Hello, Uncle

 I was lying in bed, but my eyes wouldn't close. There was no sleep in either eye. It was getting annoying, but was it worth getting angry at yourself? I don't think so. I relaxed, replaying the events of the day in my head. Sleep was still in no hurry to wrap me in its arms, and I gave up, got up and went to the kitchen.

The door creaked softly when I opened it, and I flipped the light switch. The living room, combined with the kitchen, was filled with soft yellow light. I still haven't replaced the old incandescent bulb with an energy-efficient one. The bills come in small, and that's fine. I pushed back my chair and sat down heavily. There were no crickets, although the windows in both the bedroom and the kitchen were open.

I've never been afraid of the dark, but it seemed especially mysterious this evening. Somewhere out there, in the pitch darkness, people are sitting now — without light, without fire, and not even in their homes. It's sad that this is becoming more and more real nowadays.

I sighed, got up, took the kettle, poured water into it and put it on the stove. I'm still not going to buy an electric one, I have to make do with what I have.

Finally, the kettle whistled and the water began to boil. I turned it off and made tea. I drink without sugar, so I don't waste it. At night, even the most ordinary taste of tea feels special.

Glancing at my watch, I realized that it was almost one o'clock in the morning. Got to work tomorrow If I don't fall asleep now, the alarm clock is unlikely to save me. I quickly finished my tea and was about to return to the room when I noticed a silhouette in the window out of the corner of my eye. I didn't think much of it, but I realized it only when I left the hall and entered the bedroom.

A shudder ran through me, and I hurried back. There was no one in the window where the silhouette had been a second ago.

"Yes... I'm really tired if I'm imagining this..." I muttered.

I've always been a skeptic and didn't believe in anything supernatural. He liked to voice his thoughts out loud sometimes. When I returned to the bed, it suddenly became unusually dark.

I didn't realize what had happened to the lighting until I noticed that the streetlights had gone out. They always worked properly, giving low lighting at night up to the third floor, and I just lived on the third floor.

I thought it was the power outage. This is not a rare situation for our country. I tried to turn on the light in the apartment, but to no avail. When I returned to the window, I was dumbfounded.

That silhouette was standing there. A skinny boy was tapping on the glass and pointing at the window handle.

Not understanding what was going on, I opened it automatically.

"Hey, what's up?" - I asked.

— Hello. I can't find my parents. Can you come out here, outside?

- what?

— I can't find Mom and Dad. We went out for a walk, and I didn't notice them leave.…

— Okay, I'll be right out.

I put on my jacket and slippers and went out into the cold, damp hallway. Going downstairs, I suddenly wondered: how did a boy of about eight reach the windows of the third floor? Moreover, it was up to my waist.

A new wave of trembling went through me... but I still recklessly opened the door.

There was indeed a child standing in front of me.

"So where are your parents?" Where did they go?

"In hell!"  He shouted and burst into hysterical laughter.

I didn't appreciate the joke and asked again:

— It's not funny. Where did your parents go?

He continued laughing for another minute, then suddenly calmed down and croaked in a strange voice.:

"You'll see them soon!"

I was shaking. I didn't understand how he could change voices so skillfully. And then his skin began to turn purple. Not literally, but as if out of rage.

I couldn't stand it and slammed the door in his face. To say that I wasn't scared is to lie.

I was about to go up to the apartment, but it was not there. This little psycho started breaking down the metal door! Soon, a dent appeared on it.

My neighbor Oleg came out from the third floor to the noise. It looked like he wanted to yell at whoever was knocking, but when he saw that the door was bending, he froze next to me.

"What is it?"..

—A boy... a little one...— I replied.

A little more, and the door would have been blown off. But she held on! Finally, the upper part bent back, and we saw his face... if you could call it a face.

It was swollen and covered with blisters, and the head was twice as big as usual. And the eyes... are completely black, without pupils. He burst out laughing again, and Oleg and I rushed upstairs.

Oleg ducked into the apartment and locked the door. That coward. I also ran into my room and started praying, even though I had never believed in religion before.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I could see almost everything. He hid under the bed like a child playing hide-and-seek. I could have gone into the closet, but I didn't have time.

Suddenly, the door was torn off its hinges.

"Uncle, where are you?" My parents have been waiting for you! — it sounded in the room.

My heart was pounding so hard that I almost fainted. The boy was standing in the middle of the room, looking in the closet mirror. It reflected both him and the bed. And in the reflection I saw myself lying under it.

He said:

"Hello, Uncle".

The Dead House

 The story I want to tell happened to a family I know in 2007. I lived in a country house, and they were my neighbors. They were such a cute typical couple of young people with children. It's like a decent family, where everything goes according to the rules and in a measured manner. No shocks. In the morning, take the children to school, go to work, return at seven o'clock, pick up the children from school on the way, then sit down to dinner together. "You can die from such calmness," I often thought, watching their measured life. I often saw their faces in the window when they sat down at the table in the evening. It wasn't that I was peeking, I was just coming home late from work and couldn't resist the temptation to peek through the ever-ajar window (and they still need to be curtained). Moreover, I don't have a family myself — at least to see how other people live, hehe.

Only, as it turned out, not everything was so smooth. One night, I was woken up by a heart-rending scream coming from the house next door. At first I wanted to go back to sleep, because it's not in my nature to meddle in other people's business, but it hurt to scream too long. You have to have a conscience.

I got up, got dressed and left my house, building up curses in my head, which are now going to splash out in a dirty stream on the heads of the poor neighbors. But that didn't happen, and here's why: when I approached the neighbors' gate, the last ones flew out like a bullet, almost knocking me off my feet. I was stunned by the sight of them: in their nightgowns, their faces were white. The children clutched at me and began to cry. "What the hell is going on here?" I thought, and I asked in a calm tone, addressing the woman:

"What happened?" I heard screams.

"There's someone in our house!" — the woman began to speak quickly, her tongue slurring with excitement. — I... at first I heard that someone was walking in the kitchen...I was scared, I was afraid to go check... then I heard someone coming up the stairs and opening the door to the children's room... then Katerina, my daughter, screamed. It was so scary! I immediately ran to them, and we ran out.

"Did you see anyone there?" - I asked.

— No, the children ran out of the room, and I didn't check it.… I'm very afraid, I need to call the police," she said, anxiously glancing at the house.

Obviously, her fear had passed, giving way to anxiety. I looked at the children, who were still trembling with fear, and asked:

"Where's their father?"

"He's working the night shift today," the woman replied.

"Go to my house and call the police, while I check your house," I said and handed the keys to the neighbor. She looked at me in surprise, and there was gratitude in her eyes. Taking her offspring by the arm, the woman left.

It was the first time I was alone with this house. The dark tones didn't suit him very well—he looked gloomy. I remembered the days when he was white, gray, whatever he was! But for some reason, no one stayed in it for long. I looked at the empty windows and the open door, and suddenly it seemed to me that the house was also looking at me, taking a closer look.

"It's a trap," said an inner voice.

"What the hell? What should I be afraid of?" I asked myself. It usually worked, but not this time. Humans, like animals, have an instinct for self-preservation. I do not know what came over me at that moment, but I was afraid. I was afraid of the unknown. I was afraid that the eyes of the dead were looking at me now—they were looking from every dark corner of this house.

—Damn it, I'm not a kid anymore," I said out loud. "Nothing's going to happen to me. We just need to check the house.

I decided to take a step per second, and for each step I repeated to myself: "I'm not afraid of the dead...I'm not afraid of the dead...I'm not afraid of the dead... you have to be afraid of the living... I'm not afraid of the dead..."

As I walked, I looked at the asphalt path and counted the steps. Suddenly, I saw that the asphalt was illuminated by a reflection — a light came on in one of the windows, although according to the neighbor, there was no one at home. I looked out the lighted window and saw no one behind it.

"And yet there's someone there," an inner voice whispered treacherously. "And he's not afraid of being found." He WANTS it."

I was stunned. Now I've definitely decided that I won't check a damn thing until the police arrive. I froze two steps away from the door. The situation itself seemed absurd to me. An adult man is afraid to enter the house, because since childhood he has been afraid to see a ghost!

"If it's a burglar, then why did he turn on the light?" I thought.

Click. The lights went off.

"What the hell?"  I thought and took a few steps back.

I still couldn't see anything in the pitch darkness, but I could feel on my skin that a dead man was looking at me.

Click. The light turned on.

What I saw in the window almost gave me a stroke. My sister, who died three years ago, was standing there. She looked at me with glazed eyes and smiled a dead smile.

Click. The lights went out.

I ran as fast as I could to my mansion. When I ran into my room, I felt better, but not much. My neighbor (her name was Lisa) looked at me with fear and concern.

—Water, please," I said, leaning on my kitchen set and breathing heavily. My heart was pounding so hard that I was afraid I might have a heart attack.

My face must have been so pale that the children started crying again. I pulled myself together and tried to smile. But, apparently, it turned out badly.

— Mom!  Katerina shouted.

Lisa came into the kitchen with a glass of water (I had a pump outside, so she had to go out) and handed it to me. I drank for a long time and painfully, I didn't want the water to run out, because I already saw a mute question on Lisa's face. After draining the glass and seeing that Lisa was about to ask me, I stopped the question.:

"Have you called the police?"

"She's on her way,— she said. "Have you checked the house?"

