Demonios bajo la cama

I’ll be honest: I picked up *Demonios bajo la cama* expecting another by-the-numbers corruption exposé, but Chicote upended my assumptions within the first hour. The dual perspectives—Lidia, the treasurer whose naivety is both her shield and her undoing, and Dani, the journalist whose brilliance is inversely proportional to his self-preservation—create a push-pull dynamic that’s as psychologically gripping as the political intrigue. Chicote doesn’t just *tell* you these people are broken; he lets their choices crack them open on the page. The scene where Lidia realizes her mentor’s ‘protection’ is just another cage? Chilling. Dani’s late-night, whiskey-fueled monologue about the stories he *didn’t* publish? Devastating. Figueres’ narration is the secret weapon here. He doesn’t just read—he *inhabits*. His Lidia starts tight-lipped and precise, but as the noose tightens, her voice fractures in ways that’ll raise the hairs on your neck. Dani’s sections, meanwhile, carry the weight of a man who’s laughed at the devil one too many times, and Figueres nails the bitter humor beneath the cynicism. My only critique? The middle act sags slightly under the weight of its own paranoia—Chicote leans *hard* into the ‘who can you trust?’ trope, and a few red herrings feel more like padding than misdirection. And while the ending lands with a punch, it’s so bleak you might need a palate cleanser afterward. Still, this is political fiction with teeth, and Figueres’ performance ensures you’ll feel every bite.