A story told by one woman: the apartment of the damned ghosts

First, I want to say that the story I want to tell you is quite difficult to believe from the point of view of the generally accepted way of life. Some of its moments do not lend themselves to logical comprehension and can lead to a lot of speculation and disputes. I leave it up to the reader, and I think you will have something to think about after reading.

I heard this story from my friend, with whom I have known for more than 30 years, and over all these years I have never doubted the correctness of his judgments and the purity of his mind. So I can tell you that I have no reason not to believe his story. Another thing is that he told me this after he heard it from his wife. In any case, it's up to you to decide whether it's true or not.

My friend (let's call him A * *) is a prominent man, in his youth, he was very handsome, stately and eloquent. The soul of the company and the dream of any girl. But fate brought him together with his future wife only in the fifth decade of his life. Maybe that's what he wanted. So, having settled down and forgotten about bachelor life, he decided to get married. It would be necessary to tell a little about his wife, who will become the main character of my story.

This is a lady of forty-five years old, modest, neat, pleasant-looking, with many positive qualities, from a provincial town, whom he met at a buffet on the occasion of the opening of the first branch of a chain of bookstores owned by myfriend. Then she was hired at this very store as a deputy head of the personnel department. Let's leave the details of their dating, courtship, wedding fuss and fast forward several years at once, when the question of the birth of a child arose.

My friend, realizing that he is not getting younger and there is less and less strength left to raise a descendant, decided to have a serious conversation with his wife on this topic. But she avoided the conversation in every possible way, changing the topic or postponing it indefinitely. In the end, the conversation took place, and the spouse stated that she did not want to have children. Without explanation. Dejected by this outcome; A **, not knowing what to say, accusing himself of tactlessness, decided to meet with me for advice. After our conversation, he returned to his wife and made it clear that he needed an explanation.

The spouse strongly did not want to discuss this topic any more, but knowing that she would have to do it anyway, she gave up under pressure. Warning A** not to interrupt and not to ask questions, she swallowed a lump in her throat and began the story. Her story will be a topic for discussion and reflection for you…

Next, the story is conducted for the wife of my esteemed A, * *, presented in a more literary form by your humble servant.

"Then I was living in Belgium with my parents. At the institute I met my love, and after a short period we began to live together. We rented a room near the port. Of course, there was no money for an apartment. And our parents were not rich. They could only help morally. And his father got sick with the gold rush in general, left his mother and went somewhere to Africa. No one saw him anymore.

Everything was going well, he graduated from the institute, went to work; I was finishing my last year. Later we signed, and I found out that I was pregnant. Of course, I graduated from college, but I couldn't go to work anymore. A son was born. Accordingly, a larger room was required. My husband worked like hell. Sometimes he didn't show up at home for several days. I was sad, it was very hard for my husband, but it doesn't make it any easier for me. One with a baby — all these diapers, screams... I thought I was going to turn gray from a nervous breakdown soon. I needed a change of scenery, and one day my husband came back and said that he had been promoted, and now we can rent an apartment. And there, as you can see, it's not far from your own. Of course, I was very happy, but I realized that, likely, I would see my husband even less often.

Time passed, we managed to live in a rented apartment and moved into our own. It was a dream; El Dorado. Our child had already turned 4 years old, my husband did not allow me to work — he told me to keep house and take care of my son, and I was not against it. While the child went to kindergarten, I was engaged in apartment improvement, cooking — in general, I was just a homemaker.

There were four apartments on the floor of the house where we lived. Our door and the neighbors' door were practically opposite each other. The other two apartments were hidden in the hallway around the corner. Gradually I got to know my new neighbors. Our "neighbors across the street" were busy people. They could rarely be found at home. They had no children. We greeted each other when we accidentally bumped into each other on the playground, exchanged smiles, and sometimes swore because of the weather. I got to know the apartments around the corner a little later when I went to see what was "around the corner".

Walking down the corridor, I saw two doors. One was an ordinary average wooden door with two locks and a worn metal handle in the shape of a ball. The other one differed from the first one in that it was upholstered in gray artificial leather and the apartment number was indicated on the office buttons.

I went to the first door and wanted to knock to get acquainted, to say that I am your new neighbor. My husband and I have moved, we have a child, etc. As soon as I raised my hand, folded into a half-bent fist, over a piece of chipboard, the door opened. I was a little puzzled and thought that maybe I shouldn't have come here at all. Just a fleeting doubt that doesn't affect my decision. The door opened, but it opened the width of the chain. Part of the old woman's face was looking at me through the crack. I was about to say, "You know, I'm right here..." when the old lady said, "Get out of here, why are you hanging around here!" the voice was very hostile.

