In our area, at the beginning of summer, all amateur beekeepers take their bees and go to places of good honey collection. And I've always tried to do the same.
Ten kilometers from our regional center there is a place called Millstone. In the distant tsarist times, a solid stone was mined there, from which they made millstones for mills. Now there are huge ditches, overgrown with trees and bushes.
I arrived in a car with a lodging trailer attached and decided to stop there with my bees.
An old experienced beekeeper advised me to leave because it is not a good place. But I did not attach importance to his words. Beautiful nature, bees have where to fly, why look for something else?
I once worked with bees all day. Tired, I took a nap in the evening, and by midnight I did not want to sleep. Lay with open eyes.
I hear someone scratching at the door of the trailer. I thought: who did it bring in the middle of the night? I open the door - no one. And about fifteen meters from the trailer stands an old half-dried apple tree, near which there is a small clearing.
In the moonlight, it was clearly visible how a dense clot of fog, in appearance resembling a woman, slowly disappears into the ground.
For many years of my life I have seen a lot of things, but I have never encountered such a phenomenon.
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The next night, the same thing happened. I got out of the trailer, took a stone and put it on the spot where the fog had just been. And in the morning I went to church. There the priest told me:
- Perhaps it is someone's restless soul toil.
And he taught how to conduct a ritual so that this does not happen again.
To be honest, I performed this ritual three times, and then met with old people from the nearest village, from whom I learned that a girl had once been killed at this place. And although nothing else bothered me, an unpleasant residue remained on my soul, and I moved out of this place with my bees.
But it didn't end there.
Not far from the place where I moved with my bees, there was a small ravine, past which I drove to my apiary. At the bottom of the ravine, next to other trees, a large old pear with large fruits grew. I thought that by this time some varieties of pears were already ripening, and decided to go to the ravine.
He approached, and there everything around was densely overgrown with thorns - you can't get through. Then I found a place where I could get through, and, going up to the pear, I came across a man hanging in a noose. He wore a warm jacket, boots, hat and mittens. Apparently, it has been hanging since winter. The eyes are closed, but the face is not damaged. Direct sunlight did not fall, and a rather noticeable draft contributed to something like mummification.
It was then that I had no time for pears. I reported to the police. We arrived, took off, took away. I never found out who it was and why he died so. But my soul again became anxious. So in that beekeeping season, I twice encountered something otherworldly.
Anatoly Grigorievich Zlivko, s. Izmalkovo, Lipetsk region