Come with me.

 My mother told me about this incident. In the village where she spent her childhood, there lived a very prominent peasant Timofey with his beautiful wife Tatiana. For some reason they had no children, but they loved each other enviously.

One winter, Tatiana caught a cold, fell ill, and died. Timofey buried her, and since then things have been going wrong with him: he doesn't leave the house, he doesn't really work, he just drinks vodka and pours tears for Tatiana. And the old people had already warned him that he shouldn't grieve so much for the dead, it wasn't good. The man didn't listen to them.

And one evening, in the Epiphany frosts, Timofey was sitting at home and pouring vodka over his grief, when suddenly the door opened and Tatiana entered his hut. And Timofey was already drunk, so he wasn't too surprised. He was overjoyed, rushed to his wife, hugged her, kissed her... And she says to him, come with me, just don't take a sheepskin coat or a hat. Timofey, as he left the house, realized for himself that warm clothes were unnecessary: it was summer outside!.. And then three black horses rolled up. Tatiana got into the carriage, and Timofey put his foot on the step, and then, as usual, crossed himself.

At the same moment, everything was gone — neither troika, nor Tatiana, but Timofey sees that he is standing near the cemetery gate. Undressed, and there's a snowstorm, frost all around, and it's going to be at least three kilometers to the house. It's good that I figured out to run to the nearest village, to a friend. That saved him.