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El VÍNCULO Entre Vivos Y MUERTOS - Historias De Terror - Voces De La Noche · Niebla en el bosque con Evelith von

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My name is Miguel Pérez and I am currently twenty years old. I want
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to tell a story that happened to me when I was a kid 12 years
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ago. It was something that changed my way of thinking about the Day of
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the Dead. He lived in a quiet village in the State of Mexico,
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surrounded by mountains and vast fields of corn. My childhood passed between cobbled streets
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and colorful adobe houses. I was a very happy and grateful child, but
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every now and then the pranks seemed fun to me. The Day of the
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Dead was a celebration we all looked forward to. The streets were illuminated with
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candles and chopped paper and the aroma of cempasúchil and cupal filled the air.
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In fact, it' s always been one of my favorite dates of the
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year. The smell of flowers. It' s delicious. The celebrations in
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the colorful, lively and beautiful pantheons paint in Mexico in the most beautiful way
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or are the honoring the memory of those who are no longer there. It
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always fills the soul and the heart. I was eight years old and I
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was a curious child and on that day of death, my curiosity led me
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to commit an act that would change my life forever. As my family prepared
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the altar with offerings for our deceased loved ones, I ventured to take a
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small sugar skull and a bread of the dead without them noticing. Besides,
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I started dancing by telling those who are no longer here that I was going
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to take their food. Of course, to this day I know that this
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is a terrible disrespect, but I was just a child and everything was easy
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for me. The altar was beautiful. It was full of delicious food,
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mole tequila, puffs, chocolate and sugar skulls, flowers, candles, coffee
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and hot chocolate. It sparked a delicious smell I can' t describe.
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I loved the food typical of the day of the dead. It was messy
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and although every morning from the end of October to the first days of November
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we ate puffs and had hot chocolate, I did not miss the opportunity to
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eat as much as I could, including the things on the altar. And
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besides that it was more the mischief than the fact of eating it. It
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was night and many of the people in the village were in the pantheon near
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my house, celebrating, eating, singing and even drinking. So, without
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my mom noticing. There he made the pantheon. Surely there would be my
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friends and there I could happily eat the bread and the sugar skull. I
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snuck into the dark of the night into the old cemetery of the village.
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Among the tombs I observed the altars of other neighbors, all adorned with photographs
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of deceased relatives and their favorite meals. I saw a lot of familiar people.
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There was even a mariachi singing songs to people who are no longer with
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us. There were candles and flowers everywhere. The tombs were adorned with chopped
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paper. It was a truly beautiful setting that makes anyone feel nostalgia and joy.
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I was in a corner of the pantheon, too. I tried to
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find my friends, but I didn' t find them, so I hid
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and lit a candle to light up and sit on a stone to eat.
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But when I was about to bite dead bread, I felt so scared.
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A strange presence filled the air around me. The candle blinked violently and the
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sugar skull it held went out. It started shaking in my hands. Being
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just a child, I felt an unexplained fear. I' d heard ghost
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stories and stuff, but I never thought I' d experience anything in my
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own flesh in the dark. I thought I saw a shadow, a silhouette
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that was slowly approaching and I couldn' t distinguish traits, just a terrifying
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shadow. My heart was pounding and my legs were refusing to move. The
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figure came even closer and I could feel his cold breath on my face,
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an incomprehensible whisper filled my ears, but I knew I was saying something bad.
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The panic invaded me and I ran back home without looking back. The
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family altar had been desecrated by my curiosity and I thought it had been for
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that reason that the Presence had gone for me. When I got home,
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I told my mom what happened. I told him I made fun of stealing
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the food from the offering. But the first thing he did was scold me
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for having taken the bread and the sugar skull from the altar, because it
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was disrespectful to our deceased. And after that she told me to stop talking
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nonsense and better help her with what it took for the altar to be ready.
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Fear grew in me. While my mother scolded me for my presumptuous work.
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Although I tried to explain what I had felt in the pantheon, she
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simply dismissed my words. The altar was restored and the candles burned again,
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but the fear that that shadow or figure would come for me would not go
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away that night. As I watched the altar cautiously, I wondered if my
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encounter in the pantheon had been real or simply the product of my childish imagination.
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Fear and curiosity seized me that night and as I watched the dead-
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day altar in my living room, I could not help but feel that shadow
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kept looking at me somewhere in my house. I was a child and it
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was clear that my fear was greater than anything, I could not ignore it
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or minimize it. I went to the window facing the street and my eyes
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did not depart from the corner of the pantheon where I had seen that shadow.
