En el invierno de 1974, encontraron a tres niños de pie en la nieve, frente a una granja en la zona rural de Misuri. Estaban en silencio, descalzos, con la mirada fija en algo que nadie más podía ver. Cuando el sheriff les preguntó dónde estaban sus padres, la mayor, una niña de nueve años, señaló hacia el granero.

 Dentro, encontraron un suelo de tierra que había sido excavado y rellenado. Debajo, algo se había estado alimentando durante muchísimo tiempo. La familia Branson había vivido en esa propiedad durante cuatro generaciones. Cuando llegaron las autoridades, solo quedaban los niños. Lo que ocurrió en esa granja no terminó en 1974. Había estado ocurriendo mucho antes de que a nadie se le ocurriera buscar.

 Y lo que encontraron bajo el granero fue solo el comienzo de una verdad que ciertas personas en ese condado aún se niegan a decir abiertamente. Hola a todos. Antes de empezar, asegúrense de darle “me gusta” y suscribirse al canal, y dejen un comentario indicando de dónde son y a qué hora nos ven. Así, YouTube seguirá mostrándoles historias como esta.

La granja Branson se ubicaba a 11 millas de un pueblo llamado Harrows Bend, con una población de 342 habitantes. Era un lugar donde todos se conocían y nadie hacía preguntas cuyas respuestas no deseaba. La familia había vivido allí desde 1891, cuando Silas Branson reclamó la tierra y construyó la casa de campo con sus propias manos.

 Cuatro generaciones después, seguía en pie. El granero también. Ese granero era más antiguo que la casa. Algunos dicen que Silas no lo construyó. Otros dicen que ya estaba allí cuando él llegó, y que por eso eligió ese terreno. Para 1974, la familia estaba formada por Marcus Branson, su esposa Lorraine y sus tres hijos: Annette, Thomas y la pequeña Clare.

 Marcus trabajaba la tierra. Lorraine educaba a los niños en casa. Eran reservados, algo común entre las familias de agricultores de esa zona de Misuri. Pero corrían rumores. Siempre los había habido. En Harrows Bend no se hablaba mucho de los Branson, pero cuando se hacía, era en voz baja, en la trastienda de la tienda o después de unas copas en la taberna.

 Mencionaban el olor que emanaba de la propiedad algunas noches. Hablaban de que los niños nunca parecían jugar ni reír, y sacaban el tema de los animales. Los perros que se adentraban en los terrenos de Branson no regresaban. El ganado de las granjas vecinas desaparecía, y Marcus siempre daba la misma explicación.

 Coyotes, tal vez un puma, pero las heridas de los animales encontrados no coincidían con las de ningún depredador conocido. El 14 de enero de 1974, un cartero llamado Dutch Emory fue a la granja de Branson a entregar una carta certificada. Al llegar, encontró a los tres niños de pie en el jardín delantero, en la nieve.

 Aquella mañana hacía 11 grados. Los niños no llevaban abrigo ni zapatos. Dutch contó después que Annette, la mayor, lo miró como si intentara recordar qué palabras eran. Él le preguntó dónde estaban sus padres. Ella señaló hacia el granero. Dutch fue primero a la puerta de la casa de campo. Estaba sin llave.

 Dentro de la casa reinaba el frío y el silencio. La mesa de la cocina estaba puesta para cinco, pero nadie había comido. Las camas de arriba estaban hechas. Todo parecía normal, salvo por el olor. Venía del sótano. Dutch no bajó. En vez de eso, fue al granero. La puerta del granero estaba abierta. Dutch Emmery entró e inmediatamente sintió que la temperatura descendía aún más que la del aire invernal del exterior.

 Llamó a Marcus Branson. No hubo respuesta. El granero estaba casi vacío. Unos cuantos fardos de heno podrido, algunas herramientas oxidadas colgadas en la pared y, en el centro del suelo, una zona de tierra que parecía recién removida. Allí la tierra era más oscura que el resto, casi negra, y había sido compactada recientemente.

 Dutch sabía reconocer una tumba. Había servido en Corea. Había visto suficiente tierra cubriendo suficientes cosas como para reconocer las señales. No la tocó. Regresó a su camioneta y llamó por radio a la oficina del sheriff. El sheriff Raymond Talbot llegó en menos de una hora junto con dos ayudantes. Primero llevaron a los niños al interior de la granja, los envolvieron en mantas e intentaron hacerlos hablar.

