EX-COVEIRO RELATA| HORRORES QUE AGUARDAM NA SEÇÃO DOS VAMPIROS DO CEMITÉRIO…COBRARÃO UM PREÇO ALTO 

EX-COVEIRO RELATA| HORRORES QUE AGUARDAM NA SEÇÃO DOS VAMPIROS DO CEMITÉRIO…COBRARÃO UM PREÇO ALTO

I ran there with the absolute certainty that it was just another overdose in the ward we called the vampire ward. My rational mind already had the report ready.  Intruder, drug use, death at the scene.  But when I pointed the flashlight at that boy, my logic crumbled in a second.  He was kneeling in front of an unmarked gravestone, his mouth open in a silent scream, his skin turning gray and withering before my eyes.

  And it wasn’t cold or illness, there was something else behind it.  A dense shadow, with almost human contours, embraced the invader’s back.  That entity was inhaling the boy’s very existence .  I could feel the vitality being violently ripped from his body, leaving only a dry husk behind , while his spirit seemed to fatten, becoming more solid and dark with each passing second.

  And when that thing noticed my light, it released its prey and turned its face toward me.  I never believed in ghosts.  I thought it was just talk to scare newbies, but what I saw that night made me question everything.  Click the subscribe button and comment below if you believe there are spirits that need to steal our energy to stay on Earth, because I learned the hard way that they exist.

   It all began exactly two hours before that fateful moment. I am a practical man and have worked in property security for 15 years.  To me, a grave is just a hole in the ground, and the dead are just decomposing organic matter . I’ve never been afraid of the dark or of urban legends.  My job is to ensure that no one jumps over the wall to steal bronze pieces or vandalize the tombs.

  I have a Honda roadmap, a heavy set of keys, a long-range tactical flashlight, and a personal weapon that I kept hidden in the guardhouse for emergencies.  That had always been enough to deal with any problem, or at least that’s what I thought until that Tuesday night. The clock in the guardhouse showed 10 PM when I started the night shift.

  The afternoon watchman handed me the radio with that look on his face that said he wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.  He told me that everything was calm, but that he had heard some strange noises coming from the south side.  I just shook my head and laughed inwardly.

  The southern section is where the oldest part of the cemetery is located, a place that the older and more superstitious employees have nicknamed the vampire wing.  I always thought that name was ridiculous.  They call it that because it’s an isolated area with very old stone tombstones , where birth and death dates don’t make sense for that time period.

There are people buried there who, according to the tombstones, lived from 1810 to 1930. That’s 120 years old in a time without advanced medicine. To me, this has always been a glaring error, set in stone, or simply the vanity of a wealthy family wanting to lie about their relatives’ ages.

  But for the gravediggers, that was a sign that something wrong was happening in that land.  They said that the soil there wouldn’t accept bodies, that the earth spat them out, which was no good.  I grabbed my coffee pot and started organizing the paperwork for the shift.  The first hour dragged on, with that heavy silence that only exists in a cemetery far from the avenue.

  I watched the security camera monitors, switching between the main gate, the administration building, and the access corridors. Everything was at a standstill.  The black and white images from the cameras made everything look grainy and ghostly, but I knew it was just the low quality of the equipment. That’s when I saw the movement on camera 4.

 Camera 4 is pointing directly at the entrance to the vampire wing. It’s a place where the wall is lower and borders a vacant lot full of tall grass.  It’s our security blind spot and a favorite place for drug users to break in.  I saw a thin figure struggling to jump over the wall and landing on the inside. He stood still for a moment, looking around, and then began to walk towards the oldest tombs .

  I took a deep breath and felt that familiar irritation.  I would have to leave the comfort of my guard post to expel yet another addict.  I picked up the radio and notified headquarters that I was going to investigate an intrusion in the southern sector.  The response was just a static hiss. I tapped on the radio a few times, thinking it was the battery, but it remained silent.

  That bothered me, but not enough to make me stop.  I checked my flashlight, fastened my baton to my belt, and headed out into the cold night.  The air was freezing, much more so than usual for that time of year.  The path to the southern sector is a 10-minute walk along narrow paths, surrounded by stone angels and iron crosses.

  The sound of my boots on the asphalt echoed too loudly, as if the entire cemetery were holding its breath to hear me pass by.  I stayed focused on my work.  I was thinking about what I was going to say to the intruder.  I would use a firm, commanding voice, threaten to call the police, and have him thrown out.  It was routine, just another day at work.

