Latest / Niebla en el bosque con Evelith von / No Podrás Dormir Después De Ver Esto: Lo Que Encontramos Te Helará La Sangre 😱☠️- Voces De La Noche

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No Podrás Dormir Después De Ver Esto: Lo Que Encontramos Te Helará La Sangre 😱☠️- Voces De La Noche · Niebla en el bosque con Evelith von

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  The house I grew up in was always wrapped in a dark and mysterious air.
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  My childhood was marked by the peculiarity of living with my father, a
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  man whose life revolved around a funeral home he had installed in our own home,
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  so since I remembered, I was immersed in the closeness with death a
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  company that became increasingly disturbing. As the years passed, my father, the
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  owner and operator of the funeral home. For obvious reasons, I forbade myself
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  to enter the room, where the bodies waited to be arranged and, in
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  this way, to be able to give them the last farewell. Despite his
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  strict warnings, my childish curiosity led me to defy his authority. From time
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  to time, I even came to charge some neighborhood children who, intrigued and
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  challenged by the morbidness of that place, paid to see their insides out of
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  those transactions. My interactions with the other children were scarce and my ability to
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  socialize was affected by the frightening atmosphere that permeated my home. At the age
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  of ten, I was more comfortable with corpses than with children my age.
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  One day, while I was coloring in the living room, I heard my
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  father talking to someone quietly. The distance prevented me from fully understanding the conversation,
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  but my father' s serious tone indicated that a new body had arrived.
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  My father said goodbye to the visitor and informed me that I should leave
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  for a moment, leaving me alone in the house. He barely walked through
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  the door. Curiosity took over me. I knew I should stay in the
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  room, but the temptation to see that new corpse was too strong, so,
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  opening the door with stealth I entered the room. The atmosphere in the
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  room that day was different. A chill swept through my body as I approached
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  the table, where the newly arrived body rested, even though it was covered
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  by a sheet. The feeling in the room made me want to leave,
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  but ignoring those fears, I raised the cloth with caution and found the pale
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  figure of the old matilde, a neighbor who lived at the end of our
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  street. Neighborhood children considered her a witch, claiming that she was transformed into
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  a owl to fly through the dark skies. To tell you the truth,
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  I never believed in those stories. My father had always been in charge of
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  teaching me what things like witchcraft or spirits were things that people with nothing better
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  to do, invented to hang out or scare others. I was thinking about
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  that. As I looked at the old woman, who lay on the table
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  with a cadaveric appearance. My eyes met theirs, which were still open.
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  A chill swept through my body and before they could water their hands, they
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  clung tightly to my arm, nailing their nails like sharp claws. I desperately
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  forced myself to free myself from his grip by falling to the ground with a
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  thunderous blow. My breath accelerated and tears threatened to overflow. But the worst
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  was yet to come. The old woman' s body moved rigidly, falling
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  from the table in a strange position. The sheet was slowly removed, revealing
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  a grotesque appearance and a posture similar to that of a human spider. Creepy
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  grunts filled the room, as the old woman, now transformed into a hideous
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  creature, approached me on all fours. My legs finally answered and I jumped
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  up, running out of the room and closing the door behind me. On
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  the other side of the door I heard frantic scratches as if the creature was
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  trying to escape. The sounds ce sadon abruptly when my father returned home trembling.
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  I leaned into the room just to find out that everything was in order,
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  as if the nightmare had never happened. Fear took hold of me,
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  but the fear of facing my father' s wrath kept me silent. Although
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  the room was immaculate, I knew that what lived in it was more than
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  just a nightmare. Doña Matilde' s fingernail marks were still visible on my
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  arm. That was, without doubt, tangible proof of what had happened.
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  I was afraid to tell my father about the experience, not only because of
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  the sure reprimand for disobeying his rules, but also because, as I said
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  before, this was a skeptical man and I would never believe in the possibility
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  that an inert body rising and grunting was responsible for the wounds on my arm.
