Scary bedtime stories about cemeteries. Scary stories about the cemetery. Scary stories about Silver Cliff Cemetery

Life is boring, what to do?

Observing the purity of morals, the local authorities decided to remove the entrance benches and the adjacent domino tables in the courtyards! Too many have found free refuge on them.

The entire hungry city is scouring the courtyards in search of a saving shelter. Utility workers zealously carried out the orders of the authorities.

The centuries-old era of shops that had befriended the entire population of a city block was ended unceremoniously, with revolutionary haste.

Fortunately, there is no shortage of experience. We new world let's build it! Instead of inquisitive and all-knowing old women-experts, peacefully knitting warm socks for their grandchildren for the harsh winter, headless stumps stood bashfully in the courtyards.

Certificate

Vitka Selivanov has lived in the third entrance for the last twenty years. For pensioners, everyone under sixty is Vitka, Lenka and Svetka. But in fact the man was over fifty

Klavdia Semyonovna, the same age, is just as lonely and sad in the small kitchen, paying her meager pension for the morning porridge on duty and frozen sprat for Murzik. In the evenings, lonely stumps surrounded youth beer parties. This is how the passengers of the sinking Titanic hurried to the rare life-saving ice floes.

Habit, as you know, is second nature. The youth were in no hurry to change their drinking place. In numerous eateries, drinking occurs casually, without the proper courage, but near your native “patch”, which was once a favorite bench, you can frolic to your heart’s content.

Again, they will tell you home if you dare to slightly exceed the dose. Comfortable. If the dose increases significantly, they will take it to another place, to a churchyard. Again ours, from the “patch”.

The demoted deputies of the courtyard khural hurried past their hungry grandchildren on the tree stumps. There is no quorum of old ladies at all. The entire parliament in in full force on an indefinite vacation in their own small-sized apartments.

Grandmothers are languishing from doing nothing and, once again, begin to count the new coffin stash. There should be enough for a modest funeral and a three-course memorial dinner for fifty mourners.

A respectful conversation with Murzik resulted in a sad monologue. There are no listeners. There is only one way - to the window, from which you can see the surviving benches at the picket fence of the first entrance.

Senile farsightedness, not bothered by cataracts, immediately highlighted the friends in misfortune, peacefully sitting on the far bench. There are at least two vacancies on the bench. We have to hurry. Applicants for the free space are completely bored at the windows.

Certificate

After the death of his wife, Selivanov started drinking. From a normal, intelligent man, he turned into a typical homeless person within six months

The happy owners of the surviving bench and with full right sit in places free from visitors, popularly explaining to visitors the essence of the newly introduced communal reforms.

The rest of the leisure time is devoted to the vile behavior of Marinka from the fifteenth, who paraded past amazed old women with a new imported gentleman of curly brunette color. The new admirer has no advantages.

The car is beautiful and the upholstery is rich and plush. And so the guy is completely useless, not at all remarkable for himself, even pimply. Such impudent behavior of the dissolute Marinka required additional investigation and long logical calculations.

In pre-reform times, before communal terror, a discussion about changing a Russian boyfriend to an Ethiopian would have lasted two full, talkative days.

The grandmother's former partner was treated with respect. Although not a particularly handsome man, he treated old women with respect, always bowed and inquired after their health by name.

There is no way to throw away a won bench. You can, of course, go to the city park with the whole court, but the long arms of the municipality have already reached there. Benches have been eliminated along the entire perimeter. That's why grannies don't go to the park and continue the conversation.

From the dissolute Marinka the conversation spread into the realms of mysticism. It was then that I happened to be nearby and overheard this story.

Death on two legs

Vitka Selivanov has lived in the third entrance for the last twenty years. For pensioners, everyone under sixty - Vitka, Lenka and Svetka. But in fact the man was over fifty.

He lived with his wife, they had no children and, apparently, no relatives either. They lived in seclusion and did not have much friendship with their neighbors. We always saw them together. We went to the store together, together in the evenings we walked along Cosmonauts Avenue, which is two hundred meters from the house.

A year ago his wife died. Quickly, in one day. Heart. She was buried in a new cemetery, which was far from the city and grew with incredible speed. In a city with a population of over a million, death is a frequent guest.

Certificate

He was buried in the same cemetery where his other half found peace. A few neighbors claimed that his grave was far from his wife’s grave, because over the course of a year and a half the cemetery had grown both in breadth and distance.

