Horror story: The last prayer at St. Aloysius Monastery, Prague

Okay I wasn't going to post this but here we go.

Back in 2015, a tourist went missing near a small village called Černovřice, just outside Prague. A witness said they saw him walk into an abandoned monastery. And then. He just never came out. The monastery had been closed since a fire in 1974. Officially no entry. No exceptions.

I found out about this and immediately booked a flight to Czech Republic. Not for any noble reason. I run a horror blog and I wanted real overseas content. Simple as that.

The village was honestly beautiful but something felt OFF the second I got there. People were quiet in a way that wasn't peaceful, it was like scared-quiet. When I asked anyone about St. Aloysius Monastery they just. Stopped talking.

"Don't go there."

This old lady selling Czech sausages from a cart said it to me and then pressed a rosary into my hand. Just handed it over like that was normal.

The monastery was on a hill behind the village. Stone building, half collapsed, rusty iron gate at the entrance. But the lock was undone. Which was... weird.

I went in.

Immediate mold smell, heavy damp air, the kind that sits in your lungs. There was a big chapel straight ahead. Burnt altar. Scorched floor. But sitting on top of the altar was a single candle. Lit. Recently lit.

I was alone. I was DEFINITELY alone. But I could hear someone praying. Low and broken, like a whisper that kept cutting out.

"…sanctus… sanctus…"

I followed the sound toward the cloister at the back. A row of old monks' cells. Third door was open.

Inside, someone in a monk's habit. Standing with their back to me. Praying.

Then something grabbed my arm.

I spun around. Nobody there. Turned back. The monk was gone too. The only thing left in the room was a black Bible.

I opened it to the last page. Someone had written in red ink.

"The last bell does not return."

the second I read that, the praying started again. Behind me.

I ran. Full sprint. Got to the gate and it was LOCKED. I slammed it three times before it finally gave way.

Got back to Prague and spent days with a fever I couldn't shake. The praying kept going in my dreams too. Every night.

Then the weird stuff started happening at home. Every time I tried to write the monastery post for my blog, the file would corrupt. Wouldn't save. Three times in a row.

On the third attempt, an email came in.

A photo. The inside of the ruined chapel, taken during the exact window when I was alone in there. And standing next to the altar, in a monk's habit, was a figure. Looking directly at where I would have been standing.

I never took that photo. I never sent it to anyone. I don't know where it came from.

After that I tried to find any record of the monastery. Nothing. It's gone from maps. The villagers now say it doesn't exist. That it never existed.

But that photo is still on my hard drive.

I can't delete it. Like, I've tried. It just. Won't delete.