OTHER REPORTS ABOUT SETEALÉM

Here some other reports about Setealém we can find on Luciano Milici's page:

Report 02: My daughter went to Setealém 

Antônia, a 40-year-old nurse, commented: "It happened this week, people. I was watching television. My daughter, Patricia, 7, was playing in the living room. She took a risk on a piece of paper and said, "Mom, I've got one day to go to the party at Dad's!" She was right. It was one day before the party. 

Before I said anything, the phone rang. Right at the time of the novel! I answered with anger. Mainly because the extension of the room was broken and I had to meet in my room. He was a man with a strange voice. Very thick and rough. - Ms. Antonia? Are you the mother of Patricia? - Yes it's me. Who wants to know? "You must go to the steps of the condominium to get your daughter." - Staircase? What staircase? Which condo? "I do not know, ma'am. Was not she wearing a green T-shirt when she disappeared? You can go up the steps to the condo... - Green shirt? My daughter does not even have a green shirt, you crazy! Listen here. I'm going to call the police, okay? My daughter is in the living room with me. We live in a condo, not a condominium. You're trotting at this hour, you... - "The man hung up. I ran to the living room and Patricia was there, still with her notebook and a lot of wax chalk. Yesterday, I sent Patricia to her father's house for the party. I put on her a pink blouse and a jacket on top. 

My ex-husband brought her back at night. Patricia grabbed me very hard when she saw me. I asked him if everything went well, he said that before he brought her, he went into the disgusting building of his new girlfriend and that Patty knocked juice down her shirt and so he needed to borrow a T-shirt from his girlfriend's daughter. That's right, my daughter was wearing a green T-shirt. He wanted to know if anything strange had happened, but she said no. He said that Patricia left the party all happy, but that on the return was strange and serious. 

Actually, my daughter was very weird. When he left, I tried to talk to Patty, but she did not open at first. I insisted a lot and she told me that when she went downstairs from the girlfriend's building in front of her father, she got lost and went to another building called Setealém. She said she was crying loudly and calling for her father, until a nice man with yellow eyes took her to his home. "God, baby, what's this crazy story?" "I said, with a cold neck. "The nice, yellow-eyed man telephoned here, Mama, but you told him that you were going to call the police and that I was here with you and he hung up. Then he sent me down the stairs of the building again and Dad found me."

Only recently, before I joined Orkut, did my daughter come and show me a sheet of paper with seven scratches. I asked what it was, and she said, "It's been days since I stayed at the man's house, away from you, Mother." I do not know what to say. My daughter had spent only a few hours away from me, but she is able to count with conviction every detail of the seven days she stayed at the house of the good-looking, yellow-eyed man who lives in Setealém. 

Report 03: The office boys 

Elisa from Bahia, posted the following comment: "Hi, my name is Elisa and I'm 17. Do not worry about this subject. Here in my city (I'm northeastern, ok?) three friends of mine are always talking about Setealém, Setealém, Setealém. That they went there and they know people who came from there and got lost here. 

They work in the street as office boys. I do not know if they're high on something, but they told me that this place is not even a neighborhood. And when they come back, they can not find the entrance any more, they said that it is very similar to here, but that there are differences that are frightening, they also said that it is a very big place, my friend Giba said that the people of Setealém know here but we cannot know about there. 

A girl from there he met said that some authorities here know Setealém, but they do not tell the people because they would not know how to explain what that place is. I think it's all a lie but as I found this community, I wanted to tell. They told me that many people who disappeared actually went there and found no way out. 

Peterson invented the worst of lies. He said that he met Marcelo, his cousin who disappeared in the 80's. He said that he talked to the guy and he does not even know he's gone. He thinks he's still in the 80's, just imagine! Peterson said his cousin got stuck in the '80s. What the fu**, right? Cheap lie. I just came in here to tell you this. 

Report 04: The Shopping mall bathroom

Júlio, a boy from Porto Alegre, Rio Grande do Sul, told the following experience: "My name is Julio, I work at a gym in Porto Alegre. I was happy to see this community because that damn name does not get out of my head. Six months ago, I went with my girlfriend to the movies. We went to celebrate two years of dating. We did that basic celebration: we had dinner at the mall and then went to watch the movie. 

As soon as we left the session, we walked down the aisles to look at the windows. My girlfriend said she would buy a purse and asked me to wait for her next to a store. I suspected she wanted to surprise me with a gift, I agreed, and went to look at some magazines on the bench. I told her that I would wait there and she said she would not take long. As she walked away, I went to the bathroom that was right in the hallway in front of the store. There were four or five people in the place that is quite large. All the urinals, however, were occupied and so I went to a booth. 

