Devilry in the graveyard
• In the late 1980s, when the event I want to tell about happened, they knew very little about bioenergy, and even less about necroenergy.
At that time, photocopies of reports of a certain mythical institute for the study of anomalous phenomena, specializing in UFOs, were circulating around.
However, I will not argue that truly objective articles based on real facts have appeared on the wave of the newspaper and magazine boom.
Most of the sensational publications are sucked from the finger, and this is almost not hidden.
The only practical advice that can be gleaned from them is this: beware of falling into the zone of action of necroenergy.
Otherwise, the consequences can be the most deplorable and unpredictable …
• It all started very mundane.
Promotional video:
In the fall, at the end of the 80s, an old friend dropped in to visit me - also Alexander, my namesake.
For conversations and tea, we sat up late in the evening.
Then he remembered: it's time to go home.
For about 20 minutes we stood at the Zorge bus stop (Western microdistrict of Rostov), admiring the moon, round as a tea saucer.
There was no trolleybus or bus. Even the "cars" disappeared somewhere.
And then my namesake, hesitating, suddenly suggested:
- Let's go to my grandmother?
- Are you crazy? - I looked at the clock. - Twelfth hour!
- Yes, it's very close! Let's stand at the grave for a while, remember in our minds …
- How is it - "at the grave"? Is she dead ?!
- Well yes. And he was buried there!..
And he nodded towards Kommunistichesky Prospect.
Below, behind nine-storey buildings, is an old cemetery, squeezed by a helicopter field, gardens and a garage cooperative …
- Listen, - I said, - I have never even seen your grandmother … And in general, what is it that made you so?
He was silent for a little. Then he said:
- Honestly, today I did not go to the Western one, but to look at the cemetery. Yes, somehow I could not muster my courage. The fact is that she came to me yesterday …
My skin got goose bumps.
“Sasha,” I said. “You’re definitely on the move.
“I saw my late grandmother as clearly as I saw you now,” he said. - You do not believe me?
- Well, how can I tell you …
- Right. If I were you, I would not believe it. Nobody believes in the supernatural until he encounters some kind of devilry himself …
So, last night, at eleven o'clock, there was a knock on my door. Through the peephole, I saw an elderly woman.
Her head was tied with a flowered silk scarf, but I did not immediately see her face: a light on the stairwell was shining at the back of her head.
"Who's there?" I asked.
And I heard in response:
“It's me, Baba Galya. Open it, granddaughter!"
At first I didn't understand anything.
I even thought: “Wow, what a coincidence! This woman's name is like my late maternal grandmother!...
Said loudly:
"You got the address wrong".
"Don't you recognize me?" - the woman was surprised.
She took a step back, turned her head slightly, and the light fell on her face.
It was she, my grandmother, who died many years ago!
I almost ended there, under the door. Legs began to break, and before my eyes began to float.
“Sorry, I don’t know,” I croaked somehow. - You got the address wrong. Goodbye!"
And in order not to fall, he leaned against the door.
“I couldn't be wrong,” said my late grandmother with a little bewilderment. - True, I haven’t been with you for a long time, but I often stopped by before… Mom at home? Open it, Andryusha!"
Before my eyes, everything was no longer floating, but flashed.
“I'm telling you, you made the wrong address,” I said with the last bit of strength. - Yes, and my name is not Andrew ….
In a semi-conscious state, I wandered into the kitchen. He took a sip of water straight from the kettle, spilling it on his chest.
I started to let go, but then I remembered that at one time my parents could not choose for a long time what to call me: Andrey or Alexander. Finally, they converged on Alexandra.
What if there - do you understand where? - Am I listed as Andrey?
I thought midnight.
Everyone knows, for example, what deceased relatives dream of. But what can a deceased relative who came in reality testify about?
Or, perhaps, my roof just went off? I have heard that visual and auditory hallucinations are quite plausible.
Then I calmed down a bit. I realized that my grandmother hadn’t invited me anywhere, she just came - so to speak, to visit, missing her beloved and only grandson.
Probably, I decided, the nature of the hallucinations was influenced by a subconscious feeling of guilt - I had not been to the cemetery for several years.
And in the morning, at the bus stop, I met a neighbor. An old bastard, he fought almost in the First Horse.
He saw me and immediately began to roll the barrel:
"There is no rest day or night!"
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
"You need to sleep at night, not to receive guests!" - he began to shout even louder.
And, you understand, I felt sick again.
All day I was trying to take time off from work and visit the cemetery - to check if the grave was intact. By the evening I made up my mind, but …
Let's go, huh? Right now.
• Meanwhile, a bus appeared on the road, comfortably lit from the inside.
My namesake didn't even look at him. He looked at me.
Of course, I didn't want to go. And without any grandmothers alive there, the cemetery is in a terrible place. There you can even shoot from a cannon - no one will scratch.
