Read mystical stories about the dead. Mystical stories - a bad cemetery

This story about the cemetery may seem mystical and a little scary to you, but this story happened to me and I want to share it, it’s up to you to believe or not to believe in this story, but the story is very interesting.

A little about me: my name is Pavel and I have been working as a mechanic for 23 years and receive a good salary. I don’t have a wife or children either. After I finished 11th grade, I had a dream of becoming a director, making films and stuff like that. But apparently it didn’t work out for me with all this, you ask why? My parents divorced and I stayed with my mother, and after the divorce we didn’t even have enough money for food, so I had to go work at a factory. But still, I had my own dream of becoming a director. And in my city there were no places where one could learn this profession. Therefore, I decided to go to the city of Perm where my relatives lived and agreed to find me a good school. But I also had a mother whom I couldn’t just leave, so I promised her that I would help her. That's how I moved to the city of Perm.

The story itself: I moved to the city of Perm, I was traveling on a train that was moving very slowly. But still I got there in 6-7 hours. My relatives met me safely and I went to their home. The next day I woke up, they called me in for breakfast, fed me delicious porridge and gave me tea. But still, I asked them how things were going with school (where I was supposed to study to become a director)? They answered everything was fine, they found a suitable school for me, all I had to do was go there and discuss everything. I was very happy and thanked them. But they told me that in return I should go with them to the cemetery. I reluctantly agreed. We all got ready, left the house, got into the car and headed to the cemetery. I asked them a lot of questions about the cemetery, but they didn’t even say anything, as if they were going there for the first time and didn’t know anything about it. Well, we got to the cemetery and we parked the car. It seemed very strange to me that there was no one near the cemetery and no one was even selling flowers and all sorts of junk. We were walking along the road when out of nowhere some old woman appeared. She came up to us with a scary look and said, “I beg you, don’t go there.” Then she went to the exit. I was getting worse and worse. I couldn’t stand it and said, maybe we shouldn’t go there, but the old woman said not to go, why do we need all this? My relatives looked at me and said - if we don’t go with our dreams, we won’t help you get into school! I continued to follow them with a feeling of no similarity. We had already walked about 1-2 kilometers and I felt a pain in my head. We reached the grave we needed and I felt even worse. It seemed to me that the devil himself would come up to me and hit me on the head with all his might. We stood for about 5 minutes near the grave when suddenly I looked into the distance and saw the silhouette of a man, or rather an elderly woman, who was standing in my direction and looking at me. I shook my head, thinking this was nonsense, looked around and there was no one visible except my relatives. Relatives said that we could all go as ladies. I was happy and forgot about all these nightmares. We returned home, it was already evening, everyone had done their business and we all went to bed. And in a dream I dreamed of a situation where I saw that silhouette. I was looking at this silhouette when suddenly, blinking, the old woman we met at the cemetery appeared in front of the stove. I woke up looking scared, I didn’t believe in all this. But everything worked out, I still had these terrible dreams for about a week, but I continued to live. I entered the director's school and everything is fine with me. But still, I remember this story every day and even now I feel uneasy.

Until now, I have twice successfully turned to the same whispering grandmother for help, who twice poured out my fear on wax. And both times were connected with my, presumably, dreams. And they took place in different dormitories.

1. My grandmother died that summer (oncology). Lately, our relationship with her has been so-so: she was very weak and was in pain, which is why my grandmother was nervous. Yes, she lived with her grandfather in our private parental home. The relationship between our family members was out of control. Hate from morning to evening. Therefore, I dreamed of getting away from them all as quickly as possible.

This story happened to my friend Tanya several years ago. In those years, she worked in a funeral home, taking orders and filling out documents, in general, doing the usual routine work. She carried out her work functions during the day, and other employees stayed at night. But one day, due to a colleague going on vacation, Tanya was offered two weeks to work on the night shift, and she agreed.

In the evening, having started her shift, Tanya checked all the documents and phone number, talked with the employees who were on duty in the basement, and sat down at her workplace. It got dark, my colleagues went to bed, and there were no calls from clients. Time passed as usual, Tanya was bored at her workplace, and only the cat, which had taken root at their work and was considered a collective cat, brightened up her life a little, and even she was sleeping at that moment.

I didn’t really believe in the stories about how the intercom rang and then someone broke into the apartment. But my aunt's story shook my disbelief.

