Stories about the forest and abandoned villages. Horror stories

Many people do not believe in the existence of something paranormal, looking for a logical explanation for mystical stories and often find themselves drawn into various mysterious stories. This is everywhere: in small towns, and in huge metropolitan areas, and in villages. This story is about villagers. Everything told here really happened during the Soviet Union.

What is a village? These are houses, surrounded by greenery of gardens and surrounded by forests and fields. The fragrance of herbs and the aromas of wildflowers mingle with the scents of hay and manure. Fresh air and space. During the day, birds chirp and butterflies flutter, local children run and adults work. Near the houses of moonshiners, local men gather to drink and eat, while the women work in the fields.

So is our main character, whose name was, say, Peter. He was a hard-working man, but he liked to drink. While his wife was doing housework and looking after the children, he went for moonshine to one of the local grandmothers. In the village, everyone knows each other, everything is in plain sight, and there are always those who sell cheap "green snakes". Televisions at that time had just entered people's lives and the men gathered on the weekends to discuss a football or hockey match over a glass.

And on Sunday morning, Peter went to the store for bread and, unfortunately, he met his comrades, who just thought for three. The third was missing, but then our hero turned up. It didn't take long to persuade the man and they drank. But does a true Russian village hard worker stop at one glass? So they, glass by glass, got drunk. It was already evening, dark. The men dispersed to their homes, but Peter could not reach, as he fell into a ditch, he fell asleep.

Summer, warm nights. Somewhere in the forest an owl hoots, cicadas sing in the grass, and nightingales fill the gardens. There is a young month in the sky, at least a little illuminating everything around. Clouds float lazily across the dark sky strewn with beads of stars. Dogs chirp lazily in the yards, and the working people have been sleeping for a long time. There is no light in any of the windows.

Peter wakes up from shaking, looking, it turns out he is lying in a cart in hay, and the cart is going somewhere and someone is urging the horse. The man thought that he was some kind of acquaintance, but the night was not visible. He began to ask the owner of the cart who he was and where they were going, and as he whistled, as the horse whipped with a whip, she started even more, and turned to his grandfather, shouted:
- Far away, Petro, let's go, oh far away!

Pyotr crawled on his back to the reins, the horse ran so that it seemed the cart would fall apart, his nerves gave out and he shouted:
- Where are you going like that?!
And the owner of the cart only chirps the horse even more.
- Stop, you fool! Peter yelled again.
And the owner of the cart shouted in response:
- I can't stop, oh I can't. I'm afraid I won't be able to get you there.
- So we drove through my hut a long time ago, we are already driving through the meadow! the man yelled in disbelief.
- Yes, in another house, Petro, already in another! shouted the owner of the cart, laughing.
While Peter thought about what was happening, he said:
- Lord, I have no other home!

And then the owner of the cart suddenly grew horns, he became covered with hair, horse hooves appeared instead of legs and laughed out loud. The frightened man jumped out of the cart and rolled head over heels on the ground. And the horned owner of the cart did not even stop, he only shouted:
- You're lucky, Petro, but next time you won't jump, I'll take you already!

Peter woke up in the same ditch in which he fell asleep. He lay in horse manure mixed with straw. Arriving home, the man silently drank vodka and this was his last glass. He told his wife what happened to him, but she only grumbled:
- Drunk to hell.

But from that day Peter never drank again and lived to a ripe old age. The village peasants were only amazed, and twisted their fingers at their temples.

When I was little, one summer we went to the Vologda region to relax with relatives. And the edges there are swampy, impenetrable forests - in general, a gloomy area. Relatives lived in a village on the edge of the forest (in fact, it was a holiday village).

We arrived during the day, overcast and raining. While we settled down, the adults began to kindle the barbecue under a canopy, the women were busy in the kitchen, and I was the only child there, so I was bored.

