Stories of a friend about all kinds of evil spirits. Stories about evil spirits Real stories about evil spirits

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The tricks of the forest spirit.

When my grandfather Agzyam Karimov was 18 years old, he and his 16-year-old brother went to the forest to get firewood. Let's go at night. The fact is that the next day there were many things to do, and the night was so moonlit - as bright as day. But they did not manage to bring firewood.

Unknown being.

When we entered the forest, the horse neighed and stopped as if rooted to the spot, not wanting to go further. The brothers looked ahead and saw that a ball was rolling towards them along the forest road. At some distance from them, the ball stopped and turned around like a hedgehog. In front of them was some unknown forest creature. Grandfather and brother, frightened, turned the horse around and went the other way. There were many roads in the forest - all the locals prepared firewood for the winter and traveled to different places. And now they are riding the other way, and again the horse snorted and stopped - and again the same ball rolls on them. The horse stopped - the ball also stopped, then turned around, and again a mysterious creature rose on its paws in front of them. The brother began to beg Agzyam to leave the forest as soon as possible.

Lost branches.

They began to leave, they noticed a tall curly birch on the outskirts of the forest. They decided to chop birch branches for brooms, so that there would be something to bathe in the bathhouse. Grandfather, taking an ax in his hands, climbed a tree. He began to cut branches, instructing his younger brother to pick up and put them on the cart. Having cut a decent number of branches, he asked his brother how much more to cut, but he replied that he had not yet caught a single branch. All the branches, not reaching the ground, were carried away with a rustling somewhere by an unknown force.
So the brothers returned home with nothing: the forest spirit did not want to give away their wealth.

(mystical stories about evil spirits)

Gelfirya Khaidarzkanovna.

Night strangler.

This story happened not to me but to my friends - three or four years ago. In an ordinary apartment in the city of the hero of Volgograd, an ordinary Galya family lived - a young pretty girl, her husband Grisha and their little son Sashenka.

Couldn't wake up.

The weekday, which did not portend any troubles, approached sunset. Having finished their dinner, the family settled down in front of the TV. After the end of the film, mom put Sashenka to bed. And soon the couple fell asleep. At night, Grisha woke up from a strong push in the side and saw that his wife was writhing, as if from unbearable pain. He turned on the light: Galya was pale, her lips were beginning to turn blue, and red marks and shallow scratches appeared on her neck. Grisha began to wake up his wife, but she only moaned barely audibly and did not wake up. Then the man rushed to the kitchen, where they had a bottle of holy water brought from the church. He poured it into a glass, splashed it on his wife's face. Galya woke up, began to greedily swallow the air.

The nightmare recurred.

Catching her breath, the woman, with tears in her eyes, told her husband about the nightmare she had experienced. Through her sleep, she felt some small creature sitting on her chest, and his small hands getting closer to her neck. Then Galya felt a terrible suffocation, small hands squeezed her neck more and more. The woman tried to free herself, struggled, moaned, but could not scream. Galya experienced such horror for the first time. Grisha, as best he could, reassured his wife. He said that she had an asthma attack, had a nightmare, and she scratched her own neck. Grisha calmed his wife, and he suddenly remembered the story of his grandmother. A similar story happened to her in the same apartment. Grandmother claimed that it was a brownie. And to appease him, you need to sprinkle holy water around.

(mystical stories about evil spirits)

Arina Pavlovna Kolotnikova. d Kiselnyal Leningrad region

A small collection of old Russian stories about encounters with supernatural beings.

Story - 1

One man was walking late in the evening from the christening, quite tipsy. suddenly his friend comes to meet him, having gone to work a few weeks ago. Friends decided to wash their meeting with vodka. They went to the nearest inn. On the way, the peasant pulls out his snuffbox and begins sniffing tobacco from it.

“Oh, what a wretched snuffbox you have!” says his comrade. He pulled out a golden horn with tobacco and showed it to the peasant.

“Come on, if so, let’s change,” the man asked.

"Come on," the friend agreed.

