My mother and I live with my grandmother, but we are building a house on the other side of the city. I am 12 and have been living with my grandmother since birth. Her house is very close to the cemetery and the school. When I bring classmates to visit, they are horrified when they realize that our house is opposite the cemetery. But I answer them with a smile. Like, what's so terrible? I spent my whole life here and nothing happened... Looking at the cemetery, I have no feeling of fear. I do not look at the 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 the cemetery you need to greet * spirits * Like, they look at you and wait for you to greet 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 did not refuse this) It was winter then .. The days are short and already at 8 pm it was getting dark terribly. 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 big forest near the school. And behind this forest was the street * Lesnaya * where my friend lived.
When we got to school, we split up. *we were separated by a damn forest* She is home, and I am home… On my own. I walked quickly. The lantern standing on our street strangely did not turn on. But I didn't attach any importance to it.
There were 70-80 meters left before the house, as I heard slow steps behind me. I quickened my pace, almost running. Soon I heard the voice of an elderly grandmother. The voice was trembling, but in some places and angry. Grandma said she couldn't find her mother's grave. Buried in this very cemetery. I have already seen the burning light of the chandelier in the windows of my house. But my grandmother abruptly grabbed my hand and dragged me to the cemetery. I wanted to scream, but my voice seemed to have disappeared ... My grandmother was weak, so at the gates of the cemetery I grabbed the fence and did not let go. Grandma is gone...
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 waved her cane at the gate. Knocked. I got scared. I called my mother and said that she would kick this grandmother out. Grandmother either heard what I said and immediately disappeared.
Mom came out, there was no one, only I stood frightened at the gate. Mom asked what happened. Out of fear, not understanding what I was saying, I said that there was a grandmother here ... 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, asking if they would help her find her mother's grave. And when he heard the answer, she disappeared, one might say evaporated in the air.
A month later we moved to new house. At the end of the city. A year later, they began to bury people there and made another cemetery. Right in front of our house. It's embarrassing and gross. Now I am afraid of cemeteries, I do not advise you to walk around the cemetery at night. Is there a little…

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This story was told by Sofia Kazhdan. I present it here in the form in which it was told.

That evening I saw off the mother of my friend, who had lived in our small town for more than fifty years. I came home late at night and couldn't sleep.

Evgenia became a widow for five years and lived literally ten minutes walk from my house. Her daughter, Yulia, my childhood friend, begged her mother to move to live with her in another city.
Mom, I want you to be by my side. I don’t want to wake up every morning with only one thought that you are alone there, a hundred kilometers from me and my grandchildren.

As luck would have it, my eyes literally stuck together, but there was no sleep. Several times during the night I turned on the TV, picked up a book.
Then I decided to get over myself. I turned off the TV, put down the book, turned off the light and started counting.
"One... two... three... ten... eighty... one hundred and thirty... two hundred and fifty..."

And then ... Then the action unfolded according to the scenario of a science fiction film. Lying in bed, already almost asleep, I heard a soft knock on the window through my sleep. Lazily getting up, she went to the window and, opening the curtain, was horrified.

On the road outside my house was a funeral home bus with a black stripe down the middle. From it, my acquaintances, who left this world and moved to the “OTHER”, looked at me through the windows.

I felt my hands and toes get cold, sweat on my forehead and nose, my legs become cottony, and my tongue sticks to my palate. Goosebumps began to run through my body.

Near my window stood the father of my childhood friend Yulka and the husband of Evgenia, who had to leave our town early in the morning, Uncle Lenya.
"Sonka, why are you looking at me so frightened?" - he asked and, smiling at me, continued, - I won't do anything bad to you. Get dressed and go outside ... You need to talk ...
I continued to stand and looked in horror at the street through the window pane.

People started getting off the bus. I personally saw many of them in the coffin. They were wearing the same things in which they were seen by acquaintances and friends, seeing them off on their last journey.

Uncle Lena was approached by Tamara, a former colleague of my sister who died of cancer, leaving a two-year-old son.
Why don't you come to us? Tamara asked, “Don’t be afraid of us… We won’t do anything bad to you… You need to be afraid of the living, not the dead…”
- What are you doing here? - I asked frightened, thinking that DEATH came for me, - I don't want to die! I do not want! It's bad, it's scary and it's dark there...
“Look at me,” Uncle Lenya said and smiled again, “Look at me carefully… Do I look bad?”

And in fact ... Uncle Lenya was very often sick for the last ten years of his life and was very overweight. In addition to asthma, he also had a bunch of other side diseases. Now in front of me stood a fit, lively man with clear eyes.

- I live in a beautiful place, - he said, - in a pine forest ... This place is ideal for my health.
- What are you doing here? - I asked in a slurred tongue, - You are all dead.
“They came to visit you, earthlings,” a good friend of mine, who died in a car accident, intervened in the conversation.

