hatchet man
There were warnings all over campus about a Hatchet Man who was supposedly abused and killed a woman in Bloomington.  All the girls were warned to walk in pairs and to stay in brightly lit areas if they had to go out at night.        The sophomore and her roommate were staying in the empty dorm over Thanksgiving break, since both their families were out of the country.  They grown very bored as day followed boring day and night followed boring night.  Tired of staying inside every night for fear of the Hatchet Man, her roommate suggested they have dinner at the local bar, and the sophomore agreed.        The two women had lingered longer than anticipated, and it was almost midnight when the sophomore, more than a little drunk, decided to walk back to the dorm.  Her roommate was busy flirting with the bartender, so she headed into the dark, silent streets alone.  The sophomore had forgotten all about the Hatchet Man warnings.  It wasn’t until she took a shortcut through a dark, creepy alley that she remembered there was a desperate murderer on the loose.         The sophomore shivered, feeling suddenly sober and very much alone.  She felt as if hostile eyes were peering out at her from every menacing shadow and darkened doorway.    She quickened her pace.   Was that heavy breathing she heard behind her?  Were those footsteps walking in time with her own?        The sophomore broke into a run; heart pounding fiercely, sure that someone was following her.   She darted onto the college campus, zigzagged through the buildings and flung herself panting into the dorm.  She pounded up three flights of stairs, down the hall and slammed into her room, locking the door behind her.  It was only then, leaning against the door with her heart racing, that she started to feel foolish.  There was no sound from the hallway.  No footsteps, no heavy breathing.  No hatchet breaking through the wood of the door.  She'd been a fool.        The sophomore staggered to the bathroom to wash up for the night, leaving the door locked behind her.  She kept glancing in the mirror to make sure that everything was secure.  The scene in the mirror was normal.  And there was no sound in the empty dormitory.  Everything was just fine, she told herself.        Then she remembered that her roommate was still at the bar.  She didn't want her roommate to walk home alone, so she called the bar and asked the manager if he would arrange for her roommate to be brought home in a taxi.  The music in the background was loud, and she wasn't sure if the manager understood her request.  But at least she'd tried.        The sophomore curled up in bed with the reading lamp on, determined to wait up for her roommate.  But the combination of heavy drinking and her earlier fright sent her into a deep sleep almost at once, and she did not awaken until the sun came pouring in the window, early the next morning.        She woke with a hangover and rolled over, trying not to be sick in the bed.  When she looked across the room, she realized that her roommate wasn't in the bed on the far wall.  In fact, it looked as if her bed had not been slept in at all!          She rolled to her feet, heart pounding with dread.  Maybe her roommate had spent the night in the lobby?  Her roommate had done that once before when out partying until the wee hours of the morning, saying it was too much trouble to climb three flights of stairs.        With trembling hands, the sophomore unlocked the door and wrenched it open in search of her roommate.  The unmistakable, faintly metallic scent of blood smashed into her nostrils as the door swung open.  That was her only warning before her shocked eyes saw blood spattered all over the walls and floor of the third-floor hallway.  She screamed in terror, leaping backward away from the partially decapitated body of her roommate, which lay dead at her feet.  Her throat was slit from end to end and blood pooled under her dead body.  The nails on her outstretched hand were torn and splintered where they had scratched desperately at the wooden door.          A black shadow lay across her roommate’s body.  She looked up in a daze, her gaze following the black shadow to its source.  Embedded in the window frame near the entrance to the staircase was a bloodstained hatchet, outlined in the light of the rising sun.

 dont turn on the light
She commandeered the room in the basement of her dorm as soon as she realized she would have to pull an all-nighter in order to prepare for tomorrow’s final exam. Her roommate, Jenna, liked to get to bed early, so she packed up everything she thought she would need and went downstairs to study . . . and study . . . and study some more.
It was two o’clock, when she realized that she’d left one of the textbooks upstairs on her bed. With a dramatic sigh, she rose, and climbed the stairs slowly to her third-floor dorm room. The lights were dim in the long hallway, and the old boards creaked under her weary tread. She reached her room and turned the handle as softly as she could, pushing the door open just enough to slip inside, so that the hall lights wouldn’t wake her roommate.
The room was filled with a strange, metallic smell. She frowned a bit, her arms breaking out into chills. There was a strange feeling of malice in the room, as if a malevolent gaze were fixed upon her.  It was a mind trick; the all-nighter was catching up with her.
 She could hear Jenna breathing on the far side of the room—a heavy sound, almost as if she had been running. Jenna must have picked up a cold during the last tense week before finals.
She crept along the wall until she reached her bed, groping among the covers for the stray history textbook. In the silence, she could hear a steady drip-drip-drip sound. She sighed silently. Facilities would have to come to fix the sink in the bathroom…again.
 Her fingers closed on the textbook. She picked it up softly and withdrew from the room as silently as she could.
Relieved to be out of the room, she hurried back downstairs, collapsed into an overstuffed chair and studied until six o’clock.  She finally decided that enough was enough. If she slipped upstairs now, she could get a couple hours’ sleep before her nine o’clock exam.
The first of the sun’s rays were beaming through the windows as she slowly slid the door open, hoping not to awaken Jenna. Her nose was met by an earthy, metallic smell a second before her eyes registered the scene in her dorm room. Jenna was spread-eagled on top of her bed against the far wall, her throat cut from ear to ear and her nightdress stained with blood. Two drops of blood fell from the saturated blanket with a drip-drip noise that sounded like a leaky faucet.
Scream after scream poured from her mouth, but she couldn’t stop herself any more than she could cease wringing her hands. All along the hallway, doors slammed and footsteps came running down the passage.
Within moments other students had gathered in her doorway, and one of her friends gripped her arm with a shaking hand and pointed a trembling finger toward the wall. Her eyes widened in shock at what she saw. Then she fainted into her friend’s arms.
On the wall above her bed, written in her roommate’s blood, were the words: “Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?”

