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Arderá En El Infierno Historias De Terror - Voces De La Noche · Niebla en el bosque con Evelith von

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My name is Alex. When I was a child I lived in a small
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town in my beautiful Oaxaca. My brother and I lived with my parents and
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my grandfather stoned many nights. When my grandfather didn' t get sleepy,
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he stayed outside in front of the naffre to warm himself up. My brother
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Manuel and I would go out and sit next to him. Sometimes he would
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sing us and play his guitar, sometimes he would tell us about his youth
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and his life as a teacher. He was very happy to talk to us
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and we were very funny to be with him. We even had hot tea
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coffee while we were chatting with him. There was a story he told us
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that intrigued me and scared me a lot. It was the story about a
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priest who had been burned over the year 1, 600, the priest was
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called Francisco Sorcia and was in charge of the main church of the town,
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a church that until today exists. Everyone in the village venerated him and loved
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him, for he always did his best to help the needy, even the
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animals on the street. He was always there to support others and every Sunday
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he gave a great mass to encourage people to continue their faith in the church.
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They spent many years like this, they all trusted him and put their
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lives in their hands. They held parties to celebrate the priest' s life
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and many brought him baskets, full of fruit or animals like pigs or guajolotes.
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The life at that time was very quiet and peaceful, but they say
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that there was something that disturbed the whole town, something they would never have
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imagined. The controversy began when one of the helpers of the Church, a
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devout young man who was deeply committed to his work in the House of God,
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had raised a very serious accusation against Father Francis. His trembling voice had
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proclaimed to all ears ready to hear that the priest, the person whom all
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admired and respected, had succumbed to evil, for there was evidence that he
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was in favour of Lucifer himself. The evidence of his statement was a set
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of things he had discovered in the father' s private room. When,
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by wanting to do something kind, he decided to clean it up, the
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assistant described with horror the objects he had found, detailing precisely each one of
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them. The first of these elements were black candles of a dark one so
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deep that it seemed to absorb the light around it. They were not the
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typical candles used during the liturgy. They were candles that had very strange writings.
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In addition, he had found images of the devil. They were really
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ugly and disturbing images that showed Lucifer in all his infamy. These were not
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simple illustrations, but had an appalling level of detail. The pentagram is a
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symbol known in occultism and satanic worship. It had also been discovered by that
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boy in the father' s room. This sign, often related to black
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magic and pagan rituals, made it clear that it was not a game or
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a joke, but something completely real. But the most horrible thing of all
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was the Bibles. They were not the sacred scriptures as they were known,
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but had been profaned. They were stained with blood, suggesting the performance of
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satanic rituals. In addition, his covers and pages were painted black, as
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if trying to hide the light and the truth written in a sacred book.
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These unpleasant discoveries in the father' s room not only generated a tumult in
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the religious community, but also sowed doubts and fears in the hearts of the
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parishioners. The image of a supposedly pious and devout father stained by dark and
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satanic practices sparked a whirlwind of questions and suspicions in the church and in the
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community at large. So other parents in the village went to find out if
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that was true so as not to take action against a lie and without giving
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any clues, they went to the father' s room. When they opened
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the door, the father was stuck on the ground praying and they realized that
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everything was true. There were horrible traces of witchcraft and Satanism. It was
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something disgusting and something that caused the disgust of the parents, many horrible images
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of the devil, staves and written on the wall that made no sense.
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Even the crosses that were on the wall were turned upside down, for they
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say that the devil is the greatest imitator of God. The priest Francis,
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realizing that he had been discovered, shouted at them to leave, but the
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parents told him that he had to pay for his sins the priest liar.
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He told them that nothing was what it seemed, that all that was God
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’ s work and things like that. What made the parents even more angry
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because they were mocking the Catholic Church and that they could not allow. The
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people of the village were summoned out of there to face him. Many people
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did not believe anything the parents said, because they fervently believed in Father Francis.
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He had helped them and it was not possible that those things they said
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about him were true. They said it was probably a parent' s envy.
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So the first thing that happened was he was arrested. And after that
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it was concluded that the best punishment would be to burn him alive so that
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he would burn as he was going to burn in hell for mocking God.
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Three days after the discovery, the people were called to witness the punishment of
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the father to see how he burned alive. Many people protested hours before the
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punishment of the priest Francis, asking that they not burn him, that he
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was a good priest, that many of them had been fed when they were
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hungry, had given water to those who were thirsty and had led those who
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no longer had faith. But none of that served the other parents, who,
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with their own eyes, had seen what the priest Francis was hiding in
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the back of his room. So the decision was already made. The priest
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Francis kept saying that he was innocent, that it was not what it seemed,
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even though they already knew it was true. The boy who had accused
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him went to see him in the cell and Father Francis when he saw him
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began to curse him and spit on him. The young man was glad to
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have unmasked him because he knew that they would get rid of a liar Before
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he left, he asked the father because he had been good to the people
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of the village, and he told him that some of the Sunday prayers were
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actually for the devil and that if he earned them, then they could join
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his lord The Devil as well and have many people in his sect. The
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day came and they took the father to the center of the city and made
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a campfire where they put Father Francis in that moment, while burning in flames,
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began to curse the whole town blaspheming also something that greatly surprised the people
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who still had faith in him, as they realized that everything that had been
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said was true. Many ladies even cried out for the truth of the father
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and others shouted things like a liar and you' re going straight to hell.
