But hunger is a cruel instinct too. That night, she picked the lock with a hairpin.
The chest smelled of rust and cloves. Lucero’s father had told her: “Nunca lo abras. Los instintos que guarda son crueles.” “Never open it. The instincts it holds are cruel.”
She touched the bone.
One by one, the people of El Rincón became perfect monsters—not angry, not sad, just empty of hesitation . They stole, broke, burned. They did terrible things with peaceful smiles. crueles instintos libro
Lucero stared at the bone. Her reflection in the dark window smiled back—a smile she hadn’t made.
Lucero should have stopped. But the chest whispered at night: “Uno más. Sólo uno más. La gente cruel merece instintos crueles.”
Next morning, Aldo didn’t blink as he sliced his own thumb. He smiled, red and wide, and kept chopping. By noon, he’d severed three fingers. By evening, he’d walked into the sea with a cleaver. But hunger is a cruel instinct too
Inside: no gold, no letters. Just a dry, leather-bound notebook titled Registro de los que olvidaron sentir . And a finger bone wrapped in red thread.
She opened the book. The first page read: “Escribe aquí el nombre de quien quieres que pierda su miedo a hacer daño. Luego toca el hueso.” Write here the name of someone you want to lose their fear of causing harm. Then touch the bone.
She wrote Aldo —the butcher.
Lucero thought of the butcher who shortchanged her. The teacher who laughed when she couldn’t afford the field trip. The boy who threw stones at her dog.
On the fortieth night, the notebook had only one page left. The instructions at the bottom read: “El último nombre siempre será el tuyo.” The last name will always be your own.
And Lucero? She started to enjoy it.
Here’s an original short story inspired by the title Crueles Instintos : Crueles Instintos
She picked up the pen. That’s a dark tale based on the idea of crueles instintos —cruel instincts hidden inside us, awakened by choice or circumstance.