EX-COVEIRO CONTA: CONVERSEI COM ELE POR HORAS A FIO, SÓ ME DEI CONTA DISSO QUANDO OS GALOS CANTARAM 

EX-COVEIRO CONTA: CONVERSEI COM ELE POR HORAS A FIO, SÓ ME DEI CONTA DISSO QUANDO OS GALOS CANTARAM

I have never felt so much fear in my life as I did the night my eyes burned from seeing that.  It wasn’t a ghost and it wasn’t a living person, but something that shouldn’t be walking on this ground.  The grave was fresh and newly closed, but the air above it felt like it weighed a ton.

  I saw tall silhouettes made of a light so intense it seemed to tear through the darkness and burn my eyes.  On the other side there were dense, heavy shadows [music] that looked like black holes in the middle of the night.  They weren’t fighting with punches, but with a pressure that made my chest hurt physically. I heard quick, deep whispers that did n’t sound like human language and that gave me chills.

  I was dizzy from the alcohol, but that sight sobered me up instantly because of the panic. It was a forbidden negotiation between heaven and hell for a soul that had nowhere else to go.  When they turned their backs and disappeared, they left behind only a cold mist over the churned earth.  I tried to convince myself it was just an alcohol hallucination so I could sleep that night.

  But what happened in the following days proved that I had witnessed a mistake of fate and that that abandoned soul was wandering lost inside, waiting for help.  It was help that only I could give, because I was the only unlucky one who saw the trial happen.  Before I tell you how this lost soul almost destroyed my life and my sanity, subscribe to the channel and leave your like to ensure that the light protects you when night falls.

Because there are things that happen in cemeteries that are better left unseen, so we don’t get held accountable later.  My name is Claudio, and today I am a 68-year-old retired man seeking peace.  I no longer wear the gray uniform and I don’t carry the shovel, but I still come to the cemetery every week.

  Today I come as a visitor to light candles and pray for the souls who have lost their way.  I do this because I carry an old guilt from a time when I thought I knew everything about death. This story happened when I was 40 years old and at the peak of my physical strength.  At that time I had already been working as a gravedigger for 15 years and considered myself a seasoned veteran.

  I knew every inch of that land and thought that no corpse could scare or surprise me.  For me, the cemetery was just a workplace where I earned my bread [music] by burying others.  But arrogance is a dangerous flaw.  And on that particular night, I broke a sacred rule.   It all started with a nasty fight I had with my wife before leaving for the night shift.

  We argued because of overdue bills [music] and she said things that hurt my pride as a man.  I left home with my blood boiling and my head full of rage, needing an outlet.  On my way to work, I stopped at the bar and bought a bottle of cachaça to drown my sorrows.  I knew that drinking on duty was prohibited and dangerous in a place as crowded as that, but with 15 years of experience, I figured I could handle it and that nothing bad would happen.

  I arrived at the cemetery with the taste of alcohol still in my mouth and the bottle hidden in my coat pocket.  The night had been strange from the start, with low clouds obscuring the moon and muffling the sounds of the street. I sat on the administration building’s balcony and started drinking while the anger gave way to dizziness.

  Around 3 AM, I decided to do my usual patrol to make sure no vandals had broken in.  I walked among the tombs with the confidence of someone who knows the place like the back of their hand.  That’s when I arrived at the new section, where we had held a simple burial in the late afternoon.

  The earth in the grave was still soft and the wreaths of flowers were fresh, exuding that sweet scent.  But as soon as I stepped onto that court, the air changed temperature abruptly and became freezing.  A high-pitched buzzing sound began to emanate from my ear, like radio interference.  I stopped walking and looked at the newly filled grave, feeling an unusual tightness in my chest .

  That’s when the lights appeared, and I had to cover my face with my arm because the brightness was unbearable; it wasn’t the light of this world, and it seemed to come from within the earth and the sky at the same time. They were tall silhouettes that shone so brightly that my eyes instantly welled up with tears of pain .

  And on the other side of the grave, shadows emerged that were darker than the moonless night itself.  I saw those two forces standing still, facing each other, fighting over something invisible in the middle.  I heard whispers that seemed to come from many voices speaking at once in a strange language.  I didn’t understand the words, but I felt the gravity and pressure of that silent judgment.

It was as if heaven and hell were deciding who would get the soul of that poor wretch.  The air pressure was so strong that I had to lean on a nearby tombstone to avoid falling to my knees.  Suddenly, everything stopped, and the lights and shadows disappeared, leaving only a cold mist.  I stood there, trembling and sweating profusely, trying to comprehend what my eyes had just witnessed.

  My rational mind tried to convince me that it was the effect of the cachaça mixed with tiredness.  I threw the bottle away, promising I would never drink on duty again, and returned to the guard post.  I [the musician] wanted to believe it was delusion, but deep down I knew I had seen something forbidden to the living.

