New scary stories about the dead. Dead, deceased, funeral

Life is boring, what to do?

Observing the purity of morals, the local authorities decided to remove the entrance benches and the adjacent domino tables in the courtyards! Too many have found free refuge on them.

The entire hungry city is scouring the courtyards in search of a saving shelter. Utility workers zealously carried out the orders of the authorities.

The centuries-old era of shops that had befriended the entire population of a city block was ended unceremoniously, with revolutionary haste.

Fortunately, there is no shortage of experience. We will build a new world! Instead of inquisitive and all-knowing old women-experts, peacefully knitting warm socks for their grandchildren for the harsh winter, headless stumps stood bashfully in the courtyards.

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Vitka Selivanov has lived in the third entrance for the last twenty years. For pensioners, everyone under sixty - Vitka, Lenka and Svetka. But in fact the man was over fifty

Klavdia Semyonovna, the same age, is just as lonely and sad in the small kitchen, paying her meager pension for the morning porridge on duty and frozen sprat for Murzik. In the evenings, lonely stumps surrounded youth beer parties. This is how the passengers of the sinking Titanic hurried to the rare life-saving ice floes.

Habit, as you know, is second nature. The youth were in no hurry to change their drinking place. In numerous eateries, drinking happens casually, without the proper courage, but near your home spot, which was once your favorite bench, you can frolic to your heart’s content.

Again, they will tell you home if you dare to slightly exceed the dose. Comfortable. If the dose increases significantly, they will take it to another place, to a churchyard. Again ours, from the “patch”.

The demoted deputies of the courtyard khural hurried past their hungry grandchildren on the tree stumps. There is no quorum of old ladies at all. The entire parliament in its entirety is on indefinite vacation in their own small-sized apartments.

Grandmothers are languishing from doing nothing and, once again, begin to count the new coffin stash. There should be enough for a modest funeral and a three-course memorial dinner for fifty mourners.

A respectful conversation with Murzik resulted in a sad monologue. There are no listeners. There is only one way - to the window, from which you can see the surviving benches at the picket fence of the first entrance.

Senile farsightedness, not bothered by cataracts, immediately highlighted the friends in misfortune, peacefully sitting on the far bench. There are at least two vacancies on the bench. We have to hurry. Applicants for the free space are completely bored at the windows.

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After the death of his wife, Selivanov started drinking. From a normal, intelligent man, he turned into a typical homeless person within six months

The happy owners of the surviving bench and with full right sit in places free from visitors, popularly explaining to visitors the essence of the newly introduced communal reforms.

The rest of the leisure time is devoted to the vile behavior of Marinka from the fifteenth, who paraded past amazed old women with a new imported gentleman of curly brunette color. The new admirer has no advantages.

The car is beautiful and the upholstery is rich and plush. And so the guy is completely useless, not at all remarkable for himself, even pimply. Such impudent behavior of the dissolute Marinka required additional investigation and long logical calculations.

In pre-reform times, before communal terror, a discussion about changing a Russian boyfriend to an Ethiopian would have lasted two full, talkative days.

The grandmother's former partner was treated with respect. Although not a particularly handsome man, he treated old women with respect, always bowed and inquired about their health by name.

There is no way to throw away a won bench. You can, of course, go to the city park with the whole court, but the long arms of the municipality have already reached there. Benches have been eliminated along the entire perimeter. That's why grannies don't go to the park and continue the conversation.

From the dissolute Marinka the conversation spread into the realms of mysticism. It was then that I happened to be nearby and overheard this story.

Death on two legs

Vitka Selivanov has lived in the third entrance for the last twenty years. For pensioners, everyone under sixty - Vitka, Lenka and Svetka. But in fact the man was over fifty.

He lived with his wife, they had no children and, apparently, no relatives either. They lived in seclusion and did not have much friendship with their neighbors. We always saw them together. We went to the store together, together in the evenings we walked along Cosmonauts Avenue, which is two hundred meters from the house.

A year ago his wife died. Quickly, in one day. Heart. She was buried in a new cemetery, which was far from the city and grew with incredible speed. In a city with a population of over a million, death is a frequent guest.

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He was buried in the same cemetery where his other half found peace. A few neighbors claimed that his grave was far from his wife’s grave, because over the course of a year and a half the cemetery had grown both in breadth and distance.

Life is an unfair thing

After the death of his wife, Selivanov started drinking. From a normal, intelligent man, he turned into a typical homeless person within six months.

He quit his job, didn’t pay rent, and was warned more than once about eviction. No one knew where he got the money for food, just as no one knew whether he ate at all.

