Así Es Vivír En Una Morgue Historias De Terror - REDE

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Doña Matilde' s body, the
house I grew up in, was always

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wrapped in a dark and mysterious air. My childhood was marked by the peculiarity

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of living with my father, a
man whose life revolved around a funeral home

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he had installed in our own home, so since I remembered, I was

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immersed in the closeness with death a
company that became increasingly disturbing. As the

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years passed, my father, the
owner and operator of the funeral home.

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For obvious reasons, I was forbidden
to enter the room, where the bodies

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were kept to be arranged and,
in this way, to be able to

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give them the last farewell. Despite
their strict warnings, my childish curiosity led

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me to challenge their authority from time
to time, I even came to charge

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some neighborhood children who paid to see
their insides out of those transactions. My

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interactions with the other children were scarce
and my ability to socialize was affected by

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the funeral atmosphere that permeated my home. One day, while I was coloring

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in the living room, I heard
my father talking to someone quietly. The

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distance prevented me from fully understanding the
conversation, but my father' s serious

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tone indicated that a new body had
arrived. My father said goodbye to the

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visitor and informed me that I should
leave for a moment, leaving me alone

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in the house, barely crossed the
door. Curiosity took over me. I

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knew I should stay in the room, but the temptation to see that new

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corpse was too strong, so,
opening the door with stealth, I entered

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the room. The atmosphere in the
room that day was different. A chill

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swept through my spine as I approached
the table, where the newly arrived body

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rested, even though it was covered
by a sheet. The feeling in the

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room made me want to leave,
but ignoring those fears, I raised the

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cloth with caution and found the pale
figure of the old matilde, a neighbor

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who lived at the end of our
street. Neighborhood kids considered her a witch.

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They claimed it was transformed into owl
to fly through the dark skies.

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To tell you the truth, I
never believed in those stories. My father

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had always been in charge of teaching
me that things like witchcraft or spirits were

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things that people, with nothing better
to do, invented to hang out or

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scare. I was thinking about it. As I looked at the old woman,

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who lay on the table with a
cadaveric appearance, my eyes met with

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hers, which were still open and
before I could react her hands clung tightly

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to my arm, nailing her nails
like sharp claws. I desperately forced myself

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to free myself from his grip by
falling to the ground with a strong blow.

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My breath accelerated and the worst was
yet to come. The old woman

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' s body moved rigidly, falling
from the table in a strange position.

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The sheet was slowly removed, revealing
a grotesque appearance and a posture similar to

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that of a human spider. Creepy
grunts filled the room, as the old

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woman, now transformed into a hideous
creature, approached me on all fours.

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My legs finally answered and I jumped
up, running out of the room and

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closing the door behind me. On
the other side of the door I heard

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frantic scratches as if the creature was
trying to escape. The sounds stopped abruptly.

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When my father came home trembling,
I stood in the room just to

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find out that everything was in order, as if the nightmare had never happened.

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Fear took hold of me, but
the fear of facing my father'

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s wrath kept me silent. Although
the room was immaculate, I knew that

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what lived in it was more than
just a nightmare. Doña Matilde' s

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fingernail marks were still visible on my
arm. That was certainly tangible proof of

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what had happened. I was afraid
to tell my father about the experience,

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not only because of the sure reprimand
for having disobeyed his rules, but also

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because this was a skeptical man and
I would never believe in the possibility that

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an inert body rising and grunting would
be responsible for the wounds on my arm.

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For the rest of that afternoon,
I tried to convince myself that it

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had been a hallucination. The wounds
on my arm were too real to ignore

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while I was doing my homework.
My mind constantly wandered toward that experience.

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I was so absorbed in my thoughts
that I barely noticed my father examining the

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marks on my arm. He questioned
me about his origin with a knot in

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my throat, I invented a story
about climbing a tree and cutting me with

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its branches. Luckily, for me, my father did not delve into the

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subject, accepting my explanation not without
asking me to be more careful. The

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lie gave me a momentary relief,
but the truth continued to haunt me that

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night, the memory of old Matilde
and her creepy transformation did not abandon me.

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I tried to sleep, but the
memories prevented me. It' s

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or it' s midnight. I
finally fell into a restless dream. That

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didn' t last long. I
woke up startled by the memory. As

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I calmed down, I tried to
go back to sleep, but an emergency

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took me to the bathroom. At
the end, the anguish seized me When

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I returned to my room, a
strange noise came from the kitchen. My

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first thought was that my father was
there. As I approached the shade of

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the kitchen, the twisted figure of
Doña Matilde was contorted in an arched position.

