Mystical stories from life that are very difficult to explain from a logical point of view.

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The other day there was a quarrel with a relative. Personally, I would have long ago reduced communication with her to a minimum, but my mother stubbornly clung to her, because “there are no more relatives”, “this is not good”, “what if we need help, and besides her, there will be no one to help” .

About 20 years ago, when our family was going through difficult times, we often borrowed money from this relative. Everything was returned. She also helped resolve some organizational issues several times. She gave me expensive gifts as a child. I considered her the ideal woman and dreamed of being like her: beautiful, charming, popular with men, kind, rich. When I grew up, everything turned out to be a little different.

I have never been particularly naive, believing in dreams and miracles, but an incident that happened 2 years ago made me think and change my outlook on life.

The fact is that I have had poor eyesight for a long time, and I have already come to terms with it. But exactly 2 years ago, on the night of July 6-7 (the famous holiday of Ivan Kupala), a miracle happened. Waking up on the morning of July 7, I again saw with my own eyes 100% independently! I no longer needed glasses or contacts. By the way, medicine cannot explain such a case. And I considered this a miracle, a reward, a gift from higher powers. Of course, the next day my vision fell again and is the same now.

I’ll say right away that I am an incorrigible materialist, but the story that happened to me still causes me confusion. It is connected with mysticism quite relatively, but it actually happened, nothing was made up.

After the seventh grade in 1980, my family decided to move from the Kirov region to the Rostov region, closer to our relatives, where there was a lot of sun, warmth and abundance of fruit. My aunt and mother’s sister and her family lived three kilometers from Kamensk-Shakhtinsky on the banks of the Seversky Donets. My cousin, who was a year older than me, was an avid fisherman and spent time on the river from morning to night. I also became addicted to fishing. And so my brother and I once decided to organize night fishing.

I want to dedicate my confession to a man known by everyone, or almost everyone, by the nickname “Stranger.” I will try to tell in detail what prompted me to write my story.

More than six months ago, when quarrels began with my husband, trying to find answers to my problems on the Internet, I accidentally found the “Confession” website. Reading the comments, I saw the Stranger, not so much his mysterious avatar, but his statements, his points of view at some point came into contact with mine, touching my soul. I’m not talking about love, I love one man in my life, this is something spiritual to some extent or at the level of energy emanating from a person.

I won’t say that I consider myself one of his fans, since my attitude towards him is still twofold: I understood some of his statements, while others sometimes outraged me, but I learned from many of his views on life for myself. Has my personal life improved? It's not perfect yet, but it probably won't happen. A stranger is like a kindred spirit, without seeing his face, appearance, without knowing his age, just from his very presence on the site, even the site lives, in my opinion, a different life (women are charmed, men argue about interruptions). His comments are read by a special voice inside me. And during all the time on the site I could no longer feel what you felt when the Stranger commented.

This story happened to my father. This was several years ago. My parents have a dacha in the Krasnokutsky district of the Kharkov region. My father loves to wander through the forest and knows it well. The forest where he walks, not far from the dacha, is pine.

So, he says that he was once walking through the forest, and in a place where he had often been before. And then he sees that he is walking not through a pine forest, but through an oak forest! He also saw a pond there, which he had never seen in those places, but he knew for sure that there was no pond there. He got scared and began to look for a way out, guided, as he said, by the sun. After some time I found myself in the pine forest again.

I sometimes have prophetic dreams. Some of them are about how and who takes one of their loved ones or acquaintances to the next world.

I had a very strange and memorable dream about my mother-in-law. It’s as if my mother-in-law is lying on something, and a beautiful young woman is leaning over her and scolding her for something, pointing at me. I woke up and began to analyze. I remembered another dream related to my mother-in-law. I dreamed of some kind of hole or grave, earth, and my mother-in-law was burying my photograph. I thought maybe that young beautiful woman scolded her for this act?

This story happened literally tonight, and since then I have been looking at my cat with different eyes. In some ways it even resembles a horror film.

Actually the point is this. Last night I had a nightmare, and it involved this cat, by the way. Of course, there is nothing unusual about this; everyone has nightmares sometimes. And, in general, the nightmare, as it usually happens, reaches its climax and I woke up in the middle of the night and heard what was purring in my legs! That is, it was as if he was enjoying the fact that I was having a nightmare. In general, a cat never purrs just like that, only if you pet him or pick him up, but it never happens that he just lies there and purrs.

I have a serious problem. I absolutely cannot control my thoughts, or rather, they are not even thoughts, but obsessions. Moreover, my favorite places and things can be associated with negative thoughts.

For example, I look at some place and immediately before my eyes there is some terrible picture (as if something bad is happening in this place). And it begins to seem to me that this place is now connected with what I imagined. I really don’t want this place to be associated with something bad now, but diametrically opposite sentences pop into my head, like “I really want it to be like this.”

I am 27 years old, I have two daughters, a husband, thank God, I have a place to live and what to live on, but there is one “but”.

I grew up in a large and very poor family. There are five of us parents, I am the middle one. I didn’t go to kindergarten, but I studied very well at school. Next comes college, university and family.

My paternal grandmother seemed to be a good person, but few people talked to her, everyone was afraid of her and considered her a witch (and a black one). Even my mother and father himself somehow avoided her. When my grandmother fell ill (she was about 75 years old), my parents had to take her in, and I had to help, look after her, and I even became friends with her. She died 6 months later and that’s where it all started.

Mystical stories from real life are loved by everyone who is interested in esotericism and tries to explain such cases from a scientific point of view, using an entire arsenal of tools consisting of school and university knowledge. However, that’s why mystical stories are called that - they have no reasonable explanation.

Our website contains the most terrible stories. These are mostly scary real-life stories told by people on social networks.

For apples. Village mystical story.

I once went to the village to visit my aunt. She relies entirely on agriculture, but it was hard for her and she asked me to help. Collect vegetables, fix things, clean up beds. No mysticism - just hard collective farm work.

