Open it...

 As a child, I was often tormented by one nightmare: late at night, my mother was in the kitchen washing dishes, and then there was a knock on the front door. I go to open it, go to the door and hear a quiet but distinct whisper from there: "Open it." My hands are shaking, it's getting so scary... The whispering continues: "Come on, open it... Be brave... I'm going in anyway... Come on, open it... open up..." I run to my mom, pulling her sleeve. Mom reluctantly comes to the door, but she doesn't hear any knocking or whispering — she turns around and goes off to do her own thing, and I stay at the door. Exhaling with relief, I turn around to go to my room — and then there's another knock and an insinuating whisper: "See? Open it...".

But it wasn't just in my dreams. Sometimes at night I would wake up to a soft knock on the window. We lived on the eighth floor without a balcony. Sitting up in bed, I saw a thin long finger tapping softly on the window. And I heard a familiar whisper: "Open up...".

Don't believe me, laugh, come up with explanations. But I know it's true, even though now even I sometimes feel like a stupid fear inspired by a child's imagination. But lately, this half-forgotten fear has been haunting me with renewed vigor, making me shiver under the covers on dark nights. Because this is the third night my daughter wakes me up, with tears in her eyes, telling me about a creature that knocks on the window and whispers: "Open...".

And I do not know how to help her...

A comatose nightmare

 We were sitting at a friend's birthday party once. Most of the guests had already left, and my old friend and I were sitting in the kitchen, smoking and chatting about all sorts of things. My friend, by the way, spent two weeks in a coma as a result of the accident. When it came to the mystical, I jokingly asked him if he had seen a light at the end of the tunnel or something like that. He somehow changed his face and became gloomy, but the alcohol he drank loosened his tongue, and he told me this story. Next, I tell you from his words.

"I woke up in a room unknown to me. My head ached unbearably and I was terribly thirsty. At first I thought it was a hangover, and I began to remember where I had managed to get so drunk. I remembered waking up in the morning and having breakfast, and then my father asked me to help move my old things to the cottage. I got in the car and drove around Leningradka. An old Zemfira song was playing on the radio. But I couldn't remember what happened after that. I didn't know where I was or how I got here.

The room looked like a hospital ward, but the devastation, dirt, and stench were such that the thought of it being a hospital made one feel sick. In the hallway and lobby of the hospital (and I managed to make sure that it was a hospital — the reception desk, the nurse on duty, scattered syringes and broken hospital equipment left no doubt here and there), the same devastation reigned. I went outside, and it was night. Despite the light of the few lanterns, it was possible to see everything quite well. I recognized the street and the hospital—my house was two blocks away. There was not a single living soul nearby, no sounds, just the wind. The whole city looked as if all the people had disappeared somewhere twenty years ago.

I didn't understand at all what was going on, and the suspense was frightening. I decided to go home, hoping for something. I was halfway there when I suddenly felt someone's presence. At that moment, I was glad that there was someone else here. When I felt his gaze on my back, I turned around...

There was a huge creature standing about seventy meters away from me. Her head reached the level of the second floor. Most of all, she looked like a monkey. Her skin was brownish-red and shiny (now I think that maybe she didn't have any skin at all). There were huge claws on her paws. The muzzle looked like a dog's—I saw a lot of sharp fangs in its mouth. The creature looked at me and sniffed, saliva dripped from its mouth; it smelled of rotten meat. I couldn't move, animal terror held me down. He probably would have stood there, but then this creature raised its muzzle to the sky and howled. This terrifying howl, tearing my ears, brought me out of my trance, and I rushed like a bullet into the entrance of the nearest house. The creature did not accept attempts to enter my shelter, which surprised me. I went up to the fifth floor and looked out the window. She stood in front of the entrance and waited patiently for me to come out.

I realized that I couldn't get out of this entrance. There were no doors to the basement or roof, the apartment doors were securely locked, and I checked them all. Exhausted, I huddled in a corner and cried. I was hysterical—I was crying like a little kid, at the top of my voice. I don't know how long I sat there like that, but eventually I fell asleep.

I woke up in the hospital, in a normal hospital. His mother was there. I can't describe how happy I was at that moment."

A friend told me this story. It's a little scary for me to die now if "on the other side" we are not waiting for a friendly corridor with a light at the end, but an empty city with a terrible creature...

The Swamp thing. Part 1

A boy, about eleven years old, picked up a stone and, aiming at something, threw it. With a loud and lingering splash, the stone fell into the water.

— Bli-in... — the boy drawled in frustration and squatted down to pick up a new shell.

Vitalik found a suitable one, picked it up, and turned around just in case. No, grandfather hasn't left the garage yet: the gates are open, and the car (an old "six") is still standing on the street. The setting sun was reflected in the side windows of the car, making them sparkle fiercely. The boy smiled: Well, he still had at least five minutes to play.

— I see a fascist "submarine"... battery, aim... five degrees to the left...  The kid muttered to himself. He narrowed his brown eyes, taking aim, and shouted, "FIRE!"

The thrown projectile splashed into a small river, causing the "submarine" (played by a bottle of "solvent") to sway on the waves. Vitalik grunted and sat down again, hoping to find another stone.

The August sun flooded the garages with a pleasant, slightly diffused light. The river—if a stream four meters wide could be called a river—shone iridescent with oil and gasoline stains, which, however, did not bother the garage owners. Empty bottles of vodka, beer, and solvent lay scattered here and there on the bank overgrown with stunted reeds, interspersed with pieces of iron that looked strange to the boy, the contours of which were securely hidden by a layer of oil and dirt. The kid found a piece of asphalt and got to his feet. He looked hopefully back at the garage again. No one.

Aim, throw...

— Fire!... — a pause and almost immediately a disappointed sigh, — eeeehh!

The stone lightly struck the side of the bottle, but did not break it. However, Vital was not very upset: the game was interesting and he did not want to go home yet.

At the age of eleven, Vitalik understood that his mother would not approve of such fun. How, how, to pick up stones and throw them into bottles with a very specific purpose — so that they break! The boy even wrinkled his sunburned nose, imagining how she scolded him for dirty knees and explained that breaking bottles is not a cultural thing. He knew that his mother was probably right, but he liked this game: if he hit it well, the glass would shatter, and the bottle with the broken neck would sink to the bottom in such a funny way!..

There was the sound of an engine starting and the boy turned around. That's right, it's time to go home — grandpa was putting the car in the garage. Vital sighed, threw the last stone — missed again!  And he walked away from the river.

Grandpa had already driven the car and Vital looked into the cool interior of the garage. It always seemed to the boy like a cave full of incomprehensible treasures. Shelves along both walls were full of all kinds of spare parts; one was completely filled with boxes, in which, as the boy knew, you could find rusty nails, huge bolts with nuts screwed on them, and a bunch of other incomprehensible devices and pieces. Against the far wall lay a rolled-up inflatable boat, on which he and his grandfather had sailed on the lake this summer and caught carp and "rotans". There were broken skis with only one stick nearby.

His grandfather was sitting in the cabin of the "six" with Uncle Lesha, a neighbor in the garages. They were talking about something, sometimes laughing. Vital saw a neighbor take a bottle out from under his feet and pour something - probably vodka - into glasses. The men clinked glasses and drank.

Vital sighed and went to the car.

— Hello, Vitalka! — Uncle Lyosha greeted me. His horse-like face was flushed, and he squinted myopically at the boy through dirty round glasses with cheap plastic frames.

—Hello, Uncle Lyosha,— the boy replied without much enthusiasm.

