiskey too. You’re just like your father,” a little girl’s voice echoed in the basement as it laughed.

           Vicente fell backward in shock as the kitchen lights spilled in from down the hall.

           “You saw it, didn’t you?” Marcus said as he walked into the sitting room.

           “Are your kids back in the house?”

           “You haven’t fixed the hole. It’s still there.”

           Unwilling to make sense of what just happened, Vicente gathered his belongings and put them back into his luggage.

           “It doesn’t hurt you. It just messes with people, is all,” Marcus explained as he turned the sitting room light on.

           “What is that thing? You saw me fix the hole! You saw it get fixed!”

           “It’s a little girl. A ghost.”

           “I’ve never messed with this kind of stuff before.”

           “Five thousand dollars if you stay. Common, I need your help.”

           “Sir, you need the ghostbusters in here or a priest, not a construction worker.”

           “I’ve tried those. They don’t work.”

           Vicente started to hyperventilate as he looked back at the wall and tried to compose himself. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and his heartbeat shot through the roof. He sat down on the couch and closed his eyes to think as Marcus went into the kitchen and brought him a glass of water.

           Defeated and lost, Vicente grabbed the glass as his hands trembled. “How can I help you fix something that won’t let itself be fixed?”

           “I don’t know.”

           “So, if I were to tell you to go check the base-.”

           “It’s empty. Every time I go in there to check, there’s nothing there. It just messes with me upstairs, but when I follow it back into the basement - zilch, nada!”

           “It knew about my drinking. How?” Vicente said in disbelief, getting teary-eyed. “She said I was just like her father. That’s messed up!”  

           Vicente chugged the water and set the glass down on the ground. His arms and legs trembled in anger until he erupted into full-blown manic attacks. He paced back and forth as Marcus tried to get in between him.

           “Look, just sleep this off, and we can talk about it in the morning,” Marcus nervously said as he saw Vicente turn into a wild animal. As much as Marcus tried to be the matador, the bull inside Vicente lost his cool.

           Vicente went into the backyard and came back holding a sledgehammer as he stood next to the hole.

           “Like my father! I’m nothing like my father!” Vicente screamed at the top of his lungs as he struck the wall repeatedly. The wooden beams and concrete shattered with each monstrous blow. His arms finally gave out from exhaustion, and he lodged the sledgehammer into the wall as he fell to the floor crying.

           Marcus stood at a distance, frozen in fear. “Your Higher Power is calling you,” Marcus shook as he spoke.

           “You’re one of me too? Why didn’t you say anything yesterday?”

           “Do you have a sponsor you can call when this kind of stuff happens? You just went Hulk Smash on the wall.”

           “I don’t even have a book yet.”

           “I can tell.”

           Marcus looked at the wall in confusion. He stepped closer and saw the corner of an object within the wall. He reached into the crevice and grabbed hold of something.

           “What in the world do we have here?” Marcus told Vicente as he pulled a wooden folding chess set from inside the wall. The box had a chessboard drawn on its exterior.

           “Open the damn thing,” Vicente said as he wiped tears from his face with his shirt.

           Marcus opened the box and all the pieces to a chess set fell out. He set the pieces on the board one by one and found a King missing.

           Vicente pulled up his right long sleeve until Marcus could make out his Rook tattoo. “The tower. My last name is Torres. This is getting creepy.”

           “You’ve made it further than the others. Most of them ran away as soon as they saw the ghost-,” Marcus told Vicente.

           Little footsteps marched inside the basement. The sound was distant one moment, then quickly drew near, as if someone were coming up the steps toward them. Marcus and Vicente hugged each other in fright on the ground.

           “Vicente, come and play with me! Please! You found my toy!” the little girl's voice echoed below.

           Vicente and Marcus held onto each other more tightly. A spicy, distinct smell hit Vicente’s nostrils that was all too familiar to him.

           The ghost’s voice became angry. “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe! Two big drunkards lost at the speakeasies! If one gets angry it’s because they want some more! If they holler, let them go! My mother told me to pick the very best one, and Marcus is not it!”

