The most terrible stories from the life of people to read. Mystical stories from real life

Are you afraid to watch horror movies, but still having decided, then you are afraid to sleep without light for several days? May you know that in real life even more terrible things happen mystery stories than the fantasy of Hollywood screenwriters can invent. Find out about them - and you will look into dark corners with fear for many days in a row!

Death in a lead mask

In August 1966, on a desert hill near the Brazilian city of Niteroi, a local teenager discovered the half-decomposed corpses of two men. Local police officers, having arrived at the dough, found that there were no signs of violence on the bodies and, in general, any signs of violent death. Both were dressed in evening suits and raincoats, but most surprisingly, their faces were hidden by rough lead masks, similar to those used in that era to protect against radiation. The dead had an empty water bottle, two towels and a note with them. which read: "16.30 - be at the appointed place, 18.30 - swallow the capsules, put on protective masks and wait for a signal." Later, the investigation managed to identify the dead - they were two electricians from a neighboring town. The pathologists could not find traces of injuries or any other reasons that led to their death. What experiment was discussed in the mysterious note, and from what otherworldly forces killed two young men in the vicinity of Niteroi?No one knows about this until now.

Chernobyl Mutant Spider

This happened in the early 1990s, a few years after the Chernobyl disaster. In one of the Ukrainian cities that fell under a radioactive release, but were not subject to evacuation. The body of a man was found in the elevator of one of the houses. The examination found that he died from massive blood loss and shock. However, there were no signs of violence on the body, except for two small wounds on the neck. A few days later, a young girl died in the same elevator under similar circumstances. The investigator in charge of the case, together with a police sergeant, came to the house to conduct an investigation. They were taking the elevator up when the lights suddenly went out and there was a rustle on the roof of the cabin. Turning on the flashlights, they threw them up - and saw a huge disgusting spider half a meter in diameter, which was crawling towards them through a hole in the roof. A second - and the spider jumped on the sergeant. The investigator could not aim at the monster for a long time, and when he finally fired, it was too late - the sergeant was already dead. The authorities tried to hush up this story, and only a few years later, thanks to eyewitness accounts, it got into the newspapers.

Mysterious Disappearance Zeba Quinn

On a winter afternoon, 18-year-old Zeb Quinn left work in Asheville, North Carolina, and went to meet his friend Robert Owens. She and Owens were talking when Quinn got a message. Tensing, Zeb told his friend that he had to call urgently, and stepped aside. He returned, according to Robert, "completely out of his mind" and, without explaining anything to his friend, quickly left, and drove off so hastily that he hit Owen's car with his car. Zeb Quinn was never seen again. Two weeks later, his car was found outside a local hospital with a strange array of items: the key to a hotel room, a jacket that didn't belong to Quinn, several liquor bottles, and a live puppy. Huge lips were painted on the rear window with lipstick. As the police found out, the message was transmitted to Quinn from home phone his aunt, Ina Ulrich. But Ina herself was not at home at that moment. According to some signs, she confirmed that, probably, someone outsider had visited her house. Where Zeb Quinn disappeared to is still unknown.

Eight from Jennings

In 2005, a nightmare began in Jennings, a small town in Louisiana. Once every few months in a swamp outside the city limits or in a ditch along the highway passing near Jennings locals found another body of a young girl. All the victims were local residents, and everyone knew each other: they had been in the same companies, worked together, and two girls turned out to be cousins. The police checked everyone who, at least theoretically, could be related to the murders, but did not find a single clue. In total, eight girls were killed in Jennings over the course of four years. In 2009, the killings stopped as suddenly as they started. Neither the name of the killer nor the reasons that pushed him to the crimes are still known.

The Disappearance of Dorothy Forstein

Dorothy Forstein was a prosperous housewife from Philadelphia. She had three children and a husband, Jules, who earned good money and held a decent post in the civil service. However, one day in 1945, when Dorothy returned home from a shopping trip, someone attacked her in the hallway of her own house and beat her to a pulp. Dorothy was found unconscious on the floor by the police who arrived. During the interrogation, she said that she did not see the face of the attacker, and had no idea who attacked her. Dorothy took a long time to recover from a nightmarish incident. But four years later, in 1949, misfortune again visited the family. Jules Forstein, arriving from work shortly before midnight, found the two youngest children in the bedroom in tears, trembling with fear. Dorothy was not in the house. Nine-year-old Marcy Fontaine told police she was woken up by a creak front door. Walking out into the corridor, she saw that a stranger was walking towards her. Entering Dorothy's bedroom, he reappeared some time later with the unconscious body of a woman slung over his shoulder. Patting Marcy on the head, he said, "Go to bed, baby." Your mother was sick, but now she will get better.” Dorothy Forstein has not been seen since.

"Observer"

In 2015, the Broads family from New Jersey moved into their dream home, bought for a million dollars. But the joy of the housewarming was short-lived: the family immediately began to be terrorized by threatening letters by an unknown maniac, who signed as "Observer". He wrote that "his family had been in charge of this house for decades" and now "it was time for him to look after it." He also wrote to the children, wondering if they "found what is hidden in the walls" and declaring that "I am glad to know your names - the names of the fresh blood that I will receive from you." In the end, the frightened family left the creepy house. Soon the Broads family filed a lawsuit against the previous owners: as it turned out, they also received threats from the "Observer", which were not reported by the buyer. But the most terrible thing in this story is that for many years the New Jersey police have not been able to figure out the name and purpose of the sinister "Observer".

"Draftsman"

For nearly two years, in 1974 and 1975, a serial killer was on the streets of San Francisco. His victims were 14 men - homosexuals and transvestites - whom he met in the city's macabre establishments. Then, having caught the victim in a secluded place, he killed her and brutally mutilated the body. The police called him a "draughtsman" because of his habit of drawing little caricature pictures that he gave to his future victims to break the ice on first encounters. Fortunately, his victims managed to survive. It was their testimony that helped the police learn about the habits of the "draughtsman" and draw up his identikit. But, despite this, the maniac was never caught, and nothing is known about his personality. Perhaps he still walks sedately through the streets of San Francisco ...

The Legend of Edward Mondrake

In 1896, Dr. George Gould published a book describing the medical anomalies he had encountered during his years of practice. The most terrible of these was the case of Edward Mondrake. According to Gould, this intelligent and musically gifted young man lived in strict seclusion all his life and rarely even allowed his relatives to come to him. The fact is that the young man had not one face, but two. The second was located on the back of his head. It was the face of a woman, judging by the stories of Edward, who had her own will and personality, and very vicious: she always grinned when Edward cried, and when he tried to sleep, she whispered all sorts of nasty things to him. Edward begged Dr. Gould to rid him of the cursed second person, but the doctor was afraid that the young man would not survive the operation. Finally, at the age of 23, the exhausted Edward, having obtained poison, committed suicide. In a suicide note, he asked his relatives to cut off his second face before the funeral, so that he would not have to lie with him in the grave.

The missing couple

Early morning On December 12, 1992, 19-year-old Ruby Brueger, her boyfriend, 20-year-old Arnold Arcembo, and her cousin The Tracys were driving along a desert road in South Dakota. All three of them were drinking a little, so at some point the car skidded on a slippery road, and it flew into a ditch. When Tracy opened her eyes, she saw that Arnold was not in the cabin. Then, before her eyes, Ruby also got out of the car and out of sight. Arriving at the scene, the police, despite their best efforts, found no trace of the missing couple. Since then, Ruby and Arnold have not made themselves felt. However, a few months later, two corpses were found in the same ditch. They lay literally a few steps away from the scene. The bodies, which were in various stages of decomposition, were identified as Ruby and Arnold. But many police officers who had previously participated in the examination of the accident site unanimously confirmed that the search was carried out very carefully, and they could not miss the bodies. Where were the bodies of young people these few months, and who brought them to the highway? The police were never able to answer this question.

