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Lo Que Hacemos Por Amor Historias De Terror - Voces De La Noche · Niebla en el bosque con Evelith von

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My name is Lucía Torres and I am currently an English teacher, because I
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am really passionate about teaching work in a prestigious high school in the heart of
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the city. My daily life is an academic routine, always among books and
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young students eager to acquire knowledge of the world, though not all. But
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despite the normality of my life, there are certain experiences that I have had
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to disturb my mind. Every once in a while. Just a few days
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ago, on one of our usual breaks, I was sharing coffee and conversation
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with another teacher between laughter and anecdotes of our respective working days. The talk
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led to a darker and incomprehensible territory, which are paranormal experiences those encounters with
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the mysterious, with how rare it is that NN marks our lives in ways
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that we still cannot understand. That occasion I described with details an experience that
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I had lived in my youth, one that still today makes me shudder and,
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although I noticed a sparkle of surprise and skepticism in his eyes, I
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continued my narration. I think, deep down, she didn' t believe
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me at all, but well, I' m willing to share my story
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with anyone who dares to read it or listen to it, hoping that they
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understand that good and bad coexist in our world and that sometimes bad is camouflaged
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with goodness to confuse us and hurt us. It all happened when I was
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a 17- year- old girl, full of doubts and insecurities, trying
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to understand the complex world of love and relationships. He lived in a small
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town in Morelos, a place where the days passed slowly and calmly. There
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I lived with my grandmother and mother, two strong women whom I admired to
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this day, who have always looked after my well- being. My mother
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spent most of her time working, always striving to provide me with a better
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future. As a result, most of the time I stayed in the care
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of my grandmother, who became my confidant and guide during that time. At
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that time I was in a period of rebellion and confusion. I' d
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been dropping out of school for a year. A decision given to my low
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academic performance and taken as a form of punishment for not trying hard enough in
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my studies. At that time I did not understand the value of education,
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as I did not go to school. I had to help my grandmother at
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home. She had taught me how to cook and every day we prepared the
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food together for all three of us. He also washed the frets. After
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every meal. In addition to cooking and washing the dishes, I also took
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care of the clothes. He separated the clothes by colors and types of cloth
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before putting them in the washing machine in order to prevent them from being damaged
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or discoloured. I had gotten used to the scent of softener and the feeling
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of fresh and clean clothes. When he finished his clothes, he took the
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broom to sweep away the dust. Then he moped away leaving the floor shiny
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and clean. My grandmothers always said that one could say a lot about one
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person because of how he kept his home, so he always tried to do
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things the best he could, although deep down he longed to go back to
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school, in addition to doing Sunday mornings they were special for me and my
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grandmother attended church. She was a very devout woman and enjoyed her faith.
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In that church that stood out for its ancient architecture and wooden benches. There
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was also Victor, a friend of the school, who was a sacristan.
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He was there not by faith, but also as a punishment from his mother,
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after having fled his house to go to a high school party, so
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for a while he would have to help in the tasks of the Church.
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It was in that same church that I met Ramiro, a boy who went
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to Mass with his aunt every Sunday. The first time I saw him he
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was sitting on the benches on the right, right in the first row,
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while I was on the left, in the third row, so I could
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see him perfectly. I thought he was the most handsome guy in the world.