Toward evening we ate kebabs, sat down at the table in a cheerful company, adults drank vodka. Fog came from the swamps - it often happened there in the summer. In between singing songs, relatives told stories about local people. One of them deserves special attention, because it is directly related to what happened next.

An old grandfather lived in their tree. His old house was practically in the forest, and his grandfather was very rarely seen (well, if once every couple of years). Grandfather did not talk to anyone, walked in the same clothes, and always bypassed people. None of the locals knew how old he was. He seemed to be the oldest in the village. From oddities - in winter, smoke from the chimney never came from his house; he did not have any relatives, in any case, no one saw them; when grandfather appeared at the edge of the forest, he looked towards the village for a minute, then turned around and went into the forest; his house was never lit from the inside.

Means, we sit, we eat, we have fun. The fog descended - fresh milk. It stayed for a couple of hours until it began to get dark, then slowly dissipated. Someone came up with the idea: if the fog cleared, the whole crowd should be photographed against the backdrop of the forest (the places are beautiful, after all), until it finally got dark.

We got together and took pictures with the then fashionable Polaroid. I remember that in the developed picture there were many such small shooting defects in the form of perfectly round balls, and they were mainly concentrated around that grandfather's house.

After that, the men went to bed, the women stayed on the veranda to talk and drink their wine, and so did I. They began to gossip about relatives, then they started talking about the locals again and remembered again about this old man. And I'm sitting, looking at Polaroid pictures, and I came across a general picture.

Children are very impressionable creatures. When I saw the old man’s house in the background, surrounded by balls, I got scared, and when in the next picture I saw the old man himself in the distance, retreating into the forest with some kind of bag, I felt that it was beyond my strength to consider all this alone. He showed pictures of his mother and sister, they passed them around. Everyone agreed that it was terrible.

Late at night they got ready to sleep. We went to see off the neighbors (their house stood between our house and the old man's house). Approached the house, hugs, farewells. And then we heard a strange rumble: as if we were standing in a hefty long pipe, and there was wind outside, and such a characteristic sound was heard from the opposite end of the pipe. Have you guessed what I'm talking about? But we were standing on the street, and the rumble came from the side of the forest and dispersed throughout the district. I began to slowly "merge" from fear.

My sister and godmother went home for the men (the godmother was on the verge of a heart attack). The neighbors came out - also to the sound. Our men came running from the house. No one said a word - everyone just stood, listened to these sounds and succumbed to a seemingly unreasonable panic. My mother took my father and me by the hand.

As a result, the whole crowd moved towards the hut in the forest. As we approached, we noticed an unpleasant odor. The smell of metal mixed with the smell of ... antiquity, or something. In a way, it was like the stench of decay.

Came to a house. It was not clear whether there was anyone in it or not. Everyone didn't want to knock on the door. Not only is the old man scary, but also the night and these sounds ...

The door was unlocked. The neighbor went in first, followed by everyone else. The house was in terrible ruin, there was an incredible stench. We went either into the living room, or into the dining room and were freaked out by what we saw.

Grandma was on the floor. On the head - something like a muzzle, the grandmother herself without legs and arms (apparently, they were amputated long ago). She made grunting sounds; as we understood, her chest was pierced. There was a pin on the floor nearby. This pin is used to pierce the heart of pigs when they are slaughtered.

Women, having come to their senses, rushed to help. The sight is disgusting: blood is flowing from a pierced chest, along the way, snuffling sounds are heard mixed with grunting. My father turned me to the wall so that I would not look. The neighbor ran home to call an ambulance.

Forty minutes later the ambulance arrived, with the police. The noise had stopped by then.

Investigators later came to the conclusion that the grandmother had been locked up for forty years, and that grandfather was slowly cutting her. First of all, he cut her vocal cords so that she could not scream. The devil knows how he stopped the bleeding and how the grandmother survived. She ultimately died in the hospital.

And no one has seen my grandfather since that day. All that remains is his silhouette in the photograph in the evening, far away, at the edge of the forest.

