Mystical stories from real life is a very early form of storytelling that dates back to time immemorial. People told them to each other around fires, mothers scared their children (for the purpose of education, of course), etc., etc. Often it is simply a legend, a modern form of folklore or mythology that reflects the fears or awe of an era. While they used to be passed down by word of mouth in real life, modern technology has also become a distributor of tales. Today, the use of various websites (such as our collection of mystical stories) and social networks, which have been able to create a special atmosphere of fear through design, music and video, is at the peak of popularity.

Most mystical stories actually change throughout life depending on the place and era of the narrator’s residence. They usually happened to a “friend of a friend”, imparting a certain reality and sense of “aliveness”, adding an additional factor of fear. They are the scourge of playgrounds and wine parties. They are always terribly scary, these Mystical Stories from Real Life.

The story of Bloody Mary (in real life, the mystical story was told on February 16, 1994)

Traditional folklore story of Bloody Mary

Despite the fact that the name “Bloody Mary” is firmly established in the English language and is familiar to any English-speaking person, there are many variations of the name of this witch. Among various sources you can find the following names: Bloody Bones, Hell Mary, Mary Worth, Mary Worthington, Mary Wales, Mary Lew, Mary Jane, Mary Stanley, Sally, Katie, Agnes, Black Agnes, Madame Swart (Svart(e) in Scandinavian means "black" in languages. It is noteworthy that many of these names refer to the most famous British surnames and popular names.

Traditionally, Bloody Mary is associated with Mary of England, who also had the nickname “Bloody Mary” for her brutal manner of ruling and reprisals against political opponents. During her reign, Mary suffered several miscarriages and false pregnancies. In this regard, some researchers of English folklore have expressed the idea that “Bloody Mary” and her “passion” for kidnapping children personifies the queen, who was distraught over the loss of her children.

In addition to the role of a “horror story,” the legend of Mary also often acts as an English ritual of fortune telling for one’s betrothed, mainly performed on Halloween. According to legend, young girls should climb the stairs in a dark house, walking backwards, and hold a candle in front of the mirror. After this, they should try to see the face of their betrothed in the reflection. But there is also the possibility that the girl will see the skull, and this will mean that she will die before the wedding.

“When I was about 9 years old, I went to a friend’s birthday party. There were about 10 other girls there. Around midnight we decided to call Mary Worth. Some of us had never heard of it, so one of the girls told the whole mystical story.

Mary Worth lived a long time ago. She was a very beautiful young girl. One day she had a terrible accident that disfigured her face so much that no one looked at her. After this accident, she was not allowed to see her own reflection for fear that she would go crazy. Before the accident, she spent hours admiring her beauty in her bedroom mirror.

One night, when everyone had gone to bed, unable to fight her curiosity any longer, she crawled into a room that had a mirror. As soon as she saw her face, she burst into terrible screams and sobs. It was at this point that she was so heartbroken and wanted her old reflection back that she went into the mirror to find it, vowing to disfigure anyone who looked for her in the mirror.

Hearing this and others mystical stories from real life, we decided to turn off all the lights and try to summon the spirit of Mary. We all gathered around the mirror and started chanting "Mary Worth, Mary Worth, I believe in Mary Worth." About the seventh time we said this, one of the girls who was in front of the mirror started screaming and trying to push herself away from the mirror. She screamed so loudly that my friend’s mother ran into the room. She quickly turned on the light and found the girl standing in the corner, screaming loudly. She turned it over to see what the problem was and saw long nail scratches on her right cheek. I will never forget her face as long as I live!!

These fictional mystical stories, supposedly from real life, make the audience afraid of their own reflection. And the very essence of the story is funny and boils down to the old proverb “curiosity killed the cat.” There is something scary about the idea of ​​something coming out of a mirror or television screen, as if it were some kind of parallel world, or perhaps an opposite world to ours, used in films such as Poltergeist. The idea of ​​an opposite, parallel universe gives us our closest idea of ​​hell. Bloody Mary evokes the idea that the evil spirits of the world are captured by glass, which also captures our own images and creates a mystical fear. Fear that not only could they be summoned into our world, but that perhaps after death we ourselves would be trapped behind glass.

Body in bed. A slightly mystical crime story from real life.

“A man and woman went to Las Vegas for their honeymoon and checked into a hotel room. When they got to the room, they both noticed an unpleasant smell. My husband called the front desk and asked to speak to the manager. He explained that the room smelled very bad and they needed another room. The manager apologized and said they were all booked due to a conference. He has offered to send them to a restaurant of their choice as compensation and he is going to send a maid to their room to clean and try to get rid of the smell.

