Los Muertos Me Hablan En La Morgue Historias De Terror - REDE

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Bodies that speak. I worked in
a morgue, in a big hospital.

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I remember a few months ago,
something strange started to happen there the bodies

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that were on the metal stretchers.
Suddenly they started talking to me. Dead

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people who shouldn' t be able
to talk anymore started telling me things.

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At first I thought I was going
crazy that my mind was playing tricks on

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me because of work fatigue or something. I tell you, my job is

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to prepare the bodies for examination or
to be given the last farewell. I

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put their bodies in the living room
clean and make them look as presentable as

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possible for when families come to say
goodbye. I also help with autopsies when

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it' s necessary to know the
cause of death. In my day to

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day, the atmosphere is quite dark
and quiet, apart from the occasional noise

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of the equipment and the cold buzz
of the refrigerators, where we keep the

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bodies to preserve them. But for
a few months now the silence began to

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break with voices, voices coming from
the lifeless bodies in front of me.

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At first they were murmurs, things
I could hardly understand. Then the voices

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became clearer. The things you tell
me aren' t nice. They are

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not happy memories of your life or
messages to your loved ones. Rather they

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are dark secret confessions that they never
dared to tell when they were alive,

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thoughts that tormented them in their last
moments. These revelations made me uncomfortable.

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He was quite happy to be an
assistant who didn' t have to do

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much mental effort, someone who simply
took care of moving bodies from one side

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to the other and keeping everything in
order. I liked the routine and predictability

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of work at the Morgue, where
the calm atmosphere and constant rhythm were just

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what I needed. That' s
how I started in this field of work,

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in a job that seemed to fit
perfectly with my personality and my needs.

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But that was just the beginning of
my career at the morgue. From

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there, things took an unexpected turn
and became much more complicated than I would

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ever have imagined. I had been
working with bodies for three years when one

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day my boss offered to change to
the night shift. I thought about it

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a little bit. The pay was
a little better, a few more dollars

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a night. Besides, I'
ve always been someone who prefers the night.

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I feel more active when the sun
sets, so in the end I

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said yes, at that time I
had no fear or special concerns than that

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someone could imagine me thinking of working
alone in the middle of the night surrounded

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by corpses. To me, dead
bodies were that and nothing else. At

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least that' s what I thought
back then how wrong I was. If

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I could come back in time,
I' d stop myself before accepting that

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offer. So I started my new
schedule and the first nights were, like

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any other, in a morgue located
in the basement of a large hospital.

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Everything seemed normal. As long as
it fits. The morgue has always been

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a place of contrasts where bodies are
seen in all the imaginable conditions, accidents,

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old diseases that simply fell asleep to
not wake up anymore. The variety

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was large and each body told a
different story of how it ended there.

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Nights at the morgue began quietly.
I was checking that all the bodies were

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in place, that the labels matched, and that the refrigerators were working properly.

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Then I sat down to read or
listen to music while doing regular rounds

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to make sure everything was in order. It was a lonely job, but

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I was used to loneliness and I
liked the stillness of those hours. However,

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over time, that tranquility that I
liked so much, began to be

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interrupted by small whispers that I knew
were coming out of the corpses. It

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was one night, like any other, in the hospital morgue, located in

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a gloomy, silent basement, we
had received the bodies of an elderly man

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and woman. They had no visible
wounds and nothing in them suggested a violent

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death, so I assumed that old
age had been the cause of their death.

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He had just moved the man from
the ca stretcher to the metal slab,

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where we usually performed the procedures and
was busy filling in the relevant documentation

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to register his entry. While I
was dealing with these details, the cold,

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static air of the amorgue. He
was interrupted by a voice. It

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was a snoring and dry voice,
as if coming from another world, a

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voice that would not wait for its
hearing in such a place, uttered a

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word that made me stop for a
moment. Killed. At that moment,

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I felt no fear, only confusion. I thought maybe my mind was messing

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with me because of the atmosphere and
the time. My companion David, who

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was also there that night, did
not seem to have heard anything or to

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be involved in what I had heard. He continued his work as if nothing

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had happened. Soon he told me
he needed to go to the bathroom and

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left me alone with the two bodies. David' s footsteps resounded in the

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hallway until they were completely lost.
He left me alone in that icy and

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silent space, the shadows moved a
little by the flickering of the lights felt

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something strange, as if the air
had been charged with a tension that I

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could not explain. It wasn'
t fear, it was more like an

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anticipation or like when you know something' s about to happen, but you

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don' t know what it is. My eyes fell on the body right

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in front of me I was an
old man with pale, cold skin,

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closed eyes and marked wrinkles. Suddenly, the silence was interrupted by a deaf

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creak, as if something or someone
was moving. The sound of the wheels

