The Monastery Of Terror

"Life is a hideous thing, and from the background behind what we know of it peer daemoniacal hints of truth which make it sometimes a thousandfold more hideous"–H. P. Lovecraft

I had been on an excursional quest of the old Aztec ruins, when I had suddenly found myself lost in the vast forest of ancestral spirits. I had walked through the patches of thick trees for several kilometres, until I had reached a 16th century monastery that was located abreast a mountain slope, outside of Mexico City.

It was late in the afternoon, and I could feel the warm rays of the sun piercing me, as the perspiration had emitted through the pores of my delicate skin. I had decided to take refuge at the abbey for the time being and ask for directions to leave the arboreal area. I was not certain, whether or not the monastery was inhabited by any residing monks. The year was 1920, and my name is Roberto Salazar, an archaeologist from Spain.

I was greeted by an elderly abbot, who was in charge of the monastery, a Padre Sandoval, who was willowy in stature. His eyes were conspicuously distinctive. They were of a hoary colour that were not dark nor radiant. They were covered by a long, brown cowl that was a hooded cloak. His habiliment was typical of a devout and monastic monk. He had advised me to stay the night, since the sun was already setting. It was dangerous to be out in the forest so late in the day.

I had agreed, and I was in no condition to dare to defy the ominous perils of the forest. A room was arranged for me inside the monastery, and I was offered food in the dining hall. The monks were abstemious men. I could perceive the age of the imposing abbatial structure, with the stone and mortar of the recesses of the halls that had niches, and the wide, rectangular atria and chapels, the single nave and the intimate cloister.

All of these apparent things and more were representative of the established design and architecture of the abbey. I did not know if the abbot had been living alone at the time. When I had asked him if other monks were living in the monastery, he would answer me by saying that there were indeed monks dwelling with him.

They were on the other side of the monastery, occupied with their duties and prayers of devotion. I thought it was strange, but I did not insist in my questions. The abbot was a private man, who did not divulge to me many secrets of the monastery. Perhaps, it was his quiet demeanour that was more reflected of his character and silence, when it came to revealing the truth about his secrecy. The monastery had appeared to be the ideal place, for such abounding mysteries and spectral tales of the past. What other place could be comparative to its eeriness?

I had noticed in his distinct froideur that he was a selcouth man of serious facial expressions. Essentially, he was a man of few words spoken. Had the gloomy isolation of the monastery affected him to the point that, he was indifferent to strangers or was I merely exaggerating what I was observing?

Nevertheless, whilst outside of my room, I was able to examine with my keen percipience its interior guise that was as peculiar, as was its exterior façade. I was captivated by the sheer structure of the monastery and intrigued with its colonial history. All that I was apprised of was the fact that it was built in the late 16th century, by the Franciscan monks that had arrived from Spain long ago. The abbot was a Spaniard himself, whose name was Padre Sandoval. I could tell from his distinguishable accent that he was from Toledo.

Inside my room, I had pondered about the abalienation of the monastery and its remote location. There was a measure of suspense and thrill in discovering the entirety of the truth that was concealed, within the sturdy walls of the monastery.

As a man of archaeology, I was always interested in uncovering lost treasures of the past, along with significant wonders attached to the great civilizations of antiquity.

I had contemplated the idea and possibility of ancient treasures from the era of the Conquistadors or before them, from the rule of the Aztecs? Could there actually be such priceless things somewhere inside the monastery that were valuable? Gold had been something that the Conquistadors had sought for countless centuries.

There was a part of me that wanted to dismiss the relevancy of the Spanish Conquest of Mexico, and the other part that was the daring adventurer that had seen the country, as an exotic place to explore. I had been to other parts of Latin America before, but this was my first visit to Mexico, and it would be an experience that I would never forget upon my departure.

The abbot and monks would sleep on the other side of the monastery I had presumed. I had seen a private library in one of the rooms that I had passed, upon the entrance to my room. It was abandoned from what I could tell. Despite my physical fatigue, I was curious to read any of the books there, or at least, peruse through their general contents.

