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

0:05 Every time I think about my childhood two things come to mind. How sad I felt with my mother' s death, which succumbed to cancer when I was only five years old, and the experience that I am about to tell you. My story. It starts in a morgue, which I remember as a sinister place with cold corridors and deserts that made a lot of noise when you walked in them, besides smelling very strange. That day, my older brother, who, despite his fifteen years, was not the most comforting company in his mind, was more concerned about his own affairs and the task of taking care of me lay with him. When our father wasn' t home.

0:51 I remember clearly that we were walking through the endless corridors of the amorgue because my brother had the idea of taking me to our father’ s work to go with his friends. Quickly, my dad told her not to leave me there, ordering my older brother to take me home. I listened to my brother' s complaints as we walked through the cold corridors back, when suddenly something caught my attention. In one of the rooms. A figure was on a table. He was a child, or at least that seemed at first sight. His body was marked by horrible burns. The vision made me shudder, but my brother pushed me into the room and closed the door behind me. As I got closer, I could tell it was a girl.

1:40 I started screaming asking to get me out of there, but my brother was just laughing across the door. My despair grew when in an instant I noticed that the child' s head had turned in my direction and as I wondered if it was like this, since the girl' s eyes had entered, her empty but intense gaze opened. He stared at me before his mouth uttered loud and heartbreaking screams. He seemed to be reliving the pain of his burns. Fear paralyzed my body. As the screams of the girl pierced my soul, I hit the door harder. My brother remained indifferent to my anguish.

2:23 Suddenly, the screams stopped and a disturbing silence enveloped the room. I looked at the girl now in silence and completely motionless. Reality and the nightmare seemed to mix and I wondered if that had been real. The door finally opened, but it wasn' t my brother who had opened it. He was our father. With an expression of anger on his face, my attempt to explain what I had seen was hindered by my own fear. As she pointed to the table where the child was. The burnt body of that little girl seemed nothing unusual in my father' s eyes. Our father' s reprimands didn' t wait. Once he returned home, he reminded us of the prohibition of playing in that place and of how the gravity of our disobedience could have serious consequences. My childish mind barely paid attention to the scolding, trying to rationalize what happened, questioning whether my fear had made that terrifying experience or whether it had really happened. The following nights were marked by disturbing dreams and a constant sense of being observed. The figure of the burnt child materialized in my nightmares, his screams rumbled in my head. My days passed in a state of constant anxiety. One night, my father had a night shift at

3:53 the morgue, which meant I would stay home alone with my brother. It wasn' t the first time that happened. In fact, it was quite common, but that time my brother saw that night as his chance to go out and have fun. When my father left my brother, he told me that night he had plans and would leave me alone I begged him to stay or take me with him, but his response was a clear and threatening warning. If I told our father that he had gone out, he' d be very upset with me and pay them very dearly. The fear of reprisals left me voiceless and I nodded silently as I watched my brother enlist to leave that night. Once this was gone the house was left in a silence only broken by the sounds of television, with which I tried to drown my anxiety.

4:51 I clung to the remote control trying to find comfort. In the dim light of the television screen, which gives me a momentary inner peace. Tiredness finally overcame me and I plunged into a restless sleep on the couch, the cold and the bad position in which I fell asleep. It ripped me out of my dream. Seeing the time, I realized it was almost midnight. The house was enveloped in an overwhelming darkness. Strange noises coming from the kitchen were the ones that caught my attention. I thought he was my brother, but my calls to this one went unanswered. I decided to investigate. I moved cautiously towards the kitchen. The darkness was dense, but I managed to distinguish a figure in the shadow. I struggled to remain calm as I lit the light, but my heart stopped when the girl burned, with her body marked by burns and blisters, appeared before my eyes, Her eyes empty but penetrating met mine. My throat closed before the surreal vision and I could barely articulate any words. I screamed loudly as I retreated in haste by closing the kitchen door. After me, my mind struggled to understand the reality of what I had seen, but no matter how much I tried to calm myself down.

6:16 Fear persisted. It was an hour before my brother finally got home. His attention was not in my shaky explanations about the girl in the kitchen. His disinterest made it clear that he had no intention of believing my words. The only thing I got in response was the horrible reprisals if I revealed his absence to our father, so I gave up the idea of receiving support from him. The next night was a torment for me, marked by a nightmare that left me trembling and sweating in my bed. In the dream I found myself walking through the endless corridors of the morgue, a luxury I knew too well. The morgue was completely empty, but as it progressed, the feeling that the corridor was spreading into eternity grew as if it were trapped in a dark maze. Unendingly, suddenly, a childish laugh rang out in the morgue, sending chills down my spine. As I turned the vision of the burnt child materialized before me. His left hand stood up in a greeting, while on the right he held huge scissors stained with a thick red liquid, a macabre vision that iced my blood. The girl started chasing me with inhuman steps.