  The problem is that the cemetery doesn’t let us forget our mistakes, and the consequences came soon after.  On the third day, after that night, I was sweeping up the dry leaves near the main entrance.  That’s when I saw a man standing near the Cruzeiro das Almas (Cross of Souls) with a lost expression.

  He had an ordinary appearance and wore simple gray clothing that didn’t attract attention.  He gazed blankly at the horizon , as if trying to remember something important.  I, with my 15 years of experience in cemeteries, thought he was just a disoriented visitor. I went over there and said good morning, asking if he needed help finding a grave.

  He turned his face towards me [music] very slowly and it seemed like he was waking up from a deep dream. He said he didn’t need anything and was just trying to find his way back home.  His voice was low and hoarse, and it seemed to come from afar, as if he were speaking from inside a well.  I felt a shiver down the back of my neck, but I thought it was just the cold morning wind rustling through the trees.

  We talked for a few minutes about mundane things, like the weather and the city’s movement. He spoke in disjointed sentences and seemed to have no idea what day it was or how long he had been there.  I felt sorry for the guy, thinking he must have some kind of memory or mental problem.  He said goodbye, stating that he would continue searching, and walked slowly away along the stone paths.

  I went back to work without realizing I was talking to the heart of the problem.  The next day, I returned to the same spot near the Cruzeiro to clean the flower bed.  And that’s when I noticed the first physical sign that that conversation hadn’t been normal.  The flowers where we had stood talking were all dead and dry.

  They weren’t just wilted from the sun, they were scorched as if they had been burned by fire.  The rest of the flowerbed was green and vibrant, but that particular patch had turned to dead straw.  I cleaned up the dried plants, noticing a strange smell of ozone that reminded me of the night of the vision. [music] That made me suspicious , but I preferred to think it was some kind of garden pest.

But the man reappeared the next day, always at the same time in the late afternoon.  This time he was standing in a different spot near the back gate, looking out into the woods.  I went to talk to him again, driven by a curiosity I couldn’t control.  He was wearing the same gray clothes [music] and had the same expression of sadness and confusion on his face.

  He repeated that he was lost and couldn’t remember the way back to his family.  While we were talking, I noticed that his skin was too pale, almost transparent in the sunlight.  The next day, I went to check the spot where we had talked, and the grass was dead, tracing his footprints where he had stepped.

  Life was dying and the smell of sulfur became ingrained in the dry earth. That really started to scare me, because I had never seen anything like it in 15 years of my profession.  I began to suspect that this man was not of this world, but my mind fought against it.  I tried to find a logical explanation, saying that he must be sick or carrying some poison, but the truth came to light in a brutal way when I was ordered to clean the new sector.

  It was precisely that part of the cave where I had witnessed the struggle between light and shadow.  I went there with my heart in my throat, carrying the tools to clean the final tombstone.  The family had the marble slab with the deceased’s photo and details placed there the day before.  I wiped the cold stone with a damp cloth to remove the dust from the artwork and reveal the face in the ceramic.

  When my eyes focused on the photo of the man buried there, my legs gave way instantly.  The cloth slipped from my hand and I had to hold onto the iron cross to avoid falling to the ground.  [music] The face in the photo was unmistakable, even with the smile he didn’t have when he spoke to me.  It was the same man in gray clothes who showed up every day to say he was lost.

  He was the same man who left a trail of death among the plants and the smell of sulfur in the air.  The shock of the revelation was so great that I could taste the metallic taste of blood in my dry mouth.  I wasn’t talking to some crazy visitor, but to the very soul of the deceased.  The penny dropped hard, like a granite tombstone on my head, hard and stubborn.

  That vision from the first night had not been a hallucination from the alcohol, nor a delirium from exhaustion.  I had seen the exact moment when he was rejected by the two lardos and left behind. He hadn’t gone to heaven or hell and was stuck here with me in this cemetery.  And the worst part is that he didn’t know he had died and kept searching for his house.

  I grabbed my tools and ran out of there without looking back and without finishing the job.  I needed to get out of there and get my thoughts in order before I completely lost it all. But I didn’t know that running away wouldn’t help, because the connection had already been made between us.  That same night, I was in the guardhouse when I heard shuffling footsteps on the gravel outside.

I knew who it was even before I looked through the crack in the window and saw his shadow in the doorway.  He had come looking for me because I was the only one who could see and talk to him.  But along with his presence, I felt that weight in the air that I had felt in the grave. The shadows were coming along with him, circling the prey like vultures waiting for meat.

  The doorknob turned slowly and I gripped my rosary tightly, praying for him to go away. The footsteps faded after a while, but I knew I wouldn’t have peace until I resolved this.  The next day, I decided I needed urgent spiritual help before it was too late.  I remembered my old aunt, who lived in the countryside and was an old and wise prayer woman.