Once at the library, I began to look through the books available. They were covered in viscid cobwebs and particles of dust. It had seemed to me that the books as well as the library had not been used much in decades. Despite the decadence, there were Baroque paintings that had obvious fissures in the canvases that were the consequential effects from a natural craquelure. One of the paintings was of the Cenacle, the site of the Last Supper. For some reason unbeknownst to me, the books had appeared to be left placed on the shelves. I could not confirm that, but it was my firm impression.

The language was archaic and difficult to translate completely. Some of the books were written from the 16th century and others from the 15th century in Old Castilian. It was unbelievable to fathom such a discovery. The books had contained prayers and private journals, from the monks that had lived in the monastery in those years elapsed and recorded in the annals of its history.

The journals had arrested my attention, and I began to read them in elaborate detail. There was emphasis on the ascetic life the monks had practised, during their time in the monastery and hidden gold, but the most interesting accounts were directly related to the discovery of a sinister spirit that was found roaming in the monastery.

One of the monks had mentioned, an exorcism that had taken place in the year 1590. Apparently, there was a diabolical spirit or presence that was tormenting the local monks and indigenous population at the time. There was a specific reference of the name Tlacanexquimilli, who was terrorising the area. The monks had sought divine assistance, in driving the evil spirit away.

According to the legend, the monks were combatting the apparition called the Tlacanexquimilli, who was described in early Spanish accounts, as a malicious spirit. It sometimes had no legs and dragged itself, by its strong forearms. There were numerous reports that had insinuated that its menacing head was a small human skull, almost like a shrunken head, with sharp razor teeth.

There was a particular drawing from Spanish colonial times made a few decades after the Spanish Conquest, demonstrating the unique torso of the Tlacanexquimilli with a neck encompassed, with thick feathers and long arms with sharp claws. It had a simple skull, as its head. The depiction was indeed chilling and intimidating.

The abominable creature would moan like a wounded man, and its horrendous cries could be heard for many kilometres away. The indigenous people had believed that the Tlacanexquimilli was a unique creation of the Aztec god Tezcatlipoca, the Smoking Mirror God, the ruler of the nocturnal sky and keeper of the ancestral memories, the sempiternal rival of the great Quetzalcoatl.

Tezcatlipoca had sent the Tlacanexquimilli to earth to remind humans of their fragile mortality. In the ancestral chronicles even, the Emperor Montezuma was afraid of this wraith. According to oral and written tradition, whenever anyone heard the plaintive cries of this wicked phantom echoed, they would perish afterwards to its merciless terror.

I could only attempt to fathom in my mind, the terrifying creature that was being described. It was difficult to accept that a demon could have existed to the degree that it was haunting in nature. The more that I read, the more that my intrigue had increased with every word uttered, and the more that I was inside the monastery, I could sense the evil that was once present.

There are places that are harrowing and fearful to be inside of their domain, and the monastery was exactly one of those type of places. There was not that much light seen during the day, and flambant torches were used in the night, giving the monastery its darkled shade. It was the hour, where the shadows of death wandered aimlessly.

I had returned to my room, with a sudden chill of a cold air that had entered from outside suddenly. It was night by then, and it was the precursor to the sequence of the mysterious events that would unfold afterwards. The room that I was staying at was not that spacious, nonetheless it was enough for me to spend the night. I could not complain, since my alternative was the daunting vastidity of the forest. There was this certain presentiment that I was experiencing that was prevailing in its essence.

It had begun to make me feel uncomfortable and instinctively attentive of my surroundings. I was never a man to believe in foolish superstitions, but there was something ironic about the revelations I had discovered, in the short time that I had been at the monastery.

While I was seated in my bed, I heard the bizarre sounds of screams and the opening of squeaking doors that were adjacent to my own. The noises were enough to make me want to investigate the strange occurrences. Gradually, I had entered the narrow corridor, where I had proceeded to search the origin to the noises. I did not see anyone nearby, but I had perceived the presence of something that was unnatural in its form.

What I could not conceive at that moment was the magnitude of its conception, or the ability to fully comprehend the ghostly history of the monastery. I had grabbed one of the torches, in order to see clearly as I walked forth. I had approached, with an immense sensation of anxiety. When I had passed one of the chapels that were erect, I immediately heard steps behind me. Had I attracted the attention of the other monks or something else? I had paused for a moment in my progress, expecting to meet someone in the corridor.

