My grandmother is almost 83 years old. She has more than four decades of experience in elementary school. Recently, she buried her eldest son, younger brother and, finally, her husband (my grandfather). In general, she endured the losses steadily, but only at night something wrong began to happen to her.
Before his death, my grandfather asked my wife and me to look after my grandmother, and soon after he was gone, we moved to one of the rooms of her two-room apartment. Everyone is good: we don't need to rent an apartment, and she is not bored. We will always bring food, put it away, and the old woman has someone to talk to.
We did not like, however, that she hung portraits of her late husband and son over her headboard. But they say that it is not worth doing this, this does not allow the deceased to leave for another world. Apparently it is.
One night my wife and I woke up from a terrible howl. It came from the hall where the grandmother slept. We literally jumped on the bed. Suddenly everything was quiet, but soon resumed with renewed vigor.
Scenes from horror films began to appear before my eyes, but I gathered my courage, entered the hall and realized that my grandmother was howling. I woke her up, and she said with fear that her grandfather had come and strangled her. For what - it is unclear. My grandmother, by the way, said that I was lying on her - she did not howl. Why on earth would it be? My parents did not believe in my story either.
My grandmother drank a lot of pills, and maybe it somehow influenced her, my wife and I decided. In addition, she had problems with the vessels of the brain. We reduced her medication dose.
A few days later it all happened again. I heard how at night, through our bedroom, someone invisible crept into my grandmother's room. The barely audible sound of footsteps woke me up. And then again - howl.
- Vitya, Vitya! - shouted through the howls of the grandmother. That was the name of her late son.
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Jumping up, I woke her up, wet my face with water.
“I'm all right, Victor just came in a dream,” she said.
The next day I put a burning candle in the place in our bedroom where I could clearly hear footsteps. The candle smoked and crackled. As well as in the hall in front of the portrait of Victor and his grandfather. Elsewhere, the flame was even.
We gave my grandmother stronger drugs. In the bedroom they placed an icon prayed in the Kiev-Pechersk Lavra. For a while, our nightly suffering ceased, but we did not relax. We decided to try, if the howl resounds again, record it on a dictaphone.
We didn't have to wait long for the "concert". One night my grandmother howled again - and much stronger than before. My wife, huddled under the covers, ordered me to turn on the recorder. After a minute of recording, I lit a flashlight and, reading in a whisper "Our Father", I began to wake my grandmother.
She howled heart-rendingly in her sleep, her face was twisted. Opening her eyes, as if nothing had happened, the grandmother began to talk about her communication with her deceased relatives.
We organized a kind of investigation, collecting information about such cases. When people heard about the problem, they suggested: next time try to take the sleeping grandmother by the tip of your finger and ask what she sees. I must tell!
And then suddenly it happened that the next "concert" my grandmother gave not at night, but in the evening, sitting in her armchair, in the bright light of the chandelier. The number with the finger did not work: the old woman's face was so terribly distorted that we hurried to wake her up, forgetting about the advice.
However, it was not possible to quickly return it to reality. Grandmother tried to say something, but made only monotonous repetitive sounds, as if a tape had jammed in an old cassette recorder. In the end, we somehow shaken her up. She came to herself abruptly, as if an internal toggle switch had switched in her.
We told her what was happening to her and began to persuade her to remove the portraits of the dead. But the grandmother refused:
- They protect me!
We have no choice but to watch the old woman and listen to her terrible howls at night.
Vladimir BURANOV, Minsk