Abandoned village! I want to tell a story that a guy told me in a tavern on the outskirts of a city in northern Russia. I never saw him again, I don’t remember what he looks like, but I remember his story. Literally, of course, I will not convey, but in my own words I will tell. Further from his face.

Once a friend suggested that I go on a hike, or rather not quite a hike, his goal was to visit an old village, it had long been abandoned, but for some reason my friend was wondering what was there. I didn’t share his curiosity, but lately I’ve been stuck at home, I broke up with my girlfriend, it’s not that depression, but my mood is lousy, but here there is fresh air, nature, in short, I agreed.

Our goal was 20 km from the nearest road, then there was a primer straight to an abandoned village. We got to the nearest city by bus, then we caught a ride, and then on foot. Two hours passed, this idea seemed crazy to me, I was tired, but then a clearing appeared, and on it the outlines of houses were visible - logs, it was clear from them - we had arrived.

The abandoned village and its atmosphere is certainly impressive! While we looked around, lit a fire, it was already getting dark, we talked heart to heart, about life, about relationships, a friend told me that on the site of this village, during the war years, there was some kind of fierce battle between ours and the Nazis. I did not attach much importance, no, I respect those who fought for our country, but at that moment I simply did not get to the bottom of it. It was already nighttime, I threw some firewood and went to bed, on a pre-prepared bed.

And I dream that I am lying in a trench, there is vanity around, and there is such a noise, machine guns, machine guns, explosions, screams, then a soldier grabs me and shouts: “Run!” I’m running, young guys are falling in front of me, dust, then I stumble and fall right on the guy, he couldn’t get up, it was riddled with shrapnel - then I thought, and then I I wake up.

It was dark all around, the silence was just complete, it made me uncomfortable. With difficulty overpowering myself, I took firewood nearby and kindled a fire, it became light, the crackling of the fire distracted and gave a feeling of security, it became easier, but I could no longer fall asleep.

I didn’t say anything to my comrade, as it turned out, he slept normally all night, he was surprised why I didn’t sleep. In the morning we went to the highway, there were very few cars, we caught an old man on a penny, on the way told him that they spent the night in the village, so he’s like let’s insult us, says the people there laid down their lives for us, and we decided to sleep there. It turned out there was something like a cemetery for soldiers, as I said earlier, there was a terrible battle, apparently the guys stayed there. Remembering my dream, it became completely bad, even more ashamed. Then we got home without incident, but I just thought I have a lot about this case, I wanted to go all over, apologize to the guys, but my stubborn friend said that this is nonsense, and he will not go, but I'm scared alone.

How many of you have been to villages that can be called dead for a long time?

Old sloping buildings, gray collapsed houses, overgrown and parched areas, roads and paths overgrown with grass and thorns. People left their homes every day, abandoned their land and households. Someone died of old age, someone moved to the city. There is no light, no gas, no water. Everything seems mysterious and enigmatic. Someone visits such places out of curiosity, someone in search of something interesting, and someone wants to unravel the mystery of the death of such places.

So my friends and I decided to visit one of the extinct villages.

We found an article on the Internet about one mysterious village, in which there are a little more than twelve houses. The exact number is not indicated, because some houses have completely collapsed, and you can not see them in the tall grass. There was very little information about this village, but something nevertheless attracted our attention. Also, in the comments to the article about this place, we read that quite inexplicable things happen there. Being a skeptic, I decided to persuade my friends to visit those places and check the veracity of the words of this "SCHOOLBOY", as he called himself in the comments. Of course everyone agreed. We generally like to walk around old places and explore various ruins. In the cellars of some objects, there used to be interesting gizmos, you just needed to dig in some places.

It took me only half an hour to get ready.

