From 12-07-2019, 01:18
Winter 1943.
The family warmed themselves by the fire, which they could hardly breed. After the last bombing, she lost her head. Lenochka (she just turned 5) clung to her brother, who was soon to go to the front, and gnawed with appetite a gingerbread that he could find in a recent sortie. Max then found another bag of buckwheat, a saucepan and a whole moldy bread. Mother was busy distributing groceries for the next week.
After 3 months, Maxim was returned from the front. He wasn't dead. Injured. Lost a hand.
Lenochka was glad that her brother had returned. I sat with him in the back room of the house and told what happened during his absence.
She suddenly threw up her hands.
- And an angel descended from heaven. He cured Uncle Ostap and all the uncles in the hospital.
1. A double soul is a human being capable of combining two souls, one of which is demonic, and the second is human. A double-hearted person was called those people who were considered: vampires, werewolves, witches, etc.
2. Auka - a creature (a kind of forest spirits). Auka likes to fool people in the forest, responding to their cry "Ay!" from all sides. Leads travelers into a dense thicket and throws them there.
3. Bannik - a spirit living in baths, usually represented as a little old man with a long beard. Like all Slavic spirits, mischievous. If people in the bath slip, get burned, faint from the heat, scald with boiling water, hear the crackling of stones in the oven or knocking on the wall - all these are the tricks of the bannik. In a big way, a bannik rarely harms, only when people behave incorrectly (wash themselves on holidays or late at night). Most of the time he helps them.
Mystic stories from life, which are very difficult to explain in terms of logic.
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The other day there was a quarrel with a relative. Personally, I would have reduced communication with her to a minimum a long time ago, but my mother stubbornly clung to her, because “there are no more relatives”, “it’s so bad”, “what if we need help, and besides her, there will be no one to help” .
About 20 years ago, when our family had difficult times, we often borrowed money from this relative. Everything was returned. She also helped several times to solve some organizational issues. Gave me expensive gifts as a child. I considered her the ideal of a woman and dreamed of being like her: beautiful, charming, popular with men, kind, rich. When I grew up, things turned out a little different.
I have never been particularly naive, believing in dreams and miracles, but the incident that happened 2 years ago made me think and change my outlook on life.
The fact is that I have had poor eyesight for a long time, and I have already come to terms with this. But exactly 2 years ago, on the night of July 6-7 (the famous holiday of Ivan Kupala), a miracle happened. When I woke up on the morning of July 7, I again saw with my own eyes 100% on my own! I no longer needed glasses or lenses. By the way, medicine cannot explain such a case. And I considered it that very miracle, an award, a gift from higher powers. Of course, the next day my vision fell again and now the same.
I’ll make a reservation right away that I am an incorrigible materialist, but the story that happened to me still causes confusion in me. It is quite relatively connected with mysticism, but it actually happened, nothing was invented.
After seventh grade in 1980, my family decided to move from Kirov region to Rostov, closer to our relatives, where there was a lot of sun, heat and fruit abundance. My aunt, my mother's sister and her family lived three kilometers from Kamensk-Shakhtinsky on the banks of the Seversky Donets. My cousin, who was a year older than me, was an avid fisherman and was lost on the river from morning to night. I am also addicted to fishing. And so my brother and I once decided to organize night fishing.
I want to dedicate my confession to a man under the well-known, or almost everyone, nickname "Stranger". I will try to tell in detail what prompted me to write my story.
More than six months ago, when quarrels began with my husband, trying to find answers to my problems on the Internet, I accidentally found the Confession website. Reading the comments, I saw the Stranger, not so much his mysterious avatar, but his statements, his points of view at some point came into contact with mine, touching the soul. I'm not talking about love, I love one man in my life, it's something spiritual to some extent or at the level of energy coming from a person.
I will not say that I consider myself one of his admirers, since my attitude towards him is still twofold: I understood some of his statements, and sometimes resented others, but I learned from many of his views on life for myself. Has my personal life improved? It's not perfect yet, but it probably won't be. A stranger, like a kindred spirit, not seeing his face, appearance, not knowing his age, just from his very presence on the site, even the site lives, in my opinion, a different life (women are fascinated, men argue for interruption). His comments are read by a special voice inside me. And for all the time on the site, I could no longer feel what you feel when the Stranger commented.
This story happened to my father. It was several years ago. My parents have a dacha in the Krasnokutsky district of the Kharkov region. My father loves to roam the forest and knows it well. The forest where he walks, not far from the cottage, is pine.
So, he says that he somehow walked through the forest, and where he had often been before. And now he sees that he is walking not through a pine forest, but through an oak forest! He also saw a pond there, which he had never seen in those places, but he knew for sure that there was no pond there. He was frightened, began to look for a way out, guided, as he said, by the sun. After some time, he again found himself in a pine forest.
I sometimes have prophetic dreams. Some of them are about how and who takes someone from relatives or friends to the next world.
I had a very strange and memorable dream about my mother-in-law. As if the mother-in-law is lying on something, and a beautiful young woman is bending over her and scolding her for something, pointing at me. I woke up and began to analyze. I remembered another dream related to my mother-in-law. I dreamed of some kind of pit or grave, earth, and my mother-in-law buried my photograph. I thought, maybe that young beautiful woman scolded her for this act?
This story happened literally tonight, and since then I have been looking at my cat with different eyes. In some ways, it even resembles a horror movie.
Actually the point is this. At night I had a nightmare, and with the participation of this cat, by the way. Of course, there is nothing unusual in this, everyone has nightmares sometimes. And, in general, the nightmare, as it usually happens, reaches its climax and I woke up in the middle of the night and I hear that purring at my feet! That is, as if he was enjoying the fact that I had a nightmare. In general, a cat never purrs so easily, only if you stroke it or take it in your arms, and so that you just lie and purr, this never happens.
I have a serious problem. I absolutely do not know how to control my thoughts, or rather, these are not even thoughts, but obsessions. Moreover, my favorite places and things can be associated with negative thoughts.
For example, I look at some place and immediately before my eyes some kind of terrible picture (as if something bad is happening in this place). And it begins to seem to me that this place is now connected with what I imagined. I really don't want this place to be associated with something bad now, but diametrically opposed sentences come to mind, like "I really want this to be like this."
I am 27 years old, I have two daughters, my husband, thank God, I have a place to live and what to do, but there is one “but”.
I grew up in a large and very poor family. We have five parents, I'm middle. I did not go to kindergarten, but I studied very well at school. Then college, university and family.
My paternal grandmother was kind of like a good man, but few people talked to her, everyone was afraid of her and considered her a witch (and a black one). Even my mother and father himself somehow shunned her. When my grandmother fell ill (she was 75 years old), her parents had to take her to their place, and I had to help, take care of her, and I even made friends with her. She died 6 months later and that's where it all started.
