The gap between train and the platform E-Book

Mário Bentes

• Herausgeber: Lendari® Entertainment
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 47

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Five million people travel through the São Paulo subway every day. So do an infinite number of tormented souls. Under the eyes of her children, the mother collapses on the tracks of the Trianon-Masp station. What would have been a suspected suicide takes on unusual twists when a paranormal investigator identifies a confused, frightened witness with memory problems. She assures him that something — a "shadow" — had pushed the woman to death.

Leseprobe

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O texto deste livro obedece às normas do Novo Acordo Ortográfico da Língua Portuguesa.

EDITOR-CHEFE

Mário Bentes

ASSISTENTE EDITORIAL

Clarissa Bacellar

PREPARAÇÃO, REVISÃO E TRADUÇÃO

Marília Schuh

CAPA

Henrique Morais

CONVERSÃO PARA EBOOK

Joyce Matos

Cataloging In Publication (CIP) (eDOC BRASIL)

B475v Bentes, Mário

The gap between train and the platform [ebook] / Mário Bentes; translation Marília Schuh. – São Paulo, Brazil: Lendari® Entertainment, 2024.

Format: ePUB

ISBN 978-65-88912-36-2

System Requirements: Adobe Digital Editions

Access mode: World Wide Web

Original title: O vão entre o trem e a plataforma

1. Brazilian fiction. 2. Children’s literature. I. Schuh, Marília. II. Title.

DDC 028.5

Prepared by

Maurício Amormino Júnior – CRB6/2422

Synopsis

Five million people travel through the São Paulo subway every day. So do an infinite number of tormented souls.

Under the eyes of her children, the mother collapses on the tracks of the Trianon-Masp station. What would have been a suspected suicide takes on unusual twists when a paranormal investigator identifies a confused, frightened witness with memory problems. She assures him that something — a “shadow” — had pushed the woman to death.

Prologue

Gabriel didn’t want to believe his grandmother was dead.

But there she was, in the coffin, in the middle of the room, surrounded by relatives, a few friends, and many strangers. A mixed smell of cigarettes, sweet perfumes, and incense filled the room. The wreaths of flowers contributed to the smell the boy would spend the rest of his life associating with death. He wanted to cry, but not in front of those people. Why don’t you leave? There’s nothing to see here. He had cried when he received the news from his mother, denying this so-called reality, but there seemed to be no limit to his tears. His anguish lay in the fact that his grandmother was in that coffin. How could she be dead when he had just seen her walking across the room?

It had happened the night before, when everything had already been prepared for the funeral. The boy woke up late, not that late, but late enough for him, around 11 p.m. He was thirsty. He went downstairs and into the kitchen. On his way, he passed by the living room and was startled to see it. The coffin. In the middle of the room, on a large rug with floral prints and geometric shapes. There were a few wreaths of flowers around the wood, with that damn scent. The smell of flowers, the smell of death. Grandma’s house was so empty, so silent, so strange.

Gabriel went into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and picked up the glass cup. He poured the cold water. He started to drink it when he noticed, on the table, a little cup that belonged to his grandmother. He stopped. He looked around and everything was calm. It was as if, with the slightest effort, everything could go back to normal. He remembered when he had once woken up late at night. Thirsty, just like this time. He found his grandmother in the hallway. The old lady looked around to make sure there was no one else there and put her index finger to her withered, smiling lips, signaling silence. The boy smiled quietly, as she had asked. Minutes later, they were sipping hot milk and devouring oatmeal cookies in front of the TV, watching Amazing Stories, a sitcom of scary stories about ghosts, figures, and hauntings. But the boy wasn’t afraid. Not when he was in the company of his granny and the cereal cookies.

But that night, when he saw the little cup on the table, although he wanted to deny it, Gabriel knew his grandmother wouldn’t be there. Still, he walked through the house, going into the living room again. Then he saw her. Yes, she was there. The next day, Gabriel asked his mother and told her what he had seen. But she, in an attempt at condescension and tenderness, clinging to reality, said it had been a dream. His grandmother was in hospital for days, many days, dying there and only being brought home for the funeral. So she explained. But the boy didn’t believe her. It couldn’t be. It hadn’t been a dream. He saw with his own eyes his grandmother walking across the room. He saw her when she stopped beside her own coffin. He saw her when she looked at the coffin in its entirety, with its caramel-colored wood, varnished and gleaming. He saw her when she stared at him. He saw her when she smiled at him, even though her eyes were deeply sad.

Gabriel would never forget those sad eyes.

I

A fall to her death