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Secrets of a quiet dacha

If a person has died, it does not mean that he is not there

By Julia NjordPublished 2 years ago 6 min read
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Why do you think a skeptic does not believe and demands reliable evidence until he himself comes face to face with evil spirits? I think it's not difficult to find an answer: a skeptic is afraid that recognizing the existence of something beyond understanding will destroy the entire system of his assessment and perception of reality. In other words, there will be the same "pattern break" and "sudden bricks" with which some storytellers spice up their stories. Here is my father's story about paranormal activity. From the first person (names changed).

The beginning of summer, the coolness of May and a light breeze flutters the leaves on the trees. Sweet aromas of jasmine and cherry blossoms are in the air. Quiet cottage. A modest two-storey house in the shade of tall birches and old oaks. We were invited here to spend the weekend. In this cozy and truly spiritual place, you somehow immediately forget about the noise and bustle of the big city. I want to take an interesting book, pour strong black tea and, sitting on a wicker chair in the garden, finally dissolve into the surrounding nirvana. This is how I imagined old writers' cottages or artists' villages.

The day is spent cooking barbecue and cooling strong drinks. The emotional and happy state of a sudden holiday. Can we expect surprises from this cozy place? You can... even if the person who built this house loved him so deeply and devotedly that even after death he cannot leave it.

The grandfather of the current hostess was a famous aviator. A brave, strong-willed and desperate man. A true hero of his time. In the family, he was strict and even despotic. But, like many strong people, grandfather had a weakness – he loved his little granddaughter, madly, protected her, and worried about all sorts of trifles. So far, nothing upsets his little princess Rebecca.

Life went on as usual. Rebecca grew up and inherited from her elders the house built by her grandfather. For some reason, her parents did not want to leave the cottage behind them and gladly gave it to their daughter, especially since such an option would have been to the taste of the late grandfather. Rebecca's personal life was not cloudless: her first husband turned out to be a rare beast, and for some time the woman was forced to hide in this very dacha, under the protection of her native walls.

After telling this sad story, Rebecca added in a half-whisper "Grandpa helped." I drew attention to this and asked to explain how a deceased relative helps his descendants, maybe appears in dreams? Or do his life and exploits serve as an example for the living? Rebecca smiled sadly and, after being silent for a minute, replied "He comes sometimes." Yes. Metaphysical nonsense. That's what I thought. And a minute later I forgot, because I don't want to think about any nonsense when my head is buzzing from excess oxygen and I don't want something stronger. I will make a reservation that the alcohol was in moderation, and by the evening the last couple of drinking libations had come to naught. It was unwise to abuse this, since the next morning it was necessary to get behind the wheel. The rest of the time was spent talking and drinking tea with a spicy cake. The kind hostess provided us with the first floor – closer to the toilet and stove. Here it is, the place of the guest of honor! And you realize this only at night, when nature calls you and you, where by touch and where by sound, begin to look for a latrine in the pitch darkness of an unfamiliar house.

After closing the front door and turning off the lights in the rooms, Rebecca stopped in the doorway for a minute and turned around "If something seems strange, please don't be afraid, this is an old house." I admit, this phrase made me think. There is nothing more mysterious than an understatement. What was that? Threat or warning? Sleep came soon, deep and enveloping, which happens only outside the city. There were no dreams, only a calm, unencumbered state of rest. My wife is sleeping next to me. On the second floor, Rebecca and the children - three boys aged 10 to 15 years - were accommodated. (I've been joking all day that this is my harem. I will sleep with my beloved wife, and I will send the eldest with the children upstairs – at that time there were no men in the house except me).

I slept on my right side, on the edge of the bed, facing the wall. In my sleep, I feel that someone is pushing me in the back - trying to wake me up. I open my eyes and I can't understand. The wife is peacefully snoring. Maybe one of the boys has woken up and wants to be escorted to the toilet. I'm asking how I can help. And in response – silence. An unpleasant silence, oppressive, as if you have quarreled with a loved one, and you, like two thunderclouds, look at each other with a heavy gaze and think what kind of nastiness to say in response.

I repeat the question, but I think to myself "My sons did not suffer from sleepwalking, but Peter, Rebecca's son, may well be an emotional and mobile boy. We have to wake the guy up carefully and send him upstairs." I didn't have time to think it through to the end, as heavy male footsteps began to walk around the room. Yes, they are so obvious. I have served my time in the army, and I will not confuse the sound of boots on the wooden floor with anything. It was clear as day that someone had broken into the house and was now pacing calmly at the stove. And if not boys, then thieves.

I abruptly jump out of bed, preparing to indiscriminately mark the night guest, and just have time to notice how a huge black shadow two meters high goes into the wall... I turn on the light, walk around the entire first floor. I check the locks and windows. I don't find any signs of breaking or entering. For the sake of order, I go up to the second floor – and everything is quiet there. I drank cold water, looked at my watch – it was half past four in the morning. The dream disappeared as if by hand. Turned off the light. I went back to bed with my wife, but I couldn't sleep. And in the morning I passionately interrogated Rebecca.

The woman turned pale when she heard about the black shadow. Then she apologized for a long time and confusingly for her grandfather, who never left his beloved dacha. "He comes sometimes. If there is a man in the house, he comes to check who he is and whether he threatens me or not. Mark, my ex, came to take me away from here by force when I filed for divorce. And at night his grandfather kicked him out of the house. He came, woke him up and scared him half to death."

The quiet dacha ceased to attract me. There was a bad feeling that someone was vigilantly watching you and evaluating every step, ready at any moment to come and punish you for any mistake. And although we stayed there for the night more than once, the house did not let me relax.

That's all.

Read also the drama of life The friend who destroyed the family

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About the Creator

Julia Njord

Hi! I'm glad to see you on my blog!

Mysticism and drama from life.

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