The cemetery is somewhere nearby

At the cemetery of the Donskoy Monastery

Moscow, like any ancient city, stands on bones. And this is not an exaggeration. Walking through Moscow cemeteries, it is easy to notice that there are only a few pre-revolutionary graves, not to mention those from the 19th century. Pagan mounds and burial places of monks, plague cemeteries and rural churchyards - all of them are now under public gardens and cinemas, bridges and high-rise buildings.

Cemeteries in Moscow are dug up more often than treasures. And, as it turns out, our ancestors did not always bury their dead. In the Kitay-Gorod area in the 1920s, three stone coffins were discovered during excavations. From each of them there was a ventilation pipe leading to the surface.

It is obvious that people were buried there alive.

Did the boyar take revenge on his enemies? How long did the unfortunate people suffer? This is unknown to history.

In the 1970s, in the Sivtseva Vrazhka area, a medieval burial consisting of only skulls was discovered. Scientists suggest that these were disgraced boyars executed by Ivan the Terrible. For their souls, the king provided not only intravital, but also posthumous torment, since the burial was undignified.

There were also more romantic discoveries. In the 1930s, while exploring the basements of Averky Kirillov’s chambers on Bersenevskaya Embankment, archaeologists found the skeleton of a girl with a perfectly preserved long braid. When the hair was touched, it crumbled into dust. Was the girl sitting in prison, waiting for the handsome prince? Another mystery.

The road from the grave

Sometimes Moscow cemeteries get a second life. In the late 1930s, many granite tombstones were used to line embankments. If the waters of the Moscow River were more transparent, we would be able to read through their thickness the ancient epitaphs: “To the dearest spouse and parent from the mourning spouse and children,” “To the dear seller from grateful customers.”

And on Novaya Basmannaya, until recently, an attentive observer could notice a curbstone with snatches of phrases: “.. difficult...”, “.. we are proud...”, “... it will come...”. This is a tombstone from the destroyed cemetery at the Church of Saints Peter and Paul. IN Soviet years the streets were paved with gravestones - there was no point in wasting it. Last spring, the tombstone was taken away in an unknown direction, and an ordinary one was laid on the sidewalk.

Pushkin pushed from the other world

In such conditions, it seems that there is no need to call the spirits - they will come on their own. Nevertheless, in the old days Muscovites did this with pleasure. The story that happened in mid-19th century with Pavel Nashchokin. Graduate Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum and Pushkin's closest friend is already in mature age set up a spiritualist salon in his house on Vorotnikovsky Lane (where, among others, Vladimir Dal visited, whose membership in the Academy of Sciences apparently did not interfere with his belief in spirits).

Pushkin had already died in a duel by that time, and Nashchokin summoned his spirit with the help of a saucer, thread and needle. The poet willingly came, dictated poems, and once even promised to appear before his friends in the flesh. On the agreed night, Nashchokin and the company did not sleep a wink, but they did not wait for the otherworldly guest. In the morning the owner of the house went to church. On the way, he met some drunk man in a sheepskin coat. He pushed him on the shoulder.

House in Vorotnikovsky Lane, where he lived famous philanthropist Pavel Nashchokin, friend of Pushkin

Nashchokin raised his head and, to his horror, recognized his deceased friend in the passerby.

After this, Pavel Voinovich no longer remembered the spiritualistic seances, and burned Pushkin’s afterlife legacy. The Nashchokinsky house has been preserved; now there is a gallery there. There is a sign on the façade: “Pushkin was here.” During life, of course.

Curse of the Yusupovs

If you believe the legends, Muscovites were not good-natured at all and periodically cursed each other. Only the lazy do not know the story about the Ostankino grandmother, who supposedly has been coming to the inhabitants of this area for many centuries and cursing them for building houses in an ancient cemetery.

And if the existence of the hunchback is a big question, then the following story really makes you think. In Kharitonyevsky Lane, in the depths of a neglected garden, stands a gloomy, luxuriously decorated palace. This is the Yusupovs' house. Family legend says that the founder of the richest family in the country, a descendant of the Nogai khans, Abdul-Murza, converted from Islam to Orthodoxy in the 17th century and was cursed for apostasy. In a dream, a certain menacing voice allegedly told him that from now on, in every generation, all children, except one, would die before the age of 26. And what’s most amazing is that for three centuries this “club of 25-year-olds” really existed. The last pre-revolutionary scion of this family was Felix Yusupov, one of the most mysterious characters of that time. "Vicious Cherub" fallen Angel“- that was his name for the combination of physical beauty and mental depravity. He went down in history as the killer of Rasputin. His only brother Nikolai had died in a duel several years earlier. He was 26 years old.