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His malevolent smile made my blood freeze. The old woman was there distorted

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and threatening her body, though deformed, moving with an inhuman speed. As

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he was heading towards me. Terror
paralysed me, but the need to escape

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prompted me to retreat Doña Matilde into
her unnatural position. He chased me relentlessly

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and I managed to get to my
room in time and closed the door tightly,

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feeling my heart pounding wildly. The
night became eternal. Fear took hold

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of me and the trail of that
deformed creature continued to haunt me in my

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nightmares. When my father got up
at dawn, everything was calm. The

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kitchen looked like nothing had happened,
leaving everything in my memories again. The

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dilemma of sharing my terror with my
father intensified, but I thought I would

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face his skepticism. I had no
idea what to think or who to turn

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to. All I could do was
simply pray that it would not happen again.

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Doña Matilde' s farewell came in
the form of a wake. The

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next day, few people showed up
and although my father was busy with the

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preparations, I was happy and relieved
that that body would finally get away from

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our home. I thought with your
departure everything would return to normal. What

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I didn' t know was that
the real nightmare was just beginning. The

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next night passed without incident. Apparently
Doña Matilde' s presence faded with her

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departure. I managed to sleep without
problems, but a nightmare stalked me in

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my dreams. In the nightmare I
was trapped in a dark labyrinth with the

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walls slowly closing around me. The
anguish enveloped me as I desperately tried to

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find a way out, but each
turn brought me back to the same point.

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My breathing was getting short. The
sweat was slipping down my forehead,

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while claustrophobia was taking over me.
All that felt very real to make just

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one dream Suddenly. The walls shuddered, revealing gritty faces watching me with empty

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eyes, I woke up startled,
but the feeling of oppression persisted. The

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next morning the light of day arrived
with an apparent normality, dispelled the shadows

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of the nightmare and plunged into the
daily routine. However, the illusion of

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peace faded when, when I lay
down that night, I noticed a soft

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glow in my room. My eyes
met with the unexpected vision of one of

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my toy cars, which, without
apparent explanation, moved and shed lights in

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the gloom. Although scared I knew
I couldn' t allow the toy to

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continue wandering around my room with caution. I got up and put my barefoot

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feet on the floor, but before
I could even take a step, a

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pair of bony hands emerged from the
darkness under my bed, clutching me by

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the ankles hard. I felt a
severe pain in the face of the terror

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that seized me when I was dragged
abruptly to the ground. The fear was

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unstoppable. That time I started screaming
so loud that I woke up my father,

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who, alerted by my cries of
despair, broke into the room.

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He only found me trembling still with
almost half a body under the bed,

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without trace of the entity that had
emerged. From there I told my father

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about the horror I had witnessed,
but his unbelieving eyes and condescending tone of

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voice attributed my experience to a vivid
nightmare. I tried to convince him by

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telling my story in detail, but
my attempts were in vain. As the

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days passed, paranormal events intensified.
Shadows could be seen on the walls every

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time I was alone, inaudible whispers
filled the air and sometimes the lights flashed

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inexplicably. Every single attempt to explain
it to my father was in vain.

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His skepticism persisted, while my anguish
grew. The nights became a torment between

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my own reality and the presence of
Doña Matilde. One night I was lying

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in bed, I felt a cold
gust of wind in the room, even

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though the windows were closed. The
lamp he had began to give faint flashes.

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The flashing light cast disquieting shadows on
the walls and the shadow. I

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glimpsed the twisted figure of the old
woman, extending her bony hands towards me.

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His laughter resonated in the darkness and
his voice enveloped me terrified. I

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tried to run, but a sleep
paralysis had taken over me. My breathing

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was heavy and scary, and the
latter increased when I felt a hand touching

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my foot. The penetrating cold of
his touch left me breathless, it was

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as if death itself rubbed my skin. When I told that to my father,

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alien to my sufferings, I remained
steadfast in his skepticism. His attempts

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to comfort me became vague words of
encouragement that fell on deaf ears. The

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gap between us widened as the entity
became more intrusive. Another night, while

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I was asleep, I found myself
wandering through the dark corridors of the funeral

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home. In a lucid dream,
the presence of Doña Matilde materialized in front

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of me. His figure was distorted
as a shadow in the shadow. Every

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step he took sounded like a sinister
echo and his empty eyes watched me with

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a supernatural intensity. I tried to
escape, but every door I opened led

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me to a darker corner of the
funerary maze. The entity was making fun

