Both children stopped to look around. That silence was not a good sign. A few seconds passed and there was a loud crack. Someone, or something, had snapped a stick. The two friends turned pale. If it was an animal, it must be huge. Their hearts pounded against their chests. There was another noise. This time, a lot closer. Whatever it was, it was coming closer, and it was approaching quickly. One of the children turned on the torch and shone it ahead. They could make out a giant silhouette hidden among the undergrowth, shying from the light, an enormous monkey-like species. The children started to move backwards, step by step, without turning their backs, trembling with fear, when a terrifying roar raged through the quiet of the night.

Since that day, every first night of summer waxing moon, year after year, the boys of the village ventured into the woods together so that the creature, who they had nicknamed the Bichogordo, could give them a fright. It became a ritual which made the boys feel grown up and able to confront their fears. However, precisely on the thirtieth anniversary of the beginning of this tradition, something violent and unexpected happened in the woods that tore the calm of the village and had all of its inhabitants with their hearts in their mouths. An event that was to change the life of a ten-year-old boy for ever, a lad who, according to his father, liked to fantasize too much. His name was Matías.