The Ghost of Savva Morozov

But let's get back to ghosts. A lot has been written, or rather invented, about them in Moscow. For example, Zhuzhu, a French fashion model and lover of Savva Morozov, wanders from article to article. Allegedly, in 1905, on Kuznetsky Most, she heard a newspaper delivery man shouting last news: “Savva Morozov committed suicide!” Juju jumps out of the carriage like a bullet to buy a new license plate, and immediately falls under the wheels of a car. In the evening, the newspaperman is found in a gateway, strangled with a silk stocking.

Since then, the ghost of Juju has allegedly been wandering along the wealthy street in search of new victims.

The story is frankly fable - the Morozov researchers know nothing about a mistress with that name, much less about her death. The death of Savva himself was provoked by truly dark events. Heir to the richest merchant dynasty died in Nice, in a hotel room, from a gunshot wound, but under what exact circumstances is still not clear. Some believe that it really was suicide. According to another version, Savva was shot by the Black Hundreds because he financed the Bolsheviks. According to the third, the Bolsheviks did this because last years Savva changed his mind about financing them.

After the death of the merchant, his Gothic mansion on Spiridonovka went to his widow. But Zinaida could not live there. According to her, at night rustling noises were heard from her late husband’s office, and his steps could be heard on the stairs. The house was sold. Now in the Morozov mansion there is a reception house for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Its inhabitants diplomatically do not complain about otherworldly activity.

Secrets of the "gingerbread" house

Another popular story refers to Igumnov’s house on Yakimanka. The owner of the Yaroslavl large manufactory built it for himself in late XIX century. Legend has it that the people laughed at the merchant for the pretentiousness of the box house, and he took it out on the architect by suing him for embezzlement. He allegedly could not stand the shame and committed suicide, having previously cursed the residents of the mansion.

This story in highest degree doubtful. The house was built by the famous architect Pozdeev in Yaroslavl, whose work researchers claim that he died a natural death after a long battle with tuberculosis.

Another legend says that Igumnov himself made the house cursed when he walled up his ballerina lover who had cheated on him in the wall.

Of course, there is no documentary evidence of this. The mansion now houses the French Embassy. His employees do not observe any “girls in white” in pseudo-Russian interiors.

But even without this, the history of the “gingerbread” house is enough dark pages. After the revolution, the mansion was nationalized and in the 1920s, the only Blood Transfusion Institute in Russia was opened there under the leadership of Alexander Bogdanov. A physician, philosopher and Bolshevik, he believed that in order to rejuvenate one must as often as possible—no, not drink, but transfuse oneself with young blood. Which I myself practiced regularly. This was successful ten times. On the eleventh time, something went wrong, and the inventor himself became a victim of his method. After Bogdanov’s death, his rejuvenation transfusions will be branded as quackery, and Igumnov’s house will be given to other researchers. One of their first “clients,” ironically, will be Bogdanov himself—his brain, along with Lenin and Mayakovsky, will be sent under the microscopes of the Brain Research Institute.

To all saints in the middle of nowhere

And yet, the most terrible holiday is still considered Halloween, which, as you know, is celebrated on the eve of All Saints' Day. In Moscow, this phrase is also associated with devilry. In the Kitay-Gorod area there is an ancient, 17th-century Church of All Saints on Kulishki. If we remember the saying “to hell with the middle of nowhere,” it turns out that the saints and evil spirits one address. The story here is this: forest clearings used to be called kulishki, or kulizhki. The devil could be found there, according to one version, because of their remoteness, and according to another, because in pagan times sacrifices were made in the clearings. Our church was also located on the outskirts: in the 17th century, on the site of Slavyanskaya Square there was a water meadow. Hence the name. A harmless play on words about the proximity of good and evil took on a new meaning in the 1930s. The church was taken over by the NKVD, and executions began to take place there.

From 04/06/2019, 12:08

Oh, that was a long time ago! I have just - just entered the university... The guy called me and asked if I wanted to go for a walk? Of course, I answered that I wanted to! But the question became about something else: where to go for a walk if you’re tired of all the places? We went through and listed everything we could. And then I joked: “Shall we go and wander around the cemetery?!” I laughed, and in response I heard a serious voice that agreed. It was impossible to refuse, because I did not want to show my cowardice.

Mishka picked me up at eight in the evening. We drank coffee, watched a movie and took a shower together. When it was time to get ready, Misha told me to dress in something black or dark blue. To be honest, I didn’t care what I was wearing. The main thing is to experience a “romantic walk”. It seemed to me that I would definitely not survive it!

