Ruslan SMOLYANNIKOV, Kemerovo region, Kiselevsk
It happened in 2006 in front of Radunitsa in an ordinary city cemetery. I was 14 then. Believe it or not, this happened to me on an ordinary sunny day, which did not bode well.
Mom and I wanted to go to the cemetery to clean up the graves of our relatives. But on that day my mother was ill, and on the other day, circumstances simply did not develop. And I went to the cemetery with my cousin on bicycles. We arrived quickly and without incident. There was not a soul in the cemetery. I thought: "It seems to be a good, warm day, Radunitsa is ahead, but there are no people." But the thought flew by so quickly that I barely noticed it.
My brother and I drove through the gate, and here something inexplicable began to happen. We developed a slight dizziness and a feeling of overwhelming fear. Since we are not timid, we did not attach any importance to it. We found the grave we needed, cleaned it up and decided to go to another. But, oddly enough, we circled around her for a long time, but could not find. We stopped on the path, began to look, determine where to go. Suddenly, about five meters away from us, a terrible grandmother appeared, dressed in something unusual. She wore a long red sundress with black spots, a red scarf, and light soft slippers. It was also unusual that she suddenly began to scold us - they say, we are looters, trample and ravage graves. As she said all this, she was looking straight ahead, not at us. And we are not even able to utter words, we stand and cannot understand anything. She says: “Yes, so that you die!I will pray about it. With these words, still not looking at us, she went down the path into the forest. And then we immediately found the grave we needed.
In the evening of the same day, I became very ill: angina choked me for almost a month. Soon my brother fell ill, too, and suffered greatly and for a long time. Everything would have been nothing, it would have been forgotten, but on Trinity my mother and I came to the cemetery on a crowded day. On the way to the grave, which we searched for so long last time, I noticed that one of the monuments was, as it were, broken. I think, let me come and see whose grave was so abused.
I went up and - oh, horror! - the same grandmother is looking at me from the monument! I looked at the year of death. It was 2003. And the events with us happened in 2006! And this means that then, on Radunitsa in front of us was not a living person! After that curse my brother and I just miraculously survived. Since then, I began to refute the proverb that one must fear not the dead, but the living. Still, sometimes it is necessary not to be afraid of the dead, but a little … to be afraid, or something.
BLACK DOG
Lyubov MIKHAILOVA, Ufa
I'm not sure if my story can be classified as mystical, but it left a mark on my soul. Although, probably, everyone experiences events that seem to have already happened …
In the sixth grade, before March 8, the class teacher sent me to my classmate who had suddenly become ill to take a gift. We lived nearby, but I had never been to this girl before. Approaching her house, I suddenly realized that I had already been in this place, saw this courtyard and was very much afraid of something here … And yet, overcoming the memories of fear, I slowly walked to the porch. But suddenly an inexplicable horror overpowered - and at the last moment I rushed back to the street. Out of nowhere, a huge black dog chased after me. She only managed to grab me by the boot. If at that moment, not yet seeing, but already sensing the danger, I hadn’t run, most likely, she would have bitten me!.. This dog I remembered for the rest of my life - huge, black, and only somewhere from the inside in thick fur two green eyes burn like emeralds …
I finished school, technical school, already worked, and this dog seemed to be chasing me - how many times this kind of dogs rushed at me in the street, I just lost count! However, I was lucky and managed to stay alive and unharmed. All this despite the fact that I am not at all afraid of dogs, because as long as I can remember, our private house was always guarded by a dog. If one disappeared or died, they immediately turned on another.
Once we were presented with a shepherd dog, already an adult, trained, quick-witted - we just couldn't get enough of it!.. And literally a day later, other friends offer another dog, not knowing that we have already taken a new guard. We refuse, of course. But here's the trouble: a week later, our Rada, that was the name of the shepherd, died. Until now, no one understands why this happened!.. There is nothing to do - they decided to take the other one from friends. Follow her. To say that I was surprised to see her is to say nothing: the same black dog of my classmate was standing in front of me, as if it had emerged from my real horrible experiences and nightmares - just its exact copy!.. She stood and wagged her tail affably … Her name was Emma. I overpowered my horror, reached out and stroked the dog's withers. We became friends, she turned out to be of a kind and flexible disposition. This Emma lived with us for a long time, she brought a carouse ten at a time … And, most importantly, ever since my déjà vu and my nightmare settled side by side with me, the attacks of black dogs on me stopped once and for all.