After a good dinner, the couple returned to their room. When they walked in, they both still smelled the same scent. Again the husband called the front desk and told the manager that the room still smelled very bad. The manager told the man that they would try to find a room at another hotel. He called all the nearby hotels, but there were no available rooms. The manager told the couple that they couldn't find them a room anywhere, but they would try to clean the room again. The couple decided to go sightseeing and have fun, so they said they would give two hours to clean up and then return.

After the couple left, the manager and maid went into the room to try to find what the room smelled like. They searched the entire room and found nothing, so the maids changed the sheets, towels, removed the curtains and put up new ones, cleaned the carpet and scrubbed the entire room again using the strongest cleaning products they had. The couple returned two hours later to find the room still had a foul odor. The husband was so angry that he decided to find the source of the smell himself. Therefore, he himself began to search the entire room. Having removed the top mattress from the bed, he discovered ... the dead body of a woman."

This story can really be considered one of the most terrible mystical stories from real life, because in that very REAL life it has REAL documentary evidence. Although there is no data that exactly confirms this particular case (none were reported in Vegas). But, there were numerous reports of similar events in newspapers across America.

For example: In 1999, the Burgen Record reported an incident involving two German tourists who complained of a terrible rancid smell in their room. Despite complaints, the couple ended up staying the night, sleeping over the decomposing corpse of 64-year-old Saul Hernandez, who was found in the same hiding place as the body in "The Mysterious Story of the Body in Bed." The most recent true story about a hidden body in a bed was published in March 2010 in Memphis. ABC Eyewitness News reports:

“On March 15, investigators were called to room 222 at the Budget Inn, where the body of Sonya Millbrook was found under the bed. Police say she was found in a metal frame sitting on the floor after someone reported a strange smell. The body lay in the bed frame, with a spring mattress on top. Investigators say room 222 has been rented out five times and has been cleaned by hotel staff multiple times since the day Sony Millbrook was reported missing. Homicide investigators say Millbrook was murdered."

This terrible truth behind the usual mystical real-life story is so real that it turns it into one of the creepiest and most unpleasant urban legends in America.

Clown statue. ...maybe a mystical story from real life, or maybe not...

“I have a friend who babysat as a teenager. I worked as a babysitter for a short time. Her clients were quite wealthy and lived in a huge house on the outskirts of the city. I remember about the clients that the wife was a doctor, and the husband was a co-owner in some law firm, so we are talking about a decent family income.

Their home was huge, luxuriously furnished and filled with family heirlooms.

One day, one night they go to a dinner reception and leave this girl to look after the children. The owner is worried about his jewelry and doesn't want her wandering around the house where she might damage some ancient piece of armor or something, so he says she should stay in the living room. The living room has an attached kitchen and a huge screen TV, so entertainment will be no problem. So they leave, and their children, being obedient, soon go to bed. The babysitter settles into her specially designated room and begins to watch TV while preparing snacks for herself. Soon she begins to feel uncomfortable. There is an ugly, bulky statue of a clown in the corner of the room. It looks like some kind of grotesque antique from the 20s or so, and it's kind of dirty, covered in what looks like oil. A truly mystical story begins - the girl thinks that the statue is watching her.

They say that we have the ability to sense that you are being watched, but often this feeling is playing tricks on you. The girl tried to ignore It, but she couldn't shake the feeling that the clown's eyes were staring at her. She ends up taking her phone and locking herself in the toilet in the hall outside. In her head she told herself that she was crazy, thinking that the statue could hear her conversation, that this was a ridiculous thought, but she still leaves. She calls the owner of the house:

"Hello. This is Sarah. Look, I hate to bother you, but I have a weird mystical story going on here... there's a clown statue in your living room that really makes me feel uncomfortable... it's staring at me. Maybe we can move to another room or just throw a blanket over it?”

After a long pause, the mistress of the house answered:

“Okay, Sarah, I understand. Calmly. Wake up the children, take them out of the room, put them in the car and knock on the nearest house. When you get there, call the police. I think it’s safe to say that when you hear “call the police,” you’re not going to ask any more questions or waste your time right now.”

She grabbed the children and ran away. As it turned out later, there was no clown statue in the house.

