Universidad Pesadilla: La Verdad sobre los Suicidios en la Universidad Estatal de Río de Janeiro

Hola, les traigo un mensaje de texto de un amigo mío, un estudiante de periodismo de la Universidad Estatal de Río de Janeiro (UERJ), Alexandre Carvalho. Estudio derecho allí, donde lo conocí, y encontré estas páginas que transcribí aquí en su mochila. Él está muerto ahora. Fue encontrado hace dos semanas con su cráneo aplastado por una piedra en el estacionamiento detrás del edificio de química. No sé cuánto de esto es real, pero creo que debería ser conocido.

Muchas personas conocen el edificio principal de UERJ en la calle São Francisco Xavier como el centro suicida de Río de Janeiro. Si quieres suicidarte, UERJ es tu destino. El edificio sirve como un imán para los sacrificios humanos a la ciudad. Llega allí, toma uno de los ascensores, espera que llegue a la cima sin caerte, sal, camina hacia una de las ventanas abiertas del piso y salta. Tal vez golpees a alguien en la cabeza, tal vez golpees un auto, pero generalmente solo el piso de concreto sufre el impacto de tu cráneo chocando contra él. Por lo general, se informan de diez a quince suicidios en la UERJ cada año, y esto es de boca en boca, ya que ningún periódico lo cubre. Por supuesto, este es solo el número que tiene testigos, el número real es mucho mayor, de treinta a cuarenta personas se arrojan de él cada año, pero para saberlo hay que averiguarlo por otros medios. Creo que cuando ingresé a la UERJ para estudiar periodismo en el décimo piso, ni siquiera sabía de los suicidios. Ahora, después de tomar esa estúpida decisión de estudiar estos casos en el documento de cierre del quinto semestre, me temo que he abierto una puerta que, si no me cuesta solo mi cordura, también podría quitarme la vida.

Algunas veces algunas cosas simplemente permanecen ocultas porque a nadie le interesa cambiarlas. Pero lo que ese idiota que tiene el coraje de convertirlos no sabe es que, una vez hecho esto, no hay vuelta atrás, y que ha entrado en un camino donde cada nuevo descubrimiento conduce solo a preguntas más nuevas, preguntas que tragan lentamente a uno al abismo El número secreto de suicidios reales en el edificio ni siquiera era la punta del iceberg. Quien es de UERJ también sabe de las otras historias, de la mala fama que tienen las escaleras que atraviesan cada piso detrás de esas pesadas puertas de metal. Algunos han oído hablar de los robos, otros de violaciones, el más curioso quizás de los asesinatos. Cualquiera que conozca a los empleados, limpiadores y guardias de seguridad del lugar puede haber oído hablar del mal nombre del turno de noche. Es raro que un guardia de seguridad novato, después de un turno de noche en UERJ, no renuncie al día siguiente, sin dar ninguna explicación. Y los que permanecen nunca son los mismos, se apagan de todos, se aíslan del resto, como si hubieran perdido su humanidad. Esto queda claro por la disposición natural de los sirvientes locales, si les prestas suficiente atención, pronto notarás que es una colección de los individuos más peculiares, apariencias extrañas, deformidades escondidas detrás de sus uniformes grises. Hasta ese momento, todo lo que se me ocurrió era soportable, incluso la supuesta existencia de cinco pisos negativos en el subsuelo del edificio, pero todo cambió cuando comencé a recopilar los avistamientos de la criatura. Pero no puedo seguir sin hablar primero sobre el Profesor Silvana.

Carlos Silvana era un respetado profesor de historia en la UERJ, un médico especializado en la historia de Río de Janeiro, quien también cometió el error de estudiar el edificio y el lugar donde se construyó. Sus artículos nunca fueron publicados, y hasta que mis manos los tocaron, permanecieron ocultos en partes abandonadas de la biblioteca de UERJ. En el verano de 1994, después de lo que muchos describen como comportamiento paranoico, otros casi loco, desapareció de este planeta sin dejar rastro. Fue gracias a sus estudios que descubrí gran parte de la historia de esa parte de la ciudad donde se construyó UERJ. Silvana pudo reunir informes tan distantes como la llegada de franceses y portugueses a esta tierra. Específicamente, en los documentos del sacerdote jesuita Augusti Sabatino, quien predicó en la granja azucarera jesuita de la que una vez fue parte la tierra de UERJ. Sabatino informó en muchos de sus escritos las historias de los nativos sobre ese lugar, así como sus propias experiencias. Y aquí intentaré resumir lo que estos dos hombres han podido agregar sobre el lugar.

