The Arnoia Enigma: A Psychological Thriller
The Arnoia Enigma
Part 1: Víctor’s Narrative
Víctor’s Arrival at Beira Verde Clinic
I, Víctor Molds, am compelled to recount the events of three years ago, events I’ve tried to bury. On December 9, 1999, at age 32, I began working at the Beira Verde Clinic, a psychiatric center in Lower Minho. Psychiatry had always fascinated me, and I excelled in my studies. The clinic had an excellent reputation, a prime location, top-notch facilities, and two renowned experts in charge.
Dr. Montenegro, the director, hired me not for my credentials but for my passion. He led me through dark corridors, shielded walls, and empty cells designed for violent or suicidal patients. He introduced me to my first patient: Laura New, a 31-year-old woman with striking purple hair, who had shown no progress in three months. She spent her days writing her name repeatedly on sheets of paper. Her expressive eyes conveyed anxiety and distress. “Welcome to the clinic, Dr. Molds,” Montenegro said, “This is your first patient.”
Laura’s History
As I familiarized myself with Laura’s file, I discovered her biography, additional documents, and a book she had written. Born in Pontedeume in 1968, she had a successful career in journalism and had published several books, albeit without much success. After her mother’s death and estrangement from her father and brother, she returned to Galicia after a year in Madrid, following a radius fracture and subsequent psychological anomalies. The last part of her history was scarce, and Montenegro suspected she was hiding something, especially regarding her time in Galicia.
A Novel Therapy
Laura’s writings, though fragmented, offered valuable clinical insights. She emphasized the power of literature. I devised a new therapy: I would sit with her and read aloud as she wrote. Occasionally, she’d experience spasms and absence seizures, but she’d always resume writing. After three days, she began to respond. I started reading Grimm’s fairy tales and other fantastical stories, hoping to awaken her will to live. Gradually, she gained confidence and sat closer. I transitioned to novels like Treasure Island. One day, as I read, we walked to the bougainvillea garden, a place for meditation. Though she had another crisis, a breakthrough came when I read a novel about a writer’s love story. Tears streamed down her face, and she exclaimed, “I also write!” It was her first full sentence, and she ran back to her cell to write.
Part 2: Laura’s Narrative
Leaving Madrid
It’s difficult to recount what happened after I left Madrid. The summer of 1998 was a disaster. My criticism of the Minister of Culture had jeopardized my career. I searched online for country houses in Galicia and found one that intrigued me. The owner’s name, Carlos Valcárcel, was the same as my teenage love. I emailed him, asking about a specific book, Arnoia, Arnoia by Méndez Ferrín, to confirm his identity. He responded correctly, and I booked the house, leaving my fiancé, Michael, without explanation.
Arrival at Casa Grande
The journey to Galicia was long. The landscapes were beautiful and instilled a sense of tranquility. I reminisced about Carlos: At 16, I fell for my new Contemporary History teacher, a tall, thin man with glasses. He introduced me to Arnoia, Arnoia, and I slipped a love poem by Pablo Neruda into the book when I returned it. He never reacted. When he left for Madrid, I was heartbroken.
Arriving at Casa Grande de Lanzós in Vilalba, I was stunned by its beauty. Carlos greeted me warmly and showed me to my room, equipped with internet access and a desk. I felt welcomed and at ease.
Reconnecting with Carlos
At dinner, we talked about our lives since the summer of ’83. I shared my family’s story, my studies, my work, my parents’ divorce, my mother’s death, and my breakup with Michael. Carlos spoke of his teaching career, the complaints from parents about his political views, the deaths of his father and aunt, inheriting Casa Grande, and transforming it into a holiday home.
He also shared his personal life, his marriage and divorce, and his childless status. I went to bed happy.
