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DEMONIOS en la cama de AL LADO Historias De Terror - Voces De La Noche · Niebla en el bosque con Evelith von

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A long time ago, when I was just an eight- year- old
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boy, full of energy and curiosity, something happened to me that I can
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' t just explain, let alone understand. I don' t think there
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' s a single day when I don' t think about this. My
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name is marks. Back then my life revolved around mischief and climbing anything that
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crossed me, especially trees. My father often used to call me the spider
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monkey. I remember well that one day, as I climbed a tree in
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the garden of our house, one that had already conquered countless times, something
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happened that would change my life forever. That day, in particular, as
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I climbed branch after branch, my eyes sat on a deep black squirrel that
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moved nimblely between the branches. I found it extraordinarily beautiful and decided to climb
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higher for a better view. However, that election proved to be a terrible
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mistake. When I was close enough to the squirrel, this one, instead
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of getting scared and running away, jumped at me and crawled under my shirt.
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In my desperation to get her out. From there I began to shake
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over the tree, but in the midst of my agitation, I lost my
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balance and stepped on a thin, brittle branch. The branch fell under my
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weight and fell from a considerable height to the ground, where I landed with
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a dry blow on the ground and recorded from my backyard. The next thing
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I remember is blurry. The black squirrel came out of my shirt and ran
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away. I have a memory where I try to stand up and get to
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lean on my knees before falling back to the floor without putting my hands in.
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However, from what I will now relate, I doubt that memory is
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real. Maybe it was just something I wanted to do, but I couldn
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' t and I passed out. My father hates me. He said he
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found me lying on the ground and for a moment they thought he was dead.
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My leg was bent in a way that the human body should not bend.
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I wasn' t breathing and everything seemed unreal. Next thing I remember,
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I woke up in the hospital with a series of broken bones that kept
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me still. My mother kept crying as the doctors discussed the high probability that
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she would never walk again. I also cried every night imagining a life without
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movement unable to move my legs. I don' t know if children can
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give them depression, but if I know that for a period of time in
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the hospital I didn' t feel like doing anything and really wanted not to
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wake up the next day. I spent days in the hospital most of the
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time with my mother by my side, but there were times when I found
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myself completely alone, especially during the nights. One night I experienced a feeling
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of hope when I managed to move my legs slightly, which doctors considered a
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promising sign. My mother wasn' t with me that night, but I
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felt optimistic and fell asleep early. At that time and with a childish innocence
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I said that perhaps in a couple of days I could walk again and under
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that light of hope, I slept peacefully. However, in the middle of
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the morning, something unusual happened. I suddenly woke up my body soaked in
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sweat because of a nightmare I couldn' t remember clearly, but I knew
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it had been terrifying. I was about to reach the button to call the
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nurse. When I heard a voice, a weak but reassuring voice, that
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made me jump out of bed and the voice said wave. I turned like
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this across the street, since that voice didn' t seem to come from
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anywhere in particular. But I didn' t see anyone. Seconds later he
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heard that voice again, he repeated Ola. His voice was soft and quiet,
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without a trace of fear or threat. The room seemed to be filled
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with a strange sense of tranquility. Despite the frightened situation, I turned to
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the bed next to where that voice had come from this time. To my
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surprise, there was a boy sitting on the stretcher. Her skin was brown,
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but at the same time pale, as if the disease had drained her
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vitality. His eyes were surrounded by great shiners and seemed tired and dull.
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The boy' s lips were dry as if he hadn' t had water
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in a long time. His complexion was extremely thin, almost skeletal and his
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head was completely shaved, without eyebrows or eyelashes. He was a peculiar and
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extremely ill child judging by his appearance. Despite his fragile state, the child
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seemed accustomed to the looks of astonishment and curiosity, as if he had lived
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this before. He talked to me again. You have nightmares still bewildered by
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the strange situation I felt, without saying a word.“ The child nodded
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with understanding as if he shared my experience, we all have nightmares,”
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he said with a soft and reassuring voice. Then he added he used to
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have them often, but one day they just stopped showing up. My curiosity
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woke up and I asked him how he had managed to overcome his nightmares.
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The boy shrugged with indifference and answered I don' t know. It'
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s just something that happened. He didn' t seem to want to go
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into details about his own experience and even changed the subject by wondering how I
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had broken so many bones. I told him everything that had happened with the
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tree and the squirrel and R and R and I remember him laughing. That
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' s why he told me that I should have been a great person to
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climb to where squirrels climb. After telling him that out of intrigue and also
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out of kindness, I asked the child why he was in the hospital.