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I wanted it to be just my imagination, but something inside of me
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told me it wasn' t like that. Throughout that, last night,
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every noise, every shadow in the corner of my vision made me jump in
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fear. The day of the dead, which I used to do a celebration
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full of joy and memories had become something different for me. And now fear
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was mixed with curiosity and I needed to understand what had happened in the pantheon.
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As my mother ignored me, I decided to tell my grandmother Rosa,
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who always listened attentively and loved me very much, she was already very old
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and had deep wrinkles on her face and a wise look She took me to
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a remote corner and quietly told me her own experience with the spirit world on
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the Day of the Dead. He had felt the same as I was when
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I was young, but in a different situation, because he says his altar
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was very small because they were very poor. So, she always wanted everything
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there. So one night he took a bread from the altar and ate it,
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he didn' t know anything about it. It was like the whole
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taste was gone. And he told me that that happens because our loved ones
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taste every dish we put on the altar, and that' s why food
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doesn' t know how anymore. Before. He told me that occasion he
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heard someone enter his room and then someone sat on the edge of the bed.
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After that she fell asleep and dreamed like one of her loved ones who
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was no longer in this world. She was sad because she didn' t
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have her favorite bread at the offering. I was totally surprised to know that
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and she told me that after that dream she felt very bad that she had
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taken that bread and that she confessed it to her mother, who scolded her
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and beat her and since that time never touches anything from any altar. He
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told me that the Day of the Dead is a time when the veil between
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the world of the living and the dead becomes thin. He also told me
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that sometimes those who are no longer with us try to communicate or return to
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our world for unknown reasons, but he told me to be careful, because
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not all spirits are benevolent. If some may be vindictive or even many of
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them pretend to be a relative who is not on this plane and can do
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you a lot of harm. The truth is, what he told me didn
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' t make me feel any better. In fact, I was more afraid,
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but I was hoping that shadow wouldn' t come for me. When
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it was much more night, my parents, my grandmother and I went to
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the pantheon to put another small altar where the tombs of our loved ones were
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and to dance with the joyful music that was heard, celebrating those who are
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no longer here for a good while. I forgot what had happened before I
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was very happy. The air smelled delicious and everyone was very happy. Music
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was heard everywhere, mariachis, bands and honks. It was a good night
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and we all expected the war of our loved ones. Later we went home
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and my mother told me it was time to sleep. I lay down in
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my bed which, for some strange reason, felt very cold, even though
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the blankets were very large and thick. I fell asleep. A little later
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and I had a strange dream where someone was at the foot of my bed
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touching my feet with their frozen hands. The cold woke me up. I
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was shaking. I thought it was normal, because in November the cold is
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normal, but the blankets were totally wet and that was definitely not normal.
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I got out of bed and changed the sheets without waking my parents up because
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they' d probably think otherwise. I went back to bed, but suddenly
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I heard something in the living room. It was someone walking around the sound
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of heavy shoes rumbling all over the house. That' s when I thought
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maybe he' d be my dad, but I would' ve recognized his
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steps. I got up again and slowly opened the door of my room and
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walked towards the barefoot house to make no noise. I looked up and realized
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something very strange. The altar candles were blinking non- stop and there was
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no wind. Besides, a lot of the food on the altar was on
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the floor. I kept thinking it might have been, but something interrupted my
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thoughts. A very large man appeared next to the altar. He wore heavy
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black boots, had no hair, his eyes were deep black and his face
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had multiple scars. He had in the middle of his face a white mask
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and a blow. He turned off the candles, my legs trembled, I
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ran and tripped I screamed in horror and at that moment my dad went out
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to ask me what was happening to me. The mysterious man, with his
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dark eyes and the white mask disappeared in a blink as if he had never
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been there. My father, worried about my scream, didn' t understand
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what had happened. I tried to explain it, but my words mixed in
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the fear and concern that the horrible man would return. My father comforted me
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by thinking I had a nightmare. There was no sign that someone had been
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in the living room and the candles on the altar were still lit. However,
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I knew what I had seen and the fear I had felt was too
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real to make just a dream as expected. I cried out of fear and
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my mother woke up and took care of me for a while together with my
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father, when I was calmer around four o' clock in the morning they
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left me in my room and told me that anything would scream at them,
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that they would be on the lookout. I wanted to tell them I wanted
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to sleep with them, but I didn' t want them to see me
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even more cowardly. So I stayed in my room. I fell deeply asleep.
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In spite of fear and in the morning things did not improve, but
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quite the opposite. Something that I never thought happened and that I vividly remember
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until today, when I woke up I saw someone sleeping next to me,
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it was already day, maybe about eight in the morning, and at first
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I thought it was my mom, but when I removed the sheet I realized
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that that being had no clothes. And when he turned around I saw a
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pale woman with very little hair, it was coffee and her mouth had no
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teeth. I felt my breathing was missing and I thought I was going to
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faint from the impression. The screams didn' t come out of my throat.
