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

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The story I' m going to tell you. I hope I don'
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t disturb you a little bit by the subject that on board is that ever
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since I was little, I had an interest in knowing a little more about
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the death after life and so many other questions that I think we all ask
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ourselves at some point in our existence. I remember my parents occasionally taking me
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to the cemetery for the death of a close relative. I saw people crying
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quietly, others shouting loudly at the same time as they cried heartbreakingly. I
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even had to witness that someone fainted by then was about eight years old.
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I was stuck in my mom' s dress, because from that place I
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felt safe to observe every manifestation of pain of family members who had had their
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loss at that time. I didn' t understand how difficult it is to
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lose a loved one forever. I also remember that there were other funerals where
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the mourners began to pray the rosary before burying their loved one in a quiet
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way, with a silent cry. However, sadness was breathed all around.
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I don' t know why. I watched trying to understand each person'
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s pain, but because of my age it was complicated. There was one
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time we went to the funeral of a close friend of my father' s.
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I didn' t have a bond with that person. Maybe that'
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s why I didn' t stop to see those present. It caught my
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attention. A small bone that was on the ground. I picked it up
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and watched it carefully I walked a little further and began to find more bones
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everywhere careless as if someone had only thrown them out without any interest. At
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the time, my aunt noticed that I was moving away and she went after
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me. She told me not to pick up any bones. It was not
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good to take what you lost to the pantheon into our homes, because then
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we took everything that surrounds the death of your space and can be opened by
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such that we would not like to know. I didn' t quite understand
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what my aunt was saying to me. What was achieved was to give me
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a little fear and I pulled out of my pocket the bone that was already
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carrying me. I threw it into the sand and left it there. When
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my aunt saw that I already had a bone with me, she told me
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that apparently, that bone was from a child the size of it. I
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asked him why if the dead man was put in a drawer and buried,
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how the bones were everywhere. My aunt didn' t want to tell me
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the real reason why those bones were in the place that didn' t belong
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to them in time. I understood. The curiosity I maintained in my childhood
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about death did not end up as it was. I grew up. When
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I went to a funeral. I continued with my inclination. One of the
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things that impressed me was the different smell from the common one. I have
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always believed that it is the smell of death, because since I entered a
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wake- up room immediately, I sensed the strange scent as if at that
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moment I was circling that being who gives permission to the deceased to see his
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loved ones for the last time and then take them somewhere. I want to
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clarify that the intention to observe the funeral rites, as well as the close
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relatives of the deceased, is not with a bad intention or to render a
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judgment of value, but was different my interest, rather to try to understand
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all those mysteries that we do not know about death and everything that revolves around
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it. The point is that I was also struck by going to cemeteries elsewhere.
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It' s not that I went specifically to that, but when I
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went on vacation to a place other than my city, I gave myself a
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getaway to get to know the pantheon of that new place, because I think
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that, in some way, each cemetery shows the culture and traditions of each
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population. On one occasion, when she was studying at the University, the
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teacher of language subjects told us that it was necessary to do research through observation.
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For this we divide into teams of three people. He made roles with
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different parts of the city so that we could analyze the way people express themselves
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in a boat put the destinations to which we would go to carry out our
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task. There were teams that had to go to one other bar to the
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cinema, to different destinations. The funny thing is that our team had to
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go to the pantheon, the closest one was Mezquitan' s. My other
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two companions didn' t like going to that place. In contrast, we
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walk toward the place perhaps by the hour. The cemetery was desolate. It
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was past five in the afternoon, so there was no burial service. Only
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in the distance did we hear as a murmur that a group of people prayed
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the rosary. At the main entrance of the cemetery are the tombs of important
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people of Guadalajara. The Holy Field is divided into sections. At the beginning
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there were also parts intended for foreigners, such as the section dedicated to the
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Germans. Similarly, I also found very old buildings that were like small houses
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whose facade was according to another era. The inscriptions on the tombstones were from
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many years ago. As in any cemetery there were graves highly cared for,
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others forgotten, some cement slabs corresponding to the top. The sinister thing was
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that one could see the dark and deep of a tomb. We continued with
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the observation part until what I knew the site was ancient. However, he
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had never entered it. Every day I went to college I saw him from
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the outside. As we get into it. I realized that this was divided
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into two parts. It was necessary to open an important avenue of the city.