It seems like he took everything, although, you need to check. So:

Sleeping bag.
Blanket.
First aid kit.
Sweater.
Raincoat…

Tax. It seems that he checked everything, took everything, did not forget anything. Great. Well, everything, now it remains to wait for the early morning and a call with an alert to the exit from the guys. You can go to bed to be invigorated in the morning.

I fell asleep quickly, I did not notice how. It seemed that already in a dream I was walking around that very village. He examined the houses, considered abandoned and abandoned things by former residents. And I was not alone there. No, these are not my friends. I didn't know these people at all. Women in long, closed dresses, men with drooping beards, in shirts and baggy trousers tied up. Old men, old women, children. So it seems that no one has lived here for a hundred years, if not more. And how true it all is. Both chickens and cattle. But the houses are all the same, skewed and black. Gardens and plots overgrown with weeds in human growth. There is no sun at all and the sky is gray and gloomy. I ask people what kind of place this is and why they don't come to the houses. And in response, only silence. To all my questions, they just pointed at the houses and shook their heads. Somehow I felt uneasy from everything, and this feeling only grew. In the window of one of the houses, I saw a black silhouette. Looking at him, there were feelings of fear and a desire to run away. I stood as if paralyzed and looked out the broken dark window...

My dream was interrupted by the ringing phone. I was glad to call, because it is not known how my dream could end for me, not in reality, of course. But even in a dream, I did not want to feel that feeling again ...

Yarik called, he said that in an hour she would be at the entrance. I showered, had breakfast, checked my trekking gear once more, and climbed to the site where we found our research site. It said that all the inhabitants of this village had disappeared without a trace. No one has been able to explain this fact. But, the fact remained. This mystery has remained unsolved.

“Why didn’t we see this right away?” I asked myself aloud. “I personally read the entire article from A to Z, but I didn’t see this in it. Hmm...maybe I missed it? Yes, okay. This only makes it more interesting.

I did not take a steam bath for a long time, when I heard a beep under the windows, I closed my laptop, grabbed my “luggage” and flew out of the apartment. Throwing my luggage into the trunk, I jumped into the back seat, where my girlfriend, Assia, was waiting for me.

- Well, is everything in the collection? - Turned to us Yarik? - Let's go ?!

“Let's go!” We shouted in chorus and merrily.

I decided not to tell my friends about my dream, because it's just a dream, I decided. The road was long. We stopped several times to eat and rest. After six hours, we finally reached the sign, which served as a kind of clue. You can't go further by car, you have to walk. And this is about two or three hours and more than ten kilometers. We unloaded from the car, loaded up with backpacks and set off towards adventure ...

There were four of us: I, Aska, Yarik and Lyudka (Yarik's girlfriend and my Aska's best friend).

We didn’t go fast, but on such a road, when the grass is higher than you, we won’t be able to go fast. Having reached the birch forest, we decided to rest. It was warm, fresh, the sun shone brightly. There was not a single cloud or cloud in the sky.

- Guys! Look here, quickly!

Ludka screamed. We were frightened, because her cry was as if she had seen the corpse of a mammoth. Ludka stood and looked at us with astonished eyes.

- What's happened? What are you yelling like on the battlefield?” Yarik asked her.

— Look. Where am I standing?” Ignoring the causticity, Lyudka continued.

“On the grass, where else?” You seem to be completely overtired, Lud. Do you have sunstroke? - This time I quipped.

- Well, it is clear that on the grass - She did not let up - And where exactly? What, you don't see anything? Well?

- Path. She...she's standing on the path. On the trodden path. - Aska said with surprise.

- I didn’t understand - Yarik began - Where did the trail come from? From the forest and...

“And all the way to the village,” I finished the sentence Suho. “Look over there, there are houses. And the path leads right there.

“Maybe the homeless settled there?” Ludka suggested. “Well, you know, it happens. They go to the forest, eat mushrooms and berries, now is the season. They spend the night in a cottage. No roof over your head...

“Yeah, five hundred kilometers from the city?” You are just a brain, Lyudka. - Yarik could not calm down.