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While the father' s body was burning, strange figures were seen in
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the smoke and in the flames. It was a very unpleasant scenario, something
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that many preferred not to see anymore as a human being died screaming in the
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fire. Finally, only the bones of that father who had been in charge
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of cursing the people and inducing them to worship satan in life remained. It
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wasn' t the same back there. After that horrible episode. Many no
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longer believed in the Church, for they feared that one of the other parents
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was also doing these diabolical practices and there was nothing to guarantee that what they
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said at Mass was a lie. In those years, many people did not
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know how to read so they fully believed in what the Government and the Church
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were saying. However, they were not ignorant to continue believing in the word
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of the parents and for a long time on Sundays, the Church was completely
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empty. That worried church parents that there was no more tithe, even though
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they were even going to ask for it at home. But after Father Francis,
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they no longer wanted to know anything about the People' s Church.
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For that reason, the souls of the people were unprotected without the word of
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God or the Devil, and in those years there were many shortages, much
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hunger, very intense colds, lack of water and extreme poverty. People rumored
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that the good of the past years was actually because of the Devil for praying
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to him, for worshipping him even without knowing. But everyone preferred lack before
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returning to the Church. After several generations in which they said that God had
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forsaken them, the new ones and those came and trusted the Church again to
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this day. That macabre story my grandfather told us repeatedly made me think a
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lot and always had questions for him. At that age we did not understand
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much about religion. So several parts of the story seemed confusing to me.
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My parents scolded Grandpa Pedrito when he told us that kind of thing. They
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told him that we were small to understand and listen to those stories, but
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Grandpa said he wanted us to tell our grandchildren one day too. Above all,
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I remember that there was a specific occasion after Grandpa told us that story.
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I couldn' t sleep. I was very afraid to know that there
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were such people who worshiped the devil. Anyway, the damn priest' s
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story triggered a series of events that marked me for life, being still a
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nine- year- old boy. I remember going with my brother Manuel for
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some errands that our parents had asked for. We had to go for a
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basket of bread and then bring it to the Church to Father Jesus Guerrero,
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the head of the Church. My parents used to take something to the father
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from time to time in gratitude for his kindness and to spread his teachings and
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the word of God over all the people. I remember it was a bit
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late, about six o' clock in the afternoon, when the warm bread
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came out, so we waited in the long line of people going for bread
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as well while we waited. My brother Manuel began to tell me that we
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were going to the Church that perhaps Father Jesus was not as good as he
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looked. I told him in a tone of disapproval that he would stop saying
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nonsense that the story Grandpa told us had happened a long time ago and in
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those times. Everything was different. Manuel kept saying the same thing, he
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even began to imitate Father Francis making noises and movements as if he was burning
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to what I told him to stop doing those things. Several people in the
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beast looked at us, some turned their eyes and others saw us ugly.
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It took about ten minutes and we finally went to the bakery. We had
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several shells, crockery, pastry breads and some cookies that we took to the
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box to get them into the basket. We pay and walk towards the Church.
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We were in winter, so we had the same schedule today, where
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it was dark at about six o' clock, so the road was a
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little dark, but everything was more enjoyable, because we were talking and joking.
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My brother Manuel, a strong seven- year- old boy, was
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my faithful companion. In these adventures we got along exceptionally well. Beyond the
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simple relationship of brothers. He was my best friend. We spent most of
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our time together, sharing laughter, dreams and anecdotes. When he was sent
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to some task or to buy something, I was always there to accompany him,
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and the same happened the other way around. If I was given an
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errand, he wouldn' t hesitate to join me. That evening we walked
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a good time talking about coloring books our toys and that kind of thing,
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but my brother spoke again about the theme of Father Francis, the story he
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told us. Grandpa didn' t really understand why he was so obsessed with
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the subject that day, if we had several times gone to church to leave
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things to the father and never said anything about it. And the truth,
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as a child, began to frighten me and I began to imagine the scenario
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that my brother was saying, where the present Father of the people, Father
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Jesus, was actually a bad person and hid bad things deep in the Church.
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My nervous laughter denoted fear and my brother realized, even though he was
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smaller, he was very fond of the horror stories he told us. Grandpa
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loved those themes and always drew monsters with horrible tongs, ugly faces, tentacles,
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green, black or red. I was struck by those themes, but
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I preferred cartoons or drawing my family. Grandpa Pedrito always told us that he
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was proud of how brave we were at our age, something that he did
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not know if it was entirely true, because I was afraid of many things.
