El Trauma De Ver Una Niña En La Morgue Historias De Terror - REDE

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Every time I think about my childhood
two things come to mind. How sad

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I felt with my mother' s
death, which succumbed to cancer when I

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was only five years old, and
the experience that I am about to tell

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you. My story. It starts
in a morgue, which I remember as

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a sinister place with cold corridors and
deserts that made a lot of noise when

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you walked in them, besides smelling
very strange. That day, my older

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brother, who, despite his fifteen
years, was not the most comforting company

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in his mind, was more concerned
about his own affairs and the task of

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taking care of me lay with him. When our father wasn' t home.

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I remember clearly that we were walking
through the endless corridors of the amorgue

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because my brother had the idea of
taking me to our father’ s work

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to go with his friends. Quickly, my dad told her not to leave

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me there, ordering my older brother
to take me home. I listened to

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my brother' s complaints as we
walked through the cold corridors back, when

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suddenly something caught my attention. In
one of the rooms. A figure was

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on a table. He was a
child, or at least that seemed at

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first sight. His body was marked
by horrible burns. The vision made me

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shudder, but my brother pushed me
into the room and closed the door behind

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me. As I got closer,
I could tell it was a girl.

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I started screaming asking to get me
out of there, but my brother was

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just laughing across the door. My
despair grew when in an instant I noticed

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that the child' s head had
turned in my direction and as I wondered

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if it was like this, since
the girl' s eyes had entered,

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her empty but intense gaze opened.
He stared at me before his mouth uttered

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loud and heartbreaking screams. He seemed
to be reliving the pain of his burns.

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Fear paralyzed my body. As the
screams of the girl pierced my soul,

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I hit the door harder. My
brother remained indifferent to my anguish.

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Suddenly, the screams stopped and a
disturbing silence enveloped the room. I looked

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at the girl now in silence and
completely motionless. Reality and the nightmare seemed

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to mix and I wondered if that
had been real. The door finally opened,

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but it wasn' t my brother
who had opened it. He was

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our father. With an expression of
anger on his face, my attempt to

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explain what I had seen was hindered
by my own fear. As she pointed

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to the table where the child was. The burnt body of that little girl

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seemed nothing unusual in my father'
s eyes. Our father' s reprimands

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didn' t wait. Once he
returned home, he reminded us of the

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prohibition of playing in that place and
of how the gravity of our disobedience could

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have serious consequences. My childish mind
barely paid attention to the scolding, trying

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to rationalize what happened, questioning whether
my fear had made that terrifying experience or

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whether it had really happened. The
following nights were marked by disturbing dreams and

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a constant sense of being observed.
The figure of the burnt child materialized in

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my nightmares, his screams rumbled in
my head. My days passed in a

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state of constant anxiety. One night, my father had a night shift at

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the morgue, which meant I would
stay home alone with my brother. It

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wasn' t the first time that
happened. In fact, it was quite

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common, but that time my brother
saw that night as his chance to go

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out and have fun. When my
father left my brother, he told me

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that night he had plans and would
leave me alone I begged him to stay

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or take me with him, but
his response was a clear and threatening warning.

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If I told our father that he
had gone out, he' d

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be very upset with me and pay
them very dearly. The fear of reprisals

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left me voiceless and I nodded silently
as I watched my brother enlist to leave

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that night. Once this was gone
the house was left in a silence only

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broken by the sounds of television,
with which I tried to drown my anxiety.

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I clung to the remote control trying
to find comfort. In the dim

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light of the television screen, which
gives me a momentary inner peace. Tiredness

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finally overcame me and I plunged into
a restless sleep on the couch, the

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cold and the bad position in which
I fell asleep. It ripped me out

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of my dream. Seeing the time, I realized it was almost midnight.

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The house was enveloped in an overwhelming
darkness. Strange noises coming from the kitchen

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were the ones that caught my attention. I thought he was my brother,

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but my calls to this one went
unanswered. I decided to investigate. I

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moved cautiously towards the kitchen. The
darkness was dense, but I managed to

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distinguish a figure in the shadow.
I struggled to remain calm as I lit

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the light, but my heart stopped
when the girl burned, with her body

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marked by burns and blisters, appeared
before my eyes, Her eyes empty but

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penetrating met mine. My throat closed
before the surreal vision and I could barely

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articulate any words. I screamed loudly
as I retreated in haste by closing the

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kitchen door. After me, my
mind struggled to understand the reality of what

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I had seen, but no matter
how much I tried to calm myself down.