Los nativos que alguna vez habitaron esta tierra, antes de la llegada de los europeos, cambiaron su nombre, se integraron y olvidaron su cultura, se comieron a sus muertos. No había nada más placentero que comerse a un hombre valiente con una vida honorable y digna, tanto de su propia tribu como de un enemigo derrotado de otra. Pero había aquellos muertos indigestos que, cuando vivían, eran considerados parias por otros nativos: criminales, locos o incluso chamanes que practicaban ciertas artes conocidas como prohibidas y erróneas por otros chamanes. Estos muertos, nadie quería comer, ni siquiera mirar, por lo que fueron enterrados. Pero como estos lugares de entierro fueron vistos como tomados por el mal, por los espíritus malignos de quienes los habitaban, generalmente eran cementerios separados de todo y de todos, donde las tribus a menudo se molestaban en viajar de muchos días y noches para deshacerse de aquellos cuerpos vistos como indignos. Y uno de los cementerios más grandes de este tipo tomó un pedazo de tierra que ahora está ocupado por el edificio UERJ y por el estadio Maracaná. Un lugar prohibido cuya historia fue ignorada por los jesuitas que fueron allí para armar su granja. Una decisión que les costaría caro cuando llegaron aquí en 1579. La tierra que se dedicó a una extensa plantación de yaka fue rápidamente ocupada por los rumores de la población nativa recién convertida como perteneciente al diablo. Rumores confirmados por los misioneros mismos cuando comenzaron los suicidios de algunos de sus miembros. Primero los suicidios, luego la locura. Fue alrededor de la década de 1620 cuando un misionero loco incendió la plantación. La reacción de los jesuitas fue construir una iglesia en el lugar donde se encuentra hoy el pabellón João Lira Filho de UERJ. Y es en eso que encontramos a Sabatino predicando en 1683. Un ingenuo jesuita que según su propio relato fue despojado de todo menos de su fe en la lucha que tuvo con el diablo dentro de ese edificio. Una lucha que lo dejó con la mitad de su cuerpo quemado, además de la iglesia abandonada y en ruinas. Los arbustos finalmente se hicieron cargo, ya que nadie más se atrevió a llegar allí. Y así fue hasta la expulsión de los jesuitas.

What was rule, became legend, and what was legend, became rumor of the town. And no one of the good society will listen to the rumor from the little people. Thus, in 1856 was inaugurated in that same land, by our first great pseudo-intellectual emperor, D. Pedro II, the Sanatorium of San Francisco. The first great establishment of this kind in Latin America, to receive its poor mentally ill, like the emperor’s own cousin, D. Rosa, the insane. What remains of the archives from that respected establishment, known for drowning its occupants on ice, as well as other torture practices, was lost in the fire that took the public hospital in which it had been transformed with the proclamation of the Republic. The ruins of this hospital would eventually become the Skeleton’s shantytown.

Notorious for its banditry, like the famous Horse-Face, in the Skeleton’s shantytown is where we would find the first direct references to the creature. Many say that president Vargas’ reason for choosing that place for the new university was his knowledge of the creature. Of course, others point to more sinister reasons, such as the need for the bloodbath itself that was to remove the local population. It’s from this period that Silvana found in one of the reports of its few survivors, one who was actually “relocated” to the shantytown of New Holland, current Mare, descriptions of the creature.

Mister X, as Silvana called him, still lived at Mare when he was interviewed. An old man living in between moments of madness and lucidity. Madness not from old age, but that had taken him since his last night spent at the Skeleton’s shantytown. From what Silvana could extract from his ramblings, the skeleton itself, the actual ruins of the burned down hospital, in the center of the shantytown, was always considered cursed, only the most desperate people would build their shacks inside it. Those that did it never were the same. They spoke in strange tongues, preferred to live in darkness, people around felt like they were somehow broken inside, like something terrible wrong had happen to them. Mister X, as a kid, would never dare get near it, at least not until that night of the removal, of Vargas’ bloodbath. As Vargas and his accomplices rode on their horses, going around the shantytown, wielding their shotguns, killing, raping and burning everything, Mister X ran away to hide in the only place he knew they wouldn’t dare get near, the shacks inside the skeleton. And that’s when his memories get blurry. He remembers darkness, the wide-open empty eyes of the people inside the ruins, their madness being enhanced by the screams of the people being executed outside. Then his descriptions lose all sense. It seems he saw the creature, big, green, bug like. But sometimes he was certain he himself was the creature, with multiple heads, torsos, arms, covered in a swampy mud, or made of that mud. He remembers feeling a lot of cold, and describes everything being cover by snow. But he also describes a burning, like the air was burning, like it was melting his skim, as if it was a product of intense radiation. He could hear the creature continually screaming, or he was the one screaming, all felt the same to him. And there was something like a whisper, a meaningless whisper that felt like it was trying to say something to him. But not in an unknown language, but as if something was wrong with the words, if the sound itself had been perverted, broken, and simply couldn’t produce any coherence.