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His face became more serious as he explained that he was there because his bones
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did not work properly. My mind couldn' t fully understand what that meant,
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so I asked for more details. The boy, with a sorry expression,
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said that his bones were constantly breaking. Even a simple fall on the
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sidewalk could result in a fracture. He told me that his father had told
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him that his bones were useless, but he didn' t know why.
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It was a heartbreaking situation to hear how this child described his own fragility.
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Today, every time I think about what he told me, I realize that
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all his descriptions of his treatment, as well as the physical appearance that that
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child had, were clear signs that he had cancer, probably cancer in the
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bones. Throughout that night and the following we shared details about our respective treatments
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and how we missed our homes. We talked about how much we wanted to
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get out of the hospital and how we longed for freedom. I promised my
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new friend that once we were gone, we could climb trees together. Even
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though I still needed a wheelchair to move, the doctors had said that my
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recovery had been almost a miracle and that, with proper physical therapy, I
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could walk normally again and lead a life without imitations. However, while I
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seemed to be improving day by day, my friend did not share the same
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fate. Despite her constant happiness behavior, her physical state seemed to get worse
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with how every day she spent. The disease seemed to devour him and although
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I had hope of leaving the hospital soon, the future of that little boy
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was uncertain and dark. Even I, at that age, could realize one
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night when my mother could not come to see me, my friend made an
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intriguing suggestion to me. He told me that if I wanted to see something
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truly amazing, I should get in my wheelchair and accompany him. Despite my
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concerns about the rules of the hospital and my own physical fragility, I agreed
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with curiosity, feeling the thrill of venturing into the unknown, since I assumed
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that he had been there longer than I had been there and therefore had to
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know the place better. I went after my friend, pushing the chair with
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my hands as fast as I could through the silent and dark corridors of the
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hospital. I was really surprised since my friend was moving with a speed of
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sort, which puzzled me even more because of his weak physical condition. My
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heart was pounding as I kept wondering where it would take me and what kind
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of mystery I was about to discover. Even though the doctors had forbidden us
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to walk through the hallways during the night, my friend seemed not to worry
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about the rules. I followed his certain path until I reached a door that
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he opened without hesitation and instructed me to enter. Upon entering I found myself
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in a room completely in the dark, with nothing to attract attention to the
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naked eye. I began to insist that we should go back to our room
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before we got into trouble, but my friend had disappeared from my sight.
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In the darkness of the room, I suddenly heard the sound of a box
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of matches, flashing the flame, lit the room for a few brief moments
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revealing my friend standing in the background, but in that instant the flame went
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out by submerging the room in the darkness. Again I approached him telling him
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that I wanted to leave, but all I got in response were mysterious laughter
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that seemed to come from everywhere at once and also from different people, adults,
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young people and children alike I asked him how he was doing that,
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but he didn' t answer me either. Then he lit another match and
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in the dim light I reached to hear his voice, saying today everyone is
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here. The atmosphere became even more disturbing and disturbing. Despite my growing anxiety,
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I did not know what he meant, but I would soon discover it
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in the most frightening way. Suddenly I felt a cold, heavy breath in
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my ear, as if someone was breathing directly over my neck. Fear took
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hold of me and a chill ran through my back. I tried to turn
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my wheelchair out of the room, but something or someone seemed to grab the
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handles in the chair and pushed me violently to make me fly out and the
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chair overturned. I screamed in horror as I tried to drag myself into my
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chair to flee. That' s when the lights in the room suddenly went
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on, revealing to a doctor on duty that he was there. He helped
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me up and looked at me with a mixture of annoyance and concern. He
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asked why he was in that room that was supposed to be locked and how
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he got there. I felt overwhelmed and confused and didn' t know how
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to respond. When I looked around for my friend, I realized that I
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had completely disappeared. The doctor reminded me that I could not leave my room
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without supervision and that I should stay in bed. My mind was full of
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questions if my heart was pounding as I waited in the darkness of my room,
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wondering who my mysterious friend was and what had happened in that dark room.
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But what got weirder that night was that, when I got to the
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room, the stretcher next door was empty. And what was even weirder was
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that doctor didn' t seem to care. He just told me to lie
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down and my roommate didn' t even mention it and he didn' t
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show up all night either. The next morning, my mother' s brief
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visit only temporarily alleviated my loneliness. Her tight work schedule forced her to leave.
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Just after a couple of hours by my side, I was back in
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the room, surrounded by the darkness of the hospital. As soon as my
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mother left my friend, she ran the curtain separating our stretchers and greeted me
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with an innocent smile. It seemed as if the night before had not happened,
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as if the disturbing experience in the dark room was just a fleeting dream.