Kula Robert

This old shabby doll is now in one of the museums in Florida. Few people know that she is the embodiment of absolute evil. Robert's story began in 1906, when she was given to a child. Soon the boy began to tell his parents that the doll was talking to him. Indeed, the parents sometimes heard someone else's voice from their son's room, but they believed that the boy was playing something like that. When some unpleasant incident happened in the house, the owner of the doll blamed Robert for everything. The grown-up boy threw Robert into the attic, and after his death, the doll passed to the new mistress, a little girl. She did not know anything about her story - but soon she also began to tell her parents that the doll was talking to her. Once a girl ran to her parents in tears, saying that the doll was threatening to kill her. The girl was never inclined to gloomy fantasies, therefore, after several frightened requests and complaints from her daughter, they, out of sin, donated her to the local museum. Today, the doll is silent, but the old-timers assure: if you take a picture at the window with Robert without permission, he will certainly put a curse on you, and then you will not avoid trouble.

facebook ghost

In 2013, a Facebook user named Nathan told his virtual friends a story that scared the hell out of many. According to Nathan, he began to receive messages from his girlfriend Emily, who had died two years earlier. At first they were repetitions of her old letters, and Nathan believed that these were only technical problem. But then he received another letter. "Cold... don't know what's going on," Emily wrote. From fear, Nathan drank a lot, and only then decided to respond. And immediately received Emily's answer: "I want to walk ..." Nathan was horrified: after all, in the accident in which Emily died, her legs were cut off. Letters kept coming, sometimes meaningful, sometimes incoherent, like ciphers. Finally, Nathan received a photo from Emily. It showed him from behind. Nathan swears that no one was in the house when the photo was taken. What was it? Is the web really inhabited by a ghost? Or is it someone's stupid joke. Nathan still doesn't know the answer - and can't sleep without sleeping pills.

The True Story of "The Creature"

Even if you've seen the 1982 movie "The Creature" in which a young woman is raped and harassed by a ghost, you probably don't know that this story is based on real events. This is exactly what happened in 1974 to Dorothy Beezer, a housewife and mother of several children. It all started when Dorothy decided to experiment with Ouija board. As her children said, the experiment ended successfully: Dorothy managed to summon the spirit. But he flatly refused to leave. The ghost was notable for bestial cruelty: he constantly pushed Dorothy, threw her into the air, beat and even raped her, often in front of children who were powerless to help their mother. Exhausted, Dorothy called for help from specialists in the fight against paranormal phenomena. All of them unanimously told later that they saw strange and terrible things in Dorothy's house: objects flying through the air, a mysterious light appeared from nowhere. Finally, one day, right in front of the ghost hunters, a green fog thickened in the room, from which a ghostly figure emerged huge man. After that, the spirit disappeared as suddenly as it appeared. What happened in the Los Angeles home of Dorothy Beezer, no one still knows.

Phone stalkers

In 2007, several families in Washington went to the police with complaints about phone calls from unknown people, accompanied by terrible threats. The callers threatened to cut the throats of their interlocutors in their sleep, to kill their children or grandchildren. Calls were heard at night, at the very different time, while the callers knew for sure where each of the family members was, what he was doing and what he was wearing. Sometimes the mysterious criminals recounted in detail conversations between family members in which there were no strangers. The police unsuccessfully tried to trace the telephone terrorists, but phone numbers, from which the calls were heard, were either fake or belonged to other families who received the same threats. Fortunately, none of the threats became a reality. But who and how managed to play such a cruel joke with dozens of people who did not know each other remained a mystery.

call from the dead

In September 2008, there was a terrible train accident in Los Angeles that claimed the lives of 25 people. One of the dead was Charles Peck, who was driving from Salt Lake City for an interview with a potential employer. His fiancee, who lived in California, was looking forward to the groom being offered a job so they could move to Los Angeles. The day after the disaster, while rescuers were still removing the bodies of the victims from under the rubble, Peck's fiancée's phone rang. It was a call from Charles' number. The phones of his relatives also rang - his son, brother, stepmother and sister. All of them, picking up the phone, heard only silence there. Answering calls were answered by an answering machine. Charles' family believed he was alive and was trying to call for help. But when the rescuers found his body, it turned out that Charles Peck died immediately after the collision and could not call in any way. Even more mysterious, his phone was also broken in the crash, and no matter how hard they tried to bring it back to life, no one succeeded.

We lived together with my mother-in-law. She was a doctor, very good. Somehow I was sick for a long time. Weakness, cough, no fever. Mother-in-law calls, we talk about our children. I cough during the conversation. She suddenly says - you have basal pneumonia. I was very surprised. I answer that there is no temperature. In short, she drops everything and comes to us in half an hour. Listens to me through his phonendoscope, knocks on the back and says: - Do not argue with me. Get dressed, let's go for an x-ray.

We took pictures. In fact, I have pneumonia. Exactly like she said. Made me go to the hospital, treated me personally. And after a short time, she herself suddenly dies of a heart attack.

We were very sad for her. And for some reason I kept remembering how, shortly before her death, she asked me:

How do you think? Is there something after death?

Once after a bath, I wanted to lie down. She lay down, and suddenly the balcony door opened slightly. I'm still surprised, it just doesn't open without effort. There was no draft for sure. I followed this, fearing to get sick again. There was a strong chill. I should get up and close the door, but I don't want to. I don’t sleep, but I don’t want to get up, I’m very tired at the dacha. I just got cured, if I don't close the door, I'll get sick again.

And suddenly I thought:

I wonder if that light actually exists or not?

And mentally turned to the dead mother-in-law:

Mom, if you can hear me, close the door to the balcony, otherwise it will blow through me. You are not there, there will be no one to treat.

And the door immediately closed! I think it seemed? Repeated:

Mom, if you can hear me, open the door.

Door opened!

Can you imagine?! We got together the next day and went to church. Candles were lit for peace.

We had a case. On the anniversary of the father, they decided not to call anyone, but to modestly commemorate. Mother did not want the wake to turn into an ordinary booze.

We sit at the table in the kitchen. Mother put the photograph of her father on the table, and in order to raise it higher, she placed a notebook upright under it and leaned it against the wall. They poured a glass of vodka, a piece of black bread. Everything is as it should be. We talk, we remember.

It's already evening, we decided to clean up everything. I say that you need to take the stack to the bedside table in your father's room, let it stand there until it evaporates by itself. My mother is very rational, she does not really believe in all these customs. He says so frivolously: “Yes, why clean up, I myself will drink now.”

As soon as she said this, the notebook suddenly, for no reason, crawled along the edge of the table and knocked over her father's pile. The photo fell, and the vodka was all poured out to the last drop. (I must say that the stack is round like a barrel and it is almost impossible to overturn it).

Have you ever had hair on your head? Then I experienced it for the first time. Moreover, the whole body was covered with goosebumps from horror. I couldn't speak for five minutes. The husband and mother were also in shock. As if the father said from the next world: “Here you are! You will drink my vodka, of course!

I ran into something strange yesterday.

It's already past midnight, we are sitting with my dear, watching "Midshipmen", and we hear that someone is swinging in the yard.

