The most terrible stories in the cemetery. Horror stories

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.

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My parents and their parents are all from Vorkuta. But I didn’t see this city until I was fifteen, because they didn’t take me there and in every possible way dissuaded me from visiting the old people - my grandparents - who lived there until their death.

“Why do you hate your city so much?” - I pestered my mother in surprise. And she said that next to the mine, where almost all the men from the area worked, there was an old cemetery that terrified the local inhabitants. Allegedly, they saw the dead leaving their graves right in front of the eyes of Vorkuta residents who came to visit the deceased relatives.

My grandfather, my mother’s father, who lived next door to this cemetery as a boy in the 1930s, swore that he himself saw “people from the other world.” One day, literally the day before Epiphany, on a frosty January night, the risen dead marched in a column through the miners' village - so he claimed. And the cadaverous smell lingered on the street all day.

Of course, I didn’t believe these stories, believing that my grandfather was out of his mind, and the little girl—my mother was ten years old when he told her this nonsense—was easy to scare. However, my mother insisted that all this was true. And she claimed that her brother also witnessed the terrible incident. Once they were walking with the guys from the neighboring house in the evening near the fence of the cemetery, and at that time a man came out of the gate - a strange, even scary, bearded man in rags: he walked past them, shuffling with some tattered cast-offs that resembled felt boots, and turned behind them. corner.

The children rushed after him - they began to tease him, the fools. And he looked around, threatened them with a stick and simply disappeared into thin air, disappeared. At that same moment, the children felt a terrible gust of wind, as if a hurricane had begun... They were scattered along the road, one boy seriously injured his leg, another had his face scratched with blood by a torn off tree branch, and the girls rolled on the ground like peas and squealed from fear.

"So what? - I shrugged my shoulders in response to my mother’s attempts to impress me. - Just think, a strong wind! This happens. And a man in rags is not necessarily a dead man. And when he disappeared, he got scared of you, the brats, and hid.” But, according to the mother, there was something eerie about that figure and its disappearance - a person cannot simply melt into thin air. “Yes, and many of us have seen these walks of the dead. If you don’t believe me, ask whoever you want!” -Mom didn’t want to give up. “Why are you always bringing me some eyewitnesses? And you yourself? - I deliberately angered her. “No, I didn’t see it, thank God! - Mom crossed herself in fear. But I know many people whom I trust and who have encountered this evil spirits. And one boy from our yard went crazy from horror - forever! He never recovered afterwards... Such a dead man waylaid him and attacked him...

And here’s an interesting coincidence: on the very night when the dead man attacked him, I noticed an unusual bright light in the sky - something like the northern lights, but not quite lights. Wonderful! It never existed in our area. Still, we don’t live at the North Pole... And strange things happened at our school: at night, in the echoing corridors, someone’s shuffling steps could be heard, inarticulate muttering and plaintive moans were heard. The watchman, Baba Manya, told us this.”

“That old woman Manya of yours must have been a drunkard!” - I egged my mother on. “Fuck you... She fought in the Night Witches squadron! Has an order. What a drunk she is to you!” It is not surprising that when my mother married my father, she immediately left the “bad” village in Vorkuta forever. I never tried to visit my parents. My grandmother and grandfather often came to us, but my mother never visited them. And they didn’t let me visit the old people on vacation.

I was terribly envious of my classmates: well, everything is like summer - they go to their grandmothers in the village. Their stories fascinated me: there were adventures, fights and overnight trips, swimming and complete freedom! In a word, freedom! And I sat like hell all summer in the city, at best they took me to the sea, and then only for a couple of weeks...

When I turned fifteen, I made a terrible scandal and demanded that I be released to the old people. The parents resisted for a long time (or rather, my mother resisted), but in the end they gave in. Somewhere in mid-June I was sent by train from Kirov to Vorkuta. I enjoyed the journey for a day, then I found myself at the Vorkuta central station. Small, old, provincial, but quite clean. From the city center I took a minibus to the village of Severny to visit the old people. I found Vorkuta a dull, gloomy city. There is no need for a cemetery with zombies crawling out of the ground here - without that the landscape is apocalyptic.

