Creepy stories about the dead, death and cemeteries. At the junction of our world and the other world, sometimes very strange and unusual phenomena occur that are difficult to explain even to very skeptical people.
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Recently, a woman I knew’s mother died. She was very worried and shared her thoughts. She told a story that she woke up early in the morning, got out of bed and wanted to turn on the light. The switch clicked, the light came on and then went out. I tried to turn it on several times, but it didn’t light up, so I decided to replace it. I unscrewed it and it was intact. She thought that this was a sign and began to ask for forgiveness out loud from her mother’s soul.
I recently read about a deceased person with a lit candle in front of his photo. I read it late in the evening and at the end of the prayer for some reason I felt fear. This was on the 9th day after the funeral. Anxiety crept in.
Before this, the day before, a deceased person appeared, as in a dream. I didn’t understand anything at all, since it flashed by very quickly, and I only remembered the image of him lighting a candle, which was burning so brightly.
I will write about small strange incidents that happened to me, and which I heard about from witnesses of the phenomena.
Mom lives in a private house. When she was strong, she often baked something, and she made such wonderful pies. I come to my mother one day. She is sitting at the table with my brother's daughter. They sit at a table near the window, eat pies, drink tea. Immediately from the threshold they start vying with me to say: “We saw this! Just now! 5 minutes ago we flew past the window over the beds somewhat perfectly. So slowly, everyone is a little different in size, the size of an average ball. Light in appearance, like soap bubbles. And they are all so bright, shimmering with different colors. They flew purposefully, calmly, as if someone was walking and leading them on a string. And they flew away towards the neighbors, to Baba Polya. We watched from the window as long as we could, but didn’t go out into the street, because despite the fact that it was summer, day, sun, for some reason it was scary.” I helped them eat the pies, and after an hour and a half, Lena and I went home. We went out into the yard, and there was some kind of fuss among the neighbors, we left the yard, and on the street, a neighbor from the house opposite said: “Polya’s grandmother has died.”
The priests do not recommend opening the coffin after the funeral service has been performed for the deceased and the lid has been nailed shut. I always knew about this ban, but could not find an explanation for it. After googling, I came to the conclusion that it’s like official version, why is it prohibited, no. And now even, with the permission of the priest, sometimes it is allowed to open the lid of the cemetery so that people who were not in the church for the funeral service can say goodbye to the deceased. But still undesirable.
I addressed this question to my 80-year-old grandmother. To which she told me a story that happened to her relatives in the village.
As a child, every summer I vacationed with my grandparents in the village. But when I was nine years old, my grandmother died of cancer. She was responsive and kind person, and a very good grandmother.
At the age of fourteen, I came to the village to visit my grandfather, who was very lonely and sad without his wife. In the morning, my grandfather went to the local market while I slept in the cozy bed.
Then, in my sleep, I hear some strange steps on the wooden floor. It creaks just so clearly. I lay facing the wall and was afraid to move. At first I thought it was my grandfather who had returned. Then I remembered that in the morning he is always at the market. And suddenly someone’s cold hand falls on my shoulder, and then I hear the voice of my late grandmother: “Don’t go to the river.” I couldn’t even move from fear, and when I pulled myself together, nothing strange happened.
I’m here that we live next to a cemetery and I had a young neighbor who was drinking. Her deceased father came to see her, and we talked about life and death. She eventually died. Recently it was one year since his death.
She lived in a house located along the main street and which she had to pass by every day. And this year, I went to the store almost every day, past her house, but I didn’t walk quietly, but ran quickly without looking. There was always a bad feeling and some kind of lifelessness. I attributed everything to past death and time.
When I received my profession, I lived in a hostel not in hometown. I went home once every two weeks. There were 3 girls living in our dorm room, their native home was closer than mine and they went to see their parents every weekend.
In January 2007, my only grandmother died. Although during her life we did not communicate with her very often, and our relationship with her was not as close as many, but after her death, I often dreamed of her for some time. But we will talk about one dream or phenomenon, I don’t even know what to call it.
It was my grandmother’s fortieth day, but I didn’t go to the wake, we just had exams (and, as I said, we didn’t have any particularly warm family relations). I was left alone in the room and was preparing for exams, it was already about 2 am, and I decided to go to bed. I didn’t turn off the light (the girls and I often slept with the light on), closed the door and, turning to the wall, lay down. Sleep just didn’t want to come to me, and I lay there and thought about all sorts of exams.
Since childhood, I lived in a small village near railway, and there was a forest around. My parents worked in another city and rarely came, and I lived with my grandparents.
When I was very little, we did not live in the village itself, but on the outskirts near the cemetery. There were several very old houses there, probably built in the nineteenth century, and people still lived in them. Then grandfather built new house in the village itself, and we moved.
Since childhood, I got used to the cemetery and was not at all afraid of it and even often walked there. The cemetery was also very old, but sometimes people still buried there. It's quite small and easy to get around. I liked looking at the photos and names on the tombstones, imagining what kind of people those lying here were, what they had seen and experienced, what I could talk to them about. There was a woman about my age nearby, I came to her and put flowers on her grave, there were several other graves of older people that I especially liked. Maybe it was all because of loneliness. There were no other children in the village, only adults, with no one to play with. But it always seemed to me that the Dead, as I called them in my mind, are very real beings with whom you can communicate if you try.