We've gathered. We left the house. Misha got behind the wheel, even though I had a license for a long time. Fifteen minutes later we were there. I hesitated for a long time and did not leave the car. My beloved helped me! He offered his hand like a gentleman. If it weren’t for his gentlemanly gesture, I would have stayed in the salon.

I continue to publish scary stories. For now, unfortunately, there will be no video stories yet. I don’t get around to reading the material I’ve already written due to the fact that I suddenly became a “early person.” And instead of night and evening vigils, I now sleep in the sleep of a righteous man. I think that soon I will again establish a flow of stories. I would like to tell my readers to share their stories. Either in the comments or sent them by email [email protected]

So, I bring to your attention two stories about the restless dead in Yakutia.

My story is connected with such a concept in Yakut faith, as a “bypass” (“kerity”) is an analogue of aerial ordeals in Christianity. It is believed that after the death of a person, for some time his spirit does not leave the earth, but visits all the places where he visited during his life. When the spirit makes its rounds, some people may hear strange sounds and voices, and those who are especially sensitive may see it. Moreover, the very word “keritii” in the Yakut language contains an element of coercion in its meaning - the spirit does not make the rounds of its own free will, but is, as it were, forced.

My grandmother's sister often saw strange things when she was young. By the age of forty, her vision deteriorated; she underwent a couple of operations and, as a result, began to see very poorly. She herself explained this by saying that she was too vigilant, and the “others” did not want her to delve into their affairs unnecessarily. She told me quite scary stories from her life when I was a child. Here is a story that concerns that very detour.

That summer, a long-lived man died in our village. After the funeral, a couple of days passed, and the grandmother’s sister, along with the others, went to the field for haymaking (the deceased, naturally, also spent a lot of time in the haymaking during his lifetime, so his visit while walking around this place was quite logical). And then after lunch, in the midst of work, she suddenly heard strange sounds, like a dog howling mixed with crying sobbing. She stopped, looked around and saw that in the distance along the road some object like a racing goat was floating in the air, and someone was sitting on it. And on both sides of him, two dark silhouettes, reminiscent of human ones, hover in the air and beat him - beat him with some kind of sticks. The beaten one, in turn, emits that same pitiful inhuman howl. Grandmother's sister was scared and looked at other people, but no one except her noticed this. By that time, she was already accustomed to the fact that sometimes she sees things that are inaccessible to others, so she began to silently observe.

This whole strange procession floated past along the road and disappeared into the distance. Since my grandmother’s sister was in a field far from the road, she was never able to see these creatures up close, and she didn’t have the desire to. But at some point she simply realized - either by her voice or by her appearance - that the central person on the “goat” (the one who was being beaten) was the very dead man who had recently been buried. This left a very painful impression on her - generally speaking, in Yakut tradition It is not believed that the rounds are accompanied by such a terrible beating, and the deceased during his lifetime was quite a decent person to be treated in this way after death.

My grandmother’s sister, telling me this, was sure that she had witnessed a detour. Then, after the funeral in the village, sometimes in the evenings she vaguely heard fuzzy voices and sounds flying as if from the sky, but saw nothing.

Story two: Walba's ghost

This happened in the 70s in Yakutia, in the Tattinsky ulus (as the regions of Yakutia are historically called). It all started from the moment our distant relative Seraphim. After drinking tea, he said that he wanted to go home to Walba, but due to the fact that there were not enough cars at that time (and there were no private ones at all), he asked us for a bicycle. Back then, almost everyone rode a bicycle - old and young, men and women, almost like in China. We had two bicycles, and his parents lent him a Ural.

Walba is located 33 kilometers north of Ytyk-Kyuel. Then there was no current federal highway, although the main trajectory now remains the same, but the race was different: we turned off a little earlier, and the road went through two fields. The first of them is called “Eney Alasa”. The road into the field enters from the eastern side, descends, goes under the hills along the northern side and leaves from the western side with an ascent past a small cemetery, then descends through a forest into another field. On each mound there is a grave - so to speak, everyone has their own mound.

Seraphim drove into this field in the evening, when the sun was just setting. He drove under the hills, got up to leave the field, and saw that on one of the graves a woman was sitting with her back to him and combing her hair. Seraphim was surprised - what kind of crazy woman found a place for a seat? When he got upstairs, he stopped and looked who she was. It was a young woman, her name was Christina, she hanged herself not long ago and was buried here.

