The incidents at the cemetery are real. Dead, deceased, funeral

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.

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.

I lived in a big city, but after the birth of my son, our family was forced to return to live in the village where I was from. The son had a severe allergy to city smog and further living in the city threatened him with death. All our relatives who lived in the village were very happy about our return and often gathered together to while away the long winter evenings.

They chatted about different things, but after the “destroying” of several graves in the cemetery (drunk youth were having fun), more and more often the conversation began with incidents related to the cemetery.

Scary story No. 1

Someone got into the habit of stealing fences near the graves in the cemetery - my uncle began the story. Almost every night the fence from someone's grave disappeared. Apparently he was a strong man, he removed some of the fences along with the concrete pouring and took them away to God knows where. They decided that he was stealing and selling somewhere in other villages, but they could not catch him, even the police were on duty and did not notice anything. As soon as we set up an ambush, the fences are intact, just like there is no ambush, the next fence disappears. How could this vandal know when the ambush would happen? And, most importantly, there were no traces of the car anywhere, it was clearly carried away on his shoulders, but no one knows where. The service dog didn’t pick up the trail, just sniffed, then snorted and turned away. Rumors spread throughout the village that it was the unclean who was acting up and no one went on duty at the cemetery at night, they were afraid of the unclean. Our priest walked around the cemetery with a censer, read prayers, but it still didn’t help.

But then one day, those who lived closer to the cemetery heard a strong and terrible scream from the cemetery at night. So strong that even in the house one could hear some kind of inhuman scream. Naturally, they were afraid to go there at night, but a whole horde went when the sun was high and saw that a man was kneeling near the grave of a recently buried local blacksmith. His head sticks out between the bars of the fence. and the bars around the neck are compressed. The blacksmith forged this fence for himself while he was still alive and said that they would put it on his grave. A beautiful fence forged with love, not a single welded seam. The blacksmith probably got angry and punished the thief, but it wasn’t the thief himself who stuck his head into the fence and even squeezed the bars around his neck. Since that time, theft from the cemetery has stopped.

Scary story No. 2

You’re right, Semyon (that’s my uncle’s name),” the next interlocutor continued the conversation. The dead can punish their offenders. My friend from a neighboring village was visiting me and talking about the death of a girl after graduation.

There they had a school graduation and three graduating girls decided, rather than buy bouquets of beautiful flowers, to collect bouquets at the cemetery. Early in the morning we ran to the cemetery and picked up bouquets from one of the graves from yesterday's funeral. They came to school with these bouquets. The girls gave bouquets to the teachers, and Yana (that was the name of one of the girls) left one bouquet at home - she put the most beautiful one in a vase on the table, and gave the second one to the teacher. So two girls and three teachers who received a bouquet from the cemetery fell ill the next day and went to the hospital, and in the evening Yana moved the bouquet from the cemetery closer to her crib and went to bed. This morning I didn’t leave my bedroom. Mom came in, and her daughter was dead. She found herself strangled. All the relatives had an alibi for that night, no traces - the killer was not found. Doctors concluded that she died from a severe allergy to flowers.

Scary story No. 3

Do you remember the incident the year before last, Aunt Klava spoke up. This is what we had. That case with Kirill, a local drunkard and rowdy. He also called himself a demon or a vampire, and people called him that and shunned him, none of the men wanted to be friends with him. He was healthy and when he drinks, he gets into a fight, and even bites - he screams, I’ll drink the blood from you. No one could rein him in or teach him a lesson. Guys, it used to be that about five people would get together and try to teach him a lesson. They’ll attack him, beat him, but he doesn’t seem to feel any pain, he’ll give the men black eyes under his eyes, and he’ll even break someone’s arm or leg.

But the scythe hit a stone - the drunkard couldn’t handle the local moonshine, he got so drunk that he died, as people say - he was burned by vodka. Well, the whole village gathered as many as they could (the drunkard himself lived) and organized a funeral, people after all. They took the coffin to the cemetery, lowered it into the grave and the diggers began to bury it, everyone stood quietly, there was no one to cry, and suddenly a noise was heard from the grave, the diggers froze in their tracks. The coffin with the earth thrown over it began to go into the ground, down there. He dropped about three meters and stopped. They covered the grave with the remaining earth, and they also had to bring it, almost one and a half cars fit into the grave while they made a mound and put up a cross with an inscription. In the village they said for a long time that he might actually be a vampire and that he was striving to go to the kingdom of shadows with his own people, but no one knows what is really there. From time immemorial there have been no quarries or mines in this area.

Two graves

Mystical stories about the cemetery and the dead

Anomalous zones of the Nizhny Novgorod region

Everyone who has experienced funerals probably knows about theft in cemeteries. Of course, we are not talking about drunkards who steal eggs and other snacks from graves on holidays and Easter. We are talking about bribes, sales of places and other types of extortion, which, taking advantage of the desperate situation of the visitor, forced to bury a loved one in three days, the administration and other workers of the churchyard brazenly extort. At one time, there were plenty of press publications and court cases related to such extortions. But in the story discussed below, the cemetery workers are not to blame. At least that's how it seemed to me. And it all started with the benches. Benches at entrances are a unique phenomenon. Here you have a courtyard parliament without truants, and a truly people's court, and a council, and a veche, and so on, and so on. There is also a sleeping summer rookery for homeless tramps, and a mini-buffet for hanging out youngsters. Shops in courtyards and near entrances are a breeding ground for seditious speeches, drug addiction, widespread drunkenness and debauchery, with all the criminal problems of the city arising from the above.

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.

Certificate

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.

Certificate

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.

Certificate

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.

Certificate

There was no grave there; moreover, it was clear that the ground 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.

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.

Certificate

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.

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...