Vitka lost a lot of weight, and it was absolutely clear to everyone who saw him that he wouldn’t last long.

Compassionate men who drank in the yard in the evenings and on weekends always poured a drink for Selivanov, for which he invariably politely thanked them. But he didn’t impose himself, didn’t wait for more to be poured, and modestly walked away. By evening he was always drunk.

On weekdays, weekends, and holidays in the evening he returned from his mysterious voyage around the city, barely able to stand on his feet. Sometimes he fell near the entrance, and then the neighbors helped him get to the apartment. Viktor Stepanovich Selivanov outlived his wife by a year and a half.

Him in the same cemetery where his other half found peace. The few neighbors who went to the cemetery later claimed that his grave was far from his wife’s grave, because over the course of a year and a half the cemetery had grown both in breadth and distance.

Creepy incidents in the cemetery

In the spring, as soon as the snow melted, Polina Sergeevna from the sixth apartment went to the cemetery. Her mother was buried there, and it was necessary to put the grave in order after the winter. After clearing away the trash and sticking a bouquet of artificial asters into the ground near the modest obelisk, she headed home.

The path lay past the grave of her neighbor Selivanova. Polina Sergeevna decided to go there. Imagine her amazement when, next to the grave of Irina Nikolaevna Selivanova, she saw the grave of Viktor Stepanovich Selivanova. On the very monument that she remembered when Vitka was buried, there was the same portrait of him, his name, surname and dates of life.

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There was no grave there; moreover, it was clear that the ground there was dense and the undertakers’ shovels did not touch it. The churchyard workers stood in bewilderment for a long time, then politely asked Polina Sergeevna not to tell anyone about this strange incident.

At first, the neighbor thought that relatives had come to the rescue, but then she remembered that there were no relatives at the funeral. Then she decided that the cunning employees of the cemetery administration had sold his grave, and he was reburied next to his wife.

But this option also seemed somehow unnatural to her. The location was not the best, especially in a lowland where water accumulated in the spring, and hardly anyone would have wanted to covet it.

Deciding to find out what was wrong, the woman went straight to the administration. It must be said that thieving officials are afraid of retired fighters for justice.

Pensioners have nothing to do, so they can easily devote all their time to searching for the truth. Moreover, there were many stories about the sale of places in the cemetery, everyone knew about them, and several leaders of local churchyards went to the camps to correct their mistakes.

But this time, as Polina Sergeevna says, the cemetery administration was no less surprised than she was. A small delegation of representatives of the cemetery management and staff immediately went with her. They checked the documents, then went to see Viktor Stepanovich.

To everyone’s amazement, there was no grave there; moreover, it was clear that the earth there was dense and the undertakers’ shovels did not touch it. The graveyard workers stood in bewilderment for a long time, then politely asked Polina Sergeevna not to tell anyone about this strange incident.

Of course, the interlocutors at the bench understood perfectly well that the request was supported by financial assistance to the elderly woman. Of course, the woman could keep this news to herself for no more than a week.

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By some unspoken agreement, they stopped discussing this news. The story turned out to be too incomprehensible, implausible and creepy

When she came to the cemetery for the second time, they showed her all the necessary documents for Selivanov’s grave and said that she was mistaken, and that Viktor Stepanovich was buried here from the very beginning, and if she doubts, then let her buy herself some tablets for sclerosis. They are, of course, expensive, so here's money for a year's supply of pills.

After her story, the entire community of retired women visited the cemetery. Everyone approached the graves of two people who had loved each other during their lifetime, stood and looked, then drove home, silent and thoughtful.

By some unspoken agreement, they stopped discussing this news. The story turned out to be too incomprehensible, implausible and creepy.

Moreover, new topics were not long in coming. Marinka from fifteen brought a new roommate.

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

This is a real story written from the words of a real person. However, my interlocutor asked to keep his name and some details secret. He is a medical worker, he went through two wars: the Patriotic and the Korean. We are sitting in a small, cozy living room, and he tells exciting, interesting stories, and he had many of them over the seventy-eight years of his life.

His sparkle in his eyes and oratory take us far, far back. However, now, telling this story, there was a stamp of sadness on his face, and a wave of pain splashed in his eyes.

“This happened just before the war. I had just received my diploma as a surgeon, and I was sent to work in the south - in the Kazakh steppes. He worked in a small regional center as a surgeon in the emergency room, but sometimes replaced a pathologist.

