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Guardan Las Almas De Mi Familia Historias De Terror - Voces De La Noche · Niebla en el bosque con Evelith von

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  In those days of my adolescence, when I was barely twelve years old,
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  I experienced an event that until today haunts me like an eternal shadow. As
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  I move forward toward my thirty, the need to free this weight from my
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  past leads me to narrate the story that in its time sowed in me an
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  impenetrable mystery and persistent restlessness. My days at the age of twelve did not
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  differ too much from the other children of my age I left behind childhood,
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  although I resisted abandoning the security provided by that state. Everyday life was going
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  on without big changes until one day my grandmother was ill for a while,
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  but on this occasion she had to be seriously hospitalized in the hospital and my
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  mother was quickly plunged into the obligation to take seriously care of my grandmother and
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  was therefore forced to temporarily leave our home. Her work as a children'
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  s story illustrator gave her flexibility to continue working from the hospital. This led
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  her to offer herself as the primary caregiver. He left me alone in our
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  house. Initially she tried to balance the situation by going and coming, but
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  the fatigue of travel and the demand to provide complete care to my grandmother led
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  her to make a decision that would temporarily transform my life. After a week
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  of reflection and debate, it was determined that the wisest thing would be for
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  me to move to the house of a relative for as long as my grandmother
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  ' s convalescence lasted, although I initially resisted considering myself capable of taking care
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  of myself, reality was imposed and I accepted my destiny. My mother,
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  with the haste that the situation demanded, began the search for a suitable place.
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  I quickly suggested staying with my uncles Francisco and Daniel, with whom I
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  shared a close and friendly relationship. Initially it resonated in my mind as the
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  most appetizing option. However, the fact that they both lived in a house
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  five hours away played against me, as my mother insisted that I stay in
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  the same city where my grandmother' s hospital, the bustling city of Mexico,
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  was. That' s when, without warning, my fate bowed to
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  my Aunt Holga' s house. His name resonated in the remotest corners of
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  my memory. I barely remembered any interaction with her. The news of my
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  moving home caught me off guard and the uncertainty about who my aunt Holga really
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  was began to worry me about how little I remembered back then my aunt used
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  to be an active part of our family when I was about five years old
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  as a member. Together with her husband and older children, they always participated
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  in the festivities and family reunions. However, this connection suddenly faded more or
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  less along with my last memories of it. There was no clear explanation at
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  that time and my young age limited my understanding of the motives behind this breakdown.
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  Just thinking I' d go live in a house with people I practically
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  knew nothing about. It made me feel very rejected, as I thought I
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  would have no one to talk to, since at the age of five my
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  cousins were already teenagers, which led me to assume that by that time they
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  were already too old to interact with someone my age. My mother informed me
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  that my aunt had accepted that I should stay at her house while taking care
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  of my grandmother in the hospital, although my choice was limited, since I
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  would live only at home if I did not accept I packed some belongings and
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  went with my mother to Mexico City. That was my first time in town.
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  Although I had visited amusement parks on school excursions, I had never explored
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  the city on my own before, despite the negative stories I had heard about
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  agglomeration and crime, I was not afraid. Instead, I was excited about
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  the possibility of discovering new places. Besides, my mother' s promise to
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  take me to Macdonnols, a place I only knew on television, increased my
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  enthusiasm. We got off the bus and took a taxi that left us in
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  front of an imposing building very different from what I was used to seeing.
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  My mother called my aunt, who responded quickly to open us with her key.
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  The building reserved only for residents added an air of exclusivity. How my
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  feeling of this intensified in an unknown world. My mother, with the urgency
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  of returning to the hospital, quickly said goodbye remembering to behave and being kind
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  to my aunt I nodded with sincerity, although it was a few times that
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  I saw that woman who was my aunt Holga, I did not immediately recognize
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  her, since the last time I saw her was too small to retain every
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  trait of her face in my memory. To me, she was just a
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  stranger I' d share a few days with. I' m baffled,
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  though. I tried to be as kind as possible, not knowing that I
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  was waiting at my lazy aunt' s house. As I watched my aunt
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  carefully that she seemed to have a somewhat serious expression, my mind crossed the
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  possibility that her acceptance was not entirely genuine, but rather a gesture of commitment.
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  Despite this suspicion, I decided not to let this idea cloud my expectations
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  section. I was comforted thinking that at worst I could spend most of the
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  day in the hospital next to my mother, or venture to explore the city.
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  On my own, the third floor of the imposing building housed my aunt
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  ' s home. Although his apartment was modest, I found it quite acceptable,
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  especially considering the stories he had heard about the limited breadth of some places
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  in the city. My aunt informed me that I had two rooms while we
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  were on the elevator, sowing in me the hope of having one for myself.