  But the feeling of unease began to grow as I approached that area.  It wasn’t fear, it was physical revulsion.  The smell in the air changed.  It stopped smelling like wet earth and dry leaves and started smelling like a metallic, sour smell, like old copper left in the rain.  I stopped at the border between the new and old parts of the cemetery.

  The difference was visible even in the dark.  The trees in the vampire wing were twisted, with dry branches that looked like fingers trying to scratch the sky.  The grass was sparse and yellowish, as if the soil there lacked sufficient nutrients to sustain life.  I pointed the flashlight at the main corridor of that section. The beam of light cut through the darkness and illuminated the low mist that crept across the ground.

  I saw the silhouette of the intruder up ahead .  He stood motionless before a large mausoleum of dark stone .  I yelled at him. I told him I was private security and that he was trespassing on private property. My voice came out strong, but the sound died quickly, muffled by the density of the air.  The man didn’t move.  He didn’t look back , he didn’t try to run, he didn’t do anything.

He remained standing, staring intently at the tomb.  That annoyed me.  I started walking faster, hand on my baton, ready for a more forceful approach.  I thought he must have been really high to hear, or that he was trying to steal a license plate. Logic told me it was a simple problem to solve, but with every step I took toward it, my body screamed for me to turn back.

  It was as if gravity was stronger in that place .  My legs felt heavy. Cold sweat began to trickle down my back, sticking my shirt to my skin.  I tried to convince myself that it was just tiredness from last week’s double shift.  I couldn’t afford to be afraid of a skinny junkie . I am the security guard. I am the authority here.

  I forced my feet to keep going.  When I got within about 10 meters of him, I noticed he was muttering something.  It was a low, gurgling sound, like having water in your throat.  I pointed the flashlight directly at his back and ordered him to put his hands on his head. It was at that moment that I noticed his posture.

  He wasn’t just standing still, he was rigid, with his neck muscles locked and his arms stretched downwards with his fingers spread, as if he were being electrocuted. I stopped.  My survival instinct finally broke through the barrier of my skepticism. Something was very wrong there.  The air around the intruder seemed to vibrate like hot asphalt on a summer’s day, distorting the image of what was behind him.  But it was cold, very cold.

  I felt a shiver run down the back of my neck. That kind of primal shiver our ancestors felt when they realized they weren’t the predator, but the prey.  I should have turned around and called the police.  I should have run back to the guardhouse and locked the door, but morbid curiosity and a sense of stupid duty made me take one more step.

  That’s when I saw the shadow move.  It wasn’t his shadow projected by my flashlight.  It was a mass of darkness that clung to his back, like a heavy backpack made of black smoke.  At first, I thought it was a lighting effect, a glitch in my peripheral vision caused by fatigue.  I blinked hard and shook my head, trying to clear my vision, but the image remained and became clearer.

  The shadow had arms, long, thin, and disproportionate arms that embraced the invader’s chest with a terrible possessiveness.  The head of that thing rested on the boy’s left shoulder, as if it were whispering in his ear.  It had no face, just a black hole where there should have been features, but I felt that it was conscious, that it was aware and that it was hungry.

  The intruder let out a groan that didn’t sound human. It was the sound of someone having all the air expelled from their lungs at once.  I saw his knees buckle and he fall to the ground, but the thing on his back didn’t come loose. She followed the movement, floating and readjusting, maintaining the deadly embrace. My mind tried to find a logical explanation.

  Was it an animal, a monkey or a sloth, that escaped from the zoo and attacked the man?  But no animal has that texture.  It looked like it was made of pitch, of burnt oil, which absorbed the light from my flashlight instead of reflecting it. And no animal causes that feeling of profound nausea just by looking at it.  I felt my stomach churn, as if the presence of that thing was radioactive, as if it were making me sick just by being near it.

  I took another hesitant step and pointed the light at the boy’s face. It was the scene I described at the beginning. His skin was collapsing, his cheeks were sunken, his rolled-back eyes showed only whites, and his mouth was gaping open in a trail of drool and despair. I saw with absolute clarity waves of heat emanating from him, a trembling energy that was being sucked directly into the dark mass on his back.