After another round of digging in the ground, I decided to rest and eat an apple. Nearby there was an overgrown field, bordered by a forest, and stunted wild apple trees grew on it. My aunt also grew Antonovka apple trees, and I didn’t like sour apples, so I went there.

While wandering across the field, I didn’t notice and climbed over the thatched arch. It turned out to be in vain. While I was picking apples, some branch almost gouged out my eye and scratched my cheek until it bled. But the work was not in vain. The apples are small, clean, not wormy and strong. I turn around, and it turns out that I was a little far from home. He was barely visible through the grass.

Let me push through the grass. But the grass grabbed me and didn’t want to let me go, and it seemed like I was going in the wrong direction. I turned around - the forest was not moving away! In addition, I felt that something was moving under my foot, I looked and went crazy - a snake!!! And it’s not a snake, I’ve seen snakes, I can’t confuse the yellow “ears” with anything. Frightened, I rushed through the thickets. 5 minutes later I stood at the porch of the house. My aunt saw me, came up and asked what was taking me so long and why I was disheveled.

It turns out I was gone for about an hour. I told my mystical story. She said, well, were the apples worth it? I answered that yes - I picked some wonderful apples. She looked at me so suspiciously and walked away. And I dumped the remaining apples on the grass (I lost most of them when I ran from there) and went crazy - they were all rotten and wormy. Then I asked my aunt what the hell this was, and she said that such arches are put up by an evil spirit that lives in the field and fools a person’s head. She said that the purpose of the arches is to prevent a person from reaching the house. And then I found the snake on the Internet - it turned out to be a copperhead.

Emergency in a military unit. Real military mystical story

My father served in a missile defense unit located deep in the steppe. The part was not easy, with secret equipment, secret itself, and so on. To the point that it was surrounded by mesh and a concrete fence with heavy, blank metal gates with electronic latches. Near the gate there were towers on which sentries were on duty around the clock. And all around is the steppe. For 60 kilometers there is not a single intelligent creature except the political officer. The “grandfathers” often told various mystical stories that took place on the territory of the unit - either a soldier disappeared without a trace, or an ensign went crazy... my dad didn’t believe it. But one day a misfortune befell him.

He was on guard - there were four people on duty in total. The task is to walk in circles around the military unit for half the night in search of obvious or hidden opponents. They had a good time (there were no wolves, lizards - that's all the enemies). On the last lap of honor, we stopped to relieve ourselves at the fence of our home base - twenty meters from the spotlight installed on the tower. The tide began to pour, and then the soldier who stood farthest began to yell. And he didn’t just scream, but with obvious signs that he was being dragged away from the others - the voice moved away. They pulled out the flashlights, they were shining - there was no person. No footprints in the sand, nothing. The machine gun is lying around. It’s clear that they screwed up. The charter did not say what to do in this case.

They rushed to the gate in horror, they yelled at the sentry, turn, searchlight, look what’s going on there. He turned and said that there was nothing. Clean perimeter. By this time, the lock was clicked, the gate was opened, and they ran into the territory in horror. It was absolutely necessary to close the gate. They closed like a simple “English” latch lock - by slamming. Dad pulls the door towards himself, but it doesn’t close. It’s not like someone is holding it, it’s just as if a stone had rolled under the sash or something was pushing against it. That's when my father went completely crazy.

Dad saw that at the level of his head, a paw was holding onto the edge of the sash. I asked him to describe it in more detail, but what he said was what he said - a withered human hand, gray, the color of mouse fur, with ugly nails. She didn’t pull the door towards her, but she didn’t let it close either, she just held on and that’s it. Dad, in a panic, yelled at the sentry to open fire on everything he saw outside the gate, but when he turned the searchlight, the gate easily slammed shut and there was nothing there again. They searched for the missing soldier for a week, but no trace of him was found. Such a terrible mystical story happened.

Night carousel lover.

I have a wooden house in the village, and sometimes I go there to relax. The place is not easy and many mystical stories have happened. Today I will tell you one.

One day we were sitting in this village in a large group, visiting a girl, watching “Hipster.”

At about two in the morning I began to experience an incomprehensible anxiety. I remembered that I left the car on the territory of an old abandoned pioneer camp: it is located near the village, a favorite meeting place for young people. There is everything you need for happiness - silence, the absence of people over 20 years old, abandoned buildings where you can quietly smoke or drink. So, in the afternoon we opened the old rusty gate to the camp, and I drove the transport there. Why the hell? I don't remember! I grabbed a can of beer so as not to get bored on the road, I left the house and went to pick up the car from the camp.

Player in my ears, summer night, delicious beer... I reached the camp gate in about five minutes. He opened the gate and walked on - the car was parked about three hundred meters from them. As soon as I entered the territory, onto the broken asphalt path, along which crowds of schoolchildren walked just 15 years ago, I felt alarm. But this was natural, our camp is not an easy one; in the 90s, corpses were often found there, which became so not at all of their own free will. Then, in the summer of 2001, a certain satanic cult tried to organize gatherings there, but they didn’t work out, and we saw them about five times, no more. But this was enough for us - a sediment remained. Our abandoned camp is a gloomy place - strange, and at night, what can we hide, scary. But I, a supporter of rationalism, ordered my subconscious, which was begging me to leave quickly, to shut up, and continued on my way. And within a minute I got to the car, climbed inside, turned on the music and breathed a sigh of relief. I turned around on the narrow path, risking getting stuck, and drove towards the exit. Having already passed those very gates, being technically already on the territory of the village, and not the camp, I thought that it was not good to leave the gate open.

He stopped, put the handbrake on, got out and returned to the camp territory, again experiencing strange discomfort, which became twice as strong as five minutes ago. I quickly closed the gate and ran about ten meters into the camp out of necessity. Then I took out a pack of cigarettes, lit a cigarette, turned towards the gate, and... With my peripheral vision I saw that someone was riding on the old, long-rusted carousels, which were located about twenty meters from the path. At a decent speed. It was dark, but I saw a human silhouette, developing light-colored clothes, and his gaze was fixed in front of me. He did not look at me, although an ordinary person should have been interested in my manipulations with the gate. What am I saying, a normal person wouldn’t ride a carousel in an abandoned camp at two in the morning. I screamed and ran as fast as I could in the car - thank God it was started. Clutch and gas to the floor, squealing and the smell of burnt rubber, a convulsive glance in the rearview mirror...

