A dead nun was brought to the morgue, but when her habit was cut, a phrase appeared: “Do not perform the autopsy.” What they found next did not seem like a miracle, but a nightmare capable of destroying an entire convent.

Don’t perform the autopsy, please. Wait two hours. Minutes later, when the morgue is invaded and the body

The nun mysteriously disappears, the doctor becomes agitated upon realizing what really happened.

But, but, what is this? Is this a tattoo? What is that on her body, Dr. Foseca?, Camilo asked, taking two hurried steps backwards, as if something had pushed him.

His eyes were fixed on the motionless body on the metal stretcher, and the tone of his voice trembled with uncertainty.

On the other side of the cold room, surrounded by white tiles and surgical instruments, the most experienced foreskin there, Dr. Foseca, who had just opened a cabinet in search of scalpels and knives, turned around with a frown.

What do you mean, a tattoo? What did you see, Dr. Camilo?

He asked clearly, intrigued, as he approached with slow steps. Stretched out on the stainless steel stretcher, lay something that was not seen every day in that morgue, the body of a nun.

She was still wearing the black habit, well-fitted to her young and delicate body.

Her face, pale and angelic, seemed more like that of someone who was sleeping soundly than that of someone alive, but she was dead and there was no clear explanation for her passing.

Camilo, the younger of the two foremen, remained silent for a few seconds. He waited for his colleague to approach, searching for the right words for what he had just seen.

“Did you see her tattoo, Camilo? Is that it?”, repeated the senior doctor, trying to understand what was bothering his colleague so much.

“I was looking and noticed an opening in her habit. It seems there’s a tattoo on her back. I’m not sure,” he replied, visibly disturbed.

Foseca, with the calm of someone who had been in that role for many years, crossed his arms and reflected. “Could it just be your impression or maybe it is a tattoo?” he said, pausing briefly before concluding.

Not everyone follows the path of faith from a young age. Sometimes a person lives in the world, is marked by it, and only later dedicates themselves to religious life. It could be a memory from the past. Nothing strange.

Amilo took a deep breath, looked at his colleague and asked something that perhaps he had been keeping to himself since the beginning of that tour.

And all these years here, did you ever do an autopsy or a morgue? Foseca, who had already been working at that morgue for more than a decade, raised his eyebrows. To be honest, if I dreamed.

 I was surprised when the delegate sent the body here. You know, when there’s an autopsy it’s because there’s suspicion of a crime and a murder is a cover-up. That seemed almost absurd.

Surreal or not, Camilo said in a more serious tone. We are facing a mob and I confess that I am still intrigued by that supposed tattoo.

Foseca nodded. He seemed to understand his colleague’s unease. Then they began to prepare for the procedure.

But before the autopsy could begin, an icy wind suddenly invaded the room, causing the window to burst open with a crash.

 The papers on the table flew, the instruments ticked. Camilo shuddered. His body reacted with a sudden chill. He turned immediately towards the body on the stretcher and with a lump in his throat asked,

 “Do you really think we should do this, doctor?”

“To touch a nun, someone sacred?” Foseca did not respond immediately, only letting out a long sigh. His eyes were fixed on the nun’s body and he too felt the same chill.

Something in the atmosphere had changed. Even so, he spoke firmly. This is our job, Camilo. 

Whoever it is, we need to find answers. We need to know the cause of death. He paused and finished.

Sometimes life presents us with things that seem wrong, but that are necessary.

The young doctor, still hesitant, nodded. They both breathed deeply. The veteran then took the initiative. Let’s discuss. Where did you say you saw something?

“On the back,” Camilo replied. “Through the opening of the habit. There’s something there. It seems so.” Foseca approached the stretcher and examined it carefully. “Let me see.” As he approached, he leaned over the body.

In effect, the fabric of the black habit had a small tear and through it one could see a piece of skin and something strange about it.

A dark mark, small but visible. The forensic doctor then looked at Camilo. The two exchanged a brief look of confirmation. It was enough.

“Help me turn her over,” Foseca asked. With care and respect, the two doctors placed the nun’s body face down on the icy stretcher.

Before starting, Foseca closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and murmured a prayer. He asked God for forgiveness, because although it was his job, touching someone sacred in that way made him feel a weight on his chest.

“Pass me some scissors,” he asked. Camilo handed him the instrument and Foseca began to carefully cut the back of the habit, but it only took a few centimeters for his eyes to open wide.

What he saw there was not a simple tattoo, it was an inscription, something written. “Is there any truth to it?” Foseca murmured, between shock and curiosity. “I told him, ‘Is there something there, something written?’” Camilo exclaimed, getting even closer.

Moved by a urge to understand, Foseca accelerated his movements, fully revealing the nun’s back.

And then, as if time had stopped, the two doctors froze. Their eyes remained wide open, their faces pale, they were speechless.

Neither of them dared to blink. Silence filled the room as if the morgue itself had suffocated them. Is that what I’m reading, doctor?