It turns out that children have complained before about the clown watching them sleep in their room. The father explained this with stupid mystical stories and mostly ignored their stories until the nanny saw him too. As it turns out, the local psychiatric unit had recently closed in the area, and not all of the former patients were being cared for. The story goes that the police tried to hide their concern, albeit not very well, after hearing mention of a clown costume before going to the house. After a thorough search of the building, they were unable to find the clown. It turns out that before discharge the patient was treated for vivid and dangerous fantasies, but was unable to complete the course before the department was closed. They didn't catch him. "

Fear of clowns, or Coulrophobia, is not associated with real-life mystical stories and is a relatively common fear. It is related to the famous Stephen King novel in which seven children are terrorized by an entity that mainly appears in the form of "Pennywise the Dancing Clown". The twisted smiles and grimaces of the clowns became much more representative of twisted and insane evil. In recent years, the most famous of the clown forms is Batman's archimesis, the psychopathic Joker. Perhaps it is the mask and the facade of innocence that the makeup represents that makes the clown so scary. There is also a link to pedophilia or sexual abuse. This mystical story is terrible mainly for nannies and young mothers. She plays on the fear of intruders from which they must protect the children and which poses a potential threat to the nanny herself. There are different versions of the story. Either way, it's a real-life mystical story that's been told in various iterations by Nanny for years and deserves a place on our hit parade.

Coulrophobia

The modern "evil clown" archetype developed in the 1980s, largely popularized by Stephen King's novel It, and possibly also by John Wayne Gacy, a real-life serial killer dubbed the Killer Clown in 1978. Other pop culture examples include the 1988 horror-comedy Killer Klowns from Outer Space. The Joker character of the Batman franchise originated in 1940 and has grown into one of the most recognizable and iconic fictional characters in pop culture, topping Wizard magazine's 2006 list of the 100 Greatest Villains of All Time. Krusty the Clown (introduced in 1989) is a parody of Bozo the Clown from The Simpsons. In the episode Lisa's First Word (1992), Bart's childhood fear of clowns manifests itself in the form of Bart's injury from a poorly made Krusty the Clown bed, where he continuously utters the phrase "I can't sleep, the clown is going to eat me." This phrase inspired a song by Alice Cooper on the album Dragontown (2001) and became a meme. Websites dedicated to evil clowns and the fear of clowns appeared in the late 1990s.

The killer is in the backseat. The story is not mystical, but from real life. And that's true. ;)

“A woman leaves work late, realizing that she has nothing to eat breakfast in the morning. She stops at the garage on her way home to pick up some supplies. The company the woman works for demands overtime, and by the time she goes home, the road is pretty deserted. Suddenly another car pulls up behind her at high speed. She flashes her turn signal, accelerates, and begins to pass in oncoming traffic as if she were going to overtake, but at the last moment she breaks back and continues to “press up” from behind.

The driver of the rear car starts flashing his high beams, blinding her a little. In panic, she begins to speed up. Desperately, she reaches for her phone, but at the speed she's driving, she's afraid she won't be able to handle the car if she tries to make a call.

The driver behind her begins to become more and more aggressive, blinking even harder and driving right behind her. In the end, he even hit her from behind several times. Her phone jumped somewhere under the seat. She rushes home. Finally reaching her house, she runs out of the car and runs to the front door, but another car pulls up behind her. As soon as she inserts her key into the door, the driver of the other car screams.

“For God’s sake, lock the car door!”

Without thinking twice, she does it. As soon as the lock clicks, she sees the face of a man materialize at the back seat window, staring at her and lightly knocking on the window."

This story easily deserves its place as one of the most terrifying mystery stories. In real life, it has caused countless people to check their back seats every time they drive at night (including me). The interesting moral of this story is that it is not always obvious the source of fear, which is actually the danger.

There is another common version of such mystical stories from real life: a strange and even creepy-looking attendant at a gas station tries to pull the driver out of the car and thereby save him from a killer hiding in the back seat. This story is intended to make people re-evaluate their prejudices, as a man who inspires so much fear is in real life trying to save a driver in a dangerous situation.

The main result is hidden fear. You feel safe in your car and danger always lies outside. As long as you are locked, you are protected from any threats. This turns this general concept on its head, for the victim is locked into danger.

I can lick too... More of a disgusting than a mystical story. In real life, it was a viral mailing (like a chain letter).

An example of an actual email circulating in May 2001: Subj: DON'T DELETE THIS!!! (this scared me to death)

“Once upon a time there lived a beautiful young girl. She lived in a small town south of Farmersburg. Her parents had to go to the city for a while, so they left their daughter at home alone under the protection of her dog, which was a very large collie breed. The parents told the girl to lock all the windows and doors. And at about 8 o'clock in the evening the parents went to the city. Doing as she was told, the girl closed and locked every window and every door. But there was one window in the basement that didn't close completely."

“Trying as hard as she could, she finally closed the window, but it didn’t latch. So she left the window and went upstairs. To make sure no one could enter, she locked the bolt on the basement door. "

“Then she sat down, ate her dinner and decided to go to bed. Around 12:00, she snuggled up to the dog and fell asleep."