I answered in a voice that didn't seem to belong to me, but to another person.:

—Um... I don't see the need for that... the police are coming anyway."

Lisa looked at me incredulously and worriedly. I looked away—I didn't want her to read everything in my eyes. At that moment, I couldn't vouch for my mental health.

Ten minutes later, the police arrived and searched the entire house in search of the thief. But no one was there anymore. Did I know? that they wouldn't find anything because my dead sister was the "thief"! The police spent another half hour combing the neighborhood, asking the neighbors, especially me. There was no question of telling them what I had seen. When asked, typically in such situations, if I had seen anything suspicious, I replied that I had not. But the image of a dead woman smiling with a terrible unearthly smile and looking at me kept coming back to my mind.

The police, having found no trace, left on their more important business, perhaps laughing along the way at the ridiculous situation with the "invisible" thief. Only me and the family next door weren't laughing. By seven o'clock in the morning, the head of the family, Mikhail, arrived (as he introduced himself to me later). At the sight of his father, the family cheered up, and they all returned to this house. I tried not to look at him, especially at the upper windows.

After that crazy night, I didn't sleep well. As soon as I closed my eyes, I immediately saw the dead. It was only a month later that I was able to live normally. And the neighbors seem to have calmed down, returned to their rut. Mikhail set up cameras and alarms everywhere after this incident, so that everyone could sleep peacefully. And I was happy—no one screamed at night, and I didn't see corpses in the windows. Life was a success!

But a month later, one afternoon, someone started knocking on my door. Moreover, the knock was confident and strong. Someone was persistently trying to literally break through my door. I went up to her and looked through the peephole. Damn, it's Lisa!

"Is something wrong?"- I asked.

- yes. Can I have some water, please?  She said in an unusually plaintive voice.

"Well, we've lived! Don't you have enough water of your own? Or does it taste different?" I thought, but I opened the door anyway.

Lisa smiled. And that smile seemed so creepy and inhuman to me that a shudder ran through me from head to toe, but I quickly got over it and motioned for her to come in. I didn't have to ask a second time — Lisa came in and went into the living room uninvited, never turning around, still with the same frozen smile on her face.

"Well, great, now I also have to pour water for her! And she's waiting in the living room!"— I cursed in my mind, heading for the kitchen. It all seemed strange to me. The irrationality of what was happening bothered me as I filled a mug with water.

It was hot, and the kitchen window was open. Birds were singing, and the weather was fine. I could hear the voices of the neighborhood kids playing catch-up, and…

Stop! What's it?

I froze, listening to the voices, and couldn't believe it. Lisa was there! She was outside the fence, playing with the kids.

I dropped the glass from my hand. My whole body felt like it was paralyzed. I couldn't move. There was only one question in my mind.: WHO'S SITTING IN MY LIVING ROOM?

I don't remember getting out of my house—I think I jumped out of the kitchen window. Of course, I didn't check who was sitting in my living room. I ran to the neighbors and just asked them for a phone, called a taxi to the city. I never returned to my country house again.

Now I live in a city where there are more people and fewer dead people. The neighbors, as far as I know, also moved out after a while. People said that the reason was insanity. And a group one. "They thought the house was haunted, the fools!" my friend laughed. And damn it, I was laughing with him. Maybe even louder than him.

The Invisible Man

 In 1993, during the winter holidays, I came to visit my aunt in St. Petersburg - I wanted to "test the waters" before going to university. My relative lived on Vasilyevsky Island alone in a huge three-room apartment. She was very happy to see me, because, according to her, she felt some kind of danger and was afraid for her life. In those days, which were rather vague, I must say, there really was something to be afraid of — "black realtors" were operating everywhere and probably noticed a single woman with real estate in the old fund. For this reason, my aunt, and her name is Alevtina Lvovna, immediately said that I should stay with her during my studies. In principle, it coincided with my plans.

Every morning my aunt went to work, and I stayed in the apartment alone. At first, it was difficult for me to get used to the huge rooms and high ceilings, but after about three days I adapted. The apartment seemed to have a life of its own — here and there the parquet boards creaked, there were some rustles and sighs. I began to understand Alevtina Lvovna — it was scary to live alone here. At night, the strange sounds became even clearer, and it seemed that a ghost was about to appear out of the darkness. Besides, in my sleep it seemed to me that someone was walking in the kitchen, flushing the toilet, turning on the taps.

One day on the weekend, when my aunt stayed at home, I decided to ask if she noticed anything strange in her apartment. Aunt Alya reluctantly supported this topic and first told about the strange sounds, and then suggested a walk. On the street, she bluntly stated that "someone" was living in the apartment. Some kind of creature that has the property of invisibility and is not averse to stealing food from the refrigerator. The strangeness started only a year and a half ago, and she is very afraid that this "someone" will kill her if he finds out that his secret has been revealed. Therefore, this topic should not be raised in the apartment. Alevtina Lvovna also told me that, on the advice of the priest, she sprinkled holy water on all the corners before my arrival. And in response to this, a terrible male laugh rang out from the kitchen. She didn't do anything else.

To put it bluntly, I didn't believe my aunt, but my youthful curiosity was aroused. I decided that for the rest of the week I would definitely solve the mystery of this "creature". A recent incident came to my mind. I was coming out of my aunt's apartment onto the stairs, and the door was ajar. At that time, a German Shepherd dog was being led for a walk from somewhere above. The dog almost escaped from the mistress's arms — she wanted to get inside so much. The girl barely dragged her away from the door, and the barking could still be heard on the street.

On the same day, I ambushed Lena — that was the name of the owner of the shepherd dog — on the street and directly asked her for help. I should have let Guy in and seen what was making him so angry. Lena was my age, and apparently she liked me, so she agreed to the experiment.

When the dog had had a walk, we went up to my aunt's apartment together (my aunt herself had gone to a friend's house), and I opened the door. Guy rushed forward barking and rushed into the kitchen. Then he started running around the apartment and eventually stopped at the pantry door. At the same time, his barking began to alternate with growling — he tried to open the doors with his paws. As soon as I opened one of the doors, the shepherd dog rushed into the darkness and clung to something with its teeth. There was a scream, and something shapeless fell out into the corridor. I turned on the light and saw a bearded man on the floor, trying in vain to unclench the dog's jaws.

Grabbing a knife in the kitchen, I put it to the stranger's throat, and at that moment Lena pulled Guy away. And then, right before my eyes, the man seemed to melt away — objects became visible through him. Lena and I couldn't believe our eyes. The knife fell out of my hands, and my mind went blank—I temporarily lost my sense of reality. All I could hear was Guy barking.

I don't know how much time has passed, but I've come to my senses. Apparently, Lena felt the same way. There was a knife on the floor, a dog was rampaging, the floor was stained with blood — red footprints led to the door, which was wide open. The wounded "invisible man" disappeared.

There was nothing to discuss — Lena and the dog went home, and I started cleaning. My mood was depressed, as if someone had messed with my brain. By the time my aunt arrived, there were no signs of a struggle. Listlessly, I told Alevtina Lvovna that the "creature" was no longer in the apartment and asked her never to leave the door to the stairs open again. He went to bed and slept for twelve hours. It was only after that that I was able to explain something to my aunt. But it seems, in turn, she didn't believe me. However, since then, the oddities in the apartment have disappeared.

Six months later, I came to study, and three years later, Lena (Guy's hostess) and I got married. And we're still together. We remember the hunt for the "invisible man" now with humor, although it was not a laughing matter then.

The night guests

 As a student, I rented an apartment. An ordinary neighborhood, a new building. No one had lived in the apartment before me, so I didn't even have a thought to be afraid of anything. However, even in this quiet apartment, something incomprehensible happened to me.

It was the night from Thursday to Friday. I couldn't sleep. Tomorrow was an important exam, I was preparing poorly and the excitement made itself felt, resulting in insomnia.

I was lying there thinking about my life when I heard a soft rustle from the hallway. I don't have any animals, and I live alone, so I pricked up my ears and listened. There was a feeling that someone was scratching at the door. I wanted to get up several times and check what was going on, but it was too scary.

Then the rustling was replaced by footsteps. Very quiet, barely noticeable.

I was so afraid that I couldn't bring myself to turn around (I was lying with my face to the wall). Someone was standing in front of my bed, I could feel it on my skin. A light breeze passed over my cheek — I was sniffed!

And then I heard a voice, almost a whisper.:

— Not there. It's not her.

And I felt it move away from my bed. I don't know where my powers came from, but I turned around. Two silhouettes floated out of the room into the corridor — a woman and a very young girl. I watched them go for a few minutes, and then I just turned off.

She was obviously nervous.

The next evening, I found out that a young woman had died in the apartment below me. She died of a heart attack while sitting on a stool by the window. She had a cigarette in her hand.

Apparently, it was her.

Sweet fear

 He took a drag on his cigarette and blew out smoke rings. They slowly melted away into the ceiling.

—Fear, you say?" Fear has nothing to do with it. When I say "I'm scared" or "I'm afraid," it doesn't mean that it's fear. More precisely, not the kind of fear you're used to.

"What kind of fear?"  The boy looked at Him blankly. — I'm afraid of monsters under the bed. Well, I was afraid. I'm afraid of twos. But this is one fear. Although there are different things. I'm sweating, my legs are shaking, and probably these hamstrings, I don't know where they are, but they're definitely shaking. How is it not such a fear?