And at this moment the low beam turns off, and I stop seeing anything. Screaming no worse than the first time, I pull, almost tearing out, the high beam handle. Thank God, it lights up and illuminates the rapidly approaching houses. I don't look back anymore. Arriving at the girl’s place where friends were sitting, he hung out in the car for a long time, smoking and listening to music. I tried to calm down.

I'll tell you that real life, even without any monsters and mysticism, is nowhere more terrible. Therefore, I will tell you a second mystical story.

One day I was riding a bicycle outside the city, and about five or six kilometers from the district district I found an abandoned motor depot. A whole bunch of buildings - boxes, administrative buildings, barracks, substations, and a little on the outskirts there was a one-story bathhouse and shower room made of red brick, a kind of small house. What’s strange is that everything was in divine condition, although the base had been abandoned for a long time. I explained this by the fact that the approach to it begins with a completely inconspicuous turn off a major highway, and there are no populated areas nearby. In general, a quiet, deserted place. The stump was clear, I started visiting there: I built springboards for the bike, had a blast, sunbathed.

One day my partner and his friend and I were driving past the turn to the base in a car. I invited them to stop by and show me my “farm”, and my partner was looking for some building materials for the dacha, which are expensive to buy, but they were at the base. In general, we turned, we are approaching. I should add that by this time I had not been to the hacienda for a couple of weeks, but I immediately realized that someone had been here. Firstly, where the asphalt area in front of the base began, burnt sticks were stuck. It smelled like a mystical story:))) Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be burnt torches.

Well, okay, the Tolkienists were waving mops here, so be it. But nearby on the road, in brown rubbish, an entire poem was written in incomprehensible signs - they did not look like hieroglyphs or runes, I can vouch for that. This mystical story was no longer similar to the Tolkienists. Then it smelled even more mystical. The guys with me were inquisitive, although they were both 30 years old, they went to climb the buildings. We all looked and saw this very bathhouse on the outskirts. They come up to me and say, “I’ve got a great job, I’ve hung curtains on the windows.” I thought he was joking. It would be better to joke. All the windows (they didn’t even have frames) and the door were curtained from the inside with thick black fabric, and something was whining inside.

In general, my guys were not cowardly - one was a fireman, the other was simply an extreme person in life, but we all screwed up at the same time. Armed ourselves with sticks. The partner throws a rag from the window with a stick, and we see the following picture: the interior of the bathhouse, lined with tiles, is covered with writings from bottom to ceiling, some with a marker, part with paint, part with this brown rubbish, but the walls are COMPLETELY covered with writing. To do this, you need a whole team and at least a week of time. Keys hung from the ceiling on strings. Ordinary door keys, a lot, several hundred for sure. In the middle of the room there was a table with two black cylindrical objects. And in the next room someone was breathing hoarsely.

It’s clear that I didn’t want to go inside. There was some kind of ritual with a good dose of silliness, and it is unknown whether this ritual was completed, or whether it could not be completed without our livers and they were waiting for us to visit. I suggested throwing a brick at one of the cylinders on the table. Everyone voted yes, and I threw. It turned out to be a three-liter jar, wrapped in the same black cloth as on the windows; it broke, and a black puddle of vile scum spread across the table. Within a couple of seconds, such a terrible smell of rotten meat hit our noses from the window opening that we ran away ten meters - I’m sure it was real, pretty rotten blood, as much as six liters of blood (we didn’t break the second jar, but I I think that the contents there were not Coca-Cola either). When we got used to the stench, a firefighter friend suggested we still look at who was wheezing behind the wall. They held their noses, tore the rag from the entrance, and went in with sticks. What I saw completely finished me off.

In the corner under the ceiling hung two pigs, each the size of a large dog, one, clearly dead, was all cut up by something thin - the skin on it was simply turned into noodles, there were no eyes, the floor was covered in its blood, and the rope on which she was hanging, coming straight out of the mouth - I still don’t know whether it was a hook or not, but clearly something brutal - the tongue and part of the intestines were sticking out. But the second pig was alive, twitching its paws and breathing hoarsely. It was hung in the same way, but there were much fewer cuts. I think that she did not make any sounds because she was either exhausted, or her vocal cords were torn out by this incomprehensible “hanger”. But it made such an impression that I was able to calm down the trembling in my jaw only late in the evening with the help of one and a half liters of whiskey for three.

In the twilight, in silence, a pig hanging by its intestines is kicking its legs, among keys hanging from the ceiling, hieroglyphs and the unbearable smell of carrion from spilled blood. I then searched the Internet for a description of such a ritual: keys, blood, a sacrificial pig - such vileness is not found anywhere, even in black magic. Another unpleasant moment: the blood was clearly not those pigs, already rotten, but whose - who knows. Obviously, these guys didn’t fill six liters of mosquitoes. Is this a mystical story or a real abomination worse than fairy tales - you decide.

New place. Stories from Uzbekistan

It’s 1984, Uzbekistan, a small town two hundred kilometers from Tashkent. Angren. Death Valley. In fact, there was nothing terrible in the town, it was just not a very pleasant place: there were mountains everywhere. They seemed to hang over and want to crush. We came as a whole family: grandparents (on the maternal side), mother and father, aunt and family, and uncle. We bought several excellent apartments and dachas at once and planned to live happily ever after.

Five years of quiet and peaceful life pass - the family's wealth is much above average: the mother works in the city executive committee, the father conducts military training at a local school. I'm in sixth grade. Well, fights motivated by racial hatred are commonplace. And then it started.