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  However, upon entering my aunt Olga revealed that I would share the room
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  with my cousin. This revelation puzzled me a little, although my memory was
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  not able to completely rebuild. The image of my aunt Olga and her family
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  clearly recalled that she had two sons, both teenagers. However, Mr de
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  s s s s s s s s s s s I decided not to
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  express my surprise and just nodded in. That' s when I saw my
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  cousin at that time of about eight years, and that' s when I
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  woke up in my mind a spark of recognition. My brain clicked to recognize
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  her as the baby I remembered before my aunt Olga was separated from the family.
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  I thought there would be no problem sharing the room with her and I
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  occupied the lower bunk without further objection. Despite my initial impression that my cousin
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  would not be interested in establishing a friendship, her enthusiasm at seeing me and
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  her kindness pleasantly surprised me and I realized that, unlike other children who might
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  be upset, she was different. During the first three days, everything happened
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  with surprising normality. I spent a few hours in the hospital to visit my
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  mother and returned in the afternoons to my aunt' s house to enjoy moments
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  of play with my cousin. I felt optimistic, believing that we were building
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  a solid friendship. However, after those three days, something strange began to
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  manifest. Curiosity began to invade me, nourished by the fact that my memory
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  did not fail and I remembered that my aunt Holga was married and that there
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  were two more children in her family. However, he was unable to find
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  any trace of them anywhere in the department, no photos or signs of their
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  existence. It seemed as if they had disappeared from the face of the intrigued
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  earth as we shared moments of leisure by putting together a puzzle, I decided
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  to address the subject with my cousin wanted to be careful not to hurt their
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  feelings. So I chose to ask about his father, first exploring the terrain
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  with a question about his work. However, the answer I got left me
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  perplexed. My cousin looked at me for a few seconds and finally said her
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  father didn' t work at anything. Although my cousin' s response to
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  his father' s situation seemed strange to me, I decided not to go
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  too deep into the subject, but curiosity was still latent in me, because
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  I remembered that guy as an extremely funny and pleasant person. Moved by that
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  curiosity, I asked again this time more specifically. About your father' s
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  whereabouts. I asked him where he currently lived. My cousin looked at me
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  for a few minutes. Before answering quietly here in the house, my doubts
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  grew and a burlesque laugh escaped from my lips. How his father could live
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  in that house without me seeing him. In the last three days. I
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  thought my cousin was joking, but his serious expression indicated the opposite, he
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  repeated firmly. They really live here in the house. Untrusted. I told
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  her not to be a liar, that she hadn' t seen her father
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  at any time, and that if she did, she would have seen him
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  at lunch or something. Your answer only intensified my bewilderment. They no longer
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  need to eat and prefer to go out at night. Strangeness took over me,
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  but I kept thinking it was part of a joke made by my cousin.
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  To scare me. I insisted that she show me her father and brothers
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  at that time, challenging her to prove her claim without wasting time. My
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  cousin got off the ground and claimed she would and that they were all in
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  her mom' s room. As we approached my aunt' s room,
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  I tried to prepare for the supposed revelation. However, as we tried to
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  turn the door knob, we discovered that it was locked securely. This puzzled
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  us and my cousin said that her mother didn' t usually lock the door
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  with insurance, that she liked to leave it open in case her husband and
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  children wanted to leave. I thought everything was too convenient to support my cousin
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  ' s story and sarcasmly I told her that her lie was obvious and went
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  back to the room we shared to put together a puzzle. I was on
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  it. When my cousin entered the room jumping, he insisted that he had
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  found the keys in the kitchen and that we could enter now. Despite my
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  doubts, I followed them back to the room. As she shook the keys
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  at first, she seemed frustrated. He tried hard to find the right keys.