At school in the 6th grade, a new boy was assigned to me. At the end of the school year, he and I were inseparable, but after graduation, life took our paths to other cities. Then we were carefree children and it didn’t even occur to me why my friend’s dad was all gray at such a young age. I only knew in passing that he works in medicine and special attention did not pay attention to this fact, only years later, having met his school friend at the alumni reunion we didn't have 7 for long years, we got to talking and I learned a terrible story.
It turns out that Denis’s dad was a forensic pathologist, in my opinion, that’s what it’s called; in general, he found out the causes of death of his “patients.” Denis remembers only one fact from childhood, when dad went to work in the evening urgent call an ordinary dad, but returned as a white-headed dad. When the boy asked his father about White hair, dad said that it’s necessary, that people can sometimes grow old because of hard work. The boy noticed that his father had become silent and gloomy, his mother always tried to talk quietly and calmly in front of him.
Only after becoming an adult, and having experienced her father’s stroke with her mother, did her mother tell what happened that night when his hair turned gray.
He was urgently called to work - the neighbors were worried about the fact that there had been no word from the young girl for a week, after a quarrel with her husband, who left with a suitcase and did not return. There was silence in the apartment; they broke down the door and discovered the body of a girl. It was necessary to find out what was the cause of death. In general, Den's father began his immediate duties. He opened the corpse and began to do his work, when first a muffled gurgling groan escaped from the victim’s mouth, and then she opened her eyes and grabbed Father Denis’s hand. From the surprise and unreality of what was happening, the man simply lost consciousness. As it turned out later, due to extreme stress, the girl fell into a lethargic sleep, she had no pulse or heartbeat, her skin was pale, in general, all the signs of death were visible. In a hurry, doctors recorded death and sent the body for examination. Den's father, with all the accepted conclusions, began his work. The girl woke up during the autopsy, fortunately she was saved, but Denis’s father, along with gray hair, acquired a diseased heart at the age of 34, visited a lot of various psychologists and psychotherapists and never again engaged in forensic examination, transferring to a regular clinic as a regular therapist. Perhaps, after numerous silhouettes and monsters, this story will seem nonsense, but imagining the whole nightmare of what happened, I really feel creepy.
My grandmother is almost 83 years old. She has more than four decades of experience in primary school. Behind Lately buried her eldest son, younger brother and finally her husband (my grandfather). In general, she endured the losses steadfastly, but only at night something strange began to happen to her.
Before his death, my grandfather asked my wife and me to “look after my grandmother,” and soon after he passed away, we moved into one of her rooms two-room apartment. It’s good for everyone: we don’t have to rent an apartment, and she’s not bored. We will always bring food, clean it up, and the old lady has someone to talk to. We didn’t like, however, that she hung portraits of her late husband and son above the head of her bed. But I once heard that this should not be done, since it will not allow the deceased to pass on to another world. Apparently this is true.
One day my wife and I woke up at night from terrible howl. It came from the hall where the grandmother was sleeping. We literally jumped out of bed. Suddenly everything calmed down, but soon resumed with renewed vigor.
Scenes from horror films began to appear before my eyes, but I gathered my courage, entered the hall and realized that my grandmother was howling. I woke her up, and she said with fear that her grandfather had come and strangled her. For what - it is not clear. Grandma, by the way, said that I was lying about her - she didn’t howl. Why on earth would this suddenly happen? My parents didn’t believe my story either.
My grandmother took a lot of pills, and perhaps it had some effect on her, my wife and I decided. In addition, she already had problems with the blood vessels of the brain. We reduced her dose of medication. A few days later everything happened again. I heard someone invisible sneak into my grandmother’s room through our bedroom at night. The faint sound of footsteps woke me up. And then again - howl.
Vitya, Vitya! - the grandmother shouted through the howls. That was the name of her late son.
Jumping up, I woke her up and wet her face with water.
“I’m fine, Vitya just came in a dream,” she said.
The next day I placed a burning candle in the place in our bedroom where I clearly heard footsteps. The candle smoked and crackled. Just like in the hall in front of the portrait of Victor and grandfather. In other places her flame was even.
We gave my grandmother stronger drugs. In the bedroom they placed an icon prayed at the Kiev Pechersk Lavra. For some time our nightly suffering ceased, but we did not relax. We decided to try, if the howl was heard again, to record it without a voice recorder. We didn't have to wait long for the "concert".
One night the grandmother howled again - and much stronger than before. My wife, huddled with her head under the blanket, told me to turn on the recorder. After a minute of recording, I lit a flashlight and, reading “Our Father” in a whisper, began to wake up my grandmother. She howled heart-rendingly in her sleep, her face was distorted. Opening her eyes, as if nothing had happened, the grandmother began to talk about her communication with her deceased relatives.
We conducted a kind of investigation, collecting information about such cases. People, having heard about the problem, suggested: next time try to take the sleeping grandmother by the tip of her finger and ask what she sees. I must tell you! And then it suddenly happened that the grandmother gave the next “concert” not at night, but in the evening, sitting in her chair, in the bright light of a chandelier. The number with the finger didn’t work: the old woman’s face was so terribly distorted that we hurried to wake her up, forgetting about the advice. However, it was not possible to quickly return her to reality. Grandma tried to say something, but she only made monotonous, repetitive sounds, as if the tape had jammed in an old cassette recorder. In the end, we somehow shook her out. She suddenly came to her senses, as if an internal switch had switched inside her.