Grandfather looked at him and said:

— Now, we'll go in about five minutes. Play for now.

Vitalik nodded and left the garage.

It's Uncle Lyosha again... Today, my grandfather might not have been drinking if it hadn't been for the neighbor.

Vital sighed. He had a very vague idea why adults drink, but he liked that his grandfather was becoming cheerful and good-natured. But then Grandma would start yelling again, and they'd probably have a fight. This means that grandpa will gloomily watch TV for the rest of the evening, and grandma will go to a bench near the house and sit there until it gets dark. And Vitalka won't see the promised pancakes as his ears.

The boy went out into the middle of the dusty passage between the townspeople, and began to pick at the gray mud with the tip of his sandal, absently thinking about delicious pancakes with jam. The sun was sinking towards the horizon, and occasionally the sound of cars could be heard from the road behind the garage cooperative. A train horn sounded from afar. The boy raised his head and hopefully thought that maybe he would be lucky and his grandfather would allow him to put a couple of 2 kopecks on the rails. That would be great! Vital promised to show the guys in the yard what coins turn into after the train passes over them...

A car door slammed behind him, Vitali turned around and saw his grandfather locking the six. Uncle Lyosha had already left the garage and was now standing, wiping his glasses with a T-shirt.

— Lech, — grandfather nodded at the garage door.

— Now, wait a minute! — Uncle Lyosha finished wiping his glasses, and began to help close the garage.

— Well, that's it, let's go, Vitalka! — said the grandfather and smiled cheerfully.

"Home?" — the boy asked. I clarified it because Uncle Lyosha could well have offered his grandfather to go to the nearest wine bar.

Grandpa nodded and smiled again.:

— Yeah, home. Making pancakes.

— Hurrah! Honestly?

Grandpa put a big warm hand on the back of the boy's head:

- of course.

— Great! And the grandmother...

"I wouldn't mind pancakes with sour cream either,— Uncle Lyosha chimed in.

Grandpa pulled a beret over his head and grinned:

— Let your wife cook for you, be awesome.

The neighbor jokingly swung at the grandfather, and they laughed. Vitalka joined them, completely forgetting about his recent unhappy thoughts.

So they walked along the passage between the garages: the adults a little in front, Vitalka following, five meters behind. Grandpa and Uncle Lyosha were talking about something, but the boy wasn't listening, he wasn't very interested, and he didn't like his grandfather when his grandson started "warming his ears," as he called it. So the boy walked behind, hardly paying attention to the elders. He looked down at his feet, hoping to find a coin, which would be a very wonderful end to a wonderful day. Yes, I should have remembered to ask Grandpa to wait for the train and put it down...

Alexey laughed loudly in front.

— You're giving it, Sergeyich!  Uncle Lyosha exclaimed. Vitalka looked at the adults with interest. —Did you just tell her that?"..

— Be quiet! — grandfather tsked at him, turned around and looked at Vitalik.

"Come on, come on, I'm sorry," Alexei said, giggling, and lowered his voice so that only vague fragments of words reached the boy again.

The Swamp thing. Part 2

 The sun flooded the earth with orange light, forcing the adults to cast long, slightly blurred shadows. The breeze died down, and somewhere in the distance the whistle of a steam locomotive was heard again, followed by the lonely barking of a dog.

Not knowing what else to do, Vitalka began to memorize the numbers of garages, the doors of which were painted green — the usual shade was some kind of red, similar to rust. It's still a twenty-minute walk to the bus stop, it's boring. He walked along, a little regretting that he hadn't found a single coin and that he couldn't hear what the adults were saying. Probably about something funny, Uncle Lyosha is still giggling. Eh-huh... So, "515" is green... "497" too...

There was a walking man painted in white chalk on the gate of garage 471.

Vital approached the gate, not really knowing what attracted him so much to the drawing. An ordinary sketch made by a child's hand: a man was walking somewhere with a smile on his round face, with his hands in the pockets of wide trousers, and a cap on his head. He had seen this drawing before, but where?

Vital looked at the adults, and wanted to call them to look too, but suddenly changed his mind.

The boy took one last look at the drawing and ran after the men.

— ...the swamp will be drained," Uncle Lyosha lit another cigarette. Vitalik was walking half a meter away from them. — At the last meeting, Vitek said that money had been found for this case. We need to make it before the cold weather, while the weather is good.

"Well, they've been talking about it for two years," Grandpa replied.

—Yeah, that's right... It just seems like we've decided now," Alexey shrugged his shoulders. — Maybe we will be asked to help as members of the cooperative.

Grandpa chuckled, and then said:

— This swamp used to be much bigger... and the cemetery is old on Berezhka. Then the cemetery was moved, the land is painfully convenient for building... Well, the swamp was partially drained, but not completely, I don't know why.

"I probably didn't have enough money, as usual," Uncle Lyosha coughed and spat on the road. — Eternal trouble. Listen, do you know Mitya Tolstoy? He sort of worked at your factory.

— I remember there was one.

— So imagine, he died recently. They say it's cancer...

The adults again started some kind of incomprehensible conversation about the unknown Vital Mitya, and the boy fell behind. As he walked, he thought about how he could die of cancer, and there didn't seem to be anything particularly scary about him. Besides, the crayfish are delicious, they then caught a whole bucket in the river near the cottage. Maybe he bit where with his claws? I'll have to ask later...

Suddenly, there was a long, drawn-out howl, followed by hoarse barking. Vital started and looked back, expecting to see a dog making such a mournful sound.

Nothing: the same garages, refreshed by the slanting rays of the orange-like setting sun. Nothing unusual, only...

"THE SWAMP"

The boy looked confusedly at the garage gate they were passing: it was on them that this word was written diagonally. In the same white chalk as that drawing. It was just a swamp, nothing more, but the boy suddenly felt uncomfortable. Why would anyone write "swamp" on a garage? Maybe, of course, his peers were joking (he himself sometimes drew and wrote all sorts of nonsense on the walls of houses and on asphalt). But one word "swamp" — what's the point?

Vital looked confusedly at the setting sun, which was almost close to the roofs of the garages. Now it was not orange, but a little reddish, pulled up by a haze, as if some hot liquid was bursting it from the inside.

"THE BOY IS HERE"

The kid even stumbled when he saw the new inscription on the next gate. It was indistinct, as if written with a trembling hand, but still quite legible.

And again it was written diagonally.

—Grandpa,— Vitalik called uncertainly, but Vitalik did not hear him: they were arguing in low voices with Uncle Lyosha.

Vital caught up with the adults and walked as close to them as possible, not listening to the voices. He looked around, feeling a sense of unease he couldn't understand. The road he had walked a hundred times seemed strange in the light of the reddish sun, as if it had suddenly been taken and replaced by some unfamiliar one.

There were no more inscriptions, and the boy began to calm down, when suddenly the long-drawn howl sounded again. Suddenly, the sound stopped abruptly on one note. The adults fell silent and exchanged glances.

"They've got mongrels," Uncle Lyosha said through his teeth. He adjusted his glasses and lit another cigarette.

—Yeah, like uncut dogs,— Grandpa replied, and they laughed.

Vital pulled his grandfather's sleeve.

"What is it?"  The grandfather looked at the boy.

"What does that mean, Grandpa?"  Vitalik asked.

"Eh?" You about...  But then he saw it for himself.

There was a white inscription clearly visible on the gate on the left, which they were passing by now.:

"SHAB-NIGGURAT IS COMING"

The three of them walked up to the old, rusted gate.