The third floor, the windows overlook the landing and, due to the heat, are wide open. Our swing creaks disgustingly, this sound is familiar to tears - my little one loves them, but you can’t get to the mechanism to lubricate.

After a couple of minutes, I became interested: who is it that fell into our childhood - I think there are no children on the street at this time.

I go to the window - the swing is empty, but actively swinging. I call my friend, we go out onto the balcony, the entire area is clearly visible (the sky is clear, the moon is full), the swing is empty, but they continue to swing, increasing the amplitude. I take a powerful flashlight, direct the beam at the swing - a few more "back and forth", a jerk as if someone had jumped off, and the swing begins to stop.

Some local spirit frightened away.

I remembered. Once upon a time they lived in the taiga. And then the passing hunters came to visit. The men are making small talk, I'm setting the table. There are three of us, two of them, and I set the table for six. When I noticed, I began to wonder aloud why I counted one more person.

And after that, the hunters said that they stopped on the boat in one place - they were interested in a bunch of brushwood. It turned out that the bear had pulled the man up and covered him with deadwood, a foot in a gnawed boot was sticking out from under the brushwood. That's why they went to the city, taking their boots - to inform them where they were supposed to, order aircraft to take out the corpse and assemble a brigade to shoot the cannibal bear.

Here, along with the boot, probably, the restless soul tagged along.

We once rented an apartment with my husband and a three-year-old daughter from a man. Everything was fine for the first six months. They lived in peace. And somehow, on one of the cold winter evenings, I put my daughter in the bathroom, gave her children's toys, and did something around the house, periodically looking after her. And then she screams. I went to the bathroom, she was sitting, crying, and blood was running down her back. I looked, the wound, as if someone had scratched it. I ask what happened, and she points her finger at the doorway and says: “This aunt offended me.” Naturally, there was no aunt, we were alone. It was terrible, but somehow I quickly forgot about it.

Two days later, I am standing in the bathroom, my daughter comes in and asks, pointing her finger into the bath: “Mom, who is this aunt?” I ask: "Which aunt?". "This one" - answers and looks into the bath. "Here she sits, can't you see?" I have a cold sweat, my hair is on end, I was ready to fly out of the apartment and run! And the daughter is standing and looking into the bath and as if meaningfully at someone! I rushed to read prayers in every corner with a candle all over the apartment! She calmed down, went to bed, and early in the morning the child comes to the corner of the room and offers some candy to her aunt!

On this day, the owner of the apartment came for payment, I asked him who had lived here before? And he told me that his wife and mother died in this apartment with a difference of 2 years, and for both the deathbed was the bed on which my daughter sleeps! Do I need to say that we soon moved out of there?

My friend lives in a pre-revolutionary building. Another great-grandfather-merchant built it. Once she returned from the store, she sees a peasant in a sheepskin coat in the room. He is small, bearded, spinning around himself, as if dancing.

A friend asked him: For worse or for good?

To which he sang: And you will lose your child, you will lose your child!!!

And immediately disappeared.

For a long time, a friend was worried about her children, met them from school, did not let them go far from her. A year later, the eldest son went to live in another city, to his father. She rarely visits her mother, so we can say that she lost her child.

I didn’t write about it for a long time, I thought it was my personal. The other day I thought - I read you, you also share.

Mom will be 2 years old on June 26, as she is gone. I remember how a week before we went to the beach (no one got sick and was not going to die at all). I saw golden threads on my mother from her head straight into the sky. I have square eyes, I moved back, back, sat on the bedspread. Eye-catching. I see my mother looking at me. The only thing I could say was: Fuck you! Mom asked what, I told her not to move, I'll look again. Mom said: “Maybe I will die soon?”. Mom, you were so right

For the first time, my mother fainted on a chair, I called an ambulance, yelling in a non-human voice. And mother, with a blissful expression on her face, repeated: “Mom, mother, mother ...”, as if she really sees. Then I started yelling: “Bab, get away from here, leave it to me, go away!” The ambulance did not recognize the stroke, my mother came to her senses with them. In the evening, everything happened again, and already forever.

It was many years ago. My 91 year old grandmother passed away. After the cremation, we brought the urn with the ashes home and put it in the pantry for further burial in another city (this was her request). It was not possible to immediately take her away, and she stood there for several days.

And during this time, a lot of something inexplicable happened in the house ... At night, my mother heard some moans, sobs, sighs that had never happened before, I always felt someone's look (reproachful) during the day. Everything fell out of our hands, and the atmosphere in the house became nervously tense. It got to the point that we were afraid to go past the pantry and didn’t even go to the toilet at night ... We all understood that the soul is restless toiling and when the father finally took the urn away and buried it, everything changed with us. Granny! Forgive us, we must have done something wrong!

Mom told me three days ago. We go to bed late, including schoolchildren. By midnight only relatively quiet. And the village itself is quiet. Only crickets now, but a rare dog barks. The night birds have already stopped singing, they are preparing for the fall. More from my mother's words.

I woke up from the fact that someone was knocking on the second door of the corridor (the first one is wooden and bolted, the second is modern metal). The knock was not strong, and knocked as if with an open palm. I thought that one of the older children jumped out without permission, and the grandfather, after smoking, closed the door with a key. But the clock was almost 2 am, the house was quiet - everyone was sleeping. She asked "who's there?" The knocking stopped for a while. Then a child's voice said: "It's me ... let me go." The yard dog and the two lap dogs were silent. Once again she asked "who is there?". The knocking stopped completely.

I have a very rational mother, she does not suffer from visions. She spoke very anxiously. You need to know our family, especially my mother - she doesn’t believe in anyone, she’s not afraid of anyone, so the usual reaction for her would be to get out of bed with the question “what kind of nonsense is this?”, But like this. He says that it was a very natural and obvious event. And she didn't sleep.

History textbooks are filled with tales of who stabbed whom, which city was burned to the ground, and which kings married their cousins. So imagine what details from these stories pundits preferred to omit. Or better yet, we will tell you about them in this article. Continuing our educational quest, we will tell you about the things that your teachers decided to hide from you, and we will reveal some scary and little known facts about the most famous historical moments.

1. Syphilitic "zombies" on the streets of Renaissance Italy

When thinking about the Renaissance, most imagine prim Italians in aristocratic garb admiring the work of Da Vinci, Michelangelo and other masters. What people don't understand is this:

Yes, Renaissance Florence could be an ideal place for various kinds of arts (and parkour, according to Assassin's Creed II), but at the same time, the Italians had a chance to experience their own, so to speak, "zombie apocalypse", which happened during the first major an outbreak of syphilis in 1494. Yes, even before the advent of antibiotics, this venereal disease was by no means a "shameful secret", but a disease (in those days it was called by the supposed nationality origin - "German", "French", etc.), literally eating a person. According to one description, because of the disease, "the skin fell off the face of people, and after a few months death occurred." To be more precise, the outbreak caused "complete destruction of the lips, nose and other parts of the body, including the genitals."
Due to the outbreak, victims of the "Gallic disease" roaming the streets without "arms, legs, eyes and noses" were a common sight. So if the Renaissance fairs being held today in Europe and America were true, then half of the people would look like extras from The Walking Dead.
But no matter how nightmarish the idea of ​​living in a decaying body, the immediate horror lurks in the phrase "a few months later." In other words, the sick somehow managed to live in this state for months, probably languishing in hellish pain, while their flesh was "eaten away, in some cases right down to the bones."
In general, during short period during the era of the great masters of the Renaissance, on the streets you could often see the townspeople - not to mention the whole army of the French - with decomposing and bare faces, who walked around the city until they fell dead. And why wasn't this in Assassin's Creed II?