Life is an unfair thing

After the death of his wife, Selivanov started drinking. From a normal, intelligent man, he turned into a typical homeless person within six months.

He quit his job, didn’t pay rent, and was warned more than once about eviction. No one knew where he got the money for food, just as no one knew whether he ate at all.

Vitka lost a lot of weight, and it was absolutely clear to everyone who saw him that he wouldn’t last long.

Compassionate men who drank in the yard in the evenings and on weekends always poured a drink for Selivanov, for which he invariably politely thanked them. But he didn’t impose himself, didn’t wait for more to be poured, and modestly walked away. By evening he was always drunk.

On weekdays, weekends, and holidays in the evening he returned from his mysterious voyage around the city, barely able to stand on his feet. Sometimes he fell near the entrance, and then the neighbors helped him get to the apartment. Viktor Stepanovich Selivanov outlived his wife by a year and a half.

Him in the same cemetery where his other half found peace. The few neighbors who went to the cemetery later claimed that his grave was far from his wife’s grave, because over the course of a year and a half the cemetery had grown both in breadth and distance.

Creepy incidents in the cemetery

In the spring, as soon as the snow melted, Polina Sergeevna from the sixth apartment went to the cemetery. Her mother was buried there, and it was necessary to put the grave in order after the winter. After clearing away the trash and sticking a bouquet of artificial asters into the ground near the modest obelisk, she headed home.

The path lay past the grave of her neighbor Selivanova. Polina Sergeevna decided to go there. Imagine her amazement when, next to the grave of Irina Nikolaevna Selivanova, she saw the grave of Viktor Stepanovich Selivanova. On the very monument that she remembered when Vitka was buried, there was the same portrait of him, his name, surname and dates of life.

Certificate

There was no grave there; moreover, it was clear that the ground there was dense and the undertakers’ shovels did not touch it. The graveyard workers stood in bewilderment for a long time, then politely asked Polina Sergeevna not to tell anyone about this strange incident.

At first, the neighbor thought that relatives had come to the rescue, but then she remembered that there were no relatives at the funeral. Then she decided that the cunning employees of the cemetery administration had sold his grave, and he was reburied next to his wife.

But this option also seemed somehow unnatural to her. The location was not the best, especially in a lowland where water accumulated in the spring, and hardly anyone would have wanted to covet it.

Deciding to find out what was wrong, the woman went straight to the administration. It must be said that thieving officials are afraid of retired fighters for justice.

Pensioners have nothing to do, so they can easily devote all their time to searching for the truth. Moreover, there were many stories about the sale of places in the cemetery, everyone knew about them, and several leaders of local churchyards went to the camps to correct their mistakes.

But this time, as Polina Sergeevna says, the cemetery administration was no less surprised than she was. A small delegation of representatives of the cemetery management and staff immediately went with her. They checked the documents, then went to see Viktor Stepanovich.

To everyone’s amazement, there was no grave there; moreover, it was clear that the earth there was dense and the undertakers’ shovels did not touch it. The graveyard workers stood in bewilderment for a long time, then politely asked Polina Sergeevna not to tell anyone about this strange incident.

Of course, the interlocutors at the bench understood perfectly well that the request was supported financial assistance an elderly woman. Of course, the woman could keep this news to herself for no more than a week.

Certificate

By some unspoken agreement, they stopped discussing this news. The story turned out to be too incomprehensible, implausible and creepy

When she came to the cemetery for the second time, they showed her everything necessary documents to Selivanov’s grave and said that she was mistaken, and that Viktor Stepanovich was buried here from the very beginning, and if she doubts, then let her buy herself pills for sclerosis. They are, of course, expensive, so here's money for a year's supply of pills.

After her story, the entire community of retired women visited the cemetery. Everyone came to the graves of two people who had loved each other during their lifetime, stood and looked, then went home, silent and thoughtful.

By some unspoken agreement, they stopped discussing this news. The story turned out to be too incomprehensible, implausible and creepy.

Moreover, new topics were not long in coming. Marinka from fifteen brought a new roommate.

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 absolutely free.

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 saw bad 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.

Recently, a woman I knew’s mother died. She was very worried and shared her thoughts. She told a story that 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.

I recently read about a deceased person 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 we flew past the window over the beds somewhat perfectly. 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’m here that we live next to a cemetery and I had a young neighbor who was drinking. 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 did not 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 hostel not in hometown. I went home once every two weeks. There were 3 girls living in our dorm room, their 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.

