The Legend Of The Cuco Man

Along the narrow bosom of the lofty escarpments and rugged cliffs near the Douro River, I had passed the stony road in a Spanish carriage to reach the town of Miranda do Douro. It was located in the Trás-os-Montes region of Portugal, kilometres away from the city of Bragança and neighbouring Zamora in Spain. It was a cold October in the year 1868 when I departed Bragança, after being informed of the incomprehensible disappearances of several children of the province.

I was a Mirandese by birth and Portuguese by nationality, but I had since left the area as a child. I had studied and lived in England—London to be specific—and my name is Santiago Monteiro, a magistrate from the district of Bragança sent to resolve the mystery that was haunting the rustic townsfolk.

The town of Miranda do Douro was a serene place of simple people and had small one-storey houses as their original composition. When I approached the centre, I descried a familiar building that had once witnessed my baptism. The immemorial 15th-century parochial church was constructed in the Romanesque style, with a façade flanked by two large towers with merlons, whilst the middle Gothic portal had archivolts decorated with splendid sculptures. It had as well a colourful nave, two narrow aisles, and added ancillary chapels.

I arrived at the local municipality and was apprised by the mayor of the unusual disappearances that were terrifying the numerous townspeople. I was told his name was Abelino Figueira, an elderly, willowy man who knew my father very well. I introduced myself as the magistrate sent to investigate the disappearances of the children and resolve the mystery.

We spoke at length in the Mirandese language, since it was the native tongue of the townspeople. Oddly, it had been some time since I had spoken and heard the language, but I quickly attuned my ears to its familiar words. From what I understood of the general information provided, there were countless children of the town who were missing and unaccounted for. I was given their names and residences, but there was one peculiar detail that confounded me.

According to Senhor Figueira, the witnesses had stated that the children did not merely disappear, but were taken. There was no concrete evidence to prove or even suggest that they were seized by force. Even if that contemplative thought was accurate—by whom? This was the mysterious conundrum that remained definitively insoluble.

What was more startling was the fact that no witness could truly describe the culprit, if he existed at all. There was not much information divulged, and the only relevance lay in the daily disappearances of the children. Therefore, I was compelled to start my investigation with this limited proof offered. From what I comprehended and had read of the initial reports, the first disappearance occurred in the ancient quarter, nearby the main cathedral.

The second disappearance was by the corner of a square, and the others were within the vicinity of the adjacent area, although there were innumerable disappearances that had occurred at the homes of some of the townsfolk. I decided to rest at the inn and begin the next morning's investigation with serious circumspection. During the night whilst I was sleeping, I was awakened by the obstreperous clamour of a woman nearby. I dressed and immediately enquired when I arrived at the area.

There was a throng of people gathered, and I was anxious to know what had caused the woman to scream. It was transparent that she was visibly shaken still, despite our presence. I identified myself as the magistrate sent to resolve the recent disappearances in the town.

The woman, a young lady in her late twenties and from the town, stated that her child had been taken abruptly. When I asked her directly who had taken her child, she said with a haunting utterance the words 'the Cuco Man'. At first, I was uncertain whether I had heard her correctly. I asked her again who she saw abduct her boy, and she looked into my eyes with a definite stare of assertion. She repeated the words again: 'the Cuco Man'.

There was no doubt in my mind that she believed what she saw happened, but I perceived that she was too affected by the incident to be instantly credible. In no measure that was sufficient could this be attributed to a supernatural being of folklore, I presumed logically.

I insisted on a feasible description of the culprit, and she described the individual in the following manner: he was a shadowy vapour of a towering mass that had emerged suddenly from nowhere. I needed more specific details, which, unfortunately, she was not able to reveal effectively.

This was a troubling predicament I had not foreseen, but I realised that if I was to solve the mysterious disappearances of the children, I would have to apply my intellectual prowess to an exceptional degree of cognition. For those not fully aware, the 'Cuco Man' is a mythical being equivalent to the boogeyman found across Europe and the Americas. He evoked such exaggerated fear within people, particularly in the foolish minds of the local inhabitants.