 Annette solo repetía lo mismo: «Están abajo». Thomas, de siete años, no había dicho ni una palabra. La pequeña Clare, de apenas cuatro años, estaba sentada en una silla de la cocina tarareando una melodía desconocida. No sonaba a canción infantil; sonaba más antigua. El sheriff dejó a un ayudante con los niños y llevó al otro al granero. Allí levantaron el suelo.

 A un metro de profundidad, encontraron el primer cuerpo. Era el de Marcus Branson. Llevaba muerto aproximadamente cuatro días, según el estado de descomposición, pero no fue el frío ni el paso del tiempo lo que más lo había dañado. Algo se había estado alimentando de él. El forense describiría más tarde marcas de mordeduras que no coincidían con las de ningún animal conocido de la región.

 La dentadura era irregular: demasiados dientes, demasiado uniformes, y en algunos puntos llegaban hasta el hueso, como si lo que fuera que le hubiera hecho esto hubiera intentado introducirse en él en lugar de simplemente consumir carne. Dos pies más abajo, encontraron a Lorraine Branson. Llevaba muerta más tiempo, quizá una semana. El mismo patrón de alimentación, las mismas heridas inexplicables.

 Pero había algo más. Tenía las manos dobladas hacia atrás por las muñecas, rotas deliberadamente, y la boca tan abierta que se le había dislocado la mandíbula. El sheriff preguntó al forense si esto podía haber ocurrido después de su muerte. El forense respondió: «No. Alguien le hizo esto mientras aún estaba viva».

 Y luego la enterraron en el granero y dejaron que algo más terminara el trabajo. Pero eso no fue lo peor. Debajo de Lorraine, encontraron restos más antiguos, mucho más antiguos. Un esqueleto que llevaba allí años, quizá décadas. Y debajo de ese, otro. Y otro más. Cuando dejaron de excavar, habían desenterrado seis cuerpos en total.

 Los dos últimos eran Marcus y Lorraine. Los cuatro que estaban debajo llevaban allí tanto tiempo que identificarlos era casi imposible. El sheriff precintó el granero. Llamó a la policía estatal. Y entonces hizo algo de lo que la gente de Harrows Ben todavía habla. Volvió a entrar en la granja y le hizo a Annette Branson una pregunta que ningún niño de nueve años debería tener que responder jamás.

Él le preguntó si sabía qué estaba enterrado bajo el granero. Ella lo miró con esos ojos vacíos y dijo que sí. Dijo que su abuelo se lo había contado. Dijo que siempre había estado allí. Dijo que tenía hambre. La policía estatal llegó a la mañana siguiente con un equipo forense y dos psicólogos especializados en traumas infantiles.

 Querían entrevistar a los niños por separado para obtener declaraciones claras sobre lo sucedido. Pero en el momento en que intentaron separar a Annette, Thomas y Clare, los tres comenzaron a gritar; no lloraban, no entraban en pánico, gritaban de una forma que hizo retroceder al agente. Estaban sincronizados, como si respondieran a la misma señal invisible.

 Los psicólogos decidieron mantenerlos juntos. Contrataron a una defensora de menores y a una taquígrafa. Lo que esos niños dijeron durante las siguientes seis horas nunca se hizo público oficialmente, pero algunos fragmentos se filtraron con el paso de los años. Fragmentos que los agentes del orden comentaban en voz baja. Detalles que se colaron en cartas privadas e informes sellados que nunca debieron abrirse.

 Annette les contó que su padre había estado alimentando algo debajo del granero desde que ella tenía memoria. Dijo que era una tarea que había heredado de su padre y de su abuelo. Dijo que la familia tenía un acuerdo, un pacto. Ella lo llamaba así, aunque ninguna niña de nueve años debería conocer esa palabra. Aquella cosa debajo del granero mantenía la tierra fértil.

 Mantuvo las cosechas vivas incluso en años de sequía. Protegió a la familia de enfermedades y desgracias. Pero necesitaba ser alimentada. Al principio, eran animales, ganado, mascotas, cosas que nadie echaría de menos. Pero con el tiempo, quiso más. Quería algo más parecido a un humano, y finalmente quiso un humano. Thomas no habló durante la entrevista, pero hizo dibujos.