  The man was aging decades in seconds. His hair, which was dark when he jumped over the wall, was becoming thin and graying. His hands, firmly planted in the earth, trembled violently, while the skin on the backs of his hands grew as thin as tissue paper.  That wasn’t a typical physical assault; that was a drain, a violation of one’s own biology.

  Terror paralyzed me.  My boots felt like they were being hammered into the ground.  I wanted to scream, I wanted to run, but my throat was closed up.  I watched helplessly as the invader’s last breath left his body .  He stopped trembling.  The body fell forward, its face hitting the damp earth with a dull, final sound.

  And then silence returned.  But it was a different kind of silence.  It was a silence of expectation. The thing released the body.  She detached herself from the corpse’s back with a wet, disgusting sound, like slime splattering from a wall.  It rose up, becoming taller, wider, and denser.  Now that she had eaten, she seemed more solid, almost physical.

  I could see details that I hadn’t seen before.  Rags of something that looked like old clothes mixed with the mist of the body and long fingers that ended in sharp points.  She turned slowly.   She had no eyes, but I felt the weight of her gaze upon me.  She knew I was there.  She knew I had seen it.

  And worse than that, I sensed a hunger emanating from her.  A hunger that had not been satisfied by that thin, sickly boy.  That was just an appetizer. And I, a healthy, strong, 40- year-old man, standing 5 meters away, was the main course.  If you’re watching this video right now and feeling that tightness in your chest, that sensation that something is watching you from the dark corner of the room, take this moment to subscribe to the channel and leave a like.

This helps us continue to bring these stories, because, honestly, I do n’t know if I’ll have the courage to go back there to tell another story.  I took the first step back.  My hand was shaking so much that the beam of the flashlight danced wildly across the surrounding tombstones, creating shadows that seemed to move as well.

  I tried to pull out the baton, a ridiculous and pointless gesture. How was I supposed to hit that thing?  How do you fight smoke?  How can you fight something that’s already dead? The organization took a step in my direction.  It was not a human step.  She slipped.  Wherever she went, the grass instantly died, turning black and brittle.

The cold intensified dramatically, causing my breath to come out like white clouds of vapor.  The smell of sour copper became unbearable, making me gag.  I spun on my heels and started running.  I didn’t look back .  I ran like I’d never run in my life.  I forgot about safety posture, I forgot about decorum, I forgot about age.

  I ran, driven by pure and utter panic.  The sound of my breathing was deafening in my ears, but even so, I could hear something behind me.  It wasn’t footsteps, it was the sound of the wind cutting through the air, the sound of something moving through the air with supernatural speed. I needed to get to the illuminated part. I needed to get to the guard post.

  My skeptical mind was trying to devise a plan. Go into the guardhouse, lock the door, call the police, call the priest, call anyone.  But the distance seemed to have doubled.  The avenues seemed longer, the paths appeared to have changed location. It was as if the cemetery was trying to keep me inside.  I tripped over a tree root that shouldn’t have been there and fell to my knees on the asphalt.

  The pain was sharp, tearing my uniform pants and scraping my skin, but the adrenaline wouldn’t let me stop.  I dragged myself to my feet, and that’s when the light from my flashlight, which had fallen to the ground, illuminated my own legs.  And I saw the shadow.  She was already there.  The tip of that dark mass was touching my boot.

  I felt the cold pierce the thick leather of the boot and touch my foot like dry ice.  My foot went numb instantly.  The sensation of being drained began.  It was as if my blood was turning to sand, becoming heavy and difficult to circulate.  I kicked the air, yelling curse words, trying to push it away.

  I managed to get up, limping, with my left leg heavy and tingling. I looked back for a fraction of a second.  The entity was standing 2 meters away from me.  She was in no hurry.  She was joking.  She was having fun with my fear, because fear might temper the energy she was going to steal. I forced my body to keep going.  I saw the lights of the administration in the distance, shining like a beacon of hope.

   There were 200 meters left, just 200 meters more.  I could feel her presence behind me , cold and oppressive, as if a refrigerator door had been opened behind me.  With each step, I felt weaker.  My vision started to blur at the edges.  The tiredness was unusual.  It was the same tiredness I saw in that boy, only in its initial stage.

