It has long been written about the curse of the pharaohs (kings, leaders, etc.), which they bring down on the desecrators of their graves, be they robbers or learned men.
And there are quite a few people - scientists, highly educated, simply wise with rich life experience, who seriously suspect the existence of some kind of curse that affects lovers of wall, fence and other inscriptions made out of place.
Archaeologist A. Bats says:
- In the not so distant times of stagnation, we dug not far from Kerch and on the weekend went as a whole expedition to inspect the famous Tsarskoe Kurgan. In the crypt, one student from Krasnoyarsk - a rather obscene and arrogant personality - taking advantage of the absence of witnesses, scrawled on a stone with a hunting knife: "There was …" and so on.
After he was scolded and told not to come to this expedition again. The student was not particularly upset and in the evening went with fellow students to get drunk on the top of the Tsarskoe Kurgan. And so drunk, he fell down, measured with his ribs all the way to the foot, but - what is most interesting - the knife that the student carried on his trouser belt almost pierced his thigh through and through, and if a passing car had not been caught, he would have easily died from blood loss.
Another incident took place in Chersonesos. The temple of the 900th anniversary of the Baptism of Rus was destroyed during the war, and since then an archaeological tool has been kept in it. Once we were sent to load picks, shovels, wheelbarrows, etc., but the car was late. We wandered aimlessly around the basilica, which was inside the church and in which, according to legend, Vladimir, the great Kiev prince, was baptized.
One girl, madly in love, scrawled a sacramental formula on one of the stones with a nail: "Faith + Andrey = Eternal love." I discovered this inscription only in the next season, and then accidentally found out the fate of the girl Vera. Andrei hanged herself in her apartment during a depressive psychosis, she herself twice tried to commit suicide, which made her disabled. Now he is raising a daughter, who has taken root from someone unknown.
The third story is even more tragic and happened on the Taman Peninsula. There are mud hills there, which the locals call "volcanoes". One of them bears the sonorous name of Gobber, since mud floats in its crater, which bursts into bubbles. On the slope of this hill, students of a technical university decided, in their free time from their main work, to lay out the initials of their favorite institution five to six human heights from stones.
Promotional video:
At the end of this senseless action, the organizer went to the top with a bucket: the mud was considered healing. He was never seen again, and the bucket was found at the very edge of a puddle of warm liquid mud. Apparently he slipped and was sucked in like in a swamp. By the way, I have heard from the locals more than once that people who are unwanted here are dealt with in this way: they tie up and throw them into Gobber.
Another example. An avid bully studied with my grandson. He was amused by the fact that, having sniffed the stain remover, got on the bus and wrote with a knife on the leatherette of the seats, offensive words for women. Once the driver beat him with a tire iron, but the bully was already a dead creature and could not stop.
In the end, the car stopped him. Once, having swallowed chemistry, he cut his veins, but, having come to his senses in time, ran to the emergency room for help. Crossing the street, he passed out from loss of blood and found himself under the wheels of a bus.
But the case is almost the opposite. A guy with an aunt lived in our house. It was as if he had no parents. Nobody really did it, and, having matured, the guy (quite logically) ended up behind bars. After the first walk, a tattoo "I will not forget my own mother" appeared on his hand. And soon the aunt confessed that his mother was alive, only this was a completely drunken, degraded woman, deprived of maternal rights.
When perestroika began, the guy was again behind bars, and his mother went to rummage through the trash heaps. And so he, looking at the tattoo, began to send her food parcels from the zone.
I don't know if all of these stories have a mystical meaning or if it's just a coincidence. But over the years you involuntarily become suspicious. Maybe there will be readers who can expand my "anthology" of tragic and meaningless inscriptions.