“At some point she suddenly woke up. She turned and looked at the clock... it was 2:30. She snuggled again, wondering what had woken her... when she heard a noise. Dripping sound. She thought that the kitchen faucet was leaking and water was dripping into the sink. So, thinking it wasn't such a big deal, she decided to go back to sleep."

“But for some reason she was nervous, so she reached over to the edge of the bed and let the dog lick her hand to make sure it was there to protect her. She woke up again at 3:45 a.m. to the sound of dripping water. But she still went back to sleep. She reached over again and let the dog lick her hand. Then she fell asleep again."

"At 6:52 a.m., the girl decided she'd had enough...she got up just in time to see her parents drive up to the house. 'Okay,' she thought. 'Now someone can fix this faucet...'" She went to the bathroom, and there was her collie dog, skinned and hanging from a hook. The noise she heard was her blood dripping into a puddle on the floor. The girl screamed and ran to her bedroom to get something heavy, in case someone else was in the house..... and there on the floor, next to her bed, she saw a small note written in blood: "I AM NOT DOG, BUT I CAN ALSO LICK, MY PRECIOUS! »

“Now it’s time for you to lock all the windows and doors. This is a letter with a mystical story from real life. It is true. This happened many years ago, and the person who killed the dog was never caught. If you delete this letter, you will suffer the same fate as the girl in the story, years after the dog was killed. She was raped and killed in the same city and in the same house as the dog. Don't erase this letter because if you do, a terrible thing will happen to you, everyone will soon know your name. Because it will be the headline in your local newspaper. It will sound like this... Murder in a small town. A killer is on the loose! The letter is real. The only thing you can do is send this letter to 23 people and you will have your chance at life. You have been warned. I hope I don't see any murder stories in the newspapers anytime soon. Now I wish you a good day. And one more thing... you only have 23 minutes... sorry. "

This story was sent by e-mail under the guise of a mystical story from real life. And this is a perfect example of the evolution of an urban legend that has gone viral and demands action from the reader. This has proven to be a popular phenomenon among users of social networking sites, and it has been a popular topic for email campaigns, mainly among younger users who believe that not sending an email will result in your death.

An interesting feature of this mystical phenomenon is its similarity to the A Nightmare on Elm Street films. That if something is not done, the killer will return in some supernatural form to claim a new victim. Most of these mystical stories invade real life and threaten that evil will come at night while you sleep. Sound familiar?

Due to the fact that media and technology are developing very quickly, it will be interesting to see what “real life mystical stories” will become tomorrow, how they will spread and what role they will play in our world. Let's see!

My mother-in-law and I lived together. She was a doctor, a very good one. Somehow I was sick for a long time. Weakness, cough, no fever. My mother-in-law calls and we talk about our children. I cough during a conversation. She suddenly says - you have basal pneumonia. I was very surprised. I answer that there is no temperature. In short, she drops everything and comes to us half an hour later. He listens to me through his phonendoscope, taps me on the back and says: “Don’t argue with me.” Get dressed, let's go for the x-ray.

We took pictures. It's true, I have pneumonia. Just like she said. She made me go to the hospital and personally treated me. And after a short time she herself suddenly dies of a heart attack.

We grieved for her very much. And for some reason I kept remembering how, shortly before her death, she asked me:

How do you think? Is there something after death?

One day after a bath I wanted to lie down. She lay down, and suddenly the balcony door opened slightly. I was also surprised, it just doesn’t open without effort. There was definitely no draft. I followed this, afraid of getting sick again. There was a strong chill. I should get up and close the door, but I don’t want to. I can’t sleep, but I don’t want to get up, I’m very tired at the dacha. I just got cured, if I don’t close the door, I’ll get sick again.

And suddenly I thought:

I wonder if that light actually exists or not?

And mentally she turned to her deceased mother-in-law:

Mom, if you can hear me, close the door to the balcony, otherwise it will blow through me. You are gone, there will be no one to treat you.

And the door immediately closed! I think it seemed like something? Repeated:

Mom, if you can hear me, open the door.

The door has opened!

Can you imagine?! We gathered the next day and went to church. Candles were lit for the repose.

We had a case. On their father’s anniversary they decided not to invite anyone, but to modestly remember him. Mother did not want the wake to turn into an ordinary drinking party.

We are sitting at the table in the kitchen. The mother put the photograph of the father on the table, and in order to raise it higher, she placed a notebook under it, leaning it against the wall. They poured a glass of vodka and a piece of black bread. Everything is as it should be. We talk, we remember.