In the life of every person there are such incidents and stories, telling which palms sweat, and hair stand on end. Of course, in fact, most of them are ordinary coincidences, but it is not always possible to believe in this. In fact, there is enough mysticism in our world, therefore another story, out of the ordinary, can happen to absolutely anyone. Next, we will talk about the most mysterious and terrible cases that have happened to people.
The case took place in Latvia, namely in Riga. The young man recently got married. He decides to get together with friends and chat a little. Of course, it was not without alcohol. All night long friends buzzed to the fullest and had fun like the last time. A lot of alcohol and drugs were present at the party.
After a few hours of fun, everyone began to disperse to their rooms to rest and sleep. One of the friends decides to stay in the kitchen with the hero of the occasion in order to spend the night behind dialogues "according to concepts." When all the alcohol had already been drunk, and the friends could barely stand on their feet, it was decided to go to bed. Young man, who had recently become a husband, went to his wife's room, and the friend went to another, where there was no one.
This is where the mysterious story begins, based on real events. As soon as the guy lay down on the sofa, he immediately felt something was wrong: strange squeaks and exclamations, obscene words uttered in a whisper. Of course, this situation could scare anyone. Then a shadow flickered in the mirror opposite the bed, which pretty much frightened the young man. He was afraid to get up, because it is not known what will be expected of him. Then such knocks were heard, similar to driving a nail with a hammer. Immediately there was such an idea that alcohol and drugs made themselves felt. This could be considered true, if not for a strong knock, after which the guy could not stand it and turned on the light.
What he discovers then is simply mind-blowing. There was a hammer on the floor, the knocks of which had been heard earlier. A strong fear and a sense of self-preservation took over, and the guy ran away to sleep in another room. Waking up, he told a story friends. But they weren't laughing. It turns out that this house was built by an adult man who traveled the world. Soon he hanged himself from a tree next to the estate. How and why he did this is still unknown. And his ghost still haunts the house.
Reading this mysterious story based on real events, goosebumps appear on the skin, and the hair simply stands on end. Sometimes you are amazed at what happens to people.
A young girl who works in the office all day long, practically did not appear in her apartment, as the work absorbed her from head to toe. The only thing she did while at home was washing in the shower, cooking and sleeping. There was simply no time for other things. The girl did not have fun and did not invite friends to visit, as the malicious boss did not give rest to the young lady.
And once such a moment came that the apartment had to be sold. It was removable, and the owner found a buyer. Consequently, the girl had to move out of the living area belonging to another person. According to the rental agreement, there was only one week left until the next payment. That's how long it took to find a new apartment.
Hire realtors there was no money, no time. Therefore, the young lady went to friends who could help her. And, it would seem, a good opportunity turned up to live in a friend's apartment for a small cost. But there is one problem - grandfather recently died at this place, and a year before his grandmother. For some reason, the landlady decided not to tell this to her own friend. Apparently she wanted more money.
Having packed her bags, the girl still moves to a new apartment. Of course, she again appeared there very rarely, since it was the end of the year, and it was necessary to draw up various reports for the entire working period. There were no outings at all.
One day the chef decided to make a gift, giving the girl a day off. She spent the whole day cleaning the apartment. In the evening, tired of all the fuss, she drank a glass of red wine and turned on the TV, which showed cartoons. Suddenly young lady heard her lock open. A strong fear gripped her. Then the men's steps went to the kitchen. For several minutes the tenant of the apartment lay in perplexity. Later, having gained strength, she still decides to go check. But there was no one there.
The next day, she told this story to her friend, who rented her an apartment. She could not restrain herself and said that it was on the sofa where the girl was sleeping that both grandfather and grandmother died. Most likely, it was their spirits that traveled around the house. A few days later, the resident packed her things and left. She didn't talk to her friend anymore.
mystical real story from life real people originates in the nineties of the last century. Perestroika is in the yard, no one has money, everyone survives as best they can. And now the unremarkable family lived absolutely like everyone else: a small apartment, two children, an unloved and low-paid job.
But one day the head of the family declares that bought a new car. There were many quarrels on the basis of this purchase, since there was no money even for food, and my father buys transport. The new purchase was an old Audi 80 with over 200,000 miles on it. And from the first day, for some reason, the car disliked its owner: it constantly broke down, some parts fell off, rust "ate" the body.
My father spent days and nights in the garage, trying to fix a new problem. Every day presented miracles: a puncture of a wheel is already such a common thing that the new owner did not lose heart at all, but dutifully repaired his “swallow”.
And one day, when patience was just running out, it was decided sell car. Before preparing for the sale, the family decides to wash the car inside and out to create a more or less presentable appearance. The children decided to clean up the trash under the seats, where some kind of package was found.
In this bag were various letters in which there were all kinds of curses and conspiracies. Of course, this inspires great fear. It is not known who and why left these inscriptions in the car, but they made me very nervous. It was decided to dispose of all curses by burning. So they did.
After that, some strange things started. For example, someone stole a wallet from a mother. Gradually, the problems only gained momentum. One of their major problems was work. For some reason, the boss became so angry with the husband and wife that he decides to deprive them of their salaries. Accordingly, it was necessary to look for new sources of income, because a family with children would simply die of hunger.
And here is the buyer for the car. Having arrived at the appointed time at the right place and after inspecting the vehicle, he decides to still buy a car. After spending small test drive, the buyer drove into the pit and punctured the wheel. This is just where his problems begin. Still, he decides to buy a "cursed" car, unaware of its past. The deal went through, the money was received, the buyer left.
Mystical and unexplained stories told by eyewitnesses.
Lost in time
I started working as a guard four years ago, right after my military service. Work - do not beat the recumbent. The schedule is three days later. You sit in your little room, you watch TV shows. It is not forbidden to take a nap at night, the main thing is to call the central office every two hours, saying that everything is in order at the facility.
Four years ago, most of the rooms in the building were empty. There was only one company of Internet providers based there. At 6 pm, all the installers locked their office and went home. I was completely alone. And then, during my third shift, something unexpected happened...
In the evening, when everyone had dispersed, I heard a strange noise. Yorzane, muffled blows and a rough male voice. I tensed up, took out a stun gun from the table and left my closet. The noise was coming from the right wing of the second floor. As if someone is banging on the door and yelling something vicious. Only swear words could be made out. Climbing the stairs, I, of course, was a coward. Where will you go from your work?
It wasn't dark outside yet, but upstairs there was only one window at the end of the wing, and the corridor was full of twilight. I pressed the switch, but the light didn't come on. That day the electricity worked intermittently. This is rare in our building, but it happens. They always explain it the same way: “The building is old, what do you want? There's always something to break."