“Instead of standing and arguing, one should go and see what is there, or who.” I said.

We threw on our backpacks and walked along the path to the village. The journey took no more than ten minutes. Although, according to calculations, it should have been much further. The weather began to deteriorate. The sky turned grey, gloomy, not the rustling of insects, not the chirping of birds was heard. It didn't bother us. You never know... the weather often changes, especially now, in our "poisoned" time.

We found a stronger house, with intact window frames and panes. He seemed more well-groomed than the others. Yes, and it was closer to the exit from the village. After unpacking, we warmed up, put on raincoats and decided not to waste time. We split into pairs and went to explore the buildings.

The places seemed, I tell you, terrifying. Around dead silence, gray houses, skewed fences. Rusted axes, hand saws, earthenware pots, and whole, not cracked or broken. Aska took a couple of pots. The houses had old, rotten furniture. Chests, dressers, samovars. On the windows hung something that used to be called curtains. But from dampness and time, everything turned into a terrifying picture. Everything seemed as if people really didn’t go anywhere, but simply disappeared. Evaporated. It was creepy.

We walked around the yards, looked into the baths, into the sheds, into the canopy, into the houses ... We examined and studied everything that could help us understand what happened here. Aska replenished her collection with various trinkets, I looked into both eyes, hoping to see at least something that could give me an idea about what happened in this place.

In one of the courtyards, Aska and I decided to split up and meet in half an hour near the gate.
It was already getting dark, it was almost nine o'clock, but ICQ was still gone. Communication did not catch. No wonder these places...

I went around the yard up and down, but ICQ, as if through the ground, fell through. Thinking that she could not wait for me to go to the guys, because I myself was fifteen minutes late, I went out the gate and went to the house where we were staying. Somehow it suddenly got dark. Nothing was visible at all. I turned on the flashlight on my phone and continued walking, illuminating the road. Passing by another house, out of the corner of my eye I noticed that there was someone in the yard.

- Hey! Yarik! ... Asya! Who's there?!

Everything was quiet, and only frequent breathing was heard behind the fence fallen down by time.

I thought for a long time and decided whether I should go there or not. It got scary though. Maybe it was some kind of animal wandering in search of food, or the guys decided to play me in this way, but I did not want to seem like a coward in any case. I illuminated the courtyard with a flashlight, hoping to see at least something, but everything was clear. Just grass and old boards, nothing else. The breath is gone, the sounds are gone. And only a distant chuckle was heard from far away. Like a child laughing. Illuminating the area around me, I realized that this is the place I saw in my dream. The same yard, the same shop, the same house opposite... Absolutely everything, down to the last detail. How is this possible? Gathering up my courage, I stepped over the fallen fence, crossed the yard, and went to the front door of the house. I stood there for a couple of minutes, took a deep breath and...

Here I am in the house. It seemed warm there, it did not smell of dampness and rot at all, it seemed as if it was more comfortable than the house where we were staying. I went into a large room, there was an old couch, it did not look bad. There was a round table and one chair. There was a lot of rubbish in the corners and everywhere. Behind me, I heard the chuckle again. It's like a child is playing with me...

- Who is there? Guys? Enough. It's not funny.

Laughter again.

- Fine. Who are you?

- I know who I am. But who are you? And what are you doing here? - I was afraid to turn around, but still, I succeeded.

It looked like a boy was sitting on a chair, but not a boy at all. Like a child, but like not. I aimed my flashlight at him to get a better look. He closed his eyes and covered either his face or muzzle with his hands. Well, or it would be more correct to say, paws.

“I am the owner of it all. I live here. But you and those people who came with you disturbed my peace. I already saw you, yesterday, at night. You stared at me from the street.” The creature laughed.

I realized that from fear, my ears were stuffed and began to throb in my temples. Hands and feet became cold, and speech became incomprehensible.