After several minutes, I had noticed that no one was there. The creepy sounds of the footsteps had ceased, but not the horrible screams. How could the others in the monastery not hear them, because they were so audible to my ears? It was impossible to not listen to their horrendous echoes and not be surprised, unless they were accustomed to them already. I could hear the sounds of a whip being cracked. Was this the secret practice of the Franciscans that was self-flagellation?

Whatever was occurring was not normal to me, as an outsider. I had tried to assuage my curiosity and intuition, but I could not avoid the urge to investigate more the interior place of the monastery. There were more mysteries to be solved and riddles to be deciphered, with precision. I had the indubious sense that the monastery was haunting in nature, due to its unrevealed past.

Something had compelled me to continue my investigation and search, in the direction of the monks. Before I went in that direction, I had returned to the library, to retrieve the journals that I had read. I had to have a better understanding of what was happening inside the monastery. If the monastery was indeed haunted, then I had to know the totality of its relevant past.

Back at the library, I began to read more of the journals, but I would be interrupted by the abbot, who had seen me enter and had asked me what I was doing in the library. He had startled me, at first. I had told him that I had seen the library and was intrigued to know what books it had contained. I did not confess to him the real reason that I was there, thinking that he would assume that I was prying into things that did not concern me.

I did manage to ask him, one important question about the library and that was, why was it in such a terrible state? The abbot's response would be that it had not be in usage for decades. He then told me that it was better that I return to my room and rest. It was not prudent to go wandering about in the monastery alone, during the late-night hours. He was somewhat of a quisquous.

I had returned to my room, but I was able to retrieve one of the books that had pertained to the journals of the Franciscan monks of the past. I had no intention of stealing the book. I had merely borrowed it. Inside the room I had proceeded to read more, into the tale and legend of the insidious demon Tlacanexquimilli.

I wanted to know, how this demon had manifested to the monks and had terrorised them sufficiently to be fearful of the name of the demon. I had sensed the supernatural presence of something peculiar and chilling inside the ancient monastery, but I did not precisely know, what it was in its vivid essence.

All I could construe was that it was a lurking fear that was evidently attached to the monastery in some capacity. What I did not know at the time was in what form was I to ultimately discover its absolute horror? I had a flambeau, as my only light inside the room. It was enough for me to be able to read the journal studiously. What I had read was even more disturbing and shocking than with the previous contents.

The contents would allow me to have an ameliorated context of what had been transpiring in the monastery. They would unravel the ambiguity of the stories that were lost, within the pages of the old journals. As with the prior entries to the journals, the impeccable language was in Old Castilian or 16th century Spanish. In spite of the known difference in language, I was capable of interpreting the main gist of the accounts narrated.

Once more, the mention of an evil spirit was accentuated and elucidated. It was unfathomable, and proof that there was something scelestic that had occurred in the monastery several centuries ago. The Franciscan monks were desperate to destroy the irruptive demon and had resorted to the rituals of an exorcism. They had invoked the divine power of God to assist them in this endeavour.

For forty days and nights, they attempted to eradicate the beast from the monastery, but were unsuccessful. They had only managed to contain it and imprison it, within the stone masonry of the walls of the abbey. It stated that, at least, twenty monks had perished at the hands of the demon and many others from the nearby indigenous peasants.

There were definite clamours for the monastery to be destroyed, but in the end, it was not. The troubled monks that had remained had left the monastery and had returned to Spain. That was all that was relevant, but it was sufficient for me to comprehend the plausible terror that had existed inside the monastery.

Ghost stories were abundant throughout the Americas and tales about demons were as well expressive in their accounts.

I had lit a candle I had brought with me from the library. It was incredible to believe that for all these decades, the secrets of the monastery had been concealed from the outside world. How many more priceless treasures were kept in the confines of the monastery?