On the other hand, Sasha was in a state close to hysterics. Until he envies that the grave is intact and the earth has not been dug, he will not calm down. Still really going crazy …
For the sake of fairness, I must note that the namesake talked halfway along the way - while we walked along the Sorge and maneuvered between the panel nine-story buildings.
The fountain of eloquence began to dry up when we passed the houses and went down into the gully.
To the right and left were the rickety fences of the gardens. A stream gurgled along the bottom of the beam. The thought that we were the only people within a radius of one and a half kilometers was almost a physical inconvenience.
"Are you sure we will find a grave in this semi-darkness?" I asked.
Sasha did not understand my hint.
“We will definitely find it,” he said. - I remember all the landmarks. A couple of trifles.
“Well, well,” I said.
Intuition told me that things would not be so simple.
• The gardens are over. We went up the hill.
The outlines of nine-story buildings were visible behind us. Lights were on in some of the windows.
To the left stretched the helicopter field, to the right and left, the outlines of gravestones and crosses protruded from the darkness.
The dirt road on which we walked crossed the cemetery, dividing it into two unequal parts.
According to the law of meanness, we had to look for Sashka's grandmother in the most part.
“It's very strange,” my companion said suddenly, “that I remember her so well. She died more than 20 years ago, and the last photo "deteriorated" 5 years ago.
- "Spoiled?" I asked.
For a second, it seemed to me that Sashka regretted talking about it.
“Well, yes,” he said listlessly. “You see, my grandmother was, if not a witch, then something very close to that. It’s better not to tell what she did at night.
She did not like to be photographed. However, the film also "did not like" her.
Once she needed a photo for a pass, so my grandmother went to the studio to take pictures 10 times - the personnel officer did not find any similarities between the original and the pictures she brought.
And after the death of my grandmother, the photos began to deteriorate: turn yellow, fade …
In the Middle Ages, it would have been burned at the stake.
“There were no photographs then,” I said.
- And without a photo there would be enough reasons. By inheritance, something passed to my mother.
Once she jinxed a tradeswoman in the market.
The saleswoman was too impudent and cheeky.
Well, ma wished her: "So that you sell everything!.."
A couple of days later she walked through the market, the tradeswoman remembered her.
It turns out that for the whole day she did not sell anything - the buyers seemed to bypass her, although there were few onions on the market.
“Hmm,” I said. - Such stories are good because you can't find the ends. Look for that merchant.
- Why, it happened with witnesses …
She somehow broke the cup with a glance - about six people saw it.
We had a renovation, we dragged furniture from one room to another and sat down to smoke.
Here ma appears - very out of sorts.
“Where did you put the service? - she said. - After all, it will crash!...
And our service was luxurious, Czech porcelain.
Father said:
“On the closet. And it is well worth it - it will not fall …”.
"What is good there!" - Ma was indignant and nodded towards the cabinet.
The cup, which was closer to us, suddenly jerked, fell on its side and rolled, describing a semicircle.
When the cabinet ran out, it fell and broke …
“Hmm,” I said. - Thank God, I haven't noticed the devilry behind you yet. Far away yet?
- No, we're almost there. Here is the alley opposite the willow. Grandma's grave is the seventh in a row.
The alley was narrow, overgrown with grass. I stepped forward, carefully counting: "First … second …".
Clinging my hands to the rusty fence, I looked around and found that I was walking, it turns out, already alone.
- Eh, what are you doing? I called softly.
- Look, please, yourself, - said Sasha. He stood by the willow and smoked nervously - the red light was getting brighter, then dimmed. - I'll wait here.
- Is there even a plaque on the grave? I asked. - What is the name of your grandmother?
He answered, and I went on. He stopped at the seventh fence.
A scene from some American action movie came to my mind: a rotten hand with bloody fingers emerges from under the ground and grabs the leg …
Not without a shudder, I opened the gate and entered.
As expected, there was no fresh soil or dug, and the turf was not damaged.
I flicked my lighter and illuminated the sign.
The last name was difficult to make out, but it was clearly not the right one.
• - Sash! I shouted. - Are you sure that Babkina's grave is the seventh?
- Heck! - he said, coming up to me. - And the fence is completely different …
- Maybe not the seventh, but the sixth, or, for example, the eighth?
- I remember exactly. Seventh.
- Maybe there are several willows?
This Sasha did not know, and we walked along the dirt road through the cemetery, right up to the garages of the cooperative, illuminated by searchlights.
There were no more willows, but on the side of the road we found several birches, poplars and even one cypress.
Just in case (what if Sasha's memory fails?) We checked them too. Without any results.
The clock was already half past three. I'm tired of walking and wandering between the fences with a smart look, wading through thickets of thistles and weeds and looking at the tablets on the crosses with such zeal, as if the salvation of the soul depends on it.
I also felt very tired.
“I told you,” I muttered. “We won't find anything in this darkness.
My namesake nodded sadly.
“And I dropped my cigarettes somewhere else,” he said. - Half a pack. It's a shame.