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Fear persisted. It was an hour
before my brother finally got home.

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His attention was not in my shaky
explanations about the girl in the kitchen.

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His disinterest made it clear that he
had no intention of believing my words.

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The only thing I got in response
was the horrible reprisals if I revealed his

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absence to our father, so I
gave up the idea of receiving support from

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him. The next night was a
torment for me, marked by a nightmare

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that left me trembling and sweating in
my bed. In the dream I found

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myself walking through the endless corridors of
the morgue, a luxury I knew too

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well. The morgue was completely empty, but as it progressed, the feeling

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that the corridor was spreading into eternity
grew as if it were trapped in a

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dark maze. Unendingly, suddenly,
a childish laugh rang out in the morgue,

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sending chills down my spine. As
I turned the vision of the burnt

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child materialized before me. His left
hand stood up in a greeting, while

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on the right he held huge scissors
stained with a thick red liquid, a

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macabre vision that iced my blood.
The girl started chasing me with inhuman steps.

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His laughter sounded like a demon echo. I ran with all my might

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screaming desperately, but the hallway seemed
to have no end. Every time she

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saw me again, the girl was
closer. His deformed figure was determinedly advancing

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to harm me. At one point
I did not know or or felt his

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breath on my neck. Fear completely
paralyzed me before I could react, I

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woke up in my bed, shaking
and sweating. The nightmare faded away,

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but its impact persisted in my mind. The house was in a disturbing silence.

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When I opened my eyes, the
need to seek comfort prompted me to

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want to sleep with my father,
but his room was empty, so without

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knowing what else to do, I
decided to go with the only person who

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was at home with an anxiety knot. In my stomach, I went to

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my brother' s room in search
of refuge. When he opened the door,

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he ran to me. My pleas
were received with contempt. My brother

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argued that it was just a nightmare
and that I stopped acting like a little

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boy with no choice. I went
back to my room, but as I

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opened the door, a dark presence
caught my attention in the darkest corner of

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my life. The figure was hardly
distinguishable in the dark, but my heart

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froze to recognize that burnt child.
Although the darkness covered her features, I

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was sure it was her. Terror
wrapped me up like an icy blanket.

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The burnt child remained silent, watching
me with that lifeless look that characterized her

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my instinct screamed inside me, prompting
me to flee my room. Without thinking,

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I went back and ran towards the
ground floor. Because of the rush,

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my feet slipped halfway up the stairs
and I fell by breaking my arm.

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A cry of pain escaped from my
throat, as agony gripped me.

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At that very moment, the sound
of the keys in the lock resounded in

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the house announcing my father' s
arrival. The pain and fear intertwined as

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I lay on the ground with my
broken arm and the burnt girl still present

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in the dark corner of my mind. My father, confused and worried to

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see me on the floor, the
explanation of what happened stuck in my throat.

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My mind struggled to find coherent words
to explain what happened. I thought

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about telling the truth, but I
didn' t know where to start.

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My father' s fear of reprimand
for inventing stories made me unable to tell

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what happened, so I just said
I wanted to go down for water and

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slipped. That was enough for my
father, who hastened to take me to

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the hospital to attend to my arm. The time passed between visits to the

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doctor to treat my broken arm and
sleepless nights. The burnt child, with

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her distorted figure, became an even
more constant presence in my life, both

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awake and in my dreams. My
relationship with my brother became more tense.

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Not only had he left me alone
in the house but he had also rejected

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me when I sought refuge in his
room, and that was why I had

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broken my arm without mentioning that every
attempt to talk about the strange presence of

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the burnt child was in mockery.
For her part, my fear grew,

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fueled by the feeling that that child
really wanted to hurt me and that I

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had no one to defend me.
The nightmare of the morgue was repeated in

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my dreams. Again and again I
walked through infinite corridors, chased by the

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sinister laughter of the burnt child.
The scissors stained with red reflected the promise

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of a constant danger and each awakening
was marked by the relief of escaping the

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nightmare. But reality became increasingly uncertain. One night, when my father had

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another night shift. I spent a
lot of the night under the sheets.