The myth of the 'Cuco Man' originated in Portugal and Spain, and the word 'Cuco' meant 'skull' in both languages. It was cognate with the Cornish, Breton, and Irish meanings of the word 'skull'. I was aware of the superstitious traditions that existed in these parts of Europe, but I never expected that my prime suspect in this investigation would be a preternatural being that was terrorising the area at will. It was essential that I find more substantial evidence and pertinent witnesses to formulate a more plausible conclusion, one that surpassed the irrational fear of the 'Cuco Man'.

I felt that the contingency of achieving that would have to be sought amongst the reasonable people of the town, who were more inclined to construe methods of inducement based on solid and palpable credibility. There were no traces of noticeable clues to infer any viable confirmation that was not a calculated presupposition on my part. I considered myself a knowledgeable man in various subjects and current events, but I was not prepared to confront an opponent that was as mysterious as it was austerulous in nature.

I began to process studiously the unfolded sequence of the disappearances and the unnatural circumstances surrounding them. The lack of coherent evidence contributed to the obvious misunderstanding of the baffling occurrences, and I had to establish a correlation that could afterwards be corroborated with irrefutable facts—not frivolous nonsense.

I began the thorough investigation with my usual pattern of thought that had served me efficiently in my previous experiences. I analysed the places where the peculiar disappearances were reported and the circumjacent area where the children's whereabouts were last known.

As far as I was concerned, the disappearances of the children were deliberate in the action undertaken, and after observing the landscape, I did not preclude the possibility of a villain being the veritable culprit. The likelihood of them being lost or astray I could not dismiss outright.

If only I was capable of knowing more details of the background of the children, then it would allow me to form a perceptible pattern of thought that could be linked to an ultimate solution that was conventional. That was my pending dilemma to promptly effectuate, with considerable regard to my involvement and obligation as a magistrate. I spoke to the mayor, Senhor Figueira, once more at the municipality, since he was the most reliable person in town I could attempt to reason with instinctively.

He was a man with a placid disposition, and I needed his assistance and whatever new information he had to disclose to facilitate my approach. Regrettably, he would not have much new information to share, and all he could offer me was a genuine map of the area.

Upon my return to the town, the view I had of it and its majestic surroundings revived old memories once forgotten. Miranda do Douro was close to Mogodouro, Alfândega da Fé and Vimioso, but I was not cognisant of the drear isolation of this distinctive part of the country.

One who was practically a stranger, as I was, would feel a certain eeriness amidst the isolated location of the town. There was something about the bucolic nature of its composition that exuded a pervasive mystique of the past. The entire day was spent observing the areas of the disappearances and speaking to the family members of the missing children. I had perused their accounts before our conversations and thought I was prepared for whatever they would disclose, but I was wrong. What I listened to attentively was the redundant mention of the 'Cuco Man', and this greatly complicated the course of my investigation. The only important piece of evidence that could be surmised as a potential clue was the fact that the children all knew each other.

Perhaps that was not relevant, but that small detail had enabled me to form a perimeter and an idea of the relationship between the affected families. That night, a curfew was imposed upon the townspeople, and I was determined to solve this mystery forthwith. I was at the municipality speaking with the mayor when a hysterical woman came running towards us, screaming that the Cuco Man had taken her little boy.

I tried to calm her hysteria and fear, so that we could understand what had transpired. I asked her to take us to where the incident had occurred and the boy had been abducted. I sensed her immediate fright and reluctance to comply completely. I told her to tell us the location, and we would hasten to find him. She assented and revealed the location. We left the municipality and reached the area where the abduction had taken place. It was too late. When we arrived, neither the boy nor the villain were anywhere to be seen.

The hypothesis opined was that there was indeed an individual who was seizing the children. There were broken branches on the ground, clear evidence that someone had passed through the vicinity recently. The question that urged us on was: who was this individual? Was he a stranger or someone familiar to the children? What perplexed me was that there were no further clues that could serve as constructive evidence of either the child's presence or the culprit.

That was the troubling dilemma I was suddenly confronting—the grim truth of the intricacy of these unexplained disappearances. I pondered my next step and attempted to sleep the rest of the night, intending to awaken afterwards with a stronger resolution.