2 The man who tried to save Lincoln shared the fate of Dilbert Grady

You have probably already seen this illustration, but can you name the people in it?
On the right is obviously John Wilkes Booth, followed by Abraham Lincoln and his wife Mary T. However, unless you are an avid historian, you probably do not recognize the remaining two Union Major Henry Rathbone and his wife, Clara Harris, daughter of a prominent senator USA. Rathbone is better known for his attempt to stop Booth than for the grim Kubrick murder story that befell him a few years later.

During the assassination attempt, Rathbone was seriously wounded, but although he physically managed to survive the attack, his mind could not recover from the tragedy. The officer blamed himself for not interfering with Booth, and although he married Clara two years later, life in marriage only aggravated his condition.
In the end, the man's psyche deteriorated so much that on December 23, 1883, he decided to paint the walls of his house with family blood. While serving in Hanover as an American consul, Rathbone attempted to kill three of his children. When his wife prevented him, he shot and stabbed her with a knife, after which he killed himself.
The police found Rathbone all covered in blood and out of his mind. According to an oft-repeated but unconfirmed version, he claimed that people were hiding behind the paintings in his house.
Rathbone spent the rest of his life in a psychiatric hospital, where he complained about machines hidden in the walls that released gas into his room, which caused him a severe headache. The man died in 1911, becoming last victim Lincoln's assassination attempt, almost half a century after the tragedy.

3. Heads literally exploded during the eruption of Mount Vesuvius

The Italian volcano Vesuvius is infamous for its violent eruption, which left the Roman city of Pompeii (and all its erotic sculptures, since the city was the sexual capital of the Empire) buried in ashes for the next thousand and a half years. But what you probably didn't know is that the gods actually treated Pompeii generously compared to the horror that befell the small city of Herculaneum, which was even closer to Vesuvius, when it began to spit magma.

Pompey's experience can be compared to a classic disaster movie: huge clouds of smoke, people fleeing in panic, ashes, and possibly a subplot about Tara Reid reuniting with her ex-husband. Herculaneum, on the other hand, got a real supernatural horror movie, as this town was exposed to "superheated pyroclastic fumes of stone, mud and gas", or to put it more simply, the following began to happen to people:

Really. The human skull is filled with different liquids, and if you heat it up very quickly, then the same thing will happen to it as with a hamster in the microwave. And, in fact, this is exactly what happened in Herculaneum, when all the inhabitants of the city fell into a cloud of gas, the temperature of which was approaching 500 ° C. In less than a couple of tenths of a second, "people's skin evaporated<…>the brain boiled and the skull exploded. Without any bullets and buckshot. By itself. From within.
Let us hope that the same fate does not befall the inhabitants of Naples, who persevere in the same place where Herculaneum once stood and where Vesuvius patiently waits for the right opportunity to give them all a good thrashing.

The pamphlet stated, in part, that if humans could not send their pets out of town, "destroying them would be the best course of action" (the choice of words in this case would suggest that this document was written by an early prototype Dalek). And how did the British population react? Protests across the country, you decide. But no. In fact, 750,000 pets were "destroyed" in just one week.
At the same time, we emphasize that this action took place in the summer of 1939, that is, before the German invasion of Poland, when the British government could do much more harm Nazi Germany if instead of mass murder animals she attacked in the past the world lair of the Nazis.

5. The first documented serial killer in history lived happily ever after during the Pax Romana era.

Pax Romana, or "Peace of August", is one of the most peaceful periods in history. Deciding that their Empire was already large, the Romans forgot about the bloodshed for a while and focused on more productive things, such as regulating the laws that we still use today. And how did Rome manage to live so long without the daily garbage collection and laws, invented specifically to keep everyone serial killers away from the streets and honest people?
However, the latter can be deleted. The first documented serial killer in history lived, as they say, royally in the era of Pax Romana.
Her name was Locusta, and her story begins in the middle of the 1st century BC. AD, when a woman was arrested for poisoning. However, luck smiled at Locusta when Agrippina turned to her for help, deciding to poison the emperor Claudius. Later, for her help, the criminal received a pardon.

And what did she do next? A year later, in AD 55, Locusta again fell into the hands of justice, and again for poisoning. Luckily for her, her help was needed by Emperor Nero, who asked the woman to prepare a lethal cocktail for her 13-year-old half-brother Britannicus. For her service, Locusta received a pardon and a pretty villa, along with apprentices whom she could teach her craft.
Be that as it may, Locusta's luck ended when Nero committed suicide, leaving her with only a couple of allies, and a reputation as a witch. In 69 AD the woman was arrested and immediately executed on the orders of Emperor Galba. How did she die? An "ironic" death, you decide after tasting your own potion. But no. She was publicly raped to death by "a wild animal [some sources say it was a giraffe], trained specifically for this kind of punishment."
Oh, those Roman laws.

6. Joan of Arc fought shoulder to shoulder with one of the worst child killers.

Let's not lie to you: we adore Jeanne. She was real. She was a hero. And she didn't let anyone push her around.
However, although most of the glory for helping France in the fight against England in the XV century. and goes to Jeanne, she would never have been able to do what she did without the help of people like Gilles de Rais, who was her "passionate companion" and one of the bravest knights of the French army. He was even featured in a big-budget film starring Milla Jovovich, in which Vincent Cassel played him.

So why don't people name churches after him, you ask. Perhaps because at night, de Rais played the role of a terrible killer, preying on children aged between 6 and 18 years.
Don't forget that we are now talking about one of the few people in the French army who helped Joan of Arc build her career and ultimately secured her place among the saints... and yet, as incredible as it sounds, he was also sadistic monster. The records of his trial and his personal confession cause chills on the skin and make the soul freeze with horror: in addition to murders and physical torture, de Rais liked to torture his victims psychologically, convincing them that what was happening to them was just a game, after which he did something more perverted. This guy would have been kicked out of Arkham Asylum in no time for scaring the Joker.
Depending on the source, de Rais's victim count ranges from 80 to 800 children, making him one of the most "prolific" serial killers in history. Like his girlfriend, de Rais was burned at the stake, unless in his case it was well deserved.

Mystic stories from real life, almost every person who is interested not only in esotericism loves, but also tries to explain such cases from a scientific point of view, using a whole arsenal of tools consisting of school and university knowledge in various disciplines. However, mystical stories are called so because they have no reasonable explanation.

Our site contains the most terrible stories. Basically, these are scary stories from life, told by people on social networks.

For apples. Village mystical story.

Once I went to the village, to my distant aunt. And they have it all agriculture is holding on, but it was already difficult for her, so she asked me to help. Well, there, pick vegetables, fix everything, clean the beds.

And somehow, after another picking in the ground, I decided to relax and eat an apple. And we had an overgrown field nearby, bordered by a forest, and stunted wild apple trees grew on it. Actually, my aunt also grew apple trees, but she only had Antonovka, and I didn’t like sour apples, so I went there.

When I went for apples, I did not notice how I climbed over the straw arch. Then it turned out that it was not worth it. While I was picking apples, one branch almost gouged out my eye, scratched my cheek until it bled. Oh well, it was worth it. The apples were small, but clean, not wormy and strong. And then I turn around, and I see that it turns out that I have gone far from home. He was barely visible through the tall grass.