First, ants began to appear in the house. Thousands. And they crushed this scum, and poisoned them, whatever they did. They continued to trample their paths. After a couple of months, the ants disappeared, and cockroaches took their place. Huge and disgusting, finger-length. They appeared at night: crawled along the walls and ceiling, periodically falling on my face. It was disgusting.

Tired of the unsuccessful struggle, the whole family moved to our aunt. She lived with her husband and daughter on the other side of the city in a luxurious four-room apartment on the sixth floor of the only nine-story building in the city. At first it was very good: the whole family watched the video, played with my sister and did other fun things. At that time, my parents were engaged in chemical warfare in their old apartment using a sanitary and epidemiological station and other heavy weapons.

Several months have flown by like one day, and it’s time to return home. There were no insects. There was a strange feeling of threat. At least for me. My parents, like true communists, did not believe in all that nonsense. But the feeling did not disappear: being in the apartment, I felt that I was being watched. They look unkind like that. A little later this feeling began to haunt me outside the walls of the house. As soon as you are left alone, go out to buy bread, you feel a boring gaze on the back of your head. I always tried to be in society, even if society promised swearing and fights. Hanging around with my peers, trying to smoke.

I simply could not be in that apartment. I already slept in the same room with my parents. At one “wonderful” moment, my father went to Tashkent for several months. “To improve my qualifications,” although in reality it was a family matter. As a result, I was left alone with my mother in a three-room apartment. The feeling of danger began to disappear: it seemed that the invisible spy began to mess around, and then completely disappeared. I started sleeping in a separate room again. The calm before the storm.

I woke up with a feeling of chilling horror. For some time I could not open my eyes, no, I did not want to open them. I felt death was nearby. I still remember those minutes with a shudder. Silence, you can’t even hear the ticking of a clock, cold (in July in a southern country) and all-consuming horror.

A flash and a roar brought me out of the state of a leaf trembling in the wind. I open my eyes and see in the beam of a flashlight a figure bent over, apparently in pain. I instantly jump out of bed and run to my mother standing in the doorway with a gun in her hands. A growing feeling of horror - I see a figure slowly rising. When I find myself behind my mother, several shots and a heart-rending scream are heard. Mother screams. Then, it seems, I shit myself and passed out.

I woke up at my grandfather’s house: my mother, pale and pale, my uncle and my grandfather and grandmother were sitting at the table. And a few cops are milling around. After discussing something, my grandfather, his uncle and the cops went to my mother’s and my apartment. Look for the robber's body. A few hours after they left, shooting began. This is a good one: they beat me in long bursts. The robber's body was not found, and the cops, having collected the shell casings and counted the holes in the walls, left.

Grandfather and uncle remained to guard the apartment. And then it began. Grandfather, they say, was found on the veranda with Stechkin in his hand. Dead. Heart attack. Although my uncle remained alive, he turned gray and began to stutter. And he drank heavily. I drank myself quickly. The next day, without even saying goodbye, my mother and I went to see my father in Tashkent, and from there the three of us flew to Moscow. I tried to talk to my mother about that incident. She always spoke reluctantly: either it was a bandit, or her grandfather’s inheritance, who decided to take revenge through her children and grandchildren, or who knows what. One day she started talking, saying that she shot at this creature at least twice. They found only one 12-gauge hole in the wall, and my grandfather shot out 2 magazines. However, a mystical story came out...

An unexpected phenomenon. A mystical story about an old road.

Last summer I vacationed in the village. The village is more than 200 years old - a place, in a sense, historical, with its own attractions. One of them is a stone road built by convicts under Catherine II.

As a child, my uncle told me that convicts who died during construction were buried under the road, and then paved with stone on top. So, last summer, my friend and I went for a walk there at night (my friend wanted to admire the stars where there were no lanterns).

The night is quiet, dark, there is a forest around the road, there is no moon. Mysticism... Suddenly a feeling of anxiety arose - “something is wrong.” By that time we had already moved far from the village, the lanterns had disappeared behind the forest. I began to frantically look around, trying to understand what could have alerted me. I didn’t see anything, the forest stood like a black wall around me, it was impossible to distinguish the outlines of the trees, and even where they ended and the blackening sky began. No red, ominously glowing eyes were found either.

A thought flashed through my head: how, in this darkness, we managed to get so far from the village and not lose our way. I lowered my eyes to look at the road. She was glowing! More precisely, it was clearly visible! Every stone, every plant that made its way through the potholes between them. There was nothing around that resembled a light source. I remembered the stories that my uncle told, grabbed my girlfriend in my arms and chose to get out of there. I don’t know how this can be explained, maybe it can, but I was pretty scared then. This is such a mystical story.

Children from the Dark

I'm going to Smolensk to register a car. Sunny summer day, in the back seat there is food, drinks, a warm blanket. You may have to spend the night in your car. Smoke breaks, sleep for twenty minutes, sandwich. On the road again. Smooth straight road. A few hours later, customs. Decoration. Boring faces. Papers, photocopier. Payment of expenses. Drivers of huge trucks. Cigarettes, queues, waiting. Long after midnight - back. There are few cars. Oncoming drivers politely switch to low beams. I'm starting to fall asleep. I know that in such cases it is impossible to go further.

After a while, I exit the highway, I drive off carefully. The asphalt road leads to a vacant lot. Along the edges there is a forest. Bumpy earthen area. I stop in the center, unfold the back seats, and spread out the blanket. Quiet. For some reason I don’t want to turn off the light. I finish my cigarette, lie down, turn off the lamp and headlights. I toss and turn for a while, then I fall asleep. The dream is dark, like the forest around the car.

I wake up to the car rocking. Laughter is heard. Children's laughter, funny and sinister at the same time. The windows are fogged up, you can’t see anything. I approach the window, trying to look at something. At this time, a child’s palm suddenly hits the glass on the other side and slides down. I scream in surprise. I move to the front seat. I'm frantically looking for the keys. Nowhere. I pat my pockets. The laughter doesn't stop. The car is rocking more and more. It smells like burning. The keys, it turns out, are in the ignition. The engine roars. I turn on the headlights automatically. Children stand in a tight line in front of the car. There are about twenty of them. They are dressed in old, Soviet-style, government-issued pajamas. There are black spots on their faces and clothes. Reverse gear. Over bumps, howling engine. The children's figures move away, one of them waves his hand. I fly onto the highway, gas to the floor, flying like crazy. Only now I notice that it is raining.