My aunt, my father’s cousin Nadezhda, is a complete materialist. She does not believe in anything otherworldly; she believes that any phenomenon has a physical or chemical explanation. In general, she never entered into discussions of this kind, believing that to each his own. She is an economist, has a scientific degree, and taught at one of the universities. Now she is 65 years old, has no children, got married by chance (according to her own words) at 50 years old. Her husband, Mikhail, on the contrary, believes very much in supernatural forces, is interested in ufology, and in general he is an engineer and a jack of all trades.

This story happened with my mother’s childhood friend, let’s call her Lena. Here we should make a short digression in order to talk about the heroine of the story herself. Lena is a very simple woman, to say the least. She doesn’t read books, isn’t interested in science fiction and mysticism, most of her life she worked as an ordinary clerk in a bank, and no one would think of accusing her of lying or having a wild fantasy. For this reason, the story she told does not raise the slightest doubt; she simply could not invent it.

One fine day, Lena was sitting at home with her four-year-old son Sasha in their one-room apartment and doing housework. Leaving the boy, enthusiastically playing with cars in the room, Lena went into the kitchen to prepare dinner for her husband, and, as usual, got busy with business and did not look into the room for quite a long time.

I'll tell you a story that was told to me at the funeral of a relative. Women began to criticize the mullah woman among themselves, saying that she did not allow her to cry from her heart. And suddenly one of the relatives present in the conversation began hastily talking about tears, too, but rather strange ones.

From her words, her niece, who is a distant relative of us, died. I didn’t know her during my lifetime, a young girl, a medical student, very beautiful, committed suicide. Nothing accompanied this behavior, as she was very cheerful, successful and a favorite in the family. And the suicide itself left many questions that were never answered. She jumped from a high-rise building. This was the police version. Law enforcement agencies and parents found nothing but a farewell letter on social networks.

Dear readers of the site, this story will be about unusual dreams involving the dead. I understand that reading about dreams may not always be interesting, but, as you know, in a dream we connect, if I put it correctly, to the universal space and we need to be attentive to what the dead say or do to us in a dream.

To begin with, I’ll explain that I rarely dream about the dead. The only exception was my grandmother, who at one time I dreamed about quite often, for some reason always sad and dissatisfied, although she was not like that during her lifetime. But these dreams stopped long ago and it’s good. But some other relatives dreamed literally several times and significant events always occurred after that.

The cemetery is a place shrouded in mystical secrets and mysteries. If you believe ancient myths and legends, often the souls of the dead continue to live in the cemetery, near their dead body. Do ghosts live in cemeteries? Do anomalous phenomena occur in such places? We will try to understand this section of our site.

They also say that houses cannot be built on former burial sites. By the way, not only magicians and paranormal experts, but also famous scientists think so. Negative energy and restless souls will not allow you to lead a calm life in such a place. Moreover, living on the territory of a former cemetery can lead to mental disorders and even death.

Scary stories about cemeteries, studying the most interesting burials, ghosts in cemeteries, the consequences of terrible occult and satanic rituals in such places and much more - you can find all this on the pages of our website.

If suddenly trouble comes

Only now, fifteen years after her desperate act, did she finally calm down. It's too old. All that was left of him were heavy ones and even a bad heart. Tamara Petrovna had a chance to lose close people since childhood: in 1935, right before her eyes, two younger brothers died of hunger, then her parents died, and even later her husband. The only joy in her life was her children.

She devoted all her free time to her daughter and son, which, unfortunately, was always in short supply. A conductor is a traveling profession. Today - here, tomorrow - there.

When her daughter Svetlana got married and left with her husband, a young scientist, for Novosibirsk, Tamara Petrovna took it for granted: her daughter was a cut-off piece. And the youngest Seryozha, a cheerful fellow and guitarist, remained nearby. Her favorite, her support and hope in her coming old age. But everything turned out differently...

Sergei Volsky went to jail due to his youth and stupidity. The Sortirovochny microdistrict, which is located right next to the railway, is a restless, hectic place, there are often fights here in the evenings, drinking and injecting drugs.

The guy got into bad company and got into trouble. In a brutal fight with passing truckers, the big-faced guys almost kicked two half-asleep drivers to death, taking their money and belongings with them. Although Sergei did not participate in the fight, he was in the company of the pogromists, and so he was accused along with the “activists” for hooliganism and robbery.