“I’m not imagining things, am I?” Camilo asked, his voice breaking with fear. Foseca, still holding the scissors in her now trembling hands, replied without taking her eyes off the description.

If you’re imagining something, then so am I. As if I needed to make sure of what I saw, as if my eyes weren’t enough.

 The experienced Dr. Foseca extended his trembling hand and delicately ran his finger over the writing.

Her lips moved slowly as she read in a low voice the words engraved on the young woman’s back. Don’t autopsy my body, please. Wait two hours.

What I need is in the pocket of my habit. The silence that followed was almost as disturbing as the message.

Foseca, lying on the body, remained motionless for several seconds as if he were processing that. It was absurd, inexplicable, unheard of.

Camilo, overcome by an almost youthful tranquility, did not wait for further instructions. He took a few steps forward, leaning forward over the habit. He quickly ran his eyes along the side of the black habit until he identified two discreet pockets sewn into the fabric.

The first one was fine, but when he put his fingers in the second one he felt something. His eyes opened wide. “Doctor Foseca, there’s something here.

It looks small, it looks like a… He slowly took out the object and then completed the sentence with a voice breaking with astonishment. It was as if time froze for a moment.

Camilo was left holding the small USB device in his hands while Foseca slowly approached. The older man took the object and turned it between his fingers.

It was made of black plastic, common, seemingly harmless, but the sensation that enveloped it was anything but calming. What could be inside this?

Camilo asked, now with a slightly firmer voice, although his servileness was evident.

Foseca scanned the peprive for a few seconds, then looked up at his colleague. If that message is true, if she herself left this, then this peprive can contain some proof, some answer about what happened with this nun.

He paused briefly and continued. It’s strange that the police didn’t find him. Maybe they didn’t check carefully. But now that he’s in our hands, let’s find out together what happened.

 Coп el peпdrive eп las maпos, Foпseca camпó rápidameste hacia la sala coпtɪg.

Camilo followed him immediately, his heart beating faster with every step. He sat down in front of the computer, turned off the equipment, and waited in silence while the operating system loaded.

The tension in the air was almost unbearable. The silence between them was heavy, broken only by the hum of the computer fan and the servile tapping of Camilo’s fingers on the table.

 When the system finally started, Foseca inserted the USB drive and waited. The screen flickered. A single folder appeared after a few seconds.

Camilo pointed to the monitor. It’s a video. There’s a video file there. Foseca nodded slightly. His eyes were fixed on the screen. “Are you ready?” he asked. “Yes, open it,” Camilo replied, almost without breathing.

The experienced fore￥ clicked on the file. The image loaded and what they saw in conjunction turned their stomachs. The same woman appeared in the video.

Her face was downcast, pale, and her eyes were full of fear. She was sitting on the edge of a bed, in a simple room, with a cross on the wall and a window in the background.

It was night. The light was dim, but enough to see his expression of affliction. If you are watching this video, it is because my body is in a morgue ready to undergo autopsy.

Or maybe I had an even worse destiny,” she said, her breath ragged. I, I haven’t had much time. 

And then, as if destiny wanted to confirm it, loud knocks resounded on the door of the room. The nun looked desperately to one side. She did not trust the Mother Superior to Ursula.

She is not who everyone thinks. Don’t trust her for God’s sake. Before I could comment, the video abruptly cut off. Camilo put his hands to his head.

His eyes widened and he murmured, “It was the mother. The mother did this to him.” Foseca swallowed hard. He was visibly shaken. I don’t know, but the police need to see this immediately.

Somehow, the mother of the concubine is involved, that’s clear. They both saw the video again.

He was looking for details, any additional clue. He noticed that it had been recorded with a laptop webcam. The dim lighting made it difficult to analyze the environment, but there was no doubt.

 It was the same face, the same woman who at that moment lay on the cold stretcher in the next room. I tried to identify shadows, reflections, any indication that there was someone else in the room.

But there was nothing, only the desperate voice of the nun and the knocking on the door. I was seeing it for the third time, witnesses.

Lucia also read it and her expression betrayed her immediate discomfort. She tried to intervene, but he was emphatic.

I don’t want anyone else in this room, Mother. We need to know what really happened, and even if it’s a nun, we’ll have to take Sister Gabriela’s body for analysis.

Without alternatives, the fake mother simply agreed, biting her lips hard. Gabriela’s body was carefully removed from the room and placed under the officers’ custody. Second, Lucia found herself with Eustaquio, who was waiting for her, hidden and eager.

As soon as he saw her, he ran towards her. “What’s happening? Why are the police here?” Lucia answered in a low voice, but with anger.

Someone reported Gabriela’s death. I don’t know if it was her before she died, but there’s something strange about this story. Did she want to perform an autopsy on her?

Before I could begin the conversation, Susana appeared running with her eyes full of tears.

Mother, Father Eustakio. How good that I found them. Gabriela. She. Lucia interrupted, feigning sobs.

Susana is gone, she’s dead. But Susana, in her hypocrisy, ended up saying more than she should have. She knew this was going to happen. I don’t know how, but she knew. Lucia raised a suspicious eyebrow.