“Are you… are you from my dream?” And who were the people then who stood behind the fences of the houses and could not pass through the gates?

They once lived in these houses. They were stupid to let me enter their village. Now, they belong to me. As are you and them. You made a fool of yourself by coming here.

The eyes of this ghoul were filled with blood, claws appeared on the paws, and sparse sharp teeth, not of a natural form, were drawn in its ugly muzzle. He hissed and snorted. He jumped on the furniture, wound up on the walls like a top. Out of fear, I forgot all the prayers that my grandmother taught me. I just stood paralyzed with fear and repeated - “Lord, save me, save me and have mercy” ... I don’t know how much time passed before this ghoul grabbed me with his claws and began to hiss trying to grab my face with his teeth. I stumbled and fell to the floor. I just felt a hit, then I passed out. The same people were standing in front of me. They kept pointing at the house and shaking their heads. A boy of about ten approached me, he held out his hand to me and looked into my eyes. In his eyes, I saw the place where I was with this ghoul, I saw the couch. Under the couch, between the boards, I saw a cross. A little old cross and a water bottle with a cross painted on it. As I understand it, it was a bottle of holy water. Then everything went black and empty again. I opened my eyes and listened, the room was quiet. There was no one around. My head ached, my whole body ached, my nose was bleeding. It was not possible to find a phone with a flashlight, therefore, I had to operate in complete darkness. On my knees, I felt for the couch, lay down on my stomach and climbed under it with half of my body. The bottle was found almost immediately, but the cross did not come across. But, I'm stubborn. After a while, I found it too. As soon as I got out and put on a cross, I heard the same hissing and angry snorting from the side.

I understood that if I didn’t come up with something now, then no one else would see me or the others. But we didn’t even tell anyone where we were going and where to look for us, if anything.

The ghoul was approaching, his breathing was getting louder and more palpable. The snort turned into a growl. I felt something slowly cut across my skin. I no longer felt fear, but the pain was still the same. Through the pain that spread all over my body, I tore off the cork from the bottle and began to spray and water this creature. It began to wriggle, squeal, hiss... After a while, everything was quiet and only exhausted breathing and squeaking came from the corner. Catching my breath, I shouted at the top of my voice, “Get out of this village! Go to hell, Herod! ”And he began to say prayer after prayer, which he could remember. When everything calmed down, I again lost consciousness ...

— Max. Maksim. Max! - ICQ shouted.

I opened my eyes and saw guys above me. They looked at me with pity and fear. As it turned out, I was lying at the gate of the very house where I met the ghoul at night. I was almost completely gray. The guys helped me up and brought me to the house where we were staying. After treating the wound on my head, they started asking me questions about what had happened.

I didn't think of anything better than to lie. Allegedly, I lingered walking around the yards, did not catch up with ICQ, stumbled in the dark and hit my head when I fell. More, the guys did not ask me about anything, realizing that I would not tell more anyway. And only Aska asked her last question:

— Where is your phone? What is the flashlight for?

I must have dropped it somewhere. I don't know where. - I muttered.

We had to stay there one more night. Since it began to rain heavily and a thunderstorm began. But that night, nothing happened. We talked and laughed. Everyone shared a story about what they saw in this village, what they liked, and what made them horrified. I was silent, adding up to the fact that I really don’t remember anything because of the blow to my head.

“I felt like people just disappeared into this place. All things are in their places. They couldn't leave without their things. A very interesting place.” Lidka said. And everyone supported her.

— Well, I would come back here with the equipment, I would like to observe this place. I did not see insects, not birds in this place. - Yarik noted.

In the morning we packed our things and set off along the familiar path from where we had come. Turning around, I saw people, they smiled, waved at me, and seemed happy. The houses were just like new, smoke was coming from the chimneys, the laughter of the children could be heard in the distance.

“And nothing out of the ordinary. So, that “SCHOOLBOY” is a dreamer and inventor. And it’s not a fact that he was in this place at all. - Aska giggled fervently.