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  For the rest of that afternoon, I tried to convince myself that it
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  had been a hallucination. However, the wounds on my arm were too real
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  to ignore. While I was doing my homework, my mind constantly wandered toward
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  that experience. I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I barely noticed my
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  father examining the marks on my arm. He questioned me about his origin with
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  a knot in his throat. I invented a story about climbing a tree and
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  cutting me off with its sharp branches. Fortunately, for me, my father
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  did not delve into the subject, accepting my explanation with a simple assent,
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  not without asking me to be more careful. The lie gave me a momentary
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  relief, but the truth continued to torment me for the rest of that evening
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  and that night. The memory of old Matilde and her creepy transformation didn'
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  t leave me. I tried to sleep, but memories prevented me almost at
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  midnight. I finally fell into a restless dream. However, that didn'
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  t last long. I woke up startled by the memory. As I calmed
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  down, I tried to go back to sleep, but an emergency took me
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  to the bathroom. At the end, the anguish seized me when I returned
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  to my room, as a strange noise came from the kitchen. My first
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  thought was that my father was there. However, as I approached reality it
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  was revealed grotesquely. In the shade of the kitchen, the twisted figure of
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  Doña Matilde was contorted in an arched position. His maverick smile. I smelled
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  my blood. The old woman was there and her body, though deformed,
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  moved with an inhuman speed. As he was heading towards me. Terror paralysed
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  me, but the need to escape prompted me to turn back doña matilde in
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  her unnatural position pursued me relentlessly. The speed with which he climbed the stairs
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  was disconcerting. I managed to get to my room on time and his r
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  closed the door tightly, feeling my heart pounding uncontrollably. The night became eternal.
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  Fear took hold of me and the trail of that deformed creature continued to
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  haunt me in my nightmares. When my father got up at dawn, everything
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  was calm. The kitchen once again looked like nothing had happened. Remaining everything
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  in my memories again. The dilemma of sharing my terror with my father intensified,
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  but the voice of reason warned me that once again I would face his
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  skepticism. I had no idea what to think or who to turn to.
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  The only thing I could do was just pray, because that would never happen
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  again. Doña Matilde' s farewell came in the form of a wake.
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  The next day, few people showed up and although my father was busy with
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  the preparations, I was happy and relieved that that body would finally get away
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  from our home. I thought with your departure everything would return to normal.
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  However, what I did not know was that the real nightmare was just beginning.
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  The next night passed without incident. Apparently Doña Matilde' s presence faded
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  with her departure. I managed to sleep without problems, but a nightmare stalked
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  me in the darkness of my dreams. In the nightmare I was trapped in
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  a dark labyrinth with the walls slowly closing around me. The anguish enveloped me
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  as I desperately tried to find a way out, but each turn brought me
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  back to the same point. My breathing was getting short. The sweat was
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  slipping down my forehead, while claustrophobia was taking over me. All that felt
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  very real to make just one dream. Suddenly. The walls shuddered, revealing
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  gritty faces that watched me with demonic eyes, I woke up startled, but
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  the feeling of oppression persisted. The next morning the light of day arrived with
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  an apparent normality, dispelled the shadows of the nightmare and plunged into the daily
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  routine. However, the illusion of peace faded when, when I lay down
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  that night, I noticed a gentle glow in my room with caution. I
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  got up and put my barefoot feet on the ground, but before I could
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  even step a pair of bony hands emerged from the darkness under my bed,
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  holding my ankles tightly and a pain took hold of me When I was abruptly
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  dragged to the ground, the fear was unstoppable. That time I began to
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  scream so loud that I woke up my father, who alerted by my cries
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  of despair and burst into the room however, only found me trembling still with
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  almost half a body under the bed, without trace of the entity that had
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  emerged. From there I told my father about the horror I had witnessed,
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  but his unbelieving eyes and condescending tone of voice attributed my experience to a vivid
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  nightmare. I tried to convince him by telling my story in detail, but
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  my attempts were in vain. As the days passed, the paranormal events intensified,
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  shadows could be seen on the walls every time I found only inaudible whispers
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  filled the air and sometimes the lights blinked unexplainedly, and every attempt to explain
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  it to my father was in vain. His skepticism persisted, while my anguish
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  grew. The nights became a torment between my own reality and the presence of
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  Doña Matilde. One night I lay in bed, I felt a cold gust
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  of wind in the room. Although the windows were closed, the lamp he
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  had began to give dim flashes. The blinking light projected the shape of the
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  twisted old woman, extending her bony hands towards me. His laughter resonated in
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  the darkness and his voice enveloped me terrified. I tried to run, but
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  a sleep paralysis had taken over me. My breathing was heavy and scary,
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  and the latter increased when I felt a hand touching my foot. The penetrating
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  cold of his touch left me breathless. It was as if death itself rubbed
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  my skin. My father, alien to my sufferings, remained steadfast in his
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  skepticism and his attempts to comfort me became vague words of encouragement that fell on
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  deaf ears. Another night, while sleeping, I found myself wandering through the
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  dark corridors of the funeral home in a lucid dream. Doña Matilde' s
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  presence materialized in front of me. His figure was distorted and every step he
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  took resounded like a sinister echo, and his demoniacs watched me with a supernatural
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  intensity. I tried to escape, but every door I opened led me to
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  a darker corner of the funerary maze. The entity mocked me with demonic laughter
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  and the feeling of having that demonic entity behind me felt very real. When
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  I woke up, reality and sleep had interwoven, so nightmares seemed to spread
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  their claws beyond the night. Every day it became a battle to keep my
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  sanity. Doña Matilde' s shadows were projected on the walls voices, whispered
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  to me in the corners and the cold of her presence persisted. The entity
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  of Doña Matilde persisted in its effort to disturb my life. Not only did
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  it manifest itself in lucid dreams, but it also left its mark on the
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  physical world. Objects moved inexplicably, shadows danced on the walls and the whisper
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  of his laughter leaked into the silence of the night. Not to mention the
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  bruises and scratches I had begun to notice in many parts of my body.
