text: There are occasions when the reality defies reason, were the inexplicable is the only explanation, and the ending is rarely happy. If you’re a fan of the unknown, the strange, and the dark, then let me tell you, you arrive at the best place, because this is Dr. Dread’s dark dairy. Today we present: A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL. August 24, 2005 was the date when Dr. Alonso Puentes examined the victim. He had bruises all over his body, but they were not the cause of death. He was about 32 years old, single, a photographer, fairly well known, and an amateur scientist in his free time. Daniel Hernandez had a bright future ahead of him. Unfortunately, the bullet that pierced his chest and exploded his ribs didn’t get the memo. Normally, Alonso did not see these kinds of high-profile cases. However, in the past few years, the morgue where he worked gained something of a reputation for clearing up strange and unexplained cases. They had no choice anyway. After the strikes, the bombings, the accusations, the refugees, and the general chaos, the government was not going to take a no for an answer. He had no other option. It all started... ... when my grandmother passed away. She had been a very important person to me. Words cannot describe how much her departure hurt me. It was precisely for this reason that I began my research. If I knew what I know now, I would have thought about it more carefully, I assure you. I never imagined the impact it would have, yet I have no regrets. I simply thought things would be different. Daniel Hernández was responsible for what many would call “the discovery of the century”. Anyway that title would be an understatement, because it shook the world to its foundations. And although many were more or less open in public to the possibility that it was all true, in secret they prayed that it was all just an elaborate lie and a bad joke and by a young man with too much time on his hands, because they were afraid of the consequences if it was not. In September of the same year, an important judge in a small German town wrote: “I think we are living at the precise moment when the curtain is going to fall. Yesterday’s ideas lose or will lose status. I don’t know what will happen, but I predict a catastrophe.” On October 6, the specialized magazine, Ima-Gen, published Daniel’s photograph, and chaos ensued. The scientific community had to rethink its entire approach to the study of the world, after they did the necessary studies to confirm its authenticity. Philosophy books flew off the shelves. The big international banks went on strike and demanded the original photo. In Bangladesh, China, South America, Australia, Somalia, Portugal, people crowded outside churches. Mexico, on the other hand, weathered the crisis with a little more calm. Everywhere you looked, there were hordes of people flooding the streets, some begging for mercy, others stealing anything that wasn’t nailed to the ground. I saw the carnage. When I went to the zocalo in the morning, I saw all the women, and men who stained the ground with their blood in front of the flag. The police were throwing their bodies to the side of the sidewalk, as if they were garbage bags. Some are already calling it, “The night of the screams”, because that was the only thing you could hear when the greens marched. Federico Oropeza Migala, Mexico ́s president at that time, was a man of many qualities, an artist by temperament and an excellent orator. He desired the welfare of his people and was burning with the desire to fix their situation, but although he understood the importance of recent events for his country, he could not treat them realistically; enclosed in daydreams and romantic fantasies, he saw everything distorted by the prism of the old Mexican empire. The photo Daniel took made him see that empire closer than ever. That is why he acted the way he did. I took the photo to find peace, but it was quite the opposite. After I posted it, people kept bothering me. They came in all shapes and sizes, asking me for every imaginable thing, telling me the worst things they could think of. I especially remember a lady who stopped me once when I went grocery shopping. She said I was a saint, and asked me to help her ten-year-old son, who had been sick for many years with a heart deformity. The doctors told her he was probably going to die. The lady begged me to ask for help, to save the little boy. I did not know what to tell her. How to explain to her that I only took a picture, more by chance than anything else? I told her I was sorry, but there was nothing I could do. She looked me straight in the eye, spat at me, and then left sobbing. All in all, she had at least been kind. The others started directly with threats, extortion, or offers to buy the original photo with more zeros than I had ever seen in my life. There was even one who left me a couple of chicken breasts in front of the door, I guess for cooking. He sent the military to control the chaos. In his eagerness to maintain what little political power the country now held, he decided to close each and every border. However, bureaucracy was of no use in stopping the millions of migrants from all over the world coming to Mexico, either to escape the chaos of their own countries, or hoping to see the picture with their own eyes. However, most migrants are dangerous, and when bars and barbed wire were no longer enough, many other options were considered, each more peaceful than the last, and the best action was taken for all parts involved. A few weeks ago, while I was visiting my grandmother at the cemetery, I came across the lady by chance, the same one who asked me for help with her son. At first I was surprised, but then I understood everything when I looked at the tombstone next to her legs. She was visiting her son’s grave. She had covered it with toys, his favorite, she explained. The doctors had not been able to save him, because between the closing of the borders and the commercial blockade, there were not enough medicines, nor equipment, like the one her son needed. She didn’t blame me. After all, I didn’t know any of this was going to happen. While I can’t imagine her pain, she told me with some sadness that there were people who had it even worse. The migrants, she said, were not even lucky enough to go to the hospital. A friend of hers, who lived on the border with Guatemala, told her what was happening there. When the government realized