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I was just completely shocked and scared. I was eight years old and
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at that age no one thinks they' ll see something like that. The
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pale, toothless woman stood by me looking at me with empty eyes. My
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heart was pounding and my body was paralyzed by fear. I couldn' t
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scream or move. It seemed like time had stopped and I was trapped in
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a nightmare. She stretched out a cold, wrinkled hand to me like she
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was trying to touch me, and at that moment my survival instinct went off
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and I could finally break my paralysis. I jumped out of bed and ran
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to the door of my room screaming for my parents. My mother and father
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came running alarmed by my screams. I tried to explain what I had seen,
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but the words ran out of my mouth and my mother entered the room
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and was amazed. Seeing the pale figure lying in my bed, he screamed
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in terror. However, when my mother tried to touch her, the figure
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faded into the air like smoke. He left no trace, no prints,
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no signs of his presence, and it was as if he had never been
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there. My father reassured me and my mother that it had been a nightmare
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of mine and a hallucination of my mother, but I knew that what I
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had lived was real. The pale toothless figure and his empty eyes were as
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vivid in my mind as any memory. I didn' t understand what had
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happened. I was very afraid and greatly regretted having taken the meal from the
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offering that day. I remember, I didn' t want to be in
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my room for a minute. I was exhausted the night before I had not
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rested well and apart my mind, I had been alert I fell asleep in
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my parents' room and had very ugly dreams, but then I felt better
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and in the night I slept with my mom and my dad slept in my
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room, but even though we believed that nothing else would happen in the morning,
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we heard a cry of horror from my father and when we went to
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see him, I was on the floor screaming in a fetal position. We
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asked him what had happened to him and he told us that he had seen
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a very pale and horrible woman at the door of the room smiling at him
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at the time I realized that she was the same woman that my mother and
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I had seen. Grandma woke up scared, but we didn' t want
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to worry her, so we told her everything was fine. My father preferred
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to sleep in the living room and we went back to my parents' room.
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The next day, my parents took me to the People' s Church
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seeking comfort and protection from what had happened to the priest. He blessed the
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water and sprayed me with it trying to ward off any evil that might haunt
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me. Although I felt a little better after the blessing, the memory of
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that pale figure continued to haunt me. The days passed and even though I
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had been blessed, the experience on the Day of the Dead continued in my
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mind. Every night, when I lay down in my bed the fear that
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the man with the white mask or the pale woman would appear again, it
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would take my sleep away. I couldn' t sleep and my eyes loved
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each other They had open eyes watching any shadow that moved in the darkness of
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my room. I spoke to my grandmother Rosa again. I decided to tell
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her everything that had happened, even though my parents refused not to worry her,
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but I knew there was no one to give me a better one.
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Council was really surprised and amazed when I told her what had happened and insisted
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that she should not be afraid, but that she should be respectful of the
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Day of the Dead and never take anything back from the altar. He told
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me stories of spirits returning on this date, some to give messages of love
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and others to warn about dangers, but he also warned me that there were
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dark spirits that could be attracted by curiosity and disrespect for offerings, but that
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I should ask for them before sleeping for the eternal rest of the pale woman
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and the man in the mask. They would surely appreciate it and could rest
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on sometimes. Many souls who stayed in the places where we live and who
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never had rest also take from our offerings and it is a relief for them,
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but sometimes ask for help in other ways so that they can rest in
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peace. I decided to follow his advice and wept for those beings who had
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tormented me. I asked for their rest and that they no longer disturbed me,
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and I also said that they could take whatever they wanted from my offerings.
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In addition, I tried to be more respectful in future celebrations of the
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Day of the Dead, as fear grew, but I never forgot that experience
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in the pantheon, nor the mysterious visit of the man with the white mask
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and the pale woman in my house. Years later, when I was an
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adult, I returned to the village in the State of Mexico to celebrate the
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Day of the Dead with my family. Despite the experiences of my childhood,
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it was still one of my fan holidays If I remembered fondly my grandmother Rosa,
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who had passed away, and the importance of honoring our loved ones.
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That night, as I accompanied my family in the pantheon celebration, I felt
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a strange feeling of peace. The candles lit up the tombs, the laughter
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and the stories of our loved ones filled the air and for the first time
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I felt the presence of my grandmother Rosa at my side as if she were
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taking care of me, the Day of the Dead was no longer marked by
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fear, but by love and respect for those who were no longer with us.
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I realized that on this special date, the link between the living and
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the dead was truly special and that the experiences of my childhood, though frightening,
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had taught me a valuable lesson in the moment about the respect and importance
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of remembering our loved ones with affection. Anonymous account