My grandparents greeted me joyfully - after all, they were the only grandchild! I, too, was very happy with the old people, however, when they took me to a neglected two-story house, surrounded by some rickety sheds and rusty garages, I became somewhat sour: I didn’t know that people still live like this in our time - well, I didn’t see barracks! This city, it must be said, is surrounded by a whole system of suburbs - mainly mining villages. There used to be a dozen and a half of them, but at the time I arrived in Vorkuta, only five remained; the remaining villages looked like gloomy ghosts among the bare tundra...

Honestly, I was no longer glad that I came. What can you do here? How to relax? How can you even live?! At least write to your parents: “Take me!” The next day, however, I found company - a couple of guys my age, and the prospect of spending two weeks here no longer seemed so gloomy. Moreover, I confess to you that I dreamed of going to the cemetery, about which I had heard so many “terrible” things.

I was dying to go there and, most importantly, take pictures! Suddenly I’ll get lucky, I thought, and someone from the other world will appear to me! These pictures will make me famous! A fool, of course, but I was only fifteen years old. I wanted thrills, like any boy. I asked my new friends to give me a tour of the cemetery: they say, I’ve heard about all sorts of miracles! They shrugged: it was a three-kilometer walk to get there. Don't be lazy, let's go...

And so we came to that same Lithuanian cemetery. Actually, it is not only Lithuanian, although its most noticeable grave is a monument to some prince with an inscription in Lithuanian: “Mother Lithuania is crying for you.” Yes, there were many of them in the local “Vorkutlag” - sons for whom Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia and Western Ukraine cried...

Tens of thousands of people went through this hell from the territories occupied in 1939, and then the Germans began to be sent here - no, not prisoners, but completely loyal to the USSR, only with the beginning of the war they all turned into enemies. Among my grandfather’s friends, by the way, there was a Lithuanian named Edgar - his ancestors ended up in Vorkuta in a convoy, and when they were freed, they stayed to live there. Edgar himself was born in Vilnius, but every year he came to these harsh lands beyond the Arctic Circle to lay flowers on his native graves.

There are hundreds, thousands of such stories in this city... But these prisoners still had graves, and how many people were left simply abandoned to lie in the frozen ground under snow and moss! What's strange about it, if you think about it, is that these souls do not know peace. And their ghosts walk around the dying city, looking for their executioners... Or maybe those who remained from their relatives to remind them of themselves? At the cemetery I saw many Orthodox crosses next to Catholic ones. And as an adult, I read so many tragic stories of ordinary Russian men, priests and teachers, workers and doctors, buried here!

Then, at the age of fifteen, I listened with rapture as one of my new acquaintances talked about how they were expanding a mine in the village of Yur-Shor. They simply dug up the neighboring cemetery, crushing the skulls and bones of the unfortunate people buried here with an excavator bucket. Here are the people! They don't care! They are ready to throw the dead in the trash! But there lay not only political prisoners, but also civilian and local prisoners - quite possibly, relatives of those who crushed these bones into dust with the wheels of trucks.

That's when the cemetery was disturbed, and the locals began to have visions. Or rather, the dead began to come out... Presumably, in this way they demanded peace, and maybe justice. From time immemorial there has been a tradition of burying the dead away from housing and treating graveyards with respect. Our ancestors knew that the destruction of a cemetery could bring disaster. And we forgot. And therefore we must blame ourselves, and not the ghosts that frighten us.

In the late 40s of the last century, a local miner received a prison sentence for talking about ghosts that came to him underground. He was immediately sent to jail for trying to sow panic and spread a hostile ideology. But what is the ideology of those ghosts?! They certainly did not create a counter-revolutionary group, did not find out secret information about the mine tunnels and did not prepare terrorist attacks...

That miner's name was Ivan Khrapov, he was the grandfather of one of the guys who told me this story. And he served until 1953, until Stalin’s death. And the last case of the appearance of dead people happened here in the early 60s of the last century, at a dance in a local club. When the watchman, having escorted all the young people home around midnight, began to lock the doors, suddenly someone began to strangle him.