That hot summer day is deeply etched in my memory; there were many patients and I didn’t have a minute to rest. They sent an orderly to me with a request to stop the appointment and urgently begin an autopsy of the body of a man brought by his relatives on a cart; he was struck and killed by lightning. My colleagues examined him and pronounced him dead. The relatives were in a hurry; the journey home was long and far. One hundred kilometers in these places was not considered a great distance. Just at that moment I opened the boil and could not leave the patient. He replied that I could come over in a few minutes, asking my sister to apply a bandage. As soon as I headed towards the exit, I heard a quiet, female voice - “don’t go.” I turned around and looked around, there was no one in the office, the nurse was in the dressing room. Here they brought in a patient with an open hip fracture, and I began to provide emergency care. The orderly came for me again, but I was busy. When I finished providing assistance, again a woman’s voice very clearly said, “don’t go.” Then there was a patient with acute bleeding, and I was delayed.

An orderly came into the office and said that the head doctor was angry. I replied that I would be there soon. Having finished with the patient, and already approaching the door, I heard a woman’s voice again - “don’t go.” And I decided - I was stopped three times, I won’t go, and that’s it! I stayed in the office and resumed my appointment. The chief came - angry, beside himself: “Why don’t you follow my order?” To which I calmly say: “I have a lot of patients, but the therapist is sitting and not doing anything (I also got angry and was rude), let him go, he also went through this like me. The head doctor, furious, left after him.

Twenty minutes later the autopsy began. And a terrible thing happened: a colleague sawed open the chest and began to dissect the lungs, when suddenly the dead man jumped up and, spraying blood, began screaming and rushed at the doctor. A frightened colleague flew out of the anatomy room, covered in blood and with crazy eyes, ran into my office and shouted: “Faster, faster! He is alive!" I examined the patient and answered skeptically: “Who? Dead person? “Yes, he is alive, take the tool and save him.” I didn’t believe it, but I took the suitcase with the tools, talked to my sister and went after him. Having caught up with him, I saw that my colleague had turned completely gray.

A half-dead man was lying on the floor of the anatomy room. He was bleeding, it was too late to do anything, life was leaving him. A few minutes later he died for real. A colleague received a long sentence for premeditated murder. During the war he was released and died during the liberation of Warsaw. And to this day I don’t know who called me and stopped me and saved me from big trouble. Maybe a guardian angel, or maybe a premonition and intuition?..” He finished the story without touching the cooled tea. And I sat and thought about how thin the line between life and death is, how many mysterious and incomprehensible things are around.

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...

This story is more psychological than mystical.
In one village two families lived next door. In both families, by that time the children had already grown up and moved away. The men, who were previously friends, did not share something, quarreled and stopped communicating with each other. The women supported the attitude.
In the fall, Ivan (one of the neighbors) suddenly died of a heart attack.
The coffin with the deceased was placed in the living room. As expected, they curtained the mirrors, removed sharp objects, and sent telegrams to relatives. And then the wife of the deceased needed to go to a neighboring village. She comes to her neighbor and, with tears in her eyes, asks for help: to feed the cattle and look after the house - they say, she’ll be back tomorrow for lunch. There is nowhere to go - we need to help.
Evening came, the neighbor was getting ready to go fulfill what she had promised, and her husband started to protest (he had already gotten drunk by this time) - like “if you don’t go, I forbid you.” But the woman went anyway, answering her husband that it would not be humane.
She has arrived. She put a pot of mixed feed on the stove to cook, but she herself, no, no, and looked at the coffin with a dead person - it’s creepy to be alone with a dead person. But the deceased lies still.
Well, the pigs are fed, you can go home. She locked the door. That's it, it's not scary anymore, but that wasn't the case.
I came home, and my husband locked all the bolts and fell into bed drunk. She walked around the house, knocked on the windows, but did not get through. If it were summer, then it would be possible to sit out the night on the rubble, but the puddles outside were frozen. It’s already quite late, and I don’t want to go home and wake up the neighbors. The street lights have already been turned off. It's completely dark.
I remembered the saying that you should be afraid of the living, not the dead, and decided to return to the house with the dead man. So I did. She came, turned on the lights in the rooms, looked at the late Ivan (lying quietly), moved the chairs in the kitchen and lay down on them. And then, according to the law of meanness, the electricity was turned off...
As she later said, she had never been so scared in her life. Darkness as far as one can see, a stranger’s house (where the candles or a flashlight are, it is unknown) and a pleasant neighborhood in the form of a dead person...
And then she hears the gate opening and someone entering the yard. Some screams, laughter, flickering light in the window, someone knocking on the glass. The woman happily rushed out of the house (the relatives of the deceased had arrived!), but the yard was empty, no one.
She doesn’t remember how she waited until morning. Soon she left her husband and was never able to forgive him for this nightmare.