I lived in big city, but after the birth of our son, our family was forced to return to live in the village where I come from. The son had a severe allergy to city smog and further living in the city threatened him with death. All our relatives who lived in the village were very happy about our return and often gathered together to while away the long winter evenings.

They chatted about different things, but after the “destroying” of several graves in the cemetery (drunk youth were having fun), more and more often the conversation began with incidents related to the cemetery.

Scary story No. 1

Someone got into the habit of stealing fences near the graves in the cemetery - my uncle began the story. Almost every night the fence from someone's grave disappeared. Apparently he was a strong man, he removed some of the fences along with the concrete pouring and took them away to God knows where. They decided that he was stealing and selling somewhere in other villages, but they could not catch him, even the police were on duty and did not notice anything. As soon as we set up an ambush, the fences are intact, just like there is no ambush, the next fence disappears. How could this vandal know when the ambush would happen? And, most importantly, there were no traces of the car anywhere, it was clearly carried away on his shoulders, but no one knows where. The service dog didn’t pick up the trail, just sniffed, then snorted and turned away. Rumors spread throughout the village that it was the unclean who was doing mischief, and at night no one went on duty at the cemetery, they were afraid of the unclean. Our priest walked around the cemetery with a censer, read prayers, but it still didn’t help.

But then one day, those who lived closer to the cemetery heard a strong and terrible scream from the cemetery at night. So strong that even in the house one could hear some kind of inhuman scream. Naturally, they were afraid to go there at night, but a whole horde went when the sun was high and saw that a man was kneeling near the grave of a recently buried local blacksmith. His head sticks out between the bars of the fence. and the bars around the neck are compressed. The blacksmith forged this fence for himself while he was still alive and said that they would put it on his grave. A beautiful fence forged with love, not a single welded seam. The blacksmith probably got angry and punished the thief, but it wasn’t the thief himself who stuck his head into the fence and even squeezed the bars around his neck. Since that time, theft from the cemetery has stopped.

Scary story No. 2

You’re right, Semyon (that’s my uncle’s name),” the next interlocutor continued the conversation. The dead can punish their offenders. My friend from a neighboring village was visiting me and talking about the death of a girl after graduation.

There they had a school graduation and three graduating girls decided, rather than buy bouquets of beautiful flowers, to collect bouquets at the cemetery. Early in the morning we ran to the cemetery and picked up bouquets from one of the graves from yesterday's funeral. They came to school with these bouquets. The girls gave bouquets to the teachers, and Yana (that was the name of one of the girls) left one bouquet at home - she put the most beautiful one in a vase on the table, and gave the second one to the teacher. So, two girls and three teachers who received a bouquet from the cemetery fell ill the next day and went to the hospital, and in the evening Yana moved the bouquet from the cemetery closer to her crib and went to bed. This morning I didn’t leave my bedroom. Mom came in, and her daughter was dead. She found herself strangled. All the relatives had an alibi for that night, no traces - the killer was not found. Doctors concluded that she died from a severe allergy to flowers.

Scary story No. 3

Do you remember the incident the year before last, Aunt Klava spoke up. This is what we had. That case with Kirill, a local drunkard and rowdy. He also called himself a demon or a vampire, and people called him that and shunned him, none of the men wanted to be friends with him. He was healthy and when he drinks, he gets into a fight, and even bites - he screams, I’ll drink the blood from you. No one could rein him in or teach him a lesson. Guys, it used to be that about five people would get together and try to teach him a lesson. They’ll attack him, beat him, but he doesn’t seem to feel any pain, he’ll give the men black eyes under his eyes, and he’ll even break someone’s arm or leg.

But the scythe hit a stone - the drunkard couldn’t handle the local moonshine, he got so drunk that he died, as people say - he was burned by vodka. Well, the whole village gathered as much as they could (the drunkard himself lived) and organized a funeral, people after all. They took the coffin to the cemetery, lowered it into the grave and the diggers began to bury it, everyone stood quietly, there was no one to cry, and suddenly a noise was heard from the grave, the diggers froze in their tracks. The coffin with the earth thrown over it began to go into the ground, down there. He dropped about three meters and stopped. They covered the grave with the remaining earth, and they also had to bring it, almost one and a half cars fit into the grave while they made a mound and put up a cross with an inscription. In the village they said for a long time that he might actually be a vampire and that he was striving to go to the kingdom of shadows with his own people, but no one knows what is really there. From time immemorial there have been no quarries or mines in this area.