He looked at the boy with a grin. Small, bruises under the eyes, skinny. Smart guy, but still a kid.

"You'll understand when you grow up," he took another drag on his cigarette.

— That's what everyone says. Explain it."

The boy was offended and sat sulkily, but the interest made him ask Him further.

"It hurts when she talks." No, it's not like that. There are too few words in human languages to describe it. I don't sweat, I don't shake. I just want to sink deeper into the floor, into the wall, seep through the pores of the earth and hide from this screeching, from this thunder. It pours like hot caramel... Didn't you touch the melted caramel?

— I touched it. It hurts," the boy grimaced. "But she's sweet."

— Exactly! Sweet. Pain and sweetness, those hands, that voice. Fear is like a roller coaster ride, but you want to disappear," He mused. — No, that's not it again.

—Ah...— the boy began, but soft, stealthy footsteps sounded in the corridor. The boy froze, staring at the door of the room. The door slowly opened.

— My little masik, baby, my beloved cookie, you are my candy. Why aren't you sleeping, malipusik?

"That's what I'm talking about," He whispered, hurriedly disappearing into the darkness of the dressing room.

— Mom, the monster under the bed said that he has a sweet fear from you. How's that?

Mom hugged her son tightly, kissing his forehead and face.:

"Sleep, sweet baby, there are no monsters, my sweet darling." And who lit a cigarette under the window that stinks so much in the room?

Fellow traveler.

 One chilly November evening, work dropped me off at the regional town of N. I had to take the train. I boarded in the evening, and the train arrived at N in the morning. I took a compartment for business trips. There were three or four other people in the carriage besides me and the sleepy conductor. Everyone was sitting quietly in their seats. It was cool, apparently they decided not to heat it too much, since there were practically no passengers, so I decided to leave my jacket and woolen turtleneck sweater on. The train jerked and, gaining speed, left behind the illuminated, noisy island of the city. The train was surrounded on all sides by the silent night.

Occasionally, in the monotonous rattle of wheels on joints and the noise of movement, the rustle of an opening door and the bang of a vestibule door lock crept in. The dim light bulb in the compartment only outlined the shelves and the table, she clearly did not have enough strength for more. It was impossible to read. It was boring to look at the blackness of the window with the occasional flickering lights of distant, rare houses in this direction. I didn't feel like sleeping either. Leaning back, I closed my eyes and listened to the knocking, gradually merging and transforming into a kind of melody. The melody of the railway. And, apparently, dozed off. I was awakened by the sharp whistle of the train and the noise of the oncoming train that cut into the music of the wheels. Like filmstrips, bright spots of windows of an oncoming passenger train flew by the window. It was only when the darkness of the night and the monotonous sound of the wheels returned that I saw Him. He was sitting across from her, lost in the darkness of the shadow from the top shelf. His hands rested open on his knees. It was impossible to see the face, but the attentive gaze was felt literally physically. We sat in silence for about half a minute, looking into each other's eyes.

—I'm sorry, you seemed to be dozing, I didn't want to wake you up," the night passenger broke the silence.

 I glanced at my watch, trying to determine how much sleep I'd had, but I couldn't determine when I'd fallen asleep. After some effort and calculations, it turned out to be about an hour - have you been here long?

— No, a quarter of an hour, no more.

— Oleg.

— Viktor Petrovich. You can just say Victor.

I was about to shake hands with my fellow traveler, but he continued to sit with his hands folded in his lap, only nodding his head slightly. To hide my awkwardness, I asked:

— Are you going to N?

— No, to Myasnitsky forest. It's much closer.

"I haven't heard."

— A small village. Several houses.

— Do you live there?

It seemed to me that a smile flashed across Victor's face.

— No, rather, on a business trip.

— And what can you do in a small village on a business trip?

— Communicate with people.

Here, he smiled again before answering. They usually smile like that when they're not telling the whole truth.

— Are you an ethnographer?

"Something like that."

I wasn't going to pull answers out of the fellow traveler with a pair of tongs, apparently, he didn't want to communicate, and I didn't ask him further.

Several minutes passed in silence. I looked out the window and wondered if I should go to bed or continue to sit.

— I collect and research mysterious and paranormal phenomena.

Wow, Viktor Petrovich decided to let me in on his business.

— An interesting activity. Is it a hobby or a profession?

— Modus vivendi.

— Lifestyle.

— Do you know Latin?

— Just a few catch phrases. I learned it at school to impress the girls.

"Was it successful?"

— You are the first one who appreciated it.

This time the smile was friendly. Strangely, the shadow did not allow one to see the features of the fellow traveler, only an attentive look or a smile appeared separately.

— So what is the mysterious thing that happened in... meat, I think... forest?

— Myasnitsky.

— I'm sorry, Myasnitsky forest. Was someone hacked, perhaps?

— Yes, during the war. More than one thousand soldiers perished in the swamps in the Bora region. The fighting was so fierce that there was no time for the dead, and there was no one to clean up, and they lay around the neighborhood. Later, when the fighting shifted to the west, the locals who returned to the village buried the fallen. But since then, men's voices are heard in the forest, and there is a smell of shag, then a soldier knocks on the hut, asks for water to drink or a loaf of bread. Or even someone will see the whole battle scene in some ravine. Few people want to live in such a place, so the people ran away, only a few old women and old men survive.

It gave me the creeps. No, you can't scare me with stories, but in the semi-darkness of the compartment, where glass separates from the pitch darkness of the night, and only one dim light bulb saves, the images of the restless soldiers flashed through my mind too clearly and realistically.

"Aren't you afraid of ghosts?"

Once again, a smile emerged from the shadows.

— As in the joke — "why be afraid of us?". No, it's not scary. Sometimes the living are scarier and more dangerous.

— I agree.

We sat in silence for a minute. The fellow traveler continued to examine me, and I, looking out the window, digested what I had heard.

— Have you been to many anomalous zones?

— I've traveled all over the Sverdlovsk region. It is rich in anomalous places. For example, in the poultry farm area, on the outskirts of Yekaterinburg, there is an unfinished four-story hospital, which has the reputation of being a bad, cursed place. There, for no reason, bricks fall on the heads of the curious, the floor falls under their feet, and concrete stairs threaten to collapse at any moment. Everything is crumbling, the walls are collapsing, there are holes in the floor... The building is covered with modern legends. The construction site is no more than 15 years old. It was abandoned due to the mysterious death of the director. But even during the construction process, people were constantly dying there... According to rumors, the construction of the hospital began on the site of the old cemetery. And over the years, several children and teenagers have lost their lives inside the gloomy room. Among other things, ghosts have been seen materializing in it, strange bluish flashes of light in window openings, as well as new brickwork and fresh cement coatings, although no one is even thinking about resuming construction. Damn, in a word.

"Is there really something there?"

— Yes, the place is gloomy. At first, melancholy comes over, and after an hour in the building, depression covers. It always seems that someone is watching you, some rustling, sighing. And this is during the day. No one dares to go there at night.

"Where else were you?"

— I was on the TV tower. All in the same Yekaterinburg. The building of an unfinished TV tower. It towers over the city near the circus. It's not a good place. Until the entrance was sealed, it served as a gathering place for Satanists. All kinds of extreme athletes who like to look at the city from a bird's-eye view often fell from a height and fell to their deaths. The feeling there is similar to that in an unfinished hospital.

— But all sorts of bad houses, I heard, priests consecrate, and ghosts or whatever is bad there disappears.

"It's happened before. Only a bad place is not a dirty room where the floors are washed, the dust is wiped, and there is nothing, everything is clean. There's not much you can do here with holy water and prayers. Are you a believer yourself? I see you're not wearing a cross.

— It's hard to say. I believe in God, but I don't go to church. And the cross is an attribute, its presence or absence does not increase or diminish a person's faith.

I patted my chest to back up my words... wait a minute, how did he know?

— And what makes you think that I don't wear a cross?

— By the way you asked about the consecration. The slight disparagement of the word "priest" led me to this, otherwise the word "priest" or "father" would have been used.

— Do you believe in God yourself?

Now I've tried to catch him in the answer now.

— As Jung said, "I don't need to believe it — I know it exists."

"What's the difference?"

— Faith, one way or another, implies the presence of further evidence, and knowledge is an axiom.

— What's the scariest place you've ever visited?  I tried to steer our conversation away from the shaky ground of the Theosophical debate.

The fellow traveler was silent, my question clearly awakened some unpleasant memories in him. His hands nervously moved up and down his knees. For a moment, his neighbor's body leaned forward, and his face slid out of the shadows. It seemed to me that fear flashed in his eyes. But the face immediately disappeared into the shadows. There was no smile, just one attentive look from unblinking eyes.

