The Ghosts of the Sawmill

Still remember those times already distant when I worked in the forest harvesting in the Campeche forests, the experiences in these forests it marked my life forever. I've lived with rough men, woodcutters, tree cutters with an ax, we use pulleys hooks and wooden beams to climb the logs to the truck; these men, although ignorant of many things, they had a great sense of camaraderie intimately linked to their traditions and ancestral fears. Our camp was located on the shore of a lagoon that served the woodcutters in the dry season and the gum extractor in the rainy season. After a hard day of work, already in the afternoon in front of a campfire on the shore of the lagoon, sipping a cup of coffee or hot chocolate, we tell stories that spoke of ghosts; in this book, I mention an anecdote that we lived, although I have mixed the reality with fiction to create a fascinating reading