So they came to the inn. Since the time was late, and it was hardly possible to get through to the owners from the street, the comrade advised the peasant:

- Climb under the gate, what do you think?

The man was about to crawl under the gate, when he suddenly saw that he was standing on a thin bridge, which was installed on a deep river. The comrade advised the peasant to climb into the crack, and he could drown himself.

Coming to his senses from fright, the man rushed to run home. All the hops went out of his head. At home, he remembered about the horn, which he exchanged with his comrade. I climbed after him and pulled out a horse, almost fresh, bone.

Story - 2

Once a man rode home in a sleigh. Suddenly, on the way, he came across a priest in full vestments. The priest asked to take him to the village. The man agreed. When they approached the place where the road went along a terrible steepness over the abyss, this priest, getting off his horse, began, as if frightening the peasant, to drag him into the abyss.

“Father, don’t play around, otherwise not only the horses, but you and I will break our heads, unless, God forbid, we fall down,” the man says.

The priest then calmed down. When they arrived at the most dangerous place, this priest could not resist and again began to pull the sled into the abyss.

- Lord Jesus Christ! What are you doing, daddy? - the man shouted, and swinging with all his strength hit the priest on the head. Yes, he hit so deftly that he hit right on the charred stump that appeared in this place. The man even screamed in pain.

In the meantime, the priest had gone cold, and the stump, which the peasant took for the priest, rolled into the abyss, and from there some piercing laughter was heard after him.

It was only then that the peasant realized that it was not a real priest with him, but a devil in his image.

Story - 3

One peasant woman walked past an old dilapidated church. Suddenly she heard a baby crying from under the porch. She rushed to the porch, but, to her surprise, she could not find anything. When she got home, she told her husband what had happened. Another time, passing by the same church, she seemed to meet her husband, who ordered her to follow him.

For a long time they walked through the fields, and then this imaginary husband of hers would push her into the ditch, saying:

- It will be a science for you, next time you will not tell how children cry under the church.

When the woman came to her senses from fear, then, somehow getting out of the ditch, she reached the house on the fifth day.

The Lesovik, who introduced himself as her husband, took her seventy miles away from home.

Story - 4

Once a peasant was walking at night and he sees: the church is standing, lit, and a service is going on in the church, and the priest and the parishioners have some unsuitable faces. Something is wrong, the man thought. He began to back away towards the door. And they were unclean. They saw a man and ran after him. The unclean ones are looking - there is not a single trace back from the church, but only to the church. Searched, searched, and abandoned.

Story - 5

One deceased, on some occasion, was left in the church for the night. The church was open; so the thief wandered into it. He went up to the icon and wanted to peel off the robe; suddenly the dead man rose from the coffin, took the thief by the shoulders, led the thief away from the icon, and lay down again in the coffin. The thief got scared. How little, how much time passed, he again went to the icon. The dead man got up again and took him away again. So up to three times. In the end, the thief went to the priest and repented of everything.