"Yeah, someone's not watching their garage at all," Uncle Lyosha muttered under his breath. He took off his glasses and began to wipe them off from dirt and dust again, as unsuccessfully as the first time.

"What is it, Grandpa?" — the boy asked again.

"I don't know, Vitalka,— he read the inscription again. — Someone was messing around.

—Okay, let's go,— Alexey replied. He only glanced at the inscription that alarmed the boy. — I feel like sleeping, there's still football tonight.

— Yeah, let's go, Vital, — the grandfather took the boy by the hand and they started walking towards the exit of the garages again.

Vital was glad that he was walking next to adults, but he still felt somehow uncomfortable. There was something unpleasant about the gibberish written on the rusty iron. Here they passed another intersection — straight rows of garages went off in all directions. The boy remembered this place, which meant that it took seven minutes, at most ten, to walk to the bus stop.

"What the hell is this?"  Uncle Lyosha drawled.

Vital stopped looking at the garages they were passing and looked ahead.

The exit that he and his grandfather always went through was closed by a gate.

—That's it,— said the grandfather. "Where did they come from?"

Uncle Lyosha was the first to approach the shutters and shake them.

"Who the hell knows. It's also locked," he angrily pulled the old padlock. — Did you climb?

He had already put his foot on the bottom rung.

— And what about Vitalka?  Grandfather asked. "It's about three meters away, and I can't carry him on my back."

Vitalka looked fearfully at the high gates, and then turned his gaze to his grandfather. No, of course, he liked to climb all sorts of fences, but at such a height...

The Swamp thing. Part 3

 Uncle Lyosha grunted and put his foot on the ground.

—  , 3Sergeyich, let's take a detour.

Vital nodded happily, as if something depended on his decision.

Grandfather looked at the gate once more, and together they walked back to the fork.

"Let's go to the left,— Uncle Lyosha said.

He started walking without waiting for an answer, and the grandfather and grandson followed him. Vital held his grandfather's hand tightly, afraid that he would not let him go. The boy kept looking around: they had never walked this way.

Vitalka carefully peered at the doors of the garages they passed, but did not notice anything unusual. Except that the iron of the gate was increasingly old and rusty. In places, Vital saw traces of dents, as if the drivers were drunk when parking their cars. Piles of garbage of unknown origin could be seen here and there. The road was also getting worse, and the sun was almost completely hidden behind the roofs of the garages and the light was noticeably less.

—Holy shit!  Uncle Lyosha swore and waved his arms to keep his balance. — What are they doing here?.Did you really oh.. eat?!

He angrily kicked some crooked piece of metal, which flew a couple of meters and hit the door of the nearest garage with a loud bang.

And then the dogs start barking, loud and angry. Grandfather shuddered and looked around: it felt like the dogs were barking somewhere in the next garage passage.

—Let's go," he said after a pause.

—Yeah,— Uncle Lyosha nodded, took out a cigarette, lit it. His hands were shaking slightly.

They walked down the aisle past the gloomy garages, walking much faster than before. The barking of the dogs did not stop and, as it seemed to Vitale, did not lag behind them. It was as if they were being chased.

The adults didn't talk, just concentrated on walking right in the middle of the driveway, as if they didn't want to approach the garages, which stared sullenly at the men with their crumpled and rusty gates.

They passed a garage, the gates of which had fallen in. The damp darkness of the sinkhole breathed on the boy with some kind of musty smell, a little like the one in the cellar at the cottage. The smell of rotting potatoes and old dampness. At dusk, Vital saw some kind of living creature, the size of a cat, scurry into the darkness.

Vital looked fearfully into his grandfather's face, on which there was no trace of his former gaiety: he stared ahead intently, occasionally glancing for some reason at the roofs of the garages they passed. The barking wouldn't stop.

—Damn, it's fucking weird,— Uncle Lyosha said and stopped. "We should have reached the exit a long time ago. And here...

He waved his hand forward: in front of them lay the same narrow dirty "street", squeezed on all sides by closed and unkempt garages. Garbage was now not only near garages, but also right in the middle of the road. To Vital's bewilderment, he saw a dilapidated garage: the roof had collapsed inside, one bent gate leaf was lying right on the road, and the second was miraculously hanging on the bottom hinge.

"What the hell kind of garages are these?" Uncle Lyosha asked quietly, and Vital realized that he was worried.

"I don't know,— Grandfather replied. He looked up at the sky, at the roofs of the garages, and said, "It's going to get dark soon. We need to go faster.

Alexey did not answer, nodded and started walking forward again. The sun had almost completely disappeared behind the garages, only peeking out from behind them like some kind of gloomy half-closed eye.

Vital was already so used to the sound of invisible dogs barking that it took him a moment to realize what had happened.

"They're quiet,— Uncle Lyosha said. Relief showed on his face, which was indistinctly visible in the twilight. He stopped and looked around.

— Okay, Lech, let's go. There's nothing to hang around here, otherwise... — the grandfather did not finish the sentence and for some reason looked at the boy.

They started walking again. Vital looked at the ruined buildings around him at dusk and did not understand anything. He looked up at the sky above his head and was surprised by the gray-purple tone of the clouds, as if someone had spilled tomato juice on the dirty ground. Tomato juice or...

Uncle Lyosha shouted and waved his arms. At the first absurd moment, Vital thought that he was going to take off, but then he realized: it was an attempt to keep his balance.

The grandfather let go of the boy's hand and ran up to Alexey.

"What is it?" You?..  Grandfather began, but then he fell silent, staring at something under Uncle Lyosha's feet: he was already squatting down and carefully examining something on the ground. Vital cautiously came closer and also looked down. At first, he did not understand what they were looking at — not at a rusty piece of iron of unknown origin! —and then I saw it.

Some kind of black liquid was leaking onto the road. A half-meter wide stream has already flowed about half the distance to the opposite garages. The liquid glistened dully in the last rays of the setting sun: it seemed to reflect the rays like glass. Vital looked in the direction of the garage from which the thing was flowing, but he couldn't see anything, it was too dark.

"What kind of filth is that?"  Grandfather asked. He looked at the slowly spreading puddle with some kind of disgusted bewilderment. When the substance, obeying the vagaries of the cracked asphalt, flowed closer to him, he removed his foot.

— Oil, probably...  Alexey answered uncertainly. He ran a hand absently over his forehead, wiping away sweat."Or fuel oil... listen, there's probably a whole barrel of fuel oil leaking!"

Uncle Lyosha suddenly jumped up from his crouches and went to the garage, from which a nasty-looking stream was pouring out.

— Lech, I wouldn't... — grandfather began, but then there was a long, long sigh in the garage.

Vital started and grabbed his grandfather's arm. He looked at his grandfather in fright and with mute pleading.

Uncle Lyosha froze and looked around hesitantly.

"Who."..  He coughed. "Who's there?"

No one answered. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.

"Did you hear that?" I thought i heard...  He didn't finish. There was another long sigh, and then a barely audible squelch.

—Hey, is anyone there?".. — I didn't wait for an answer and said, — Listen, Sergeyich, we need to check. Maybe something happened.

Grandfather was silent, and during these seconds Vital hopefully thought that he would refuse, say, there's nothing to do here, let's go home, forget it...

"Vital, wait here," the grandfather said in a cold, strange voice and let go of the boy's hand.

— Grandpa, not on...

— Wait here, Vitalka. I'll be right there," he started walking towards the garage.

The boy almost cried.