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of me. Whispers filled the air
wrapped me in torment. Every night it

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turned into a battle to keep my
sanity. Doña Matilde' s shadows were

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projected on the walls voices, whispered
to me in the corners and the cold

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of her presence persisted. Doña Matilde' s entity was still trying to disrupt

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my life. Not only did it
manifest itself in lucid dreams, but it

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also left its mark on the physical
world. Objects moved inexplicably, shadows danced

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on the walls all that without mentioning
the bruises and scratches that I had begun

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to notice in many parts of my
body. One afternoon, while I was

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wandering around the funeral home, I
found myself again in the room where the

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bodies are kept. Since the meeting
with Doña Matilde I had refrained from entering

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at that time. A desire to
do so invaded me. The heavy atmosphere

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thickened around me and the presence of
Doña Matilde intensified with every step I took,

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not knowing why I was doing what
I was doing. My trembling hands

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spread toward the door, but before
I touched it, a chill ran through

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my spine, so I finally decided
not to come in. When I turned

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around, the entity revealed itself in
front of me. Her twisted figure made

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her look pretty grotesque. I tried
to back off, but every move was

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answered by a grunt. Doña Matilde
extended one of her bony hands to me.

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He suffered a touch and clung to
my skin. My cry resonated in

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every corner of the house and at
that moment the entity faded like a shadow

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at dawn leaving me trembling in the
dark reality that now inhabited the nights of

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insomnia became my reality and the fear
of meeting the entity took over every thought

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or r r remember taking refuge in
my local church in search of answers,

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which were attended by a priest,
who, despite noticing not believing in my

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story, gave me a rosary and
a prayer with which he assured me to

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find peace. The most terrifying episode
was yet to arrive at dawn I woke

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up soaked in sweat as it was
customary, my room was wrapped in a

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grave silence as I incorporated my gaze
fell into the dark corner of the room

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and then Doña Matilde materialized right there
with her laughter, resounding in my ears

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like an infernal echo. You can' t escape. He whispered his voice,

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he carried with him, which I
can only describe as pure evil.

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His presence intensified. I tried to
run, but his bony hands immediately immobilized

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me. I was trying to scream, but my voice was barely heard.

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The entity climbed to face- to- face with me. I could feel

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her fetid breath, which hit my
nose and made me nauseous. I wanted

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to pray again the prayer the priest
had taught me that evening, no matter

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how much I tried. I couldn' t remember beyond the first words.

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My attempts to pray led that horrible
entity to laugh at me and as if

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trying to prove something is, he
placed his hand on my face, preventing

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me from breathing. He could hear
the entity laughing and he could see that

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he enjoyed it. That night I
felt I was going to die. My

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father entered my room, causing that
spectrum to fade away. Although my father

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could see nothing if he witnessed how
I desperately tried to breathe. That worried

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him so much that he ended up
taking me to the hospital, where,

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once the doctors assured him that I
was living well. I recounted my experiences

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with Doña Matilde again, but my
father, exhausted from my stories that became

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more and more fantastic and dangerous in
his opinion, decided to take drastic steps

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to return peace to our home.
Even without being convinced that something beyond human

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explanation was happening, he decided to
call a local priest to bless the house.

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The arrival of man marked a change
in the charged atmosphere of the funeral

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home. With ceremonial gestures and sacred
words, the priest toured every corner of

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our house, invoking divine protection.
Since that day, the oppressive atmosphere that

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had plagued the house decreased and the
nights became quieter. The blessing not only

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brought with it a relative peace,
but also eased the tension between my father

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and me. My father still maintaining
his skepticism is that he accepted that after

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that blessing he could feel in the
house a less heavy atmosphere. Despite the

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apparent calm, some nights I still
felt Doña Matilde' s gaze upon me

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as a persistent shadow. His presence
was manifested in distant whispers and the feeling

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that something was patiently waiting in the
dark. The blessing had removed the most

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intense supernatural experiences, but the footprint
of the entity persisted. The nights became

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a delicate balance between tranquility and restlessness. The blessing had offered a barrier,

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but it did not completely eliminate the
feeling that something beyond human understanding was lurking

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in the shadows. However, as
days became weeks and weeks in months,

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disturbances became less frequent. Over time, the funeral home regained its ancient splendour

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and the presence of Doña Matilde gradually
faded away. My life, though marked

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by that dark chapter, found this
ability. I never experienced anything similar again

205
00:19:12.559 --> 00:19:22.319
and I appreciate it every day.
Tale written and adapted by aurora. Escalante