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Then there was the second section. At the end of it I found
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a leafy tree that provided a spectacular shade around it. Several benches arranged in
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the form of a circle. After the long walk we sat on one of
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the benches to observe for a few minutes, but it was impossible to hear
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the talk of people. It was already a place where the disappointed dead live.
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We retired, but I felt trapped by the place. I decided I
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was going back to be alone under that shade of the tree. That'
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s how I started making a habit of being in this space. At first
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I only came a day or two later I did it every time I attended
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classes. I was trying to leave about two hours earlier since my class.
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When the time came, I was walking to college. By the time the
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holidays arrived, I took my notebook and pen to do my writing from there.
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Since it is a cemetery that no longer has room for new tombs.
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On very few occasions there was burial only when some family member is owner and
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has room for his deceased. So most of the time it was a quiet
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and quiet place, which allowed me to perform my activity without the slightest distraction.
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On one occasion I was immersed in reading a book and listened to the
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movement of dried herbs. I turned back and found no one. Again I
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went back to my reading, but another noise pulled me out of my concentration.
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It was like someone was hiding watching. I stayed under the protection of
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the tree for a few minutes. I decided to retire. The place was
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very lonely. It was possible that some thug had seen me for days and
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was lurking away at a rapid pace. I didn' t find anyone until
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I crossed the avenue that divides the cemetery. There you will find the locals
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with flowers. I entered the first section of the pantheon. I turned around
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to see if anyone was following me, but I didn' t see anyone.
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The cemetery watchman already knew me, so seeing my hurry he asked me
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what was happening to me. I told him I heard noises from someone hiding.
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He told me that it was not the right place to do homework,
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that sometimes in the early morning he also hears many noises. The man was
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trying to tell me that maybe I' d been scared by something unexplainable.
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However, I was more afraid of a thief or someone who wanted to hurt
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me. I lasted several days without going to the pantheon, but again I
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needed the silence and tranquility of that space. I came back with my books,
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without my notebooks. After a while, I began to feel observed.
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I was looking around and I couldn' t find anyone. Later I heard
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a noise a little far from me, but this time I saw a young
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man watching me from a distance. I didn' t know if to run
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away from the place or wait for him to approach me and know why he
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was watching me. I didn' t resist anymore, so I got up
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to retire from the place. I decided it wasn' t convenient to keep
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going I went away for a few weeks. One day, however, I
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decided to return again. For several days nothing strange happened until one day I
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heard someone' s footsteps behind me, I got up scared ready to run.
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The young man told me not to be afraid, he wasn' t
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going to hurt me, but I doubted it. I left the place in
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a hurry. After several days I returned, but this time I had the
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caution to stay on the bench of the main entrance. No or no r
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There were a lot of people, but the watchman was always nearby. She
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was immersed in a book. Suddenly I realized that someone sat on the same
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bench. He was the same guy the other day. He probably saw the
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fear in my face. He told me not to leave, he just wanted
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to talk to me. He was also in the cemetery every day. In
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the distance I saw the watchman and a group of people. I calmed down
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a bit and the young man started talking. Little by little I lost my
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fear, I began to feel a little confidence and security. Somehow I sensed
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that he didn' t want to hurt me. He told me he was
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curious. It wasn' t the first time I saw myself in that place.