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of an old stretcher broke the calm
squeaking softly on the ground. My heart

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began to beat faster and without realizing
it, I held my breath It was

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then, when I heard it a
snoring voice almost like a whisper, but

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clear and chilling killed, The sound
seemed to float in the air, collapsing

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in my ears and coming down my
spine. The voice came from behind the

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body that I had forgotten was there. I turned slowly almost without wanting to

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see what was waiting for me.
Terror invaded me when I saw how unimaginable

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the woman lying on the other stretcher, who should have been as dead as

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anyone else there was sitting. His
eyes were still closed, but his face

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showed a stiff and grotesque smile.
He could see the signs of decomposition beginning

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to appear with the skin turning purple, his hair gray and careless. It

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looked like a shelter for rats,
all tangled up by the sudden transfer to

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this place. As he watched his
mouth he began to slowly open his mouth.

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The stained teeth became visible between dry
and cracked lips. The voice sounded

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again emanating from her rotting throat,
but it was not a normal voice.

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It was like someone else was talking
through his body, like a ventriloquist who

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used a dead man to perform his
macabre show. The woman' s mouth

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did not move, only remained open, as that creepy voice repeated the same

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word over and over again killed I
said my knees began to tremble as if

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all the weight of my body suddenly
turned too much for them. I felt

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the sweat begin to form on my
forehead small drops that come together and slip

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down my face. I didn'
t know what to do or where to

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look I kept wondering where David would
be in a corner of my mind I

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kept that little hope that all this
was a joke, although deep down I

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knew that jokes in a place like
this aren' t the most common thing.

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Suddenly, a cold, wet hand
grabbed my shoulder that feeling of dead

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skin against mine. I smelled my
blood. I didn' t need to

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turn around, I knew who I
was. Although inside I begged to be

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wrong. I didn' t hear
any movement, no whispering of clothes,

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no gnashing of bones. It'
s only by cold and safe hand.

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Then that voice whispered directly into my
ear someone' s whisper is usually warm

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feeling the breath, but this was
different. It was like listening to the

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echo of a cold void, a
whisper without life. The dead man said

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only two words, but in them
there was a weight that crushed my soul.

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Our son said I closed my eyes
tightly, trying to block that reality,

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wishing that opening it all would have
been a nightmare. But not when

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I opened them everything was the same. The same room lit by lights that

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buzzed the same corpse that now had
its mouth open. A grotesque sound broke

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the silence as if something very wet
and heavy were forcing through too narrow a

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space. That' s when I
saw the dead woman opening her eyes.

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They were two lifeless white spheres,
fixed on me, piercing every defense my

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mind tried to put with an effort
that seemed superhuman, she moved her stiff,

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heavy legs to one side of the
stretcher trying to stand. That'

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s what finally broke me. I
couldn' t be there another second.

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I ran out of the morgue pushing
the doors that oscillated with every blow of

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my despair, ran down the hall
and almost stumbled upon David, who looked

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bewildered and had two cups of coffee. I didn' t stop to explain

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I couldn' t, I just
needed to get out of there. I

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got to my car, started the
engine and drove as fast as I could.

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The streets were dark and lonely and
my mind was in a whirlwind of

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fear and confusion. Every red light
was a torture. Every time I closed

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my eyes, I saw the image
of that broken mouth and those lifeless eyes.

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Looking at me the words of the
dead bodies killed and our son repeated

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himself over and over again in my
head. I didn' t need to

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be a detective to understand what they
were implying, but at that point the

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only thing that really mattered to me
was if I was losing my mind before

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I could figure it out. I
was already stopping the car I had panicked

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and now, when my mind cleared
up a little bit, I found myself

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watching the surroundings. I was in
a lonely street, I was in some

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suburb that didn' t recognize the
sky in the distance. It was beginning

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to clear up a little bit,
it was beginning to dawn, but it

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was still dark enough. I looked
at the house in front of me.

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It was a simple house, rancher
type, with a dim and orange light

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shining through the front window. The
words Matado and our son resonated in my

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head something inside me told me that
that house was related to all this,

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although I didn' t know how. I felt strangely drawn to it as

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if an invisible force pushed me.
I turned off the engine and almost without

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thinking I got out of the car. I walked to the door with silent

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steps. I got to the oak
door and knocked three times. My whole

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being screamed that I should go back
to the car, but I was already

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here and the night had only gone
from bad to worse. The door opened

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slowly. Behind the door appeared a
tired- looking man, probably in his

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forties his holes reflected tiredness. He
frowned with a look of deep suspicion and

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concern. The appearance of his face
gave the impression that he had not slept

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in days, which was not surprising. Considering the time, it was evident

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that something kept him awake, something
probably related to the fact that his parents

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had been killed. That was the
only explanation that my mind, still,

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trying to connect the dots, could
offer at that time, neither of us

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seemed to be thinking clearly. Opening
the door to a stranger at 4:

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30 a m wasn' t exactly
the wise thing to do, but there

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we were face to face sharing eyes
at that moment. As our gazes stood,

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images began to appear in my mind
as if a film were unfolding.