— This is the village of Rastess. The now uninhabited settlement of gold miners, located about 25-30 kilometers west of Kytlym, is still in the same Sverdlovsk region. Previously, the famous Babinovsky highway passed through it. Mysterious lights are seen in the sky every now and then. There are many stories about evil spirits and evil spirits. Tourists and hunters avoid these places. There's not a soul in the village these days. All its inhabitants seemed to have disappeared somewhere, leaving all the things in the houses. And there are open graves in the cemetery. It could be attributed to folklore, but I saw it with my own eyes. The Babinovsky tract has long lost its former significance, and the road to Rustess is completely lost in the forest expanses. I got there with a local guide, and then I almost got lost a couple of times. We went out early in the morning and arrived in the evening. It was summer, so it was still light. The place is creepy. We walked around the village. All along the way, it felt like people were all here, only everyone was hiding from us, lurking nearby and watching. And most importantly, there are no birds.… The silence is dead. It was already getting dark, and at first we planned to spend the night near the village. But as dusk began to fall, fear drove us away. Well, we were confused during the day, but at night… Anyway, we got lost and went back to the village. The sky was clear then, and the moon, which was almost full, was shining well. Everything seems to be quiet around us, we are standing on the outskirts of the village: it's scary to go somewhere unknown, and it's creepy to go to the village, and it's impossible to stand still. We see that everything seems to be the same in the village, but on the other hand, something is wrong. It looks like an ordinary residential village. And we went out near the cemetery of the settlement, I looked and felt the hairs on my head move, and the graves were standing whole. The crosses are even, not skewed like in the daytime, and in some places there are flowers on the mounds. I nudged the guide, pointing to the cemetery, but he saw and let's cross ourselves, and he began to whisper a prayer very quickly. I noticed some movement out of the corner of my eye, turned towards the village and... horror seized me, my legs immediately became wobbly, I want to run, but I can't. People were approaching us silently, unhurriedly—women, men, old people, children. And all this in deathly silence. Dozens of eyes stared at us without blinking! And no one said a word. The guide pulled my sleeve and started running along the overgrown highway. His jerk brought me out of my daze, and I rushed after him. We ran for a long time, and soon I lost sight of him. Panting, scratched all over, wet, I flew out onto some kind of road. It was only there that I collapsed to the ground and lay there for maybe half an hour, gasping for air.… And I never saw the guide again.

The fellow traveler fell silent. His voice trembled at the last words of the story, apparently reliving all that horror. I was also impressed by the story. I wanted to say something to lighten the mood and change the subject, but nothing came to mind. I pressed my back against the wall of the carriage and stared out the window. Somewhere out there, in the blackness of the night, a creepy village with its silent night inhabitants flew by. The music of the wheels was soothing. Dark. Pillars flying out of it for a moment. Sparse lights flying in the distance. And a knock, a steady, soothing knock. Knock... knock... knock… uk…

I must have dozed off again. I was awakened by the sharp whistle of the train and the noise of the oncoming train that cut into the music of the wheels. Like filmstrips, bright spots of windows of an oncoming passenger train flew by the window. I thought of my fellow passenger, who had been so unceremoniously left alone with his terrible story, and looked at the seat opposite. It was empty. There was no one else in the compartment. I stretched, got up, and went out into the hallway. The carriage was asleep. There was a rustle at the beginning of the carriage, and the sleepy conductor appeared from her compartment.

— Tell me, how long ago was the Myasnitsky Bor station?

"How should I know?"

— How, there should have been a stop there.

— Yeah, about five years ago.

"What do you mean?"

— It's been five years since we stopped there.

- Why?

— Because no one has been living there for five years.

Pouring herself a glass of boiling water from the tank, the conductor dived back into her compartment, letting her know that the conversation was over.

— Wait, what about my traveling companion?

"What traveling companion?"  A sleepy and now angry face poked out of the compartment.

— Well, the one who got hooked at the station and recently got out.

The head disappeared.

"What traveling companion?" We haven't stopped anywhere yet. So no one came in or out. You should go to bed.

The door buzzed shut.

And I was standing in the narrow corridor of the carriage, completely at a loss. And somehow I didn't want to return to the empty and dim compartment at all. A shudder went through my whole body at the terrible thought of the nature of my interlocutor.

Aunt Lyuba

 I'm walking home from the village club one day. I always walked along the same road. It was midnight. I saw a granny sitting near the gate.

— Aunt Lyuba, why are you sitting here at night scaring people?

— Yes, I'm waiting for them to take me to the cemetery.

— Ahhh, well, I see.

I think Grandma's lost her mind, the old one.

The next day in the afternoon I went to get bread. I pass by this house again. I look — there are a lot of people in the courtyard, and the coffin is standing.

I come home, I tell my grandmother:

— Aunt Lyuba, it turns out, is dead. She was still alive yesterday.

"What was it yesterday?" She died a week ago. The corpse has already begun to decompose. Okay, the postman came to her, otherwise she would have been lying further away.

I never went through that house again.

Distortion

 Tosha stared at the peeling leather of the door and sighed heavily. Everything that has happened to her lately is like a mousetrap with cheese. It's not a thrill to enter an inherited apartment with a load of misunderstandings, unfulfilled obligations, and in general... Although what obligations can there be between people who have never seen each other? Well, they sent a notification from the police: we inform you that Kuzma Kuzmich Rodionov was taken to the hospital with a heart attack. And who is he Better, this Kuzma Kuzmich, even for his father, even for his mother? My parents haven't been alive for six years, there's no one to ask. Maybe there was a mistake. But there was a call from the notary's office, and Tosha was hesitating at the door.

There was a strange feeling, as if someone was glued to the peephole on the other side. It's kind of disturbing... What if it's an old man who hasn't waited for anyone to come to his deathbed, waiting to claim his soul or his life? What kind of thoughts are these? I should have stayed in the village and not coveted the inheritance.

In general, you shouldn't have refused to accompany your aunt from the housing and communal services department. But she ran from one office to another for so long, so reluctantly shifting things from table to bag, from bag to table, that she reminded a naughty first-grader who delays the moment of showdown with his parents. And then the aunt grabbed the ringing mobile phone like a magic wand.

I had to say that I could do without her services. The aunt was delighted and handed Tosha the keys. In the cramped, multi-columned hallway, the girl stopped to get her luggage more comfortably. She heard a conversation:

— It's a pity. Just a girl.

— Maybe it will be okay...

Tosha still didn't understand who they were feeling sorry for, because the door closed and the words turned into an inarticulate babble.

Ouch! It was somewhere inside the locked apartment that the door slammed. Or was it just my imagination?

Very lucky — someone is coming up the stairs. Let's wait.

The stylishly dressed woman looked around at Tosha's things, smiled affably, but said nothing, and headed for the next flight of stairs. And Tosha decided.

— Hello. I came on a call from the notary office. This apartment is mine now. The housing and communal services gave me the keys. Could you help me out by coming in together? You never know what... — She asked.

The woman stopped, but her smile was gone.

At this time, a howl like a spring cat chant was heard in the depths of the apartment: "Wa-a-uh." Something crashed, and the howling stopped.

"Was it my imagination, or is there someone there?"  Tosha said.

— What makes you think that? The apartment has been empty for many years," the woman replied coldly, turned around and began to rise.

But Tosha saw her eyes widen in fright. She heard it too.

What should I do? My thoughts were interrupted by an urgent need: drinking coffee in the morning completed its cycle in the body. Tosha rattled the keys resolutely.

Oh, and the dust in the hallway! It's like poplar fluff, only gray. Tosha put her things on a rickety stool and a bedside table. She rushed to the bathroom, hastily unbuttoning her jeans. If only the plumbing was in working order! Fortunately, everything turned out to be fine. Rinsing her hands, Tosha turned her attention to the mirror. The surface, cloudy from dried plaque, looked like an eyesore. Well, it's okay, everything will be sparkling clean here soon.

There was a pounding on the front door. Tosha hurriedly headed to the hallway, glancing briefly into the room. So, what is this? The knocking resumed with such force that dust fell from the jambs. Okay, then we'll find out what kind of thing it is, otherwise someone can't wait, the door is about to rip off its hinges. Tosha opened the lock and staggered back.

"Help me!" For God's sake, help! My daughter, Sasha! She's not breathing!  A disheveled young woman shouted and burst into tears.

"I'm sorry, I'm just checking in and I don't know if there's a phone here," Tosha muttered in confusion, came to her senses and rummaged in her bag in search of a mobile phone, trying to somehow calm the distraught neighbor. — I'm going to dial an emergency call.

But the woman forcefully grabbed her by the arms and pulled:

"Help me!" Well, please!

Tosha reluctantly followed her to the wide-open door to the apartment opposite.

"I beg you! My baby... At first she wheezed, turned blue all over... It's cold... And then the eyes rolled back. My dear child!  The woman howled and dragged Tosha across the landing and into the cluttered hallway.

There was a girl lying on a low sofa in the room. His head was thrown back, and his blueberry-colored mouth was open, as if in a scream. There are dark spots and dried scratches on the neck.

Tosha stopped dead in her tracks. It's not an ambulance that's needed here, but the police. Wow, my daughter stopped breathing. Someone contributed to this. Isn't that the mother? And she can be dangerous! Only now did Tosha realize that she didn't feel the woman's tenacious grip. Where did she go? Tosha looked around warily. The neighbor disappeared, leaving her alone next to the dead child. I'm in such a mess, Tatiana Ivanovna!

Tosha looked around the room, a small, lifeless body. The poor girl has been unable to help for a long time — ominous spots have "blossomed" on her thin little hands. I need to go back to my apartment and call the police. Tosha went into the hallway and froze again. On stools and a bedside table — in someone else's apartment! — there were her things. There are no others to be confused with them. Especially the bag full of cosmetics, and on top of it — her own mobile phone! So where is Tosha herself— at home, with a child killer, or in a nightmare?