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His smile lit up the whole church and his torn eyes seemed to me
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like the doors of the universe. On that day he wore a navy blue
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jacket that contrasted with his light skin and denim pants. After the Mass I
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tried to find him in the crowd, but I no longer saw him That
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very afternoon I decided one of the pizzerias downtown with my friends. I'
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m not a big football fan, so when the game started on the restaurant
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screens, I got distracted by looking at people coming in and out of the
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place. That' s when I saw him was the boy from the church
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and he had just arrived with a couple of friends. My heart hit hard
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when I saw him come in. Ramiro headed towards the table opposite that casually
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turned towards television, where the party was broadcast. He and his friends seemed
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to be extremely interested in the game, but I couldn' t take my
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eyes off him. From time to time I saw his eyes, deviate from
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the game and look in my direction. At first I thought I was hallucinating,
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but my friend, who had noticed my interest, corroborated what I was
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seeing. I could not help but smile every time our eyes met and he
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corresponded to me smiles with his. I felt an immediate connection with him,
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as if we were two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit in. My
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friends wanted to leave after a while, but I begged them to stay a
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little longer. I didn' t want to miss the opportunity to share that
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space with that kid. One of my friends told me that the boy was
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not from the village, that he came from Puebla and that' s probably
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why I hadn' t seen him before. After several exchanges of looks and
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smiles, one of the waitresses of the place approached our table with a blender
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that I had not asked for. With a smile. He told me the
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malt was a gift from the guy across the table. Although I wanted to
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scream out of the excitement, I simply thanked him and asked him to thank
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Ramiro for the blender. When we finally had to go, I looked up
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to say goodbye to him. Ramiro looked at me, smiled and raised his
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hand as a farewell sign. I did the same thing, feeling a tickle
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in my stomach at the thought of seeing him again. That day that began
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like any other, it ended up being what I thought would be the most
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beautiful love story, though it wasn' t. Anyway, the days passed
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and I kept thinking about him and fate smiled at me. When I saw
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him again a week later, once I had gone for a few things downtown
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and that time I took the opportunity to ask me out and with all the
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enthusiasm of the world I accepted. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon when I
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met him the boy I had met at the church and who I had been
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flirting with at the pizzeria. We decided to take a casual walk in the
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sun, refreshing ourselves with the side we bought in the park. As we
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ate our ice creams, we started talking, letting the conversation flow. Naturally,
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he told me his name was Ramiro and shared with me that he was
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originally from Puebla and that he had moved to the village to live with his
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aunt because of some family problems they had had. For some reason, I
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felt I could trust him. For my part, I told him about my
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life, my routines and the dreams I wanted to achieve. Someday. It
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was amazing how our words and laughter filled the afternoon, making time fly by
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After finishing our ice creams, we decided to explore further and walk down a
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very long street. The sadoquins under our feet shone with the sunset light.
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I was wearing high heels. It wasn' t the best idea for a
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walk, but I took advantage of it to get closer to him, so
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I asked him if I could take him by the arm to keep the balance.
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His arm turned out to be the perfect support, giving me the stability
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I needed and I felt very happy. Every time I spoke her voice,
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it seemed perfect to me, it had a warm and comforting tone that made
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me feel more fortunate and every time I smiled my heart, it seemed to
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make leaps of joy. I know it sounds like a love story, but
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it didn' t. That was just the beginning of a story of absolute
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terror. It' s been five months since that Sunday. During that time,
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Ramiro and I continued to see each other daily, though sometimes only for
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a few minutes. Every encounter. It was like a little spark of happiness
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in my life. However, despite our closeness, he never asked me to
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be officially boyfriends and a small voice inside told me that maybe I would never
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do it. Besides, more began to change. He began to borrow money
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from me, to ask me to buy him food and his deal with me
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became colder and more distant. It was as if he had become a completely
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different person than that lovely boy I knew. In spite of everything, I
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could not help but feel a strong attachment to him. My grandmother and mother
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noticed the change in my behavior and that my appetite had decreased considerably and no
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longer showed interest in helping with household chores. My friends, seeing my sadness,
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advised me to leave, but it was something I couldn' t do
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I wanted too much. I was so wrapped up in my feelings for Ramiro
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that any suggestion of breaking up with him was unbearable to listen to. After
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seven long months of being with him clear, uncompromising, Ramiro decided to end
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an entire day without warning. He simply told me that we could no longer
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be together and with those words he walked away as if time together meant nothing
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to him. For me, at seventeen years old and living my first love.