Grandfather approached Uncle Lyosha, who was peering into the dark dampness of the garage and, apparently, could not see anything in it.

"Do you need help?"  Grandfather asked loudly. Then he turned to Alexei and asked, "Do you have any matches?"

—Better," he replied, and took out a lighter. There was a click, and a small light danced in his hand. Vital shivered: it seemed to him that it had become even darker.

Alexey held out his hand with a lighter and stepped forward.

The Swamp thing. Part 4

 — Hey, we're coming to you! — it's unclear who he warned and, ducking down so as not to touch the hanging board, went into the garage.

Trembling, Vital watched as Alexey and his grandfather stepped over piles of junk, while trying not to step on the shiny stream flowing under their feet. Uncle Lyosha barely made a sound, stepped on something, kicked aside the board that was in the way. Periodically, he extinguished the lighter, letting it cool down.

"Nobody.".. — Grandfather's voice came. Vital exhaled. — It seemed like it.

—Yeah, probably,— Alexey replied. There was relief in his voice. Maybe the wind...

They walked to the exit, still trying not to step on the liquid flowing from the side. Grandfather walked in front.

— Hey, Sergeyich, come here! That's where this stuff is coming from!

Vital, who came closer, shuddered. He squinted into the depths of the garage.

Uncle Lyosha was squatting down again. The grandfather came closer and looked over his shoulder.

— Ugh, what an abomination, huh?  Alexey asked with a chuckle. "It looks like it's in the cellar somewhere, don't you think?"

The silhouette of my grandfather, clearly outlined by the flame of a lighter, shrugged his shoulders. Unable to contain his curiosity, Vital got closer.

It was a perfectly round hole located closer to the left wall of the garage. The hole was about thirty centimeters in diameter, and it was amazing that none of the elders had put their foot in it. Vital saw a smooth surface on which the glare of the fire danced. It seemed that it was not liquid at all, but black ice: only a thin streamlet slowly oozed out of this cavern. The surface of the slurry suddenly swelled into a bubble, which almost immediately burst with a sound like a sigh. A very unpleasant sound.

"That's what we heard," Uncle Lyosha said faintly. He extended the finger of his right hand almost to the surface of the hole. "I thought someone was sighing."..

—Okay, let's go," the grandfather said and took a step back, almost bumping into his grandson. — There's nothing to do here, let the garage owner sort it out...

He didn't have time to finish.

Another bubble of air floated to the surface and with the same nasty wet exhale burst, spraying droplets of black muck around.

—Damn it!  Uncle Lyosha shouted and jumped up. He still had a burning lighter in one hand and was wiping his other hand on his trousers.

"The damn thing got on my pa."..  He suddenly stopped talking, cocked his head to one side, as if listening to something.

And then he screamed.

From surprise and fright, Vital also screamed, took a step back and flopped on his ass. He watched in horror as Uncle Lyosha, glasses flashing, jumped up and down, shaking his hand as if trying to extinguish the fire.

He jumps and screams.

— Booooo! Booolnoo!

Grandfather jumped up to Alexey and tried to grab him.

— Lech, what happened?! What the fuck happened?!

— It hurts! On your finger!.. ooo!!

Suddenly Alexey howled, and immediately the dogs, who had been silent until now, joined his voice.

Vital was roaring.

Grandfather was screaming.

Uncle Lyosha jumped forward, away from the garage, pushing the stunned grandfather along the way so that he flew against the wall. The lighter had fallen to the floor, but it hadn't gone out, and now shadows were jumping on the garage walls in a wild parody of dancing. Alexei, his eyes bulging with pain and white, which seemed even bigger because of the miraculously held glasses, ran at the boy. Horrified, Vital began to crawl back, almost touching the mud flowing on the ground with his left hand. Alexei was rushing straight at him, clearly unable to see anything from the pain. Vitalka squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the blow.

Suddenly Alexey stopped screaming, froze, and the boy was surprised to see that the man's eyes were even more bulging. It seemed like they would fall out of their sockets just a little bit more.

—Pain...— Alexey began, and suddenly the hand he was holding in front of him jerked back. It looked like someone had twisted it. His glasses had slipped down his nose.

— AHHH!  Uncle Lyosha shouted again. Vital watched in fear as his arm twisted. Someone or something was pulling him back to the garage. The man was jerked around with his back to the boy.

The grandfather ran up to the screaming neighbor.

"What happened?" What...  Then he saw how tense Alexei's face was. It was as if he was fighting with someone invisible.

— It pulls...  Alexey began, and then he was jerked again, he literally flew into the garage, pushing his grandfather aside again.

"HELP ME!" help me!

Grandfather took a step forward and saw Alexei being pulled forward with his hand towards the cavern, from which a vile liquid was oozing. This hole looked like a greedily open mouth, from which black drool flowed in a thick stream. The food is served.

Alexey resisted as much as he could, but something was stronger. Grandpa grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to pull him back, but it was like trying to stop a skating rink. And when Alexey's hand, which had been hit by a drop of black goo, finally reached the surface of the hole, he screamed. No, he screamed. Without words, just letting out scream after scream into the darkening sky. The grandfather screamed, trying his best to help his friend, but he was slowly being pulled into the hole, inch by inch.

Vital put his hands over his ears and closed his eyes.

Strong arms grabbed him, and Vitalka shouted: for some reason he thought it was Uncle Lyosha.

"Come on!"  Grandfather shouted. "Just don't look there!"..

"MY FACE!" my...

Vital instinctively looked in the direction of the scream and saw how the black liquid, as if in impatience, splashed out of the hole right on Uncle Lyosha's face. The scream was immediately cut off, and there was only a nasty gurgle as the man involuntarily swallowed what was being forced into him.

Uncle Lyosha's body jerked and went limp, while something continued to methodically pull the prey into the hole. Now that Alexey wasn't resisting, things went faster.

The boy gasped and lost consciousness.

He woke up just a minute later. His grandfather carried him in his arms as garages flashed by. Grandpa was breathing heavily: after all, he wasn't thirty years old, but he was walking pretty fast.

"Grandpa, I..." he coughed.

— Vitalka!  He stopped and lowered the boy to the ground. "Can you walk?"

The boy nodded. He opened his mouth to ask about Uncle Lyosha, but his grandfather interrupted.:

For some reason, he kept looking over his grandson's shoulder. Back the way they came from. Vitalka looked around, but saw nothing. The dogs were howling all around.

The man got up from his crouch and, taking the boy by the hand, quickly walked forward. So fast that Vitalka practically ran, just not to lose his step.

Grandfather turned his head from side to side. It looked like he was looking at the roofs of garages. Vital followed his gaze, but saw nothing unusual.

— Grandpa, what are you?..  Vital began and choked.

Dogs were running across the roofs of garages. Vital saw only vague shadows, occasionally flickering in the dark when the creatures had to jump through holes. The howling didn't stop for a second. The boy started crying from fright.

— Don't be afraid, Vitalka, don't be afraid...  Grandfather muttered. He didn't take his eyes off the roofs of the garages. — We'll come home to Grandma soon...

The Swamp thing. Part 5

 He muttered something else soothing, but Vitali hardly listened to him, he was too scared. Tears blurred his eyes, but it was, in a sense, a relief: he did not want to look at the dogs running on the roof. If they were dogs. The boy closed his eyes and walked like that, not seeing anything.

"Your mother."..  Grandfather muttered. —Really...

Startled, Vitalka opened his eyes. They were still in the garages, but now the boy recognized the place almost immediately. There were no piles of trash, no dilapidated garages. They were a minute away from the exit.