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At first he thought he was there because some close relative had just died
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and all he was trying to do was stay close to him. But then
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he saw that I never went to any graves. The only reason I was
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there was to read and write very unusual actions in a cemetery. He convinced
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me with his argument. I asked him what he was doing there, just
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as his name told me his name was Mario. He also explained to me
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that he often went to this place for two reasons. The first was that
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he was very close to home. The second because her mother had recently died,
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so she went every day to visit her and keep her tomb with many
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flowers. I wasn' t used to praying, but I did talk to
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her. From that moment on we became great friends. Whenever I came to
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the part where the leafy tree was, he was already there. There were
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times when I was leaving earlier than usual, but he always beat me to
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get to the bench. There he was waiting for me. Sometimes we didn
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' t even talk, we just read. That' s why I brought
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him one of my books. When I was done one would tell me which
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one. He was interested in someone else. Other times I wrote while he
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wandered through the graves. He was very private. She didn' t tell
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me anything about her life, which made me curious, because she was noticed
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to be Mexican, had a certain foreign ancestry. One day he was willing
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to talk. I don' t know what happened to him, but he
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had a need to do it. He started telling me about his childhood games
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that he commonly played alongside his friends. He was still excited when he told
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me he was playing hide- and- seek, the marbles, the Changais
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and other games that were unknown to me. That' s why I asked
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him where he lived, because those games I had never practiced, to which
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he didn' t respond. He also told me how he learned to ride
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a bicycle. It was so much his emotion that he described me as was
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the experience of being able to balance in it. He told me that no
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one taught him little by little how he could learn until one day he stopped
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falling showed me the scars on his knees. For so many falls I couldn
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' t do anything but laugh. He was very serious looking at me He
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didn' t seem to like me laughing at his punches. I asked him
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more seriously why he had learned to do so. Only to me, my
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father had taught me how to use it. He grabbed the bike from the
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back until one day he let me go without realizing I had already learned to
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walk on it. How strange he answered me. It was not our custom
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for our parents to teach us how to ride a bicycle. All my friends
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learned the same way. I found it unusual, but I didn' t
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care. We continue to talk about our childhood situations. I also told him
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about the falls I put on when I learned how to walk in Patines.
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That day. I couldn' t make progress in my writings or my readings.
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We' ve had enough time to talk about things from the past.
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I liked being with Mario. However, there was something in which he could
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not understand. Sometimes he looked very pale as if he was ill, but
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I didn' t dare ask him about his state of health. Perhaps if
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he had a disease that caused colorless skin. One day I used to see
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him arrive first than I, to my strangeness, was not there. I
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stayed that day working with my writings without him showing up. It' s
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time for me to leave the place and he didn' t make it.
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I left dismayed because I didn' t know if anything had happened to her.
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As I approached the front door, I saw how far away they were
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burying a deceased. A small group of people were near the tomb while praying
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unknown prayers. It was strange for me to see someone buried because it took
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some time to go to that place without a burial. The next day.
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Again, my friend didn' t show up like this, it took several
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days for him to show up. It was at that moment that I realized
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that I only knew his name, but not his address or his cell phone
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number. After several days passed, I thought I' d never see him
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again for a moment. I thought I' d go look for him because
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it made me very strange the way he disappeared. All he knew was that
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he lived very close to the cemetery. I meant to ask about him,
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but I didn' t. I had already come to the idea that I
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would never see him again until one day, when I got to the usual
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place there I was sitting with my look lost immediately. I asked him if
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something bad had happened to him. He said yes. Sadly. He told
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me that his sister had died a few days earlier. He explained to me
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that it was very difficult for him to accept this loss. That' s
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why he was away for several days. I asked her if she laughed well
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buried in this cemetery. He said yes. He pointed his finger at me
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in the direction of his grave. That' s when I realized that it
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was the day of the burial that I saw if I had known, I
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would have been able to accompany him. That morning, he didn' t
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talk, he didn' t want to do anything. All the time.
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He was quiet and thoughtful. I didn' t mean to take it out
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of his mind. I understood that I was going through a grieving process,
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so I devoted myself to doing my readings without bothering him for several days.
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He was absent. It looked like his mind was somewhere else. Suddenly he
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began to talk about something he did not fully understand. He told me that
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death is not what most people imagine. Some say that the soul of the
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person can go to heaven, hell or purgatory. According to your actions.