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However, my anger was still latent. I had been left alone in
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a strange and dangerous situation, resulting in a sermon by doctors and a reprimand
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from my own mother. My gaze reflected my resentment, but my friend seemed
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immune to it and asked me not to be angry with him, insisting that
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he was only trying to teach something to people living in the hospital. That
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statement only increased my confusion to those who referred to people. My friend explained
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that he was talking about eternal patients, those who, unlike me, had
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no hope of leaving the hospital. He named Luke, a twelve- year
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- old boy, as one of them, and claimed that he did not
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like me and that he had thrown me out of my chair. Despite his
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account, I was still skeptical. The story seemed like a farce, especially
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because when the lights went on, there was no one else in the room.
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I didn' t even hear anyone leave. My friend kept his version,
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insisting that everything was real and that there were many permanent patients who preferred
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to stay in that room. Finally, my friend acknowledged that he made a
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mistake by leaving me alone explaining that he was afraid of not being able to
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get out of the wheelchair and so he was looking for help. Despite his
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admission, my anger persisted and I turned around in my bed, eagerly waiting
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for the time of my physical therapy. As I waited for questions I began
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to be tormented because I had never seen anyone visit my friend, how it
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was possible that I had never seen him eat or receive medical treatment. The
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situation became increasingly strange and disturbing. As I reflected on these questions, the
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restlessness grew in me who was really my mysterious roommate and what was the truth
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behind his mysterious presence in the hospital. That afternoon, during my physiotherapy session,
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I was immersed in my thoughts. Determined to address an issue that had
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been consuming my mind, I looked at the doctor, who had been helping
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me in my recovery process, and finally gathered the courage to raise my concern.
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I asked him if there was any chance he could change his roommate.
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The doctor looked at me curiously, apparently surprised by my question and asked me
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to explain what I meant. I would. Although I felt uncomfortable, I
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decided to share a fragment of what was happening to me carefully. I mentioned
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that I was no longer comfortable with my roommate, trying to omit the strangest
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and scariest details of my last experiences in the room. The doctor felt with
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understanding and assured me that she would take my request seriously. However, we
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did not delve into the subject during the rest of the physiotherapy session and soon
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again focused on my physical rehabilitation. That night, while I was in the
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dark of the hospital room, I plunged into an uneasy sleep suddenly woke up
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startled with the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching me. My eyes opened slowly
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and met with the fixed gaze of my friend, who was standing at the
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foot of my bed. A chill ran through my back and tried to control
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the fear that gripped me. With a lot of fear and a shaky and
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shaky voice, I asked him what he was doing. My friend didn'
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t say a word. Instead, he took three steps back without taking his
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eyes off my eyes, as if he were trying to communicate with me in
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an unexplained way to my horror, began to vomit on the floor of the
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room. Vomiting was a thick, viscous mass of emerald green colour that sparked
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an unbearable smell, filling the room with a nauseous, stunned, disgusted smell.
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I frantically pressed the button to call the nurses, waiting for them to
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come to help my friend. The seconds felt like an eternity and the sound
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of my friend' s nausea seemed endless. Finally, the door opened and
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the nurse entered with an expression of concern on her face. However, his
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expression changed abruptly when he noticed the seemingly empty room, except for me in
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bed. The nurse was paralyzed for a moment as if she didn' t
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know what to do about it. There was no trace of vomit or my
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friend looking at me with skepticism, the nurse asked me what had happened.
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I tried to explain in an agitated voice what I had witnessed, but his
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eyes seemed to suggest that perhaps everything had been a nightmare or hallucination caused by
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the stress and trauma he had lived in the hospital. She offered to leave
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the light on if it made me feel safer as if I was trying to
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calm down a child who had had a nightmare. The next day, when
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my mother came to visit me, I knew that it was time to share
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everything that had been happening in that room. With a mixture of fear and
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anxiety, I explained in detail how my roommate had been terrorizing me at night
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and at that time my mom told me that I didn' t have a
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roommate and that that stretcher next door had always been empty. My mother,
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deeply concerned, decided to take up the matter immediately, consulted the doctors and
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signed the necessary documents to get me out of the hospital. The decision was
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made based on my physical and mental health and the certainty that being at home
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would be more beneficial to my recovery. From that day on I left behind
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the strange episode that had tormented me in the hospital. Although unanswered questions about
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the true identity and fate of my mysterious roommate persist in my memories as a
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terrifying, anonymous tale riddle