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These intense and lively visions began to
reveal facts that my conscience had not yet

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fully processed. It was as if
the mystery I had been chasing all night

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began to unravel right in front of
my eyes. Everything became a series of

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vivid and terrifying images that I couldn' t help but see. There were

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the two elders, the same ones
who were now lying in the morgue under

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my care, but in this vision
they were alive, although weak and fragile.

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In his bed it was noticed that
they were completely dependent on the man

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in front of their own son for
almost everything in their day to day,

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the scene was quiet, almost normal, until it was not. I watched

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the man in front of me.
In my vision I could see frustration accumulating

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on his face a mixture of tiredness
and resentment that reflected on his tired eyes.

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Then, without warning, his actions
changed drastically. I saw him take

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a pillow and with a decision that
seemed to have been made a long time

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ago, he pressed it firmly on
his mother' s face. The anguish

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and surprise did not last long in
her. Soon his body stopped fighting and

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remained motionless. After making sure that
his mother was no longer breathing, the

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man slowly walked to the other side
of the bed, where his father was

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probably conscious, but too weak to
intervene. He repeated the act with a

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coldness that would freeze my blood,
put the pillow on his father' s

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face and applied pressure until he too
stopped moving. The vision was clear and

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heartbreaking. As the scene unfolded before
me, man' s expression changed from

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suspicion to confusion. He didn'
t seem to understand why I stared at

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him with my pale face and eyes, probably reflecting the horror I felt inside.

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Our gazes were still intertwined and although
we were only physically facing each other,

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I was seeing much more. It
was as if I could see through

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him straight into the past that maybe
I wanted to forget watching the man in

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front of me trying to reconcile the
image of the caring son with that of

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the murderer of his own parents.
I felt a heaviness in my chest.

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After that moment, so weird and
terrifying in the house, I managed to

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gather some strength and ran towards my
car. I climbed up and started as

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fast as I could. My only
goal was to go home, get away

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from everything I had lived that night
while driving my mind was not stopping.

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On the one hand, I wanted
to forget everything I had seen and pretend

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it was just a bad dream,
but on the other hand, part of

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me needed to understand exactly what had
happened, why it had happened. When

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he got home, he was completely
exhausted. It was a huge relief to

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enter my door and leave the outside
world behind. I went straight to my

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room and fell into bed. It
didn' t take me a minute to

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close my eyes and plunge into a
deep sleep, one of those dreams where

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you don' t dream anything,
just darkness and silence. When I woke

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up it was the sound of my
phone that got me out of sleep.

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There were lots of messages and missed
calls. They were David' s and

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my boss' s, all worried
about how I' d gone. After

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I ran out of work, I
didn' t know exactly what to tell

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them, so I made up a
quick story. I told them I had

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felt bad because something I ate was
food poisoning and that was why I had

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come out so suddenly, although inside
me what I really wanted was to stay

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home that night. I even thought
about quitting my job, but something inside

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of me. He wouldn' t
let me do it, so, against

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all odds, I assured them that
I would be fine and that I would

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go to work on my night shift. Without fail. I thanked you for

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worrying about me. I got to
the hospital last night and I felt something

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had changed. The atmosphere was different. There was like a weight in the

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air, a kind of tension that
seemed to cover the whole place. I

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didn' t want to give it
much importance. I tried to focus on

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my work. However, I noticed
that David watched me every time I passed

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by. Even if I didn'
t look directly at him, I could

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feel his eyes on me like I
was trying to read my thoughts. Or

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worried about how I was behaving after
what happened that night at the morgue.

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Despite the apparent normality of the first
hours, an unexplained tension continued to weigh

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in the air. We had been
busy, as usual, filling out papers

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and handling routine procedures with the bodies
we were supposed to prepare and move to

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the basement. But under that routine, the feeling that something else was about

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to happen never left me. I
was in the middle of cleaning up some

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of the tools we use daily,
making sure everything was in order. When

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I heard it again, the same
snoring and deep voice that had haunted me

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the night before became present once again
in the morgue. The word killed resounded

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clearly in the cold and silent space. This time my reaction was different.

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I didn' t jump or look
where I came from in despair. Instead,

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I decided not to act as if
nothing had gone from anger. I

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watched David see if he had heard
anything, but his expression did not change.