I did not clearly see any cemetery, where there were distinguishable graves or headstones. Where were the deceased monks and people buried at? Were they buried somewhere else, beyond the monastery? I had concluded that the horrid outcome that had occurred in the monastery was kept a secret and never fully revealed to the public. I was conscious about the oppressive nature of the Catholic Church back in those days, and how a horrible event like the one that had taken place at the monastery would not be one that was favourable to the narrative of the church.

This was my opinion only. I did not have to convince anyone but myself of this cogent anomaly. It was extremely significant that I understood the depth of this correlation, with the coeval time period that the monks and the others had lived. I could not disregard that vital detail, or could I simply form a conjecture that was not analogous to the history of the monastery. Once more, I began to hear the awful screams of tortured souls, and the howling of the wind from outside had broken the window of my room into shards.

The incident had startled me and caused me to rise from my bed and check the window at once. It was dark outside and there was little light that could be visibly seen, from the moonlight above the mountain range. For a moment, the thought that the evil spirit had broken the window purposely had entered my mind. I did not want to overreact, but I could not stop from wondering, what else would occur inexplicably?

The hour of the haunting truth would arrive, with sheer terror. A lingering terror that would be concealed, for countless centuries. I had stepped outside of the room and had walked towards the corridor in the direction of the rooms of the abbot, to inform him of the broken window.

As I was walking, I saw the strange image of a ghostly beast heading in my direction. It had a shrunken head, with sharp razor teeth and beady eyes that reflected, a sinister glow. I hid behind one of the altars, as it had passed me by with its heavy breath. It seemed surreal, yet at the same time it felt so real. The unfathomable had become tangible.

From that point on, nothing in the monastery would appear to be normal. I waited until the ghostly being had vanished into the corridor ahead. Was it possible that I had descried the legendary Tlacanexquimilli? Thereafter, I had quietly headed towards the room of the abbot. Perhaps, it was insane of me to stay inside the monastery, but I did not know, if I could escape without being trapped in the endless forest. I had to confront the madness in person, and that meant confronting the abbot.

I was apprehensive as I sought his room, yet I knew that he had knowledge, about the demonic entity that was inside the monastery. I heard the rattling of chains. Thus, I had cautiously continued forth with my footsteps—aware of the imminent danger that was lurking, amidst the shadows and torches. Nothing could have prepared me for the consequential outcome that night. What I would discover and encounter was not from this earthly world.

I had finally reached the other side of the monastery, where the abbot and the other supposed monks were residing in their rooms. The screams had returned and so did the mystery. I began to whisper the name of the abbot as I had passed every room possible, but there was no response from either the abbot or any monks. I began to knock on all the rooms that I had seen. No one would answer me nor open their door. Were they just ignoring me? Were they occupied, or did they not hear my voice? I was baffled by their lack of response.

I had seen a chamber close to an altar that was eerily open. The question was, who had opened the door? The suspense was gnawing at me, and I walked towards that door. The screams had persisted. I began to sweat, as I could sense even more the presence of evil within the monastery. I did not know what was inside that chamber, but I was determined to discover its enigma.

When I had stepped inside, I saw the horrible image of a young boy being bound in solid chains. The screams were that of the young boy. He was possessed by the demon Tlacanexquimilli. His alabaster eyes and pale face had discomposed me upon my entrance. It was utter horror to witness.

The demonic boy had stared into my eyes and released a terrible shriek of provocation that had deafened my ears. I ran outside of the darkled chamber and had returned to my room, with a momentary grue. Had I been paranoid all this time and was seeing things that were not occurring?

The question was would my mind survive the night, or would it succumb to my unsettling thoughts? The prevailing thought that had repeated in my mind over and over was, what had I uncovered that was revealing about the truth of the monastery? There was no doubt that it was of a dauntless nature conceived, but there were still missing details to the story that I had not entirely determined their precise relevance. Who was this boy that I had found in that dreary chamber bound in heavy manacles? Who had chained him like an animal?

Immediately, I had remembered the account of the journals that had described a supposed exorcism. Could this be the same exorcism that was referred by the monks, back in the 16th century? How could that be even plausible? The madness of the monastery was deeply affecting me that I had feared, I was losing my mind and its rationality. It had seemed inconceivable to me that I was witnessing, such a macabre sight that was incompossible to reality.