write wolf

    She snapped awake out of a deep sleep, screaming aloud in terror. In her nightmare, a large white wolf had been chasing her around and around the house, gaining on her with every step until it finally pounced on her and ripped out her throat.    She lay shaking for hours, unable to sleep after such a terrifying dream.          But morning finally arrived, and the day was completely normal. Celia forgot all about her dream, until the moment her parents reminded her that they would be going out that night to celebrate their anniversary. Celia turned milk-white. In her dream, the white wolf had come to kill her while her parents were out celebrating their anniversary! She started shaking and begging them not to go.   Her parents were astonished at her behavior, and finally shamed her into staying home alone that night.       Fearfully, Celia locked herself into the house as soon as her parents left, checking every door and every window. She tried to laugh it off as she got into bed, and finally she shook off her irrational fear and fell asleep.         Celia snapped awake suddenly, every muscle tense. She heard the tinkling of falling glass from a broken window, and the snuffling sound of a snout pressed to the floor. It was the sound of a hunting wolf. A werewolf. Real wolves did not break into houses when there was plenty of game outside. She could hear the click-clicking of the creature’s claws on the wooden floor. The musky, foul smell of wet animal fur combined with the meaty breath of a carnivore, drifted into the room.      She could hear the werewolf’s panting right outside her bedroom. Then her body was out of bed and she sped through the bathroom and down the back stairs. She heard a soft growl and then the sound of animal feet pursuing her as she raced down the steps and tore open the back door. A glance at the window beside her showed a reflection of the werewolf leaping down the last few steps behind her.     Celia’s  feet screamed in protest as she ran painfully across the sharp gravel driveway toward the tool shed with its shovels and baseball bats. Anything she could use as a weapon.  But the huge, red-eyed wolf was suddenly between her and the toolshed, stalking toward her. The cold wind pierced her skin as she turned and fled around the side of the house. She gasped as the white wolf howled and took off after her. She could hear the terrifying sound of the creature’s pounding feet.      Faster, faster, she commanded her legs, panting desperately against the fear choking her. She would run around the house and back down the driveway, she thought with the clarity of sheer horror. She felt the wolf snap at her back leg and felt the sting of teeth. She put on speed.      The wolf veered away from her suddenly, and she felt a rush of hope. She couldn’t hear the wolf now, couldn’t see it in the cloud-darkened night. She kept running around the house, heading back toward the tool shed. To her intense relief, she heard the sound of a car coming down the road in front of her house.  Her parents were back and would save her from the wolf!        Then her heart stopped in panic as she turned the last corner and saw the shape of the white wolf as it stood balanced on the porch railing right in front of her. It sprang upon Celia, huge teeth tearing into her flesh and ripping out her throat.  She fell under the weight of its body, hot blood spilling all over the ground, and died seconds after she hit the ground.  One minute later, her parent's car pulled into the driveway, its headlights blinding the white wolf as it pulled toward the house.  Frightened, the wolf backed away from its kill and then ran away. 

The Monkey's Foot

Mr and Mrs White lived in a nice small house. Their son Herbert lived with them. Herbert worked in a factory He worked at a big machine. Mr White worked in an office. Mrs White was a housewife.

There were not many houses near them. "I want a house near the town," said Mr White.

"But it's £400 for a house near the town, and we're not rich." "No,"said Mrs White,"but we're happy here, aren't we, Herbert?" "Yes, but Dad's right," said Herbert. "We're a long way from the shops and the train and the bus."

One day, an old friend came to dinner. His name was Mr Morris. The Whites liked to hear his stories. He talked about many countries. When Mr Morris knocked at the door, Mr White opened it.

"Come in, come in," he said. "Good to see you. How are you? Come and sit by the fire,

Whisky?"

"Thank you," said Mr Morris. "How are you, Mrs White, Herbert?"

"Very well, thank you," they said.

"Dinner isn't ready," said Mrs White. "Tell us a story, Mr Morris." "A story about India," said Herbert. "I'm going to India, some day."