Quick game, I did not even lock the door. I took my cell phone from my belt and placed it on a wooden trim. Oddly enough, I did not even spend two minutes in the booth. I heard children laughing in the bathroom and talking. As soon as I finished urinating, I left. I do not know if I can describe it, but there was something strange in the bathroom. I'm not much of a detail to notice. My girlfriend is. She's a virgo. Despite this, I noticed that something had changed. Starting with the lights that were yellow and not white. Very yellowish, I mean. A very thick green band crossed the wall and the mirrors were smaller. There was no one inside. Not the kids who had been laughing for a few seconds. 

I washed my hands and thought I was going crazy. For me the water was a bit too warm and very, very thick. Nasty, to be honest. I searched for paper and did not find it. I left shaking my hands to dry in the air. 

Outside the bathroom, I thought I might faint. I thought I'd gone out the wrong door or into some new hallway. Well, at least that's what I tried to believe. The mall was actually looking like a gallery. It was still a mall, conceptually, but it was much older and worn out. The light was dim, and the stores seemed cluttered with goods. All very ugly. I rushed to a more open area and was sure that I was no longer in a known place. Nothing was similar to what I had seen somewhere in my city or even on television. Starting with little details that startled me. 

There were aquariums the size of garbage cans scattered everywhere. Inside these aquariums, I identified a kind of cloth, I do not know, it looked like a piece of purple blanket that kept moving around within these aquariums. 

People would go up to these aquariums and put both hands up and start laughing! And these were ugly laughs, as if they were coughing with a cold-filled chest. I stood up, staring at these aquariums. People came in groups of two or three, leaning back and laughing. I whipped my head around quickly looking for my girlfriend. All I wanted was to understand what was happening and see a familiar face. People passed me and ignored me. They were similar to normal people, but still, they were not quite normal. They were similar between them, too. Not identical, like twins. I do not know how to explain. It's like when you travel to a different country where people have similar traits but also have particular traits. Oh, and the magazine was no longer there. 

At the site, a man was selling parts or something. He had a large rustic wooden table with several black objects that looked like iron. The objects had strange shapes: hooks, horseshoes, and gears. I got close and he asked if I would trade or buy. I did not answer. A girl about seven years old approached and picked up a piece of iron that looked like a black spoon and showed it to her mother. The mother approached and took out a wallet to pay. The girl pointed the spoon at me and I could see her face well. It was normal, but it also had something very strange. I do not know if it was the eyebrows or the distance from the eyes. I felt an inexplicable fear. The girl's gaze was full of meanness. 

The man replied to her: "No, no, he will not buy it, you can take it. I do not think he's even from Setealém." The mother looked at me in disgust. He took the spoon from the girl, put it back on the table, and pulled her daughter away from me, as if I had an illness. 

I started to get dizzy and sat on a wooden bench that was very much like the normal mall banks, except that it was much lower and just accommodated one person. I saw other banks like that in that place. A loud sound rang and everyone stopped and looked up. It was a loud noise like those ship horns that we see on film. 

After the sound stopped, everyone resumed their ways. I thought about my girlfriend and my mother. It could only be a dream. I got up fast and got so dizzy that I had to lean on a shop window that, I speak from my heart, sold live doves. Doves! A dozen doves walked there, tried to fly and pounced behind the glass case. I screamed. People started looking at me and pointing at me. They groaned. I decided to call my girlfriend. I put my hand on the belt and my cell phone was no longer attached to it. I'd forgotten about the trimmings. I went back down the hall and into the bathroom quickly. Three men were sitting on the bathroom floor. One of them, under the sink. They talked about something I did not even want to know. I jumped over them and entered the booth. My cell phone was still there. I locked the door, sat in the pot and tried to call my girlfriend, but I could not. The unit was simply turned off. I pressed the buttons hard, but it did not help. I heard children laugh again. 

I stayed there about ten minutes, until someone knocked on the door. He was the man from the magazine bench. He said he had seen me enter the bathroom and that my girlfriend was already waiting for me on his bench. He asked if I was feeling ok. The bathroom was bright and the mall was normal. 

My girlfriend did not believe me, but she saw that I was really very nervous. It was the worst day of my life. I ruined our celebration getting sick from the stomach hours later. I have not been back to the mall yet, and I'm seriously thinking about doing therapy. I thought I had gone crazy until I found this community with the same name as the man on that bizarre bench. Setealém. God forbid me to exist a place like that."  

 

Ps.: I'm not trying to infringe any copyrights and I did not write this post myself. This post was taken from Luciano Milici's Blog that you can visit HERE.

HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO SETEALÉM?

I have been looking for new paranormal stories these days online and came across some YouTube channels discussing parallel universes and ended up on a website where I found the story of one guy that went through a situation where he almost went to a place called SeteAlém and had made a community on the today extinct Orkut to find out if it has been an illusion or if anyone else in this world had gone through the same thing he did. His name is Luciano Milici and he is a writer and a screenwriter and here is his story: 

"It all started with a BuzzFeed list entitled "9 Stories That Make You Believe In Parallel Universes," where I commented, unpretentiously, about an event that occurred to me that I could not explain rationally. Repercussion and buzz (feed) were unexpected. Hundreds of people started asking me to detail my story and others I collected from the same genre. I received and am still receiving lots of messages and friend requests from people interested in these stories. 