7:40 His laughter sounded like a demon echo. I ran with all my might screaming desperately, but the hallway seemed to have no end. Every time she saw me again, the girl was closer. His deformed figure was determinedly advancing to harm me. At one point I did not know or or felt his breath on my neck. Fear completely paralyzed me before I could react, I woke up in my bed, shaking and sweating. The nightmare faded away, but its impact persisted in my mind. The house was in a disturbing silence. When I opened my eyes, the need to seek comfort prompted me to want to sleep with my father, but his room was empty, so without knowing what else to do, I decided to go with the only person who was at home with an anxiety knot. In my stomach, I went to my brother' s room in search of refuge. When he opened the door, he ran to me. My pleas were received with contempt. My brother argued that it was just a nightmare and that I stopped acting like a little boy with no choice. I went back to my room, but as I opened the door, a dark presence caught my attention in the darkest corner of my life. The figure was hardly distinguishable in the dark, but my heart froze to recognize that burnt child. Although the darkness covered her features, I

9:11 was sure it was her. Terror wrapped me up like an icy blanket. The burnt child remained silent, watching me with that lifeless look that characterized her my instinct screamed inside me, prompting me to flee my room. Without thinking, I went back and ran towards the ground floor. Because of the rush, my feet slipped halfway up the stairs and I fell by breaking my arm. A cry of pain escaped from my throat, as agony gripped me. At that very moment, the sound of the keys in the lock resounded in the house announcing my father' s arrival. The pain and fear intertwined as I lay on the ground with my broken arm and the burnt girl still present in the dark corner of my mind. My father, confused and worried to see me on the floor, the explanation of what happened stuck in my throat.

10:11 My mind struggled to find coherent words to explain what happened. I thought about telling the truth, but I didn' t know where to start. My father' s fear of reprimand for inventing stories made me unable to tell what happened, so I just said I wanted to go down for water and slipped. That was enough for my father, who hastened to take me to the hospital to attend to my arm. The time passed between visits to the doctor to treat my broken arm and sleepless nights. The burnt child, with her distorted figure, became an even more constant presence in my life, both awake and in my dreams. My relationship with my brother became more tense.

10:58 Not only had he left me alone in the house but he had also rejected me when I sought refuge in his room, and that was why I had broken my arm without mentioning that every attempt to talk about the strange presence of the burnt child was in mockery. For her part, my fear grew, fueled by the feeling that that child really wanted to hurt me and that I had no one to defend me. The nightmare of the morgue was repeated in my dreams. Again and again I walked through infinite corridors, chased by the sinister laughter of the burnt child. The scissors stained with red reflected the promise of a constant danger and each awakening was marked by the relief of escaping the nightmare. But reality became increasingly uncertain. One night, when my father had another night shift. I spent a lot of the night under the sheets.

11:58 I thought this way I' d avoid seeing that specter that tormented me. That, in fact, seemed to work, as that was the first night in a long time that I had no fear at all before sleeping. While sleeping, the nightmare returned with a renewed peculiarity. I was walking through the deserted morgue. The corridors stretched into the dark. The childish laughter resounded sending chills. I turned in response to the sound and there was the burnt child. His greeting with his left hand and the scissors on the right were a warning of what would come. The laughter became a distorted echo and persecution began.

12:43 I ran desperately, but the endless corridor mocked my efforts. The burnt child approached with every step. His deformed figure projected an aura of malice. The moment your menacing scissors were about to reach, I woke up from my nightmare. The momentary relief was mixed with the fear that was clinging to my being. The sweat covered my forehead and my heart hit my chest like a frantic drum. The house was wrapped in silence. When I opened my eyes, but my fear knew no borders. I tried to get back to sleep. The atmosphere in my room began to get so heavy, so at one point it was difficult for me to breathe, so the need to be accompanied exceeded anything, so I decided that I would try to go with my father.

13:35 But remembering that this one had a night shift. I didn' t have another one left. I knew my brother was the only one I could turn to at the time. I walked to the door of my brother' s room and opened it carefully. He ran me out of his room again he had bothered even more, insisting that he stop acting like a scary kid and stop inventing things. With my last attempt to seek refuge, I went back to my room. The darkness hovered over me and the shadow of the burnt child persisted in my mind. When I opened the door, something in the darkest corner caught my attention. A figure rose barely visible in the shadow.

14:18 Although the darkness hid its features, I was tired of all that and since I was sure that I would not receive the help of anyone, I decided to face it I shouted that it should be prolonged to leave me alone and that I no longer feared that. Last was a total lie and it was clearly reflected in my voice. The girl' s silhouette was completely immutable to my screams. Looking at me in the darkness of that corner, she suddenly took a few steps towards the light, letting her body see covered with sores in its utmost splendor. A smile was drawn on his face, while that of letting see sharp scissors in his right hand. My nightmare was coming true in front of my eyes. I couldn' t help but scream.

15:09 At the same time, my father had just arrived and could hear my cry. My alarmed father ran to my room. I was outside. I clumsily explained to him what had happened. I couldn' t keep hiding anything anymore. I tried to find the right words to express the terror that haunted me. He listened in silence, but his expression became more and more skeptical. The weeks that followed were marked by visits to the psychologist and uncomfortable conversations in which I tried to explain the situation. My brother kept making fun of me, considering my stories as mere whims of a frightened mind, as a desperate attempt to want to attract attention With time, my father sought professional help.

15:58 Doctors and SNS psychologists tried to find a logical explanation for my persistent fear and terrifying visions. No conclusive response emerged from the burnt child. I continued to be a disquieting shadow in my life, defying all logic. The nights of loneliness became unbearable and my despair increased with every appearance of the burnt child. My father, while trying to understand, was caught between the need to protect his son and the inability to understand the forces that unleashed my fear. In a desperate attempt to free myself from the dark presence that haunted me, my father decided to move with the change of dwelling. I began to become more religious. I could notice that, the more devoted I became, the appearances and sensations of that entity became more and more. Tenues, besides that spirituality gave a better focus to my life, which in that way I felt quite empty. In time I learned to live with the shadow of the burnt child, I grew up, I built my own life and today I still have nightmares, but the comforting thing is that they are only that and I hope that I will be kept that way until the day of my death. A story written and adapted by Aurora. Escalante