The article is serious. First he served his sentence in a Nizhny Novgorod prison, then he was transferred to one of the colonies in the south of the region. According to Tamara Petrovna, he asked to go there himself. The mother was terribly worried. Apparently, with some sixth sense she guessed evil.

But after some time, Sergei sent a letter from the zone. He wrote that he was satisfied. He is about to be transferred for good behavior and conscientious work to the duty company. Then you can visit him often.

Tamara Petrovna calmed down and even rejoiced. She counted the days until the next letter. But the son was still silent. This . To disperse the melancholy, the mother was thinking about what gifts to buy for Seryozha in Moscow, imagining a warm meeting with her son after a long separation.

How to bring back a dead son...

Instead of the long-awaited envelope, inscribed in his native handwriting, the postman brought an urgent telegram. It reported that prisoner Volsky died suddenly.

Tamara Petrovna, blackened and lost, rushed to her friends. Thank you, they supported me, advised me to somehow pull myself together, and told the bad news to my relatives. Volskaya's sister and daughter Svetlana urgently flew to Nizhny Novgorod.

All together they went to this damned zone. Then Tamara Petrovna said: “If he hanged himself, I won’t come!”

For some reason, it seemed that the son had committed suicide without even thinking about his mother. Sergei Volsky was killed in his sleep with two blows to the head with a stool. During a short investigation, it turned out that his cellmates thought that he was an “informer” and had become a duty officer too quickly. For this Sergei paid with his life.

At the trial, eleven witnesses did not want to provide any details. Some “fell asleep”, some “forgot”. And the killer turned out to be a particularly dangerous criminal, a repeat offender. Eight years were added to his sentence for murder. But this did not make it any easier for the mother. You can't bring your son back.

Then she wanted only one thing: to bury Sergei in a cemetery in Nizhny Novgorod. The thought that her boy was buried somewhere like a vagabond without a clan, without a tribe was unbearable.

Other orphaned mothers are consoled, albeit a little, by caring for the grave. They talk to the photograph on the monument, plant flowers in the tomb, light funeral candles on religious holidays. She didn't even get that.

Instead of the long-awaited envelope, inscribed in his native handwriting, the postman brought an urgent telegram. It reported that prisoner Volsky died suddenly

But, despite all the requests, entreaties, demands to give her the remains of Sergei, the police officials answered: “It’s not allowed!” Some weakly referred to possible exhumation if the case went on for further investigation. But they clearly had no intention of following him up.

Desperate, Tamara Petrovna reached the highest ranks of the Ministry of Internal Affairs and the Prosecutor's Office of the Russian Federation. At that time she was still working as a conductor on Moscow trains and, when she came to the capital, she went to receptions with big bosses several times. Some cursed, some promised to look into the matter. Meanwhile, six months have already passed.

Tamara Petrovna promised one colonel from the Ministry of Internal Affairs all her savings for decades of traveling around the country in rattling carriages. He said: “We’ll decide.”

And then an acquaintance turned up to her on the street. She listened to Tamara Petrovna's complaints, her story about the ordeal and advised Sergei... to steal. Otherwise, they say, you won’t get your problem resolved. Prisoners are never given a proper burial. Volskaya understood what she had to do.

Lord, give me strength and patience

“Lord, give me strength!” - Tamara Petrovna asked and on her day off she went to the caretaker of the cemetery at Sortirovka. He listened carefully to the woman, who had turned gray with grief.

You can help, but it will be expensive...

How many?

He named the amount.

Two times less than what she offered to the capital’s officials!

The woman took administrative leave from the Passenger Services Directorate and began preparing for the operation. After the death of her brother, the energetic daughter visited the zone again. There were people there who, for a certain fee, indicated the exact location of the burial. The daughter visited the outskirts of a rural churchyard.

On the unmarked grave, compassionate local old women laid out a brick cross. Leaving for Novosibirsk, Svetlana drew a diagram for Tamara Petrovna, on which she indicated the place where her brother lay. Now a piece of paper with a drawing is very useful.

Despite all the requests, entreaties, demands to give her the remains of Sergei, the police officials answered: “It’s not allowed!” Some weakly referred to possible exhumation if the case goes on for further investigation.

How to rebury a person...