  I took the bus and went to her house, carrying with me the fear and guilt that consumed me.  When I told her the story, she looked at me seriously and said that I had seen something very rare.  She explained that that soul was in a dangerous limbo and did n’t know it had passed away.  She said that the dark figures I saw were obsessive spirits who wanted to enslave his soul.

  They were waiting for the right moment to attack and take him to eternal darkness.  But her final warning was what truly sent chills down my spine.  She said that if I didn’t help him accept death and follow the light, he would become a ghost.  And since I was the only one he could see, he would return full of hatred to torment me for the rest of my life.

  I returned to the city with that sentence hanging over my old gravedigger’s head.  Before I tell you what it was like to face death head-on armed only with a candle and a crucifix. Hit the like button to support me and subscribe to the channel because tonight was a crucial night.  What happened inside challenged my faith, and I’m going to tell you now the price I paid to survive.

  I had to convince a dead man that he had died and make him accept the divine light.  And I had to do it quickly before the shadows finally caught up with him and turned him into a demon.  I was never a man of great faith, but at that moment I clung to God as my only salvation. [music] I prepared my spirit for what I would have to do the following night in the cemetery.

  The problem is that talking is easy, but facing death head-on requires a courage I didn’t have.  I knew the obsessors would be there waiting and that they wouldn’t like my interference.  I was entering a spiritual battle, armed only with a candle and an old crucifix.  But I had no choice, because my peace and the salvation of that poor wretch depended on it.

  And that’s how I prepared for the longest and most terrifying night of my 40- year career.  I arrived at the cemetery that night, feeling the weight of the world and responsibility on my shoulders.  The bottle of cachaça was a thing of the past, and I was as sober as a judge in court. In my right pocket, I carried a white seven-day candle that my aunt had blessed.

  In my left pocket, I clutched the old metal crucifix so tightly that it hurt my hand.  The sky was overcast and starless, as if nature knew something bad was about to happen.  I entered through the main gate and immediately felt that the atmosphere was different from other nights.  There were no crickets chirping or owls hooting, and the silence was absolute and suffocating.

  The only thing that could be heard was the sound of my boots hitting the uneven cobblestones.  I went straight to the new section, where the grave of that man who didn’t know he was dead was located.  I knew he would be there, because the soul always returns to the place where the body rests.  When I got close to the grave, I saw his figure standing with his back to me, looking at the tombstone.

  He was wearing the same gray clothes, his shoulders slumped in a posture of defeat and sadness.  But he was not alone, because around him the darkness seemed to move and create shapes.  They were dense shadows that slithered across the ground, like black snakes slowly circling their prey.  I took a deep breath to gather courage and took a step forward, leaving the protection of the trees.

  I called him by the name that was written on the tombstone, in a firm voice, but without shouting.  He turned his face towards me, and I saw that his eyes were filled with fear and confusion.  I told him that we needed to talk and that his search for a home was over.  He answered me in that hoarse voice, saying that he didn’t understand why nobody spoke to him.

He said he was tired and that the shadows were whispering horrible things in his ear.  I approached slowly, holding the crucifix in my hand, and told the truth all at once. I told him he couldn’t go back home because his time in this world was up.  I pointed to the gravestone and told him to read the name and date that were engraved on the stone.

His reaction was one of immediate denial, shaking his head and stepping back in fright.  He shouted that it was a lie and that I was trying to deceive him like everyone else.  At that moment, the surrounding shadows stirred and grew in size, resembling black walls.  The gray man gave a silent scream and ran off between the tombs, disappearing into the mist.

  I knew I couldn’t let him escape, because if he hid, the shadows would catch him.  I ran after him, stumbling over the roots and loose stones of the dark path.  I saw his figure entering the old part of the cemetery, where the family mausoleums were located.  [music] I followed the trail of cold and sulfurous smell he left behind wherever he went.

  He tried to hide behind an angel statue that stood atop a rich tomb.  I got closer and saw him huddled on the ground, with his hands on his head, covering his ears.  I knelt down beside him, keeping a safe distance, and tried to speak more calmly.  I said that there was no point in running from the truth and that the only way out was for [music] to accept it and look up.

  But he suddenly stood up, his eyes wide, looking at something behind me.  I looked back and saw the figures of the tormentors drawing closer, gliding across the tombstones.  They had no faces, but the evil that emanated from them was cold and sharp as a razor. The gray man panicked and ran off again towards the general ossuary building.

