Teléfono descompuesto en el bosque

On a sweltering summer eve deep in the Pinares Desolados, the young men gathered around a campfire near the Pavian Pavilion.
  The Vaughn wove a tale about a dilapidated warplane that rested on an abandoned airstrip in the wilderness not far from where the men sat.

“In the quiet of night observers from afar would see the glow of lights from the derelict aircraft. And always, closer inspection would reveal the rusting hulk in the dark, of course, with no power at all...”

  Malinconico’s search for the story’s provenance found conflicting results. He had heard of the hauntings at Batstow Village. And the ghost lights near Atco Stadius were well noted in the area. Those spectral illuminations were known to occasionally appear at the Carretera Molino Quemado. Which apparently was a different Carretera Molino Quemado than Malinconico knew from his days in nearby Crestamadera.
  So very confusing.
  But this is the nature of lore and legends spread by word of mouth — details shift and plot points wander, keeping the narrative alive underneath added shrouds of mystery.
  Tell the stories you hear, if you deem them worthy of recount. The imperfect haze of memory will always accumulate the patina of each storyteller upon the span of man’s grand recollections.