His chest convulsed several times in an attempt to breathe, and it was as if a noose had been tightened around his neck. If the numbness doesn't go away, Tosha will fall to the dusty floor. And two corpses will be found here. The air suddenly rushed into her throat, and the girl leaned against the bedside table with relief. We need to get out of here.

Someone touched my back lightly. Tosha turned around.

There was a dead girl standing next to her.

Her blacklist curled pitifully on her bluish face, and her eyes with yellow whites oozed brown tears.

And then it was as if a curtain had been drawn in front of Tosha.

When she woke up, the hallway was filled with misty twilight.

The girl stood up. His arms and legs were shaking, and his head ached. It took Tosha forever to walk three meters to the door. Finally, she crossed the threshold. Get out of here! And yet she turned around. Empty hallway, dilapidated furniture. Things are missing. There was not a single trace on the floor, which was covered with lumpy dust.

She immediately turned on the light in her room. She did not touch the bags and suitcase, but hesitated a little before entering the room. What if?.. But there was no little dead woman. But the squat sofa and bulky antique furniture—the same as in the monstrous apartment next door—were in the same places. The difference was in a stuffed huge cat under a giant glass hood. That's what struck Tosha when she first heard a desperate knock on the door.

I wish I could get out of here, but where am I going at night? A strange city, no relatives, no acquaintances. And this apartment is really a mousetrap. Although if you put the incident down to rampant nerves? Just give them some free rein. You will be left without a home, you will wither away without a normal job and the opportunity to arrange a personal life in a village that is not on the map yet. In general, so, Tatiana Ivanovna: the morning of the evening is more complicated. Now the cleaning is at a furious pace, then sleep. And after thinking about it. And no nerves!

I couldn't sleep. Tosha spent half the night fidgeting on a new set of underwear, thoughtfully purchased at the station store. The illumination, arranged for calmness, prevented me from forgetting — aha, you can't sweep away nerves like dust. I had to turn off the lights first in the room, then in the hallway and in the kitchen. Paradoxically, the darkness cheered me up even more. Tosha got up and went to the window, from which she peeled the tulle fluffy from the nets during cleaning. Did she open the frames? A fresh wind blew the strands off her sweaty cheeks, blew the lightest silk of her nightgown off her shoulders.

Rather, to where the restless night rustles its robes in huge lilacs, where the anemic light of lanterns timidly clings to the asphalt, where someone is ready to give hot blood to the strong flexible body of a predator... Hurry up!

Damn it! She almost jumped from the fourth floor!

Tosha climbed down from the windowsill, calmed her trembling, straightened her shirt. In the kitchen, I washed the kettle again and put water on to boil for coffee. What's going on with her? As a child, they said, she had a lot of extravagance. But at the age of ten she outgrew her eccentricities. She was known as a sensible and calm girl. Slightly on his mind, but not without reason. The sudden death of his parents did not break him, but only hardened his character. And more: she knew in advance who wanted to hurt her and when. And I could always resist it. It was worth wishing evil in return, as the plan was realized. It's not always the way we'd like it to be, but still... Was she a psychic? And if she stays away from all the nonsense and gets closer to the point, then she has only two options.

First, the headache pills she had been taking for two weeks turned out to be useless, even harmful. Does it happen that drugs get mixed up or the shelf life expires? Hence the glitches. Secondly, her childhood quirks returned, which did not leave anything in her memory. Tosha only found out about them from relatives at her parents' funeral. They say she was a dreamer — she made up things that you wouldn't read in books. She also made everyone believe in nonsense. Was she hallucinating again? And the food for visions was provided by this truly strange house. Tomorrow, that is, today, we need to talk to the neighbors about whether a crazy mother killed her daughter here. And what was Kuzma Kuzmich like when he bequeathed his apartment to her.

Osha stood at the window all morning, looking out at the neighbors. Some went to their cars, some hurriedly headed to the bus stop. Mothers with children hurried to the kindergarten. And here's the woman she met on the stairs yesterday, walking her dog. Tosha immediately got dressed, grabbed the bag and went out. She glanced warily at the door opposite and literally ran down the stairs. On the street, she imitated the joy of meeting and greeted the woman.:

— Hello, I'm Tatiana. For friends and neighbors — Tosha. Let's get acquainted!

—Alyona," the woman muttered and tried to calm the angry dog.

The tiny dog wheezed and tore at the leash, kicking dead leaves with its hind paws.

"What's the matter with you, Narcissus?"  Alyona said in annoyance and picked up the pet in her arms. — Be quiet, otherwise Mikhailovna will get upset again that her head hurts from barking.

An ambulance arrived at the entrance at the end of the house, followed by the police.

"Good day," Alyona hurriedly threw at Toshin's address and almost ran home.

Tosha stubbornly followed her, openly imposing on her:

— Maybe we should get to know each other better? Would you like to have some coffee?

Alyona just shrugged her shoulder. But then an obese old woman floated out of the entrance to meet her and blocked her escape route. "Mikhailovna,— Tosha immediately thought for some reason. The old woman put her hands on her hips, and then said in a bass voice:

— Yes, keep your mouth shut! If you can't raise them, put them to sleep. Such a lying dog, I can't save you from barking!

Alyona silently squeezed between Mikhailovna and the door jamb.

"What's that?" "What is it?" the old woman asked, and cupped her sausage fingers over her eyes, looking at the Ambulance and the policeman.

"I don't know,— Tosha replied.

"Who knows?" — the old woman asked, apparently purely for rhetoric, and added: — Nina Mikhailovna. Are you from the fourth, a tenant or a possessive?

Tosha did not have time to answer, as the formidable grandmother made a strangled sound and backed away. Her cheeks, which looked like poorly stuffed pillows, were completely saggy and gray. Tosha followed Mikhailovna's fixed gaze.

An orderly and a young man carried a stretcher covered with a sheet out of the entrance.

— Holy saints, again...  Mikhailovna muttered and crossed herself.

Tosha felt the opportunity to profit from the information and cordially invited the old woman.:

— Nina Mikhailovna, come to my place. If the pressure allows, let's drink coffee. Or tea...

"Isn't there anything stronger?" — almost whispered the loud Mikhailovna.

"I'll find it," Tosha smiled and slightly pushed the clumsy grandmother towards the stairs.

At the table, noisily sipping tea with lemon liqueur, which Tosha's second cousin had given her to celebrate the housewarming party, Mikhailovna began to talk. It turned out that people were dying in their house in a terrible and inexplicable way. Every seven years.

—I'll tell you, it's kabachupra,— Grandma said significantly and quietly, probably so that this one wouldn't hear.

 Tosha was surprised.

—Kabachupra,— whispered Mikhailovna. "Grab your neck with your teeth, that's all."..

Tosha realized who the grandmother was talking about and smiled. And then she asked a question that was supposed to shed light on what had happened to her.:

— Nina Mikhailovna, wasn't a child killed in our building? A little girl.

—That's what Aunt Alyona has,— Grandma replied, smacking her lips and pointing at the ceiling. "Since the fifth." Not right above you, but next to you. She's been crazy ever since. She's always running around with her boyfriend, kissing his nose. Well, the child is gone, but you need to love someone.

"At Alena's?"  Tosha was amazed. — Did the baby die in the apartment opposite mine?

"No,— Mikhailovna said firmly. — Your floor is exactly like an uninhabited one. Someone appears, moves out unnoticed... A caravanserai, in a word. I've been living in the house for about thirty years, I don't remember a single tenant.

— And you don't even remember my relative, Kuzma Kuzmich Rodionov? He bequeathed this apartment to me," Alyona said, puzzled.

"There was no Kuzma Kuzmich here,— Mikhailovna got angry. — By the way, I've been the eldest since I moved in. I used to collect money for all kinds of needs, so I know everything about everyone.

Despite the nightmares she had experienced, it was only now, in the peaceful moments of tea drinking, that Tosha realized that the mousetrap had snapped shut. The whole world dimmed and fell silent. The old woman's lips moved soundlessly, and a fat autumn fly darted soundlessly around the kitchen...

—Are you getting sleepy from your drink?"  Mikhailovna's bass voice suddenly popped into her ears.

—I think so,— Tosha said faintly.

—Well, then I'll go,— Grandma said. — The police officers will be doing a door-to-door inspection now. You get some rest. Shall I take a look at the room? I've never been there in all these years.

Tosha nodded, got up, leaning heavily on the table, and followed Mikhailovna.

Grandma turned her head and grunted disapprovingly. She walked over to the empty glass case and clicked on it with a yellow convex fingernail:

"What's that?" Some kind of jar.

"It's the dome that was used to cover the scarecrow," Tosha replied, barely moving her lips.

"Where is it?"  Mikhailovna asked, and made fun of it.

The girl just sighed. It really escaped. It's just unclear when. In the evening, she wiped the glass part of the case, looked at the master's skillful work. And then I stopped paying attention to the scarecrow. And so...

—Well, I'll go," Grandma said, clicked on the glass again and added. "It's a big jar. I guess the whole kabachupra will fit.