I approached the place where the noise was coming from. These were the doors of the technical room. On the other side, someone was swearing and furiously pounding with their fists. A yellowed piece of paper was pasted on the door with the inscription “Room No. 51. The watchman has the key. But there was no castle! And a thick piece of reinforcement was inserted into the lock ears.
- Hey! - I shouted, as firmly as possible, so as not to give out a tremor in my voice.
- Finally! someone on the other side blurted out irritably and stopped banging on the door.
- Who's there? I asked.
- A horse in a coat! Open up, come on! What are you wondering?
The door staggered again, I realized that it was better to open it before it was broken. It was difficult to pull out a piece of reinforcement. He rusted hard. From this it became clear to me that it was not locked yesterday. After fiddling for a minute, I finally pulled out a piece of metal from the ears. A disheveled, unshaven man jumped out of the room, almost knocking me off my feet. He goggled his eyes at me and yelled:
“Tell me, why did you do it, huh?”
- What? - I thought that this man would explain everything to me, and he accused me.
- Why is the door closed? - still rudely he asks. Saliva splashes. The eyes are wicked.
- How should I know? It has always been closed! - I say.
- Are you completely stupid? the peasant said more calmly, and it seemed to me that his face became frightened.
He said nothing more, turned to the exit and walked away.
- Hey! Where are you going? I came to my senses when he had already left the wing. I ran after him, and he, without looking back, quickly descended the stairs and went out into the street.
I rushed to my closet. He took the key and locked the main entrance. He returned again and, having called the central office, reported that there was an outsider at the facility. The dispatcher conferred with someone, then told me to inspect everything and called again in five minutes.
I did everything as ordered. I went up to the second floor, studied room number 51. There was nothing to see there: just a long cramped room. An electrical panel with red letters "SCHO-3" and a ladder to the attic. When I saw the stairs, the key to the "mystery of the closed room" immediately became clear to me. I put together this version of events: some lunatic made his way into the building, wandered around the second floor, then climbed into the attic through one of the stairs in the hallway, and after crying down those stairs, he was trapped.
I called the dispatcher exactly five minutes later. He reassured me that all the locks were intact, nothing was missing, there was no one else in the building. And then I sat down at the table, opened the magazine and described the whole story on two pages. And he also described his guesses.
In the morning, when I had to turn in my shift, my boss showed up. I got nervous. He is a strict man - a former military man. He walked in, said hello and sat down to read my report. Then he asked to see the scene. We went with him to room number 51.
The chief inspected everything there, closed the doors and inserted a piece of reinforcement into place. After he announced that I was well done. He acted clearly and according to instructions. I got proud of myself. Only it was in vain. The next day, the shift worker called me and said that I needed to come to the city. The boss calls. He warned that everyone would be reprimanded.
I came. For the first time I saw all my colleagues. Among them, I was the youngest.
It turned out that after my shift, someone climbed into the building again. And again in room number 51. The security guard missed this case. Only in the morning I noticed that a piece of reinforcement was lying on the floor, and the doors of the room were open wide. There was no one inside, nothing was stolen, but the chief did not like this case very much.
He demanded that henceforth not a single fly fly into or out of the building without our knowledge. He said that that company has several million worth of equipment here and everything is under our responsibility. He ordered that the main entrance be locked immediately after the last worker left. And so that we sit and stare at the monitor for the whole day, as we should.
In short, the boss specifically told us. On the same day, instead of a piece of reinforcement, a lock was hung on the door. The keys to it were placed on a stand in the security room. Even a new piece of paper was printed on the printer and pasted on the door. Almost nothing was changed in the text - "The key is at the guard post (Room No. 51)", and now it was true. For a month after this event, the chief came twice a shift. Sometimes he personally called at night so as not to lose vigilance. But there were no more cases, and the severity of the guard post diminished.
Much time has passed since that incident. New firms have appeared in the building. Almost all the premises were occupied. A magnetic lock was placed on the main entrance. Now I let people into the building by pressing a button. At night, for fidelity, the door was locked with a key. It became very easy to work.
And then a year and a half ago something else happened. Admittedly, I was the only one who gave it any importance. A new installer got a job at the same Internet provider firm. When I first saw him, I almost swore. He looked very much like that locked-in guy. Only this one smiled modestly, behaved as if he were seeing me for the first time and as if everything was unfamiliar to him.
For a long time, I was sure that this was the same psycho who caused a stir here during my first shifts. I kept thinking about who to say quietly. Even the burden of guilt on myself felt that I was silent about it. Suddenly, he had something bad in mind: he sniffed out something, and now he got a job ...
But after a while, I realized that this new installer and that crazy man cannot be the same person. This guy turned out to be completely adequate, simple and non-conflict. Once we got into a conversation, and I finally buried my doubts. It was his first year in the city. Came from the Astrakhan region. Never been to these places before.
His name was Dima, by the way. I had no reason not to believe him. And I decided that this guy would not throw out any oddities, but everything turned out to be completely different. 7 months ago, he disappeared under very strange circumstances ... It happened, as if on purpose, on my shift. That day there were again problems with electricity. This didn't give Dimka any rest. He's an electrician by trade, and gets really annoyed when something doesn't work.
- Come on. Everything will be fine in a day. How many times has this happened, - I told him, and he calmed down a bit. Stopped running around.
After 6 pm, when there was almost no one left in the building, Dima came to me, smiled and asked for the key to the 51st.
- I was already going home, and it just dawned on me that there is another shield there. Let me see what's there, he says. - 10 minutes, no more.
I nodded at the stand with the keys, they say, take it. He put his bag on my sofa, took the key and left. I was fascinated by the series and did not attach any importance to all this ...
It's been about an hour. I folded my laptop, deciding it was time to make a detour and lock the building. And then, getting up from a chair, I saw Dima's bag on the sofa and immediately remembered that he had not returned, although he promised to bring the key in 10 minutes.
Then I didn't suspect anything. You never know, a man got carried away with repairs. I left the room, checked the first floor, went up to the second. I see: the doors of room No. 51 are ajar, and there is dead silence in the wing ...
I called Dima, he didn't answer. And then fear churned in my stomach. I remembered that case with room number 51 and that guy who looked like Dima. And it began to seem to me that Dima was just as unshaven today, and his clothes were similar.
I called Dima again. Silence. Oh, and I got scared. I timidly crept up to the door ... The open lock hung on one ear, but there was no one inside. He flipped the switch and the light went on. Then a crazy idea came into my head. But I pushed those thoughts away. Dimka left, forgot about the bag, did not return the key. So what? Happens! Didn't report anything.
Only three days later I found out that Dima had not appeared at work since that day. His boss kept walking, lamenting: “Where did he go? After all, he's not a drinker." I realized that I saw him last, and every shift I asked about him. I thought he would show up and dispel my stupid suspicions. And he wasn't there. Contacted the police - to no avail.
