Last year I bought a small house in a very picturesque place: sandy river slopes, flooded meadows, a shallow stream, excellent fishing, even if nothing but ruffs was found in this stream.
I am an optimist by nature, I lived a reclusive life in anticipation of the family of my daughter, who promised to bring my four grandchildren to these wonderful places. Before their arrival, I decided to visit the swamp about ten kilometers from the village and pick up cranberries, which, according to the locals, were apparently invisible.
I found out the route, collected some simple food, took a large basket and set off at eight o'clock in the morning to the swamp. The daughter waited only the next day and was already wondering what shock the daughter and grandchildren would experience at the sight of a berry never seen before.
I got to the swamp without incident and pretty quickly. If I had known then what adventures awaited me, I would never have gone …
There really were so many cranberries that I easily filled almost a whole basket. There was very little left, but suddenly the moss bumps with cranberries disappeared. All around was sedge and swamp mud. How I got to this place, I did not understand. Some kind of deep ditches with black swamp water, crooked pine trees. The path disappeared, and I found myself in a gloomy place, completely overgrown with reeds taller than me.
I was at a loss, I can't remember where I came from. I stand and do not understand where to go. There is no path, no landmark. I don't know how much time has passed, when suddenly on the other side I clearly see two girls or women who seem to be calmly picking cranberries, talking to each other and even laughing.
I immediately perked up, I was about to call out to them and ask for directions when they suddenly disappeared. With some seventh feeling, I noticed how strange they were dressed: either long robes, or sundresses. But only they are gone, they disappeared …
Again, I don't know why, but it seemed to me that I immediately understood where to go. And soon he went out to a dry place and noticed on a crooked pine tree an almost dried wreath of chamomiles and some other wild flowers. Didn't pay much attention. I found my bike, came to the village and told my neighbor about my bog adventures.
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And he listened very seriously and said that many years ago two girls drowned in a swamp and that I saw them today. And this wreath has been hanging since then and does not crumble, although it has dried up. To say that I felt creepy is to say nothing …
I. A. Gavrilov, Petrozavodsk