Having escorted Mikhailovna out, Tosha dipped the rest of the brandy into a mug and drank it. No, you can't do that, or you'll go crazy. The loss of the sawdust—stuffed hide will again be attributed to glitches - well, she imagined it. Just like yesterday's guest with the dead daughter. Alyona, whose child really died, does not live opposite at all. The strong liquor made my head spin, and my stiffness disappeared. What if you pay a visit to the ill-fated apartment? Oh, she wasn't! Tosha grabbed her keys and resolutely went out onto the landing. She rang the bell and knocked. She pushed the door open slightly. She gave way. Tosha took a deep breath and entered.

Kuzma Kuzmich stood in the middle of the room and, turning slowly, examined every corner of the furniture, every fold of the curtains, every shadow. The creature will be here soon—he can feel it. The heavy crowbar, once taken from the janitor's closet, trembled in his hand. Star Kuzmich — over a hundred, a dozen more ran up. Three wars are behind us, and you will have to look into the eyes of your death right now. Wounded five times at the front, he knew he would survive. And when his truck and a half went under the ice, he was sure that he would get out. Two heart attacks didn't come down. And so.

Claws scratched at the front door.

Kuzmich put his hand to his chest — his heart was fluttering badly. No, he couldn't stand it. We need to delay the last battle somehow. It doesn't make sense, of course. But he's not ready.

There was a sound in the hallway, as if something soft had fallen from a height.

Kuzmich, gathering all his strength, rushed and threw a crowbar into the corridor.

— Wow!  The darkness howled.

Well, now the creature will hide for a while. There were so many of them, these breaks in the exhausting hunt. The price of each is someone's life. More than once I had the idea to expose my throat to a hot fanged mouth. Either a hinge or an open window. But what happens after that, when the last hunter dies? He didn't become one by choice. But I'm not sure about the creature. Was it through his complicity that this reptile came into the world?

It all started right after the war, when he, a veteran, was given a separate apartment. There were so many residents in the neighboring communal apartment that you couldn't even remember their faces. He immediately became friends with the family of Igor Rusakov, the engineer of their fleet, who, with his wife and daughter Tanya, huddled in eight squares. Therefore, the doors of Kuzmich's odnushka were always open for a friend and a three-year-old fidget. The evenings when he and Igor listened to a captured radio, and Tanya was building something out of cubes on a rug, replaced family life, which was cut short by the explosions of the forty-first. Sometimes Igor, hearing the noise and screams from behind the adjacent wall, rubbed his face with his hands and said, "Hell." Kuzmich objected sternly: "You haven't seen hell. That's when it's a hundred times more, and they're silent... And they don't move... That's when hell begins." "Your truth," his young friend replied.

One day Tanya found a red-haired kitten freezing on the street. She burst into tears so much that Lena, Igor's wife, allowed her to bring the baby home. Igor was indignant for a long time, argued, tried to sell the animal to Kuzmich, but could not resist his daughter's happy, somehow enlightened face as she played with the foundling. And then the slightly grown-up cat got sick. Igor came alone that evening.

— Foam is coming out of the mouth, the belly is rattling. I wanted to take it away, Tanya, in a scream," he said.

Kuzmich understood what was the matter.

"It's rat poison. I should have been firm right away. And now there's nothing you can do," he explained.

In the morning, I saw through the window how Igor walked with a bundle in the newspaper behind the boiler room, which was then located right in front of their house.

However, after work, a friend showed up with Tanya, in whose arms a red cat was floundering.

"I don't understand anything,— Igor whispered to him. — I pushed her under some boards. I come home, and Lena tells me that Tanya missed the cat, cried, and then screamed that Toshka was walking in the yard! They went to get Toshka.

— Maybe it's another one?  Kuzmich didn't believe me.

—No,— Igor replied, rubbing his face as if he wanted to wake up from an unpleasant dream.

Kuzmich took a cloer look: a ribbon with a bow made of a piece of "gold" was tied around the kitten's neck. This wrapper was used for sweets received on special rations for front-line soldiers.

All evening they watched the games that Tanya had arranged.

Kuzmich secretly talked to some of the neighbors, and the communal war against the kitten temporarily subsided. For six months, no more.

At four o'clock in the morning, there was a quiet, insistent knock on the door. Kuzmich was alarmed for some reason and ran to open the door without putting on his slippers. Igor literally stumbled through the door. In his hands is a rolled—up towel with purple spots.

—Kuzmich, you're like a father to me,— Igor said dully. —Here we go again! Uncle Lyosha, with a crutch. Drunk as a fiddle, as always. Kuzmich, help me, I won't be able to. I'm afraid, you know? What if he comes back again?

"Come into the kitchen," Kuzmich said, and began to dress. I thought for a while and grabbed a sapper shovel. It should be in the ground, as it should be.

He buried the Toy under a bush. For a long time I could not get rid of the feeling of crushed bones that rolled under the skin, which had lost all its red luxury. Oh, and Tanya had infected him with her tenderness for the little animal. Then I drank two hundred grams with a friend. Igor suddenly got carried away, and Kuzmich dragged him home to Lena in his arms. Quietly closing the door of the Rusakovs' room behind him, Kuzmich walked down the long corridor to the niche where Uncle Lyosha was snoring, letting green snot run down his mustache. I didn't lose my leg at the front — I was crushed by a drunkenly overturned tractor before the war. You bastard, you couldn't get to your room. Kuzmich shook him by the shirt front and asked in a whisper choked with rage:

"You bastard, don't you have anyone else to fight?" Why did you kill the cat?

Uncle Lyosha woke up and, in a completely sober voice, although it smelled of dead meat all over the corridor, said:

— Damn it, not a cat! Heck! She came to me every night. She drank my blood! Don't you believe it? Here!..

The disabled man wanted to undo the mismatched buttons on his shirt, but his fingers wouldn't obey. Then he yanked at the collar so that the buttons rattled like peas on the floor.

There were purple wounds on his neck and collarbones. There were dried and fresh scratches all over his chest.

— He will appear... from the dark... He'll claw and bite... And licking the blood...  Uncle Lyosha said, twisting his lips and shaking with tears.

Kuzmich even choked with indignation, shouting louder than he should have:

"Drunk as hell!" You're a crazy drunk! The cat is lapping up blood, and you're lying there watching, right?

There was a draft. Kuzmich wanted to say that Uncle Lyosha would have to answer for Tanechka's grief, but out of the corner of his eye he noticed that the front door had opened a crack. I looked and felt the floor give way under my feet.

Toshka slowly entered the hallway. It was exactly her, a red—haired hide covered in blood and earth.

The cat sat down and began to lick itself, looking at Kuzmich and Uncle Lyosha, who was wheezing. Kuzmich carefully walked around Toshka and rushed out. In the evening of that day, he learned that the disabled man had been found dead in the hallway. I got drunk.

Igor did not appear at his friend's place anymore. And when they met at the car park, he announced that he was leaving the family — the quiet and meek Lena turned into a fury when she heard the ultimatum: either him or the cat. Kuzmich just spread his hands. And that was the first mistake.

He committed the second one when he failed to connect a series of strange deaths in a communal apartment with a cat. A scandalous young woman, a mother of two children, committed suicide when the last of her babies suffocated in her sleep. She slashed at her throat with a kitchen knife. The unfortunate woman's face and hands were covered with scratches. One of the loud old women suddenly went crazy and scalded herself with water from a tank in which the laundry was boiling. But Toshka turned out to be persistent. No one has managed to lime it. The apartment began to be considered disastrous, a bad reputation, like an unpleasant smell, crept through the city. Kuzmich, as best he could, took care of and protected the family of a long-retired engineer.

Then there was the third mistake, the most terrible. Tanya has grown into a fifteen-year-old beauty. But in terms of behavior, she remained the same little girl with a tender attachment to her cat. Lena barely persuaded her daughter to go to a summer camp. A few days later, Toshka disappeared, and death walked out of the apartment. Three residents of the building died one after the other.

Kuzmich and Lena went to Tanya's house and, as expected, found the cat at the owner's. They brought the enraged animal home. Kuzmich went on a business trip, and when he returned, he learned about the tragedy that had just happened: Lena, along with the cat, rushed under a dump truck. Igor came to the funeral and insisted that his daughter not be informed about her mother's death until the end of the camp season. Kuzmich felt that Tanya could not survive two losses at once and ordered a scarecrow. He ruthlessly suppressed speculation and superstition, and reasoned that all the anger that had befallen the cat had turned against the people themselves. The wild mores of the communal apartment — and not only in relation to the animal — have caused something that is repugnant to life itself. But he would not leave Tanya, he would help her finish her education in another city where Igor's relatives lived, and he would give her an apartment. To her surprise, she did not grieve for long, but left a stuffed animal of her pet at parting. She studied, got married, had a son, and became a happy grandmother. And she quietly left this world, as happened to all of Kuzmich's acquaintances. But he remained the guardian.

Then I had to hunt. It sucks, I must say, he was good at it — age. Or fate. Or something else.

Tosha looked around and sighed heavily. It's just like last time. Maybe this apartment is some kind of mirror? Cloudy from dried plaque. In which there is distortion instead of reflection?

She felt the girl immediately.

And sure enough, the deceased went out into the corridor, beckoned with her hand with her nails already completely black.

For some reason, Tosha wasn't scared at all. She's probably asleep.

Just like when she was a child, when she saw strangers in oblivion. And the death rattles in my ears. And then their blood on their lips and palms.