DPS post. I turn towards him, almost crash into the wall, jump out, rush to the surprised guard, and confusedly tell him what happened. He laughs and tests me for alcohol. He takes him to his place and offers to rest. Wondering where it was. I'm telling. He listens carefully, then becomes gloomy and exchanges glances with his partner. Then they tell me a mystical story. There was a children's boarding school in that place, it burned down in the late eighties, almost all the pupils died. Then he assures me that I was just having a nightmare. I agree. Here, in the warmth, in the company of armed traffic cops, everything seems like a dream. After a while, I thank them, get ready and go out to the car. On the hood, almost washed away by the rain, you can see the prints of small children’s hands stained with soot.

Obsession

I've been living alone for two weeks now. My mother recently died and was buried by the whole family. I still can’t move away; I never knew my father. A cheerful life is coming - me and my cat. And it seems to me that I am slowly starting to go crazy.

Yesterday I returned home from work (I work shifts as a packer on an assembly line) at about three in the morning, had dinner with my favorite Doshirak and went to bed. The mobile phone, as usual, was placed on the nightstand at the head of the bed. And so, in the morning they called me. In my sleep I pressed the answer button and heard:

Hey son, listen, I already left for work. Take the chicken out of the freezer and I'll cook something tonight.

“Okay, mom,” I answered through my sleep and hung up.

Half a minute later I was standing over the bathroom sink, washing my face with cold water. I was shivering.

“I wonder who could make such a joke? - I thought. “But the voice was hers!” I thought for a long time and eventually came to a lackluster conclusion: well, they were joking, and they were joking, there are few idiots, or something. With these thoughts, I went to the kitchen to make my morning coffee.

There was a chicken in the sink. If it weren’t for the morning drowsiness, I would have fallen into hysterics, but my legs just gave way. I’m sitting, shaking, but I don’t have the courage to get up and do something with this chicken. And then the doorbell rang. Opening the door, I saw the postman. He handed me a letter. The letter had no return address and no name of the addressee. I go to the kitchen, start to open the envelope - and then it hits me in the head. The sink is empty! Not a sign of the damn chicken. I put the letter aside, looked into the freezer - it was lying there, frozen, in pieces of ice, obviously it had not been taken out for a week, from the very moment I threw it in there. “I’ll see something like this,” I thought. “The psyche, crippled by the death of a loved one, still makes itself felt.” He returned to the letter, took out a folded piece of paper and began to read:

“Dear Tamara Alexandrovna (that was my mother’s name), we offer you our sincere condolences on the death of your son. "

"WHAT?!" - flashed through my head.

". in connection with the death of your son (my name and patronymic was written here) at work.”

I fell into a stupor. What happens? A letter comes from my place of work without a return address with my obituary, and they know that she died - I took money from the mutual aid fund for the funeral, and my bosses organized a vacation for a week for me!

In the end, I decided to deal with all this devilry when I arrived from work, got dressed and left. At work, I asked leading questions in the personnel department and in the supply department - given that they looked at me like an idiot, I realized: someone seriously decided to piss me off or put me in a fool. After working for a day with such gloomy thoughts, I went home.

I entered the apartment and immediately noticed a strange smell from my mother’s room. Has the cat really gone to relieve himself where he shouldn’t have again? I took a rag from the bathroom, went into my mother's room and saw a stain on the bed. I turned on the light and almost had a heart attack - I broke out in a cold sweat, my chest felt tight, all I could do was sag like a bag on the floor and convulsively gasp for air. On the mother's bed there was a red-brown stain on half the sheet. To say that I was crazy is to say nothing.

I don’t remember how I crumpled up this sheet and threw it down the garbage chute. Criminologists call this “state of passion.” I remember myself already in the kitchen, knocking over a glass of vodka. And now I’m sitting on the Internet and typing this text in order to somehow systematize what’s happening to me. To my right is a letter about my death, dated tomorrow, and to my left is a telephone that has been trilling for five minutes. Mom is calling, and her turned off phone is in the next room. I don't want to answer this call, I really don't want to. But the phone doesn’t want to calm down.

If I manage to survive this night without going crazy, then tomorrow I will have to go to work on the night shift. But I don't want to die, I don't want to.

younger brother

Once I spent the night with my friends Sergei and Ira after a fair amount of drinking in honor of their wedding anniversary. Driving a car in my condition was fraught with an accident, but he has a large house, inherited from his grandmother, with many rooms. This is a reasonable proposal - especially for a bachelor who is not welcome at home.

Look, our lights are often turned off at night,” Serge warned me. - So be careful. My son is always throwing toys around. I almost killed myself.

I understood everything, took the bed linen and went to bed. Either I had too many impressions that evening, or the new place was taking its toll, but I slept poorly. I had some nightmares, it was stuffy (and this with the window wide open). At about two in the morning, I was overcome by a terrible dry spell. And if I somehow struggled with nightmares, then thirst forced me to wake up and go in search of water.

There was no light in the house, as Serge had promised. However, my eyes had already become accustomed to the darkness, so I didn’t experience any particular problems. When I got to the refrigerator, I took out a pack of cold juice and halved it in one fell swoop. Then I heard a quiet, barely audible child's cry. I frowned. Only Platon, Sergei’s four-year-old son, could cry. I stood in the kitchen, listening, but the crying continued, and Ira and Sergei were sleeping too soundly.

I returned the juice to the refrigerator and decided to see what was wrong with the baby. On the one hand, this is not my concern, but I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t hear anything, and I couldn’t go to bed. Following the sound, I reached the door at the farthest end of the corridor and stopped. The crying was definitely coming from behind the door, so I opened it a crack and looked into the room. A typical children's room - a spread out bed on the left, a table by the window, a huge closet in a dark spot on the right side.