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He went on to say that the sky is believed to be the place among
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clouds where God meets and you are going to live with him. Threads angels
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for eternity remained silent. For a few minutes later he told me that hell
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was not that place with fire where souls cry and beg, either, because
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they take it out of that horrible and burning place. Much less there was
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purgatory, that temporal space in which the soul of the person purifies his being
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and then transcends. I was about to interrupt him because I thought he was
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saying something that I wasn' t sure about. No dead person had come
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to tell us what is in the afterlife when he firmly told me that death
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was not the end of life, but a constant opportunity and threat. It
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is the continuous alternation of life and death of composition and decomposition there is no
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life without death and death without life. That' s when I thought my
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friend was a little crazy or he was wandering because he didn' t understand
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what he meant by that speech, but I think he suspected he was going
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to deny it, because he immediately told me that when a person dies,
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his soul goes nowhere to those places that people commonly refer to. This soul,
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when detached from the body, wanders aimlessly, is found here and everywhere,
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in coexistence with the living. He told me that there was a kind
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of portal where there are times when those souls can be with the living.
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There are other moments in which the not interesting thing about this is not to
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get lost and stay on one side, because then if fatal things can happen.
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I didn' t want to hear it anymore. I understood that he
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was very sensitive to the matter of death, because he had lived it very
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closely a few days ago. But from there, to believe everything he told
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me was far away. He noticed that I was no longer comfortable with his
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talk. He apologized and preferred to retire. I saw when he walked away
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was erratic. First he walked to one side of the tombs, then I
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saw him pass to the other side. I understood that his strange conduct was
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the product of the same, but it was preferable to give him some space.
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I still stayed a while longer at the place. I wanted to make
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the most of my stay at the cemetery, because the college holidays were coming
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and I knew I wouldn' t go every day anymore. I saw the
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time of my class approaching, I headed towards the exit. In the distance,
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I saw a girl who greeted me enthusiastically, approached me to find out
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who I was. When I was close, I could recognize her was Adriana,
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a high school roommate. Broadly. She told me her mother was buried
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there, but her grave was damaged. He was in the process of rebuilding,
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so he would return the next day. Maybe it' ll be over
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by now. I told him a hundred and I left. I ran into
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Marrio again. He looked different. He stopped talking about death. We talked
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about our childhood meals. He told me that his favorite candy was the pine
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tree, the coyules. In my ice creams and bread sticks I didn'
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t know those sweets, so I asked him if he was from another state
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or from another country. He said no. He questioned me because I didn
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' t know them, which I told him I didn' t even know
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that was it. At that moment I saw my friend Adriana. He greeted
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me in the distance. I told my friend to wait for me. I
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was going to introduce her to a friend, I walked up to her,
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and I walked up to the tree to introduce her to Mario. She was
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surprised when I told her I was talking to a friend. He replied that
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ever since he saw me, I was alone. I told him that was
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not true, because Mario, my friend, was with me. She didn
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' t tell me. I saw you talking to someone, but I didn
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' t see anyone around you. In fact, it made me very strange
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to see you. That way I was watching for a few minutes I can
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tell you that there was no one with you. I couldn' t believe
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what Adriana was telling me. In that I remembered which part of the cemetery
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I was going to. When we said goodbye, I ran crazy over that
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side of the graves. Adriana didn' t understand what was happening to me,
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but she followed me. I searched each of the graves for the inscription
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with the name of the deceased. In that I found a tomb whose slab
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was fresh. It had to be that one. Indeed, it was notorious
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that someone, Mario’ s sister, had recently been buried. On the
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tombstone was an inscription with the name Mario alcantara. One thousand nine hundred and
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seventy- nine hundred and ninety- one. I was frozen when I saw
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his name written, his year of birth and his death. Now I understood
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all your games, your favorite sweets, your knowledge of death. At that
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moment I wondered if he told me the truth. When he told me about
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her, I hesitated to think that the dead could live with the living.
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My hobby of being in a cemetery changed completely. I' ll be right
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there, but I' m done. Friends, anonymous account