Well, I began to wade through the grass. And she didn’t seem to want to let me in, and I also had the feeling that I was going in the wrong direction. I turned around many times - the forest did not even move away! And then I felt something moving under my foot, looked and went crazy - it was a snake. And no, I've already seen, I know what they look like. And then I rushed through the thickets so much that after 5 minutes I was standing near the house. My aunt saw me, came up and asked what I was doing there for so long and why in this form.

Turns out I was gone for about an hour. I told her the whole mystical story as it is. She said, well, was it worth it? I said yes - I picked good apples. She looked at me suspiciously and walked away. And I dumped the remaining apples on the grass ( most I lost it when I ran out of there) and fucked up - they were all rotten and wormy. Then I asked my aunt what the hell it was, and she said that any kind of arches puts devilry, which lives in the field and fools a person's head. She said that in fact the purpose of these arches is to prevent a person from reaching the house. And then I found a snake on the Internet - it turned out to be a copperhead.

Emergency in the military unit. military mysticism

My father served in a missile defense unit located deep in the steppe. The part was somehow difficult, with secret equipment, secret itself, and so on - to the point that it was not just surrounded by a net, but by a concrete fence with heavy, solid metal gates with electronic latches. There were towers near the gates, on which sentries were on duty around the clock. And around - the steppe. Not a single one for 60 kilometers sentient being except for the political officer. "Grandfathers" often talked about various incomprehensible things that happened on the territory of the unit - either the soldier disappeared without a trace, or some ensign went crazy, but dad did not believe. But, as usual, it happened "once".

And once he was on guard - four people, including him, had to walk around the military unit for exactly half the night in search of obvious or hidden opponents. Did they walk normally (there weren’t even wolves there, only lizards - that’s all the enemies)? and on the last lap of honor they stopped to relieve themselves on the fence of their native part - literally twenty meters from the searchlight beam installed on the tower. They began to pour, and then the soldier who was standing farthest from all began to yell. And not just yelled, but with obvious signs that he was being dragged away from the others - the voice is removed. All the lanterns were pulled out, they shine - there is no person. And no footprints in the sand, nothing. Only the machine is lying around. It is clear that they all messed up, because not a single charter said what to do in such a case.

Then they all rushed in horror to the gates, yelling at the sentry, turn, they say, the searchlight, look what is happening there. He turned around and said there was nothing. A clean perimeter, and that's it. By this time, the lock was clicked on them, the gates were opened, and they ran into the territory in horror. It was necessary to close the gate. They closed like a simple "English" lock-latch, that is, with a simple slam. Dad pulls the sash on himself, but it does not close. It’s not that someone is holding it, it’s just like a stone has rolled under the sash or something is resting. That's when my father went crazy.

He saw that at the level of his head, a paw was holding on to the edge of the sash. I asked him to describe in more detail, but what he said, he said - a withered human hand, gray, the color of mouse hair, with ugly nails. She did not pull the sash, but did not let it close, she just held on and that's it. Batya then, in a panic, yelled at the sentry to open fire on everything that was outside the gate, but when he turned the searchlight, the gate slammed shut easily and there was nothing there again. After that, the soldier was searched for a week, but no trace of him was found. Here is such a mystical scary story happened.

Night lover of carousels. Another mystical story from the village

I have a wooden house in the village, and sometimes I go there to rest. And then one day we were sitting in this village quite big company visiting one girl, watched "Dandy".

At about two o'clock in the morning, I began to experience incomprehensible anxiety. I remembered that I left the car on the territory of an old abandoned pioneer camp: it is not far from the village, favorite place gatherings of young people, there is everything you need for happiness - silence, the absence of people over 20 years old, abandoned buildings where you can quietly smoke or drink. So, in the afternoon we opened the old rusty gates to the camp, and I drove the transport there, I myself don’t understand now why this had to be done. And so, taking a can of beer with me so as not to get bored on the road, I left the house and went to pick up a car from the camp.

A player in my ears, a great summer night, good beer ... I reached the camp gate in about five minutes. He opened the gate and went on - the car was three hundred meters from them. As soon as I entered the territory, on a broken asphalt path, along which crowds of schoolchildren were pacing just 15 years ago, I felt anxiety. But it was natural - I must say, our camp is not simple, in the 90s corpses were often found there, which became such not at all of their own free will. Then, in the summer of 2001, it seems that some satanic cult tried to organize gatherings there, however, something went wrong with them, and we saw them five times, no more. But it has left its mark. In general, the gloomy place of our abandoned camp is strange, and at night, what is there to hide, terrible. But I, a supporter of rationalism, as usual ordered my subconscious, which begged to leave as soon as possible, shut up, and continued on my way. And a minute later I got to the car, climbed inside, turned on the music and seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. I turned around on a narrow path, risking getting stuck, by the way, and drove to the exit. Having already passed those same gates, being formally already on the territory of the village, and not the camp, I thought that it was not good to leave the gates open.

He stopped, put on the handbrake, got out and returned to the camp, again experiencing a strange discomfort, which, I must say, was twice as strong as five minutes ago. So I quickly closed the gate and ran about ten meters deep into the camp for natural needs. Then he took out a pack of cigarettes, lit a cigarette, turned around to the gate, and ... With peripheral vision, I saw that someone was riding on the old, long-rusted carousels, which are about twenty meters from the path along which I was driving. At a very high speed. It was very dark, but I could see a human silhouette, clothes fluttering on it. light color and his eyes were fixed in front of him. He didn't look at me though ordinary person should have been interested in my manipulation of the gate. What am I saying, an ordinary normal person will not ride at two in the morning on carousels in an abandoned camp. I yelled and rushed as fast as I could in the car - thank God it was running. Clutch and gas to the floor, a squeal and the smell of burnt rubber, a frantic glance in the rearview mirror…

And at that moment the dipped beam turns off, and I stop seeing anything. Yelling no worse than the first time, I pull, almost tearing out, the handle high beam. Thank God, it lights up and illuminates the rapidly approaching houses. I don’t look back anymore. When I arrived at the girl, where my friends were sitting with their film, I stuck in the car for a long time, smoked, listened to music. Tried to calm down.

I'll tell you that real life, even without any monsters and mysticism, is nowhere more terrible.

Once I was cycling outside the city, and about five or six kilometers from the district I found an abandoned motor depot. A whole bunch of buildings - boxes, administrative buildings, some kind of barracks, substations, and a little on the outskirts there was a one-story bath-shower room made of red brick, a sort of small house. Strangely, everything was in a more or less divine state, although the base had been abandoned for a long time. I explained this by the fact that the entrance to it begins with a completely inconspicuous turn from a major highway, and there are no nearby settlements. In general, a quiet, deserted place. The stump is clear, I began to visit there: I built springboards for the bike, came off for my own pleasure, sunbathed.

Once we drove with a partner and his friend past the turn to the base in a car. I suggested that they stop by for a couple of minutes, show their "household", and my partner was looking for some building materials for the dacha, which were more expensive to buy than they were needed, but they were at the base. In general, we turned, we drive up. I must add that by this time I had not been to the "hacienda" for a couple of weeks, but I immediately realized that someone had been here. Firstly, where the asphalted area in front of the base began, some kind of charred sticks were stuck. Upon closer examination, it turned out that these were burnt torches.

Well, okay, some Tolkienists here waved mops, let them. But nearby, on the road, a whole poem was written in some brown rubbish in incomprehensible signs - they did not look like either hieroglyphs or runes, I vouch for this. It didn't look like Tolkienists anymore. Further more. The guys with me were inquisitive, although they were both 30 years old, they went to climb the buildings. Everyone looked, and then one of them saw this same bathhouse in the outskirts. He comes up to me and says - you’ve settled in well here, you even hung curtains on the windows. I thought he was joking. It would be better to joke. All the windows (in which there were even no frames) and the door were curtained from the inside with a thick black cloth, and something was whimpering inside.