An excerpt from Andrey Burovsky's book "Siberian Horror":
——
Probably, stories about estate evil spirits, witchcraft and fortune-telling are in Siberia in the same "corral" as all over the world, but in a very special place are stories about evil spirits living in forests, as well as in abandoned buildings and villages. These stories did not cease to be told at all, in the 20th century this folklore theme did not disappear and did not weaken, and the reason for this is also understandable: in Siberia, even in very populated areas, the role of hunting, traveling, seasonal crafts, and trade has always been very large in the peasant economy. Without all this, there was simply no economy. Already in the 19th century, the Siberian peasant was forced to actively trade, and the cities were often far from the villages. We drove for two or three days, or even a week, and we drove in the winter, when it was almost impossible to stop in the open air. This means that people constantly found themselves in huts, in houses inhabited only part of the year, in fact, in premises abandoned by people, where, according to the exact definition of A.K. Tolstoy, “how long will other owners start?”.
The same applies to hunting huts or buildings that are made on haunts and mowing - all these are buildings inhabited only part of the year. Buildings in which, as the experience of mankind says, other "owners" always start up.
A Russian in Siberia constantly finds himself in such premises, and if the layer of stories about collisions with other "owners" is small, I will attribute this to the observance by people of some important rules. Of course, the family has its black sheep, but still in Siberia the rules of behavior in temporary housing are quite strictly observed.
Firstly, it is customary to enter such a dwelling as if it were inhabited: take off your hat, bow at the entrance, ask permission to enter and use the dwelling. Many people talk loudly about themselves, explain why they need a place to live, and even promise out loud that they will be “right.” That is, they behave respectfully, recognize the rules of conduct and the primacy of the "masters".
Secondly, the rules of behavior in temporary housing are strictly observed. While you are in it, you can use everything that is in it, including firewood and food. But, leaving, be sure to leave firewood and a supply of food. This, of course, reflects elementary justice and understanding that "while I am here, my house is without a master." But not only. Siberian conditions force us to make adjustments for the climate, for the way of life in sparsely populated areas. We do not know who and under what circumstances will use this housing. The one who comes after us may not have time to chop wood - for example, if a person enters the hut with frostbite or with injured hands.
Not so often, but quite realistically, there are situations when the health and even the life of the subsequent user depends on the correct behavior of housing users. The tradition takes this into account, and the "owners" of housing take this into account. In any case, no difficult situations and unusual stories are associated with housing that is used by a person for only 2-3 months, or even several weeks a year.
The corresponding layer of stories is connected with abandoned villages. This reality - abandoned villages - is also not at all purely Siberian, but we somehow have a lot of this. It remains to be surprised at how quickly houses are being destroyed, from which people have left forever. A hunting hut or a hay shed in a zaimka can stand for a hundred years or more, although they are used for 3-4 months a year, and the rest of the time they are abandoned. But the houses from which the person has left are decaying and being destroyed quite rapidly. Literally in twenty years, houses turn into sheer ruins, and in thirty or forty years they practically disappear. For some reason, bathhouses are preserved the longest. Whether the point is that bathhouses combine simplicity of construction and great solidity, strength of a log house. Whether the new "masters" of the village like them more... I can't say.
With abandoned villages, in whose houses and baths I had to spend the night more than once, I have connected at least two observations about the unusual.
The first time I observed these effects was in 1982 in the village of Usoltsevo, which lies on one of the islands of the Angara. At that time, only three old women and an old man lived in Usoltsevo, and not at all the husband of one of them: his own old woman died several years ago. The miserable remnants of an already non-existent society, these old people huddled in two houses, and the remaining twelve had either almost collapsed by that time, or were empty and began to fall apart.
They were beautiful houses, made soundly and tastefully. Fine carvings covered window trims, roof ridges, porch posts: they built for themselves, prepared to live on their own. It was sad to enter houses forever abandoned by those who built them so well and lovingly, who carved wood, decorating their lives and the lives of their descendants.
Suddenly, the door slammed behind me. There was no gust of wind, and the door was not open, but tightly closed at that moment. Something opened the door and slammed shut in the stillness of the wind.
Yes, that slamming door... And immediately, as if the sound of footsteps on a grassy rural street. The tree creaked. Yes, the gate was open. And the footsteps sounded again. Light footsteps of a fast walking, hurrying person.
Hallucination? Rave? I felt terribly, unpleasantly, and I quickly went to the bank of the river, to the only residential houses.
The rural street-road remained uneven, in places deep ruts stored rainwater. Near one such gully, a trail went deep into the ground. Footprint of a man's foot, shod in a boot; the trail was still filled with water.
I remember a disgusting feeling of misunderstanding. Something was going on that had nothing to do with my entire experience of life; with everything that I was taught and that I have considered true all my life. I had absolutely no way to somehow explain what was happening. Because during these years I remained almost a complete Soviet atheist, except that I was inclined to agree that “in general, there is something” (as is typical of so many atheists). That is, I was completely convinced that one must belong to the Church ... But this conviction was rather political, it was a demonstration that no communists could achieve their goal, my family and I personally have nothing to do with their crazy ideas and beyond we are not going to have.
But I did not understand what was happening, I did not feel protected and experienced a disgusting, very strong - to the point of nausea - feeling of fright and utter helplessness.
The surface of the river was wrinkled by the wind, small waves rolled on pebbles and coarse sand; the open windy distance was both beautiful and, of course, very prosaic. And near the residential, undestroyed house, grandmother Alena was sitting on a bench, putting both hands on a stick. And it was also a piece of the prose of life, something very healthy, obvious and realistic.
- Walked up? Will you drink milk?
- Will!
The old woman's lack of communication was absolutely monstrous, and after ten minutes of conversation, such confidence arose between us that I could already ask: what is it, they say, that is walking around the village ... but you can’t see it ?!
- Walks, father, walks! - the old woman confirmed cheerfully.
- And who is walking?
- Who knows him? He walks and walks ... Let's pour some milk.
Not for the first and not the last time I have encountered a worldview that is completely opposite to the thinking of an intellectual. I needed all phenomena to find a place in a pattern. If something happened that could not be, I was very surprised and began to look for explanations - how is it possible ?!
And the old grandmother Alena did not need any explanation at all. Everything that happened around was simply taken into account: there is this, and this, and that ... The potato sprouts if it is planted, and if it is fried, it is delicious. There are cows in the village, and deer and elk in the taiga. Potato itself does not grow in the forest, but raspberries do. A gate and a door knock on the village, and there are footprints in the mud ... All this is there, and everything is here. And how to explain all this - it doesn’t matter, and in general, let the smart people explain it, maybe the village grandmother doesn’t need it.
In any case, grandmother Alena did not give me any explanations, she only said that he was harmless, did not touch, and poured more milk.
And I no longer went into the depths of the village and did not begin to study who walks here.