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I felt like the world was going to end without him. I know
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it sounds ridiculous, but at that age, every experience feels intense. I
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felt as if I had lost an essential part of myself It was a Thursday,
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when it happened that same day, I sought comfort in the place where
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I met him the Church. At that time and during the week, the
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Church was practically empty. There, under the great cross and the colorful stained
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glass windows, I fell apart and cried, asking God to help me get
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Ramiro back to be with me. As I cried, I felt a hand
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touching my shoulder. When I turned around, I was or was Victor,
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my sacristan friend. Looking at me with concern. Seeing my condition, he
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asked me what was going on While I was crying, I told him all
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my relationship with Ramiro, as I had changed and as it had all ended,
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Victor listened in silence. His eyes reflected empathy. When I finished,
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he told me it wasn' t worth suffering for someone like Ramiro. However,
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I couldn' t help it and told him not to say that.
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I told him that he didn' t understand that I really loved Ramiro,
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that I wished with all my heart that he would be the boy I had
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fallen in love with again. Victor looked at me quietly for a few moments,
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as if he were weighing my words. I continued to cry, I
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could feel the pain of Ramiro' s loss to a fresh in my heart.
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After a time that seemed like an eternity. Victor finally spoke to you
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saying he might have a solution to my problem. He told me that he
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had learned in the church, that there was a saint who helped people who
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needed something related to love and that if I put all my faith in it
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it would surely help me. He told me that I was St Jude Tadeo
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and that I had to put a small statue in my house on an altar,
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put it upside down with red candles and that I had to say a
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few things. Tears stopped sprouting from my face and I began to listen attentively
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to it, as it was the opportunity for Ramiro to repent and be with
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me again. Victor told me not to worry that he would give me the
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image of the saint, as well as the candles and what I had to
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read that he would come back the next day, at five o' clock
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in the afternoon, he also told me that all he wanted was for me
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to be okay and that faith would help me. I thanked him because I
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felt better and he saw I had a hope that everything would be fine with
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who at the time I thought was the love of my life. That night
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was eternal. I couldn' t sleep I spent it crying and thinking about
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the good times we had Ramiro and I didn' t even think about the
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bad guys. The next day I helped my grandmother and five o' clock.
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I was already in the Church, as Victor had told me. When
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I saw him he gave me a black bag and told me that there was
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everything necessary to put the altar. He told me he couldn' t talk
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much because he had a job, but that on a little leaf inside the
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bag were all the instructions. I nodded and thanked him, hugged me and
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went home. I didn' t really tell anyone about it, to anyone,
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because I was so sorry they made fun of me or scolded me.
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Deep down. I felt ridiculous about doing something like that, but I really
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suffered a lot for Ramiro and I just wanted everything to be like before.
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Upon arriving home, I decided to ignore dinner with my mother and grandmother due
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to lack of appetite. I barely walked into my room. The exhaustion beat
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me and I fell asleep still with the black bag unopened. I woke up
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around ten o' clock at night and set out to open the bag inside
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I found six red candles, a bunch of dried herbs and two sheets of
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paper. One of the leaves contained a series of prayers to be recited.
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Some were in Spanish and others were letters that made no sense and the other
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had detailed instructions. There was also a jar with a strange liquid, but
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most important of all was the small ceramic statue of St Jude. Tadeo was
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dressed in green and had a beard. Okay. I set out to make
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the altar, light the candles, spread the ones on the table and say
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the prayers that the little leaf said, which were lyrics. They cost me
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a lot. I didn' t know how to pronounce them, but I
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did my best. Besides, I added others that I myself had created saying
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the name Ramiro. After doing all that, I went back to sleep,
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but I dreamt very strange things that made me wake up. Abruptly. I
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opened my eyes and there was only darkness and until my eyes got used to
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it I realized that there was a shadow near the window, but when I
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cleaned my eyes with my hands, I saw nothing anymore. A few seconds
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later, something strange was heard at the table. It was like a little
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animal was walking there. That' s why I got up and turned on
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the light because if it was a mouse I had to tell my mom.