ENCHANTED APPLE-tree of
Herod KURBONOV, Samarkand
We lived through this shock together with my dad when I was six years old. At that time, my father worked as a director of a forestry enterprise in the mountains. I was the youngest in the family, so everyone pampered me, allowed me to be capricious and met me halfway in everything. And then one autumn day my father was summoned to a meeting in the regional center. I shouted and cried, demanded that he take me with him. At first he refused, then I’ll go rolling on the ground, tearing my dress and hair. In general, he scolded, but took it. My father had a kind soul.
In the regional center, he left me with my aunt, who worked in a grocery store. Give me that - after all, she fed me chocolates, condensed milk and various cookies all day! - in the mountains where we lived, this good was not.
And after the meeting we drove home in the lorry of the forestry enterprise. A cold autumn rain has gone. We drove and drove and stopped somewhere in a deserted place near a lonely apple tree, under which a spring was making its way. All branches of the tree were tied with multi-colored rags and ribbons. The engine stalled, and it turned out that, it turns out, the gasoline ran out. The driver went to the nearest village to look for gas, while my dad and I stayed in the car near the apple tree. We are sitting in the cockpit, talking, and the rain is getting stronger and stronger. It began to get dark …
And suddenly horses, mares, little foals, sheep and little lambs began to run past us on both sides of the car … where did they come from? As if they fell from the sky! Someone invisible in the twilight whistled loudly, shouted, swore and chased the herd. It seemed that there would be no end to the stream passing by us. I especially liked one little foal. I rushed to the cockpit door to get a better look, and if I succeed, climb out and catch it. But at that moment, dad pulled me to him, locked the doors and began to whisper something quickly. I look at him, and he is pale, pale, his lips are trembling, his hands are shaking … And the endless stream of animals goes on and on, it seems there will be no end to him.
Dad threw his hands up, finished the prayer and, abruptly opening the cabin door, went out into the street. I immediately followed him - I was so wretched and curious! I really wanted to see the foals, lambs, play with them.
But alas … There was nobody and nothing on the road except rain and cold. The herds that ran past us as if they had sunk through the ground! I already cried, stomped my feet out of chagrin. Dad shouted at me, took my hand and led me to the spring. I threw a handful of coins in there. And he took off one ribbon from my braids and tied it on a branch of an apple tree. Then he sat down and recited the prayer again. About an hour later the driver came and we drove home.
And the next day, my father fell seriously ill, took to bed. Boils came out all over his face. They called the mullah, slaughtered the ram as a sacrifice to the spirits. But dad was still sick for a very long time …
As an adult, I was able to understand the meaning of our adventure. It turns out that this apple tree and spring are notorious. A lone traveler, especially in the dark, faces serious dangers there: who will perish without a trace, who will bring home an incurable disease or some other misfortune …
And still, driving along this road, you can see a spring among the overgrown wild apple trees, but God forbid you to stop there and even more so to drink water from it!
HOUSE HUNTING
Lyudmila POSELSKAYA, Pribaikalsky district, with. Turuntaevo
I was lucky to be born and grow up in a friendly and cheerful family. In the evenings it was customary for us to arrange family gatherings with games - cards, bingo; with music - a guitar, balalaika, accordion, with various guests … And we also had a brownie. We would be glad not to believe in him, but only he constantly showed himself somehow. For example, one evening everyone gathered at the table, played lotto, and my older sister was resting in the bedroom. She had already started working at the factory, she had to get up early, so she now went to bed early. And now everything is quiet, everyday … suddenly the sister from the bedroom will cry out! We all rushed to her. She said that she was strangled by someone in her sleep. In the bedroom, of course, there was no stranger, but each of us remembered various oddities that our brownie showed himself to be.
And my brother and I decided to watch him that very night. My brother tied a strong thread to the switch, and we hid. The night was on a full moon, and almost everything in the kitchen was visible. By the window there was a table covered with oilcloth, on it was a samovar, from which the whole family loved to drink tea. After a while, when everything was quiet in the house and the lights went out everywhere, the floorboards creaked. Immediately we saw a man walking in the kitchen, a strong middle-aged man in a white Ukrainian shirt with a sash. He walked slowly to the table and stood up, leaning on it and as if thinking about something. My heart was pounding so hard that it seemed that it was about to jump out.
Despite the fact that it was very creepy, we saw that the man's head was covered with a kind of fluff, which is the case with bald ones. Here my brother could not stand it, jerked the thread sharply and turned on the light … there was a noise … we ran to the table and saw that the corner of the oilcloth was still swinging. This once again convinced us that we had not dreamed: the brownie was in the kitchen and stood at the table. You know, many years have passed since then and, as they say, a lot of water has flowed under the bridge, but even today I have no doubt that then, in childhood, my brother and I really managed to see a real brownie!