In general, the guys with me were not cowardly - one firefighter, the other was just an extreme in life, but we all messed up at the same time. Armed with sticks. The partner throws off a rag from the window with a stick, and we observe the following picture: the interior of the bathhouse, lined with tiles, is covered with these very letters from bottom to ceiling, and partly with a marker, partly with paint, partly with this brown rubbish, but the walls are covered COMPLETELY. To do this, you need a whole team and a week of time at least. Keys hung from the ceiling. Ordinary door keys, very many, several hundred to be exact. In the middle of the room was a table with two black cylindrical objects. And in the next room, someone was breathing hoarsely.

It is clear that I did not want to go there somehow. There was some kind of ritual with a good share of shiz, and it was not known whether this ritual was completed, or without our livers it could not be completed and they were expected to visit. I suggested throwing a brick at one of the cylinders on the table. Everyone voted yes, and I threw. It turned out three-liter jar, wrapped in the same black cloth as on the windows, it broke, and a black puddle of some kind of filth spread over the table. We realized what it was after a couple of seconds - such a terrible smell of rotten meat hit our noses from the window opening that we ran back ten meters - I'm sure it was real, pretty rotten blood, as much as six liters of blood ( We didn’t beat the second can, but I think that the contents there weren’t Coca-Cola either). When we got used to the stench a little, a fireman friend suggested that we still see who was wheezing behind the wall. They pinched their noses, tore off a rag from the entrance, and entered with sticks. What I saw blew me away completely.

Two pigs were hung in the corner under the ceiling, each the size of a large dog, one, apparently dead, was cut all over with something thin - the skin on it was simply turned into noodles, there were no eyes, the floor was covered with her blood, and the rope, on which she hung, came out directly from her mouth - I still don’t know if it was a hook or not, but obviously something brutal - the tongue and part of the intestines stuck out. And the second pig was still alive, twitching its paws and breathing hoarsely. She was suspended in exactly the same way, but there were much fewer cuts. I think that she did not make any sounds, because either she was already exhausted, or her vocal cords were torn out by this incomprehensible “hanger”. But it made such an impression that I was able to calm the trembling in the jaw only late in the evening with the help of one and a half liters of whiskey for three.

In the semi-darkness, with silence, a pig hanging by its intestines kicks its legs, among the keys hanging from the ceiling, hieroglyphs and the unbearable smell of carrion from spilled blood. I then searched the Internet for a description of at least such a ritual: keys, blood, a sacrificial pig - nowhere such foulness is found, even in black magic. Another unpleasant moment: the blood was clearly not those pigs, already rotten, but whose - who knows. Obviously, these guys didn’t stuff six liters of mosquitoes.

New place. Mystical story from Uzbekistan

In the courtyard of the eighty-fourth year, Uzbekistan, a small town two hundred kilometers from Tashkent. Angren. Valley of death. In fact, there was nothing particularly terrible in that town, it’s just that the place is not very pleasant: mountains are everywhere. They seemed to hang over and want to crush. We arrived there with the whole family: grandfather and grandmother (on the maternal side), mother and father, aunt with family and uncle. We bought several excellent apartments and cottages at once and were going to live happily ever after.

Five years of quiet and peaceful life pass - the family's income is much higher than average: the mother works in the city executive committee, the father conducts military training at the local school. I'm in sixth class. Well, racially motivated fights are quite normal. And then it started.

First, ants began to appear in the house. Thousands. And they crushed this scum, and poisoned them, which they did not do, but they continued to trample their paths. After a couple of months, the ants disappeared, and cockroaches took their place. Huge and vile, a finger, perhaps, long. They appeared at night: they crawled along the walls and ceiling, periodically falling on the face. It was really gross.

Tired of the unsuccessful struggle, the whole family moved to my aunt. She lived with her husband and daughter on the other side of the city in a luxurious four-room apartment on the sixth floor of the only nine-story building in the city. For some time it was very good: the whole family watched the video, played with my sister and did other fun things. Parents at that time were engaged in chemical warfare on old apartment with the use of a sanitary and epidemiological station and other heavy weapons.

Several months flew by like one day, and now it's time to return home. There were no insects. There was a strange sense of threat. At least for me. Parents, as true communists, of course, did not believe in any nonsense there. And the feeling did not go away: being in the apartment, I felt that someone was watching me. Looks bad. After a while, this feeling began to haunt me outside the walls of the house. One had only to be left alone, go out, for example, for bread, and you feel a boring look on the back of your head. I always tried to be in society, even if society promised constant swearing and fights. Hanging around with peers, tried to smoke.

I just couldn't be in that apartment. I slept in the same room with my parents. At one “wonderful” moment, my father left for Tashkent for several months. It seems like a qualification to improve, although in fact there were family matters. As a result, I was left with my mother alone in a three-room apartment. The feeling of danger began to disappear: it seemed that the invisible spy began to hack, and then completely removed. I even started sleeping in a separate room again. The calm before the storm.

I woke up feeling chilling soul horror. For a while I couldn't open my eyes, no, I didn't want to open them. I felt that death was near. I still remember those moments with a shudder. Silence, even the ticking of the clock is not heard, the cold (in July southern country) and overwhelming horror.

A flash and a roar - that's what brought me out of the state of a leaf trembling in the wind. I open my eyes and see in the beam of a lantern a figure bent, apparently in writhing pain. I instantly jump out of bed and run to my mother standing in the doorway with a gun in her hands. A growing sense of terror as I see the figure slowly rise. When I find myself behind my mother, several shots are heard, a heart-rending scream. Mother screams. I then, it seems, crap himself and passed out.

I woke up already at my grandfather's house: my mother, pale, pale, uncle and grandfather with grandmother are sitting at the table. And a few cops crowd. Having discussed something, the grandfather, together with the uncle and the cops, went to our apartment with my mother. Look for the robber's body. A few hours after they left, shooting began. Such a good one: they beat me in long bursts. The body of the robber was not found, and the cops, having done their job - having collected the shells and counting the holes in the walls, left.

Grandfather and uncle stayed to guard the apartment. And then, apparently, it began. Grandfather, they say, was found on the veranda with a Stechkin in his hand. Dead. Heart attack. Uncle, although he remained alive, turned gray and began to stutter. And he drank hard. I drank quickly. The next day, not only without waiting for the funeral of my grandfather, but without even saying goodbye, my mother and I left for my father in Tashkent, and from there the three of us flew to Moscow. I tried talking to my mother about the incident. She always spoke reluctantly: either it was a bandit, or her grandfather's inheritance, who decided to take revenge through her children and grandchildren, or in general, the devil knows what. Once she got into a conversation, saying that she shot at this creature at least two times. Only one 12-gauge hole was found in the wall, and my grandfather shot 2 magazines.

An unexpected phenomenon

Last summer I went to the countryside. The village is more than 200 years old - a place, in a sense, historical, with its own sights. One of them is a stone road built by convicts under Catherine II.

As a child, my uncle told me that convicts who died during construction were buried right under the road, and were already paved with stone from above. So, last summer my girlfriend and I were taken for a walk there at night (my friend wanted to admire the stars away from the lanterns).