And now I'm sitting in my shifts, I think. But what if the end of this disappearance story is somewhere in the past? Then you shouldn’t be surprised why Dima began to yell at me ... Of course, suddenly being locked up, I would have thought that it was I who closed it ...
I also remember the case when, the next day, someone again made his way into room No. 51. Suddenly, this is also Dimka, when he realized that “he didn’t go out there”? There is also a spare key for that lock, but I did not hang the lock on the door. He put it in a drawer. And I loosely bandaged the doors of room No. 51 with a thin wire so that it could be easily opened from the inside. There is nothing to steal anyway. And Dima, maybe even come back?
Prophetic dream with mosquitoes
My mother graduated from a technical school and, by the will of fate, was assigned to work in the glorious city of Chelyabinsk. The events described below refer to 1984-1985.
The girls worked together and did not live in a hostel, but in a rented apartment on the ground floor of a high-rise building. Four girls, two rooms, lived together and cheerfully. All were from different cities, and for the next new year holidays went home. Everyone except Gali, whose parents died a long time ago. So Galina stayed in the apartment alone for the holidays.
My mother met the holiday in a warm family circle, but she dreamed on the night from the first to the second number of a strange and horrible dream. Galya stands in a dark room and brushes off mosquitoes. And mosquitoes - whole clouds swarm. Galya is already crying with annoyance, she can’t drive them away from her.
Returning to Chelyabinsk, the girls warmly congratulated each other and shared their impressions of the trips, but for some reason Gali was not at home. She did not come either on the second or on the third day, and everyone was terribly worried - everyone had already gone to work, and it was not in the nature of the girl to play truant.
It was also noteworthy that when my mother told her friends about her dream, the rest confirmed that they saw the same thing in a dream, maybe in a slightly different scenery. But Galina and mosquitoes were present in all three dreams. By the way, after the arrival, the tenants noticed that mosquitoes began to appear at home in an unusual amount for winter, but they attributed everything to possible dampness in the basement, where the central heating pipes run.
The statement to the police about the disappearance of Galya was written by my mother and her neighbors. The search began. We also checked the basement. There Galina's body was found in a very unsightly condition. And it was full of mosquito larvae. Heat, humidity, nutrient medium - insects have bred incredibly.
During the investigation, it was established that her friend came to the girl. Apparently, they quarreled at the door of the apartment, and he firmly put his head on her. The lifeless body in a dressing gown hid in the basement. Apparently, Gali did not have people closer to her friends in the world, so she dreamed about them, tried to tell where she was. From the loss of the unfortunate to the discovery of the body, it took about two weeks or a little more.
Mystical stories from real life loved by everyone who is interested in esotericism and tries to explain such cases from a scientific point of view, using a whole arsenal of tools consisting of school and university knowledge. However, mystical stories are called so because they have no reasonable explanation.
Our website contains the most horror stories. Basically, these are scary stories from life, told by people on social networks.
For apples. Village mystical story.
Once I went to the village, to my aunt. Not everything is kept in agriculture, but it was hard for her and she asked me to help. Collect vegetables, fix everything, clean the beds. No mysticism - only hard collective farm work.
After another picking in the ground, I decided to rest and eat an apple. Nearby was an overgrown field, bordered by a forest, and stunted wild apple trees grew on it. My aunt also grew apple trees - Antonovka, but I didn't like sour apples, so I went there.
While wandering across the field, he did not notice and climbed over the thatched arch. It turned out - in vain. While I was picking apples, some branch almost gouged out my eye and scratched my cheek until it bled. But the work was not in vain. Apples are small, clean, not wormy and strong. I turn around, and it turns out that I have moved far from home. He could barely see through the grass.
I'm going to wade through the grass. And the grass grabbed me and did not want to let me go, and it seemed that I was going in the wrong direction. I turned around - the forest did not move away! In addition, I felt that something was moving under my foot, I looked and freaked out - a snake !!! And not a snake, I saw snakes, I can’t confuse the yellow “ears” with anything. Frightened, I rushed through the thickets. After 5 minutes, he was standing at the porch of the house. My aunt saw me, came up and asked why I was taking so long and why I was disheveled.
Turns out I was gone for about an hour. I told my mystical story. She said, they say, and what, were the apples worth it? I answered that yes - they picked wonderful apples. She looked at me suspiciously and walked away. And I dumped the remaining apples on the grass (I lost most of it when I ran out of there) and went nuts - they were all rotten and wormy. Then I asked my aunt what the hell it was, and she said that she puts up such arches devilry, which lives in the field and fools a person's head. She said that the task of the arches is to prevent a person from reaching the house. And then I found a snake on the Internet - it turned out to be a copperhead.
Emergency in the military unit. Real military mystical history
My father served in a missile defense unit located deep in the steppe. The part was not easy, with secret equipment, secret itself and so on. Up to the fact that it was surrounded by a mesh and a concrete fence with heavy, deaf metal gates on electronic latches. There were towers near the gates, on which sentries were on duty around the clock. And around - the steppe. For 60 kilometers, not a single intelligent being, except for the political officer. "Grandfathers" often told various mystical stories that took place on the territory of the unit - either the soldier disappeared without a trace, or the ensign went crazy ... dad did not believe. But one day something bad happened to him.
He was on guard - a total of four people were on duty. The task is to walk around the military unit in circles for half the night in order to search for obvious or hidden opponents. They walked normally (there were no wolves, lizards - that's all the enemies). On the last lap of honor, they stopped to relieve themselves on the fence of their native part - twenty meters from the searchlight beam installed on the tower. They began to pour, and then the soldier who stood farthest from all began to yell. And not just yelled, but with clear signs the fact that he is being dragged away from the others - the voice is removed. They pulled out the flashlights, they shine - there is no person. No footprints in the sand, nothing. The machine is lying around. It's understandable that they screwed up. The charter did not say what to do in such a case.
They rushed in horror to the gates, yelling at the sentry, turn, searchlight, look what's going on there. He turned around and said there was nothing. Clear perimeter. By this time, the lock was clicked, the gate was opened, and they ran into the territory in horror. It was necessary to close the gate. They were closed like a simple "English" lock-latch - by slamming. Dad pulls the sash on himself, but it does not close. It’s not that someone is holding it, it’s just like a stone has rolled under the sash or something is resting. That's when my father went nuts.
Dad saw that a paw was holding on to the edge of the sash at the level of his head. I asked him to describe in more detail, but what he told, he said - a withered human hand, gray, the color of mouse hair, with ugly nails. She didn’t pull the sash towards herself, but she didn’t let it close either, she just held on and that’s it. Dad in a panic yelled at the sentry to open fire on everything he saw outside the gate, but when he turned the searchlight, the gate slammed shut easily and there was nothing there again. The missing soldier was searched for a week, but no trace of him was found. Here is such a terrible mystical story happened.