I rose to my feet and had headed towards the library, thinking that I would find more information about the exorcism. While at the library, I began to hear the eldritch sound of feet passing me. When I had looked into the obtenebrated corridor, I saw a procession of monks with cowls walking pass me, as if they did not see me.

Were they distracted that they were oblivious to reality or had I been only hallucinating from the beginning? I did not have time to ponder either possibility.

Thus, I had decided to follow them, wherever they were heading. I could smell the scent of incense.

I had followed them to the same chamber, where the young boy was bound in heavy chains. The boy was possessed. I could see the horrible image of his possession, just staring into his demonic eyes that elicited sheer terror. The monks were attempting to extricate the demon Tlacanexquimilli, with their faithful prayers and holy water. The implacable demon had resisted and shrieked at the monks, twirling its long tongue around, and spitting into the faces of the monks.

The abbot was the exorcist. I stood there observing the whole scene, incredulous to what was transpiring. The door to the chamber suddenly had closed, and I could no longer see inside. All that I could hear were the continual screams and shrieks of the boy being possessed.

I had wanted to intervene, but I was unable to react. I was obfuscated and could not believe that all of the strange occurrences in the monastery were real. I had begun to question my sanity and my reasoning again and again. There was too much that had happened for it to be just the sequence of a mere coincidence. The things that were manifesting were associated to the realm of the preternatural. How could I even begin to rationalise occurrences that had no logical explanation, except the abnormality of their succession?

The mysteries of the monastery were linked to the evil of its unfolding events. How much more would I need to experiment, before I would lose my mind or worse my life? I had walked through the caliginous corridor conscientiously, dreading what I would find, yet at the same time my intrigue had caused me to seek the incontrovertible truth.

I had suspected that the monastery was indeed haunted, and that there was an evil presence that was terrifying in appearance. I knew about the demon god and the possessed boy, but there were still unresolved questions. In particular, the mystery about the abbot and the other monks.

I had contemplated all the details of every occurrence, except one that was undetermined. Were the monks and abbot even real? Were they immortal spectres trapped inside the confines of the monastery? The thought had entered my mind. Would I be forever trapped in the monastery like them?

The only person that could substantiate the truth would be a caretaker, but that person if existed was not present or available. I would have to wait until the morning to find out. That is if I was willing to stay any longer at the monastery. I was indecisive, about what would be my next course of action. All I knew is that I had to survive the night, however I could.

There was no other option. I began to listen to the murmurs of voices that were approaching. There were three monks and the abbot that had passed on to the other narrow corridor, carrying a large wooden cross. They were heading back to the chamber, where the possessed boy was imprisoned. I had followed them surreptitiously, until I had reached the exact chamber of the boy.

At the chamber, the door was wide open and what I saw would terrify me to the core of my soul. I would see with gore, the ghastly image of the possessed boy killing the monks, including the abbot. He was sucking their blood and eating their flesh. I could see blood dripping from his parched mouth. His teeth were crushing the bones of the deceased monks. I was aghast, by the gruesome images and his savagery. He then saw me standing there at the entrance of the door and made a terrible shriek that had deafened my ears.

I fled the area and ran into the claudent corridor, as he had pursued me with celerity. I ran to the library where I could hide from the beast. I could feel his wicked presence. He no longer was the possessed boy, but the demon god Tlacanexquimilli. His heavy breathing and his foul smell were noticeable and palpable. It was spine-chilling.

I had grabbed an axe that I had prehended that was nigh. It had been left there for some reason unbeknownst to me. I had waited for the beast to reach me, but it never did. After several minutes, I had returned to my room with apprehension and consternation. How much more could I endure of this insidious madness? What was keeping the demon from killing me? There was nothing that was within my power to prevent it from snatching me.

I had only an axe to defend me, but how would an axe stop the immediate advance of a demonic spirit that was enraged? I held tautly on to the axe, as if my life had depended on it. I was not willing to die or succumb to the insanity of the monastery.