The night is quiet, dark, there is a forest around the road, there is no moon. I did not immediately understand where the feeling of unease, as if "something was wrong," came from. By that time we had already moved far enough from the village, the lanterns disappeared behind the forest. I began to frantically look around, trying to understand what could alert me. Naturally, I didn’t see anything, the forest stood like a black wall around, it was impossible to distinguish the outlines of trees, and even where they end and the blackening sky begins. By the way, no red, ominously glowing eyes were also found.

A thought flashed through my head: how did we even manage to get so far away from the village in this darkness and not go astray. It was then that I lowered my eyes to look at the road. She glowed! More precisely, it was clearly visible! Every stone, every plant that had broken through the hollows between them. And this despite the fact that there was nothing around that even somewhat resembling a light source. It was then that I remembered the stories that my uncle told, grabbed my girlfriend in an armful and preferred to get out of there as soon as possible. I don’t know how to explain this, maybe it’s possible, but I was pretty scared then.

Children from the dark

I'm going to Smolensk to make out the car. Sunny summer day, in the back seat - food, drinks, a warm blanket. You may have to spend the night in the car. Smoke breaks, sleep for twenty minutes, a sandwich. On the road again. Flat straight road. Customs in a few hours. Registration. Boring faces. Papers, copier. Payment of expenses. Big truck drivers. Cigarettes, queues, waiting. Far after midnight - back. There are few cars. Oncoming drivers politely switch to low beam. I start to fall asleep. I know that in such cases it is impossible to go further.

After a while - the exit from the highway, carefully moving out. An asphalt road leads to a wasteland. Along the edges is a forest. Rugged earthen ground. I stop in the center, lay out the rear seats, spread the blanket. Quiet. For some reason I don't want to turn off the light. I finish my cigarette, lie down, turn off the lamp and headlights. I toss and turn for a while, then I fall asleep. The dream is dark, like the forest around the car.

I wake up from the fact that the car is rocking. Laughter is heard. Children's laughter, funny and sinister at the same time. The windows are fogged up, you can't see anything. I approach the window, trying to see something. At this time, a child's hand suddenly beats on the glass from the other side and slides down. I scream in surprise. I move into the front seat. Frantically looking for the keys. Nowhere. I pat my pockets. The laughter doesn't stop. The car is shaking harder and harder. From somewhere it smells of burning. The keys, it turns out, are in the ignition. The motor roars. I turn on the headlights automatically. Children stand in a dense line in front of the car. There are twenty of them. They are dressed in old, still Soviet-style, official pajamas. There are black spots on their faces and clothes. Reverse gear. Over bumps, howling engine. Children's figures are removed, one of them waves his hand. I take off on the highway, gas to the floor, I fly like crazy. Only now I notice that it is pouring rain.

DPS post. I turn to him, almost crash into the wall, jump out, rush to the surprised guard, confusingly tell what happened. He laughs, tests me for alcohol. Starts to itself, suggests to have a rest. Interested in where it was. I am telling. He listens attentively, then darkens, exchanges glances with his partner. Then they tell me that there was a children's boarding school in that place, it burned down in the late eighties, almost all the pupils died. Despite this, I am assured that I just had a nightmare. I agree. Here, in the warmth, in the company of armed traffic cops, everything really seems like a dream. After a while, I thank them, get ready and go out to the car. On the hood, almost already washed away by rain, one can see prints of small children's hands covered with soot.

obsession

I have been living on my own for two weeks now, because my mother recently died - they buried the whole family. I still can’t leave, I never knew my father. Happy life, in general, comes - me and my cat. And it seems to me that I'm slowly starting to go crazy.

Yesterday I returned home from work (I work in shifts as a packer on the assembly line) at three in the morning, had dinner with my favorite Doshirak and went to bed. The mobile phone, as usual, was placed on the bedside table at the head of the bed. And so, in the morning they called me. Through my sleep, I pressed the answer button and heard:

Hey, son, listen, I've already left for work. Could you take the chicken out of the freezer, I'll make something tonight.

Okay, mom, - I answered through a dream and hung up.

Half a minute later I was already standing over the bathroom sink, washing my face with cold water. I was chilled.

“I wonder who could joke like that? I thought. But it was her voice! I thought for a long time and eventually came to a non-brilliant conclusion: well, they were joking, and they were joking, not enough idiots, or something. With these thoughts in mind, I went to the kitchen to make my morning coffee.

There was a chicken in the sink. If it were not for the morning sleepiness, I probably would have fallen into hysterics, and only my legs buckled. I’m sitting, everything is shaking, but I don’t have enough spirit to get up and do something with this chicken. And then the doorbell rang. Opening the door, I saw the postman. He handed me a letter. The letter had no return address and no name of the addressee. I go to the kitchen, start to open the envelope - and here I am again like a butt on the head. The sink is empty! Not a trace of the damn chicken. I put the letter aside, looked into the freezer - it lies, frozen, in pieces of ice, obviously it has not been taken out for a week, from the very moment I threw it there. “It looks like this,” I thought. - Psychic, crippled by death loved one still makes itself felt." He returned to the letter, took out a folded piece of paper and began to read:

“Dear Tamara Alexandrovna (that was my mother's name), we offer you our sincere condolences on the death of your son. ".

"WHAT?!" - flashed through my head.

". in connection with the death of your son (my name and patronymic were written here) at work.

I fell into a stupor. What happens? A letter comes from my place of work without a return address with my obituary, and they know that she died - I took money for a funeral from the mutual aid fund, and the authorities organized a vacation for me for a week!

In the end, I decided to deal with all this devilry upon arrival from work, got dressed and left. Asked at work suggestive questions in the personnel department and in the supply department - not directly, of course, but, given that they looked at me like an idiot, I realized that someone seriously decided to piss me off or put me in a fool. After working through the day with such unhappy thoughts, I went home.

I went into the apartment and immediately felt a strange smell from my mother's room. Did the cat again go out of need where it is not necessary? I took a washcloth from the bathroom, went into my mother's room and actually saw a stain on the bed. I turned on the light and almost had a heart attack - I broke out in a cold sweat, pinched in my chest, all I could do was settle down on the floor in a bag and frantically grab air with my mouth. On the mother's bed there was a red-brown stain on half the sheet. To say that I was crazy is to say nothing.

I don’t remember how I crumpled this sheet and threw it into the garbage chute - perhaps this is what forensics call “a state of passion”. I remember myself already in the kitchen, overturning a glass of vodka. And now I'm surfing the Internet and typing this text in order to somehow systematize what is happening to me. To my right is a letter about my death, dated tomorrow, and to my left is a phone that has been ringing for five minutes. My mother calls me, and her switched off device lies in the next room. I don't want to answer this call, I really don't want to. But the phone does not want to settle down.

If I manage to survive this night and not go crazy, then tomorrow I will have to go to work on the night shift. But I don't want to die, I don't want to.

Younger brother

Once I spent the night with my friends Sergey and Ira after a good drink in honor of their wedding anniversary. Driving a car in my condition was fraught with an accident, and he had big house, inherited from the grandmother, where there are many rooms. It was a reasonable offer - especially for a bachelor, whom no one was waiting for at home.

Look, we often turn off the lights at night, - Serge warned me. - So be more careful. My son is always throwing toys around. Once he nearly killed himself.

I said that I understood everything, and, taking the bed linen, I went to bed. Either I got too many impressions that evening, or the new place affected, but I slept exceptionally badly. I constantly had some kind of nightmares, it was stuffy (and this was with the window wide open). At about two o'clock in the morning, in addition to everything, I was overcome by a terrible dry land. And if I still somehow struggled with nightmares, then thirst made me finally wake up and go in search of water.