Night lover of carousels.
I have a wooden house in the village, and sometimes I go there to rest. The place is not easy and mystical stories happened a lot. Today I will tell you one.
Once we were sitting in this village with a large company visiting one girl, watching "Dandy".
At about two o'clock in the morning, I began to experience incomprehensible anxiety. I remembered that I left the car on the territory of an old abandoned pioneer camp: it is located not far from the village, a favorite meeting place for young people. There is everything you need for happiness - silence, the absence of people over 20 years old, abandoned buildings where you can quietly smoke or drink. So, in the afternoon we opened the old rusty gates to the camp, and I drove the transport there. Why the hell? I do not remember! He will grab a can of beer so as not to get bored on the road, I left the house and went to pick up a car from the camp.
A player in my ears, a summer night, delicious beer… I reached the gates of the camp in about five minutes. He opened the gate and went on - the car was three hundred meters from them. As soon as I entered the territory, on a broken asphalt path, along which crowds of schoolchildren were pacing just 15 years ago, I felt anxiety. But it was natural, our camp is not simple, in the 90s corpses were often found there, which became such not at all of their own free will. Then in the summer of 2001, a certain satanic cult tried to organize meetings there, but they didn’t work out, and we saw them five times, no more. But this was enough for us - the sediment remained. The gloomy place of our abandoned camp is strange, and at night, what is there to hide, terrible. But I, a supporter of rationalism, ordered my subconscious, which begged to leave as soon as possible, to shut up, and continued on my way. And a minute later I got to the car, climbed inside, turned on the music and breathed a sigh of relief. I turned around on a narrow path, risking getting stuck, and drove to the exit. Having already passed those very gates, being formally already on the territory of the village, and not the camp, I thought that it was not good to leave the gates open.
He stopped, put on the handbrake, got out and returned to the territory of the camp, again experiencing a strange discomfort, which became twice as strong as five minutes ago. I quickly closed the gate and ran about ten meters deep into the camp for natural needs. Then he took out a pack of cigarettes, lit a cigarette, turned around to the gate, and ... Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that someone was riding on the old, long-rusted carousels, which are twenty meters from the track. With decent speed. It was dark, but I could make out a human silhouette, developing light-colored clothes, and his gaze was fixed in front of me. He didn't look at me, although the average person should have been interested in my manipulation of the gate. What am I saying, a normal person will not ride at two in the morning on a carousel in an abandoned camp. I yelled and rushed as fast as I could in the car - thank God it was running. Clutch and gas to the floor, a squeal and the smell of burnt rubber, a frantic glance in the rearview mirror…
And at that moment the dipped beam turns off, and I stop seeing anything. Yelling no worse than the first time, I pull, almost tearing out, the high-beam handle. Thank God, it lights up and illuminates the rapidly approaching houses. I don't look back anymore. Arriving at the girl, where friends were sitting, he stuck out in the car for a long time, smoked, listened to music. Tried to calm down.
I'll tell you that real life, even without any monsters and mysticism, is nowhere more terrible. Therefore, I will tell the second mystical story.
Once I was cycling outside the city, and about five or six kilometers from the district I found an abandoned motor depot. A whole bunch of buildings - boxes, administrative buildings, barracks, substations, and a little on the outskirts there was a one-story bath-shower room made of red brick, a sort of small house. Strangely, everything was in a divine state, although the base had been abandoned for a long time. I explained this by the fact that the entrance to it begins with a completely inconspicuous turn from a major highway, and there are no settlements nearby. In general, a quiet, deserted place. The stump is clear, I began to visit there: I built springboards for the bike, came off for my own pleasure, sunbathed.
Once we drove with a partner and his friend past the turn to the base in a car. I suggested that they stop by, show their “household”, and my partner was looking for some building materials for the dacha, which are expensive to buy, but they were at the base. In general, we turned, we drive up. I must add that by this time I had not been to the "hacienda" for a couple of weeks, but I immediately realized that someone had been here. Firstly, where the asphalted area in front of the base began, burnt sticks were stuck. It smelled of a mystical story :))) Upon closer examination, it turned out to be burnt torches.
Well, okay, the Tolkienists here waved mops, let them. But nearby, on the road, a whole poem was written in brown rubbish in incomprehensible signs - they did not look like either hieroglyphs or runes, I vouch for this. This mystical story was no longer similar to the Tolkienists. Further mysticism smelled even more. The guys with me were inquisitive, although they were both 30 years old, they went to climb the buildings. Everyone looked, and saw this same bathhouse in the outskirts. They come up to me and say - cool settled down, hung curtains on the windows. I thought he was joking. It would be better to joke. All the windows (they didn’t even have frames) and the door were curtained from the inside with thick black fabric, and something was whimpering inside.
In general, my guys were not cowardly - one firefighter, the other was just an extreme in life, but we all messed up at the same time. Armed with sticks. The partner throws off a rag from the window with a stick, and we observe the following picture: the interior of the bath, lined with tiles, is covered with letters from bottom to ceiling, and partly with a marker, partly with paint, partly with this brown rubbish, but the walls are FULLY scribbled. To do this, you need a whole team and a week of time at least. Keys hung from the ceiling. Ordinary door keys, very many, several hundred to be exact. In the middle of the room was a table with two black cylindrical objects. And in the next room, someone was breathing hoarsely.
Of course, I didn't want to go inside. There was some kind of ritual with a good share of shiz, and it is not known whether this ritual is completed, or without our livers it cannot be completed and we were expected to visit. I suggested throwing a brick at one of the cylinders on the table. Everyone voted yes, and I threw. It turned out to be a three-liter jar wrapped in the same black cloth as on the windows, it broke, and a black puddle of vile filth spread across the table. Within a couple of seconds, such a terrible smell of rotten meat hit our noses from the window opening that we ran back ten meters - I'm sure that it was real, pretty rotten blood, as much as six liters of blood (we didn’t beat the second jar, but I I think that the contents there were also not Coca-Cola). When they got used to the stench, a fireman friend suggested that they still see who was wheezing behind the wall. They pinched their noses, tore off a rag from the entrance, and entered with sticks. What I saw completely blew me away.
In the corner under the ceiling, two pigs are suspended, each the size of a large dog, one, obviously dead, was all cut up with something thin - the skin on it was simply turned into noodles, there were no eyes, the floor was covered with its blood, and the rope on which she hung, came out straight from the mouth - I still don’t know if it was a hook or not, but obviously something brutal - the tongue and part of the intestine stuck out. And the second pig was alive, twitching its paws and breathing hoarsely. She was suspended in the same way, but there were much fewer cuts. I think that she did not make sounds, because either she was exhausted, or her vocal cords were torn out by this incomprehensible “hanger”. But it made such an impression that I was able to calm the trembling in the jaw only late in the evening with the help of one and a half liters of whiskey for three.
