The House on Haunted Hill · CUT Version

When they got married, everyone said the same thing. She was too young for him. Some said it maliciously, others with a knowing smile, as if it were an acceptable social extravagance as long as it wasn't said too loudly. He was old enough to be her father. But that didn't seem to matter.

Flowers arrived every week. Limousines waited at the door. Restaurants opened impossible tables when he picked up the phone. She was treated like a queen. And he enjoyed every second of that silent admiration that permeated weekend gatherings, in the elegant homes where his friends raised their glasses and exchanged knowing glances.

He had never felt more like a man. Everyone knew it. Everyone envied him. Or so it seemed. The house on the hill was large, bright, silent. From the windows, the city spread out like a map of lights at night. During the day, the garden looked like something out of a magazine. It was exactly the life she had once imagined. Or so she said.

At first there were trips, dinners, new dresses, endless parties where the city's important names circulated like currency. But with time, something began to change. Not suddenly. Important things rarely change suddenly. It was something slower. Something like a clock. The hallway clock chimed every hour with a dry sound that echoed through the entire house. A constant tick-tock, patient, indifferent to everything. She began to notice it more and more. There were days when the house seemed too big. Too silent.

When her friends asked if she was happy, she replied yes with a certainty that sounded perfectly rehearsed. She didn't have time to dance. She didn't have time for anything. Life, she said, was exactly as she had imagined it. But the clock kept ticking. And the nights began to grow longer.

Sometimes she would go out to dinner with old friends. Or so she said when she came back late. The music, the lights, the movement of the city seemed to bring back something that was slowly being lost in the house on the hill. He didn't seem to care much. He continued to live within his quiet routines, his old habits, that solid security that comes with age. Perhaps, she sometimes thought, he needed a little more romance. But the hallway clock kept ticking.

That morning it was five o'clock when she returned. The house was completely silent. She took off her shoes at the entrance so as not to make a sound. She walked down the hallway as the clock's tick-tock seemed to resonate more loudly than ever. She paused for a moment in front of the mirror. She looked beautiful. She had always looked beautiful. She took a pill from the small bottle she kept in her purse, dropped it into her mouth, and drank some water. Then she slowly climbed the stairs. In the bedroom, everything was calm. He was sleeping soundly. She lay down beside him, staring at the dark ceiling for a few seconds. The clock continued to chime in the hallway. Tick. Tock. For the first time in a long time, a question appeared with brutal clarity. Not the one everyone asked. Not the one everyone thought. But another one. One that no one dared to ask aloud. Now that the night was over…

Who would truly envy an older man and his beautiful young wife?

Available: La casa de la colina • UNCUT Version

• The complete, uncompromised version of the story.
• Here there are no ellipses or suggestions: there is body, urgency, and desire pushed to the limit that the story demands.
• This edition contains the full text, as it was written, reserved for readers seeking the complete and illustrated experience.
• Available for download in the store.
• Recommended reading for adults.