Hello dear readers! I beg you to believe me! This strange mystical story happened to me in the summer of 2005.

My partner and I have a small shipping company. In order to save money, we do not hire a driver, but we deliver the goods ourselves on the GAZelle. The work is as easy as shelling pears: load a batch in the city, bring it to the specified place - basically, to private shops in all sorts of villages, unload and return to the base. There is a lot of work, we are spinning as best we can, sometimes we have to earn money until midnight. On one of these nights, this amazing incident happened to us.

We - me and my companion Gosha - were returning from a holiday village not far from Kstov. During the day, we were both tired, in a hurry to go home - so we decided to take a shortcut, which was by no means in our rules. We always passed by one of the villages along the ring road - we had to give a hefty detour, but we always made it. There was a legend among drivers that it is better not to drive past the old cemetery outside the village - it’s more expensive for yourself, and even more so at night. This is not a good place, any driver can tell you. We were never interested in what exactly it was bad, but we observed a long-standing driving tradition - we drove around the cemetery even in daylight. And here we decided to take a chance - to go past him after midnight.

In general, we are going. There is not a soul around, not a breeze, as they say, "silence, and the dead with braids stand." The cemetery is like a cemetery - old, with crooked crosses, it can be seen with the naked eye that no one has been buried here for a long time. It's terrifying in my heart, something is scratching. And suddenly we see - on the side of the road is a girl! Quite young, in a short mini-skirt, in a transparent blouse. She saw us and raised her hand to vote. And my companion was just driving, he is a single guy, avid for beauties, so take it and slow down. “We are in the car,” he says, “and it’s creepy, and how will she go home past such a place? You have to take it."

The girl climbed into our "gazelle" and let's twitter. Allegedly, she is going home from a disco, tired, exhausted, and here is our car. He sits next to me and chirps, and claps his eyes, and pouts his lips, but I feel uncomfortable. It smells somehow strange from a young girl sometimes - stinking, like from an old grave; and her eyes are not young - dark green, like water in an old well, cunning, unkind. Yes, and where did she come from - to the nearest club, where the youth gathers, fifty kilometers, no less. She didn’t go all this way in high-heeled shoes?! Painfully, the girl looks fresh. And no one from the locals will go through the cemetery.