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  The process lasted longer than expected and I thought I was deliberately prolonging the
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  joke. Finally, after testing several keys, one of them turned and the
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  door opened. As I opened the door, a chill swept through my body
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  and the room seemed to absorb the temperature around it. It was as if
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  we had entered a different space within the same house. Simply the difference was
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  palpable, but I tried not to give it too much importance. Upon entering,
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  I noticed that the room was plunged into darkness. A thick curtain completely
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  blocked daylight. My cousin lit the light and what I saw in front of
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  me filled me with astonishment and disturbance. Three dolls each sitting on a chair
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  caught my attention right away. They weren' t realistic dolls. On the
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  contrary, they looked handmade with a cheap leather fabric. His eyes were simple
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  buttons and his noses and mouths were boiled with stammer. The restlessness grew when
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  I noticed that the dolls wore clothes that seemed to be the same as my
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  teenage cousins and uncle used to wear. The most disturbing thing was to discover
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  that each doll had a lock of hair corresponding to each of them. This
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  detail was so disturbing that it filled me with fear. I watched with horror
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  as my cousin, without showing any discomfort, happily interacted with the dolls,
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  called them by their names and then began to introduce me to each of them
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  as if they were living beings. The scene before my eyes was terrifying,
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  but for some reason I couldn' t look away. A dark, heavy
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  air filled the room and the strange connection between my cousin and those dolls suggested
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  something beyond comprehension. He was caught between unbelief and fear without knowing what to
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  do or how to react. The moment I regained the ability to speak,
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  I expressed my discomfort to my cousin and begged her to leave the room immediately
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  to do anything else. I didn' t want to get involved in trouble
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  with my aunt because I broke into her room without permission. However, my
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  cousin' s response only intensified my bewilderment and terror. She claimed those dolls
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  were her deceased relatives. He told me not to be afraid because they were
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  his father and brothers converted into dolls to stay with those they loved most for
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  eternity. I found the explanation disturbing. I couldn' t accept what my
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  cousin was saying and I asked him to stop inventing macabre stories. I warned
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  him about the consequences of getting us into trouble by entering his mother' s
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  room without permission. Despite my pleas, she insisted that she was telling the
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  truth and that those dolls were her family. In a desperate attempt to prove
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  the authenticity of his claims. My cousin looked directly at the doll representing her
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  father and asked him to prove to me that it was real. For a
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  moment, the dolls remained motionless, fueling my skepticism. I was about to
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  reject all the stories as a joke of bad taste. When, to my
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  horror, the head of the doll that was supposed to be his father,
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  he began to turn without anyone touching him. The head turned to me as
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  if the doll wanted to look directly into my eyes. I was invaded by
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  a sense of dread and before I could contain myself, I screamed and ran
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  out of the room. I took refuge in the room I shared with my
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  cousin. I closed the door behind me and trembled with my fast heart.
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  My cousin arrived a few minutes later trying to comfort me and explaining that her
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  intention was not to scare me. According to her, she only wanted to
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  show me to her family, since she never met them because they died.
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  Before she could remember her story, she acquired stranger tones. He claimed that
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  his mother had spoken to God, who had instructed him to make dolls so
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  that the spirits of his father and brothers could live again through them. Terrified.
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  I just wanted to get out of that house as soon as possible.
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  The atmosphere in that place had acquired a frightening heaviness and the story of my
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  cousin left me more confused and frightened than I was willing to admit. In
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  terror and confusion, I felt so disturbed that I even grabbed some sharp scissors
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  from the room bureau, a sort of primitive defense against what might happen.
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  Since my cousin showed me those disturbing dolls, the feeling of being observed became
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  omni present. When it was bedtime. I put the scissors under my pillow,
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  taking almost an hour to fall asleep, but my rest was ephemeral,
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  as I woke up the clear sound of the door, slowly opening with horror
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  I saw one of those dolls entering the room, moving strangely, as if
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  a rag doll tried to emulate human walking. The vision of that fabric and
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  cotton being terrified me and covered me completely with blankets, hoping it would just
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  go away for my horror. The sheets did nothing but expose my vulnerability and
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  the doll approached my bed directly. I felt clearly his attempts to remove the
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  sheets from my face and went into deep panic without thinking about it. I
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  took the scissors that lay under my bed and with a unique and trembling movement,
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  sank them into the doll' s stomach, tearing the fabric in the
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  process without looking back, ran out of the room, opening the apartment door
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  and descending each floor to the race. I was in my pajamas and barefoot,
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  but I didn' t care about that at all. I just wanted
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  to get out of that house, escape from what I had been so deeply
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  terrified of. Memories become cloudy. After that moment. I don' t
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  remember exactly how I got to the hospital where my grandmother was hospitalized. Upon
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  seeing me, my mother ran to help me worried and confused. I was
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  close to her for about an hour until she got a call from my aunt,
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  who was visibly upset. I didn' t know at that moment the
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  details of the call, but to bring all the information, when writing this,
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  I went to talk to my mother about it and it turned out that
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  my aunt smells furious. I had told her that I had killed her husband
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  and that she didn' t want to see me at her house again.
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  The reason behind this strange accusation dates back to the tragedy that had led to
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  the separation of my aunt from the rest of the family. Her two older
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  children and her husband had died in a tragic road accident. However, my
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  aunt insisted that they were still alive, a belief that led her to become
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  more and more isolated. The family' s attempts to seek psychiatric help for
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  her were unsuccessful and eventually lost almost all contact with the outside world. At
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  the time, my mother apologized for leaving me with my aunt thinking the situation
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  had improved. I told him about the dolls and my actions that night,
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  but my mother didn' t ask a lot of questions if she didn'
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  t completely believe my story. Despite that, I knew what I had experienced
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  that night, an experience that would be marked in my memory forever. Anonymous account ra