- Well I do not know. Looking at Max's gray head, I can note that he still didn't just stumble and hit his head. - Yarik issued an offended voice.

- But you never know why I turned gray, people. I myself would like to understand what happened to me. What was, was. I'm also glad I was here. - I spoke out.

Upon arrival home, I dropped my things and climbed to the site where we found this village. But there was no information about her, as well as comments on the site. It was like she didn't exist.

At night I dreamed of people, they shone with happiness, shook hands with me, bowed at the waist and smiled. It was light, bright, birds were chirping all around, dogs were playing with children, cats were washing themselves on porches, old people were hugging their children. A boy already familiar to me approached me, he bowed and removed the cross from my neck.

In the morning, I again climbed into the Internet on the same site. Nevertheless, I found a village familiar to me, only, it was quite lively and filled with life.

It happens, I thought, and looked in the mirror at my gray head. It will take me a long time to forget what happened to me. And will it be forgotten at all?

There lived in a village a woman, her name was Varvara, whom everyone considered a blessed fool. She was unsociable and ugly, and no one even knew how old she was - her skin seemed to be without wrinkles, smooth, but her look was as if everything in the world had long been disgusted with the woman. However, Varvara rarely focused it on someone's face - she was too reserved to communicate even with her eyes. The strangest thing was that no one remembered how she appeared in the village.

After the war, everything was messed up, many left, strangers, on the contrary, came, some remained permanently. Probably, this woman was one of those wanderers in search of a better fate. She occupied the outermost of the empty houses, near the forest, quite dilapidated and small, and in a dozen or two years brought it to a state of complete desolation. Sometimes a compassionate neighbor repaired her roof, and then mumbled into her smoky mustache: no, they say, gratitude, her rainwater from the ceiling drummed into the framed basin, I did everything, it became dry, and this Varvara not only didn’t say “thank you” didn't even look at her face.

No one knew what she lives on, what she eats. She always wore the same sackcloth dress, the hem of which was heavy with dried mud. In the same one - but she smelled not of the thick musk of human secretions that do not wash off the skin, but of underfloor and mold.

And then one day, in the early sixties, one of the local guys, having sorted through the vodka, broke into her house - either someone taunted him, or the desire for abstract femininity was so strong that the object no longer mattered. The May night then stood quiet, clear, full moon, with thick aromas of blossoming grasses and awakened crickets - and before that, the whole village celebrated the Victory, the accordion player played, it smelled of pies, they drank, ate, walked. The guy's name was Fedor, and he was in his twenty-fifth year.

He broke into Varvara's house, and right away, in the entryway, he somehow felt uneasy. There was a strange smell in the house - emptiness and decay. Even the village alcoholic Uncle Seryozha did not smell like that in his home, although he drank his soul back in those days when Fedor was a baby. Uncle Seryozha smelled of a warm stove, strong sweat, unwashed feet, sour milk, rotten floorcloths - it was disgusting, and yet, in the cacophony of fetid aromas, one could feel life, albeit almost degraded into existence, but still life. And Varvara's house smelled as if her house had not been visited for decades - a damp basement, dusty curtains and mold. Fyodor suddenly wanted to turn around and run away, but somehow he persuaded himself that this was "not like a man." And he moved forward - to the touch, because darkness reigned in the house - the windows were curtained from the moonlight with some kind of rag.

He poked with his hands outstretched forward at some door - it gave in and opened with a quiet creak. Fyodor cautiously stepped inside, lightly hitting his head on the crossbar - Varvara was small in stature, and the doors in the house were a match for her. Because of the darkness, Fyodor quickly lost his orientation in space, but suddenly someone moved cautiously in the corner, and the animal horror that darkness brings to most people in combination with an unfamiliar place suddenly woke up a warrior and a barbarian in the guy. With a short cry, Fyodor rushed forward.