In the twilight, in silence, a pig hanging by its intestines kicks its feet, among the keys hanging from the ceiling, hieroglyphs and the unbearable smell of carrion from spilled blood. I then searched the Internet for a description of such a ritual: keys, blood, a sacrificial pig - nowhere such filth is found, even in black magic. Another unpleasant moment: the blood was clearly not those pigs, already rotten, but whose - who knows. Obviously, these guys didn’t stuff six liters of mosquitoes. Is this a mystical story or a real abomination worse than fairy tales - you be the judge.
New place. Stories from Uzbekistan
In the courtyard of the eighty-fourth year, Uzbekistan, a small town two hundred kilometers from Tashkent. Angren. Valley of death. In fact, there was nothing terrible in the town, it's just that the place is not very pleasant: mountains are everywhere. They seemed to hang over and want to crush. We arrived with the whole family: grandfather and grandmother (according to maternal line), mother and father, aunt with family and uncle. We bought several excellent apartments and cottages at once and were going to live happily ever after.
Five years of quiet and peaceful life pass - the family's income is much higher than average: the mother works in the city executive committee, the father conducts military training at the local school. I'm in sixth class. Well, racially motivated fights are commonplace. And then it started.
First, ants began to appear in the house. Thousands. And they crushed this scum, and poisoned them, which they did not do. They continued to tread their paths. After a couple of months, the ants disappeared, and cockroaches took their place. Huge and vile, finger-length. They appeared at night: they crawled along the walls and ceiling, periodically falling on the face. It was gross.
Tired of the unsuccessful struggle, the whole family moved to my aunt. She lived with her husband and daughter on the other side of the city in a luxurious four-room apartment on the sixth floor of the only nine-story building in the city. At first it was very good: the whole family watched the video, played with my sister and did other fun things. Parents at that time were engaged in chemical warfare on old apartment with the use of a sanitary and epidemiological station and other heavy weapons.
Several months flew by like one day, and it's time to return home. There were no insects. There was a strange sense of threat. At least for me. Parents, like true communists, did not believe in any nonsense there. And the feeling did not disappear: being in the apartment, I felt that they were watching me. They look bad. A little later, this feeling began to haunt me outside the walls of the house. It was worth being left alone, going out for bread, and you feel a boring look on the back of your head. I always tried to be in society, even if society promised swearing and fights. Hanging around with peers, tried to smoke.
I just couldn't be in that apartment. I slept in the same room with my parents. At one “wonderful” moment, my father left for Tashkent for several months. "Improve qualifications", although in fact there were family matters. As a result, I was left with my mother alone in a three-room apartment. The feeling of danger began to disappear: it seemed that the invisible spy began to hack, and then completely removed. I started sleeping in a separate room again. The calm before the storm.
I woke up with a feeling of chilling horror. For a while I couldn't open my eyes, no, I didn't want to open them. I felt that death was near. I still remember those moments with a shudder. Silence, even the ticking of the clock is not audible, cold (in July, a southern country) and all-consuming horror.
A flash and a roar - brought me out of the state of a leaf trembling in the wind. I open my eyes and see in the beam of a lantern a figure bent, apparently in writhing pain. I instantly jump out of bed and run to my mother standing in the doorway with a gun in her hands. A growing sense of terror as I see the figure slowly rise. When I find myself behind my mother, several shots are heard, a heart-rending scream. Mother screams. I then, it seems, crap himself and passed out.
I woke up at my grandfather's house: my mother was sitting at the table, pale, pale, uncle and grandfather with grandmother. And a few cops crowd. Having discussed something, the grandfather, together with the uncle and the cops, went to our apartment with my mother. Look for the robber's body. A few hours after they left, shooting began. Such a good one: they beat me in long bursts. The body of the robber was not found, and the cops, having collected shell casings and counting the holes in the walls, left.
Grandfather and uncle stayed to guard the apartment. And then it started. Grandfather, they say, was found on the veranda with a Stechkin in his hand. Dead. Heart attack. Uncle, although he remained alive, turned gray and began to stutter. And he drank hard. I drank quickly. The next day, without even saying goodbye, my mother and I went to my father in Tashkent, and from there the three of us flew to Moscow. I tried talking to my mother about the incident. She always spoke reluctantly: either it was a bandit, or her grandfather's inheritance, who decided to take revenge through her children and grandchildren, or in general, the devil knows what. Once she got into a conversation, saying that she shot at this creature at least two times. Only one 12-gauge hole was found in the wall, and my grandfather shot 2 magazines. Mystical story, however, came out ...
An unexpected occurrence. Mystical story about the old road.
Last summer I went to the countryside. The village is more than 200 years old - a place, in a sense, historical, with its own sights. One of them is a stone road built by convicts under Catherine II.
As a child, my uncle told me that the convicts who died during construction were buried under the road, and from above they were already paved with stone. So, last summer my girlfriend and I took a walk there at night (my friend wanted to admire the stars where there are no lanterns).
The night is quiet, dark, there is a forest around the road, there is no moon. Mystic... Suddenly there was a feeling of unease - "something is wrong." By that time we had already moved far from the village, the lanterns disappeared behind the forest. I began to frantically look around, trying to understand what could alert me. I didn’t see anything, the forest stood like a black wall around, it was impossible to distinguish the outlines of trees, and even where they end and the blackening sky begins. No red, ominously glowing eyes were found either.
A thought flashed through my head: how in this darkness we managed to get so far from the village and not go astray. I lowered my eyes to look at the road. She glowed! More precisely, it was clearly visible! Every stone, every plant that had broken through the hollows between them. There was nothing resembling a light source around. I remembered the stories that my uncle told, grabbed my girlfriend in an armful and preferred to get out of there. I don’t know how to explain this, maybe it’s possible, but I was pretty scared then. This is such a mystical story.
Children from the dark
I'm going to Smolensk to make out the car. Sunny summer day, in the back seat - food, drinks, a warm blanket. You may have to spend the night in the car. Smoke breaks, sleep for twenty minutes, a sandwich. On the road again. Flat straight road. Customs in a few hours. Decor. Boring faces. Papers, copier. Payment of expenses. Big truck drivers. Cigarettes, queues, waiting. Far after midnight - back. There are few cars. Oncoming drivers politely switch to low beam. I start to fall asleep. I know that in such cases it is impossible to go further.
After a while - the exit from the highway, carefully moving out. An asphalt road leads to a wasteland. Along the edges is a forest. Rugged earthen ground. I stop in the center, lay out the rear seats, spread the blanket. Quiet. For some reason I don't want to turn off the light. I finish my cigarette, lie down, turn off the lamp and headlights. I toss and turn for a while, then I fall asleep. The dream is dark, like the forest around the car.