Plato? - I asked quietly. - This is Uncle Denis. Why are you crying?

Someone stirred in the corner. The crying died down.

“Aha, here comes Plato,” I thought and went into the room. Closing the door behind me, I walked up to the baby, who was sitting in the corner, wrapped in a blanket, sobbing quietly, hugging some toy. “Well,” I asked as kindly as possible, “why are we crying?”

Plato remained silent, then said quietly:

There's a scarecrow here.

“He’s behind,” the child whispered very quietly. I turned around. There was no one behind.

“It’s in the closet,” Plato stood next to me. - Waiting for you to leave.

I, muttering the usual words at such moments that it was all a dream and there was nothing here, went to the closet. Plato remained standing in the corner.

Do you see? It’s empty here,” I said and opened the door. The closet was empty. I persuaded Plato to go to bed, wished him good night and promised to immediately punish any bogeyman within this house.

In the morning Sergei woke me up. We had breakfast and started getting ready to go fishing. Already near the lake, I remembered my night adventure and told it to my friend. Serge remained silent.

What? - I looked at my friend in surprise. He was pale as death.

Plato slept all night with us. And in the far room along the corridor, many years ago, my older brother slept.

He was found dead when he was four. He said he saw something coming out of the closet.

Bad purchase. True story

My girlfriend and I once decided to renovate - there was a mini-flood in the kitchen (they suddenly turned on hot water), and the linoleum became unusable. We decided to buy a new one. Let's go to the construction supermarket. There was linoleum in the department, but it was expensive. My girlfriend and I are not rich - we didn’t want to spend crazy thousands of rubles on repairs, and we asked the consultant where there were cheaper solutions. The consultant silently pointed to the discounted goods department.

In the corner of the department, on the bottom shelf, it hung - a thick beige beauty with a geometric pattern in the shape of triangles, soft to the touch. The price per meter was so ridiculous that we immediately decided to take it and asked them to cut off the required amount for us. It’s a coincidence, but that’s exactly what was on the roll.

The first strange thing awaited us in the supermarket - the barcode for this product was not in the database. They wanted to give up on the dream, but it turned out that the linoleum was delivered by a freelance truck with yoghurts hours ago and simply did not have time to bring it in. We never discovered the reason for the markdown; the consultant said something about a fire at the factory, although our roll was clearly not damaged. On the way home, the girl noted that it smelled strange - sweet and spicy. It was not the smell of burning, but rather the aroma of light oriental incense.

We noticed the second strange thing when we brought the roll home and began preparing for replacement. Our cat, a half-yard Siamese, looked strangely at the linoleum, poked it with her paw and suddenly jumped back with a terrible hiss, pressing her ears. Apparently she didn't like his smell. We laughed at the unreasonable animal and got to work. By the end of the day, the kitchen looked great - the linoleum lay perfectly and did not even require ironing. It felt nicer on the feet than shag carpet - it was warm. This was not surprising; it was July outside the window, but it was moderately warm, as if it was adjusting to our temperature.

At night, the girl pushed me aside and said in a whisper - we have problems. At first I didn’t understand what was going on, but then I heard it: measured slaps were coming from the kitchen, like those that can be heard in a swimming pool. Rare but distinct. And another creaking of wood. We live on the first floor, we don’t close the window, so the thought of a night thief arose.

I gathered my strength, took a flashlight and decisively ran into the kitchen. No one, just the wind blowing and drunkards screaming outside the window. Empty. I climbed into the chest of drawers, took out vodka and drank a glass, the girl drank the second. We returned to bed and fell asleep safely.

The next morning, a third strange thing was discovered - our cat had disappeared somewhere. They searched the whole apartment, even the entrance (you never know, she could have gotten out), walked around the area and called her for a long time - the result was zero. It was very pitiful, but mixed with the pity was the feeling of something alien and dangerous, something that sent a chill down the back and goosebumps on the skin.

At night, after intense lovemaking, I turned to the wall, but my girlfriend couldn’t sleep. She said something (calmly, not alarmed), and I listened to her with half an ear and fell asleep. The last thing I remember is that she got off the bed and went to drink water.

I dreamed that I was walking along the corridor and saw a door, from under which a rumble was heard and a pale pink light broke through. I reach out to it and it suddenly swings open. What was behind it turned out to be so terrible that I woke up in a cold sweat.

It was already morning, birds were singing outside the window and the sun was shining. I turned over to my other side to hug my beloved. The bed was empty.

All the girl’s things were in place, the clothes were hanging on hangers. My friends were silent and said that only I could have it. We filed a report with the police, but the search was unsuccessful. It was terrible. Every night I dreamed about this door, I stopped eating normally and going to work.

A week after the girl disappeared, the kitchen began to smell strange. It was the already familiar, but intensified smell of linoleum with an admixture of something nauseating. I thought about the trash heap, but that wasn't the issue. Something reddish-brown could be seen from under the edge of the linoleum. I tore off the linoleum with trembling hands and vomited.

The linoleum floor was covered in a rotting, bloody mess. The worst thing awaited me on the back side of the linoleum - there were faded prints of four cat paws and two women's feet.

Reasoning on the topic of mystical stories from the editor of ScaryStory

Why do we all love mystical stories so much? Some people (like me ;)) associate scary stories with childhood, when we all loved to sit around the fire on dark nights, tell mystical stories to each other, eat baked potatoes with salt and bread and get incredible pleasure from it.

The sensations and experiences associated with some special feeling of comfort that settled in the soul have remained with us forever. And it’s unlikely that anyone will disagree with me that there is quite a lot of inexplicable mystical and mysterious things in our lives. Despite the fact that we have all grown up a long time ago, received an education, work in a solid job, communicate with different people, events still happen in our lives that we cannot always explain from the point of view of rationality.