Many were generally sure that the eccentric from the last house had become numb during the war years, and never came to her senses.

She stretched out her hand to the window, pulled back the curtain, and Fyodor finally saw her - in the bluish light of the moon, her calm, ugly face seemed dead.

She did not resist, and this calmness gave him strength. “Probably she dreams about it herself, is glad to death and does not believe her happiness,” he thought. “I don’t think she has had a man for twenty years, if not more.”

Varvara was all wrapped up in some kind of rag, like a shroud. Fyodor seemed to have unbuttoned his outer jacket, woolen, but under it was some kind of mantle, and even deeper - something that seemed to be nylon, slippery and cool to the touch. In the end, angry, he tore at the rags, and they cracked and nearly crumbled to dust in his palms. Varvara, on the other hand, lay still silently, with her arms stretched out at her sides, like a dead woman who was being prepared for ablution. Her eyes were open, and in the corner of his consciousness Fyodor suddenly noted that they did not shine. Matte eyes, like a doll.

But volcanic lava was already boiling in his blood, wanting to pour out, freeing him from the fire, and he almost didn’t care who opened the vent - whether it was a warm woman, a drooling fist, or this gray doll.

Varvara's chest looked like empty canvas bags in which Fyodor's mother kept the nuts he had collected in the forest. There was neither fullness nor milky softness in her breasts, and her nipples resembled tree mushrooms, rough and dark, and she did not want to touch them.

At that moment, Fyodor’s consciousness seemed to split in two: one part did not understand how one could desire this withered wax body - it’s scary, disgusting, and the other, as if bewitched, only obeyed a blind will, impulse and passion. With his knee, he parted Varvara's thighs - the same cool and grayish, as if waxy, and with one jerk entered her - and that part of Fyodor's consciousness, which was scared and disgusted, it seemed that his flesh was not entering a woman, but a jug with cold ryazhenka . Varvara's inside was loose, cold and damp.

And so, having poured his seed into her, Fedor left, getting tangled in his pants along the way. He felt as if he had been plowing a clearing all day, but he attributed this weakness and dizziness to vodka. Came home and, without undressing, fell asleep.

All night long he was tormented by nightmares. He dreamed that he was walking through the village cemetery, between the graves, and hands covered with earth were reaching out to him from all sides. They try to grab the trouser leg, and their fingers are icy and hard. There was a hum in his ears - voices devoid of the juice of life pleaded: "And to me ... And to me ... Please ... And to me ..."

A girl appeared on the path in front of him - she stood with her back turned, fragile, short, long wheaten hair scattered over her shoulders. She was wearing a wedding dress. Fyodor rushed to her as to a savior goddess, but then she slowly turned around, and it became clear that she was also dead. His pale face was blotched with greenish spots, his once plump upper lip had partly rotted away, baring his teeth, and there was no sparkle in his eyes.

To me ... to me ... - she repeated dully. “Come… I was purposely buried in the wedding… I was waiting for you…”

Fyodor woke up from the fact that his mother splashed ice water from a ladle in his face:

Completely mad, drunk! I drank myself to hell and yelled all night, as if I had iron nerves!

Several weeks have passed. At first, Fyodor could not get rid of the feeling of longing, as if heavy wings spread over him, blocking the sunlight. Lost appetite, desire to laugh, work, breathe. But gradually he somehow recovered, came to his senses, again began to ask his mother for morning pancakes, glancing at the most beautiful girl in the village, Yulenka, with long thick braids and devils in her eyes.

He tried not to meet Varvara, however, it was not difficult - she rarely left her house and front garden, and if she went out into the village street, she huddled to the side of the road and looked at her own dusty galoshes, and not at the people she met.

Gradually, the strange night faded from his memory - and Fyodor was not even quite sure of its reality. His mind was a kind of snowball blinded from real facts and subsequent nightmares, it is no longer possible to understand: what is true and what is a terrible image fabricated by inner darkness.