Indeed, how many Brownies can there be in a house, hut, apartment? I always thought I was alone. But the story told to me by a friend shook that conviction. I pass her story word for word:
- You know that in recent years I have often had to move. From apartment to apartment, from city to city, even from one country to another. For some time I lived in Dagestan. Other customs, alien gods. But it so happened that it became necessary to move to the Krasnodar Territory. I was packing my things, ordering a container, but then I remembered the Brownie. What to do? Take with you or leave?
I asked knowledgeable people, they advised: - Take it with you. Of course, I didn't tie the bast to the car, but I chose the moment, opened the bag with my things, threw in a kitchen towel and invited: - Grandpa, neighbor, come with me to a new city, to a new apartment. Get in your bag! - And left the room. Then she came back, zipped up her bag, and did not open it until the new apartment. Have arrived. They unloaded the things, and I, by honor, invited the Boss to come out, to settle down as at home.
It seems that she did everything right, she respected the Boss!
Here again a move to another apartment is planned. And in the house the poltergeist has begun! Everything flies, everything knocks! And then it dawned on me: - The brownie is angry! She stood in the middle of the room and said resolutely: - Stop hooliganism! You know, you have to move again. I'll take you with me, don't worry!
And that very night it happened …
I wake up from a strong push in the back. Without opening my eyes, I mutter: - Do not bother! But the tremors are getting stronger. I had to open one eye. And at the level of this half-asleep eye, the following picture slowly appears: two little men pull the blanket off me and say: - Mistress, mistress, wake up! I grab the blanket and pull it over myself, fully confident that I am dreaming. But the voices are getting louder.
I had to open both eyes. Right in front of me, the fidgety guy is dancing with impatience and continues to pull the blanket over himself. Little black, curly, in a sheepskin sheepskin coat, his eyes sparkle. A sedate peasant in a white linen shirt, the same ports, clung to the other side. There is some kind of hat on her head, her blonde hair is knocked out, but it is clear that she is not gray, just burnt out.
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Some kind of skinny beard, not long, but well-groomed. A dumb scene. Having released the blanket, they look with all their eyes at me, but I try to hide and continue the dream. But it was not there. The blanket suddenly takes off and lands far away against the opposite wall. And I'm already sitting on the bed and stare blankly at the unexpected guests.
- Brownies! But why two? Oddly enough, I am the first to voice. The theme in my head is still the same: - And so you two! Why are you jumping? She said I'll take everyone! And I try to lie down again, convincing myself that I am watching the dream.
But the older one takes a step towards me, politely pulls off his hat and mutters: - This is the case, mistress! Need to talk! An unknown force lifts me up, and now I'm either walking or floating smoothly above the floor towards the kitchen. All three of us burst into the kitchen. And then I see a pitiful hunched figure on a stool near the wall. An old man sits with his knees pressed to his chest with his little hands. All kind of shabby, ragged clothes. Rostik is the same as those, no more than half a meter.
I think: - Another Brownie! The thought does not go further, but out loud I again stupidly repeat: - I said the same! I'll take it with me! The first ones look at each other in a strange way, the dark-haired one again begins to gallop like a goat, I hear the peasant, encourages the old man: - Yes, speak, don't be afraid! I move my gaze to the crumpled figure, it becomes unbearably sorry for him, homeless. And he looks up at me, blinks often and starts to say something quickly, quickly. I'm listening. - So that's just the point, - as a fool, he explains. - I've been living here for a long time, I'm used to it. And then you showed up with your oglamons. There are two of them, they became friends, apparently. Well, let's drive me around the corners.
There is no savior. Just started to get used to each other, it became quieter to live. And here you are with the move. I hear you say, I'll take it with me! And I don't want to go anywhere! This is my home! Leave me here! So the old Master continues to persuade me pitifully, and I clarify the situation for myself: - So. You are from here. Where are you two from? Chernenky again jumps up and circles around me in a dance, shouts out in pauses: - I'm going with you from Dagestan! I love to travel! And I'll go again! He galloped again. - And I got along with that old apartment. There was an unkind owner, - the peasant entered the conversation, - take us with you, and this weakling, - he nodded at the old man, - we'll leave here. Agree with the new owners not to invite anyone with you.
I easily agree to comply with all requests, then a complete fog.
In the morning I wake up in my own bed, but I clearly remember all the details of this amazing meeting. Having met the new owners of the apartment, under the guise of a dream, I talk about the request of the Brownie. The new owners are surprisingly serious about the request and promise to respect the Brownie.
We could put an end to this and continue to believe that I dreamed of all this, if not for the strange continuation of this story.
The train in which I was traveling crossed two borders, strict customs officers checked all luggage, opened and examined bags and suitcases. But the bag in which my Brownies were moving to a new place, as if they did not even notice. They will raise the shelf, glance at it as if it were empty space, and then lower it again. And so it was on both borders … Strange? Perhaps, naturally. The magic of the Brownies also affects the customs officers.
Knowing my friend, a realist and a skeptic, I did not doubt the veracity of this story. You may not meet this in life.
True, more often such stories are disguised as fairy tales. But you and I know that there is more truth in fairy tales than fiction. Here, for example, the books of the publishing house "Severnaya Skazka", so there grandfather Matvey tells such stories! If you don't want to, you will believe!