But it wasn’t light enough to get a good look at her surroundings. All she could see were the walls on either side of her. The space was narrow, barely wide enough for her to walk without turning sideways, and long, made of hard, packed earth. A few yards on, something glinted in the faint light.

Whatever it was up ahead—that was it. The reason Maria was here. This was what had hummed to her.

Maria moved toward the light. Small piles of sticks were gathered against the bases of the walls every few feet. There were dark splotches on every surface, like the ones she’d seen on the walls of the church above. The sticks and pebbles dug into her feet, breaking the skin and leaving bloody smears on the stones behind her.

She kept her eyes fixed on the light ahead. It looked like the flame of a tiny candle, perched on the wall on her left side.

This was it. This flame—it was a spirit.

Altagracia.

Maria straightened her shoulders. She wouldn’t show her fear, the way she had with that shadow in the woods. She wouldn’t let the spirits see how weak she was.

The flame grew brighter as she approached. When she was close enough to get a good look, she bit her lip not to show her surprise.

There was no candle. Just a ball of flame hanging in the air.

Maria swallowed. Keeping her voice as steady as she could, she said, “I am here.”

The flame flared higher.

“Altagracia?” Maria said. The flame was bright. Brighter than a candle flame had any right to be. “I have questions.”

The flame flickered and began to fade.

“Wait.” Maria panicked and switched to Spanish. “Lo siento. Soy yo María.”

I’m sorry. It’s me, Maria.

The flame brightened and grew. Maria shielded her eyes.

A voice whispered to her left, too quiet for her to make out the words. Maria darted her eyes toward the sound but she didn’t see anything. “Altagracia?”

The voice whispered again. Maria still couldn’t make it out. Then it giggled.

It didn’t sound like Altagracia. It sounded like a child. An uneasy feeling stirred in Maria’s chest.

“¿Quién es?” Maria asked. Who’s there?

The answer came in a rumbling man’s voice, so loud and deep Maria’s knees buckled.

“GET OUT!” the man roared.

The ball of flame flared up. It was as big as Maria’s head, radiating heat toward her face. She took a step back, but the heat didn’t lessen.

“Who are you?” she said in English, her voice barely above a squeak.

The child’s voice giggled again.