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  One afternoon, as he wandered around the funeral home. I found myself back
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  in the room where the bodies are kept. Since the meeting with Doña Matilde
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  I had refrained from entering. However, at that time, a desire to
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  do so invaded me. The heavy atmosphere thickened around me and the presence of
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  Doña Matilde intensified with every step I took, not knowing why I was doing
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  what I was doing. My trembling hands spread toward the door, but before
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  touching it, a chill ran through my spine, so I finally decided not
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  to go in. However, as I turned around, the entity revealed itself
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  in front of me. Her twisted figure made her look pretty grotesque. I
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  tried to retreat, but my body became paralyzed by looking at that demonic being
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  in front of me, Doña matilde extended one of her bony hands to me,
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  her cold touch clinging to my skin. The vision of his emaciated face
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  became a whirlwind of nightmares. My cry resonated in every corner of the house
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  and at that moment the entity vanished, leaving me trembling in the dark reality
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  that now inhabited. The nights of insomnia became my reality and the fear of
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  meeting the entity took over every thought. I remember taking refuge in my local
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  church in search of answers, which were attended by a priest, who,
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  despite not believing in my history, gave me a rosary and a prayer with
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  which he assured me to find peace. However, the most terrifying episode was
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  yet to arrive at dawn I woke up soaked in sweat. As usual,
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  my room was surrounded by silence. Sepulcral as I was incorporated my gaze fell
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  into the dark corner of the room and then Doña Matilde materialized right there with
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  her laughter, rumbling in my ears. S like a hellish echo you can
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  ' t escape. He whispered his voice carried with him, which I can
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  only describe as pure evil. His presence intensified and the room was filled with
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  a supernatural shadow. I tried to run, but his bony hands immediately immobilized
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  me. I was trying to scream, but my voice was barely heard.
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  The entity climbed to face- to- face with me. I could feel
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  her fetid breath, which hit my nose and made me nauseous. I wanted
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  to pray again the prayer the priest had taught me that evening. However,
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  no matter how hard he tried, he could not remember beyond the first few
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  words. My attempts to pray led that horrible entity to laugh at me and
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  as if trying to prove something is, he placed his hand on my face,
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  preventing me from breathing. While my body was hailing oxygen, I could
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  hear her laughing and it felt like I enjoyed it. That night I felt
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  I was going to die. However, my father entered my room, causing
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  that spectrum to fade away. Although my father could not see anything, he
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  witnessed how I desperately tried to breathe. That did not worry so much that
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  he ended up taking me to the hospital, where, once the doctors assured
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  him that I was well I recounted the experiences with my father, Doña Matilde.
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  I was exhausted from my stories, which became more and more fantastic and
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  dangerous. In his opinion, he decided to take drastic steps to restore peace
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  to our home. Even without being convinced that something beyond human explanation was happening,
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  he decided to call a local priest to bless the house. The arrival
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  of the man of faith marked a change in the charged atmosphere of the funeral
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  home. With sacred words, the priest toured every corner of our dwelling,
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  invoking divine protection. Since that day, the oppressive atmosphere that had plagued the
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  house decreased and the nights became quieter. The blessing not only brought with it
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  relative peace, but also eased the tension between my father and me, although
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  still maintaining his skepticism. He accepted that after that blessing he could feel a
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  less heavy atmosphere in the house. However, despite the apparent calm, some
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  nights I still felt Doña Matilde' s gaze upon me as a persistent shadow.
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  Their presence manifested little less if the feeling that something was patiently waiting in
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  the dark became fainter, for the blessing had removed the most intense supernatural experiences,
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  but the footprint of the entity persisted. The nights became a delicate balance
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  between tranquility and restlessness. The blessing had offered a barrier, but it did
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  not completely eliminate. La. The, The, the feeling that something beyond
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  human understanding was lurking in the shadows. Over time, the funeral home regained
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  its ancient splendour and the presence of Doña Matilde gradually faded away. My life,
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  though marked by that dark chapter, found stability. I never experienced anything
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  similar again and I appreciate it every day. Anonymous account