Tosha slowly moved into the room along the endless corridor, the walls and ceiling of which were unsteady from the shifting haze.

My feet sank into an invisible substance, and voices rustled in my head. A female figure blocked the way. It appeared as if out of nowhere. She shook her blood-soaked, half-scalped head, spread her hands with the nails torn off on her fingers, as if not letting them go any further.

But the girl was drawn forward. She knew she couldn't stop. And she stepped forward.

The woman, if you could call this creature that, threw back her head, causing a flap of skin with matted hair to slide down her back, let out a scream and suddenly grabbed Tosha.

The bones of the mutilated dead woman's fingers slipped out of the rotten flesh and bit painfully into her forearms. Bared teeth in rags of decomposed gums approached Tosha's face. An almost black, wrinkled tongue wriggled, and the words rang out:

"Die, you bastard!" I won't give you Tanya!

At first, Tosha felt that she was falling somewhere with the creature. And then everything started spinning, Tosha felt the blows, the crunch of someone's, or maybe her bones, and a wild heaviness.

And darkness fell.

Tosha came to her senses and realized that she was free. No one can stop her anymore. There's not much left. She stumbled over a thick piece of metal, which immediately turned to dust. She looked back and grimaced: corpses were piled up in the haze-cleared space. Nothing, it's all over. Tosha entered the bright room.

She's in her room. Everything is washed and tidy. Except there was an unfamiliar chair by the window. It's disgusting. It's obnoxious. Empty, but somehow dangerous. Tosha, stepping carefully, came closer.

It was as if some kind of veil had covered the worn plaid upholstery. And then, like in the movies, the sleeping man gradually began to appear. The old man. Wasn't he the one who had once lived here before her? I've been waiting. He wanted to take away Toshin's sanity or his life. He set traps. Lured by inheritance and...

— Tanya? — the old man woke up and stared at Tosha incredulously. "Darling, how did you get here?" Wait a minute... but you... Yes, it seems that my time has come. Thanks to the Creator, He sent me consolation at the last moment. Come and hug Kuzmich... How I missed you!

Tosha wanted to say that even though she was named after her grandmother, she had never been here before. And anyway, it's better to call her Tosha, Tosha. That's what she decided on her own. And if this is her apartment now, then let the old man get lost, or else...

— Baby, I remember how you used to play here. I did my homework. And I... I... watched and imagined that you were my granddaughter," the old man said in a trembling voice, raising his shaking hand to his eyes. — How many years have passed... And I'm still alone...

Toshin's irritation reached its limit. It seemed that even the air was pierced by electrical discharges. But a hiss came out of his mouth. Out of anger, it must be. The old man bulged his colorless eyes and fumbled with his hand near the chair. He probably wanted to reach the glass hemisphere that was standing at a distance. Then he went limp and said:

"Is that so?" Was it you the whole time? Well, that's understandable... When they spit into the purest soul, they will poison it with hatred. What can germinate? What will a poisoned, crushed, murdered purity turn into? But me, me for what? Why innocent children? Why is God's love not enough for everyone?

The old man tried once more to reach the huge glass dome, but could not. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and muttered:

"Retribution is inevitable. Guilty. I didn't know that people needed to be protected from themselves. Where can I find such a dome to lock up all evil?

Tosha grinned. I can't lock it! The old fool made a mistake. I caught a shadow, but I missed it. But if it had happened otherwise, would you have raised your hand against your beloved Tanya? A whirlwind swirled around Toshi. The throat let out a powerful howl. And she rushed to the chair.

Korenikha

 Tikhvin district of the Leningrad region is known as the bear corner. The places here are remote and sparsely populated, which makes them attractive for hunters and fishermen. Last fall, Yakov Aizeman, a leading engineer at the Electrosila plant, came here to hunt. He stayed with his friend in the village of Volozhba.

In the morning, Aizeman went into the forest and got lost. The latter circumstance did not frighten him, but it upset him a lot, since the engineer considered himself a good tracker and a good connoisseur of the Tikhvin forests. All day he wandered through completely unfamiliar places, and in the late afternoon he came out on a barely noticeable forest road. "It will lead somewhere," Eiseman decided, and set off down it.

The road led him to an abandoned farm on the edge of a large swamp. Apparently, the farm was abandoned quite a long time ago. Aizeman went up to the porch and pushed open the front door of the hut. It creaked open. There was nothing remarkable inside the house, except for the traces of someone's long-ago sleepover: several empty cans, a bottle of vodka and an armful of firewood thrown near the couch.

It was getting dark fast. A whitish mist was creeping in from the swamp, and there was a dank dampness. "I'll spend the night in the house, and in the morning I'll find out where the hell I've gone," Eiseman decided and began to settle down for the night.

In the middle of the night, he suddenly woke up, feeling through his dream that someone was shuffling next to him. For the first few moments, the engineer lay motionless, but then, startled, he sat up on his bed. Nothing could be seen in the pitch darkness, but Aizeman sensitively sensed someone's presence in the hut and realized with horror that the one hidden by the darkness was deadly. He hastily flicked the lighter. A wavering tongue of flame picked out the corner of the couch from the darkness and the stooping figure of an old woman standing a few steps away from it.

Aizeman screamed in surprise. The old woman slowly, as if blind, leaned towards him, spreading both arms. A sweet smell of decay flowed through the hut, and Aizeman clearly saw what was approaching him... A corpse!

In desperation, he threw a Neva lighter at the deceased, still Soviet-made, hefty and weighty, like a chair. She hit the old one hard in the rotten forehead and, bouncing off, instantly went out. There was a scream in the darkness. Eiseman rushed into the vestibule. Fear gave him strength, and with one jerk he tore the hook and the hole out of the closed front door and jumped onto the porch.

He spent the rest of the night running over some shaky hummocks, falling into the peat muck every now and then. At dawn, I felt solid ground under my feet and collapsed exhausted. After catching my breath, I looked around and realized that I was not far from Volozhba.

When Aizeman appeared in the village, he caused a stir among the locals — his appearance was so wild. However, everything he said did not surprise the villagers at all, since there had been a bad rumor about the farm in the swamp for a long time.

Before the war, a lonely old woman named Korenikha lived there. No one really knew how old she was or what she was doing. It was rumored, however, that the old woman was a witch and kept an ancient book on witchcraft in her house. Once, they even saw a Rootling wandering around the village churchyard, scraping moss from crosses on abandoned graves and collecting cemetery grass in a purse — wet convolvulus. They were afraid of the old woman and avoided her farm.

In 1941, during the fighting in the Tikhvin direction, a German infantry unit entered the area of the village of Volozhba. The Germans shelled the farm where our outposts were entrenched with artillery fire. A shell fragment struck Korenikha to death. "Damn fascists, they killed my grandmother," the soldiers sighed after the fire raid and buried the dead woman right there in one of the craters.

Since the 50s, hunters, berry pickers and mushroom pickers began to tell terrible things about the abandoned farm. Some heard footsteps and groans in the crumbling house, while others noticed a stooping, gray-haired old woman in its windows. Grisha Volobuyev, an atheist Komsomol member, was found in Volozhba, who decided to dispel all superstitious fears, for which he went to the farm. A couple of days later, in the Volozhbinsky swamp, they came across a Volobuev cap and a kirza boot — all that remained of the atheist. There was no doubt that Grisha had fallen into a quagmire and drowned. However, the reason that drove him into the swamp remained unclear.

Over time, the farm and the road to it became overgrown with forest and grass. The locals did not go there, and it was possible to find the old woman's house only with a guide or by chance, as happened with the engineer.

Aizeman left Volozhba for St. Petersburg, without even remembering about the backpack, bandolier and double-barreled shotgun left on the farm. Upon arrival in the city, he turned to Andron Friedman for clarification. The expert's opinion was as follows:

— In the northern regions of Russia, according to an ancient witchcraft rite, a sorcerer or witch had to find a successor in order to pass on to him all the secrets of his forbidden knowledge before his death, usually in the form of a handwritten codex. Otherwise, their black souls could not find peace and were doomed to eternal torment. Korenikha's sudden death may have disrupted this rite and caused the witch's ghost to appear.

The Queen of Spades

 I'm almost sixteen, and I'm going to die soon, not from an incurable disease or a deadly virus, but because of my own stupidity, thanks to which my friends and I opened the door to the other world, releasing evil from there.

At my age, the word "death" is just a word you hear in movies or find in books, a kind of abstract concept. It never occurred to me to use it in relation to myself. I was always sure that if I died, it would be very, very soon, at a very old age. However, to be honest, I didn't really believe in my own old age, and even more so in death. At the dawn of life, no one thinks about its decline. I've never gone on a date with a guy, not even kissed yet.…

Tears stung my eyes.

Trying not to cry, I took a few shuddering breaths.

Daria was the culprit. She's the one who's crazy about black magic. Spells, love spells. Lesya and I only laughed at her at first, because her witchcraft was of little use. Take, for example, the fact that Sergei from 10 "B" never fell in love with me, despite all Darya's manipulations with his photo and the creepy entourage in the form of thirteen burning candles and thirteen dried roses. That's why, when our homegrown witch suddenly announced that she could use the dark forces to cancel the annual math test, we almost burst our bellies with laughter.

— What, your dark forces will dry the pasta in all the pens?  Lesya moaned through her laughter.

