Summer this year turned out to be stormy. Just yesterday, watching the lilac flashes of lightning in the night sky, I remembered one incident from my childhood.
I was then about eight years old. I spent most of the summer with my grandmother, in a private log house within the city. In a thunderstorm, according to the village habit, my grandmother always kept the door from the hut from the entrance and the one on the porch, open just in case. None of my assurances that lightning would sooner strike a five-story building on a nearby street, the high domes of a temple or a lake nearby could get her out of this habit.
As soon as a thundercloud began to enter, peals of thunder began to crumble in the distance, all electrical appliances in the house were turned off from the sockets (there was a low-bellied refrigerator and a TV set), the doors opened, and we sat in the kitchen.
One day in the middle of summer, when my mother just came to dinner (she was working nearby), suddenly it got very dark, the wind rose, and thunder rumbled.
We sat at a large dining table and waited for the cloud to leave.
The thunderstorm was strong, but the rain did not start for a very long time. The wind abruptly died down, bright flashes of lightning were accompanied by powerful peals of thunder.
We all waited for the rain to drum on the roof. But instead, they suddenly heard a loud stomp in the attic. The noise was such as if a troop of cavalrymen were galloping there, circling the premises around the perimeter.
Grandmother stood in front of the icons and began to pray. Mom, who was rushing to work before the rain began to leave, turned pale and listened to the stomp in the attic. And I quietly fought the urge to hide under the large dining table and cover my ears.
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Lightning flashes have become as frequent as possible. The thunder was so strong that it was impossible to hear grandmother's words. But in the short intervals between the thunderous rumblings, we still heard the noise from the attic.
It was very creepy, the kitchen was half-dark, broken by flashes of lightning …
And then in the attic something clicked loudly and there was a crash, as if a huge log had fallen off and rolled down the stairs.
The sound cut off abruptly, there was absolute silence, which lasted about half a minute. And then rain drummed on the roof. And the thunderstorm became the most ordinary, sparkled, thundered, and everything ended …
Mom went to work, my grandmother and I decided to find out what happened in the attic. A steep but massive and stable staircase led up there from the passage.
Naturally, we did not find any traces of the cavalry regiment. They also found nothing that could fall and roll with a terrible crash.
The attic was basically empty, only in the corner was a small wooden chest with old textbooks.
What it was, we did not understand. Neither before this incident nor after it did anything like this happen in the house.