The watchman, despite his age, was a healthy man. He dodged and grabbed the attacker himself: but immediately pulled his hands back. Moreover, the blow almost hit him! In front of the man stood a corpse as pale as a sheet - just a corpse! He had empty eye sockets and almost rotten skin on his cheeks. The dead man grinned threateningly with his empty mouth.

The poor old man ran away with a wild cry, and in the morning he quit his job and never went to that club again - neither at night nor during the day. But the young people, having heard his story, began to be on duty there almost around the clock - brave souls! Let's drink for courage and let's walk around the club with jokes and jokes. On the third night, perhaps, one of these guys saw the translucent figure of a man, but the others did not have time to notice it, and therefore decided that he had simply had too much port wine.

Why don’t dead people come to scare Vorkuta residents after 1960? I think because around that time, the former political prisoner of Yur-Shor installed the first memorial sign in the cemetery, common to all the victims. My mother, in any case, said exactly that: “Guests from the other world stopped coming to us, they calmed down, apparently they liked this sign of respect.” By the way, I saw this simple wooden pillar, reinforced at the base with a concrete pad, on which the numbers “1953” are embossed.

And later, in 1992, I think, the Vorkuta “Memorial”, together with former political prisoners from Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia, erected another wooden memorial cross at the cemetery with a sign: “Eternal memory of those who died for freedom and human dignity.” This certainly pleased those who lie in the frozen ground here: memory and dignity are exactly what they were deprived of for so long.

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.

My mother and I live with my grandmother, but we are building a house completely on the other side of the city. I'm 12 and have been living with my grandmother since birth. Her house is very close to the cemetery and school. When I bring my classmates to visit, they are horrified when they realize that our house is located opposite the cemetery. But I answer them with mockery. Like, what's so scary about that? I spent my whole life here and nothing happened... Looking at the cemetery I have no feeling of fear. I don’t look at a cemetery with the conclusion that the ground there is saturated with corpses. For me, this is just a place with crosses.. But for a long time, my grandmother told me that when passing by a cemetery you need to say hello to *spirits* Like, they look at you and wait, will you say hello to them? But I completely forgot about it..
One fine day.. My best friend Tanya and I agreed to go to the cinema in the evening, to the cartoon *Shrek 2* We are Shrek fans and didn’t refuse this) It was winter then.. The days were short and already at 8 pm it was getting terribly dark. It's like 12 o'clock at night. The movie ended, as we feared at 8. We lived nearby. But on different streets. There was not a large forest near the school. And behind this forest there was a street *Lesnaya* and my friend lived there.
When we got to school we split up. *we were separated by the damn forest* She’s going home, and I’m going home... On my own way. I walked quickly. Strangely, the lamp standing on our street did not turn on. But I didn’t attach any importance to this.
I was about 70-80 meters from the house when I heard slow footsteps behind me. I quickened my pace until I was almost running. Soon I heard the voice of an elderly grandmother. The voice was trembling, but in some places it was angry. Grandmother said that she could not find her mother’s grave. Buried in this very cemetery. I have already seen the burning light of a chandelier in the windows of my house. But my grandmother suddenly grabbed me by the hand and dragged me to the cemetery. I wanted to scream, but my voice seemed to have disappeared... Grandma was weak, so in the cemetery gates I grabbed the fence and didn’t let go. Grandma has disappeared...
I wiped the sweat of fear from my forehead and went home. Having reached very close to my house, I saw the silhouette of my grandmother at the gate. And she was waving her cane at the gate. Knocked. I felt terrified. I called my mother and told her to kick this grandmother out. Grandma either heard what I said and immediately disappeared.
Mom came out, there was no one there, only I stood scared at the gate. Mom asked what happened. Out of fear, not understanding what I was saying, I said that there was a grandmother there... Mom answered me that it seemed to me and did not believe me.
In the morning, it turned out that a grandmother came to everyone on our street and asked if they would help her find her mother’s grave. And upon hearing the answer, she disappeared, one might say evaporated into thin air.
A month later we moved to a new house. At the end of the city. A year later, they started burying people there and made another cemetery. Right opposite our house. It's a shame and disgusting. Now I am afraid of cemeteries, I do not advise you to walk near a cemetery in the dark. You never know...