Without saying a word, we turned back - into the world of empty asphalt streets and rhythmic winking of traffic lights.
I walked, lost in thought, and, probably, that is why I did not notice why Sasha's cheeks were suddenly covered with a deadly pallor.
To be honest, I noticed this when we came out onto the avenue, deserted and bathed in the light of sodium lamps.
- Something lousy for me, - admitted Sanya. - I probably ate something stale.
Then I stopped the wheelbarrow, and we drove towards me first.
- Maybe you will come in? - I suggested. - Lie down a little. Something I don't like your look.
- Nothing wrong. I'll be home in 10 minutes.
And when I got out of the salon, he suddenly asked in a low voice:
- You have not heard or seen anything?
- Where? When?
- Well … when we walked back.
- Not. What?
- Nothing. You never know what is seen on the full moon …
I waited a little, but he said nothing more. I muttered: "Bye!.." - and slammed the door.
The taxi started almost immediately.
• I vaguely remember how I went up to the third floor.
Fatigue came again. I was staggering, floating before my eyes.
Having somehow reached the couch, I lay down and immediately passed out, and woke up from the phone call.
It was early morning, a gray haze was blooming outside the window.
Feeling overwhelmed and tired, as if I had not slept, I looked at my watch (early seven) and answered the phone.
A woman's voice, agitated and somehow stifled, apologized for calling so early and asked if I had Sasha yesterday.
Straining a little, I realized that I was talking to Sasha's wife.
“He was with me all evening,” I said. - Then he took a wheelbarrow and drove home.
- What time was it?
- Well … - I thought a little. Thoughts were confused. - About three o'clock. What?
- He still does not exist …
• Everything became clear within the next hour.
As it turned out, right in the taxi, in the back seat, Sasha felt really bad.
His arms wrapped around his stomach and almost bellowing in pain, he collapsed onto the rubber mat in the aisle.
The taxi driver was smart enough to take him to the hospital without delay.
Ulcerative perforation of the stomach and internal bleeding almost sent Sasha to visit his beloved grandmother.
Fortunately, the operation was successful. He lost a quarter of his stomach, but survived.
A few days later, when access to the hospital was allowed, I saw him - pale, unshaven, with clearly defined cheekbones.
We chatted about this and that …
And when I was already at the door, Sashka suddenly said:
- Don't go there anymore. Bad place.
- Maybe you, in the end, will say what you heard or saw there? I asked.
He was silent for a long time. Then he said all the same;
- When we returned, on the left I seemed to hear … steps. As if someone was walking parallel to us. And a couple of times … I will not state this with certainty … I thought I noticed a silhouette sliding between the crosses. This silhouette belonged to someone obese, overweight, like … like … like my late grandmother.
He spoke the last phrase in a whisper, broken with excitement.
It felt like a chill hit me.
“Well, get well soon,” I said at last.
To say something.
• At that time, among my acquaintances, I had one eccentric who adored with a pair of metal frames to examine the apartments of friends and acquaintances, looking for areas of negative and positive fields.
I don’t remember anyone following his advice on furniture arrangement.
Quite unexpectedly, it occurred to me to charge this fanatic for a good cause.
Not because I believed in extrasensory perception. I was simply curious to know how it would end.
Mikhail Petrovich (that was the name of the fanatic enthusiast) agreed immediately, without hesitation. He was called a "schizophrenic" or, at best, a "charlatan" so many times that he was ready to deify anyone who paid attention to him.
On the next Saturday, on a clear sunny day, we went to the cemetery.
I stopped next to the willow and said:
- That place is about here.
- It is very possible, - Mikhail Petrovich remarked, taking out his personal belongings from the bag.
Not without a share of healthy skepticism, I began to observe how he spins in one place, holding the frame in front of him on outstretched arms, wiggles slightly from side to side to clarify the direction.
Then Mikhail Petrovich said: "Wow!.." - and slowly walked forward, without making out the road, straight through the thickets of weeds.
I began to wait for the result, sitting by the willow and smoking.
The wait was short. Having finished smoking a cigarette, I was about to light another, and I heard a joyfully excited:
- Here! It's here!
- Well, well … - I said.
Having figured out how easy it is to get to him, bogged down among the fences and crosses, I entered the alley that began … opposite the willow.
On the way, purely mechanically, I began to count the graves: "First … Second … Third …".
Mikhail Petrovich stood at the seventh, and there was insane delight on his face.
- Damn strong field! - he said. - I could have spotted him, probably from the bus stop!
- You are not mistaken? I asked.
“It's impossible to make a mistake,” he said. - Even a blind man will notice the sun - if not by the light, then by the heat!
Slowly, as in a dream, I opened the gate and went inside, although from a distance I could see the inscription on the tablet attached to the cross.
The paint was old, it peeled off in places, but still the surname, name and patronymic of Sashka's grandmother could be read easily.
How can one not believe in devilry after that?
A. Masalov