They ran. The howl rose to some kind of completely insane note and suddenly subsided. Vital looked cautiously at the roofs, but saw nothing: there were no dogs.

The grandfather and grandson jumped out of the garage cooperative and ran along a barely visible path towards the railway embankment. Somewhere in the distance, barely audible, a train horn sounded.

Without stopping, they ran along a path made in the middle of a small swamp overgrown with reeds. The path was barely visible at dusk, but Vitalka had walked along it so many times that he hadn't even slowed down.

— Vitalka!..  Grandfather called out to him. — Wait!.. I can't take it anymore... I need to rest...

Grandfather exhaled weakly and leaned his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Mosquitoes were buzzing around, but the boy didn't pay any attention to them.

"Grandfather?" - he asked.

"Right now.".. now... Let me catch my breath.

There was a soft splashing sound to the left of the path.

- what is it? — grandfather straightened up and looked in the direction of the sound.

- me too...

Splashing was heard again, followed by the cracking of the reeds.

Something was rushing towards them through the swamp, hurrying to get out onto the path.

Grandpa grabbed Vitalka by the hand and ran.

They raced along, almost without understanding the road. It was only fifty meters to the railway embankment, and there were lights and people behind it. Vital even heard the noise of cars driving along the road, but he barely heard it, as if from under water, although the road began almost immediately behind the tracks.

The train horn sounded again and Vital saw it, about a kilometer away from them.

The sound of breaking reeds grew louder: something was crashing across the swamp towards them.

"Hurry up!"  Grandfather shouted.

They reached the embankment and began to climb up. The noise of the train grew, the train was approaching. If they don't manage to run across the paths in front of him, then...

The crackling of the reeds subsided and a slurping sound was heard. Vital was afraid to look back, afraid to see what was chasing them.

He was the first to climb the embankment and looked at the train: it was very close.

— Grandpa, hurry up!  The boy bent down to help the old man.

Extending his hand, Vital involuntarily glanced down... And he screamed.

It came straight out of the swamp. A sinking mountain of black muck, from which reeds stuck out here and there like some strange fragments of arrows. Something resembled a man, or rather, a crude parody of a man: two arms, two legs, and a head that seemed to sit directly on his shoulders. It splashed towards the embankment, leaving black blots of footprints behind it. A stinky steam was coming from the creature's body, as if it had just emerged from the hot womb of the demon who gave birth to it.

— COME ON, GRANDPA! "Stop it!" the boy shouted, tears streaming down his cheeks. Grandfather froze, turned around and groaned. And then he started climbing even faster.

The train horn sounded. The creature stopped for a moment — and suddenly its legs gave way, disappeared, and it just crawled forward. And it crawled much faster than it walked.

Grandfather pulled himself up, climbed onto the embankment and grabbed Vital's outstretched hand. The train was nearby, the train flooded the spotlight of the frightened grandfather and grandson.

Vitali, as if fascinated, looked at the creature climbing the slope. She deftly pulled herself up on her "hands", pushing herself up. The slurry shone brightly with reflected light: It was the same substance that killed Uncle Lyosha. The creature, as if sensing the boy's gaze, awkwardly lifted its neckless head and "looked" at the boy.

They only looked at each other for a split second, but it seemed like an eternity to Vitala. He didn't really see anything. To be honest, he saw only one thing, but it was enough for his legs to give way and he would have fallen to the ground if his grandfather hadn't picked him up and yanked him over the rails, running right in front of the moving train.

Just one thing.

Behind them, the train cut off the slightly late abomination from them. Through the sound of the wheels, Vital heard a thick splash, as if jelly had fallen to the ground, and there was something like a loud sigh.

They were on their way home. The driver, a moustached man, looked curiously at the pale, tired and dirty grandfather and grandson. Both were silent, and the driver was in no hurry to start a conversation.

They made it, the train didn't hit them, the creature didn't catch up. Stumbling and falling, they almost tumbled down the embankment and jumped out onto the road. Lanterns were shining here, Vital saw people hurrying somewhere, it was their world, a world in which there are no holes in the ground, dogs running along the roof and black creatures consisting of disgusting slime.

Vital didn't know what his grandfather was thinking, but he was thinking about two things that were directly related to each other. The first is Uncle Lyosha. The boy could not forget how he screamed, it seemed that the echo of that scream was still in the air. And the second thing was that Vital saw when the creature raised its head.

It seemed to the boy that when the creature looked at him, its eyes flashed. His eyes were completely round, and one was located slightly higher than the other. But he realized almost immediately that he was mistaken.

Not the eyes.

Round glasses with cheap plastic frames sat crookedly on the creature's "face."

The Poltergeist

 This is happening in my boyfriend's house, and since we've been living together, it's also happening in my house.

Lyosha's parents bought the apartment before he was born, and the kitchen has not been renovated so far, despite the fact that more than twenty years have passed. And the reason for everything is that a "brownie" lives there, although I'm more inclined to believe that it's a poltergeist.

One has only to try to at least repaint the pipes or paste wallpaper, as an unimaginable horror begins in the house: water pours down the walls, although the pipes do not leak, at night the whole family wakes up to the sound of broken glass or sounds similar to the demolition of walls, but there are no fragments or dust anywhere.

Lyosha's mother says that at first it looked like "innocent pranks" — the brownie braided Lyosha's pigtails in childhood, hid his toys. Later, everything took on a more terrifying scale.

When I started staying with their family at night, I was often woken up by a voice that sounded like it was in my ear, but no one else heard it. Later, it got used to me and stopped annoying me.

And recently we made a terrible mistake. I've read that some entities can be captured with a regular camera. I really thought it was fiction, a joke, and I persuaded my boyfriend to try it. Since it mostly lives in the kitchen, we went there, and I just started taking pictures of what I could find: cabinets, stove, ceiling, pipes.…

Lyosha didn't let me look at the pictures for a long time, but when I finally persuaded him, I saw a distorted reddish face against the white background of the pipe — like a defect in the photo. But I'm sure it lives next to us, and I'm just humanly afraid.

The Ghostly Bride

 In July, we had a rest at our dacha near Ufa, in the village of Milovka. We have a small plot there. There is a well, one for two with a neighbor. Anton Pavlovich is 57 years old, a widower, and he has no children.

We decided to clean the well. It was already evening when we started lifting the gravel. At the bottom of one of the buckets, they found small photographic ceramics, such as are usually installed on monuments. It showed a woman in her thirties with dark long hair and a very pretty face. Guessing how she could have got into the well and not coming to a definite conclusion, I just threw her into the rest of the slag. But her neighbor was much more interested in her. Explaining to me that it was inappropriate to treat the find like that, he took it for himself. I didn't even object.

The next morning, his legs were paralyzed and he was taken to the hospital by ambulance. A month later, he returned home. As it turned out, there was no one to take care of the disabled person. My wife and I decided to help Anton Pavlovich — cook food, keep an eye on the house.

One day his wife came to see him. Going into the kitchen, she heard a voice from the room. As she got closer, she saw that the old man was talking to a photograph. And he made long pauses in the conversation, nodding his head as if listening to the answer. After a while, I personally noticed this. It was the same camera! When I asked what was happening to him, I received a harsh answer: they say it's none of my business. After that, when we visited him, the neighbor hid the photo. He's completely out of his mind, I thought. But he didn't stop helping him. And in conversation, he began to mention more and more often about marrying some Lyudmila, and how she would return from somewhere far away. And when I asked him about People, he answered in monosyllables or didn't say anything at all. And before that, the unsociable man was increasingly withdrawn into himself.

