In the 2020s, I visited Toledo for the first time — a peculiar town woven with narrow alleys and timeless stone buildings. Among its winding streets, a small bar caught my eye: La Taberna del Cardenal . I stepped inside and ordered a glass of wine with some tapas. The barman, a gruff yet friendly man, quickly picked up on my unusual accent. "Are you from an English-speaking country?" he asked, curious. I smiled and explained that I wasn't — but that I had spent almost a decade living abroad before finally returning to Spain. We struck up a conversation. As we spoke, he revealed that his family had lived in Toledo for over 300 years. With a certain pride — and a hint of unease — he told me about the old Jewish quarter nearby, and a narrow, forgotten alley known as El Callejón del Diablo — the Devil's Alley. A shadowy corridor, flanked by crumbling stone walls, steeped in whispered tales and ominous legends. And among all the stories, there was one that had haunted...