It’s already evening, we decided to clean everything up. I say that the stack should be taken to the nightstand in my father’s room, let it stand there until it evaporates. My mother is very rational, she doesn’t really believe in all these customs. She says so frivolously: “Why clean up, I’ll drink it myself now.”

As soon as she said this, the notebook suddenly, for no reason at all, slid along the edge of the table and knocked over her father’s stack. The photograph fell, and every last drop of vodka spilled out. (I must say that the stack is round like a barrel and it is almost impossible to knock it over).

Have you ever had the hair on your head move? That was the first time I experienced this. Moreover, my whole body was covered in goosebumps from horror. I couldn’t say anything for about five minutes. The husband and mother also sat in shock. It’s as if my father said from the other world: “Here you go!” You’ll drink my vodka, of course!”

Yesterday I encountered something strange.

It’s already past midnight, I’m sitting with my dear one, watching “Midshipmen,” and we hear that someone is swinging in the yard.

The third floor, the windows overlook the landing and, due to the heat, are wide open. Our swing creaks disgustingly, this sound is familiar to tears - my little one adores them, but I can’t get to the mechanism to lubricate it.

After a couple of minutes, I began to wonder: who is it that fell into our childhood - I think there are no children on the street at this time.

I go to the window - the swing is empty, but actively swinging. I call my friend, we go out onto the balcony, the entire playground is clearly visible (the sky is clear, the moon is full), the swing is empty, but continues to swing, increasing its amplitude. I take a powerful flashlight, direct the beam at the swing - a few more “back and forth”, a jerk as if someone had jumped off, and the swing begins to stop.

I scared away some local spirit.

I remembered. Once upon a time we lived in the taiga. And then passing hunters came to visit. The guys are making small talk, I'm setting the table. There are three of us, two of them, and I set the table for six. When I noticed, I began to wonder out loud why I counted another person.

And after this, the hunters said that they stopped in one place on the boat - they were interested in a pile of brushwood. It turned out that the bear had picked up the man and covered him with dead wood; a leg in a gnawed boot was sticking out from under the brushwood. That's why they went to the city, taking a boot - to report where they were supposed to, order an aircraft to remove the corpse and assemble a brigade to shoot the man-eating bear.

The restless soul probably got stuck together with the boot.

We once rented an apartment with my husband and three-year-old daughter from a man. Everything was fine for the first six months. We lived in peace. And one day, on one of the cold winter evenings, I put my daughter in the bathtub, gave her children’s toys, and I did something around the house, periodically keeping an eye on her. And then she screams. I go to the bathroom, she sits, cries, and blood runs down her back. I looked at the wound, as if someone had scratched it. I ask what happened, and she points her finger at the doorway and says: “This aunt offended me.” Naturally, there was no aunt, we were alone. It became creepy, but somehow I quickly forgot about it.

Two days later, I’m standing in the bathroom, my daughter comes in and asks, pointing her finger into the bath: “Mom, who is this aunt?” I ask: “Which aunt?” “This one,” he answers and looks into the bath. “Here she sits, can’t you see?” I was in a cold sweat, my hair was standing on end, I was ready to fly out of the apartment and run! And the daughter stands and looks into the bath and seems to be meaningfully looking at someone! I rushed to read prayers in every corner with a candle throughout the apartment! I calmed down, went to bed, and early in the morning the child came to the corner of the room and offered some candy to some aunt!

On this day, the owner of the apartment came to collect payment, I asked him who lived here before? And he told me that his wife and mother died in this apartment with a difference of 2 years, and for both the deathbed was the bed on which my daughter sleeps! Need I say that we soon moved out of there?

A friend of mine lives in a pre-revolutionary house. My great-grandfather, a merchant, built it. One day I returned from the store and saw a man in a sheepskin coat in the room. He is small, bearded, and spins around himself as if he is dancing.

A friend asked him: For better or worse?

To which he sang: And you will lose the child, you will lose the child!!!

And immediately disappeared.

For a long time, an acquaintance was worried about her children, picked them up from school, and did not let them go far from her. A year later, the eldest son went to live in another city, with his father. The mother visits very rarely, so we can say that she lost the child.

I didn’t write about this for a long time, I thought it was my personal thing. The other day I thought - I read you, you also share.