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Anyway, we kept walking and I told Manuel to shut up, stop
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talking about the burnt father, but he laughed more and more and he wouldn
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' t listen to me. He told me it was his favorite story and
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asked me if I thought it had really happened or it was just an invention
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of Grandpa. I told him that it was surely not true, that it
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was a simple legend, something that south had only been told from generation to
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generation, like the story of the Llorona and that, in case it had
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really happened maybe it had not been as horrible as Grandpa told it. We
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began to talk a lot about the subject, although I was afraid. It
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would be a lie to say it wasn' t interesting. I can say
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that the way, rather than seem shorter, seemed eternal. I felt like
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we were walking and walking and we didn' t get to the Church.
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We kept talking and finally arrived we entered and the Church was completely empty the
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light of the hanging lamps illuminated the wooden benches and gave an aspect of peace.
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We said the name of Father Jesus out loud, because we knew he
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was probably out there as usual, but no one answered. I told Manuel
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to wait for a few minutes that he might have gone to the bathroom or
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was bathing, although being frank, it was weird for me to leave the
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church alone. Normally there was at least the father' s helper, but
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we waited a while and called Father Jesus again, but again no one answered
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until a voice came out from behind the main altar and said children, pass
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him by are at home. Sorry I was busy. Hundreds of times we
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had heard the father' s voice at Masses or when we were going to
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visit him, but that time it sounded strange. It was more serious as
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if he was sick from his throat. And that' s exactly what I
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thought. Manuel told him that we had taken Pani and he with the same
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voice, told us to pass to the other side of the altar, where
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no one passed only the Father and his sacristans. That seemed even more strange
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to us, because all the times we had gone to see him, he
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received us in the Church as such on the benches and began to talk with
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us. I told him out loud that if he could get out, because
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we were in a hurry, but he responded saying he couldn' t,
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because he was undressed and in civilian clothes and if anyone else in town saw
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him they would be upset. We kept thinking and Manuel started walking there,
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but I held him by the arm and said no. My brother stared at
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me and I told him that everything was very strange and that it was better
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for us to leave. He nodded with his head and when we were going
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to start walking toward the exit, the father' s voice was heard again
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and told us that he really wanted the bread to please pass. Although deep
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down I knew something was wrong. His voice seemed to envelop us and we
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headed behind the main altar. There were several rooms and a long corridor.
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We didn' t see him later, so we asked his name out loud
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and r and r was heard in the distance in one of the rooms and
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said to pass by, follow his voice and walk down the hall. We
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' ve never seen the church inside, so it was really weird. Everything
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looked a little careless and old. The metal doors looked rusty and the wood
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was already damaged. The father' s voice seemed to come from everywhere and
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nowhere really, so for a moment we got confused and walked around the hall,
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where there was a room at the bottom, with the door completely closed
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and had a lock that seemed to have been broken. By the way.
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We heard the father' s voice right there, so we walked to that
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room. We slowly opened the door and gnashed at how old a sulfur smell
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was coming out of that place when the door was completely open. First everything
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was darkness until our eyes adapted and what we saw made us vomit. The
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room was very old and as soon as we set foot inside, we set
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out running, but the door closed behind us, something that made my brother
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very nervous. There was a bed in the back with a wooden base.
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Half of it had already been eaten by moths. The color was coffee over
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time and there was a table in the center with a black tablecloth. In
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it were very old Bibles covered with what appeared to be blood. There were
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very rare images and strange figures drawn on the wall. My brother and I
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took a step back and suddenly the door opened slowly and when we set out
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right at the entrance, we ran into something that I have not yet managed
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to forget. He was a burnt man, his eyes were totally black and
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he was wearing a coffee cassock. He was the priest Francis, the priest
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of history. My brother dropped the basket of bread and began to vomit and
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then. Me too later we started screaming and that disgusting entity told us that
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we had been making fun of him and that we were going to pay for
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it. Very expensive. He took my brother by the neck with his hand
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burned, which left Manuel' s hand marked as if he had burned.
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Our cries were heard by Father Jesus, who had just arrived. When he
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saw us there trembling with fear, he asked us what we were doing there,
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but we couldn' t even answer him. We were sweating cold and
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we couldn' t even talk about everything at that table. He seemed to
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have disappeared, as did the burnt priest when Father Jesus arrived. Later,
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Father Jesus took us to the benches of the Church and gave us a glass
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of water. A while later, we s s s s s s o
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s had gone out because one of the ladies of the village had sent him
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to bring emergency and finally we could tell him what had happened. He told
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us that maybe we had imagined everything, even though he had seen Manuel'
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s burn, but instead of denying it, we didn' t say anything,
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we already wanted to go home. He took us to our parents and
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Grandpa Pedrito. We simply told our parents that Manuel had been burned by accident.
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My mother cured him and then we went to tell Grandpa, Grandpa Pedrito.
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Nothing surprised. He told us that sometimes they' re not all legends
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and that we shouldn' t make fun of that kind of thing. Or
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if they couldn' t come after us. He gave us a hug and
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told us that for the moment there would be no more horror stories. It
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' s been many years since that, but I remember perfectly the priest Francis
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wanting to hurt us and that many times we don' t know all the
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stories are false.