As in most countries, in Venezuela there are houses that keep strange, inexplicable, terrible stories. Houses where families with painful pasts lived, where people died in mysterious situations, where there are still spirits who ask for clemency and revenge or simply houses that were built on sacred or cursed land. What if today we enter one of those houses?

In a village called El Escondite, near Maturín, a family arrived in search of better opportunities. The elders of that village tell us that the family consisted of 6 people: father, mother and 4 children. They had arrived looking for work in the oil fields that at that time were recruiting workers.

When they arrived, they lived for a few rented months, but with time they found out that there was an empty house in the village and they went to see if they could live there. Strangely enough, the house was unoccupied and no one, despite being alone, had invaded it. Although many people warned them that staying in that house could be a danger, they ignored the warnings and settled in.

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Not a month had passed since they had arrived at the house, when strange things began to happen. The children cried a lot and began to get sick; also the woman had perceived certain laments as on the roof of the house and when she had gone out to find out, she had found nothing. The couple, though aware of all this, could not leave the house because although the man already had a job, there was no house to rent. The man had asked the wife for time, and she, very thoughtful, had given it to him.

One hot night, the woman had gone to the room shared by the children and was surprised to see that they were all under the bed. She thought it was just a game and asked them if they were playing hide-and-seek. The youngest told him no, that they were only hiding from Orlando because he wanted to take them away. Knowing how imaginative her children were, the woman asked them again: "And where do you want to take them? The children looked at each other and then the youngest answered again: for the cemetery. He says he doesn't want to be where he is and wants to return to this house. He says he will give us three months, because otherwise he will come for us to live where he lives. The woman didn't know what to answer and only succeeded in telling them to get out from under the bed and go to sleep. That night the woman could not fall asleep, especially because she heard the wailing again on the roof of the house.

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At two months, the youngest son began to get sick every night. Mysteriously, in the morning he felt well, but in the evening he began to feel anguish: fever, convulsion, fainting. The doctors diagnosed him with malaria. Within a week, the child died skinny, yellow and as the last words said: Orlando wants to take me, mother. The parents, stunned and without giving credibility to what they had heard, started crying. Their youngest son had died and they wanted to die with him. The neighbors made them see that they had three children waiting for them, that they needed them. Only this gave them the strength to continue living.

Not a month had passed since the death of the youngest son when a fortuitous event caught the mother's attention. The eldest of his children began to walk in his sleep, with his back and eyes open. This macabre image caused the mother to go mad and be very frightened. The neighbors calmed her down, telling her that it was normal for people to suffer from sleepwalking, but they warned her that she could not call him by his name, that he should put his pajamas upside down and not wake him up; however, they did not warn him that he should close the door of the house very well. And so it was that one of those nights, while everyone was sleeping, the boy opened the door and went out into the street. The anguished parents, realizing his absence, began to look for him everywhere. They didn't find him. The mother cried heartbrokenly when a thought came to her head and she said to her husband: "Let's go to the cemetery. They ran to the cemetery as fast as they could, but it was too late: the sleeping boy had fallen into an open pit and had broken his neck. He was dead.

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Unbelievable, the neighbors tried to console those parents who had lost two children in such a short time. They cried kneeling before the open tomb where their son had fallen. Suddenly, the mother looked at the tombstone next to her, and in gold letters she could see Orlando's name. She screamed and it was a heartbreaking but also very frightening scream that came out of her throat. A cool breeze ran down his back and froze his bones. He remembered that the other two children were left at home, he remembered what they said about Orlando and the three months, about the house, about taking them away. She got up and asked to be taken home.

When she arrived, she ran to see the children, both sleeping peacefully. There, sitting on the edge of the bed, she began to hear a lament. She looked up at the ceiling and decided to go outside in the middle of the night. He screamed in anger who he was, what he wanted, why he had done him so much harm. He didn't get an answer, as usual. Only the silence of the night could be heard. She was tired, nervous, so she decided to sleep with her two children to protect them. In the middle of the darkness she felt someone standing on the edge of the bed and without being able to see anyone asked: Who is there? And a soft, childlike voice replied, "It's me, Orlando. Three months have passed.

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I hope you enjoyed this story. I remind you that you can vote for @adsactly as a witness and join our server in discord. Until the next smile. ;)

Written by: @nancybriti.

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