Mom will be 2 years old on June 26th. I remember how a week before we went to the beach (no one was sick and had no intention of dying). I saw golden threads from my mother’s head straight into the sky. My eyes are square, I backed away, sat down on the blanket. Don't take your eyes off. I see my mother looking at me. All I could say was: Wow! Mom asked what, I told her not to move, I’ll look again. Mom said: “Maybe I’ll die soon?” Mommy, how right you were

My mother fainted in her chair for the first time, I called an ambulance and screamed in a non-human voice. And my mother, with a blissful expression on her face, repeated: “Mom, mom, mom...”, as if she really saw. Then I started yelling: “Girl, get out of here, leave her to me, go away!” The ambulance did not recognize the stroke; my mother came to her senses in front of them. In the evening everything happened again and forever.

It was many years ago. My 91-year-old grandmother died. After the cremation, we brought the urn with the ashes home and put it in the storage room for further burial in another city (this was her request). It was not possible to take it away right away, and she stood there for several days.

And during this time, a lot of inexplicable things happened in the house... At night, my mother heard some groans, sobs, sighs that had never happened before, I always felt someone’s gaze (reproaching) during the day. Everything was falling out of our hands, and the atmosphere in the house became nervous and tense. It got to the point that we were afraid to walk past the storage room and didn’t even go to the toilet at night... We all understood that the restless soul was toiling, and when my father finally took the urn away and buried it, everything changed for us too. Granny! Forgive us, we probably did something wrong!

Mom told me three days ago. Our children go to bed late, including schoolchildren. By midnight it is only relatively quiet. And the village itself is quiet. Only crickets now, and a rare dog barking. The night birds have already stopped singing and are preparing for autumn. Further from my mother's words.

I woke up to someone knocking on the second door in the corridor (the first one is wooden and has a bolt, the second one is modern metal). The knocking was not strong, and it was as if they were knocking with an open palm. I thought that one of the older children jumped out into the street without asking, and the grandfather locked the door after smoking. But it was almost 2 am, there was silence in the house - everyone was asleep. She asked “who’s there?” The knocking stopped for a while. Then a child’s voice said: “It’s me... let me in.” The yard dog and two lap dogs were silent. Once again she asked “who’s there?” The knocking stopped completely.

My mother is very rational and does not suffer from visions. She told me it was very alarming. You need to know our family, especially my mother - she doesn’t believe in anyone, she’s not afraid of anyone, so the usual reaction for her would be to get out of bed with the question “what kind of nonsense is this?”, but here it is. He says that it was a very natural and obvious event. And she didn't sleep.

Story 1:

When I was young, when I was about 19, I went to study in England, in the glorious city of Bath.

And so one late evening, after a casual sit-down in a local pub, my friends (from Russia), the same degenerates like me, and I, of course, having previously thrown a couple of pints on our chests... went home.

We were (at least we considered ourselves) decent people, that’s why we weren’t drunk, but at best, cheerful. And so we rush home to our host families, we rush for a very long time, since we still have to walk from the center of even small Bath to the residential areas by foot, and we see a cemetery.

The cemetery is healthy, old, beautiful... and locked. On the hefty gate there was a lock and an inscription, something like “I didn’t call you, go away until nine o’clock in the morning.” The fellows were bored, and the cemetery was too beautiful to just pass by, and the church was just like that, but here it was just a green fence. In general, we found a tree, climbed over it, and began to cultivate it. The Russian fellows were so impressed by the spaciousness and neatness of the place today. Without any vandalism, of course.

We walk, look at the gravestones buried in the grass, marvel at the dates of deaths that go back centuries, and then it seems that the cemetery is patrolled by a watchman, also with a dog. The fellows quickly merged with the area, hiding behind the bushes, and thinking about their fate. And these fellows are sitting on the graves, looking through the bushes at the watchman and the dog, who do not yet see them.

And here I see that on the next grave, a meter from me, between me and my friend, sits a figure of a brown-earth color, like a shadow rising from the ground, in exactly the same pose as me (if in Russian - on courts), and I see it for exactly a second, while others do not notice at all. And at that moment I was overcome by a very unpleasant and difficult to describe feeling, but which clearly made me understand that someone here really didn’t like me and that he/it was very dissatisfied not so much with my actions, but with my general presence on this heel of the earth.

I briefly, without unnecessary details, expressed my feelings and considerations to my comrades, who by that time intended to continue examining the cemetery, after which they surprisingly easily agreed with my proposal to leave. Here.

Story 2. Short. What happened not so much to me as to my mother.

It was a long time ago. I was so old then that they carried me in a stroller, and times were still such that they were not afraid to leave children on the street.

It was winter, my mother needed to go to the store and she wanted to take me with her so as not to leave me at home. For one thing, breathe some air. But on the other hand, for some reason she didn’t want to do this. And my mother, to this day, does not like to do what she really does not want. She went to the store, which means she was alone, and did not leave me on the street in front of the store, where she always left me, and where everyone else then left their children in the same way, so as not to drag them to this very store.