For some this is an interesting coincidence, for others it is truly mystical cases. Some of my friends even claim that they have personally seen a UFO, aliens or a ghost. And you know, being a skeptic by nature, I believe many.

The mystical experience inherent in every person has been embedded in him since the time of our distant hairy ancestors. Just as then, people sitting by the fire and eating mammoth believed that the Dark World around them was filled with spirits and various unusual creatures, so today in our scientific world there is a place for the inexplicable and mysterious. For modern man, as for Neanderthal man, mystical stories begin exactly where the light of an electric light bulb ends.

As soon as you enter the forest or the territory of an abandoned estate on a dark evening, the air around you is filled with demons, mermaids, goblins, brownies and other mystical evil spirits. Our brain, nourished by horror films and not forgetting old wives' tales, paints a picture in oil. Every rustle, every creaking of the floorboards of the old house seems threatening, and the shadows dancing on the walls seem to us like mystical creatures.

A mystical story is also a fairy tale, returning us to the world of childhood and mystery. If you understand what I mean and, like me, I love mysticism, Welcome to the site on which I have collected mystical and mysterious stories from different people told at different times

Happy reading, Friends!

Write in the comments if you are like me :)))))))

This section contains a hand-selected collection of the scariest stories published on our website. These are mostly scary real-life stories told by people on social networks. This section differs from the “best” section in that it contains scary stories from life, and not just interesting, exciting or educational ones. We wish you a pleasant and exciting read.

Just recently I wrote a story for the site and clarified that this is the only mysterious story that happened to me. But gradually more and more new cases emerged in my memory, which happened, if not to me, then to the people next to me, who, of course, can be completely disbelieved. But if you don’t believe everyone who is next to you, then you don’t have to believe...

18.03.2016

This was in the early 50s. My grandmother's brother, an electrician by training, returned from the war and was in great demand - there weren't enough people, the country was being rebuilt from ruins. So, having settled in one village, he actually worked for three - fortunately, the settlements were close to each other, he mostly had to walk... In a hurry, walking from one village to another, he often...

15.03.2016

I heard this story on the train from my neighbor in the compartment. The events are absolutely real. Well, at least that's what she told me. It took five hours to drive. In the compartment with me was a young girl with a little girl of five years old and a woman of about sixty. The girl was so restless, she constantly ran around the train, made noise, and the young mother chased after her and...

08.03.2016

This strange story happened in the summer of 2005. At that time, I finished my first year at the Kyiv Polytechnic University and came home to my parents for the summer holidays to relax and help with renovations in the house. The town in the Chernihiv region where I was born is very small, the population is no more than 3 thousand, there are no high-rise buildings or wide avenues in it - in general, it looks ordinary...

27.02.2016

This story happened before my eyes over several years with a person whom I could then call a friend. Although we rarely saw each other and almost never communicated on the Internet. It’s hard to communicate with a person who is diligently avoided by simple human happiness - troubles at work, depression, constant lack of money, lack of relationships with the opposite sex, life with a disgusted mother and brother, whom even...

19.02.2016

This story is not mine, I don’t even remember exactly whose. Either I read it somewhere, or someone told me... A woman lived alone, in a communal apartment, lonely. She was already many years old, and her life was hard. She buried her husband and daughter and was left alone in that apartment. And only her old neighbors and girlfriends, with whom she sometimes got together over a cup of tea, brightened up her loneliness. Is it true, ...

15.02.2016

I'll tell you my story too. The only mysterious story that happened to me in my life. It really can be attributed to a dream, but for me everything was very real and I remember everything as it is now, unlike any other bad dream. A little background. I see a lot of dreams and like any other person who dreams a lot, I can not only often...

05.02.2016

One young couple was looking for an apartment. The main thing is that they said that it should be inexpensive, but also in good condition. They finally found the long-awaited apartment: it was inexpensive, and the owner was a nice little granny. But finally the grandmother said: “Be quiet... the walls are alive, the walls hear everything”... The guys were surprised and with a smile on their faces asked: “Why are you selling the apartment so cheap? This is for you...

05.02.2016

I don't like children. These little whining human larvae. I think many people treat them with a mixture of disgust and indifference, like I do. This feeling is aggravated by the fact that literally under the windows of my house there is an old kindergarten, filled all year round with hundreds of screaming, raging little kids. Every single day you have to go through their pen. Summer this year was very hot for our region and...

02.02.2016

This story happened to me 2 years ago, but when I remember it it becomes very creepy. Now I want to tell it to you. I bought a new apartment because the previous apartment didn’t suit me very much. I had already arranged everything, but I was confused by one closet that stood in the bedroom and occupied most of the room. I asked the former owners to remove it, but they said that...

17.12.2015

This happened in St. Petersburg, at the Novodevichy cemetery in 2003. At that time, our hobbies included the occult and the so-called black rituals. We had already summoned the spirits and I was sure that I was ready for anything. Unfortunately, the phenomena that happened that night forced me to reconsider my views on life, now I will try to retell everything that I remember. Linda met me on Moskovsky Prospekt. I...

15.12.2015

Our family had a tradition: every summer we went to the Vologda region to relax with our relatives. And the edges there are swampy, the forests are impenetrable - in general, a gloomy area. The relatives lived in a village on the edge of the forest (in fact, it was a holiday village). I was 7 years old at that time. We arrived in the afternoon, it was cloudy and raining. While I was laying out my things, the adults were already lighting up the grill under...

This story happened back in 1978. I was in 5th grade then and was just a little girl. My mother worked as a teacher, and my father was an employee of the prosecutor's office. He never said anything about his work. In the morning he put on his uniform and went to work, and in the evening he returned home. Sometimes he came gloomy and...

Portrait of a Dead Man

Who among us does not know the respected American portrait painter Girard Haley. It gained its worldwide fame thanks to its brilliantly executed depiction of the head of Christ. But this work was written by him in the late 30s, and in 1928 few people knew about Girard, although even then the skill of this man was highly valued...