The following morning, I awoke to news that the townsfolk were growing increasingly restless and apprehensive about the incidents, but they were unanimous in their suspicion of the fiend behind the disappearances. This veil of secrecy I was encountering had cast a shadow over the town, instilling an unbridled terror and convolution I had never witnessed before in all my years of living.

How could I equate ratiocination with the surrealism of a phantasmal entity of legend that could not be explained in mere facile words? I had achieved a significant thing—the identification of the period during which the disappearances had occurred. I conferred this valuable detail with the mayor, Senhor Figueira, and had established the perimeter of the disappearances.

Of course, what needed to be determined was the unknown cause of these numerous disappearances. There remained the contemplative notion that the mystery had more of a human factor than an unnatural phenomenon. I was forced to counterpoise and distinguish facts from myth, although at times it seemed almost impossible, considering the stubborn beliefs of the locals.

Thereafter, I headed once more to the municipality to speak to the mayor. I intended to send a letter of petition to Lisbon, requesting more time and assistance. I did not want to belittle the locals' traditions with any form of derision, but how could I justify in my letter these age-old beliefs, so antiquated? I was a man of absolute practicality, seldom swayed by the persuasion of legendary myths and fables.

I thought I was accustomed to these people, since I was born in Miranda do Douro, but I had outgrown the retrograde customs of the rustic peasantry and had progressed. As I was leaving the municipality, I heard a child reciting words long buried in my mind, eerily revived by the nursery rhyme. It had been sung by my mother when I was a small and gullible child:

'Sleep, child, sleep now...here comes the Cuco, and he will seize you'.

The coincidental moment stirred a nostalgic memory of my childhood I had repressed. I approached the boy, and his eyes were possessed by a queer fixation, as though wanting to warn me. Warn me about what, I wondered? I asked him who had taught him that nursery rhyme, since it was no longer much heard nowadays. He simply smiled and said that his beloved grandmother had sung it to his mother. It was a rhyme handed down from generation to generation, but the irony for me was a very poignant peculiarity.

The disappearances continued through the week, and every night another poor child disappeared, without a single trace. The insurmountable pressure of solving the mystery was intensifying by the day, and I realised that the mystery revolved around the children.

My task was to discover why these particular children were chosen, if abducted, as I firmly believed. I assembled several men from the town to join me in the search for the children and the probable villain lurking about. Some were hesitant, whilst others were aflutter at the daunting prospect of facing the ghastly Cuco Man. The situation merited more incentive than my plain authority provided.

Therefore, I rewarded their participation and effort with the one thing they understood best: goods. This was determined with the power of my position, accredited by the law. The unexpected ordeal that was troubling me had not been foreseen upon my arrival.

I chronicled everything daily, from the progress of the investigation, with sedulous care, and every option afforded to me was considered, regardless of the strict legality of the concessions made willingly. My precise assumption was that we would soon uncover the inevitable truth behind the mystery of the disappearing children.

I ordered that no one be outside, especially children, and that all doors be tightly sealed and shut during the hours of the nocturnal curfew. Extra gas lamps were placed on the corners of the narrow streets to illuminate them. The men carried torches and rifles to protect us, as we waited for the appearance of the stranger whom I assumed was abducting the children.

A few hours passed without much incident until a vociferous scream was heard, coming directly from one of the townspeople's homes. Apparently, I discovered that a stranger of the night had entered the home and abducted a young girl. The audacious abduction was done so rapidly that truly neither the mother nor the father could have prevented it. The mother’s eyes were fraught with sheer terror, her expression wide-eyed and startled.

I enquired who had taken her girl, and the woman uttered a stammering reply. She muttered the name of the infamous Cuco Man. I had to make sense of this interpretive action and set aside the legend of the Cuco Man. I asked if she was certain, it was not a man she had seen as the intruder, but she categorically denied that it was a man who had committed the horrific act.

When pressed for a description, she declared that he was not human, but the devil himself disguised in a large, towering mass of whiteness. Her vivid description of the nefarious villain was unsatisfactory and unacceptable, as it provided no concrete evidence to formulate a serious semblance of intuitive insight.