  She was draining me from a distance.  She was draining my strength just by being near me.  I realized that if I stopped, I would die right there and become just another body found in the morning, either from a heart attack or natural causes. No one would know the truth.  No one would know that I was consumed. I arrived at the area with the yellow lights on the lampposts of the main avenue.

  The entity stopped at the edge of darkness. It seems that the electric light bothered them.  Or perhaps she didn’t want to leave her territory.  I didn’t stop to ask.  I kept limping and running until I reached the guardhouse door. My hands were shaking so much that I dropped the bunch of keys twice before I managed to get the lock right.

  I went in, slammed the door, and locked it with the three turns of the key.  I leaned against the door, sliding down to the floor, breathless, my heart feeling like it was going to burst out of my chest.  I was safe, or at least that’s what I thought.  I looked at the camera monitor.  Camera four, the one showing the entrance to the vampire wing, had a grainy image, full of interference.

But amidst the static, I could still see the silhouette.  She was there, standing in the middle of the path, [music] looking at the camera, looking at me through the lens.  And then the lights in the guardhouse flickered once, twice, and went out. The monitor, which had its own battery, remained on, emitting that ghostly, bluish light that illuminated my sweaty face.

  And on the screen I saw the silhouette disappear from the vampire wing.  I switched the camera to the outer corridor of the guardhouse, the corridor where I was now.  The outside camera showed the hallway as empty, but I could hear it. I heard the sound of something scraping against the concrete wall outside.  The sound of nails or claws scratching at the plaster, searching for an opening.

  The sound came closer to the door where my back was leaning.  She hadn’t stayed there.  She had come to finish the job, and I was locked in the dark with her.   Buckle up , because what happened in the following hours, locked in that 2 by 2 cubicle, defies any logical explanation I’ve ever tried to come up with.

  And if you think being locked up saved me, you’re very wrong. I stood there paralyzed, staring at the reinforced metal door. The sound outside wasn’t aggressive.   It wasn’t a frantic banging sound, like someone trying to break down the door.  It was gentle.  It was the sound of long, stiff fingernails running along the peeling paint of the metal, testing the surface, searching for a crack, a keyhole.

  Anything through which he could enter. It was the sound of patience.  That thing possessed eternity.  I only had a few hours until dawn.  The temperature inside the guardhouse plummeted.  The air conditioning was off, but I could see my own breath forming white clouds in front of my face, illuminated only by the bluish light of the security monitor.

The cold didn’t come from outside, it came through the walls.  It was a bone-chilling cold, the same cold I felt when that shadow touched my boot. I knew what that meant.  The physical wall prevented the entity’s body from entering, but it did not prevent its influence.  She was leaning against the door, pressed against the other side, draining the heat from the room and consequently my energy.

I tried to pick up the radio again. My hands were shaking so much that the device almost slipped.  I pressed the talk button and yelled for help, ignoring any protocol or security code.  I just wanted someone to listen. Central, code red.  Is anyone at the guard post?  I am surrounded.  Exchange. The response was just a static hiss, but amidst the white noise I swore I heard something.

  It wasn’t a voice, it was that same gurgling sound the invader made before he died.  A damp, low sound emanating from the radio speaker.  I dropped the device on the counter as if it were on fire. That thing was interfering with the frequency.  I was completely isolated.  That’s when the doorknob turned.  I saw the lock pin tremble.

  The metal doorknob turned slowly to the left, then to the right.  Someone was testing the opening with surgical precision. I drew my weapon.  Yes, I know what you’re going to think.  I am a skeptic.  I am rational.  And shooting ghosts is the stupidest thing you can do in a horror movie.  But at that moment, the weight of the revolver in my hand was the only anchor of reality I had.

It was the only thing that made me feel like I was still in control, even knowing deep down that lead doesn’t harm shadows.  “Go away!”, I yelled, my voice hoarse and broken.  I am armed! The silence from outside was the worst possible response.  The doorknob stopped turning.  The scratching sound stopped.

  For a second, I foolishly hoped she had given up, that she had gone back to the vampire wing to wait for easier prey.  But then I saw through the crack at the bottom of the door, that tiny space between the metal and the cement floor, a dark mist began to seep inside.  It wasn’t smoke, it was dense, viscous, like an oil puddle defying gravity.

The dark substance began to spread across the floor of the guardhouse, covering the grimy white floor. And wherever she touched, the ground seemed to rot. I climbed onto the chair, crouching in the farthest corner, pointing the gun at the growing stain. The smell of sour copper invaded the small cubicle, permeating my clothes, my hair, entering my nose and going down to my stomach.