Seraphim did not remember how he got home, which was about three kilometers. I came home feeling completely unwell with my heart. They barely pumped it out. But Christina then began to appear everywhere. That summer, I remember, Walba seemed to be in a state of siege. People were afraid to go out in the evening. A small tornado constantly came from the direction of the field where she was buried and disappeared at the house where she lived. After her death, one grandfather lived there. He, poor thing, was kicked out every night by Christina - then his grandfather couldn’t stand it and moved out. That summer I came to Walba with my grandmother, and after dinner she didn’t let us go outside to play. I remember they said that Christina met her best friend when she was tending cows. After this meeting, my friend also spent a long time in the hospital. And the most interesting thing is that Russian drivers who brought cargo to Walba saw her, also sitting on the grave and combing her hair. They said that they asked the locals: “What kind of crazy woman is sitting on your grave scratching her hair?”

I remember how my grandmother grumbled that the woman who died a bad death was buried in a common cemetery, and even like an ordinary dead person. That is, without putting a clay pot on your head and placing it face up. They also nailed a star with flags to the gravestone.

Then winter came. And in April of the following year, Seraphim’s father Terenty, an old communist, bought several kilograms of salt and sprinkled it over the entire surface of the grave so that the salt and melted snow would be absorbed into the ground. No one has seen her since then.

Creepy stories about the dead, death and cemeteries. At the junction of our world and the other world, sometimes very strange and unusual phenomena, which are difficult to explain even to very skeptical people.

If you also have something to tell about this topic, you can do it absolutely free right now.

One of my relatives, who survived the Holocaust as a child, shared this story with me. Further from her words.

Before the war we lived well. Our family was large and friendly. I was the eldest child in the family, helped my mother with housework, looked after the younger children and, like all Soviet children, dreamed of a bright future. One day my mother told me: “Daughter, today I had a terrible dream: my grandmother came to me and said that we will all die, but you will be saved and will live happily ever after.” It was a prophetic dream.

Recently, a woman I knew’s mother died. She was very worried and shared her thoughts. She told a story that on the fortieth day, she woke up early in the morning, got out of bed and wanted to turn on the light. The switch clicked, the light came on and then went out. I tried to turn it on several times, but it didn’t light up, so I decided to replace it. I unscrewed it and it was intact. She thought that this was a sign and began to ask for forgiveness out loud from her mother’s soul.

Recently I read a prayer for the deceased with a lit candle in front of his photo. I read it late in the evening and at the end of the prayer for some reason I felt fear. This was on the 9th day after the funeral. Anxiety crept in.

Before this, the day before, a deceased person appeared, as in a dream. I didn’t understand anything at all, since it flashed by very quickly, and I only remembered the image of him lighting a candle, which was burning so brightly.

I will write about small strange incidents that happened to me, and which I heard about from witnesses of the phenomena.

Mom lives in a private house. When she was strong, she often baked something, and she made such wonderful pies. I come to my mother one day. She is sitting at the table with my brother's daughter. They sit at a table near the window, eat pies, drink tea. Immediately from the threshold they start vying with me to say: “We saw this! Just now! 5 minutes ago, several perfectly round balls flew past the window over the beds. So slowly, everyone is a little different in size, the size of an average ball. Light in appearance, like soap bubbles. And they’re all so bright and shimmering different colors. They flew purposefully, calmly, as if someone was walking and leading them on a string. And they flew away towards the neighbors, to Baba Polya. We watched from the window as long as we could, but didn’t go out into the street, because, despite the fact that it was summer, day, sun, for some reason it was scary.” I helped them eat the pies, and after an hour and a half, Lena and I went home. We went out into the yard, and there was some kind of fuss among the neighbors, we left the yard, and on the street, a neighbor from the house opposite said: “Polya’s grandmother has died.”

The priests do not recommend opening the coffin after the funeral service has been performed for the deceased and the lid has been nailed shut. I always knew about this ban, but could not find an explanation for it. After googling, I came to the conclusion that it’s like official version, why is it prohibited, no. And now even, with the permission of the priest, sometimes it is allowed to open the lid of the cemetery so that people who were not in the church for the funeral service can say goodbye to the deceased. But still undesirable.

I addressed this question to my 80-year-old grandmother. To which she told me a story that happened to her relatives in the village.

As a child, every summer I vacationed with my grandparents in the village. But when I was nine years old, my grandmother died of cancer. She was responsive and kind person, and a very good grandmother.

At the age of fourteen, I came to the village to visit my grandfather, who was very lonely and sad without his wife. In the morning, my grandfather went to the local market while I slept in the cozy bed.

