Hello everyone, thank you for having me today. My name is Gabi and today I'm going to share

with you some interesting scary stories while I live in Colombia as a child.

For the purpose of these memoirs I decided to write down the stories so I could keep the thread

of a story without getting lost in time. So here we go.

When I was about 10 years old my family and I lived in a colonial house

were in bay my paternal grandmother. My family moved to the country away from the busy life of

the capital city and found refuge in the quiet and beautiful midlands.

My stories take place in the late 90s in a small town called Cherala in the heart of Colombia's

rural areas and most of these experiences took place in one particular house.

This house was, I would say, about 200 to 150 years old and had seen absolutely everything.

The outbreak of cholera independence from Spanish colonization,

civil war and several ownership throughout its life.

The architecture showed the Spanish colonial influence of the 1800s I'd say and it featured

a wonderful square courtyard in the middle lined with pavers and all draining systems.

Around this courtyard there were open corridors with high ceilings and white clay walls

and I remember that we're beautifully decorated with perfumed burgundy.

The floors were unevenly covered in terracotta tiles and I clearly remember how fresh they

felt on my feet during hot long days. I love the simplicity of it. The white contrast of the

walls against the age, look of the roof tiles and in between crevices sometimes you could hear the

gentle murmur of pigeons building nest for their chicks.

The kitchen was spacious enough and the dining table was placed in front of an old wood

fide stove that was no longer used. The rooms were fresh and grand with decorative window frames

...