It was, indeed, a foregone conclusion that whoever or whatever was seizing the children had successfully terrorised the fearful townspeople and had also made my task even more arduous. They were inflexible and uncompromising when it came to the abductor of their children. I had to proceed judiciously and in conformity with their ancestral beliefs or convictions to accomplish my mission in earnest.

There was a derivative sense of growing disillusionment among the townsfolk that had to be more profound than the mere elaboration of a mythical figure. The streets, with their slender pavements and hard cobblestones, complicated matters and allowed the stealthy villain to flee perfectly into the night with little detection. What was evident was the urgent need for more men to be involved in the search for the children and culprit. Consequently, I ordered the mayor to find adequate volunteers, while men from Bragança were expected to arrive and converge with the paucity of the others.

The next day, we gathered together the additional volunteers—the newcomers from Bragança and the other townsmen of Miranda do Douro who had already been assisting. A handful of Spaniards from Zamora had also arrived to help with the search. Since their native language, Leonese, was more similar to Mirandese than Spanish is to Portuguese, we experienced no difficulty in verbal exchanges.

I had spent the remainder of the previous night devising an effective plan to trap and expose the villain. I took note of the preliminary reports and details, which had thus far resulted only in feckless conjectures and trivialities. My considered plan required any discovery to be impartial, something that could not be misconstrued or manipulated so easily by the townspeople.

If the villain was a mere madman, as I had imagined, then his obsessive compulsion regarding the children would inevitably force him to act again. Thus, without doubt, it would trigger a premeditated response on his part. We were prepared to confront and apprehend the elusive villain forthwith. We patrolled the nearly empty streets and surrounding areas of the town, including the homes of residents.

Words cannot truly express the subsequent terror that would alter the course of events so unexpectedly. The unfriendly draught from the lofty escarpments began to sweep through the town, and I was the first to feel its chill.

I had not fully acclimatised to the cold weather in this part of Portugal, and I was soon to be reminded of its biting force. October was gradually giving way to November. The abductions had occurred during the late evening or night, when the children were secured indoors, and few people ventured outside at those hours. I learnt that this was a crucial element in the children’s disappearances.

For reasons unknown to me, the astute villain was particularly discreet in his selection and timing. Therefore, I concluded that this was the time to conduct our surveillance and search with maximum efficiency and manpower. The entire day was devoted to this strenuous effort, with men taking turns on rotation. Precisely at eleven o’clock that night, the villain abducted another helpless child. This time, the unfortunate victim was a young boy, taken from his home, just as the last victim had been.

When we arrived at the house, the overwrought mother described the villain in terms identical to those of the previous victim’s mother. The Cuco Man was indeed the fiend—not a mere madman. I feared that if the villain was bold enough to seize a child from his own home, he was brazen enough to defy my authority and the combined strength of the men.

This new and disturbing pattern of disappearances was deeply troubling, but the testimony of the child’s brother would provide our most important clue—and bring me a horrific reminder of my own past. The boy had fled to the cellar, hiding from the intruder. The intruder followed him down but, although he found the boy, he did not take him. Instead, he left the house and disappeared into the whistling wind.

It was only when I approached the boy that I noticed he was wearing a distinctive trinket around his neck. I observed the amulet and instantly recognised it as the same one my mother had given me before my parents were killed, leaving me an orphan.

The full circumstances of my parents’ deaths had never been revealed to me. The secret of that tragedy had been kept from me, and I had, unknowingly, suppressed the grisly memory. The boy described the Cuco Man as a towering mass of white mist. I recalled my own deadly encounter with that nefandous being. It happened during a Holy Week procession organised by the devoted Catholic brotherhoods.

The herald—a man dressed in a black hooded cloak that concealed his face, with three holes for his eyes and mouth—led the faithful procession, announcing the death of Christ. We were heading towards the church when, suddenly, the frightened pigeons beat their wings furiously, amassing as they sought shelter in the church. The child beside me carried a hollow pumpkin with holes cut out—no eyes or nose—like a skull, with a candle lit inside to give it a more macabre appearance.

Out of nowhere, the Cuco Man appeared, intent on snatching the child. But I managed to escape by running into the church. This incredible event had occurred forty years earlier, when I was just ten years old.