  The nausea returned in full force.  My vision began to darken at the edges, that tunnel vision effect that precedes fainting.  She didn’t need to physically enter.  She was transforming the environment into an extension of herself.  I felt my eyelids getting heavy. It was an unnatural sleepiness, an overwhelming desire to close my eyes and rest.

  Just a little bit, a part of my mind whispered. Just lie down on the floor and sleep.  The pain will pass.  It was the allure of death.  I knew that if I closed my eyes, I would never open them again. I remembered the invader’s face, his withered skin, his open mouth.  I was going to end up like him, dry, empty, a discarded shell on the floor of the guardhouse.

At that moment I did the only thing that kept me awake.  I felt anger, a pure and human anger at dying like that , without a fight, without explanation. I bit the inside of my cheek hard until I tasted blood. The sharp pain cleared my mind for a moment.  The warm blood in my mouth was proof that I was still alive.

If you’re there in the comfort of your home and feeling that chill running down your spine, take advantage of the fact that you’re safe, click the subscribe button and leave your like now.  This helps the channel grow and ensures you won’t miss the next story.  Because believe me, the terror only increases from here.

  With my mind somewhat clearer from the pain, I realized that the darkness on the floor receded slightly as it passed through the light of the monitor.  The light, that thing, had released the intruder when I shone the flashlight on it.  She had stopped at the edge of the area lit by the streetlights outside.  She was a creature of utter darkness.

  The light didn’t kill her, but it bothered her, it repelled her. I fumbled for my belt, searching for the tactical flashlight.  My hand tapped on the empty coudre, on the key holder. I had dropped the flashlight when I tripped outside.  I was without my main light.  I looked around in despair. The guard post was dark, except for the faint glow of the monitor.

  I needed more light.  I took my cell phone out of my pocket.  The battery showed 15%.  The signal was dead, as I expected, but the phone’s flashlight was still working.  I turned on my phone’s flash and pointed it at the ground.  The beam of white LEDs cut through the darkness of the cabin.

  Where the light touched the black stain on the ground, the substance hissed.  It was an audible sound, like grease dripping onto a hot plate.  The fog receded violently, shrinking back into the crack in the door.  I gained ground.  I took a deep breath, feeling the bow less heavy.  But the victory was short-lived. The ceiling light in the guardhouse exploded.

Not only did it go out, it exploded, throwing shards of glass all over me.  The noise was deafening in the tense silence.  I shrank back, covering my head, and the phone fell from my hand, sliding under the table, its light facing the wall. The twilight returned, and then the glass in the front window cracked.

  It wasn’t a stone, it was pressure.  The tempered glass window , designed to withstand impact, began to be installed, revealing a white spiderweb pattern that grew from the center to the edges.  From the outside, pressed against the glass, I saw the face, or what appeared to be a face.  The dark mass was flattened against the window.

  There were no eyes, no mouth, just a smooth, black, pulsating surface. But I knew she was watching me.  The pressure increased, the glass groaned, on the verge of giving way.  If that window were to break, there would be no barrier left.  She would enter all at once .  I had nowhere to run.  The door was blocked by the black stain that kept coming back in.

  The window was about to shatter.  I was trapped in a coffin made of concrete and glass.  It was there, in that moment of utter despair, that my skepticism finally died.  I, the man who laughed at superstitions, who thought everything had a scientific explanation, found myself doing something I hadn’t done since I was a child.

  I closed my eyes, held the crucifix my mother had given me, which I left lying at the bottom of the desk drawer, and began to pray.  It wasn’t a pretty prayer.  I couldn’t remember the exact words.  It was a stammered cry for help, a primal plea to whatever higher power might hear me. For God’s sake, get me out of here.  Don’t let this thing get the better of me.

The glass shattered.  The sound was like an explosion.  Shards flew inside like projectiles.  The icy wind rushed into the guardhouse with the force of a hurricane, knocking over papers and chairs and throwing me against the wall.  The presence entered.  I felt her weight on me.  It wasn’t a physical burden, it was a burden on the soul.