One day I went to see him in the evening. He was just about to knock when he distinctly heard a loud female laugh. He knocked. Two minutes later, a satisfied, smiling neighbor opened the door to me and said, "It's a pity that you missed Luda, she just left" (it's worth noting that the neighbor does not have his own exit to the road. To get out, we need to overcome our area, where a large guard dog, Jack, is sitting by the fence).

After that, I already forgot why I came... When I got home, I told my wife about it. Grinning, she said that I had contracted schizophrenia from my grandfather.

It was a restless night. There was a thunderstorm, but there was no rain, a strong wind was blowing. Jack was running amok on the chain, howling loudly, which kept me awake for a long time.

The morning was overcast. When I went out on the porch to smoke, I noticed that the dog was nowhere to be seen. I called the dog, but there was no reaction. I looked into the booth and saw Jack dead... with a piece of long black hair in his mouth. I went to the neighbor to see if he had heard anything. He knocked. No one answered me. I knocked for another five minutes, thinking he was asleep. He took the spare keys that were hidden in his bathroom. When I opened the door and went into the room, I saw my neighbor sitting in an old armchair, dressed in a formal weekend suit. There was a half-finished bottle of wine and two glasses on the table. The neighbor showed no signs of life. After feeling his pulse, I was convinced that he was dead. He called an ambulance, which ruled death by asphyxiation (mechanical asphyxia). A search of his home did not reveal the very photograph he treasured so much.

The creature under the bed

 The key entered the lock. The maggot clicked briefly. The man took out the key and put it in his pants pocket. He carefully pushed the door, which, as if reluctantly, opened a small crack. Tilting his head to the side, the man peered into it, trying to see what was behind the door. However, he saw nothing but darkness.

He grabbed the backpack lying at his feet by the straps, pushed the door, forcing it open.

"Home, sweet home," a soft voice sounded sadly, and the man crossed the threshold.

Ilya stood in the hallway, trying to get used to the surrounding darkness. Only recently he had been in the light, and now he was alone among vague contours, blurred borders, black shadows and incomprehensible sounds. He took a deep breath and coughed at the dust.

"We need to air it out," he decided for himself, dropped his backpack, there was something rattling, but he did not pay attention to it.

Without taking off his shoes, he walked deeper into the apartment. He stood in front of the dark rectangle of the room. After standing for a few seconds, I felt the light switch. There was a soft click and an electric light flashed in the center of the small room, making the man squint.

"It's been a long time since I've been here," his cheek twitched with displeasure.

Ilya turned around and looked at the open door in the hallway. He quickly approached it, looked out into the corridor, and then closed it, turned the key in the lock several times. He stretched out his hand to the side and flipped the switch.

The man walked around the apartment, turning on the light. When all the lamps and fixtures were lit, he stopped in the middle of the living room, looked around, turning on the spot.

"We'll have to clean up everything here," he looked around once more, noting the thick layer of dust on the shelves, the TV, and the tape recorder. He added bleakly, "Carefully."

Ilya was glad that he had returned home, but after a long flight, an exhausting train ride, and a two-hour traffic jam in a car, he wanted to stumble into the apartment, take a shower, fall on the bed and fall asleep. But he couldn't sleep when everything was covered with a centimeter layer of dust.

—Water, cloth, soap," he commanded himself and went into the bathroom.

A frosty wind blew through the open window, driving the remaining dust into the corners, as if trying to help her hide. Ilya found her there, ruthlessly destroying her with improvised means. The moon looked on impassively at all this, sometimes hiding behind heavy clouds.

Only three hours later, the man tiredly put down the rag, poured out the last bucket of dirty water, put the detergent back in place.

He wiped his sweaty forehead. "All that remains is to take a shower and sleep," he yawned widely, looked towards the bedroom and began to slowly undress, trying not to let the dust that had settled on him scatter around the bathroom.

The newly made bed creaked with displeasure, the mattress bent slightly, taking his weight on itself. Ilya leaned back against the pillows, looked with sleepy eyes at the window, where a bedroom and a man lying in bed were displayed in blurred shapes.

He said a short prayer. He crossed himself. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and, without turning off the light, finally fell asleep.

Ilya opened his eyes when the moon was still reigning outside the window, just as impassively looking at him through the thickness of the glass. In stark contrast to the dark background, light white snow was falling. Some snowflakes, blown by the wind, flew into the room. The man shivered, wrapped himself in a blanket more tightly, remembering that he had forgotten to turn on the thermostat.

"It's cold," he complained to the empty apartment. Then he abruptly threw back the blanket, shuddered from the frost that attacked him, rushed to the radiator and turned the thermostat knob all the way out. He closed the open window and just as quickly got under the covers.

—Half an hour is no more," Ilya gave himself a setup, explained, as if coaxing, "otherwise I'll freeze completely."

He woke up again to the fact that the room was hot, as if he had moved from a snowy, cold city to the tropics. Ilya abruptly opened his eyes. He threw back the blanket. I jumped up in bed and... realized that I had missed the right moment.

"Damn, damn, damn!"  He scolded himself. — Idiot, why did you fall asleep, because you knew you couldn't?!

Without getting off the bed, he crawled to the edge. He peered behind it, warily examining the floor, the shadows on it cast by the lamp. He stood there for several minutes, peering, listening, sniffing the world around him. Then, hopefully, he looked back at the battery where the ill-fated thermostat was located.

"Just to get there," he mouthed, and carefully lowered one foot onto the hot floor. He froze, listening. He also slowly put his other foot down.

It was only three steps to reach the temperature switch and reach out. Normally, he would have done it in two seconds, but now everything has changed.

—You fool," he swore again, and, shrinking inside, took the first step.

My heart was ready to burst my chest. He really wanted to breathe, but Ilya couldn't afford to take a breath. Not now, when there are only two steps left.

The second step. It was so hard for him to do what he did every day with pleasure, and now it's like he's learning to walk again. His hand reached for the thermostat. Ilya noticed that his palm was shaking. He was sweating himself.

He slowly lifted his foot off the floor, moved it forward, carefully, as if afraid that he was in a minefield, placed his bare heel, and began to shift his body weight away from it.

A malicious laugh made him wince.

—Yeah, yeah.

The man turned around abruptly.

—Ilyusha is delicious,— the sarcastic voice repeated, smacking his lips again.

Ilya rushed to the switch. She managed to touch it with her hand, and then she was frozen. Abruptly pulled away from the battery. The frightened look of a young man was reflected in the window, with his arm upraised, which he could not move.

A nasty chuckle came from under the bed.

— Ilyusha is delicious.

The man jerked, trying to escape, but they held him tightly, not allowing him to reach the safety switch.

— no!  There was desperation in the cry. "Go away!"

Ilya felt himself being pulled back. He planted his feet on the floor, trying to stop, but it didn't help. Then he grabbed the handle of the window, trying to stop the movement at least a little.

—Delicious," rumbled a deep rumble from under the bed.

The man was thrown back. He released the pen from his fingers. A soft blow hit my back, and my grip immediately loosened. Ilya realized that he was lying on the bed, although his legs were still hanging on the floor. He jerked them up, jumping on the bed in fright. He pressed himself against the wall.

— no! No! You shouldn't have! Go away!

"I want to eat," came a frustrated voice from under the bed, and she visibly shuddered, lifting her legs off the floor for a moment.

