came out through the mouths, ears, and noses of the girls. Cries, screams and moans mixed together, as if a great multitude had congregated within the body of each one of the children. Padre Salas gripped tightly onto the crucifix, and began to exclaim, in an imperative voice:
“I exorcise you, Beelzebub, trickster of mankind! Leave the bodies of these girls, manifestations of God! Leave them, for God made them holy temples! Leave, Beelzebub, in the name of God! Leave, Beelzebub, by the faith and the prayer of the Church, by the sign of the Holy Cross, by our Lord Jesus Christ!”
Padre Rincón joined Padre Salas, holding the crucifix high in his hands. The family members, in terror, were squeezed together into one corner of the room, watching the terrible spectacle, powerless. One by one, the girls, with unusual strength, began tearing at the straitjackets and the ropes still tied around their legs. The cries and howls mixed in with the priests commanding voices, who repeated the litany tirelessly, again and again.
Suddenly, all was quiet. All of them plunged into absolute silence, waiting. With a gesture, Padre Salas calmed and restrained Padre Rincón, as he had made to go towards the girls, who appeared to be lying lifelessly on the mats. Then, the nine girls turned in unison, face up, and opened their eyes, completely awake. Some seconds later, thousands of black flies began to break free from their mouths, escaping from the warehouse through an open window, and a crack in the front door. The buzzing of the insects’ wings was deafening, and provoked a panic. Ten minutes passed before the girls stopped releasing flies from their mouths, and at that moment they appeared to awaken from an incredibly long sleep, and burst into tears. It was a clean and pitiful cry of human beings. Everyone present understood that the nightmare had ended, and that Magdalena, Camila, Zoé, Ximena, Natalia, Adelina, Vanessa, Gabriela and Daniela were back.
“Is it over?” asked Padre Rincón, stunned.
“Yes, my son, it’s over. It’s all finished,” replied Padre Salas, with tears in his eyes.
Padre Rincón could not contain himself, and went to hug the little ones, and their parents. They were all crying and giving thanks to God. Everybody felt that this was the happiest day of their lives.
Padre Salas returned to the little warehouse office, and allowed himself to sink heavily into a chair. He was afraid, and gripping onto the Saint Benedict medal, he said the Lord’s Prayer. It was in that moment that he understood that the Spanish journalist had played a crucial role in the miracle, by destroying the cursed pyramid, and would have surely paid a heavy price for his audacity. That gesture of infinite generosity, for which he was not prepared, had, at least, been key in the salvation of the nine innocent souls.
XIX. Metropolitan Cathedral, Mexico City
The right hand man of the Prime Archbishop of Mexico approached Padre Salas, walking calmly, but mournfully.
“Have you really decided to leave?”
“There’s no other option.”
“I believe there’s always another option. We weren’t mistaken in thinking of you, when I visited you at your little church in Coyoacán.”
Padre Salas could not avoid remembering his parish with resignation, as he would never be returning to them.
“This time, I need to hide much further away.”
“Where are you going to go?”
“I don’t think I’ll tell you, and you don’t want me to lie to you.”
“Of course I don’t. But think about all the good you could keep doing here, in your own country, in Mexico. Evil never rests.”
“Believe me, I know.”
The Archbishop’s right-hand man held out a copy of Las Noticias from the previous day.
“Have you read this article yet?”
“No, to be honest.”
“I didn’t think so. Keep it, it’s interesting; although there’s a lot of artistic licence in the last bit.”
“I’m not interested. A man has been condemned for
“I exorcise you, Beelzebub, trickster of mankind! Leave the bodies of these girls, manifestations of God! Leave them, for God made them holy temples! Leave, Beelzebub, in the name of God! Leave, Beelzebub, by the faith and the prayer of the Church, by the sign of the Holy Cross, by our Lord Jesus Christ!”
Padre Rincón joined Padre Salas, holding the crucifix high in his hands. The family members, in terror, were squeezed together into one corner of the room, watching the terrible spectacle, powerless. One by one, the girls, with unusual strength, began tearing at the straitjackets and the ropes still tied around their legs. The cries and howls mixed in with the priests commanding voices, who repeated the litany tirelessly, again and again.
Suddenly, all was quiet. All of them plunged into absolute silence, waiting. With a gesture, Padre Salas calmed and restrained Padre Rincón, as he had made to go towards the girls, who appeared to be lying lifelessly on the mats. Then, the nine girls turned in unison, face up, and opened their eyes, completely awake. Some seconds later, thousands of black flies began to break free from their mouths, escaping from the warehouse through an open window, and a crack in the front door. The buzzing of the insects’ wings was deafening, and provoked a panic. Ten minutes passed before the girls stopped releasing flies from their mouths, and at that moment they appeared to awaken from an incredibly long sleep, and burst into tears. It was a clean and pitiful cry of human beings. Everyone present understood that the nightmare had ended, and that Magdalena, Camila, Zoé, Ximena, Natalia, Adelina, Vanessa, Gabriela and Daniela were back.
“Is it over?” asked Padre Rincón, stunned.
“Yes, my son, it’s over. It’s all finished,” replied Padre Salas, with tears in his eyes.
Padre Rincón could not contain himself, and went to hug the little ones, and their parents. They were all crying and giving thanks to God. Everybody felt that this was the happiest day of their lives.
Padre Salas returned to the little warehouse office, and allowed himself to sink heavily into a chair. He was afraid, and gripping onto the Saint Benedict medal, he said the Lord’s Prayer. It was in that moment that he understood that the Spanish journalist had played a crucial role in the miracle, by destroying the cursed pyramid, and would have surely paid a heavy price for his audacity. That gesture of infinite generosity, for which he was not prepared, had, at least, been key in the salvation of the nine innocent souls.
XIX. Metropolitan Cathedral, Mexico City
The right hand man of the Prime Archbishop of Mexico approached Padre Salas, walking calmly, but mournfully.
“Have you really decided to leave?”
“There’s no other option.”
“I believe there’s always another option. We weren’t mistaken in thinking of you, when I visited you at your little church in Coyoacán.”
Padre Salas could not avoid remembering his parish with resignation, as he would never be returning to them.
“This time, I need to hide much further away.”
“Where are you going to go?”
“I don’t think I’ll tell you, and you don’t want me to lie to you.”
“Of course I don’t. But think about all the good you could keep doing here, in your own country, in Mexico. Evil never rests.”
“Believe me, I know.”
The Archbishop’s right-hand man held out a copy of Las Noticias from the previous day.
“Have you read this article yet?”
“No, to be honest.”
“I didn’t think so. Keep it, it’s interesting; although there’s a lot of artistic licence in the last bit.”
“I’m not interested. A man has been condemned for
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