For some reason, Silvana gave a lot of importance to this report, as if it wasn’t just the senseless ramblings of an old mad man. On his writings, he thought Mister X might have been having visions of the future, or the past, traces of something horrible that had happened in that place or were yet to happen. He based this thought to some american CIA experiment called remote viewing, which I am yet to explore.

From the opening of the university to the public in the 1950’s to his present day, the 1990’s, Silvana couldn’t find data on anymore extraordinary occurrences. But he also concluded that wasn’t because nothing more had happen within the building of UERJ, but because there was an active effort to hide it, as he saw this effort happening around him during his time working there. He came to the conclusion that there was some kind of secret organization operating in the building, controlling the flow of information of everything related to it, as also the Maracana Stadium and its surroundings.

According to him, he witnesses this happening especially during what he called the Native Museum’s murders. The natives museum is an abandoned building by the side of the Maracana Stadium. An 19th century mansion, owned by a rich part-time Amazon jungle adventurer, that left his home to the state so they could use it as a museum. It had been closed in the beginning of the 1970’s by the disinterest of the military regime, and quickly was taken by garbage, graffiti, trees and weeds. In the summer of 1984, there was a series of disappearances around the neighborhood surrounding it, both people from the Mangueira’s shantytown on the other side of the train line, and from the busy streets of Vila Isabel. It was found that they were being killed, as the murder was caught when he was dragging his last victim to the building. Initially the disappearances were highly publicized, especially because he targets middle class people and not only shantytown people. But then after the criminal was capture, everything related to it simply vanished from the news, becoming just a rumor among the people.

Silvana had contact with some of the cops that worked on the case. According to them, the criminal was taking his victims to the abandoned museum, killing them in some kind of strange ritual, and then performing necrophiliac acts upon their bodies. They were horrified by what they had seem, but because of orders from their superiors, they couldn’t reveal who he was, not directly at least, although by what they let slip by, Silvana could conclude he was the son of a famous journalist, that not only had political connections, but also to the secret society that was working behind UERJ. The murder was never truly arrested, just sent to a long vacation to Paris. (I hope I am wrong, but from some more details Silvana gathered, I can only conclude that maniac is right now in a very high office in Rio de Janeiro’s government.)

si3x1mhjt3zyAnother unpublicized account would happen one year before Silvana disappearance, when a chemistry student went insane after allegedly getting lost in one of the negative floors of the university main building. Silvana didn’t manage to talk to him directly, but from what he could get from a close friend, before he was taken away, he was relating things that were very close to Mister X report. Whatever happened to him didn’t made him insane immediately, he started to see glimpses of the bug like creature around the gray corridors of the university, he felt the creature was chasing him, lurking him from every corner. He also had some kind of a series of panic attacks, that made him suddenly feel very cold, but also with a burning sensation all around his body, like it was about to melt his skim. Besides that he rambled about some crazy theory that even Silvana couldn’t take seriously, he said that the João Lira Filho pavilion had been constructed above ancient roman ruins, and that they were still there hidden in the negative floors.

Silvana last records give the impression he was determined to find what and who was behind that secret organization working in the shadows of UERJ. Not only that, but also that they already knew about his efforts and were tracking his every move, making his pursuit harder, maybe even threatening his life. And then, he was gone. One day, he simply didn’t show up to work, didn’t answered calls. People went to his apartment, it was left like nothing had happen, like he got out one morning and never went back. Nobody ever heard from him again. That should had been a lesson for me, not to meddle in the same places of insanity he had to go, but after finding out all that, it was too late for me, I had to continue his work, what I would find next would be way more disturbing than anything recorded by him, like the …”

That’s it, the rest of that page is missing. I don’t know what was the end of the notebook which these pages belonged. I don’t know if I should really believe anything I’ve read. I only know that I had to share these words of my friend with the world.

Si no se indica lo contrario, el contenido de esta página se ofrece bajo Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License