That dreadful encounter was soon to be relived. As I left the home of the abducted child, a chilling mist descended, and I saw the conformation of a shadowy mass—a dark shape of horror known as the Cuco Man.

At first, he was imperceptible, but then he emerged from the mist, like a swift, pulsing force. His essence defied any comparison or rational explanation. What I saw transcended the bounds of human understanding: an inhuman presence made manifest.

He had tried to abduct the boy but was thwarted—not by the trinket, but by the bright, flickering fire in the fireplace. The being simply vanished into thin air with startling speed.

He did not return that night, thankfully, and the child was spared—not by the trinket, but by the blazing fire.

I was left with no doubt: the fire had revealed the daemon’s vulnerability. I could not predict with accuracy or certainty who would be the next victim, but there was now no doubt about the true nature of the Cuco Man. This was no deceptive tactic by a madman.

There was one man who could speak authoritatively about the inscrutable Cuco Man: Mayor Senhor Figueira, who had lived in Miranda do Douro for many decades. When I visited the municipality the next morning to inform him of the previous night’s events—especially the appearance of the Cuco Man—he was visibly surprised by my enquiry.

It was not my intention to bewilder him with my curiosity, but I was anxious to hear his response. What he told me was a story I had least expected. According to him, the Cuco Man was a legendary being from the land of the dead—a mystical place in the Iberian Peninsula known as Lebor Gabála Érenn. Another, perhaps more plausible, version of his origin was that he had once been a French soldier in Napoleon’s army, killed during the French occupation of the Iberian Peninsula in the early 19th century.

His name was Fabien Géroux, and as the story went, his skull had been stolen from the local graveyard. His enraged ghost had sought retribution by abducting innocent children from Miranda do Douro.

As a native of Portugal, I had heard of the Cuco Man, but I had never truly understood the origins of this supernatural being. These tales had circulated for centuries in places such as Vinhais, Bragança, Darque, Barroselas, Viana do Castelo, and Pontevedra in Galicia, Spain.

The Cuco Man was no mere myth—not for the faint-hearted believers who invoked his name. Even if many of the stories seemed like senseless ramblings, the one pressing question remained: why had he returned to the land of the living, to the very town that had condemned him to infernal punishment?

Something—or someone—had facilitated the Cuco Man’s return to Miranda do Douro. It was my duty to uncover that enigmatic connection. The reality of that suspicion took precedence, and I knew it required ingenuity to unravel.

The accursed abomination of the Cuco Man defied human logic, and no true comparison could be made. After hearing the mayor’s various accounts, I resolved to undertake the final task: to destroy the Cuco Man or send him back to his solitary grave.

The men gathered once again at the municipality, ready to resume the search, whilst I pursued my investigation with renewed determination.

My erroneous oversight in my approach had then been sharpened by the reaction of my sagacious proclivity. It would serve me efficaciously and help me to resolve the mystery that had bound me to Miranda do Douro in the end.

The plan that I had devised involved masterful deception and precision. I did not divulge all the details that had been designed; instead, I merely disclosed the necessary parts of the plan to the others. The relevant information given to them was that we would attempt to lure the Cuco Man to the church.

Perhaps this was naïve of me, because I was not completely confident that he would come to the church at all. If he did, it would be because of the young boy whose name was Justino. I was not comfortable using the boy as a pawn to attract the Cuco Man, but there was no other choice that was not involuntary.

I prayed for his well-being and for the return of the children. I knew that if I defeated the ghostly figure, there was a strong possibility that the children would be located and returned. The boy and the medieval church were the key to this plan, but I could not dismiss the suspicion that something unusual about the mystery of the Cuco Man remained unanswered.

There was a missing piece that had remained insoluble. The heavy clouds soon brought a fog that began to cover the entire village around midnight, and the fluttering wings of pigeons were heard as they sought to enter the church.

It was then that the Cuco Man appeared, standing dauntless in front of us. The mighty bells of the church tower rang and resounded throughout the whole benighted area. Suddenly, the Cuco Man perceived our presence whilst we remained inside the church. He knew we were in the interior of the church, but why did he not attempt to enter? I was aware of the powerful effects of the trinket and the fire that had deterred him, but I sensed there was another hidden reason for this odd behaviour.

