They say that it is very scary in the churches at night. Strange, isn't it? It would seem that a place where people spend time with prayer, come to find peace in their souls, should always be friendly and light. But no. With the onset of darkness, the church walls become hostile. Maybe it's the eternal twilight that reigns in Orthodox churches. Maybe with the onset of darkness, the energy of this place changes from plus to minus. I find it difficult to answer this question, since I never stayed in church at night. To be honest, there is not enough curse to do such a dubious experiment, clearly punishable and bordering on insanity.
But one day I had to visit an empty temple. Let me make a reservation right away - it was not a functioning cult structure, but the skeleton of a destroyed bell tower. And if a phrase from a famous movie immediately came to your mind, then I will answer with it - it's not me. They tried it before me, at the beginning of the last century.
The history of the church is interesting. In the twenties of the last century, when it was not possible to forge swords into plowshares, the bells were melted down for the needs of the young republic, church utensils were plundered, and the walls were used as granaries. The church was dilapidated and destroyed. Only one bell tower remained. In the late 50s, tank exercises were held in this place. The brave commanders chose the chapel as a reference point. They fired at her tirelessly. But, as the old-timers say, none of the shells hit the target. So do not believe after that that someone from Above does not control the fate of people and architectural structures.
In the end, the collective farm chairman begged the exercise commander to stop firing and leave the bell tower alone. On that and decided. The bell tower survived, but every year it became more and more dilapidated. No one is in a hurry to restore the destroyed temple. It is located too far from roadways, trade routes and residential villages. Not advisable, I think so, from an economic point of view. There would be people, the same summer residents or local, then another matter: there will be few visitors. And the skeleton of the bell tower is geographically very inconvenient: in the spring and in the fall, you can only drive an SUV. And then you leave the car on the bank and walk along the shaky suspension bridge to the other side of the river.
While my husband was busy with his excavations, I gathered my will into a fist and went to the other side of the river. Walking along a shaky walkway is a feat for me, you know. It seems like flying not high, but still scary. At every step, the fragile structure, built during the days of tank exercises, crunched and swayed menacingly. Somewhere in the middle, I lost my step, because there were not enough boards in the flooring.
But the courage was rewarded, I got inside. The bell tower was a miserable sight: not only did time not spare the stone, but also the playful human hands contributed to the destructive processes.
Carried away by the process of photographing the "rock" painting of our era, I did not notice how it darkened sharply on the street. Thunderclaps were approaching the bell tower. I looked out into the street and froze - lightning was already hitting the neighboring bank, and a dark strip of rain was approaching my precarious shelter. I naively decided that it would be more correct to wait out the storm in a destroyed church than to run towards a hurricane. There are more chances to stay dry under at least some kind of roof, and I didn't want to race with lightning.
A minute later, it got dark in my shelter. Electric discharges cut through the air with a nasty whistle. I frantically began to remember physics and figure out what the chances are that lightning will strike exactly here. Modest knowledge was enough to decide - they are great. The chapel is the only tall building on the hill. But it was not only thunder and lightning that frightened me at this moment. Perhaps the fault was overly imagination and fear, but it seemed to me that the air in my shelter was thickening. Strange shadows swept along the walls, and outside sounds were clearly heard through the noise of the shower and thunderstorms. Most of all they resembled the notorious "white noise". The same one that arises if you knock the receiver off one wave and not tune to another. It began to seem that in the stream of "white noise" I distinguish individual words and phrases, as if someone was praying next to me. A cold breeze swept from top to bottom and instantly it became cold, as if not a suffocating summer thunderstorm raged on the street, but an icy autumn rain.
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Whether this was the last straw or the fact that the "radio wave" increased the volume and was already blocking the noise from the street, I do not know. In the "white noise" I heard bells ringing, and strange rustles filled the space around me. Forgetting about the lightning, with a crash tearing heavenly and earthly matter, I flew out of hiding. The only thing I had the rest of my composure to do was to zip up the camera case tightly so as not to get it wet. Without looking back, I rushed to the rickety bridge. And if the road to the bell tower took me a long time, then I got back faster. At the risk of slipping and falling into the river, I ran, not looking at my feet.
When I burst into the car, teeth chattering with fear and wet to the skin, my husband was surprised. He asked why I didn't wait out the thunderstorm, but rushed to the very epicenter of the elements. What could I answer? That I heard bells ringing, prayers and "white noise"? No, in the eyes of my rational and judicious spouse, I did not want to appear hysterical.
The thunderstorm ended as suddenly as it came. Within five minutes the sun was shining brightly. I no longer approached the bell tower. I took some photographs from afar and filmed the suspension bridge. For a long time, I did not tell anyone about what happened to me during a thunderstorm in an abandoned church. Even now, sitting in a comfortable position at the computer, I begin to doubt my feelings.
This is how human consciousness works: we drive away strange thoughts and memories of mysterious events. It's much easier to live this way, you must agree. But one thing I know now for sure - a temple, even an abandoned one, is not a place for an idle walk.