Until now, I have twice successfully turned to the same whispering grandmother for help, who twice poured out my fear on wax. And both times were connected with my, presumably, dreams. And they took place in different dormitories.

1. My grandmother died that summer (oncology). She and I have lately The relationship was so-so: she was very weak and was in pain, which is why my grandmother was nervous. Yes, she lived with her grandfather in our private parental home. The relationship between our family members was out of control. Hate from morning to evening. Therefore, I dreamed of getting away from them all as quickly as possible.

This story happened to my friend Tanya several years ago. During those years she worked at funeral home, took orders and completed documents, in general, did the usual routine work. She carried out her work functions during the day, and other employees stayed at night. But one day, due to a colleague going on vacation, Tanya was offered two weeks to work at night shift, and she agreed.

In the evening, having started her shift, Tanya checked all the documents and phone number, talked with the employees who were on duty in the basement, and sat down on her workplace. It got dark, my colleagues went to bed, and there were no calls from clients. Time passed as usual, Tanya was bored at her workplace, and only the cat, which had taken root at their work and was considered a collective cat, brightened up her life a little, and even she was sleeping at that moment.

I didn’t really believe in the stories about how the intercom rang and then someone broke into the apartment. But my aunt's story shook my disbelief.

My aunt, cousin Nadezhda's father is a materialist. She does not believe in anything otherworldly; she believes that any phenomenon has a physical or chemical explanation. In general, she never entered into discussions of this kind, believing that to each his own. She is an economist, has a scientific degree, and taught at one of the universities. Now she is 65 years old, has no children, got married by chance (according to her own words) at 50 years old. Her husband, Mikhail, on the contrary, really believes in supernatural powers, is interested in ufology, and in general he is an engineer and a jack of all trades.

This story happened with my mother’s childhood friend, let’s call her Lena. What should be done here small retreat, in order to talk about the heroine of the story herself. Lena is a very simple woman, to say the least. She doesn’t read books, isn’t interested in science fiction and mysticism, most of her life she worked as an ordinary clerk in a bank, and no one would think of accusing her of lying or having a wild fantasy. For this reason, the story she told does not raise the slightest doubt; she simply could not invent it.

One fine day, Lena was sitting at home with her four-year-old son Sasha in their one-room apartment and did housekeeping. Leaving the boy, enthusiastically playing with cars in the room, Lena went into the kitchen to prepare dinner for her husband, and, as usual, got busy with business and did not look into the room for quite a long time.

I'll tell you a story that was told to me at the funeral of a relative. Women began to criticize the mullah woman among themselves, saying that she did not allow her to cry from her heart. And suddenly one of the relatives present in the conversation began hastily talking about tears, too, but rather strange ones.

From her words, her niece, who is a distant relative of us, died. I didn’t know her during my lifetime, a young girl, a medical student, very beautiful, committed suicide. Nothing accompanied this behavior, as she was very cheerful, successful and a favorite in the family. And the suicide itself left many questions that were never answered. She jumped from a high-rise building. This was the police version. Law enforcement agencies and parents found nothing but farewell letter on social networks.

Dear readers site, this story will be about unusual dreams with the participation of the dead. I understand that reading about dreams may not always be interesting, but, as you know, in a dream we connect, if I put it correctly, to the universal space and we need to be attentive to what the dead say or do to us in a dream.

It all started when I returned from the store one weekend morning. Mom stared at me as if she saw all the aliens descending to earth at once.

- How did you end up here? – she asked a question that seemed strange even to me, immediately running away from the threshold into the room.
When I entered there, she frightenedly pointed to a chair. There was a pillowcase there that she gave us as a gift. New Year one of the relatives.

In my life I have heard different real stories about the dead and the cemetery. I decided to tell mine too. This story happened to me in my youth. A strange man who showed up at night asked to correct the tombstone inscription

It all started with a visit to the large old city cemetery. No one has been buried there for many years. The abandoned necropolis struck me with some kind of solemn, albeit somewhat frightening, beauty. Many inscriptions were in Latin, others in pre-revolutionary Russian. Some were erased by merciless time... But from that moment I became deeply hooked on the topic of epitaphs and tombstones. And then an idea came. Talked to my scientific supervisor at the institute.
- And what? Interesting topic! Go for it, Roman! - said the professor. - First, let it be a coursework, and then we’ll see, maybe until thesis will grow up!