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He showed no signs of having listened
to the voice, which calmed me

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momentarily. Although I wasn' t
sure of the source of the voice at

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the time it didn' t take
me much to figure out where I should

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look. The Morgue has a large
wall of stainless steel cabinets where we store

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the bodies. It was there that
my attention was directed. Convinced that the

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voice came from some part of that
cold metal structure, I felt a strange

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attraction to a specific cabinet. I
remembered opening it a few days ago to

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record a particularly tragic case. He
was a young man of a similar age

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to mine, whose face had been
disfigured horribly broken almost in half. The

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report indicated that it had been a
work accident, but in my mind something

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did not fit. I decided to
call David, trying to sound as natural

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as possible, and I mentioned that
I' d check the body to see

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if the label was okay. David
simply nodded without saying a word, giving

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me the approval to proceed with David' s authorization, I turned to the

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specific cabinet that had caught my attention. When I opened it, the view

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I found was desolate and completely unexpected. The dark and disorbited eyes of the

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man stared at me. They were
completely open, which surprised me deeply because

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when I put his body there I
know for sure that his eyes were closed.

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The state he was in was appalling. The man had suffered a fatal

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accident while repairing a nicknamer had fallen
in a way his Su his pr impacted

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directly on the exposed blades of the
machine. The result was a grotesque wound

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that divided his mouth so that it
seemed almost separate from the rest of his

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face. In addition, it had
deep red cuts stretching from its neck to

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its cheeks. Passing under those eyes
that now looked at me with an expression

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of pure terror, I observed his
face disfigured carefully. Suddenly, his jaw

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began to shake violently. The two
hanging parts of his face opened up even

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more revealing his broken teeth and the
remains of his tongue with a superhuman effort.

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The lifeless body murmured a dead word. His voice was so weak and

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distorted that I could barely grasp what
he was saying. I looked him right

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in the eye and nodded in recognition
of his words. Pushed with difficulty added

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my boss. Unlike the night before, this revelation didn' t make me

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run or panic. I simply closed
the drawer slowly, sealing back his rest

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and continued my work as if nothing
had happened. The hours went on and

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I finished my shift. I got
out of the hospital and got into my

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car with only one destination in Mind, I wasn' t completely sure where

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I was going, but something inside
of me was driving me. I drove

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for a while until I arrived in
front of another normal looking house, in

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a neighborhood I didn' t recognize. I didn' t know how I

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should be there, but something inside
of me told me that the man who

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resided in that house had committed a
terrible act. I felt an urgent need

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to confront this new reality, to
face someone who had caused so much harm.

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Maybe it was justice or maybe curiosity
that drove me, but I knew

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there was something important I needed to
discover inside that house. Without hesitation I

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approached the nearest window of the house
and with a quick and firm blow of

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my elbow, I broke the glass
the sound of the glass. Breaking up,

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it rumbled in the dark, but
I didn' t stop to think

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about the consequences. I entered the
house through the broken window, shaking the

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glass fragments of my arms and clothes. As I entered the room, I

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saw a middle- aged man sleeping
in a reclining armchair, holding a half

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- empty beer can in one hand. It was at that time that I

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had another vision that further clarified the
situation. In the vision, the man

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was standing behind the young worker at
the construction site. His expression was distorted

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by a grimace of rage. As
I watched the young man repair the pruning

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machine, I saw the young man
activate the blades of the machine, drying

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his forehead sweat with a gesture of
satisfaction when he saw that the pruning machine

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was working again. But then the
man violently pushed the young man face to

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the rotating blades. A squirt of
blood splashed the air, staining both the

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team and the boss red. For
a brief moment I wondered why I would

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have done something like that, but
almost immediately I dismissed the question. Sometimes

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people just commit horrible acts. That
is a harsh and cruel reality. Acting

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00:25:38.119 --> 00:25:42.799
decisively, I walked toward the man
still asleep and snatched the beer can out

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of his hand before he could react
or even wake up. I totally smashed

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the can into his head. The
man jumped surprised, already sore, almost

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falling off the couch. The man
as a bit who wanted to beat me

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up, but then I told him
that I knew exactly what I had done.

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I began to describe everything I had
seen in my head and told the

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man that I was working in the
morgue, where the body of the person

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he had killed was and that his
victim was sending him greetings. The man

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was shocked after listening to me could
not articulate any words already with my work

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done I left the house and from
that time on it took me some time

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to give a message to certain people
who have killed people, I don'

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t do it when the body that
asks me to do it has a bullet

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impact, because that means that if
I upset the culprit, because I could

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also get shot. But if the
body that speaks to me did not have

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a violent death, I decide to
do you the favor of going with your

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perpetrator and telling him that his victim
greets you since death. Tale written and

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adapted by Ramire