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

Please do not perform the autopsy. Wait two hours. Minutes later, when the morgue is invaded and the body

The nun mysteriously disappears, and the doctor becomes agitated when he realizes what really happened.

But, but, what is this? Is it a tattoo? What is that on your 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, Dr. Foseca, the most experienced surgeon in the place, who had just opened a closet in search of scalpels and knives, turned around with a frown.

What do you mean by “up tattoo”? What did you see, Dr. Camilo?

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

He was still wearing the black habit, which suited his young and delicate body very well.

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 death.

Camilo, the better of the two foremen, remained silent for several seconds.

He waited for his companion to approach, searching for the right words to describe what he had just witnessed.

—Did you see his tattoo, Camilo? Is that it? —repeated the chief doctor, trying to understand what was worrying his colleague so much.

—I was watching her and noticed an opening in her habit. It seems she has a tattoo on her back. I’m not sure—he replied, visibly disturbed.

Foseca, with the serenity of someone who has been in that position for many years, crossed his arms and reflected: “Is it just your impression or perhaps it’s a tattoo?” he said, making a brief pause before concluding.

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

Amilo took a deep breath, looked at his colleague and asked him 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 work in the morgue? Foseca, who had already been working in that morgue for more than a decade, raised his eyebrows. To be honest, I did dream about it.

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

Surrealist or not, said Camilo, in a more serious tone. We faced a crowd and confessed that this thing intrigued me.

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

But before the autopsy could begin, an icy wind repeatedly 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 repeated chill. He immediately turned 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? —Fóseca didn’t respond immediately, only letting out a long sigh. His gaze was fixed on the nun’s body and he too felt the same chill.

Something had changed in the atmosphere. Thus, 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 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 talk. 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 drew closer, he leaned over the body.

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

A dark stain, small but visible. The forensic doctor examined Camilo. They 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 something sacred in that way caused him oppression in 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, but an inscription, something written. “Is there any truth to this?” Foseca murmured, between surprise and curiosity. “I asked him: ‘Is there something there, something written?’ Camilo exclaimed, getting even closer.”

Driven by the desire to understand, Foseca accelerated his movements, leaving the nun’s back completely exposed.

And then, as if time had stopped, the two doctors remained motionless. Their eyes remained wide open, their faces pale, without words.

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 this, am I?” Camilo asked, his voice breaking with fear. Foseca, still holding the scissors in his trembling hands, answered without taking his eyes off the description.

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

 The experienced Dr. Foseca extended his trembling hand and delicately slid his finger over the text.

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

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

Foseca, stretched over the body, remained motionless for several seconds as if he had assimilated what had happened. It was absurd, inexplicable, unbelievable.

Camilo, overcome by a nearly jovial tranquility, did not wait for more instructions.

He took a few steps forward, leaning over the habit. He quickly scanned 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. He opened his eyes wide. “Doctor Foseca, there’s something here.”

It looks small, it looks like… He slowly took out the object and then finished the sentence with a voice trembling with astonishment. It was as if time stood still for him.

Camilo was left holding the small USB device in his hand as Foseca slowly approached. The older man took the object and twirled it between his fingers.

It was made of black plastic, common, seemingly non-offensive, but the sensation that enveloped it was anything but relaxing. What could have been inside?

Camilo asked, now with a slightly firmer tone of voice, although his servility was evident.

Foseca examined the pepper for a few seconds and then looked at his colleague.

If that message is true, if she herself left it, then this pepper can contain some proof, some answer about what happened with this girl.

He made a brief pause and stipulated: It’s strange that the police didn’t find him. Perhaps they didn’t search for him with determination. 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 each step. He sat down in front of the computer, turned off the device, and waited in silence while the operating system loaded.

The tension in the atmosphere was almost unbearable. The silence between them was profound, 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. After a few seconds, a single folder appeared.

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

The experienced operator clicked on the file. The image loaded and what they saw together 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 at the back.

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 the morgue, ready for autopsy.

Or perhaps I had a worse destiny —he said with short breath—. I, I haven’t had it for a long time. 

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

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

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

Somehow, the mother of the cocubia is involved, that’s clear. Both of them watched the video again.

He searched for details, any additional clue. He realized that everything had been recorded with a laptop’s webcam. The poor lighting made it difficult to analyze the event, 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 nun’s desperate voice and the knocking on the door. It was the third time she had seen him, witnesses said.

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

Mother, I don’t want anyone else in this room. 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 supposed mother simply agreed, biting her lips hard. Gabriela’s body was carefully removed from the room and placed under police custody.

Eп segυпdo lυgar, Lυcía se eппtró coп Eustaqυio, qυieп la esperaba, ocυlto y apsioso.

As soon as he saw her, he ran towards her. “What’s going on? Why are the police here?” Lucia asked in a low but firm voice.

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

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

Mother, Father Eustaquio. How wonderful 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 an eyebrow suspiciously.

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

She said she didn’t trust you, but she didn’t know why. And so, Susana, firmly believing the false mother, told him everything.

For her part, Lucía 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. I need to understand what’s happening before sharing anything.

Susa nodded, unaware of the danger she was exposing herself to. As soon as he walked away, Lucia turned to Eustius, and her mask of sweetness disappeared. It smells very bad here.

We have to go to the morgue right now, immediately.

Shortly afterwards, already in the morgue, Lucia entered the frigid room accompanied by Eustaquio.

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

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

Ñú 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 extract my 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 pineapple 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 him? Where is Sister Gabriela? She’s alive, isn’t she?

Foseca stuttered terrified. What is happening here? We don’t understand anything.

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

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

I’m here. Everyone turned around. There was Gabriela, firm, with her gaze fixed on the imposters.

You love me. Let them both go. This has nothing to do with it.

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

For their part, Lucía and Eustaquio advanced slowly towards Gabriela.

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

He raised his weapon, but before he could fire, some threatening voices snorted behind him: “Lower your weapons immediately.”

“Both of you are under arrest!” roared the delegate, who appeared accompanied by several armed police officers. Lucia and Eustaquio were stunned.

Behind them, more police officers appeared, completely surrounding them. A police cordon was formed.

“If he left, he would drop the weapons and laugh. No, not again!” cried the false mother. As she handcuffed them, a figure entered the room. It was the real Mother Ursula.

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

Camilo and Foseca approached, confused. Foseca asked hesitantly, “Can we know what happened?” Finally, the truth came to light.

The mother, of a more distinguished character, had a twin sister named Lucía. While Ursula dedicated her life to God, Lucía followed the path of crime.

She spent years in prison, involved in crimes and had a long relationship with Eusta, a priest, an accomplice in her crimes. When she got out of prison, she also helped Lucia escape.

Jυпtos decidieroп asumir υпa пυeva ideпtidad.

 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 prison, and thus free herself forever from the bars.

However, Lucia and Eustaquio’s plan did not go as expected, since Gabriela ended up discovering the whole truth.

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

Gabriela explained calmly: I’ve always liked studying medicine, even autopsies. I knew that if he took me in 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 like a dead woman so I could continue living.

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, on her way to pray, discovered the real Mother Ursula.

Upon learning 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, drowsy, thus framing the flagrant case against the false mother and the false priest.

Finally, Lucía and Eustaquio were arrested.

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

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

Camilo and Foseca, for their part, coпtiпυaroп trabajoпdo eп la morgυe, pero sabíaп coп absolυta cierto qυe volveríaп a preseпciar algo taп extraño y absurdo eп todo suu carrera.