how many people were trying to cross, and that they were not likely to stop them all, they sent a bunch of caravans full of food, water, and tents for the new arrivals. A sort of plaza was set up in the center of the caravans. There was food and music for dancing, even fireworks. The air was filled with hope and everyone was smiling, until gunfire drowned out the laughter and blended with the firecrackers bursting on the ground. The national guard emerged from under the caravans, no longer carrying food and water, but rifles and pistols. Without provocation, they took up positions and opened fire on all civilians, migrants or not. Her friend says that most of the migrants had no belongings other than the clothes on their backs, they were not dangerous. She herself barely escaped because she played dead, and had to spend the whole night and the next day surrounded by the dead, among the flies and dried blood, because she was afraid that when she stood up she too would be shot. The government reported that during that period there were several criminal groups acting illicitly along the southern and northern border, and categorically denied having any relationship with the activities of such groups. Defense Secretary Manuel Olma, a man tormented by multiple accusations of infidelity, assured that an investigation would be conducted to get to the bottom of the matter. However, the truth was never uncovered. Before I left, the lady gave me a hug and thanked me, because in a sense, my photo gave her peace. That made me feel a little better, at least it wasn’t all bad. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of having a huge weight on my shoulders. Like a giant sea monster that was going to crush me. Towards 2007, most countries in the world, at least those not in open opposition to Mexico, were pressuring President Federico to extend their appreciation for the young Daniel and offer him their support. But although they did not say so, their real intention was to take control of the controversial photograph. However, the president refused, and not only that, he also kept the artist’s privacy intact. On November 23 ... ...I have a frightful nightmare, on which I met my grandmother inside a tunnel, when a train was about to hit us. By reflex I looked out of the window, and saw a man in the street. He was standing under a lamp post, doing nothing. I checked the clock, it was three in the morning. I looked at him for quite a while, wondering what he could be doing there. And suddenly he turned his head, straight towards where I was. I hid for a moment and when I looked again, it was sure, that guy was looking at my window. And not only him, during the week I saw other people who looked suspicious. They were always far enough away to not call too much attention, but close enough for me to notice them. I had a suspicion that they were following me, and I couldn’t, or didn’t want to, imagine what they would do if they came near me. ... the government invited Daniel, through a television communique, to collaborate cordially with the authorities in order to preserve his work in a museum. At night, I hear a lot of people walking outside my house. I live in a secluded area, almost a farm, because I thought it was safer in the countryside than in the city. Now I’m not so sure. That’s why I went with a friend of mine who is a veterinarian and also breeds and trains guard dogs. He lent me his two best dogs. I thought that would be enough, but it was not. A few days later, I looked out the kitchen window. Behind the house it’s all bush, so there’s no reason for anyone to lurk around. However, I saw a light coming from the forest; it was a huge fire, about four hundred meters from my house. I went out the back door to get a better look, and I could barely notice that there was a group of people around the fire, although at that distance I could only see black silhouettes. I went to the house to get my camera, put the telephoto lens on it, and through the details of those people, became clear. Dressed in white robes, they raised their hands to the sky and appeared to be dancing. In the center of the bonfire, there was a person burning, tied to the trunk of a tree, and writhing to free himself. I kept watching because I was in a panic, but I should have left, because suddenly, the hooded people turned straight to where I was and started rushing. Then I went into the house and locked the door. I hid in my study and not long after, the dogs started barking like crazy. The people outside were banging on the door and the windows. I could hear them. And I’m sure the dogs bit someone, because later I found blood, however my poor companions could do no more. Heard five shots and then there was silence. It was at that moment that I decided to leave the house. I jumped out of the window and started running into the woods. I crouched among the wild grass, hoping the darkness of the wood will cover me up. I didn’t open my eyes, not even when a clamor came loudly from a point obviously straight ahead. Their prayers ringing loudly in my ears as they pass a couple o meters away. If one of them look closely, he surely would discover me. But they didn’t. I sat there for what felt like hours. Their number was anyone’s guess. It seemed to me that there were limitless groups of them searching for me in the darkness. I could only pray to God that they would not find me. I knew for sure he was there with me, but I didn’t know if he could hear me. I could only pray to God that they would not find me. I knew for sure he was there with me, but I didn’t know if he could hear me. This morning, I called the police. They came immediately, along with a group of military in helicopters. They won’t leave and they won’t let me leave. They say they are staying to protect me, but they are turning the whole house upside down, looking for the photo. If anyone finds this, I’m scared. On December 22, 2007, Daniel Hernandez Delgado was found dead in his home. No one knew where he hid the original photograph of what many call “The miracle”. The official report given by Dr. Alonso Vazquez Puentes was clear: Suicide. Delete Created with Sketch. Daniel Hernandez was a young man with a promising future. He wanted to see a loved one again through his work, however his ambition took him too close to the sun and he forgot that humanity’s worst enemy is itself. But don’t let that keep you awake at night, remember this is just another chapter of Dr. Dread’s dark diary.