As we stood at the front door and windows of the church observing, I then noticed that the mayor, Senhor Figueira, and the boy were absent. It seemed to me that I was the only person who took careful notice of this detail, as the rest were occupied with their thoughts of the Cuco Man.

I looked to and fro until I found them in the cellar. There Senhor Figueira had the boy clutched in his left arm, whilst he held a lit torch in his other hand. He carried a sack with an object inside. I said nothing and followed him through a murky passage of the cellar.

Thereafter, we reached the narrow egress that led to the local graveyard of the town. For what reason he took the boy there, I did not know. I feared his intentions were malicious. I peeked through a patch of accumulating fog and saw the harrowing appearance of the Cuco Man. He had re-emerged from the darkness to seize the young boy.

Evidently, Senhor Figueira had brought the boy to hand him over to the Cuco Man. My initial reaction was that he was attempting to save the town, but I was incorrect in my assumption. Then, I became aware of his sinister intention and desire. The skull he carried in his hand had belonged to the Cuco Man, but I was still uncertain what he was trying to accomplish. He began to speak to the Cuco Man, imploring him to spare the town his wrath in exchange for the young boy.

I intervened, and it was then that the missing part of the mystery of the Cuco Man was explained to me by Senhor Figueira. My mother and father were killed by the Cuco Man while attempting to save me. What I did not know before was the disturbing fact that the Cuco Man, on that unforgettable night many years ago when I was but a mere child, had come for me.

You see, Senhor Figueira had required a competent cosignatory for a document to be valid and legal, pertaining to a deed. That singular deed was the acquisition of the properties of several of the townsfolk of Miranda do Douro.

My father, a man loyal to his brethren, had refused. Senhor Figueira could not relinquish his acquisitive urge and had threatened my father with egotistical impudence. He had heard of the preternatural tale of the horrid Cuco Man, which we all believed to be superstition in Portugal.

I was unaware that the amulet given to me as a child, worn around my neck, had saved me from the Cuco Man all these years. The Cuco Man’s skull had been removed from his unburied grave by Senhor Figueira in secret. His objective was to seize the lands of the townspeople, who owned land near a treasure containing valuable coins that had belonged to Napoleon. Buried underneath that patulous area of land was a great fortune. Senhor Figueira, who held no admirable traits, had been planning for decades his devious purchases of these properties unscrupulously.

What was missing was my presence, the key to his arrangement. He had been told that I had become a reputable magistrate and had moved from Lisbon to Bragança. He had exhumed the grave of the French soldier and taken his skull to control the Cuco Man.

He was informed of my imminent arrival and had waited for the exact moment to lure me into his sinister trap. I was a central figure in his perverse dislike for my family, who, according to him, had betrayed him. I was speechless when I realised this dastardly scheme.

He told me to choose: me or the boy. That was my only option. At the thought of the Cuco Man taking me instead of the faultless boy, I did not hesitate nor prevaricate to choose. I looked at him with an acquiescent look in my eyes and agreed. I removed my amulet, willing to deliver my body and soul to the Cuco Man.

The evil one approached me, when a sparkle from the torch I was about to lay on the ground created an aglow spark that blinded the Cuco Man. The incident allowed the boy to free himself and reach me. Senhor Figueira then endeavoured to reclaim the boy, but it was too late.

Seeing that the boy was under my protection, the Cuco Man redirected his sheer ire at Senhor Figueira. Senhor Figueira fell to the ground as he attempted to reason with the reaper. As that was transpiring, I quickly grabbed the skull of the Cuco Man and searched for the grave of the deceased French soldier. The boy Justino followed closely behind me. When I located the grave, I began to dig as fast as I could the unwieldy soil with a shovel left by the gravedigger of the cemetery.

It was then that the evil one saw our effort and came flying through the air towards us, shrieking. I was able to thwart him with the torch, but I knew there was something he wanted from me that was more compelling and coveted. That was his skull, and I had it in my hand, ready to offer it to him if necessary.