There are several cemeteries in our city. I visited one of them almost every day after class to work with epitaphs. There was one thing I didn’t like: I had to get from the hostel across the whole city. One day I saw an advertisement that a watchman was needed for one of the cemeteries. And since there were holidays at that time, I decided to get a job: to improve my financial situation, and to continue working on my coursework. My partner San Sanych, a frail little man of about sixty who clearly loved to look into a glass, handed over the shift.

You, guy, the main thing is not to be afraid of anything! Don’t let anyone stranger into the guardhouse, if someone comes at night, God forbid! And the undead - they are mostly normal, quiet, and don’t roam around the alleys! - he chuckled.
- In the majority? Are there people who wander around? - it is impossible to understand whether he is joking or not.
- Anything can happen! I’m telling you: don’t open the door! Well, you can read the “Our Father”, if anything... Yes, I almost forgot: Andrei Nikolaevich, well, the one who worked before you did not take some of his things. Maybe he'll show up for them.

My grandfather drowned, and I took the camera and went to take pictures. interesting monuments and epitaphs on them.
I don’t like working with photos on the computer, so I ran to the nearest store that provided printing services. And in the evening I started looking. To save money, I took all the pictures on plain paper; some of the inscriptions turned out to be difficult to read. Soon he lay down on the trestle bed in the guardhouse and dozed off...

In my sleep I heard someone persistently knocking on the door. To be honest, I felt a little uneasy: I immediately remembered my partner’s words about uninvited guests at night. Looked out the window. In the bright light full moon I saw an elderly man with an intelligent appearance.
- Young man! Open, please! Don't be afraid, this is not a stranger, but a local!
I thought that this was probably the previous guard who had come to collect his things. Why he appeared in the middle of the night, I had no question. I opened it for him and let him in.

Come on in. Are you Andrey Nikolaevich? - asked the stranger.
- I? - he asked absentmindedly, did not give any intelligible answer and stepped towards the table on which my papers lay. And then he began to delve into them in the most brazen manner.
- What are you doing? - my indignation knew no bounds.
- I?! I'm looking...
- Why are you rummaging through my papers? - I screamed. - The exit is there! Nobody invited you here!
- Me?! - the man seemed to mock me. - Found...

He picked up one of the photographs, the one on which he could not read the epitaph:
“Such pain cannot be expressed in words, it is all in my wounded heart. How cruelly fate dealt with us, not allowing us to remain on earth together. But in my longing loneliness, under the hot sun and when it rains, I remember about you, I love you! My most faithful husband! See you... Wait!”
Uninvited Guest tiredly sank down onto the trestle bed, his shoulders shaking with sobs.
- I beg you, remove this inscription on the monument! That husband was very bad person and does not deserve such flattering words from a woman whom he betrayed all his life!
- What nonsense? How do you imagine this? Are you delusional, or what?

I turned away from the crazy man for a minute to add wood to the stove.
- Do me a favor! It hurts to realize that Maria suffers and continues to love this scoundrel! When you destroy the old inscription, make another one: “Wife, forgive my sins, for which I now suffer in hell.”
- How do you imagine this? There is a watchman in front of you, and it is not his responsibility to spoil the monument! Are you crazy? - he barked at him, turned to the guest, but there was no trace of him, as if he had never existed.
The fact that this crazy person did show up was evidenced by the scattered papers. I went to the door, but it turned out to be locked. “Hmm... How did the guy get out? It probably just slammed shut...” Soon he fell asleep again...

In the morning San Sanych came, I told him about the night incident.
- Ah-ah... Then the professor appeared again! - Grandfather was not surprised. - And Andrei, well, the previous watchman, survived from here. I started going every night! I’m not afraid of him, Ivan Antonovich is peaceful, I’ll say a prayer, and he’ll disappear!
- What kind of professor?
- So he’s buried in one of the alleys. His missus kept going to his grave and was overcome with grief! People said that this same dead man was still a reveler during his lifetime, he didn’t miss a single skirt, but Maria, well, his wife, I mean, knew nothing about it! She sent all well-wishers who intended to enlighten her to a well-known address. And recently, the children took the woman to live in another city. So, I’m thinking, maybe I should still respect Antonich and redo the inscription? Will he suddenly feel better?

“Another crazy one!” - flashed through my head. Before leaving, I decided to look at the professor’s grave. Imagine the surprise and fear when I recognized the night guest in the photograph on the monument...
I never went back to work as a night watchman!