“’What in God’s name have I gotten myself into?” I said, as I rubbed my poor aching head. I walked over to the cell door and gave it a good shaking. It was sturdy enough. They had put a chain through the bars and padlocked it secure. I became aware that I was casting a long shadow on the stone floor and I turned to see where the light was coming from. On the far wall was a good sized square window open to the outside with four iron bars evenly spaced within. Dull bands of moon-light filtered through the bars in ghostly strands. I started to walk over, when to my complete surprise, I heard a voice.
“’Hello. Hello, Senor. Welcome to Diablo’s Tower. It is so nice to finally have company once again.’
“I jumped and was in a momentary state of shock, remaining silent for the longest time. The voice called out again and I realized that a person must be on the other side of the wall next to me.
“’I say, Senor. Will you not give conversation with such a lonely creature as myself?’
“After gathering my wits about me, I was comforted in knowing that I had a cellmate to share my gloomy experience. I yelled out, ‘Hello. Yes. I am an American, my name is Paul, Paul Wilson.’
“’Well now, Paul, Paul Wilson. My name is Carlos and it‘s my pleasure to meet you. What brings you here to lovely Diablo Tower, Senor Wilson?’
“I relayed my story to him in full detail and he listened patiently.
“’Yes,’ he finally said. ‘Your story is one that is very common, Senor, but you should not despair, for I think that being an American carries great weight and the likelihood of your release is much enhanced because of it.’
“For some reason, his words didn’t comfort me, but I was eager to learn of his own story.
“’So tell me, Carlos,’ I said, ‘what is it that brought you here? Trespassing? Words of sedition maybe?’
“’No, Senor, murder.’
“I was caught off guard. He said the word with such ease, as if to think it a mere indiscretion. I started to feel a bit uneasy and I think he sensed it.
“’You see, Senor, Wilson, I had always worked for a particular well–to-do family in San Pueblo. This family owned a great deal of land and was considered very powerful in our community. My own family lived in a small shack on the outskirts of one of their plantations and every day I would work the fields in exchange for our living quarters as well as a small allowance of food. I came home from the fields early one day carrying my pitch fork and from a distance I heard my wife screaming. My heart nearly leapt from my chest as I ran to the door. I kicked it open and saw the man I worked for tearing at my poor wife’s clothing. It was all over quickly. They tell me that I was in such a fit of rage that I thrust the pitchfork all the way through the man’s neck and he expired right there on our dirt floor. I’m sure that I probably did such a thing, but the truth is, I don’t remember any part of killing him.’
“His tale chilled my very bones and I really didn’t know how to respond. I felt awkward and thought that I should change the subject, so I asked how long he had been incarcerated within the tower. There was much hesitation before he answered.
“’I couldn’t say, Senor. All I know is that I’ve been chained up against this wall for ages.’ He seemed to give much consideration to what he said next. ‘Time… time seems to no longer have any hold on me. I know this will sound strange to your ears, but sometimes I seem to drift away from my cell. I really can’t account for where I’ve been, or for that matter, how long I‘ve been there.’
“I thought his response, although sad, was perfectly within the bounds of what one might expect from someone who has suffered the kind of trauma he had. Only what he said next made me wonder about his sanity.
“’Perhaps, word will get back to your illustrious president and he will use his considerable influence to deliver you, Senor. I hear that Mr. Lincoln is a very great and compassionate man in your country. Is that not so?’
“I was taken aback. How was I to react to those words? Yes, it is a great distance from the U.S. to Bolivia and news does travel slowly, but he was speaking of a President who had not been alive for over 65 years!
“I could only respond by agreeing with Carlos. I walked over to the window, shaking my head. The moon was waxing full that night and even in spite of the obstruction from the metal bars, I could see the whole panorama of what lay outside the tower. As I looked out, I felt a brief moment of vertigo, for the tower itself was dangerously teetering on the edge of a sheer precipice. Directly below were jagged rock walls on either side that transitioned quickly into a deep chasm, gradually disappearing into hazy darkness. Although I could see the occasional small shrub or plant sprouting here and there I was amazed when, to my right, I saw an enormous tree not thirty yards away. It was oddly beautiful and seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. It looked to be growing right out of the rock itself and I cursed myself for not having my camera with me. The tree was undoubtedly very ancient; its long grey roots groped their way all along the face of the rock wall, crossing over each other like snakes in a basket. Just then, something curious caught my eye. In the top portion of the tree there appeared to be some kind of nest--yet, not a normal nest. Huge limbs were bowed over and covered with a thick casing of some type of silver-looking filament. I thought this, looked more like a cocoon than anything else. On one end of it was an opening or entrance, which could simply be described as a large black hole. I suddenly turned away from the window because a strange and creepy feeling came over me, as though I were being watched from somewhere within the blackness of that very opening. Tomorrow would be here quick enough, and I knew I could get a better look at the thing in the light of day, so I retired to my bed.
“I heard no more from Carlos that night, in spite of my wanting to talk more. I was about to drift off when I was jolted awake after hearing a number of screams coming from somewhere in the lower recesses of the tower. They were agonizing screams, as if someone was having the skin pulled away from their very bones. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood on end as I listened to the terrifying ejaculations of those tortured souls. I held my hands tightly against my ears, trying to block out the horror that tried to seep its way into my brain. The noise went on for hours and I thought I was on the verge of losing my mind when, all of a sudden, it stopped. I was both relieved and exhausted. I took in a deep breath and settled back down into my bed of hay but my nerves were on edge. Needless to say, I slept very uneasy the rest of that night.