"But I..." I wanted to contradict her

"Go away, I said! They walk around, look out! I'll call the police! I know you prostitutes!" the voice had already turned to a scream.

The door slammed shut, they didn't even let me explain anything. I didn't even know what to do. Anger and simultaneous resentment shackled me, and I stood in the doorway as if rooted to the spot. I heard a voice moving away from the door, more like a hum, which probably still continued to haunt me, and realized that the old woman had returned to her room on her old lady's business. I was angry. I was so angry that I didn't want to go back to this corner, to this apartment anymore. I turned around and went home, even forgetting that the old lady has "neighbors across the street." Right now it was the least of my worries, there was just a nasty voice and a million wrinkles in my head. "May you die!" I muttered to myself.

When I was almost around the corner, a soft female voice called out to me, "Girl, I'm sorry..."

I turned to the voice and saw a young girl in the doorway near the door, upholstered in imitation leather. Anger turned to mercy, and I replied, "Yes?"

"You must be our new neighbor?"she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"I heard the old woman fondling you," she smiled.

I smiled too, and said:

"Yes, it turned out to be an unpleasant acquaintance," and they was embarrassed in response.

"Nothing... will you come in for tea?" she suggested.

That's how we met. Her name was Emma; she had a son the same age as mine, and there was no husband. We often went to visit each other. Our children played "robbers" while we washed the bones of another poor man over a cup of tea. Her son did not go to kindergarten. He studied at home, which, however, did not affect his development in any way. When asked what means they live on if she does not work and her husband is not around, she replied that her dad helps her, who is not the last person in this city. This issue has been removed.

One day, when my son got sick and didn't go to the garden, I asked Emma to look after him while I ran to the pharmacy and the store. She happily agreed. I took him to my house, not even thinking that he could infect her son, and went shopping.

When I got home, I put down my bags and went to Emma's. On the way, I thought that I shouldn't have taken my son to their apartment, it would have been better if she had sat with him at our house for 20 minutes than I would have felt guilty later if her son had fallen ill. But all the guilt passed when I knocked on Emma's door, but no one answered me. I knocked again and again, calling Emma and my son by name, but to no avail. There was no one there. Dozens of ideas and options swarmed in my head, where they could go and what happened. I stood in front of the door with a dumbfounded face and laughed "How funny! I even started to worry..." I said through the keyhole. But all my words and attempts to open the door were so unsuccessful that I even began to remember what we talked about before I went to the pharmacy. Maybe she told me something important and I listened… Well, no… I do not think so…

My heart was beating very fast; I didn't know what to do, what to do. I couldn't believe that something could happen. Should I call my husband? Maybe everything is fine, and I missed something in the conversation with Emma? How will I look like a fool when my husband arrives after my call, and we will sit with a neighbor in her kitchen and laugh at how stupid I am? Or call? Or… I'll call you. But first I'll knock on the old lady's door, forgetting about all the insults and pride. Maybe this witch heard something.

At first, no one answered. Then I started knocking harder and asking for help. When I no longer hoped that the "witch" would open for me, the lock clicked and the door opened. On a chain.

"I told you to get out of here..." There was no anger in her voice anymore.

"Forgive me, my son… Have you seen Emma, your neighbor? My son is with her, I went to the pharmacy... "I tried to explain everything to the old lady as soon as possible, but the words were confused; I felt that I was about to cry.

"Poor girl. Stupid," the old woman's words sounded not like an accusation, but rather like a sentence. She knew something. The door slammed shut, and tears welled up in my eyes. But the door immediately opened, and I realized that the old lady had just removed the chain.

"Come in," she said.

"Why? "I asked, but there was no answer.

Now I could see the whole old woman — she was an ordinary eighty-year-old woman, no different from other old people. I followed her to her apartment.

"Close the door!" an old woman who had already entered the room with one foot shouted.

I slammed it shut and saw that there was a huge crucifix painted on the inside of the door with chalk, and the upper edge of the door frame was studded with needles and pins.

"Slammed it shut? Come on-come on then!" The voice was already coming from the room. I went to the voice. It was a studio apartment, the same as my "neighbors across the street". In the old lady's room, everything was tidied up and strictly in its place. I think she was one of those prim old women who, as I thought, remained only in England.