After minutes had passed and the demon had not found me, I opened the dusty pages of the journals of the monks. I was reading more intrinsic information from them, hoping to answer the pertinent questions that were still pending to be solved. I had learnt that the monastery was built over an ancient Aztec ruin that had been destroyed deliberately by the Spaniards, due to previous encounters with the evil god Tlacanexquimilli. I was unaware of this vital information.

It had allowed me the capacity to make the connection with the veracious origin of the location to its history, where the monastery was constructed. I had read a plethora of accounts transcribed during the period of the Spanish Conquest of Mexico, but I had never heard about this horrific tale of the demon god Tlacanexquimilli.

It was in the early morning I had intuited, when I had clearly seen through the window, a ray of sunlight entering the room. I did not precisely know the hour, nevertheless I knew that the morning had finally arrived. I had somehow survived the encompassing horror of the night. I began to hear menacing footfalls then appropinquating my room. I stood there attentive and had prepared myself to confront the teterrimous demon if necessary, with the axe in my hand.

Slowly, the doorknob had turned to the side, as the door creaked. Someone was attempting to open the door unannouncedly. Was it the intrepid demon, who had come for me, at last? My heart had beaten faster, and my clammy hands were thus sweating profusely. I could not bear the suspense.

When the door had opened, it was an old caretaker whose name was Hilario. He had come to the monastery and had seen the light in my room, as he had entered. I was so relieved to see him and at the same time, still unnerved by what had happened the night before.

He had asked me what I was doing in the monastery. I had explained that I was lost in the forest and had found the monastery. I had been invited by the abbot, a Padre Sandoval. He had looked at me with a puzzling look on his countenance, before he said that the abbot had been dead for centuries. I was stunned by this candid admission.

I told him that I had never spent a night like the one I had spent, at the monastery. Judging from his expressive gestures, he knew about the elements of horror that I had witnessed. How could he not know about the haunting presence of the roaming demon and the rest of the eeriness of the monastery, including the odd behaviour of the monks? Yes the Franciscan monks. I had to speak to the abbot Padre Sandoval at once. I could not believe that he was not alive.

The caretaker was confused with my erratic comportment. He had reaffirmed me that the abbot had been dead for nearly four centuries. When I had enquired about the other monks, he told me the same thing. I was incredulous and had to prove that what he was saying was factual and not mendacity. I told him to take me to the room of the abbot.

He had escorted me to the room where he and the other monks were located. I would be in utter shock to find their skeleton remains inside dilapidated wooden coffins of contiguity that were old and full of dust. The caretaker had revealed to me that they were all preserved and kept within the monastery like relics of solemnity, as was instructed by the abbot before his untimely death.

According to the petition of the abbot, none of the bodies of the monks were to be buried. The only gold that was seen were the altars that were aureate. The demonstrative evil that had haunted the monastery and had taken the lives of the monks in accordance to the legend was never to leave the abbey. It had to be trapped along with the perished souls of the monks.

Regrettably, the boy who was possessed died, and his soul too was trapped forever. His name was Pedro. When we went to his chamber, what we found was his skeleton remains intact. What the caretaker had confessed to me afterwards was the fact that he was related to that young boy once possessed, as his descendant. When I had asked him, the reason that he was the sedulous caretaker of a monastery where his ancestor was imprisoned, he told me that he could not permit the evil to escape.

It was his kindred duty, as he declared. It was incredible that knowing what evil was inside the monastery, he was willing to be the fidelitous caretaker. I had left the monastery upon that morning in a hypnagogic state, ready to depart its unholy sanctuary. I had not slept at all.

I handed the caretaker the journals I had discovered in the library and told him that I would never reveal the secret about his ancestor, nor what had taken place in that horrendous monastery. Its history would be concealed. I was not the indicated one to rewrite its haunting history or inconfutable past. The Spaniards had brought their Catholic religion to Mexico, but they had awakened the demon from the Aztec religion.

Verily, it was impossible to explicate with mere words, the experience that I had experimented there in its entirety. The episodes were compossible with the truth. They were cognoscible and had bechanced consequentially, while I was present. I had convinced myself of their verisimilitude. Who would believe my sober narrative and its basal origin? Who would believe that I had a supernatural encounter, with the demon god Tlacanexquimilli?

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