When I was little, we found a man. He looked like - like, butchered. The old women in the village crossed themselves, and whispered crazy things, strange things. "El diablo cazador de hombres". Only in the hottest years this happens. And this year, it grows hot. We begin finding our men. We found them sometimes without their skin... and sometimes much, much worst. "El que hace trofeos de los hombres" means "the demon who makes trophies of man".