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In Mexico, there was once a family so rich that losing a single coin terrified them more than anything else. To protect their fortune and their surname, they married only within their own bloodline—brothers with cousins, uncles with nieces, generation after generation. They locked themselves away in a mansion on the outskirts of Juana, Montana, behind walls so high the town’s light could barely touch them. Over time, the family grew richer—but the children grew stranger: different eyes, voices that seemed to whisper in dreams, and stares that never learned to smile. One night, the mansion quietly burned. No one fled. Only distant laughter was heard. When the police arrived, there were no bodies, just old portraits with twisted, distorted faces, as if the paintings had tried to escape the curse. Locals say that on full-moon n ...