           Loosening his grip on Marcus and pushing him away in disgust, Vicente got on his two feet as his ankles shook in terror.

“You fell off the wagon, didn’t you? You liar,” Vicente told Marcus.

           “Don’t leave me!” Marcus pleaded as he held onto one of Vicente’s legs. “Wouldn’t you be on the booze if you had to deal with this thing for months?”

           Vicente shook Marcus off him and let out heavy breaths as he struggled to get his legs close to the edge of the basement steps.

           “I left the flashlight at the bottom of the steps,” Marcus let out.

           “I’m going to go meet the dark. Nobody disrespects a Torres,” Vicente replied as his legs nearly buckled with each step. He had made up his mind to go into the basement.        

The light in the sitting room went out, and the ghost continued to giggle. Vicente paused for a bit in the dark to regain his footing on the next step and pressed his hands against the wall to his right to maintain his balance. A soft, cold drift brushed against his body again.

           On leveled ground, Vicente took small steps and cautiously neared the center of the room. His eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness. The silhouette of a little girl appeared behind one of the columns, and she playfully poked her head out from its side.

           “Who are you?” Vicente said as his voice shook.

           “My name is Ana.”

           The silhouette stepped in front of the column, and Vicente could faintly make out the shapes of her little legs and their fabric stockings. There was a solid void to her black dress shoes. Her dress lightly ruffled as she swayed her arms from side to side.

           “What do you want from me?” Vicente said.

           “Help me go home.”

           “This isn’t your home?”

           “My dad got angry one night, and he told my mom and me that we weren’t part of his home anymore.”

           “Was Marcus your father?”

           “Gosh, no. This happened to me a very long time ago.”

           The little girl took a few more steps towards Vicente. He could make out her long locks and the whites of her eyes. Her silhouette sank into parts of her face.

           “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

           The girl moved in closer to Vicente as he crouched down to meet her for an embrace. “You’ve got to find your home, Vicente. Checkmate,” she whispered into his ear.

           The little girl vanished into thin air as Vicente sat in the darkness to find himself again. He absorbed the darkness and thought endlessly about his person. In the dark, Vicente heard the screams of his drunken father when he was a little boy. The obscenities Vicente consumed from his father infected him as an adult, and he passed on the same sickness to his daughter.

           Marcus sprang up from the sitting room couch when he saw Vicente emerge from the basement.

           “I’m going to need a light down there,” Vicente told Marcus with an exhausted look on his face.

           Vicente made his way to the backyard and saw the first signs of dawn in the sky. He plugged an extension cord into an outdoor outlet and secured the other end to the breaker hammer. He dragged the hammer into the basement and began breaking the cement floor as Marcus lit their surroundings.

           By daybreak, Vicente had cracked the basement's cement floor into manageable bits. They spent the next hours pushing and carrying the broken cement pieces away from the center of the room. They could feel their hands and fingers blister and bleed inside their gloves.

           With hardly any breaks in between, Marcus and Vicente continued to dig into the basement floor. The dirt and rocks they uncovered grew larger along the basement's sides. In one sudden heave, Vicente pushed aside dirt with the sides of his arms, and he could feel something press against them in the dirt. As Marcus shined his light on the ground, they could make out a small, closed fist sticking out of the ground. Vicente gently opened the fist, and a King chess piece fell out of it.

           “We should go to a meeting together someday,” Vicente said tensely, trying to cope with the shock of their discovery.

           “Sure, I’m up for that, but you have to fix my hole first,” Marcus replied with a deep sense of sorrow.

           “Sounds like a deal,” Vicente answered as his mind sifted through the memory of the little girl’s ghost.

           In complete distress, Vicente and Marcus made their way to the front entrance of the home. As Marcus phoned in to the authorities, Vicente’s own phone began to ring unexpectedly. Thinking it was another client, Vicente was shocked to see his wife’s name on the screen. He walked into the circular driveway, slid right to take the incoming call, and pressed the phone against his ear to hear his daughter’s voice come through the other line.

Copyright © 2026 The Writer's Cavern by Ramsés Dávila-Luna at The Writer’s Cavern LLC. All rights reserved.