Strange Occurrences
I enjoyed my time at Casa Grande, taking daily trips with Carlos. The staff was friendly, except for Moncho, who seemed to dislike me. I asked Carlos about it, and he mentioned a local legend about a red-haired woman awakening the Great Best (the devil). One day, while exploring a cave with Carlos’s dog, Daedalus, we encountered a deep well. Daedalus’s barking saved me from falling in. I dismissed it as unimportant, but I became paranoid, feeling watched, especially when alone. Carlos took photos of me, and the shadows in the background resembled a figure. Moncho saw the photos and claimed it was the Great Best.
Escalating Fear
The paranoia intensified, and I took refuge in my writing, constantly seeking company. Nightmares plagued me. Moncho’s hostility continued. Things seemed to improve in late November, until one night, Daedalus started barking. Carlos and I went outside to investigate, and we found him dead. We spent a sleepless night. The next day, Moncho and Maria, the housekeeper and her husband, arrived. We buried Daedalus in the garden. Carlos suspected a boar, Maria thought it was wolves, and Moncho blamed me. I tried to dismiss it as an animal’s death, but I realized I should leave Casa Grande.
Tragedy and Escape
I continued writing, driven by a compulsion to document the escalating events. In December, a family with a 16-year-old daughter named Maria stayed at Casa Grande. Maria admired me and wanted to be a journalist. She even had red hair. One day, she went missing, and we found her half-dead with stab wounds. I was terrified, connecting her attack with Daedalus’s death. After Maria’s surgery, I found a note under my door: “Maria was a mistake. They were looking for you. Run!” The next morning, the police arrived, and I decided to flee Casa Grande.
Love and Danger
Back in Madrid, I broke up with Michael. Carlos emailed me about Maria’s attack, describing a black shadow with malicious eyes. A young man on probation was suspected but denied involvement. Carlos confessed his love for me, and I returned to Casa Grande in late January.
February and March were blissful. I felt guarded but inspired. Moncho remained hostile. One day, Carlos went hunting and returned late without the scarf I’d given him. I was annoyed, but he dismissed it, saying he’d buy another. That night, I woke up screaming, drenched in sweat.
The Final Confrontation
The feeling of being watched returned. In May, as the house filled with guests, my anxiety lessened. But after the May Day holiday, the house emptied again. I went for a walk, and a storm suddenly erupted. Lost on a dark path, I felt a terrifying presence behind me. I turned to see a large, black, viscous mass approaching. I ran, stumbled, and as the mass began to take shape, lightning struck. I fainted.
In the hospital, doctors said it was a miracle I survived. My memory was blank after the lightning strike. I’m relieved to have finished this account and hope to recover.
Part 3: Víctor’s Return
Investigation and Discovery
Laura’s writings left me confused. I went to Lugo to verify the existence of the museum and Maria. My suspicions confirmed, I traveled to Casa Grande, finding it abandoned. I visited the cave and found the well uncovered. The cave smelled of something wild. As I turned to leave, the Celtic pendant Laura had given me fell into the well. I returned to the clinic, deeply disturbed.
The Great Best
Laura’s condition worsened. Her nightmares returned, and she became withdrawn. She tried to escape. I decided to visit Carlos, the last piece of the puzzle. He had paid for Laura’s stay and lived in Portugal. Carlos, visibly aged, confessed to burning Laura’s belongings at Casa Grande for her safety. He believed in the Great Best.
We argued. I attributed Laura’s experiences to neurosis, citing Jung and Freud. Carlos was unconvinced. He explained that the Great Best awakens for a year, the time between attacks. Daedalus’s death marked the first attack, and Laura was now in danger.
I feared I had led the beast to the clinic with my footprints. I rushed back, but it was too late. Dr. Montenegro informed me that Laura had escaped during a power outage, possibly aided by someone who tampered with the lock. He suspected Carlos.
The Truth Revealed
I went to Laura’s room, finding claw marks on the door and the stench from the cave. Inside, I saw the beast’s footprints. I realized it was too late. Laura was gone. The Celtic pendant, which had fallen into the well, was on her bed. I’ve spent three years trying to bury this truth. I abandoned psychiatry, tormented by guilt and suicidal thoughts. Now, I’m ready to share this story.