I wake up from the fact that the car is rocking. Laughter is heard. Children's laughter, funny and sinister at the same time. The windows are fogged up, you can't see anything. I approach the window, trying to see something. At this time, a child's hand suddenly beats on the glass from the other side and slides down. I scream in surprise. I move into the front seat. Frantically looking for the keys. Nowhere. I pat my pockets. The laughter doesn't stop. The car is shaking harder and harder. Smells like burning. The keys are in the ignition. The motor roars. I turn on the headlights automatically. Children stand in a dense line in front of the car. There are twenty of them. They are dressed in old, still Soviet-style, official pajamas. There are black spots on their faces and clothes. Reverse gear. Over bumps, howling engine. Children's figures are removed, one of them waves his hand. I take off on the highway, gas to the floor, I fly like crazy. Only now I notice that it is pouring rain.
DPS post. I turn to him, almost crash into the wall, jump out, rush to the surprised guard, confusingly tell what happened. He laughs, tests me for alcohol. Starts to itself, suggests to have a rest. Interested in where it was. I am telling. He listens attentively, then darkens, exchanges glances with his partner. Then they tell me a mystical story. There was a children's boarding school in that place, it burned down in the late eighties, almost all the pupils died. Then he assures me that I just had a nightmare. I agree. Here, in the warmth, in the company of armed traffic cops, everything seems like a dream. After a while, I thank them, get ready and go out to the car. On the hood, almost already washed away by rain, one can see prints of small children's hands covered with soot.
obsession
I've been living alone for two weeks now. My mother recently died - they buried the whole family. I still can’t leave, I never knew my father. A fun life is coming - me and my cat. And it seems to me that I'm slowly starting to go crazy.
Yesterday I returned home from work (I work in shifts as a packer on the assembly line) at three o'clock in the morning, had dinner with my favorite Doshirak and went to bed. The mobile phone, as usual, was placed on the bedside table at the head of the bed. And so, in the morning they called me. Through my sleep, I pressed the answer button and heard:
Hey, son, listen, I've already left for work. Get the chicken out of the freezer, I'll make something tonight.
Okay, mom, - I answered through a dream and hung up.
Half a minute later I was standing over the bathroom sink, washing my face. cold water. I was chilled.
“I wonder who could joke like that? I thought. But the voice was hers! I thought for a long time and eventually came to a non-brilliant conclusion: well, they were joking, and they were joking, not enough idiots, or something. With these thoughts in mind, I went to the kitchen to make my morning coffee.
There was a chicken in the sink. If it were not for the morning sleepiness, I would have fallen into hysterics, and so only my legs gave way. I’m sitting, everything is shaking, but I don’t have enough spirit to get up and do something with this chicken. And then the doorbell rang. Opening the door, I saw the postman. He handed me a letter. The letter had no return address and no name of the addressee. I go to the kitchen, start to open the envelope - and then I'm like a butt on the head. The sink is empty! Not a trace of the damn chicken. I put the letter aside, looked into the freezer - it lies, frozen, in pieces of ice, obviously it has not been taken out for a week, from the very moment I threw it there. “It looks like this,” I thought. - Psychic, crippled by death loved one still makes itself felt." He returned to the letter, took out a folded piece of paper and began to read:
“Dear Tamara Alexandrovna (that was my mother's name), we offer you our sincere condolences on the death of your son. ".
"WHAT?!" - flashed through my head.
". in connection with the death of your son (my name and patronymic were written here) at work.
I fell into a stupor. What happens? A letter comes from my place of work without a return address with my obituary, and they know that she died - I took money for a funeral from the mutual aid fund, and the authorities organized a vacation for me for a week!
In the end, I decided to deal with all this devilry upon arrival from work, got dressed and left. At work, I asked leading questions in the personnel department and in the supply department - given that they looked at me like an idiot, I realized that someone seriously decided to piss me off or put me in a fool. After working through the day with such unhappy thoughts, I went home.
I went into the apartment and immediately felt a strange smell from my mother's room. Did the cat again go out of need where it is not necessary? I took a rag from the bathroom, went into my mother's room and saw a stain on the bed. I turned on the light and almost had a heart attack - I broke out in a cold sweat, pinched in my chest, all I could do was settle down on the floor in a bag and frantically grab air with my mouth. On the mother's bed there was a red-brown stain on half the sheet. To say that I was crazy is to say nothing.
I don't remember how I crumpled this sheet and threw it down the garbage chute. Criminologists call this a "state of passion." I remember myself already in the kitchen, overturning a glass of vodka. And now I'm surfing the Internet and typing this text in order to somehow systematize what is happening to me. To my right is a letter about my death, dated tomorrow, and to my left is a phone that has been ringing for five minutes. Mom calls, and her switched off device lies in the next room. I don't want to answer this call, I really don't want to. But the phone does not want to settle down.
If I manage to survive this night and not go crazy, then tomorrow I will have to go to work on the night shift. But I don't want to die, I don't want to.
Younger brother
Once I spent the night with my friends Sergey and Ira after a fair amount of drinking in honor of their wedding anniversary. Driving in my condition was fraught with an accident, and he has a large house, inherited from his grandmother, where there are many rooms. This is a reasonable offer - especially for a bachelor who is not expected at home.
Look, we often turn off the lights at night, - Serge warned me. - So be more careful. My son is always throwing toys around. Almost killed himself.
I understood everything, took the bed linen and went to bed. Either I went over my impressions that evening, or the new place affected, but I slept badly. I had some kind of nightmares, it was stuffy (and this was wide open open window). At about two o'clock in the morning, I was overcome by a terrible dry land. And if I somehow struggled with nightmares, then thirst made me wake up and go in search of water.
There was no light in the house, as Serge had promised. However, my eyes had already become accustomed to the darkness, so I did not experience any particular problems. When I reached the refrigerator, I took out a pack of cold juice and halved it in one fell swoop. Then I heard a soft, barely audible cry of a child. I frowned. Only Plato, Sergei's four-year-old son, could cry. I stood in the kitchen, listening, but the crying continued, and Ira and Sergey were sleeping too soundly.
I returned the juice to the refrigerator and decided to see what happened to the child. On the one hand, this is not my concern, but to pretend that I did not hear anything, and I could not go to bed. Following the sound, I reached a door at the far end of the corridor and stopped. The crying was definitely coming from behind the door, so I opened it and peered into the room. A typical children's room - a spread out bed on the left, a table by the window, a bulk of the closet as a dark spot on the right side.
Plato? I asked softly. - This is Uncle Denis. Why are you crying?
Someone stirred in the corner. The crying subsided.