 As I told (and will repeat below), more than ten years after the experience I lived, I created a group in the extinct Orkut (R.I.P.) where I kept in touch with people who went through something very similar to my story. What was most interesting was that the name and description of the community did not explain anything, precisely so as not to influence the accounts. When the group began to distort itself, I closed the community, not without first saving the content. I am searching for the compressed file on some HD or media. While I do not find it, I leave below the cases that I remember. Before you start reading, keep five points in mind: 

i. I do not know if the reports are true. I can only talk about mine. He is. 
ii. I will preserve the true names of those involved, for I am not authorized to tell their personal stories even after so many years. 
iii. If you are one of the people in the above cases and you want me to withdraw or correct your report, let me know. 
iv. If you have had a similar experience, please send me your report for inclusion here. 
v. Third-party reports have been rewritten by me. I did not change anything, I just changed the form, scored and made some corrections, without hurting the story. 
Note: I do not know if the name of the "place" is written Setealém, 7 Além or Cetealém. I just heard the name, I did not read it. 

Report 01: A ticket to Setealém 

1994. I was in the second year of college. I was nineteen and lamented the fact that I could only take classes at night time the next year. The first two years of college were obligatory in the morning, which made it difficult to search for jobs or internships. Until then, my experience had been a long time as the manager of a video-store, which was what Netflix was called at the time. 

Even living away from college, I loved the path way back. The long stretches on foot arriving at the bus stop for then taking the Subway allowed me to observe how different people were in their outfits, gestures and lines. All this was a subsidy for new stories that I wrote on a daily basis. I also used the time to read.

Normally, I would walk there to catch a bus, any bus - the first one to pass - because they all took me to a point on the avenue where I would easily access the Subway. No matter the name, number, or color of the bus, they were all obliged to go to the end of the avenue and then follow their itineraries. That was good, because I did not spend more than two minutes on the spot. 

That hot October afternoon, after an exhausting Mercadology class, I followed my usual path to a large, famous avenue a few minutes from the campus. I got to the point and I put a CD, I think it was of the Zumbi Nation, in the discman. The battery was coming to an end, and Chico Science's voice sounded demonic. A bus came and stopped. I got on and replaced the discman with a book. 

On average, the journey took twenty-five to thirty minutes because of the traffic, and when I was lucky to find an empty seat, I read several pages. That day, not fifteen minutes passed, and I felt the woman next to me on the bench poking me. I stopped reading and looked at her. "You're not going to Setealém, are you?" - she asked. I narrowed my eyes, trying to understand what she had said. Was it Santarem? She insisted: - This bus goes to Setealém. You better get down.

I smiled at her. The name "Setealém" had become clear, but the advice made no sense. I looked around and everyone, absolutely everyone on the bus was watching me. Another woman, standing a little further, said, "Yeah, go... come down, lad." Next to her, a young man with a briefcase in his hand nodded and was more incisive. "Come down!" Before I asked what was happening, the bus ticket reviser - who was looking at me too, with a bundle of bills in his hand - shouted at the driver: "Stop the bus, someone is getting down!"  

The bus stopped shortly. There was not exactly a bus stop, but I did not care. I got up quickly from the bench and headed for the open door. The people in the corridor pushed their way along with me.  

I got out. I confess that at the time dozens of thoughts came to my mind. Was it a private bus? No. There was a bus ticket reviser, after all. Did they confuse me with anyone? Perhaps.  

As soon as I stepped on the asphalt, the bus resumed the road, until, strangely, it turned right onto a slope of cobblestone. An unusual path.  

That name "Setealém" never left my mind. Was it a neighborhood? A city? I asked my acquaintances and even looked at the Guide to Streets, a sort of Waze from the last century, where his index finger played the role of the cart. No one has ever recognized this name anywhere or even anywhere else in the world. I know that days later I dreamed of Setealém, and since then, at least once a month, I see myself in its strange streets in my sleep.

The community on Orkut 

More than ten years later, I decided to use the then popular Orkut social network to find out more about Setealém. I created a community by that name, but I did not write exactly what the group was about. I wanted the name to bring answers. It was a way to see if my delirium made any sense.  

After a few weeks of marasmus, people from the furthest points of the country began to join the community asking the meaning of the term Setealém. At the same time as they asked, they also reported on their incredible experiences which, in general, closely resembled mine.  

With each new interaction, an interesting story emerged until, over time, the main goal of the community became distorted and eventually became a forum for generic stories of horror and fiction.  

As moderator, I deleted the community, not before copying each of the stories about Setealém. 

 

Ps.: I'm not trying to infringe any copyrights and I did not write this post myself. This post was taken from Luciano Milici's Blog that you can visit HERE.