Upon returning, my mother sees a picture, the description of which only horrifies me as I get older. In the place where the stroller with little me should have stood, there is another one, completely pierced by a huge icicle, along which blood is pouring onto the ground. She remembers the feeling of such a bad feeling that my mother visited that day very well.

History 2.5. Also short and again about my mother, but I took more part in it.

I was then several years older, and no longer a baby, but a cunt who didn’t want to, but sometimes still found trouble on his own head. We also had a stunning Doberman, beloved by my mother, with whom she loved to walk for a long time, at least 40 minutes.

And so it was the late summer month of August, I was at home alone, my mother had just gone for a walk with the dog, and I wanted to eat watermelon. And somehow I couldn’t figure out how to cut it, brand new and not yet opened, in my head, and I came up with the simplest option - press it to my chest with my left hand and cut it with a knife with my right. No sooner said than done, and I opened a vein on my left arm almost right down to the tendon, very effectively sprinkling myself and everything around while running around the apartment in search of a bandage. After all, you shouldn’t get your clothes, tablecloth or sheets dirty, right?

According to the description of my mother, who had clearly skipped her letter to Hogwarts, she suddenly suddenly wanted to go home, although she had not walked our cute dog weighing half a centner for ten minutes. Returning home, she sees that everything was not in vain - the door to the apartment is open, it is very quiet and there is literally blood everywhere. It’s hard to imagine what was going on in her head then, but her mother’s mother was a nurse, and now only the red pink stripe on her arm, which every year creeps closer to her elbow, reminds me of those days.

Story 3. Even shorter, but exclusively about me.

I was already older, no longer a cunt, but still not a kid, and that day I went to school, as expected. Why did I need to cross a quiet road (on a lane in both directions), but which did not have any pedestrian crossing. Despite the headphones, which I did not part with, from which either Rammstein or Bi-2 sounded, I crossed it calmly, fortunately the lane “to the city” stood dead, being clogged with cars. And now I’m walking between two bumpers, they’re already raising their leg to take a quick step into the “oncoming” lane (I only looked in the right direction, in the direction of travel), when something literally jerks me back. Such a cold feeling, like neither a gust of wind nor a shake, as if someone grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled. Neither back nor forward, but as if to bring me to my senses, from which I simply froze in place. The main point is that in the next second, when I should have already been on the road, a car rushed along it at full speed against the traffic. Despite the fact that after catching my breath a little, I went to school, I was so shocked by the fact that I was alive, and that “something” kept me from this fatal accident, I gave myself lunch not to swear and I followed him for many more months.

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Fifteen years ago, when I was ten years old, I was visiting my grandmother in the village. She had a barn with an outbuilding on her property; shovels, scythes and my bicycle were stored in the outbuilding. Previously, when my grandmother had ducks, there was a pen for them in the outbuilding and the door still had a small door near the ground, locked with a latch. One day I was playing with a friend in the yard and saw something rush into the barn, through a small door. He looked like a short man, we decided to catch him and closed the door with a latch. Then the door began to shake, the latch shook, then the whole door shook, we bolted it. We ran to tell my grandmother, she got angry, screamed, and said if we let him out, he would take revenge for the insult. After that, the grandmother hammered the door with nails, took a bunch, walked around the barn several times, then laid out the grass near the barn and left. We walked around the barn, but whoever was there was still eager to get out. Grandma didn’t say who it was, she said if she called his name, he would break free. Since we were little and believed in gnomes and queens of spades. I was sorry that the bike was left inside, but I didn’t even think about going to get it. When I came back to my grandmother for the holidays a year later, he was still in the barn, knocking and scratching. In the end, we got used to it. I graduated from school and entered college. When I was in my fourth year, my grandmother was taken from the village and they decided to sell the house and buy one closer to Moscow. I went to see what was going on and remembered the barn. The door was open, I looked inside and was stunned. The doors and walls were slashed by claws, the floorboards were torn out, the handles of shovels were sharpened and stuck into the walls under the ceiling. My bicycle was without a seat, the wheels were lying around separately, all bent. I went to the neighbors to find out what was happening, half of the grandmothers had already died, and there was only one left, Glafira. We drank tea and chatted, and told her about our barn. We opened it in the winter, as soon as we took my grandmother. A local homeless man decided to profit by breaking into the barn. A neighbor saw early in the morning that the barn was open, and there was a long, bloody trail in the snow, as if someone had been dragged. The trail stretched to a ravine in which there had been a dugout dating back to war times. A homeless man was found near her; he had no insides, his arms and legs were broken, his eyes were gouged out, his tongue was “chewed out.” The dugout was filled with frozen water; there was nowhere to hide. The killer was never found.

