The boat ride starts off like any other through the ancient canals of Xochimilco. There's laughter in the distance, floating mariachi music, and the occasional splash of an oar. But then your trajinera turns away from the main path. The air gets still. The water darkens. The laughter fades. You're no longer headed toward a party—you’re heading into a ghost story.

Step beyond the pyramid of Kukulkán and past the rows of crumbling columns, and you'll find a place where time runs deeper than stone. Nestled in the northern corner of Chichén Itzá lies a sinkhole shrouded not just in jungle vines—but in centuries of blood, belief, and buried secrets.