The cemetery caretaker turned out to be a man of his word. At the appointed hour, Tamara Petrovna and four strapping men (among whom was my acquaintance) left the city in two cars.

It turned out that one of the drivers had once served in this zone, so he knew the way there well. Already after midnight they finally reached a small grove among the fields. Four highlighted simple fences, tacky plastic flowers, monuments, and not far from them, a red mound with a brick cross that had spread from the rains.

The mother's heart sank painfully, she frantically grabbed the pills. It took an unexpectedly long time to dig up the grave. Sticky clay stuck to the shovels. Tamara Petrovna volunteered to help. It was feared that they would not make it before dawn. The men sent her to the cars, away from them: “And if you feel bad, then what do you tell me to do?”

Finally, the spades clattered dully against the wood. All that was left to do now was to move the coffin into and fill the hole. But a hastily put together house that had lain in the ground for more than six months could fall apart. It was necessary to get it out by tying the boards. The ropes were prudently taken with them. Suddenly one of the conspirators felt ill.

And then it struck me: what if it wasn’t Sergei? – recalls Tamara Petrovna. - After all, prisoners, they say, are often placed in mass graves. I started asking the men: “I’ll give you another thousand rubles, just let’s see if he’s there or not.”

They hesitate and are afraid. And time flies. Then we see that the board at the coffin has come off and I immediately recognized my son’s face by the scar and dimple on his cheek and chin. At dawn they dug the hole and laid bricks so that no one would guess what was what.

And then some old woman appeared at the cemetery. Either she came to visit her family early in the morning, or for some other reason... My nerves rose again. What if he notices, guesses, reports? What then? But nothing good, because the matter is under jurisdiction. But the grandmother turned out to be somewhat blind; she couldn’t figure out what was what in the fog.

Sergei Volsky was reburied on the same day at the Sortirovka cemetery. Now Tamara Petrovna herself can’t believe that she decided to take such a desperate step.

But she simply could not do otherwise. If you couldn’t live together with your living son, then at least let him be there when he’s dead.

Sadness, sadness...

Sergei Volsky was reburied on the same day at the Sortirovka cemetery. Now Tamara Petrovna herself can’t believe that she decided to take such a desperate step.

Now cemetery guards often see this woman near a well-kept grave, on a bench next to the monument behind an iron fence. She has a long, leisurely and quiet conversation with her son about something.

Some of the rare visitors, looking at her, shake their heads and twirl their fingers at their temples, but the cemetery attendants know that the woman is completely normal, sensible and always gifts them with delicious homemade pies, sweets, and gives them money for vodka.

And most importantly, she found some kind of peace when visiting her “native hill”, there it always seems to her that her son’s soul is nearby, that he hears everything, that one day she too will be close to the closest soul in the world.

And she stopped being afraid of the police a long time ago. A mother's heart is truly omnipotent and fearless.

Supernatural: A Call from Beyond

It was on one of these visits that the same grave digger, my acquaintance Oleg Petrovich Dementyev, met her. This is how he remembers this meeting.

The woman was sitting on a bench near the grave, twirling a key in her hands and looking very pale. You feel bad? - I asked. “She looked at me with a strange look, then recognized me, smiled timidly and handed me the key.

What is this? - I asked in surprise.

I see it's from your apartment?

The woman nodded.

I found it under the bench.

Call from there...

And then she told how it happened:

I lost him a week ago. I searched everything in the house. There was no key. It's good that there was a spare one. But I decided to order another one. Although the money is small, it’s still a pity. You can't buy an extra carton of milk. In the evening I went to bed. I couldn’t sleep for a long time, I kept thinking about something, some minor worries were depressing me, then I dozed off. Woke up to a phone call. It was past midnight. For a long time I couldn’t figure out where I was or what the call was, then I picked up the phone. The voice was male and terribly familiar.

I stood and was silent, there were no thoughts in my head. There was no fear or surprise. Then again:

Who is this?

But I already knew who. It didn’t even occur to me that this could be someone’s evil prank.

Can you hear me?

I hear you, Seryozha...

You lost the key at my grave. It's under the bench. So don't order a new one. And one more thing... He hesitated, sighed, it was audible through the receiver, - thank you and goodbye.

Short beeps. I woke up when it was dawn outside the window, and the birds were already singing with all their might. The receiver was in my hand, and short beeps squeezed out tediously. I came here half an hour ago and now...