Mr Morris said nothing. He had something in his hand.

"What's that, Mr Morris?" said Mrs White.

"This?" said Mr Morris. "It's a monkey's foot "

"A monkey's foot?" said the Whites.

"Yes. Don't touch it."

"Why not?" said Herbert.

Mr Morris looked at the fire.

"Mr Morris, aren't you well?" asked Mrs White.

"Oh yes, thank you," said Mr Morris. "I'm not ill."

"Tell us about the monkey's foot," said Herbert.

"Yes," said Mr Morris. "I had this foot from a man in India. He said...."

"Yes?" said the Whites.

"With this foot you can ask for three things. You can have three wishes."

"How?" said Herbert.

"Take the foot in your hand and say, 'I wish for....'. Then say what you want."

"And you asked for three things?" said Mrs White.

"No." Mr Morris looked at the fire again. "I only asked for one thing," he said. "I had

one wish. I got it."

"A good thing?" asked Herbert.

"No, it was not," said Mr Morns. "No more questions, please. You always have a good big fire here. I'm going to put the monkey's foot on your fire."

"Don't," said Herbert. "Give it to us."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you are my friends."

"Dinner's ready," said Mrs White.

Mr Morris put the foot on the fire. He went to the table with Mr White. Herbert jumped up and got the foot from the fire. He put it on a little table. Mr Morris did not see it.

After dinner he went home. "Here's the foot," said Herbert. "I'm going to ask for something."

"Don't, Herbert," said Mrs White.

Herbert did not listen to her. "Dad," he said, "you want £400. Wish for £400. Here's the

foot. "

"I want £400," said Mr White. Then he said, "The foot jumped in my hand!"

"Where's the money?" said Herbert. "There's no money here. I'm going to bed."

"Put that thing on the fire," said Mrs White. "I don't like it."

But Mr White put the foot on the table. In the morning, at breakfast, Herbert said,

"No letters today. No £400 for you, Dad."

"I'm happy here without the money," said Mrs White.

Herbert went to his factory. "Back to my machine," he said. Mr White went to his office. Mrs White worked in the house.

When Mr White came home in the evening, he said, "Any money?"

"No," said Mrs White.

"Where's Herbert?" said Mr White.

"He isn't back from the factory," said Mrs White .

Seven o'clock came. Eight o'clock. Herbert wasn't back. "Where is he?" said Mrs White.

Then there was a knock at the door. "Open it," said Mrs White. Mr White opened the door. A man was there. He said, "Mr White? The father of Herbert White?"

"Yes."

"I'm from the factory," said the man.

"Come in."

"Thank you," said the man. He had something in his hand. "This is a letter for you," he said. "A letter from the factory."

"Where's Herbert?" said Mrs White. "Where's my son?"

The man said nothing.

"Is Herbert ill?" said Mr White.

"No," said the man. "Not ill."

"Is he....?"

"He is dead," said the man. "Your son is dead."

"Dead?"

"The machine," said the man. "The big machine.... "

"I want to see my son," said Mrs White.

"No," said the man again. "The machine...."

Mrs White said nothing.

"This letter," said the man. "It's from the factory. We want to give you some money."

"Money?"

"£400," said the man.

Mr and Mrs White were in bed. They were not asleep.

"Are you cold, my love?" said Mr White.

"No," she said. "But my boy Herbert is cold tonight. "

Then she said, "Where is it?"

"What?

"The foot. The monkey's foot. We have two wishes. I'm going to get the foot."

"No, no,my love."

But she went to the sitting room. "Here it is," she said. "On the little table."

"Please, please, my love, don't," said Mr White.

She said nothing. The monkey's foot was in her hand.

"I want my son back again," she said. The foot jumped in her hand.

"Come back to bed, my love. You're ill," said Mr White. But she listened. Something walked up the road to the house. Something knocked at the door. Again and again, something knocked at the door.

"Open the door!" she said.

"No," said Mr White.

"I'm going to open it," she said. "I'm coming, my boy, I'm coming!"

Mr White looked for the monkey's foot. "Here it is," he said. "I wish my son back in the cemetery”

The foot jumped in his hand. Mrs White opened the door. There was nothing there.

El Puerto de Málaga es un puerto marítimo español que se encuentra en la Bahía deMálaga, al sur de la Península Ibérica, en el Mediterráneo occidental.
Gestionado por la Autoridad Portuaria de Málaga, es un puerto comercial, de pasajeros, de cruceros, deportivo y pesquero. La temperatura media anual es de 19 °C. Con precipitaciones bajas (469,2 mm de promedio anual), produciéndose principalmente entre noviembre y marzo, ambos inclusive. Los vientos reinantes son SE y SO y dominante SE, de velocidad poco elevada en general. La presión media anual es de 760,6 mm.
Desde 1998 se encuentra en un profundo proceso de remodelación, enmarcado dentro del proyecto denominado Plan Especial del Puerto de Málaga.

:)