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I thought this way I' d
avoid seeing that specter that tormented me.

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That, in fact, seemed to
work, as that was the first night

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in a long time that I had
no fear at all before sleeping. While

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sleeping, the nightmare returned with a
renewed peculiarity. I was walking through the

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deserted morgue. The corridors stretched into
the dark. The childish laughter resounded sending

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chills. I turned in response to
the sound and there was the burnt child.

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His greeting with his left hand and
the scissors on the right were a

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warning of what would come. The
laughter became a distorted echo and persecution began.

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I ran desperately, but the endless
corridor mocked my efforts. The burnt

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child approached with every step. His
deformed figure projected an aura of malice.

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The moment your menacing scissors were about
to reach, I woke up from my

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nightmare. The momentary relief was mixed
with the fear that was clinging to my

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being. The sweat covered my forehead
and my heart hit my chest like a

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frantic drum. The house was wrapped
in silence. When I opened my eyes,

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but my fear knew no borders.
I tried to get back to sleep.

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The atmosphere in my room began to
get so heavy, so at one

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point it was difficult for me to
breathe, so the need to be accompanied

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exceeded anything, so I decided that
I would try to go with my father.

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But remembering that this one had a
night shift. I didn' t

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have another one left. I knew
my brother was the only one I could

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turn to at the time. I
walked to the door of my brother'

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s room and opened it carefully.
He ran me out of his room again

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he had bothered even more, insisting
that he stop acting like a scary kid

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and stop inventing things. With my
last attempt to seek refuge, I went

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back to my room. The darkness
hovered over me and the shadow of the

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burnt child persisted in my mind.
When I opened the door, something in

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the darkest corner caught my attention.
A figure rose barely visible in the shadow.

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Although the darkness hid its features,
I was tired of all that and

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since I was sure that I would
not receive the help of anyone, I

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decided to face it I shouted that
it should be prolonged to leave me alone

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and that I no longer feared that. Last was a total lie and it

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was clearly reflected in my voice.
The girl' s silhouette was completely immutable

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to my screams. Looking at me
in the darkness of that corner, she

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suddenly took a few steps towards the
light, letting her body see covered with

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sores in its utmost splendor. A
smile was drawn on his face, while

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that of letting see sharp scissors in
his right hand. My nightmare was coming

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true in front of my eyes.
I couldn' t help but scream.

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At the same time, my father
had just arrived and could hear my cry.

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My alarmed father ran to my room. I was outside. I clumsily

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explained to him what had happened.
I couldn' t keep hiding anything anymore.

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I tried to find the right words
to express the terror that haunted me.

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He listened in silence, but his
expression became more and more skeptical.

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The weeks that followed were marked by
visits to the psychologist and uncomfortable conversations in

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which I tried to explain the situation. My brother kept making fun of me,

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considering my stories as mere whims of
a frightened mind, as a desperate

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attempt to want to attract attention With
time, my father sought professional help.

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Doctors and SNS psychologists tried to find
a logical explanation for my persistent fear and

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terrifying visions. No conclusive response emerged
from the burnt child. I continued to

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be a disquieting shadow in my life, defying all logic. The nights of

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loneliness became unbearable and my despair increased
with every appearance of the burnt child.

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My father, while trying to understand, was caught between the need to protect

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his son and the inability to understand
the forces that unleashed my fear. In

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a desperate attempt to free myself from
the dark presence that haunted me, my

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father decided to move with the change
of dwelling. I began to become more

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religious. I could notice that,
the more devoted I became, the appearances

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and sensations of that entity became more
and more. Tenues, besides that spirituality

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gave a better focus to my life, which in that way I felt quite

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empty. In time I learned to
live with the shadow of the burnt child,

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I grew up, I built my
own life and today I still have

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nightmares, but the comforting thing is
that they are only that and I hope

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that I will be kept that way
until the day of my death. A

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story written and adapted by Aurora.
Escalante