 The psychologists gave him paper and crayons, thinking it might help him process the trauma. What he drew made two of them leave the room. He drew the barn. He drew figures standing around a hole in the floor. and he drew something coming up out of that hole. It didn’t look like any animal. It didn’t look like a person either.

 It looked like something that had learned to mimic the shape of a person, but hadn’t quite gotten it right. Too many joints, too many angles. The psychologists kept the drawings. They were entered into evidence and then quietly removed from the case file 3 months later. No one explained why. Clare was the youngest and they didn’t expect much from her, but she was the one who said the thing that made everyone in that room go silent.

 She said her mother had tried to stop it. She said Lorraine Branson had told Marcus that it was evil, that they needed to leave, that they needed to burn the barn and salt the earth and never come back. Marcus had refused. He said the family had made a promise. He said if they broke it, the thing beneath the barn wouldn’t just take them.

 It would take everyone in Harrow’s Bend. It would spread. And then Clare said something that the stenographer wrote down word for word. She said, “Mama tried to kill it. She went down there with a knife, but you can’t kill something that was never born.” The forensic team finished their excavation of the barn on January 20th, 1974.

 In addition to the six bodies they’d already found, they discovered something else beneath the deepest remains. There was a shaft hand dug. It went down another 12 ft into bedrock. At the bottom, they found a chamber. It was roughly circular, about 8 ft in diameter, and the walls had been carved with symbols no one could identify.

 Not Native American, not European, nothing that matched any known language or religious iconography. The chamber was empty, but the walls were wet. Not with water, with something thicker, something that smelled like copper and rot and something else underneath that no one could name. One of the forensic investigators took a sample.

 The lab results came back inconclusive. The substance contained organic compounds, but they didn’t match any known biological material. It was as if it was organic, but not from anything that had ever lived in a way science could recognize. The state police tried to trace the origins of the older bodies found beneath the barn.

 Dental records didn’t exist for most people in rural Missouri before the 1950s, and three of the skeletons were older than that, but they did manage to identify one of them. His name was Samuel Corrigon. He’d been reported missing in 1947. He was a drifter, a veteran who’d been passing through Harrow’s Bend looking for work.

 The last person to see him alive was Marcus Branson’s father, Ezra, who’d hired him to help repair a fence line. Samuel Corrian was never seen again. Ezra Branson told the sheriff back then that Samuel had finished the job, collected his pay, and moved on. No one questioned it. Drifters came and went.

 But now, 27 years later, they knew where Samuel Corrian had ended up. Ezra Branson had died in 1968. Heart attack. the death certificate said. But people who’d known him said he’d been acting strange in the months before he died. He’d stopped going to church. He’d stopped talking to his neighbors. And he’d started spending hours in the barn alone in the middle of the night.

 His wife, Margaret, had died 2 years before him under circumstances that were never fully explained. She’d fallen down the cellar stairs and broken her neck. Marcus had been the one to find her. He was 16 years old at the time. After Margaret died, it was just Ezra and Marcus on the farm. And then 6 years later, Ezra was dead, too.

 And Marcus inherited everything. The land, the house, the barn, and whatever was underneath it. The investigators tried to go further back. They wanted to know if Silus Branson, the man who’ founded the farm in 1891, had known about the thing beneath the barn. They combed through county records, old newspapers, church registries. What they found was strange.

Silus Branson appeared in the census records starting in 1891, but there was no record of where he’d come from. No birth certificate, no immigration papers, no family history. He simply appeared in Harrows Bend with enough money to buy the land and build a house. In a town where everyone knew everyone’s business, no one seemed to know anything about Silas Branson before he arrived, and the land he’d purchased had a history of its own.

 Before Silas bought it, the property had belonged to a man named Josiah Karna. Josiah had built the barn in 1873, and he’d lived there alone for 11 years. In 1884, Josiah walked into the center of Harrows Bend in the middle of the day, stood in front of the church, and slit his own throat. He didn’t leave a note. He didn’t say a word.

 Witnesses said he’d looked relieved. After Josiah’s death, the property sat abandoned for 7 years. No one wanted it. People said the land was cursed. They said Josiah had done something out there, something that had poisoned the ground. But in 1891, Silas Branson bought it anyway. And he didn’t just buy it.

