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- Herausgeber: BookRix
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
The Caiçara Case was a true story of paranormal occurrence in Brazil. A family moves into a house in the countryside of the city of Caiçara, and faces strange phenomena at the house. Christian symbols do not work. The only thing that can save them is a strange amulet given by an indian.
News about the Caiçara Case:
g1.globo.com/rs/rio-grande-do-sul/noticia/2014/06/casa-e-demolida-apos-exorcismo-e-fenomenos-incomuns-no-rs.html
issoebizarro.com/blog/sobrenatural-misterios/historia-familia-atormentada-fenomenos-sobrenaturais-rs/
infocors.com/2014/06/caicara-casa-e-demolida-apos-caso-de.html
oarquivo.com.br/extraordinario/temas-inexplicados/1794-casa-assombrada-de-caicara-rs-brasil-e-demolida.html
Television News:
g1.globo.com/rs/rio-grande-do-sul/teledomingo/videos/v/casa-e-demolida-apos-caso-de-exorcismo-no-norte-do-rs/3402454/
youtube.com/watch?v=tl5d7cYvnPA
youtube.com/watch?v=HNI4YsrIEqk
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017
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The Conjuring - Caiçara Case - Based on a True Story
BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 MunichThe Conjuring – Caiçara Case – Based on a True Story
The Conjuring – Caiçara Case – Based on a True Story
Waldon Volpiceli
This book is based on a true story. The characters in this book have been changed to preserve the real identity of the people who reported the facts. Some paranormal phenomena described in the book were based on the accounts of those who lived the story, though some of them are fictional.
Image of the house where the phenomena occurred, made by a reporting team.
The smell of coffee filled the entire room. Angela woke up with the smell. It was 7 A.M. and it was cold outside. Despite Brazil being known as a tropical country, in the south regions the climate similar to Europe. But she was warm in her bed, wrapped in blankets. At her side, her brother and sister still slept. An eleven years old girl and an eight years old boy. Angela was 15 years old. She stayed in bed, feeling the aroma of coffee coming from the kitchen. Their house was small, wooden, low ceiling, with the roof just above. Soon came a male voice from the kitchen.
“Angela, wake up, it's time.”
It was Mr. Wagner. Farmer, tall and strong, short brown hair, a descendant of Germans who had come to the region more than 100 years before. He lived in Caiçara, north side of the state of Rio Grande do Sul, in the south region of Brazil, which has a strong German community. Mr. Wagner's ancestors came from Germany and he was proud of his Germanic origins. In his room, there was a German flag, although small, on a small table next to his bed and he even spoke a little bit of the language. But despite his pride, Mr. Wagner belonged to a lower class of German immigration to Brazil. He was a farmer with little education. Their house was small, wooden, with only a few rooms. There was no lining in the ceiling. The roof was visible from inside. It was wavy and thin. He and his family had moved into this house only a few days before. It was him, his wife, who was also a descendant of Germans, and their three children.
“Angela, you mother finished brewing the coffee. We have cake today, just the way you like it.”
Angela heard the call. She was a short girl, thin, brown hair and very different from the stereotype of the typical German (blonde and tall). She got up, went to the closet and pulled out a black sweater. The closet was shared between her and her brother and sister. She tried putting on the sweater, but realized that it belonged to her younger sister.
“Damn, it doesn't fit. It's not mine.”
She searched around until she found her sweater, same style and also black, and dressed it. She was wearing pants, white socks to protect from the cold at night and long-sleeved shirt. She went back to the bed, careful not to wake the others and put her shoes on. Then, she went into the kitchen. Still with a sleepy face, she sat down at the table where her father was drinking coffee.
“Where's the cake?” She asked.
“Right here,” pointed, her father. “You’re so sleepy that you didn't even notice.”
It was a carrot cake, no frosting. She picked up a piece and began eating.
“Still with the idea that you don't want to learn German?” he asked her.
“That language is too hard. Why can't I learn something more universal? Learning German won’t do me any good.”
“My daughter, you have to stop this. German it’s a strong language, a noble one.”
“I know you like it, father. I tried to keep up but it's very complicated and I don't see any usefulness in learning something that I won't use all that much. What for? We're in a small town of 5,000 inhabitants, hundreds of kilometers from any major city. Learning German will only serve me for bragging rights.”
“I even bought you those correspondence lessons. It was a sacrifice for us. You stay home all day, taking cake of your siblings while your mother and I go to work. They're bigger now. They don't give you much trouble. Besides, there's no school around here. So, apply yourself, you have the time.”
“I know dad. But does it have to be German? I don't even know where Germany is, they will never accept me there. We are in Brazil, far from anywhere in the world. I don't see why I have to learn it.”
“I bought the lessons for you and it was expensive. I already bought it, now you have to learn it.”
“You did this without telling me, you didn’t even ask me if I wanted to. If you like the language so much why don't you learn it?”
“I know a little, and you don't know anything. You’ll learn it all.”
“But why me?”
“This is not a discussion, just do it.”
Her mother was quietly listening while tidying up the stove. She also disagreed with her husband’s insistence to force her daughter to learn the language of immigrants. She had already adapted to Brazil, although she had a German name: Valquiria. She was a simple woman, of little education, short and chubby, long dark blonde hair, more dark than blonde, but still considered blonde. She serves the cake to Angela, who was too sleepy to eat. Angela eats breakfast, as does her dad, when... TAF.
“What was that?” asks Angela.
“I don't know,” replies her father. “Something fell on the roof.”
Another sound: TAF.
“Again,” says Angela.
She finds it very strange, her father too, but her mother doesn’t pay much attention to it. When... TAF.