At first, there was no response, but then I distinguished in his darkled eyes an obvious recognition of his desperate need to be at peace and to have his tormenting soul freed and unbounded. I gave him his skull, and soon the bright guise of the Cuco Man transformed into a mortal man.

He was once more the French soldier, Fabien Géroux. He stared at us both as we stood, and afterwards, he disappeared into the fog that escorted him to where, I do not know! He was gone, and with him also vanished the mayor, Senhor Figueira.

The last thing I beheld of the Cuco Man was the indelible image of his incredible transformation. The terror of the Cuco Man abated and brought closure to the town, but the legend had only begun. I had solved the centurial mystery of the Cuco Man.

When the boy and I returned to the church, all the missing children had also come back. The grave of the French soldier had been mysteriously reburied—but by whom? That was the inexplicable riddle yet to be solved. His headstone was now marked with the name Fabien Géroux, as he deserved. The fog had lifted, and the first snowflakes of the coming winter fell gently to the ground.

Before I left Miranda do Douro for good, I felt an odd compulsion to walk through the town square one final time. The fog had lifted with the dawn, leaving behind a stillness that seemed to settle deep within the eeriness of the village. As I crossed the cobblestones, the faintest echo of distant bells reached me from the church tower, as if marking the end of an era.

In the square, an elderly woman sat on a weathered bench beneath the shadow of an ancient oak. Her frail hands moved with practiced grace, knitting a delicate, intricate pattern into a piece of cloth. Beside her, a basket of chestnuts sat untouched, the brown spikes of the nuts catching the light of the early morning sun.

The sight of her, so still and unbothered by the turmoil that had swept through the town, stirred something deep within me. She appeared as though she had always been there, a quiet presence who had witnessed the unfolding of countless stories, each one as fleeting as the mist that now swirled gently around the square. There was something about her that felt ancient, almost otherworldly, as if she had been there long before the arrival of the Cuco Man and would remain long after.

I could not shake the sense that she knew more than she let on, that she had seen the darkness that lingered in the history of this place, yet remained unaffected by it. As I walked past her, my fingers brushed against something cold and smooth—something small that lay next to the chestnuts. It was a stone, worn and polished by time, yet it felt oddly familiar in my hand. It was heavy with meaning, as though it had been waiting for me to find it, to carry it away.

I continued on my way, the stone heavy in my palm. By the time I reached the edge of the town, the sun had risen higher, casting long shadows across the winding streets. I glanced back one last time at Miranda do Douro, but the square was empty, the bench now devoid of the woman who had been there only moments before. The chestnuts remained in their basket, untouched.

As I left the village behind, I could feel the weight of the stone in my pocket, a subtle reminder of the lingering presence of the Cuco Man and the mysteries of this place. Though the fog had cleared, the sense of something unfinished remained, like a story left half-told. And in the quiet, I could not escape the feeling that the town, and its dark history, would follow me wherever I went.

I cannot explain in the simplicity of mere words the abnormal phenomenon that had occurred in the town of Miranda do Douro, except to acknowledge that what had haunted that remote place was a tangible evil, far surpassing any form of subjectivity or deduction that might be construed. In time, the town would return to its normal rhythm, and I would leave Miranda do Douro with a certain satisfaction in having fulfilled my task and duty.

The reminiscent days of my childhood were rekindled with both fondness and trepidation, but my inability to escape the past entirely was connected to a deep-seated repression of my early years. Once I had returned to Bragança, I remained aghast at the continuous nightmares of the Cuco Man. Slowly, those disconcerting episodes of dread faded, and I was able to seek justice for my parents. I placed, on the top shelf of my library, the account of the Cuco Man in my diary, alongside the history of my family. I always wore the amulet that had thwarted the evil of the Cuco Man.

There is a nursery rhyme that, as a child in Portugal, is sung to misbehaving children. It is heeded by those children who choose to behave:

‘Vai-te Cuco. Vai-te Cuco
Para cima do telhado
Deixa o menino dormir
Um soninho descansado’.

'Leave, Cuco. Leave, Cuco,
Go up to the rooftop,
Let the child sleep,
A quiet, peaceful sleep'.

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