When I was a teenager, I often walked through the cemetery. My classmates didn’t like me, I often skipped classes in this calm, gloomy place, because I knew that they wouldn’t look for me here. I didn’t feel any fear; on the contrary, there was something mysterious here. Suddenly someone pulled my jacket sleeve, I screamed and turned around. It was a girl of about seven years old. It’s the month of November, and she’s dressed in a light dress, I thought that she’s from an unfavorable family, looking for cookies and candies that people leave on graves. I wanted to ask what she was doing here, and why she wasn’t wearing any outerwear, but she was pulling me somewhere, so I followed her. We arrived at an abandoned grave, I was shocked, I was shaking. I saw a photograph of the same girl who brought me here. And her name was Leila. She died not long ago, and the grave was in a terrible state, as if no one had visited it. I felt sorry for her, with tears in my eyes, I began to clean up her place. Removed trash, weeds, cleaned the gravestone. I decided to leave my breakfast, which my mother gives me in the morning. When I finished everything, I mentally said goodbye to the girl and decided not to go to the cemetery anymore. After this incident, a miracle happened: my classmates stopped pestering me, and then they didn’t notice me at all. Previously, after their bullying, I didn’t want to go to school at all, but after the incident at the cemetery, I became invisible to them. This suited me; I graduated from school as a solid student. Six years have passed since that incident, I had a job I loved, there were people around me who appreciated and respected me. When I visit a cemetery with my mother, I always come to Leila, clean the grave, leave candy and flowers.

This story happened in the summer of 1978. Tractors and combines were working in the fields, it was time to prepare feed for livestock. At that time, everyone in the village had their own farm. My friend Kolyan and I worked as a cattleman. At lunchtime, he suggested that I go in the evening to the silo pit, where the collective farm reserves were located. Let’s take six bags, he says, the collective farm will not become poor. I agreed. The silo was five kilometers from the village. People called this place “Mad,” so I didn’t go there in the evening, much less at night. They said that witches held a coven there, an evil play. I did not believe in these fairy tales, as it turned out in vain. Nikolai came to pick me up on his horse-drawn cart, and kept hurrying me to make it before sunset. When we arrived, we realized that we wouldn’t make it before sunset, so we decided to load it directly onto the cart.

“Why did it get dark so quickly?” I asked.

Demons,” answered Kolya.

I got goosebumps, I looked around, rustling sounds came from everywhere. The horse began to panic.

Kolya was even more scared than me. Before we had time to jump into the cart, the horse rushed like mad. We felt that someone was chasing us, we took a pitchfork and aimed it, but someone grabbed it and pulled us into the fog. There was fog behind us, the clatter of hooves could be heard from it, then it was getting closer. then he left. I closed my eyes, began to read a prayer asking God to help. I opened my eyes and the village lights were visible. We were shaking with fear, drove into my yard, unloaded the silage and silently went home.

Grandmother's gift

My grandmother treated people with herbs, spells, prayers, many people came to her. I was teased as a witch, although my parents and I did not take part in this, my father argued with my grandmother and drove people away. They thanked the grandmother as best they could, mostly with food, rarely with money. It just didn’t bring us any benefit. We began to notice that as soon as my grandmother helped someone, strange things happened on our farm. Either the chickens will die, or the cow will get sick. Once my grandmother was treating a woman who lived with us for a week, after which my mother broke her leg by falling out of the blue. Her father ran out of patience and forbade her to do this, even for a lot of money. He shouted that she was bringing trouble to the whole family, people were avoiding us, and if the neighbors had something going on, they blamed the grandmother.

Many did not believe the grandmother, they said that it was all because of the money, the father did not believe either, he said that this was self-indulgence in old age. Grandma was not offended. Some time passed and a woman came to us with a girl of about seven years old, the father said that the grandmother did not accept anyone. The woman burst into tears, knelt down and begged, dad waved his hand and left. About ten minutes passed, they came out, the woman was crying. I wondered what was wrong with them. I ran to my grandmother.

Grandmother stood in front of the icons and prayed. Usually she didn’t like it when I disturbed her, but then she called me over and said that she couldn’t do anything. The girl has a dark spot in her chest and will die in a month. It seemed to me then that my grandmother was suffering from this. As the grandmother said, the girl died a month later. The dark spot turned out to be a lung tumor. I couldn’t understand how she saw him, it turns out that dad scolded her in vain, she could help a lot of people.