  I cursed under my breath and ran after him, feeling my heart pounding in my throat with exhaustion.  The oratory was a heavy place where we kept old bones in zinc boxes.  The man tried to go inside, but the iron door was locked with a thick padlock.  He began banging on the door with his fists clenched, yelling for help for someone to open it, but no one would open it, because the only ears that could hear him were mine and those of the shadows.

  I arrived breathless and saw that the dark figures [music] had surrounded us, forming a circle.  They were waiting for the right moment to attack and take his soul into the darkness.  I knew I had nowhere left to run and that the final confrontation would be right there .  The man leaned his back against the cold wall of the ossuary and looked at me, pleading for help.

  I took the candle out of my pocket and struck the match with my hand trembling with adrenaline.  The flame took a while to catch because of the cold wind that was blowing out of nowhere in that hallway.  When the candle was lit, the yellow light seemed to dispel some of the darkness that surrounded us.  I raised the crucifix toward the man and began to pray aloud with all my might.

  I am not a priest and I don’t know any beautiful prayers in Latin.  But I prayed with my heart in my mouth.  I prayed to God to have mercy on that lost soul and to show it the path to the light.  I told the man to stop looking at the shadows and look at the candlelight.  The shadows reacted to the prayer and began to hiss as if they were hot oil falling into water.

  They moved forward to try and extinguish the candle, and I had to protect the flame with my own body.  I could feel the freezing cold of the obsessors trying to touch me and make me stop praying.  But I remained firm, repeating that he had died and that he needed to surrender himself to God. The man began to cry tears that glowed in the dark and fell to his knees on the ground.

  He looked at me and asked if it was going to hurt and if he was going to be alone on the other side.  I told him the pain would pass and that he would never be alone again if he accepted divine help.  It was at that moment that he stopped fighting the truth and let out a deep sigh. He closed his eyes and said that he accepted that his time was up and that he wanted peace.

  As soon as he said those words, the air around us completely changed its energy.  The dark cloud cover above the ossuary parted in a perfect circle, revealing the sky.  A beam of light descended from above, illuminating the man and me [music] with a white brightness.  This time the light didn’t hurt my eyes like it did the first time, [music] but instead brought a warm comfort.

I saw shapes descending along the beam of light that appeared to be made of glass and pure fire.  They were tall and majestic beings that I can only describe as true angels coming to take us away.  The shadows and the obsessors screamed at the contact with that sacred light and fled into the woods.

  They couldn’t bear the purity of that presence and vanished like cockroaches when the light is turned on.  The gray man stood up from the ground, but now he no longer seemed sad or lost. His gray clothes turned white, and his pale skin gained a vibrant color it had n’t had before.  He looked at the beings of light and smiled for the first time since I had seen him.

  One of the angels extended his hand to him in a gesture of invitation that conveyed absolute peace.  The man began to float slowly toward the light, leaving the cemetery floor behind.  Before ascending completely, he stopped and looked down, in my direction where I was. He said nothing, but raised his hand and waved slowly in a gesture of farewell and gratitude.

  I waved back, tears streaming down my old face, tired from so much tension.  I saw him rise until he entered the bright light along with the angels and disappear into the clouds.  The sky darkened again, and the night returned to its usual tranquil silence.  The sheep, in my hand, finished burning and went out on its own, leaving only the smell of wax.

  I stood there in the dark for a long time, feeling a peace I had never felt before.  I knew I had fulfilled my mission and that I had saved that soul and myself.  I went home that night transformed, [music] and never put a drop of alcohol in my mouth again.  I retired a few years later, but I never stopped visiting the cemetery .

  I come here to remind you that life is short and that death is not the end of everything.  I come to pray for those who leave without knowing why, and to give thanks for having had a second chance.  That man taught me that the greatest danger is not the dead, but the lack of faith in the living.  And that there are battles happening in the spiritual world that our eyes cannot see.

I was lucky or unlucky enough to see what is forbidden and survived to tell the tale.  But I know that not everyone is so lucky and that many get lost along the way.  That’s why I’m telling you, who are listening to me now, with the experience of someone who has seen the other side.  Don’t wait to believe until darkness knocks on your door at the end.

  If there’s one lesson I learned after seeing that man’s suffering, it’s that we ca n’t cling to anything in this world.  It’s no use having houses or land or longing, because when the time comes, we have to be ready to cast off the moorings [snoring] and leave. The greatest danger is not dying, but being trapped here, wandering aimlessly, for not accepting God’s will.

  Therefore, keep your faith strong and your heart light, because light [music] is the only safe path when your eyes close for the last time.  And now I want to know from you, who had the courage to stay with me until the end of this story.  If you saw a lost soul wandering around , asking for help, would you have the courage to talk to them or would you run away without looking back? Write in the comments what you would do in my place and don’t forget to subscribe [music] and leave a like to strengthen our community.  I’ll

stay here for a while and I hope you have a peaceful night, if your conscience allows.