“Aha, here is Plato,” I thought, and went into the room. Closing the door behind me, I went up to the baby, who was sitting in the corner, wrapped in a blanket, and softly sobbing, hugging some kind of toy. - Well, - I asked as benevolently as possible, - and why are we roaring?
Plato was silent, then quietly said:
There is a scarecrow here.
He's behind, - the child whispered very quietly. I turned around. There was no one behind.
He's in the closet, - Plato stood next to me. - Waiting for you to leave.
I, muttering the words put at such moments, that it was all a dream and there was nothing here, went to the closet. Plato remained standing in the corner.
See? It's empty, - I said and opened the door. The closet was empty. I persuaded Plato to go to bed, wished him good night and promised to immediately punish any scarecrow within this house.
Sergey woke me up in the morning. We had breakfast and started going fishing. Already near the lake, I remembered my night adventure and told it to my friend. Serge was silent.
What? I looked at my friend in surprise. He was pale as death.
Plato slept all night with us. And in the back room along the corridor many years ago my older brother slept.
He was found dead when he was four. He said he saw something coming out of the closet.
Unsuccessful purchase. real story
My girlfriend and I somehow decided to make repairs - there was a mini-flood in the kitchen (suddenly they gave hot water), and the linoleum fell into disrepair. We decided to buy a new one. We went to the construction supermarket. There was linoleum in the department, but expensive. My girlfriend and I are not rich - we didn’t want to spend crazy thousands of rubles on repairs, and asked the consultant where the solutions are cheaper. The consultant silently pointed to the discount department.
In the corner of the department, on the bottom shelf, he hung - a fat, handsome, beige man with a geometric pattern in the form of triangles, soft to the touch. The price per meter was so ridiculous that we immediately decided to take it and asked to cut off the right amount for us. Coincidence, but that's how much was on the roll.
The first oddity was waiting for us in the supermarket - this product was not in the barcode database. They wanted to give a damn about the dream, but it turned out that the linoleum was brought by a freelance truck with yogurts a few hours ago and simply did not have time to bring it in. We never found the reason for the markdown, the consultant said something about a fire at the plant, although our roll was clearly not damaged. On the way home, the girl noted that he smelled strange - sweet and spicy. It wasn't a burning smell, more like a light oriental incense.
We noticed the second oddity when we brought the roll home and started preparing for the replacement. Our cat, a half-yard Siamese, looked strangely at the linoleum, poked it with her paw, and suddenly jumped back with a terrible hiss, flattening her ears. Apparently she didn't like his smell. We laughed at the unreasonable animal and set to work. By the end of the day, the kitchen looked great - the linoleum laid down perfectly and did not even require ironing. It was more pleasant for the feet than a pile carpet - it was warm. This was not surprising, it was July outside the window, but it was warm in moderation, as if adjusting to our temperature.
At night, the girl pushed me aside and said in a whisper - we have problems. At first I did not understand what was the matter, but then I heard - measured slaps were heard from the kitchen, like those that can be heard in the pool. Rare but distinct. And the creak of wood. We live on the first floor, we do not close the window, therefore, the idea arose of a night thief.
Gathering his strength, he took a flashlight and resolutely jumped into the kitchen. No one, only the wind is blowing and drunkards are screaming outside the window. Empty. I climbed into the chest of drawers, took out vodka and drank a glass, the girl drank the second. We went back to bed and fell asleep safely.
The next morning, a third oddity was discovered - our cat had gone somewhere. They climbed the whole apartment, even the entrance (you never know, she could get out), walked around the area and called her for a long time - the result is zero. It was very pitiful, but the feeling of something unearthly and dangerous was mixed with pity, something that caused chills on the back and goosebumps.
At night, after a stormy lovemaking, I turned to the wall, but my girlfriend could not sleep. She was saying something (calmly, not anxiously), and I listened to her half-heartedly and fell asleep. The last thing I remember is that she got off the bed and went to drink water.
I dreamed that I was walking down the corridor and I saw a door from under which there was a rumble and a pale pink light broke through. I reach out to her hands, and she suddenly swings open. What was behind her was so terrible that I woke up in a cold sweat.
It was already morning, the birds were singing outside the window and the sun was shining. I rolled over on the other side in order to hug my beloved. The bed was empty.
All the girl's things were in place, clothes hung on hangers. Friends were silent and said that she could only be with me. We filed a complaint with the police, but the search was unsuccessful. It was terrible. Every night I dreamed of this door, I stopped eating normally and going to work.
A week after the disappearance of the girl, the kitchen began to smell strange. It was the now familiar, but intensified, smell of linoleum, with an admixture of something nauseating. I thought about the dump, but it was not in it. Something reddish-brown was visible from under the edge of the linoleum. I tore off the linoleum with trembling hands and vomited.
The floor under the linoleum was covered with rotting bloody porridge. The worst thing was waiting for me on the back of the linoleum - there were burnt prints of four cat's paws and two female feet.
Reasoning on the topic of mystical stories from the editor of ScaryStory
Why do we all love mystical stories so much? For someone (like me here;)) scary stories are associated with childhood, when we all loved to sit around the fire on dark nights telling mystical stories to each other, eat baked potatoes with salt and bread and get untold pleasure from it.
Feelings and experiences associated with some special feeling of comfort that settled in the soul, remained with us forever. And it is unlikely that anyone will disagree with me that in our life there is a lot of inexplicable mystical and mysterious. Despite the fact that we all grew up a long time ago, got an education, work at a solid job, communicate with different people, events still occur in our lives that we cannot always explain from the point of view of rationality.
For some it's an interesting coincidence, for some it's real mystical cases. Some of my acquaintances even claim that they have personally seen a UFO, aliens or a ghost. And you know, being a skeptic by nature, I believe many people.
The mystical experience inherent in every person has been embedded in him since the time of our distant hairy ancestors. As then, people sitting by the fire and eating a mammoth believed that the Dark World around them was filled with spirits, various unusual creatures, so today in our scientific world there is room for the inexplicable and the mysterious. For modern man, as for the Neanderthal, mystical stories begin exactly where the light of a light bulb ends.
It is worth getting into the forest or the territory of an abandoned estate on a dark evening, as the air around is filled with demons, mermaids, goblin, brownies and other mystical evil spirits. Our brain, fed by horror films, which has not forgotten grandmother's tales, paints a picture with oil. Every rustle, every creak of the floorboards of the old house seems menacing, and the shadows dancing on the walls appear to us as mystical creatures.
A mystical story is also a fairy tale, returning us to the world of childhood and mystery. If you understand what I mean and, just like you, I love mysticism, Welcome to the site where I have collected mystical and mysterious stories from different people told at different times
Happy reading, friends!
Write in the comments if you are the same as me :)))))))