"Go away!"!!  Ilya was ready to cry, there was hysteria in his voice, and his head was splitting from the realization of what he had done. He pressed himself against the wall, trying to merge with it, rather than being on the bed, the last, fragile bulwark that separated him from the One Who Lives Under the Bed.

The bed shook again. This time it was more noticeable; Ilya's legs gave way and he fell on top of her. He immediately grabbed the blanket and pulled it up to his chin.

"You weren't supposed to show up. No, no," he whispered, looking around.

A snide laugh interrupted him, and his voice made him tremble with fright.

"I'll eat you."  It sounded threatening.

The man looked at the thermostat with broken hope, and everything collapsed inside, realizing that now they would not let him get to it.

— Ilyusha ran for a long time, — in the voice from under the bed there was a reproach, which was replaced by disgust: — I'm eating you.

Ilya Skobov will never forget his thirteenth birthday. It was then that he first heard about Who Lives Under the Bed. The boys in the yard chatted about him, telling and retelling the same story in different interpretations several times. Then it was nothing more than a horror story, until evening came.

On that day, summer set a temperature record: the thermometers did not drop below thirty-five degrees, the asphalt melted from the heat, the air froze.

Even the coming of night brought no relief. I had to sleep without a blanket, sprawled on the bed. Ilya got up several times in the middle of the night to wash in the bathroom — it was a relief for a short moment, because even the air conditioner installed in his room did not provide the necessary coolness, only refreshing the body a little.

After one of these trips, the teenager decided to go to sleep on the floor, because it was a little cooler there. He had already laid out a blanket so that it would not be so hard, threw a pillow and lay down on an improvised couch, when a nasty laugh rang out in the room.:

—Ilyusha is delicious," a disgusting voice sounded, and two red-green eyes flashed under the bed.

The guy screamed, so much so that a second later his father burst into the room with a bat in his hands. Ilya spent a long time explaining to him why he was screaming, what he saw, and why there's no one under the bed right now. Naturally, his father didn't believe him, threatening to pull him out if he heard him scream again.

As soon as my father closed the door, the bed shuddered, and his eyes lit up under it, and a malicious laugh rang out. The teenager suppressed a scream, forcefully clamped his mouth. And then The One Who Lives Under the Bed crawled out from under it.

Ilya saw only a shadow that stretched out clawed hands to his feet. Skobov felt a chill that began to constrict him as he rose higher. To his horror, the teenager realized that he was starting to slide off the blanket — he was being pulled under the bed. By some miracle, he managed to escape from the invisible grip and hide in the far corner of the room."Ilyusha is delicious," the chuckle rang out again, and the shadow crept towards him, floating on the carpet in a transparent black spot.

She did not reach out, frozen a few centimeters away from her legs pressed against her body. A hiss of displeasure came from under the bed.

— I want Ilyusha. Give Ilyusha something to eat.

The boy was trembling, not understanding why He had stopped. I didn't realize it until I felt the frosty air descending from above, covering me as if with an invisible cloak, preventing Whoever Lives Under the Bed from grabbing him.

Twenty years have passed since then. The One Who Lives Under the Bed showed up a few more times, scaring him and promising to eat him. Only now did Ilya know how to protect himself: he began to sleep under the air conditioner, flinching every time from vague sounds and voices from the street.

Skobov even went to work in the North to be closer to the cold, but today he had to return to bury his mother. And now he's sitting on the bed, huddled into a tight ball, pulling the covers up to his nose, while the creature under the bed mocks him, promising to eat him.

It was long past midnight on the clock, and dawn was coming soon, but the scary thing was that the monster under the bed wouldn't leave at first light. He would wait patiently, and only the cold could drive him away.

— Ilyusha.

For the last ten minutes, the bed had been shaking incessantly, and the laughter was so disgusting that it bit into my strained nerves and tore them mercilessly.

Skobov tried to break the window, but there was nothing heavy at hand, the pillows only made the glass shake and caused a new storm of malicious laughter.

— Ilyusha is delicious. I want to eat Ilyusha.

"You'll be fine," Skobov snapped, frightened and angry, noticing that the window was slightly moving away from the frame. Apparently, he managed to open it when the creature pulled him. He had hope; if the temperature dropped a few degrees, Whoever Was Living Under the Bed would leave.

Ilya literally felt the frosty air pass through his legs, but he immediately shuddered when he saw a clawed paw lay like a shadow on the bed, grabbing his ankle. The creature pulled the man to the edge of the bed.

— no! Let go!

— It's delicious.

Skobov managed to escape. He jumped onto the bed, pressed himself against the wall again, throwing the blanket on the floor. The snide laughter turned into a growl of displeasure. The bed lifted off the floor and landed on it with a bang, only a few seconds later.

"I'm hungry,— a gruff voice ordered. — I want to eat Ilyusha.

The man looked more and more at the window, behind which the dawn was slowly beginning. Snow was falling. Ilya would be able to jump out of the bed into the window, even be able to smash it with his body, but then there was the emptiness of the tenth floor, without a balcony and no hope of a successful landing. However, if he manages to catch on a window sill or a frame...

"He'll leave," the man said aloud.

—Ilyusha,— they growled from below, and the bed rose again.

"You can't have me, you bastard.

Skobov pushed off from the wall. He took a step to the edge of the bed. Summoning all his strength, he abruptly threw the body towards the window. I closed my eyes so as not to cut myself with shards…

The cold rushed over the heated body. He held him down with icy hands, making his heart stop and then beat in a frenzied rhythm. Ilya spread his arms, trying to catch something. He felt no support.… I didn't feel like I was falling. He opened his eyes and froze, unable to breathe.

Skobov was hanging above the floor. The window was about five centimeters away. Ilya saw the sun rising outside. Like heavy clouds, they gradually make room for him. Like snow from large flakes, it becomes fine and almost imperceptible.

The man turned to the bed. In front of him stood the One Who Lives Under The Bed. He was not a ghostly shadow, but his true self.

— Ilyusha is delicious, — there was a malicious laugh.

Skobov screamed.

The midnight bell

 It happened about a year ago. My parents and I moved into a new house. He was very big and we really liked him. After putting things in their places and looking around the house, we went to bed, because it was quite late... I went to bed in a small room, I think it was a nursery.

Having fallen asleep like a log, I was already watching the fifth dream. Suddenly... the phone rang. At first I thought it was me getting a call, but when I finally woke up, I realized that it wasn't my phone or my parents' phone. I got out of bed and turned on the light. Trying to figure out where the sound was coming from, Mom ran into the room. We started looking for this phone together. But eventually he went quiet... I sighed, lay down on the bed and instantly fell asleep.

The next day, I decided to find that phone, but it was all in vain. Mom said it was possible the old owners had forgotten him and would come for him soon. A day passed, but the owners did not arrive. We tried to reach them, but in vain. I slept peacefully that night, just like the other 5.

But as soon as Friday came (we moved that day), the phone started ringing at midnight. We searched for a phone for two weeks in a row and waited for midnight to hear it and find it, but it was useless.

- But how can a phone work for so many days? And why is he calling at midnight on Friday?  I asked my mom.

"Maybe it's an alarm clock or someone is making fun..." she replied.

It was only six months later that we found this phone. It was hidden on the top shelf of the closet on the side of the wall. Where there used to be a hiding place. When we took out the phone, we found neither a SIM card nor a battery in it... And the screen wasn't working at all.

The next Friday came... And the bell rang again... It was unbearable and terrifying in its own way.

On Saturday, I interviewed all the neighbors, to which they all answered the same way...