The rescued icon
Our family of five was dispossessed in the 30s of the last century and evicted from the Krasnodar Territory to the north of the Sverdlovsk Region. During the dispossession of kulaks, everything was taken away from us except the icons, which we took with us into exile.
Arriving at a settlement in the taiga, the settlers, people accustomed to work, within two or three years built houses, grubbed up the land and made household utensils with their own hands. We had an icon painted in oil on a blackboard depicting Jesus Christ during his baptism in the Jordan River.
In the summer of 1937, the commandant came to our house, removed this icon from the wall and carried it to the door. My mother, a quiet, modest woman, rushed at the commandant, but he pushed her away with force and left the house. All this happened in front of me, a ten-year-old boy.
In the evening a messenger from the commandant's office came and told all the adults to go to the club for a lecture on the dangers of religion. My father worked in logging, my mother had to go. Without waiting for her return, I fell asleep. And in the morning the commandant came to us with his assistants. He shouted for his mother to return the icon she had allegedly taken from the club. Mother said that she did not take anything. Then the commandant and his assistants searched the whole house, but found nothing.
After rehabilitation, in 1956, my parents returned to their homeland. And I, already an adult, lived and worked with my family in Perm. Coming to visit my parents, I, by that time already a member of the CPSU, tried not to pay attention to the corner where the icons stood.
Not long before her death, my mother (and she died at 93) called me to her. She took in her hands the very icon on which Christ was depicted in the Jordan River, and said: “Vanya, take it and ask the Lord God to forgive you the sins that you have committed and are committing without believing in Him. This is the very icon that the commandant was looking for. And my mother told me a story that happened more than half a century ago.
The lecture in the club was full of people. The visiting lecturer took a pointer in his hands and walked over to the icons displayed on the stage. Attaching a pointer to one of them, he said that before us was a board on which it was painted … painted … painted … And so on to infinity - except for "painted", he could not utter a single word. The commandant ordered everyone to leave the hall. The mother does not know what happened to the lecturer. She herself put the glass in the club at night, and since the window was small, she ordered my sister, who was very thin, to climb into it. The sister climbed in, took the icon and gave it to her mother. Then the mother wrapped the icon in canvas and buried it in the garden. And no matter how the commandant shouted at her, she only said that she knew nothing. She did not share her secret even with her father.
Now I have this icon. Looking at her, I remember the courageous act of my mother and I believe that Russia, where such courageous women live, will live forever.
I. A. Burakov, Sochi A
dead man came to us
This story was told many years ago by my friend, Mikhail. I believe that this is not an invention.
The snow was thick and soft. “Probably the last one this year,” I thought. - Spring! It was both easy and anxious in my heart - after all, I was going to my native village, which I left many years ago. Here lived my aunt Liza, who replaced my early dead mother. From the village I went to the army, then I got a job in the city …
Aunt Liza, seeing me, happily cried out: “Finally I have arrived! Will you see or how? - and immediately rushed into the kitchen, rattled the pans. The familiar smell of pancakes stretched across the hut. We talked through the kitchen curtain, remembered our village people - who, where …
Suddenly the door opened silently, and stepped over the threshold … Who is this? An earflap is pulled over his forehead, in a quilted jacket, in felt boots. Heavy snow was falling on the street, and there weren't any snowflakes on it …
Without creaking a single floorboard, the stranger walked to the table. Big dark eyes looked at me from under the hat. “Do you recognize me? It's me - Uncle Sasha! The guest sank quietly onto the bench. I realized with horror that in front of me was a dead man!
After the war, a former soldier who had been in captivity lived in our village. We guys literally hounded him with sadistic pleasure: “Fascist! Traitor!”And threw clods of earth at him, knocked on the windows. And so he lived out, the lonely old man despised by everyone. On the outskirts of the cemetery, a wooden cross under a birch reminds of him. And here he is in front of me!
- Misha, why didn't you love me so much? It's not my fault that I was taken prisoner!
- Uncle Sasha! We were children! Forgive us!
My guest straightened his back, a semblance of a smile appeared on his face.
Meanwhile, Aunt Liza, worried that I was not answering her, looked out from behind the curtain and froze, her eyes widening with horror.
And the ghost suddenly said:
- Let's shake hands as a sign of reconciliation!
It flashed through my head: "You can't give a hand to a dead person, he'll take it with you!" - and I mumbled:
- Have supper with us, Uncle Sasha.
Our guest got up and walked quietly to the threshold, the door closed silently behind him.
And outside the window it was still snowing, as if covering the whole earth with a white shroud.
R. A. Krupnovaya, Kirov