They say there are a dime a dozen ghosts in Yakutsk. From time to time at the table they tell scary stories about "abasy" (evil spirits), who do not allow people to live in peace.
I didn't believe in ghosts. Categorically. And she only laughed at such stories. They did not make any impression on me. But one day my impenetrable materialism did not stand the test of life and began to flow.
It was like this: an urgent need to rent an apartment. And so one small family turned up so well. Well, you know, probably, these are houses that look like an anthill: nine floors, full of small apartments. Lilliputian footage for one person is quite enough, and the large number of people, then still a student, did not bother me. In addition, this small family was almost in the center of the city, from the window you can see the church - such a pastoral landscape, and cheap, like in a fairy tale.
It was rented out by a young family, which for some reason chose to live not there, but with their parents, which is strange in itself. Then I should be on my guard. In addition, I knew that that microdistrict was built on an old cemetery, from which only that church was preserved. But, carefree and contented, I moved into the apartment. All the property was - a folding bed, a table and a couple of chairs.
I settled down, painted a funny hare with watercolors on the bathroom door, hung the curtains. In general, I tried to create coziness. One strange thing came to light: the windows of the apartment were facing south, that is, in the summer it should just be hot. In fact, even on the hottest day, it was as cold as in a crypt. On the very first night I woke up from a terrible puffing under the cot.
I think: this is audibility, the neighbors behind the wall are breathing! And only in the morning I realized that there were no neighbors behind this wall, but there was a street, because the apartment was corner. And the closest neighbors are across the room, kitchen and bathroom. That is, their puffing could not be heard. I was surprised, but nothing more.
A few days later, she was even more surprised: at night I heard the fractional stamping of bare feet, like a child running. Awoke. There is a noise of water in the bathroom, and wet footprints appear on the floor. They appear in a chain and immediately disappear. To say that I was shocked is to say nothing. I could not come up with other explanations, except that this is a dream. So she turned away and fell asleep.
When the nights turned dark towards the end of summer, a natural horror rolled over towards evening. It was just for some inexplicable reason that it became scary to the point of shivering. I began to sleep with the light on. Soon the light broke. I called the electricians, they fixed the wiring. The next day it went bad again. I called the electricians again. Soon they came to see me five times a week. I am not exaggerating. Evil took: what are you, I say, such masters, you cannot fix once and for all! "Yes, the wiring breaks down every time in a different place!" - they justified themselves.
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And then a friend stayed with me for a week. After the first night he says: “We ought to spray the apartment with holy water, or something. And then all night the taps opened and closed by themselves and the child ran around the apartment. It's scary, and how do you live here alone? And there was a light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Naked, without chandeliers and lampshades. So, as soon as Zhenya spoke out, she fell. The cord she was hanging on broke in the middle, as if someone had pulled with all their might and tore it apart.
The electricians, when they came to fix it, laughed that Zhenya and I, like monkeys, apparently, were swinging on this cord. We immediately went to the church, took holy water and, under the "Our Father", sprayed the whole apartment, every wall, every corner. And you know what? Breathing became freer. For three days.
For three days there was silence, the light did not break, the water did not open, no one sniffed or stomped at night. And then it all started with renewed vigor. And the remainder of the holy water in a cleanly washed jar became moldy. By the way, it has been checked: my mother's holy water, collected at Epiphany from the tap, has been worth it for many years, and at least henna.
When Zhenya left, it became impossible to stay in the apartment at night. Especially in the kitchen. For no apparent reason, going there in the dark was just creepy. In general, it all ended like this: once I forgot my bag in the kitchen in the evening. By nightfall, I didn't go there for her. And in the morning I found on it the print of a child's palm without one finger. The print was not washed off with any detergent.
I didn't spend the night there anymore. I quickly rented a room, transported things, gave the keys to the owners. They, by the way, did not even ask the reason why I ran away from their apartment in such a hurry.