Thinking so, I accidentally looked at the girl's reflections in the side mirror - and almost lost my mind. An old woman in a white shroud was sitting next to me: vile, half-decomposed, as if she had just crawled out of the grave! Only her eyes were the same: dark green, like swamp lights.

I screamed and pushed the girl out of the cab. Gosh almost lost his mind: “What are you doing ?!” - screams. And the girl hung on the doorknob like a bulldog, doesn't let go, stares at me with her green peepers and is silent. And suddenly I see - not just a girl hanging on a handle, but as if floating behind us through the air, and you won’t understand: either a person, or some kind of ghost. And a minute later the girl was gone: an old woman in a white shroud hangs next to me, reaches out to me, looks straight into my eyes, and neither I nor Gaucher can take my eyes off her. We are trying to scream, the voice is gone, Gosha is trying to add speed - his legs do not obey.

The car's headlights went out on their own. And so we go - with the door open, in the dark, and outside the windows on one side there is a forest, and on the other - old graves. The old woman reaches out to me, tries to grab my sweater, but I can’t move, I look into her eyes. Finally, I found the strength in myself: I hit the old woman on the fingers with a tire iron and slammed the door. Well, I think it passed. Nothing of the kind: the old woman hung outside our window for a long time, trying to make her look into her eyes again. And the worst thing is that there is no sound, even the night grasshoppers are silent, only the car engine growls.

My friend Lena and I were very fond of calling all kinds of evil spirits. Whom we just did not call: brownies, mermaids, spirits, but, being children, we did not see anything terrible in this. With each call of the "evil spirits", we waited for what would happen next, and our childhood fantasy made us afraid. And it seemed that with every second something unusual, mystical would happen. But every time nothing happened. And little by little it began to bore us.

But then one fine evening everything changed. It happened in February. On one of the winter days of this month, it turns out that it was impossible to summon evil spirits (I don’t remember which one exactly), because. on this day, all evil spirits roam our world. As always, not noticeable to people, but busy with something special on our Earth, if you disturb her, she will get very angry.

But Lena and I were not timid girls, and we obviously didn’t want to sit at home that day, when so many adventures were walking around you. She did not know about this day and I really wanted to tell her about it. I remember how my eyes burned then, how strongly my heart beat, I remember those emotions that overwhelmed and overwhelmed me all!

When a friend found out about this day, we, without thinking twice, began to look for something special that we could call, risking our own lives. Our choice was the Queen of Spades and Lucifer, but after reading the consequences that could await us, we changed our minds and decided to call the usual brownie.

We read a new way to call a brownie, went to her room, which was located on the second floor (she lived in a private house), and began to prepare. They spread a white tablecloth on the table, put gingerbread cookies there, when suddenly her younger sister Katya flew into the room. The girl just amazed us with her behavior. She sat down on the floor next to the table and started shouting something unintelligible (she was then 1.5 years old). We soon figured out what these words were: “Where is my porridge?”. She shouted it very loudly, began to hysteria and cry, while repeating these words all the time. Soon Lena's brother came (he was 8) and took the baby with him.

When everything calmed down, Lena plopped down on the sofa. She was kind of pale, I asked her: “What is wrong with you?”, To which she replied: “Katya has never had such tantrums, and the most amazing thing is that she can’t stand porridge, and only this The word already disgusts her. Especially since she is small, then how could she open the doorknob?”

Of course, we got a little creepy, because we knew that brownies were very fond of porridge and perhaps we should put some porridge on the table. But it was too late to think about it - it was time to start the ceremony. We held hands and as soon as our mouths opened, a light flickered in the room. Lena's house was new and of course the light bulbs were also new, and it was an ordinary winter evening outside. Lena yelled at her brother if he noticed the light flickering, but he said he didn't notice anything. She went downstairs to her parents, but they also said that there was nothing mystical.

Then we got really scared. We again returned to that room, but, having approached the table, we froze and turned pale: there was no plate with gingerbread. We already decided that it was her little sister who stole the sweets, and began to read the words, when suddenly a snowball crashed through the window. We looked out into the courtyard, but there was no one there ... After that, we did not dare to call evil spirits ...