Las cosas que perdimos en el fuego

3:

Okay. I got the crap spooked out of me. Well... kinda. Anthologies tend to be sort of like mixed bags of goodies, and this was no exception.

The first story, El Chico Sucio, I read at night, sitting by myself in the front porch of my hotel room in Panama. I finished it and hurried along inside, doing my damnednest not to look behind. Then it was the same with La Hostería, where I looked up every time someone walked by because I was so creeped out. But the hidden jewel in here is for damn sure La Casa de Adela and brother, I was planning on getting a drink of water after writing this, but it's now 4AM and I've changed my mind. I'm sure I can wait until it's light and sunny outside.

Bajo el Agua Negra was a nice blend of creepy and gross and infuriating, but for the rest of the stories I wasn't as affected as I'd expected. By far, my biggest letdown was El Patio del Vecino. It had so much potential, but in the end it seemed silly to me and kind of revolting. Also it made me think about my cats who I'd left at home and it got me worried about them. Maybe it was more effective than I'm giving it credit for.

I haven't read a lot of Latin American horror, but I'm seeing a pattern of it being used for social commentary, which isn't all that unusual, and I appreciate it because it's mainly issues that most of us Latinos have witnessed in each of our countries.