 He moved into the barn first before the house was even built. He lived in that barn for 3 months alone. And when he finally emerged to start building the farmhouse, people said he looked different, thinner, paler, but his eyes were bright, hungry. The investigators brought all of this to the district attorney. They laid out the evidence, the bodies, the chamber, the history of the land.

 They recommended that the property be seized, the barn demolished, and the entire area excavated by a team of archaeologists and forensic experts. The district attorney listened and then he closed the file. He said there wasn’t enough evidence to pursue charges against anyone still living. Marcus and Lorraine Branson were dead.

 Ezra Branson was dead. Silas Branson had been dead for decades. The children were victims, not suspects. And as for the thing beneath the barn, the thing the children had described, the thing that had left those wounds on the bodies, there was no legal framework for prosecuting something that might not even exist.

 The case was classified as a double homicide suicide. Marcus Branson had killed his wife, then himself. The older bodies were declared cold cases, likely transients who’ died of exposure or misadventure and been buried on the property by persons unknown. The chamber beneath the barn was noted as a historical curiosity, possibly related to early settler activity or indigenous practices, though no anthropologist could verify that claim.

 The barn was condemned, the house was condemned, and the property was left to sit. The Branson children were placed into foster care. Annette, Thomas, and Clare were kept together at first per the recommendation of the psychologists who’d interviewed them. They were placed with a family in Springfield, Missouri, about 90 mi from Harrows Bend.

 The foster parents were good people, experienced, they’ taken in troubled children before, but within 2 weeks, they called social services and asked for the children to be removed. They wouldn’t give specific reasons at first. They just said it wasn’t working out. But when pressed, the foster mother admitted something that went into a sealed report.

 She said the children didn’t sleep. She said they would stand at the window of their shared bedroom every night, all three of them staring out toward the west, toward Harrow’s Bend. And she said that on the 13th night, she’d woken up at 3:00 in the morning and found all three children standing at the foot of her bed. They weren’t doing anything, just standing there watching.

 When she screamed, they didn’t react. They just turned and walked back to their room in perfect silence. The children were moved to separate foster homes. After that, the psychologist thought maybe the trauma was reinforcing itself, that being together was preventing them from healing. Annette was placed with a family in Kansas City.

 Thomas went to a home in Jefferson City. Clare being the youngest, was placed with a couple in Colombia who specialized in early childhood trauma. For 6 months, things seemed to improve. The children were going to school. They were eating. They were starting to talk more. Though they never talked about the farm, never mentioned the barn, never spoke their parents’ names, the psychologists called it progress.

 But then on the night of July 19th, 1974, all three children disappeared. Annette vanished from her bedroom on the second floor of her foster home. The window was locked from the inside. The door was closed. Her foster parents checked on her at 10:00 that night, and she was asleep. At 6:00 the next morning, she was gone.

 Thomas disappeared from a group home where he’d been moved after his foster placement didn’t work out. The night supervisor did a bed check at midnight. Thomas was there. At 2:00 in the morning, his bed was empty. The doors were locked. The windows were barred. No one saw him leave. Clare was taken from her bedroom while her foster parents slept 15 ft away.

 They heard nothing. When they woke up and found her gone, they called the police immediately. The search began within the hour. 3 days later, a hunter found all three children walking along a county road 11 mi outside of Harrow’s Bend. They were heading toward the Branson farm. They were barefoot again, just like the day they’d been found in January.

 Their feet were torn and bleeding, but they didn’t seem to notice. When the police picked them up, Annette said only one thing. She said, “It called us home. We have to finish what mama started. If you’re still watching, you’re already braver than most. Tell us in the comments what would you have done if this was your bloodline.

 The authorities didn’t know what to do with the children after that. They couldn’t be placed in foster care. They couldn’t be left alone and they couldn’t be sent back to Harrows Bend because there was nothing left there for them. The State Psychiatric Hospital in Fulton agreed to take them, not as patients in the traditional sense, but as wards under observation.

 They were given their own rooms in the children’s wing. They were monitored around the clock and for the next 3 years, doctors tried to understand what had happened to them. The children were polite, cooperative. They answered questions when asked, but they never explained what they’d meant about finishing what their mother had started.

 They never said why they’d tried to return to the farm. And they never, not once, said they wanted to leave. In 1977, when Annette turned 12, she asked to speak to the hospital director. She told him that she and her siblings were ready to go home now. The director explained that they didn’t have a home anymore. The farm was state property, abandoned and condemned. Annette smiled.