There was no light in the house, as Serge had promised. However, my eyes had already become accustomed to the darkness, so I did not experience any particular problems. When I reached the refrigerator, I took out a pack of cold juice and halved it in one fell swoop. Then I heard a soft, barely audible cry of a child. I frowned. Only Plato, Sergei's four-year-old son, could cry. I stood in the kitchen for a while, listening, but the crying continued, and Ira and Sergey, apparently, were sleeping too soundly.

I returned the juice to the refrigerator and decided to see what was happening with the child. On the one hand, this, of course, was not my concern, but to pretend that I did not hear anything, and I could not go to bed either. Following the sound, I reached a door at the far end of the corridor and stopped. The crying was most definitely coming from behind the door, so I opened it and peered into the room. A typical children's room - a spread out bed on the left, a table by the window, a bulk of the closet as a dark spot on the right side.

Plato? I asked softly. - This is Uncle Denis. Why are you crying?

Someone stirred in the corner. The crying subsided.

“Aha, here is Plato,” I thought, and went into the room. Closing the door behind me, I went up to the baby, who was sitting in the corner, wrapped in a blanket, and softly sobbing, hugging some kind of toy. - Well, - I asked as benevolently as possible, - and why are we roaring?

Plato was silent, then quietly said:

There is a scarecrow here.

Behind, - the child whispered very quietly. I turned around. Of course, there was no one behind.

It's in the closet, - Plato stood next to me. - Waiting for you to leave.

I, muttering the words put at such moments, that, they say, it was all a dream and there is nothing here, went to the closet. Plato remained standing in the corner.

See? There is nothing here, - I said and opened the door. The closet was indeed empty. I persuaded Plato to go to bed, wished him Good night and promised, just a little, to immediately punish any scarecrow within this house.

Sergey woke me up in the morning. We had breakfast with him and began to gather for fishing. Already near the lake, I remembered my night adventure and told it to my friend. Serge remained silent and said:

What? I looked at my friend in surprise. He was pale as death.

Plato slept all night next to us. And in the back room along the corridor, my older brother was sleeping a long time ago.

He was found dead when he was four. He said he saw something coming out of the closet.

Unsuccessful purchase. Real mystical story

My girlfriend and I somehow decided to make repairs - there was a mini-flood in the kitchen (suddenly they gave hot water), and the old linoleum fell into disrepair. We decided to buy a new one. Let's go to a French construction supermarket. There was linoleum in the department, but only expensive. My girlfriend and I are not rich - we didn’t want to spend some insane thousands of rubles on repairs, and asked the consultant where the solutions were cheaper. The consultant silently pointed to the discount department.

In the corner of the department, on the bottom shelf, he hung - a fat, handsome, beige man with a geometric pattern in the shape of triangles, soft to the touch. The price per meter was so ridiculous that we immediately decided to take it and asked to cut off the right amount for us. Coincidence, but that's how much was on the roll.

The first oddity was waiting for us in the supermarket - this product was not in the barcode database. They wanted to give a damn about the dream, but it turned out that the linoleum was brought by a freelance truck along with yogurts a few hours ago and simply did not have time to bring it in. We never found the reason for the markdown, the consultant said something about a fire at the plant, although our roll was clearly not damaged. On the way home, the girl noted that he smelled a little strange - sweet and spicy. It was not the usual smell of burning, but rather the scent of a light oriental incense.

We noticed the second oddity when we already brought the roll home and began to prepare for replacement. Our cat, a half-yard Siamese, somehow strangely looked at the linoleum, poked it with her paw and suddenly jumped back with a terrible hiss, pressing her ears. Apparently she didn't like his smell. We laughed at the unreasonable animal and set to work. By the end of the day, the kitchen looked great - the linoleum laid down perfectly and did not even require ironing. For the feet, it was even more pleasant than a pile carpet - it was warm. This was not very surprising, because it was July outside the window, but it was warm just in moderation, as if adjusting to our temperature.

At night, the girl pushed me aside and whispered that we had problems. At first I did not understand what was the matter, but then I heard - measured slaps were heard from the kitchen, like those that can be heard in the pool. Rare, but very distinct. And the creak of wood. We live on the first floor, we do not close the window, therefore, the idea arose of a night thief.

Gathering his strength, he took a flashlight and resolutely jumped into the kitchen. No one, only the wind is blowing and drunkards are screaming outside the window. Empty. I climbed into the chest of drawers, took out vodka and drank a glass, the girl drank the second. We went back to bed and fell asleep safely.

The next morning, a third oddity was discovered - our cat had gone somewhere. They climbed the whole apartment, even the entrance (you never know, she could get out), walked around the area and called her for a long time - the result is zero. It was very pitiful, but the feeling of something unearthly and dangerous was mixed with pity, something that caused chills on the back and goosebumps.

At night, after a stormy lovemaking, I already turned to the wall, but my girlfriend could not sleep. She was saying something (calmly, not anxiously), and I listened to her half-heartedly and fell asleep. The last thing I remember is that she got off the bed and went to drink water.

I dreamed that I was walking down the corridor and I saw a door from under which there was a rumble and a pale pink light broke through. I reach out to her hands, and she suddenly swings open. What was behind it was so terrible that I instantly woke up in a cold sweat.

It was already morning, the birds were singing outside the window and the sun was shining. I rolled over on the other side in order to hug my beloved. The bed was empty.

All the girl's things were in place, clothes hung on hangers. Friends were silent and said that she could only be with me. We filed a complaint with the police, but the search was unsuccessful. I was just awful. Every night I dreamed of this door, I stopped eating normally and going to work.

A week after the disappearance of the girl, the kitchen began to smell strange. It was the now familiar, but intensified, smell of linoleum, with an admixture of something nauseating. I thought about the dump, but it was not in it. Something reddish-brown was visible from under the edge of the linoleum. I tore off the linoleum with trembling hands and vomited.

The entire floor under the linoleum was covered with rotting bloody porridge. The worst thing was waiting for me reverse side linoleum - there were burnt prints of four cat's paws and two female feet.

A few years ago in one of the hunting grounds Perm Territory I heard an unusual story. About a strange mushroom picker. Impressed by what he heard, he even wrote a short poem “The Lost Mushroom Picker” on this occasion. Comic. Slightly changing the essence of the story. I did not believe then in its veracity. How many people come up with...

Although the hunter, who told about the strange incident, did not look like a humorist at all. In all seriousness, he said that for the second year in the local forests, mushroom pickers and hunters meet a very strange character.

Back in school, the boys and I noticed a strange trend - each of us had a particularly unlucky body part. Which got more than the rest of the organs and limbs. For someone it turned out to be a hand, for someone it was a leg, for someone it was a bad head. And someone was unlucky in general on the right or, conversely, on the left side of the body. Like me, for example.
Over the years, for the majority, the situation probably levels off, and the “bumps” begin to pour evenly over the entire body. And the number of injuries with age and the advent of the mind noticeably decreases. But not everyone, unfortunately...

Now, when you hear from someone that he is fond of photography, by God it becomes ridiculous. With the development of digital technologies, a three-year-old child who has learned to poke a finger at a smartphone can rightfully call photography as his hobby.

I got into photography in the late seventies. It was good to have someone to learn from. Yes, and the theoretical base in the form of special literature was present (now many books of those times have become a second-hand rarity).

I heard this story from a good friend of mine. Contrary to the prevailing opinion about former convicts, after serving his term he remained a normal person and returned to normal civilian life.