STOP YOUR PRESSES AND HOLD ON TO YOUR SEATS! THE DEVIL WAS ON THE LOOSE THIS MORNING AND LEFT A MACABRE GIFT THAT HAS THE WHOLE NEIGHBORHOOD ON THEIR MOUTHS!
MAIN TITLE: TERROR AT DAWN! MYSTERIOUS HUMAN “PACKAGE” APPEARS WRAPPED IN SHEETS IN THE MIDDLE OF A VACANT LOT. THE IMAGE NO ONE WANTED TO SEE BECOMES REALITY AND FROZEN THE BLOOD OF THE NEIGHBORS!
SHOCKING SUBTITLE: Crime of passion, settling of scores, or the work of a psychopath on the loose? The police are scrambling to piece together the puzzle of this gruesome discovery. An unidentified body, wrapped like a tamale and dumped like trash among rubble and oblivion. Here’s the raw, uncensored truth about the news that’s shaking up social media and will make you cross yourself three times before leaving the house.
BY: “THE MACHINE WRECKER” RAMÍREZ / RED CHRONICLE FROM THE HOT ASPHALT
Oh my goodness, my friends! If you, kind reader with a thick stomach and nerves of steel, thought you’d seen it all in this concrete jungle we call a city, let me tell you, reality just slapped us in the face again, leaving us seeing stars. The tip-off reached the newsroom still smelling of morning coffee, and honestly, it robbed us of our sleep in an instant.
That headline you saw circulating on Facebook, the one that piqued your interest with morbid curiosity: “A person has just been found wrapped in sheets in… See more ,” wasn’t just any clickbait. It was the prelude to hell itself! And since we don’t mince words here, we bring you the complete, detailed account of this event that reeks of death and mystery.
THE SCENE OF HORROR: WHEN THE SUN REVEALS THE ROT
It all happened in the early hours of this day, in that haunting moment when night refuses to leave and the sun is just beginning to paint the leaden sky of the “Lost Hope” neighborhood gray (an ironic name, I must say). You know the area: unpaved streets, scrawny dogs barking at nothing, and vacant lots that serve as an illegal dump for the filthy people who don’t wait for the garbage truck.
Right there, among old tires, construction debris, and black bags that smell like dead dog, was where fate played a macabre joke on Don Tiburcio.
Don Tiburcio is a venerable old man, one of those die-hard scavengers who get up before the roosters to beat everyone else to the job and search for aluminum cans or cardboard to earn enough for his daily bread. The good man was walking with his sack over his shoulder, whistling a Pedro Infante tune to ward off his fear, when his eyes, tired from years of use, spotted something that didn’t quite fit in the usual filthy landscape.
THE DISCOVERY THAT MADE GOOSEBUMPS: IT WASN’T TRASH, IT WAS PEOPLE!
At first, Don Tiburcio thought some lazy neighbor had thrown out an old rolled-up mattress. But something in his survival instinct, that sixth sense we develop who live day to day in the rough neighborhood, told him: “Watch out, Tiburcio, that doesn’t smell like old trash.”
He approached cautiously, wand in hand to poke the lump, in case a two-legged or four-legged rat emerged. But when he was a meter away, his heart leaped into his throat and his legs turned to jelly.
Virgin of Guadalupe, protect us!
It wasn’t a mattress. It was a long, heavy bundle. It was wrapped, yes, but not in black bags like thugs usually do to throw you off the scent. It was wrapped in sheets! Sheets that had once been white, maybe with little blue flowers, but now stained with dirt, mud, and—listen up, folks!—dark, dry, brittle stains that screamed to the four winds: BLOOD!
The “package” was tied with clothesline and duct tape, tightened with a viciousness only a true son of evil could possess. The shape of the feet was visible at one end, and what appeared to be the head at the other. It looked like an urban mummy, a modern sacrifice thrown to the god of oblivion.
CHAOS ERUPTS: SCREAMS, SIRENS, AND NATIONAL GRUESOME
Don Tiburcio’s scream could be heard three neighborhoods away. He threw down the sack and ran as if he’d seen the devil himself, stumbling over his own feet until he reached the first open store. There, his voice trembling and pale as a sheet, he begged the shopkeeper to call the cops.
In a matter of minutes, the quiet, dusty scene transformed into a three-ring circus. Patrol cars arrived with their sirens blaring, painting the faded facades of the houses red and blue. The police, with that “here we go again” look on their faces, got out with their rifles at the ready, because you never know if those who left the little gift are still nearby, watching the spectacle.
They quickly put up the yellow tape, the kind that says “CAUTION – NO TRESPASSING,” and cordoned off half a block. But you know how gossipy we Mexicans are. The rumor spread like wildfire, and in the blink of an eye, there was a crowd of curious neighbors behind the tape, ladies in bathrobes with their cell phones in hand live-streaming on Facebook, and morbid kids trying to zoom in to see if they could spot the dead man’s foot.
THE DANCE OF THE EXPERTS: WHO IS HE? WHAT DID THEY DO TO HIM?
The atmosphere grew tense when the “men in white,” the forensic experts from the Prosecutor’s Office, arrived in their hazmat suits, carrying briefcases full of fingerprint powder. The sun was already high, and with the warmth, the smell was becoming pungent. It wasn’t an intense, rotten smell, which indicated that the crime was “fresh,” perhaps from the early hours of the morning.
No one dared touch the bundle. The forensic experts took photos from every angle, measured distances, collected cigarette butts and bottle caps as if they were gold dust, searching for any clue that would lead them to those responsible for this atrocity.
The million-dollar question, the one on everyone’s mind, was: What’s inside those sheets?
Was it a man? A woman? A young man who was up to no good? Or an innocent victim who was in the wrong place at the wrong time? Conspiracy theories began to fly among the gossipy neighbors: “It was definitely a drug cartel hit,” said Doña Chona, the official neighborhood gossip. “No, neighbor, this smells like a crime of passion. Just look how carefully they wrapped him in bedsheets. That’s from someone close to them,” countered Don Pancho, the mechanic who fancies himself a detective.
THE SAD REALITY OF A COUNTRY THAT IS BLEEDING
As the forensic team finally lifted the heavy bundle with great care to load it onto the “truck of sorrows” (the one from the morgue), a feeling of heaviness fell over the neighborhood.
My friends, this isn’t just another sensationalist story to sell newspapers. It’s a reflection of our harsh reality. A human being, someone who had a mother, who perhaps had children, who had dreams, ended his days wrapped up like trash and dumped in a vacant lot.
What kind of monster takes the time to wrap a body in sheets? Was it remorse? Was it to keep the trunk of the car from getting dirty? Those sheets, which should have been for rest and love, became the saddest shroud in the world.
For now, the body has been taken to the morgue as unidentified. No one has claimed the person in the sheets. It is expected that in the coming hours, the autopsy will reveal the cause of death (although, judging by the blood, we suspect the worst: lead or iron) and whether it is a man or a woman.
The state police are already making their rounds, knocking on doors and asking with unfriendly faces if anyone saw a suspicious truck in the early morning, heard strange noises, or if any neighbors are missing. But they know the drill: in these cases, the neighborhood suffers collective amnesia for fear of reprisals.
DRAMATIC ENDING: TAKE CARE, EVERYONE!
Such is life in this vale of tears. Today, a family doesn’t know that their loved one will not be coming home for dinner. Today, the death toll grows by another number.
We will continue to report as soon as the truth comes out about this latest crime that leaves us on tenterhooks and choked with rage. In the meantime, double-lock your doors, avoid dark places at night, and pray to your patron saint, because the streets are ablaze and the devil never rests! See you around!