- Yes, children are dying all the time in this house. At night, they say, you can hear someone calling... But we consider this nonsense, we advise you only to call the police and get out of this house.

We called the police. They've searched the whole house! And the metal detector started going off scale on the ceiling of my room. The police trashed it and there was a walled-up girl wrapped in iron sheets! And in her hand she had a phone held to her ear... It seemed like she was calling someone or she was getting a call...

We escaped from this house... And since then, I've been startled when I hear a call and see an unknown number there...

The clatter of heels

 It all happened in July 2008. I have a childhood friend, Olga. Her mother died about 20 years ago. We live in neighboring houses located perpendicular to each other — standard nine-story buildings. One fine day, I was going to visit Olga. It was about three o'clock in the afternoon, the weather was fine outside, and there were a lot of people...

As I walked between our houses, I heard the clatter of heels behind me. For some reason, this knock was incredibly loud, standing out from all the other street noises. I turned around to look. At a distance of about 15 meters behind me was a woman in her mid-thirties, very striking, beautiful, with high heels. The only thing that really surprised me was that in such a heat (thirty degrees) she was wearing a strict black suit with long sleeves. I glanced at her briefly and walked on.

As soon as I turned away, that's when it all started. I don't know how to describe it more precisely, but it felt like a bubble or a glass cap had descended on me. All the sounds of the street disappeared, leaving only the sound of heels on asphalt. The people who passed by me didn't look at me at all. It felt like they just couldn't see me, and that if I screamed now, no one would hear me. Fear appeared. One thought was beating in my brain: "I can't let her catch up with me." I quickened my pace to get to Olga faster. But no matter how much I increased my pace, the sound of my heels did not lag behind me, and at the same time the rhythm of the knocking did not accelerate. My ears were already ringing from the eerie "clack-clack-clack".

At that time, there was a combination lock on Olga's front door. Almost running, I approached the front door, opened the door and rushed to Olga's apartment on the second floor. The front door slammed shut behind me with a loud bang, and the click of my heels disappeared. I took a deep breath. But that was not the case: when I was on the stairs between the first and second floors, this clatter appeared in the entrance just as confidently, without changing the rhythm. Moreover, I did not hear the sound of the door opening. And that's when I was gripped by a real panic, a sense of something inevitable, and such horror that my hair probably stood on end.

I ran to Olga's apartment and rang the doorbell. I don't know why, but I knew for sure that I had to get the door open before this stranger caught up with me. I heard the bell ring, I heard Olga's dog barking, I heard footsteps coming to the door from inside the apartment, I heard the clatter of heels on the stairs between the 1st and 2nd floors. I was waiting for the door to open, and I was afraid to turn back. The footsteps stopped on the other side of the front door, and I heard a question: "Who's there?" But the problem was that it wasn't Olya's voice, but her mom's voice, the way I remembered it from childhood. For some reason, I was not surprised, but answered: "Aunt Lyuba, is Olya at home?"

At that moment, the elevator doors opened, although no one had called it. I heard the sound of heels going into the elevator, the elevator doors closing, and the elevator going up. At that moment, it was as if a hood had been removed from me, and I heard children shouting outside, playing, as a car drove past the entrance, and the wind rustling in the trees. But the most interesting thing is that at that moment I heard, as in the replay, the barking of Olina's dog, footsteps outside the door in the apartment and the question: "Who is there?". Only it was Olga. When she opened the door for me, she was very surprised by my pale appearance. This is the story that happened to me in the summer of 2008. I still don't know what it was.

In bed with a ghost

 About a year ago, my husband and I went to visit our friends in a country house. The day flew by quickly and cheerfully — we grilled kebabs, drank beer and had a heart-to-heart conversation. After that, everyone went to bed.

My husband and I went to bed in a fairly spacious corner room with a balcony. It was going to be a stuffy night, so I left the balcony open.

In the middle of the night, I suddenly woke up from a feeling of incomprehensible anxiety and hopelessness. I wanted to howl at the top of my voice, like dogs sometimes howl. The room was quiet. It was so quiet that I could hear the breathing of the person in the next room, but not a single sound existed... Only darkness, night and silence.

Panic came over me—I couldn't even hear my husband. I listen carefully, looking for his breathing, but I hear absolutely nothing. I turn to my spouse. He had thrown off the blanket in his sleep, and now the side of the man I loved was dimly white in the inky darkness. The side did not move when breathing.

I touched my sleeping husband's shoulder, which was absolutely icy, colder than ice. For a minute I realized what had happened, and then I began to panic, pushing him away, screaming, but I didn't hear anything. And then the husband fell to the floor in a white spot, and then unnaturally quickly rushed towards the balcony and disappeared into the hopeless darkness.

I froze, turned my gaze to the bed — my faithful was lying next to me and peacefully snoring in his sleep. The sounds and the light of the lantern in the courtyard returned. I couldn't sleep until the next morning, trembling with fear and afraid to utter a single word.

Several years have passed since that time, and the incident has gradually been forgotten, but the despair that consumed me that night is impossible to forget, as well as to understand what happened.

I didn't get through, I didn't finish my whistle...

 It all started with the fact that one night I was woken up by the doorbell. I looked at my watch— 03:05. I threw on my robe and ran to the door. Our apartment is located above the entrance to the entrance, as well as the plumbing riser. Sometimes the pipes start flowing right into the entrance, and the first person to notice it usually immediately rings our doorbell, and we already call the locksmith. This thought immediately came to my mind: "The pipe has burst again...".

I went to the door, looked through the peephole, and it was empty. She asked:

"Who's there?"

No one responded. After standing for a couple of minutes, I still decided not to open the door. I thought, "If it's serious, they'll come again, but I'm not going to stick my head out." So she went to bed.

In the morning, I went down to the entrance to see if everything was in order. I didn't notice anything unusual. A little surprised, I put that late-night call out of my mind.

The next night, I wake up again to the doorbell. I look at my watch — 03:05. I go to the door — no one, I ask who it is — silence. I went back to sleep...

These late-night calls at the same time lasted for about two weeks, not every night, but with enviable stubbornness. Not only did I stop coming to the door, I even stopped waking up. I hear the bell ring and keep sleeping. Yes, I forgot to say that no one but me heard these calls, only the cat raised his head at every ring and accompanied me to the door for the first time.

Soon the calls stopped. But one night I woke up to a whistling sound outside my window. I look at my watch — 03:05. The cat jumped up on the windowsill and stared out the window. Looking at the cat, I felt a disgusting fear. There was no question of looking out the window. The dream passed by itself. I must say that my bed is right next to the window on one side. If I sat on the bed, I could be seen through the window, so I slid to the floor without getting up. I took a blanket and a pillow with me.

The cat was turning its head, obviously watching something or someone, and shaking its tail violently from side to side. To be honest, I was scared for him. Standing up a little, I grabbed the cat by the tail and yanked it towards me. The cat rolled onto the bed, where I successfully picked it up and dragged it to the floor. I don't know if it was from what I saw in the window, or from a sudden and incorrect change of location," the cat screamed terribly, rolling his eyes, his body was very tense. He couldn't come to his senses for a long time.

So, hugging the cat, we lay under the bed until dawn, that is, for about an hour. Then I lay back on the bed, and the cat broke free and climbed back onto the windowsill. After sitting there for about five minutes and not seeing anything else interesting for himself, he lay down next to me and we fell asleep.

This whistling, as well as the bells, lasted for two weeks. Eventually, even the cat stopped responding to him. Then everything stopped.

I'm still at a loss to figure out what it could be.