  It was as if joy, hope, happy memories, everything was being sucked out of me by a giant vacuum cleaner .  I felt my arms go numb, unable to move.  I tried to lift the hand with the crucifix, but it weighed a ton.  The entity was on top of me.  I couldn’t see her.  My eyes were filled with dust and tears, but I could feel the icy cold touching my face.

  I could feel the mouth of that thing opening near my ear, ready to inhale what was left of my life.  I felt my heart skip a beat.  Then two. The pace was slowing down.  The drain was draining too quickly.  “This is the end,” I thought. My mind began to fade, floating in a gray, indifferent haze. And then a sound cut through the night.

 It wasn’t thunder, it wasn’t a scream, it was the loud, shrill mechanical sound of my wristwatch alarm. 5 a.m. The coincidence or miracle was immediate. Along with the beep of the watch, the first pale ray of morning sunlight pierced the window, passing over the east wall and reaching the interior of the guardhouse.

 The morning light wasn’t strong, it was that bluish-gray of dawn, but it was enough. The entity let out a sound. This time I heard it clearly. It wasn’t a monster roar from a movie. It was a sound of escaping air, of decompression, like a tire punctured. The weight lifted off me. The cold receded instantly, as if it had been sucked back out.

 I opened my eyes, expecting to see the open sky and shards of glass everywhere, but what I saw almost made my brain shut down completely. The window was intact. The tempered glass I had  The crack and burst from the pressure of that thing was smooth and perfect, reflecting my sweaty face. There was no wind, no debris. For a second, I thought it had all been a nightmare, a feverish delirium caused by exhaustion.

But then I looked at the door. The guardhouse was locked, exactly as I had left it. But on the white paint of the inside of the metal door there were three deep scratches: deep grooves in the steel, as if claws had tried to dig their way in or out. And on the floor, where the fog had entered, the dry eye stain remained, dark and smelly, defying all logic.

 The window might be intact, but that thing had been in there with me. I lay there on the floor, cold, trembling, not from cold, but from shock, unable to move, until I heard the sound of the supervisor’s car arriving at 6 a.m. When the supervisor entered the guardhouse, he had to use the master key, as I couldn’t get up to unlock it.

 He found me huddled in the corner. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at me with  A confused and frightened expression. I saw that he noticed the scratches on the door and the stain on the floor, but he chose to ignore them. He helped me up and asked if I had been mugged. I couldn’t answer. He took me to the bathroom mirror to wash my face.

 I expected to see a monster, but the reflection that stared back at me was myself. My hair was still black, my skin without new wrinkles, but my eyes were someone else’s. They were sunken, dull, opaque. It was the look of someone who had seen what exists on the other side and realized that we are just cattle waiting to be slaughtered.

 I hadn’t aged on the outside, but something inside had died that night. They found the intruder’s body in the vampire ward. The official coroner’s report said: ” Sudden cardiac arrest caused by overdose and hypothermia.” They said the advanced state of decomposition was due to soil moisture and insect activity. My report on the break-in was filed as a psychotic episode caused by stress.

 I was suspended and resigned at the same time.  This week. I’m recording this account now from inside my car, parked outside the main gate of this same cemetery. I swore I’d never go back, but I needed to see the place. One last time. I needed to look at that guardhouse from afar to make sure I wasn’t crazy. But I made a mistake.

 I spent too much time remembering. The sun is already setting on the horizon. The shadows of the cemeteries are getting long again, stretching towards my car. And I smell that same coppery, sour smell starting to rise from the air conditioning. I need to get out of here now. Immediately. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this profession, it’s that there are doors that should never be opened and silences that should not be broken.

 That place, the vampire section, is not a legend, it’s a prison. Those tombstones with impossible dates are not mistakes, they are warnings that things lie there that defy time and need life to remain trapped. We, the living, are just the fuel. And when the darkness looks back…  For you, my advice is simple: Cling to God.

 It doesn’t matter your religion, it doesn’t matter if you’re a skeptic like I was. Seek Him. Because when night falls and logic fails, when the walls don’t protect and the weapons don’t work, only faith keeps us standing. I got out alive, but my peace remained trapped inside forever. Now I want to hear from you before I start this car and disappear from here.

 If this story made you look at the dark corners of the room with suspicion, like the video, subscribe to the channel so you don’t miss the next stories, and comment below what you would do if you were locked in that guardhouse. Would you have prayed or tried to run? I read all the comments at home, far away from here. God be with you.