Then, in my sleep, I hear some strange steps along wooden floor. It creaks just so clearly. I lay facing the wall and was afraid to move. At first I thought it was my grandfather who had returned. Then I remembered that in the morning he is always at the market. And suddenly someone’s cold hand falls on my shoulder, and then I hear the voice of my late grandmother: “Don’t go to the river.” I couldn’t even move from fear, and when I pulled myself together, nothing strange happened.

I talked here about the death of my neighbor, that we live next to the cemetery and I had a young neighbor who drank. Her deceased father came to see her, and we talked about life and death. She eventually died. Recently it was one year since his death.

She lived in a house located along the main street and which she had to pass by every day. And this year, I went to the store almost every day, past her house, but I didn’t walk quietly, but ran quickly without looking. There was always a bad feeling and some kind of lifelessness. I attributed everything to past death and time.

When I received my profession, I lived in a dormitory not in hometown. I went home once every two weeks. There were 3 girls living in our dorm room, their native home was closer than mine and they went to see their parents every weekend.

In January 2007, my only grandmother died. Although during her life we ​​did not communicate with her very often, and our relationship with her was not as close as many, but after her death, I often dreamed of her for some time. But we will talk about one dream or phenomenon, I don’t even know what to call it.

It was my grandmother’s fortieth day, but I didn’t go to the wake, we just had exams (and, as I said, we didn’t have any particularly warm family relations). I was left alone in the room and was preparing for exams, it was already about 2 am, and I decided to go to bed. I didn’t turn off the light (the girls and I often slept with the light on), closed the door and, turning to the wall, lay down. Sleep just didn’t want to come to me, and I lay there and thought about all sorts of exams.

This story about the cemetery may seem mystical and a little scary to you, but this story happened to me and I want to share it, it’s up to you to believe or not to believe in this story, but the story is very interesting.

A little about me: my name is Pavel and I have been working as a mechanic for 23 years and receive a good salary. I don’t have a wife or children either. After I finished 11th grade, I had a dream of becoming a director, making films and stuff like that. But apparently it didn’t work out for me with all this, you ask why? My parents divorced and I stayed with my mother, and after the divorce we didn’t even have enough money for food, so I had to go work at a factory. But still, I had my own dream of becoming a director. And in my city there were no places where one could study this profession. Therefore, I decided to go to the city of Perm where my relatives lived who agreed to find me good school. But I also had a mother whom I couldn’t just leave, so I promised her that I would help her. That's how I moved to the city of Perm.

The story itself: I moved to the city of Perm, I was traveling on a train that was moving very slowly. But still I got there in 6-7 hours. My relatives met me safely and I went to their home. The next day I woke up, they called me in for breakfast, fed me delicious porridge and gave me tea. But still, I asked them how things were going with school (where I was supposed to study to become a director)? They answered everything was fine they found me suitable school All that remains is to go there and discuss everything. I was very happy and thanked them. But they told me that in return I should go with them to the cemetery. I reluctantly agreed. We all got ready, left the house, got into the car and headed to the cemetery. I asked them a lot of questions about the cemetery, but they didn’t even say anything, as if they were going there for the first time and didn’t know anything about it. Well, we got to the cemetery and we parked the car. It seemed very strange to me that there was no one near the cemetery and no one was even selling flowers and all sorts of junk. We were walking along the road when out of nowhere some old woman appeared. She came up to us with a scary look and said, “I beg you, don’t go there.” Then she went to the exit. I was getting worse and worse. I couldn’t stand it and said, maybe we shouldn’t go there, but the old woman said not to go, why do we need all this? My relatives looked at me and said - if we don’t go with our dreams, we won’t help you get into school! With a feeling of no similarity, I continued to follow them. We had already walked about 1-2 kilometers and I felt a pain in my head. We reached the grave we needed and I felt even worse. It seemed to me that the devil himself would come up to me and hit me on the head with all his might. We stood for about 5 minutes near the grave when suddenly I looked into the distance and saw the silhouette of a man, or rather an elderly woman, who was standing in my direction and looking at me. I shook my head, thinking this was nonsense, looked around and there was no one visible except my relatives. Relatives said that we could all go as ladies. I was happy and forgot about all these nightmares. We returned home, it was already evening, everyone had done their business and we all went to bed. And in a dream I dreamed of a situation where I saw that silhouette. I was looking at this silhouette when suddenly, blinking, the old woman we met at the cemetery appeared in front of the stove. I woke up looking scared, I didn’t believe in all this. But everything worked out, I still dreamed about these scary dreams for about a week but I continued to live. I entered the director's school and everything is fine with me. But still, I remember this story every day and even now I feel uneasy.