Published: 2025-09-12

It happened again, they called my name and I answered. Now we are bound together. The first time it happened, I was a kid. I was playing hide and seek with my cousins, and it was my time to hide. I ran into my aunt’s closet and closed the door behind me. I was completely alone, except for my aunt’s heels and her collection of fur coats. I heard a whisper, “Federico. Federico.” Someone called my name. I turned my head, but there wasn’t anyone behind me; I looked around and still there wasn’t anybody. Silly me, it’s a closet, there’s no way someone else is in here — I thought. The whispers continued, “Federico. Federico.” I looked under the door. It was probably one of my cousins trying to get me to come out, but I didn’t see anyone on the other side. I opened the door and just as I thought the room was empty, but I could still hear the whispers, “Federico. Federico.” I finally answered them, “Who is it?” As soon as I said that, a figure appeared before me. It was a tall man with broad shoulders and a funny-looking haircut. He was wearing a strange outfit: tight white pants, long leather boots, and a navy blue jacket with golden buttons. I was in awe at the sight of this man. He looked like a character from a movie.

“Who are you, mister?”
“My name is Pedro, little one.”
“Pedro? Do you know my aunt?”
“I’m afraid I do not know her. I’m here to chat with you.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Pedro, but my mom says I shouldn’t talk to strangers.”
“Oh, but I’m not stranger, Federico. I bet you have heard of me and my many exploits. In school, or maybe even from your parents.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Pedro, but I don’t think I have.”

I turned my head towards the door after hearing it open. It was my cousins who still looked for me.

“Federico, where have you been? We looked all over the house.” Said one of them.
“I was here, hiding.”
“You know Mom doesn’t want us to play in her bedroom. Besides, you are not even hiding; you are just standing around.” Said the other one.
“I was talking to Pedro.”

My cousins looked at each other, as if they didn’t understand what I was saying. “Who’s Pedro?” They both asked. I turned my head and pointed towards my back, “This is Pedro.” But he was gone.

After that day, I heard the whispers every day, at every moment. I heard them when I sat in front of the TV and had to turn the volume up to drown them; I heard them when I was in school and my teacher asked me pay attention to the class; I heard them when eat dinner and they mix with my mother's shouts to eat my vegetables; they never stopped, except when I was asleep. I lost the will to play, to laugh, to live. I didn’t want to be awake; I wanted the whispers to stop, I wanted to sleep. Forever. But the whispers wouldn’t stop unless I answered them.

The second time I answered the whispers, I was alone. I sat in the living room in front of the TV watching the Looney Tunes when the whispers started. They called my name, again and again. It didn’t matter how much I turned up the volume; I could hear them. “Federico. Federico.” It was maddening! “What is it?” I finally said. And just like the last time, a figure appeared before me. A black man with kinky hair and a broad smile. He wore an elegant suit, but at the same time, it was funny, as if he had gotten it from an antique shop. I looked at him in amazement. He had a calming aura; his mere presence commanded respect. He got on one knee to look me in the eye.

“Hello, Federico, I’m glad to see you.” He said.
“Do I know you, sir?”
“I bet you do. My name is Francisco.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I think you should leave. My mom doesn’t want people in the house when she’s not around.”
“That’s very sound advice. You should listen to your mother, Federico. There is wisdom in your parents’ words.”

I looked at him attentively. He used funny words that I didn’t understand, as if he were a foreigner, and yet, talking to him was soothing.

From that day on, I always answered the whispers. I learned not to fear them, even if I didn’t understand how they worked and why I kept hearing them.

I met many people, men and women, all very handsome and beautiful, with their big mustaches and spectacles and canes and elegant clothes. They all seemed to be part of the cast of an old movie, and talked like proud knights who serve the king.

I met a black man with a big mustache and a single brow named Ulises; a woman with a funny haircut named Salomé; and a man with a squared hat named Francisco. They all wanted nothing but to talk. About nothing in particular. Just to talk for the sake of talking.

The whispers didn’t harass me anymore. I could watch the TV in peace, eat my dinner without my mom shouting at me, and pay attention in school. I could finally learn at school.

I remember when our teacher told us to open the History book to page 67. I could never forget what I saw that day. It was a picture of a tall man wearing a blue and gold blazer, white pants, and high boots. My eyes got big as plates. I knew that man; I have met that man. The caption under the picture read “Pedro Santana, first president of the Dominican Republic.” My jaw dropped open, and I covered my mouth with both hands. I flipped the pages of the book; they were all there. Francisco del Rosario Sánchez, Ulises Heureaux, Salomé Ureña, Francisco Alberto Caamaño Deñó. I’ve been talking to the dead all this time.

THE END.