Shifting my gaze to the wall, which, logically, should have bordered Emma's apartment, I saw that it was all hung with crucifixes. Chalk, large, small, bronze, gilded — there were hundreds of them here! In the red corner there was a kiosk from which the was visible. The old woman must be very pious, I thought.

"Why did you call me here? Do you know where my son is?" I said a little angrily.

"I'm afraid, my dear, that I know..." the old woman said, almost in a whisper.

"What does this mean?! I shouted in exasperation.

"Listen to me! When I yelled at you, I just wanted to discourage you from coming to my apartment and, accordingly, to hers. I'm not such an evil and crazy old woman as you think. It's just that if I told you that a devil's spawn lives next door to me, God forgive me, you wouldn't believe me. You young people have stopped believing old people at all, considering them abnormal, outdated mummies...."

"No, what are you talking about?" As if to justify myself, I said, but the old woman interrupted me:

"Every night I hear her moaning there, behind this wall," the old woman pointed to a wall strewn with crucifixes.

"What are you talking about! Where is my son?!" I screamed louder, thinking it was a bad dream.

"The Emma you saw lived here two years ago," Grandma continued, ignoring my screams.

"What does 'lived' mean?" I asked in surprise.

"And that means! I myself saw her body and the body of her son Anthony being carried down this very corridor! Two years ago!"

"But what..." I sat down on a chair, feeling my legs give way.

"Emma's husband left, she grieved a lot, she couldn't get over the breakup in any way. She was left alone with her son in this apartment. She did not work, her father, a poor man, helped with money, supported her in every possible way. Everything would have been fine, but she couldn't see her son, he reminded her so much of his damn father. She began to look for the truth in wine and sometimes got so drunk that she even forgot to pick up her son from kindergarten. Fortunately, her father solved the problem with this. When she couldn't walk to the kindergarten, he sent an official car for her grandson and told her to take him home. Then, of course, he had a fight with her, said he would put her in the hospital, take the child to live with him. But it didn't come to that. Anyway, one day she got drunk again and strangled Anthony. And then at night she hanged herself. The bodies were found a couple of days later. The kindergarten started calling why Anthony didn't go the second day, no one answered. We contacted her father, and it was he who discovered the bodies when he arrived here. He buried them and died himself a month later, his heart stopped. I couldn't forgive myself for not taking my grandson to live with me in time. So they all lie together." Grandma finished her story.

I sat on the chair, rooted to the spot, not believing in the reality of her words. She went on to say, "So Emma stayed in the apartment and walks through the mirrors. She will not find peace for herself. At night he moans and scratches the wall. Nobody bought an apartment. The smell, they say, is terrible, you won't understand anything. I told Emma's father after the funeral that the apartment was unclean now, it would be necessary to read prayers there and consecrate. But of course he didn't believe me, and neither did you. I do not know why she needs your son, apparently, she sent him to Anthony so that he would not be bored. He thinks he will redeem himself in front of him. She doesn't think she's ruined another innocent life. She can hardly think about anything anymore," the senior woman paused.

"But I saw her with Anthony, my son was playing with him," I said, hoping to interrupt the lying old woman. "We have been visiting each other for a long time, and our children are well acquainted. And I told my husband about it. We started being friends a couple of months ago, the day you wanted to send the police to me!" Summing up her madness, I added.

The old lady silently looked at me. Her hands were shaking a little, and she added, "I just threatened you yesterday... yesterday… Do you understand?"

I sat with my mouth open and my eyes full of tears. What can I say — at first I didn't believe the old lady, I called my husband. I told him everything, and he came home. The police were called. We interviewed a senior woman with her fairy tales. They broke down the door to Emma's apartment, and found there things covered with a thick layer of dust, an unbearably pungent smell of rot and the body of my little son lying on the floor in one of the rooms.

Then I remember almost nothing, only how my husband screams, cries, shakes me by the shoulders. The policeman reports about the boy's body on the phone to an old woman standing in the corridor. And I fall to the floor. Everything turns white before my eyes...

Then I was admitted to the hospital for an examination. A year later I was released. My husband had already abandoned me, thinking that I had killed our son. Then I moved to Voronezh to live with relatives. I got to my feet and met my future husband. What happened next is already known.

Sometimes I sleep and see my son, already an adult man, running up to me shouting: "Mom! It's me! Didn't you recognize me? I have so much to tell you about what happened!". But it's only in the brain, in my brain...".

I will not generalize the above; I will only say that my friend and his wife live in their country house, have two dogs, two cats, and three neighbors. But they don't go to visit them.