She handed me the key again. It was old, from English locks that slam shut when you leave the apartment. Nowadays they don't install them like that anymore.

I took it in my hands, turned it over, then handed it back to her. He kissed the gray hair that smelled of shampoo, turned and went to his thirtieth station. By 12.00 we had to dig another grave.

Now cemetery guards often see this woman near a well-kept grave, on a bench next to the monument behind an iron fence. She has a long, leisurely and quiet conversation with her son about something.

VIDEO: 7 mystical phenomena in the cemetery, captured on camera

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.

If you also have something to tell about this topic, you can absolutely free.

Mom died in September 1992. My older brother Gena lived in another city. During the years that my mother was ill, he came to us only once. And then, of course, they gave him an urgent telegram. He replied that he was leaving. However, I never got there. I drank on the train and went on a drinking binge. I woke up only a month later. He could not remember where he was and what happened to him. With that, he returned home. It must be said that my brother actually held a responsible position and could not drink for years, but still occasionally broke into binge drinking.

I noticed that I write about snakes often. Maybe this is connected with our mystical beliefs, I don’t know. Be that as it may, here is another mystical story for you.

My classmate told this story back in school. And I remembered her because her father, the main character of this story, recently died. A friend said that he was afraid of snakes to the point of panic. For a long time, the children could not understand why such a powerful man was afraid of even a harmless snake. However, over time they found out. Further from his words.

And creepy at the same time. As for the owner of the cemetery, maybe he stood up for the girl. I have already heard about the owner and read somewhere, they say that he can take on different forms, it seems even like an animal too. There was one incident that happened to me, which I told my mother later, when she and I went to the cemetery to visit my father.

My mother lives in a village, or rather in a village, and you couldn’t really see people on the street at that time, there was almost no one. And it was only my mother and I who were at the cemetery. There were a lot of fresh graves around, the cemetery was large, but they recently started burying people in one part of it. The sun was shining mercilessly, it was hot, summer, we were there at about four in the afternoon. We came to my father’s grave, and while my mother was taking care of the grave, I stood and mentally talked to him. I was so sad without him, even if I screamed, I missed him terribly, but I didn’t talk about it with my mother, I didn’t want to upset her soul. Especially in the first years, the loss of my father physically hurt me, and I told him about this then, there, in the cemetery.

This incident happened two years ago. I was driving home from work. The road passes near the cemetery. Driving by, I “heard” a request for help. This time I didn’t think for a long time, turned on the turn signal and turned towards the cemetery. I found the grave quickly. Well maintained, good marble monument. Inscription: Valentina Nikolaevna. I mentally ask the question: how can I help? And in response there was silence. I waited ten minutes. So I didn’t wait for an answer. At first I thought I had the wrong grave. I decided to take a walk in search. But no matter how many times I walked, there was no answer. While returning, I heard crying. I came up and saw the same tombstone.

He asked: “How can I help Valya?” “It’s my son’s birthday today. I want to give him a gift. Player with a record. At home in the pantry in a box,” was the answer. I think to myself that there is nothing complicated, I’ll come, I’ll say it and that’s it, my mission is over. But everything went wrong. I asked the people about Valentina, since our village is small. And I heard this story.

According to Christian tradition, after the Easter service, it is customary to celebrate this holiday at home with family.

My friend Katerina lived with her parents in a large house, divided into 4 parts, in each of which their relatives lived. There was harmony between the neighbors. Holidays were celebrated together at a large table in the courtyard of the house. Long benches on both sides of the table accommodated everyone, regardless of age and size. The children grew up, started families, some moved to their own separate housing, but at Easter everyone was sure to be there, according to tradition. The table with benches was built by Katerina’s father, Uncle Lesha. He was a kind and welcoming person. In his old age, of course, he lost a lot, but he always tried, if not to organize, then at least to maintain the fun. After his death, the neighbors at first began to get together less often, and then only the little ones played around in such a playground. And it became sadder in the yard.

One of my relatives, who survived the Holocaust as a child, shared this story with me. Further from her words.

Before the war we lived well. Our family was large and friendly. I was the eldest child in the family, helped my mother with housework, looked after the younger children and, like all Soviet children, dreamed of a bright future. One day my mother told me: “Daughter, today I had a terrible dream: my grandmother came to me and said that we will all die, but you will be saved and will live happily ever after.” It was