Slipped out of the loop

It was a cold February 1895. These were the good old days, when rapists and murderers were hanged in front of people, rather than being given ridiculous prison terms, a mockery of morality and ethics. A certain John Lee did not escape a similar fair fate. An English court sentenced him to death by hanging, putting...

Returned from the Grave

In 1864, Max Hoffmann turned five years old. About a month after his birthday, the boy fell seriously ill. A doctor was invited to the house, but he could not say anything comforting to the parents. In his opinion, there was no hope for recovery. The illness lasted only three days and confirmed the doctor’s diagnosis. The child died. Little body...

Dead daughter helped mother

Dr. S. Ware Mitchell was considered one of the most respected and distinguished members of his profession. During his long career as a physician, he served as both president of the American Physicians Association and chairman of the American Neurological Society. He owed this to his knowledge and professional integrity...

Two lost hours

This terrible incident happened on September 19, 1961. Betty Hill and her husband Barney were vacationing in Canada. It was nearing its end, and there were unsolved urgent matters waiting at home. In order not to waste time, the couple decided to leave in the evening and spend the whole night on the trip. In the morning they were supposed to reach their native Portsmouth in New Hampshire...

The saint healed his sister

I learned this story from my mother. At that time, I was not yet in the world, and my older sister had just turned 7 months old. For the first six months she was a healthy child, but then she became seriously ill. Every day she had severe cramps. The girl's limbs were twisting and foam was coming out of her mouth. My family lived...

It's destined to be so

In April 2002, I suffered a terrible tragedy. My 15-year-old son died tragically. I gave birth to him in 1987. The birth was very difficult. When it was all over, I was put in a single room. The door to it was open, and the light was on in the corridor. I still can’t understand whether I was sleeping or not yet recovered from the difficult procedure...

Return of the icon

This amazing story was told by our dacha neighbor Irina Valentinovna three years ago. In 1996, she changed her place of residence. The woman packed the books, of which she had quite a few, into boxes. She carelessly put a very old icon of the Virgin Mary into one of them. They got married with this icon back in 1916...

Do not bring an urn with the ashes of the deceased into the house

It just so happened that, having lived to the age of 40, I never buried anyone from my loved ones. All of them were long-lived. But my grandmother died at the age of 94. We gathered for a family council and decided to bury her remains next to her husband’s grave. He died half a century ago, and was buried in the old city cemetery, where...

Death room

Do you know what a death room is? No! Then I'll tell you about it. Sit back and read. Maybe this will lead you to some specific thoughts and keep you from acting rashly. Morton loved music, art, did charity work, respected the law and respected justice. Of course, he fed the most...

Ghost in the Mirror

I have always been interested in different stories related to supernatural phenomena. I liked to think about the afterlife, about the otherworldly entities that live in it. I really wanted to summon the souls of long-dead people and communicate with them. One day I came across a book on spiritualism. I read it on one...

Mysterious savior

This happened during the war in the difficult and hungry year of 1942 with my mother. She worked in a pharmacy at a hospital and was considered an assistant pharmacist. Rats were constantly poisoned in the premises. To do this, they scattered pieces of bread sprinkled with arsenic. The food ration was small and meager, and my mother couldn’t stand it one day. She raised...

Help from a dead man

This happened quite recently, in the spring of 2006. My close friend's husband became a heavy drinker. This upset her greatly, and she kept wondering what to do with the damned man. I sincerely wanted to help and remembered that in such cases a cemetery is a very effective remedy. I need to take the bottle of vodka that I was holding...

Treasure found by orphans

My grandfather Svyatoslav Nikolaevich was a representative of an old noble family. In 1918, when the revolution was raging in the country, he took his wife Sashenka and left the family estate near Moscow. He and his wife left further away to Siberia. At first he fought against the Reds, and then, when they won, he settled in a remote...

Angel under the bridge

We have the Voroshilovsky Bridge in Rostov-on-Don. It must be said right away that this is a favorite place for suicides. At least that’s what many Rostovites think. So my ex-boyfriend Shurik once decided to die on this ill-fated bridge. He found himself in a complete dead end in life and, driven by melancholy and depression, in...

Boris Andreevich stretched lazily and had just decided to take a sip of freshly brewed coffee when suddenly the phone rang. But that didn't stop him from taking a sip of his drink and only then answering the call.
“The district police officer is listening,” Boris Andreevich said in a serious voice.
“Boris Arkadyevich,” said a puzzled female voice.
“I’m Andreevich,” the district police officer corrected his interlocutor.
- Sorry, Boris Andreevich. – It’s Lyubov Nikolaevna who’s bothering you. When will you respond to my call? – the woman asked curiously.

When you hear from other experts: they say that men and women according to their character are divided into such and such categories, a question immediately arises for such “experts” - are you guys locals yourself? Or did you fall behind the alien train?..

I won’t say anything about men yet, but as for the sex that is beautiful in almost all respects, there is no structuring here. It would probably be more correct to consider that there are as many categories of women as there are. Although, as an exception, I think it’s still possible to distinguish between two main groups of lovely ladies.

Several years ago, in one of the hunting grounds in the Perm region, I heard an unusual story. About a strange mushroom picker. Impressed by what he heard, he even wrote a short poem about this, “The Lost Mushroom Picker.” Comical. Changing the essence of the story a little. I didn’t believe in its veracity then. You never know what people will come up with...

Although the game manager who told about the strange incident did not look like a comedian at all. In all seriousness, he said that for the second year in the local forests, mushroom pickers and hunters met a very strange character.

Back in school, the boys and I noticed a strange trend - each of us had a particularly unlucky part of the body. Which received more than other organs and limbs. For some it turned out to be a hand, for others a leg, for others it was a completely bad head. And some were unlucky in general on the right or, conversely, the left side of the body. Like me, for example.
Over the years, for the majority, the situation probably evens out, and the “bumps” begin to fall evenly over the entire body. And the number of injuries noticeably decreases with age and the advent of intelligence. But not everyone, unfortunately...