— Maybe our notebooks will self-ignite? — I put forward my version.

Twirling her finger at her temple in response to our jokes, Daria dryly said:

— You'll see!

That Saturday evening is etched into my memory in every detail.

Daria was at home alone, her parents had gone to the country for the whole weekend. Lesya and I came to her at the appointed hour with a box of cakes, which, alas, we were never destined to taste.

Daria opened the door and motioned for us to enter, then, without saying a word, led us through the dark hallway to her room. Slightly discouraged by the mystery of what was happening, Lesya and I were also silent. He made not only a frightening, but also a fascinating impression of Darya's unusual appearance. She was wearing a long black silk dress, black ballet flats on her feet, and a black nylon scarf tied with a tourniquet decorated her head. The makeup was also designed in the "vampire" style: lips in black lipstick, black nail polish, black eyeliner.

Everything in the room was ready for the upcoming "sacrament": the windows were tightly curtained, candles were placed both around the perimeter and around the mirror placed on the carpet.

Daria nodded at the pillows. We obediently sat down on them, forming a kind of enclosed space between the three of us, the center of which was a mirror surrounded by burning candles.

— What kind of folk art is this?  Lesya couldn't resist asking.

A symbolic staircase was painted in black lipstick in a mirrored circle, ending at one end in a closed door.

"This?"  Daria smiled mysteriously. — A ritual image to summon the Queen of Spades!

"The Queen of Spades?" But Herman's not here!  Lesya made a mocking face and, becoming serious, added:

— We're doing stupid things!.. How can you believe in all this nonsense?..

— Wait, you'll believe it yourself soon!  Daria smiled promisingly.

Admittedly, I myself have always been skeptical about girls' stories about the spirits of the Queen of Spades or Bloody Mary, supposedly fulfilling any desires of those who cause them. But it was a pity to upset Daria, the poor thing wanted to surprise us with her ability to do black magic. I supported her.:

— Let's get started! "The devil pulled my tongue!"

Daria held out her hands to us, and the three of us completed the ritual circle, after which we bent over the mirror so low that our heads touched, and repeated the necessary incantation three times: "Spirit of the Queen of Spades, come!"

The main wish was voiced, of course, by Daria:

— Help us, please make sure that we don't write the annual math test!

There was silence for a moment, but the next thing Lesya giggled nervously.:

— It's a madhouse!

—Shh...— Daria stopped her, putting her finger to her lips.

An unexpected sound, like the creaking of rusty door hinges, startled us all. I noticed Lesya tensing up in alarm. Daria's pale face, wreathed in a kind of triumphant smile, looked like a grotesque mask of Death in the darkness. It was cold, as if someone had entered the warmth from the cold, without immediately closing the door. I shivered instinctively. And suddenly there were footsteps, light, swift, like a gust of wind that immediately extinguished all the candles. Lesya screamed in fright. We squeezed each other's hands with all our might. I can't tell you how scary it was! I was afraid to move and almost fainted when a woman's crazy laughter sounded in the pitch darkness. The footsteps were getting closer. It felt as if someone invisible had descended an invisible staircase and passed by us. The door of Darya's room suddenly opened and slammed shut. Everything went quiet. There was no sound, no movement, not even the cold. The chandelier flared up on its own. I don't know how much time passed while we were in prostration. Maybe a few seconds, or maybe even half an hour, as Lesya claimed the next day. By the way, she was the first to come to her senses, and her angry scream still rings in my ears.:

—It's a nightmare! Daria, I'll never forgive you! What was that?!

— The Spirit of the Queen of Spades, which you didn't believe in! — came the victorious reply.

"Stop messing with my head! It's clear that you've played a prank on us!  Tossing aside the pillow she was sitting on, Lesya ran around the room. — Come on, tell me, where did you hide it?..

"Who did I hide?"  Daria screamed, offended by the incredulity. "What are you doing?" Stop going through my stuff!

— Not who, but what!.. Phone, tape recorder, laptop!.. Where was the sound coming from?.. You wrote down all these steps and creaks in advance to scare us, and we idiots fell for it!..

— I didn't write anything down!

— Yeah, tell the donkey, his ears are more authentic!

I stopped the argument by pointing with a trembling hand at the cracked mirror.:

— Girls, look! — The rays diverged at an angle from the painted door, crossing the schematically depicted staircase, in the direction of the exit from the room...

On Monday, in math class, we were informed that the final test in the tenth grades had been postponed to Thursday.

— Okay, at least Darya's witchcraft partially worked!  Lesya laughed.

It was funny to me then, too, but now I realize that witchcraft worked one hundred percent. The Queen of Spades fulfilled Darya's request exactly: none of the three of us are destined to write an annual test... ever!..

Daria didn't show up at school that day. At the last break, we called her, and when we found out that she was in the hospital, we rushed there, but we were too late. The disease developed so rapidly that the doctors did not even have time to make a diagnosis. "It's all blackened, like it's charred!" was all the nurse on duty in the intensive care unit could tell us.

It's Tuesday night.

Lesya died this morning.

I can hear my mom sobbing into the phone, listing my symptoms to the ambulance dispatcher. My fingers and toes became numb, lost their sensitivity, and began to turn black. The blackness is rising higher and higher by the minute.…

And I'm not even sixteen yet!..

The old man

 There was an apartment next to us — my grandfather lived in that apartment, who was ill for a long time and then died. My grandfather had no arms or legs.

The room where my sister and I slept was next to his apartment. After my grandfather's death, it remained empty for some time. The balcony of the empty apartment was located next to ours, at a window distance.

I woke up in the middle of the night and heard some strange noises. I looked at my sister's bed, and she was sleeping quietly. Then I realized that these sounds were coming from behind the wall, from my dead grandfather's apartment. I lay there in silence for a while, but the sounds didn't stop, repeating themselves periodically over and over again. They were very indistinct, but they made me listen anxiously. Then I got out of bed and put my ear to the wall to listen to what was going on there.

Some kind of blows, they were repeated periodically. Then there was some rustling. But suddenly the nature of the sounds changed. The noise was as if someone was jerking a full bag. Moreover, he dragged it towards the balcony. Suddenly, the noise stopped. In the silence of the night, I heard something click behind the wall.

"It's the latch on the balcony," I suddenly realized. And he froze, waiting for what would happen next. But then nothing happened.

The noise was repeated the next night. I told my sister everything this morning.

"Do you know what that is?"  My sister asked after thinking about it.

- no.

— It's a dead grandfather crawling on the floor, then he opens the balcony door and goes outside.

"And how does he open the door?" He doesn't have arms and legs!

"He's dead!" — The nurse replied meaningfully.

The next night, she didn't sleep with me. The noise was repeated. First a rustle, then the sound of a balcony latch coming off, and then silence. The two of us listened to the sounds of a dead disabled person moving. He seemed to us to be some kind of monstrous maggot- maggot — which, writhing, moved across the floor.

The next morning, my sister said:

— So this grandfather goes out on the balcony.

"What if it's not Grandpa?"

— Who else could be in the dead grandfather's empty apartment? Grandfather himself! — the sister answered confidently.

—Well, that's okay," she continued, "the important thing is that he goes out on the balcony. Meanwhile, we can also go out on our own and see what it is!

It was decided that the two of us would go out on our balcony tonight and see who was going out on the next one.

During the day, we reached over the railing and tried to look into the empty windows of the next room. There was nothing to be seen but a yellowed sheet of newspaper pinned to the window.

And then the night came. The scuffle behind the wall began. We waited for the latch to click and went to the balcony door. We were walking together, but it so happened that I was the first. I wish I hadn't done that.

"No one,— I said quietly to my sister.

Yes, the door to the next balcony was open, but it was empty. It wasn't that scary.

And suddenly...

A rounded object appeared at the level of the railing of the neighboring balcony. For a moment, I thought he had fallen from above, because I heard something soft fall on the metal surface of the railing.

And then the sister rushed back to the apartment.

I suddenly realized what kind of object it was. On the next balcony, the corpse of a legless and armless old man hung with his teeth on the railing. His glassy eyes turned and fixed on me.

I rushed inside the apartment. I rushed to the light switch, groped along the wall and couldn't find it, forgetting in horror where everything was located.

—The door! Close the door to the balcony!  My sister screamed and, not waiting for my reaction, rushed to lock it herself.

I rushed to help, and in the dark we almost collided and fell. Finally, the door was closed and the light was on.

We stood in silence — there was silence outside the windows. And with the electric lighting, it already seemed like everything that had happened was a terrible dream.

I turned to my sister, who was staring intently into the blackness of the window.

"That's nonsense.

—Didn't you get it?" — she looked at me, - Do you still have any idea how he opened his door latch? With my teeth. He jumped up and opened it. So he can jump on our balcony!

I felt cold.

— Let's wake up the parents?

"What are we going to tell them?"

My sister was interrupted by a noise on our balcony. We froze. You can't see much in the dark through lighted windows. But nevertheless, I figured out something. On the other side, a dead mask pressed against the window, which was the face of an old man with a disability. Glazed eyes stared at us.

Yelling, we rushed into the bedroom to our parents, who were fast asleep after their shift at the factory.

My parents came with us to our room.

We didn't tell them the details, just explained that something had fallen on our balcony. My father went outside, looked, and found nothing. His sister was looking out with him—the door to the next balcony was closed.