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I realized that there was no one, but something caught my attention enormously.
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It was the figure of St Jude Tadeus and it seemed that he was crying
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blood, for from his eyes came a red liquid dripping on the table.
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Being completely honest, I was scared at first because it was something abnormal,
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something that shouldn' t be. But then I remembered that in the tea
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I had seen that those were miracles and I was happy because maybe that meant
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that Ramiro and I would be back together. Maybe the Saint had listened to
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me and was going to help me. I thanked him in my mind,
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but just then a voice was heard whispering in my ear saying favor in favor
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is paid. At that moment I started screaming in fear and ran to my
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grandmother' s room, who asked me what was wrong with me. I
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didn' t answer her, but I told her that please let me stay
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with her that night and, being as kind as ever, she said yes
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she hugged me and told me that she was taking care of me, that
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nothing happened. I thanked him and minutes later I fell asleep. The next
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day I woke up calmer and when I set out to go to my room
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and throw away everything from the altar of the saint because I had already been
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afraid, someone knocked on the door and when I opened I saw that it
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was Ramiro, I could not believe it was. He hugged me and told
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me that he was sorry, that he had realized that he really loved me
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and that he wanted to make things right. I stayed at Crock. I
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was so happy. The Holy One had helped me. It really was a
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miracle. That same day we officially became boyfriends and I was very happy.
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We spent the day together, watched movies and laughed like before. That same
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night I thanked St Júditas everything was thanks to him. After that I went
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to sleep, but something woke me up again. It was the window in
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my room that had opened wide and the air was blowing very loudly. I
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was amazed, for it was not usual and, suddenly, the wind threw
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all things away from the altar of the saint. I got up and turned
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on the light. Again I realized that the candles were on the ground,
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the herbs and liquid had fallen and spilled and the worst was that the ceramic
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saint had shattered. But that' s not what surprised me enormously. There
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was something on the floor that didn' t make sense. Around the ceramic
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pieces. There was a little black figure on the floor. When I picked
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her up to see her more closely she was the figure of a black goat
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and had something written down. I dropped it immediately and threw it all in
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the trash. I couldn' t sleep all night because I heard strange things
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in the room and whispers saying I had to pay the favor and I wouldn
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' t get away. I totally hung out in scared- a- chock.
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I didn' t even have the courage to go with my mother or
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my grandmother. I was just in a corner of the bed, made out
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of fear until dawn and ran to see Victor yelled at him that it was
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all that and first he told me he didn' t know what he was
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talking about, but I told him not to get dumb, that he was
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that goat and because he heard weird things at night. He finally gave himself
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up and told me he was sorry, but he had to offer something in
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exchange for a favor the devil had done him at the time I slapped him
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and told him why he had done that to me and told me it was
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because he had seen the perfect opportunity. Besides the devil, he had really
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helped me and now he had to get some sacrifice to pay off the debt.
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I cried and hated it with all my soul had been praying to the
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devil for something bad, not someone. Well, I had no choice but
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to tell my mother and grandmother. She was very frightened by her religion and
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took me to the Church. They spoke to the father and told him what
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had happened and the father ran to Victor of the Church. After that I
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never saw him again. Apparently, he left town, or maybe something really
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bad happened to him. The father came to my house and blessed her,
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just like me and it worked. My grandmother told me that God would always
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help us, no matter what days later I ended my relationship with Ramiro and
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although he was surprised, she accepted. I knew that I had exceeded the
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limits for love for someone who wasn' t worth it and that if he
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had behaved well with me again, it wasn' t real just something the
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devil did. She agreed to let him go and never do anything to make
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anyone love me. Evil is everywhere, even disguised as good to enter our
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lives. So we must be careful and think carefully about what we do out
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of love. Anonymous account