 It was the first time anyone had seen her smile in 3 years. She said, “That’s all right. It’s still waiting for us.” The hospital director didn’t understand what Annette meant, but he noted it in her file. Over the following months, all three children became increasingly fixated on the idea of returning to the farm.

 They would draw pictures of the barn during art therapy. They would whisper to each other in a language the staff couldn’t identify, and they stopped eating, not all at once. Gradually, by the fall of 1977, Annette weighed 73 lbs. Thomas weighed 61. Claire, who was only 7 years old, weighed 38. The doctors tried everything.

 Feeding tubes, nutritional supplements, psychiatric intervention. Nothing worked. The children would pull out the feeding tubes. They would refuse medication. And when asked why they wouldn’t eat, Annette gave the same answer every time. She said, “We’re saving our strength. We need to be empty when we go back.

” On November 2nd, 1977, the hospital staff discovered that all three children had stopped speaking English entirely. They only communicated in that strange language, the one that sounded like wet sounds and clicks, and something underneath that made people’s teeth ache when they heard it. A linguist from the University of Missouri was brought in to analyze recordings of the children speaking.

 He spent four days listening to the tapes. On the fifth day, he submitted his report and requested to be removed from the case. His report stated that the language had no recognizable grammar structure, no root words that matched any known language family, and no consistent phonetic patterns. But he noted something else.

 He said that when he listened to the recordings, he experienced vivid intrusive thoughts, images of dirt and darkness, and something moving beneath the earth. He said he began having dreams about a place he’d never been, a barn he’d never seen. And he said that on the fourth night, he’d woken up with his hands covered in soil, even though he’d gone to bed with clean hands and his bedroom window had been closed.

 The hospital director made a decision. He contacted the state attorney general’s office and requested that the Branson property be excavated and sealed permanently. He argued that something on that land was exerting a psychological influence on the children and that as long as the property remained intact, the children would never recover.

 The attorney general’s office reviewed the request. They sent an inspector to the farm. The inspector spent 3 hours on the property. He filed his report the next day. It stated that the barn had collapsed during a storm earlier that year and that the property showed no signs of recent disturbance. He recommended that the land be sold at auction and the proceeds placed in a trust for the Branson children.

 The request for further excavation was denied. 2 weeks later, on the morning of November 18th, 1977, the staff at Fulton State Hospital discovered that Annette, Thomas, and Clare Branson were gone. Their rooms were empty. The doors had been locked from the outside. The windows were sealed. Security footage showed nothing. One moment the children were in their beds.

 The next moment the beds were empty. It was as if they had simply ceased to exist in one place and begun existing in another. A statewide search was launched. Roadblocks were set up. Helicopters were deployed. Every law enforcement agency in Missouri was put on alert. For 3 days, there was no sign of them. On November 21st, a truck driver passing through Harrows Bend called the Highway Patrol.

 He said he’d seen three children standing in a field off Route 47. He said they were facing an old collapsed barn. He said they weren’t moving, just standing there, and something about it made him feel sick to his stomach. The highway patrol arrived within 20 minutes. They found the Branson children standing exactly where the truck driver had described.

 They were facing the ruins of the barn. Their feet were buried in the soil up to their ankles. When the officers approached, the children turned to look at them in perfect unison. Annette spoke. Her voice was different now, older, deeper. She said, “We’re home. We’ve come to finish it.

” And then, before anyone could stop them, all three children dropped to their knees and began digging into the earth with their bare hands. The officers pulled the children away from the ground, but not before they dug nearly 2 ft down into the frozen earth. Their hands were shredded, fingernails torn away, bones visible through the torn skin.

 But the children didn’t scream. They didn’t cry. They just kept reaching toward the hole they’d started, clawing at the air, trying to dig deeper. The officers carried them to the patrol cars. All three children had to be sedated. And as the ambulance drove them away from the property, witnesses said they heard something. A sound coming from beneath the collapsed barn.

a sound like breathing, like something large and patient, stirring after a long sleep. The children were returned to Fulton State Hospital under maximum security, but they never spoke again. Not in English, not in that other language. They simply stopped. Annette died in 1981. The death certificate said malnutrition and organ failure, but the nurses who’ cared for her said she’d simply decided to stop living.