Susana, you have something to do with this story. What did Gabriela tell you? I only did what she asked, Susana replied nervously.

She said she didn’t trust you, but I don’t know why. And so Susana, firmly believing the false mother, told it all.

Lucia, for her part, narrowed her eyes, but quickly changed her tone. She forced a smile and placed her hands on the nun’s shoulders.

I understand, my daughter. Thank you for trusting me, but please don’t tell anyone about this. I need to understand what’s happening before sharing anything.

Susa nodded, unaware of the danger she was putting herself in. As soon as she walked away, Lucia turned to Eustio, her mask of sweetness disappearing. It smells very bad here.

We need to go to the morgue now, immediately.

Shortly afterwards, already at the morgue, Lucia entered the icy room accompanied by Eustaquio.

The two forensic doctors, Foseca and Camilo, were there still astonished by everything that was happening.

Upon seeing the empty space, Lucía let out a hateful word. Foseca, feigning ignorance, took a few steps forward.

Still believing he was in front of his real mother, he said, “Mother, you shouldn’t be here. Really, I already told you that you couldn’t enter without authorization.”

“I need you to leave immediately.” Lucia turned abruptly. From her habit she pulled out a weapon.

The expression of sweetness had completely disappeared. I’ll only leave when I know where that little girl is.

Where is Gabriela? The eyes of both doctors widened. Camilo took a step back, raising his hands. Calm down, calm down, there’s no need for this.

At that moment, Eustakio appeared behind them, also armed. Didn’t you hear? Where is Sister Gabriela? She’s alive, isn’t she?

Foseca stammered in terror. What is happening here? We don’t understand anything.

Lucia pointed the weapon at him in a firm, cold voice. “I don’t need to understand. I just want Sister Gabriela, whether it’s her body or her.”

“Where did they hide it?” Eustakio approached even closer with the weapon in his hand and his gaze fixed. The silence in the room was unbearable. Then, a voice snorted through the corridor.

I am here. Everyone turned around. There stood Gabriela, firm, her eyes fixed on the imposters.

You love me. Just let go of the two of them. They have nothing to do with this.

It is I whom he is looking for. The forensic doctors looked at each other, unable to believe what they saw.

Lucia and Eustaquio, for their part, advanced slowly towards Gabriela.

Lucia screamed, “Consumed by fury.” “Damn it! You ruined everything, but now, now you’re going to pay.”

She raised the weapon, but before she could fire, voices snarled behind Gabriela. “Put down your weapons immediately.”

“Both of you are under arrest,” roared the delegate, appearing with several armed police officers. Lucia and Eustaquio turned around in a state of shock.

Behind them, more police emerged, completely surrounding them. The cordon was formed.

“If they left, they dropped their weapons and laughed. No, not again!” shouted the fake mother. While they were being handcuffed, a figure entered the room. It was the real Mother Ursula.

She walked slowly towards Lucia, her twin sister, a criminal, and just shook her head in silence, disappointed. Then she opened her arms and hugged Gabriela tightly.

Camilo and Foseca approached each other, confused. Foseca asked hesitantly, “Can we know what happened?” The truth finally came to light.

The superior mother had a twin sister, Lucia. While Ursula dedicated her life to God, Lucia followed the path of crime.

She spent years in prison, involved in crimes and in a long-standing relationship with Eusta, who was a priest, only a criminal accomplice. When he got out of jail, he helped Lucia escape too.

Jυпtos decidieroп asumir υпa пυeva ideпtidad.

 And it was then that Lucia devised the most audacious plan, to usurp the place of her own sister, disguising herself as the superior mother of the convent, and thus free herself from the bars forever.

However, Lucia and Eustaquio’s plan did not turn out as they imagined, because Gabriela ended up discovering the whole truth.

Foseca, still impressed, asked, “But how did you get to the autopsy table?”

Gabriela explained calmly. I always liked studying medicine, even autopsies. I knew that if he took me away as if I were dead, he would examine my body.

I needed proof against the mother. I also took the pills aware of the risk, but confident that she would appear dead for a few hours and wake up later.

That’s why I asked Sister Susana to write the message on my back. I had to leave the convent looking dead in order to stay alive.

While all this was happening in the convent, Lucia and Eustace discovered that the secret entrance to the chapel had been left open. It was there that Susana, while going to pray, found the real Mother Ursula.

Upon learning of what had happened to Gabriela, the mother called the police and went to the morgue, arriving just at the moment that

Gabriela woke up on the stretcher, somber, thus framing the flagrant case against the false mother and the false priest.

Finally, Lucia and Eustaquio were arrested.

Gabriela, the true mother and Susana, returned to the convent, resuming their lives of prayer and faith.

Ursula still tried to visit her sister in prison, trying to convince her to change her life, but soon she observed that Lucia would never leave the path of perdition.

Camilo and Foseca, for their part, continued working in the morgue, but knew with absolute certainty that would again witness something so strange and absurd in his entire career.