 Thomas died 6 months later. same cause, same blank expression on his face when they found him. Clare lived the longest. She made it to 1989. She was 19 years old when she died. On her last day, a nurse reported that Clare had smiled and whispered something. The nurse couldn’t make out the words, but she said it sounded like, “It’s finally time.

” By morning, Clare was gone. The Branson property was sold at auction in 1982. A development company bought it with plans to build a housing subdivision. They brought in bulldozers to clear the land. On the first day of work, three pieces of heavy equipment broke down simultaneously. On the second day, two workers were hospitalized after experiencing sudden violent illnesses.

 Al tercer día, el capataz informó que su cuadrilla se negaba a trabajar. Decían que el terreno les parecía extraño. Afirmaban que su maquinaria golpeaba constantemente algo bajo la superficie, algo que no era roca, ni arcilla, ni ninguna formación geológica reconocible; algo blando al tacto. La empresa constructora abandonó el proyecto.

 El terreno ha permanecido vacío desde entonces. A lo largo de los años, varias personas han intentado visitar la propiedad: curiosos, investigadores de lo paranormal, periodistas. La mayoría no se queda mucho tiempo. Afirman sentirse observados y oír ruidos provenientes del subsuelo. Algunos han tomado fotografías. En algunas de ellas, si se observa con atención la zona donde antes se alzaba el granero, se pueden apreciar depresiones en la tierra, quizá sumideros, o algo bajo la superficie que ejerce presión hacia arriba.

 En 2003, un equipo de geólogos de la Universidad de Missouri recibió permiso para estudiar el terreno. Utilizaron un radar de penetración terrestre. Lo que encontraron los obligó a recoger su equipo y marcharse en menos de cuatro horas. Nunca publicaron sus hallazgos. Sin embargo, uno de los miembros del equipo, un estudiante de posgrado llamado Michael Foss, habló sobre ello años después en un documental que nunca se emitió.

 Dijo que el radar mostró un enorme espacio hueco debajo de la propiedad, una cámara mucho mayor que la descubierta en 1974. Y añadió que la cámara no estaba vacía. El radar detectó movimiento, algo que se desplazaba, algo con masa y densidad, pero que no se correspondía con ningún material conocido.

 Cuando le preguntaron qué creía que era, Michael Fos solo dijo esto: «Lo que sea que los Branson estuvieran alimentando, sigue ahí abajo y sigue teniendo hambre. El pueblo de Harrows Bend aún existe. Ahora tiene 271 habitantes, menos que en 1974. La gente se ha ido. Los que se quedan no hablan de la granja de los Branson».

 Si les preguntas, cambiarán de tema. Dirán que no se acuerdan. Dirán que todo fue una exageración, una mezcla de tragedia y superstición. Pero en ciertas noches, cuando el viento sopla del oeste, la gente de Harrows Bend cierra las ventanas. Echan llave a las puertas. Y les dicen a sus hijos que se queden dentro, aunque no expliquen por qué.

Porque algunas historias no terminan solo porque sus protagonistas mueran. Algunas historias continúan. Enterradas en la oscuridad. Esperando a que alguien recuerde. Esperando a que alguien regrese y termine lo que empezó. Los hijos de Branson intentaron terminarla. Sabían lo que su madre había sabido: que algunas cosas no pueden alimentarse eternamente.

 Que algunos seds son insaciables. Que algunas promesas, una vez hechas, jamás se pueden romper sin un precio. Y ese precio aún se paga. En ese campo vacío a las afueras de Harrows Bend, donde antes se alzaba el granero, algo bajo tierra sigue esperando, sigue respirando, sigue hambriento. Y si aguzas el oído en las noches tranquilas, cuando el mundo está en silencio, quizás tú también lo oigas.

 Ese sonido de algo viejo y paciente, girando en la oscuridad, registrando el sabor de la familia que lo alimentó durante tanto tiempo. Recordando a los niños que intentaron matarlo, y esperando el día en que alguien más venga. Alguien más cavará. Alguien más cometerá el mismo error que los Branson hace más de un siglo. Porque la tierra aún está ahí, la propiedad aún está en venta.

 Y algo en su interior sigue clamando, esperando a que la próxima familia responda, a que la próxima generación cumpla la promesa, a que el próximo linaje alimente aquello que nunca debió haber sido alimentado.