I don't remember what happened next ... and how many minutes or seconds I stood with my mouth open. Then ... Then I asked them:
— What is there? On the other side of life? Is it scary there? Badly?
“No,” said Uncle Lenya, “the DEVIL is not as terrible as you draw it ... There is a different life ... Other concepts about life ...

“Do you want to go back… to us… to Earth?”
“We want peace… We want the Earthlings not to touch us, not offend us, and remember that we are always there for you, we follow your life…”
— Follow? I asked scared.
“Here, I came to see how my wife will leave our house ... It’s hard for her to do this ... It’s hard ... So I came to help her, support her ...

- Uncle Lenya, - after a short silence, I asked, - Do you want to join us? In our life?
“My mission on Earth is over… I have done everything I could… Now I am at home.
- Houses? - I asked in bewilderment, - How is it at home? I am at home... But you are not at home... You are in a coffin...
“Ha-ha-ha,” the dead laughed merrily.

“Sonechka,” Tamara said, “It’s you who is the guest… An earthly guest… And the coffin… This is how we leave your world…”
“Just don’t try to tell me that it’s good there ... That there is an afterlife kingdom there, and everyone lives happily ever after, like in a fairy tale.”
- Why does everyone live happily ever after, like in a fairy tale ?! No... Life there is not heavenly either... One must also work and live there... There is eternity... And here is the stop...

I no longer remember what I asked, what they told me, I only remember one thing, that I asked a few questions that to this day make me think about a lot.
— How often do you visit us, and how often do you want to see us?
“Practically none of us is drawn to Earth… But there are exceptions… Grandparents who have little grandchildren want to see the kids… They come to them at night when they are fast asleep,” Uncle Lenya said.
“I want to see my son… Hold him close… I left him so small, so helpless… I left him when he needed me so much… I don’t visit him very often… I don’t have time for that,” with annoyance in his voice said Tamara.

“We have our own life, and don’t bother us over trifles… Don’t come to the grave when you feel like it… Don’t disturb us… Don’t torment us and don’t torment our souls… There is a church for this… Go there… Pray for the repose of our souls,” Uncle Lenya said.
- Why?
“You are invading another world… A world incomprehensible to you… The time will come when you yourself will understand everything…”

— Who feels bad there, in this OTHER world?
- Who is sick? To the one who passed sentence on himself and took his own LIFE?... It's scary... It's very scary... WE, our world, do not accept these people, and in yours they are already dead... They are trying to settle down with the dead, but this is impossible... God gave man life and only God can take it away from us.
- Uncle Lenya, don't scare me. Are you trying to say that a murderer... A person who took the life of another lives better in your world than the one who decides his own fate?
“Probably, yes… These people are slaves… They accept new arrivals… They work with them… They go through adaptation with them… They teach them to live according to our laws…”

The alarm went off in the room...

I stood in the middle of the room in clothes and was shaking with fear ... To this day I still can’t understand what it was: a DREAM OR ...

And if OR...

Stuttering, I began to talk about the night aliens.
After the story was told, there was silence in the accounting department. interrupted her elderly woman.
“This is a miracle,” she said, “Formerly, those people who took their own lives were buried outside the gates of the cemetery and they were not buried in the church ...

A year later, my friend comes to me and says:
- I had one life situation... I didn’t see a way out ... My mother died, my husband went to another ... I didn’t want to live at all ... I decided to cut my veins ... I filled the bath with water, took a knife and ... At that moment I remembered your story about the night guests ... I felt scared ... Scared that in that world I do not understand, I will suffer even more. Two days later, I met Sasha ... Now we are waiting for our son ... There are simply no hopeless situations ... If you can’t fight, then you just need to wait out this unsuccessful period.

I WANT TO BELIEVE THAT WE DO NOT DIE FOR ALL...
WHAT THE SOUL WILL LIVE AFTER OUR DEATH... BUT THAT WORLD is unknown to us... And no one gave us the right to invade it. If it exists, THAT WORLD, then people live there according to their own laws...

All the stories about the cemetery are told by the mouth real people. If you are under 18, run from this page. Because you will be terrified and scared. Only 3 stories from life.

Grandmother, who is 82 years old, does not let me go to the graveyard alone.

Look what a brave one. The cemetery is a haven of souls, some of which have not found rest. They would be back to our world - the old woman was terribly broadcasting.

I am Maxim and my cemetery story associated with an uncovered mirror.

When my grandfather broke down, or rather wrapped himself in a strong rope, I found him blue and scary.

I called my father, I remember shouting at the whole gatehouse.

Oh, Lord, it was not in vain that he frightened - his father said nauseatingly, ordering me (a 17-year-old tomboy) to curtain all the mirrors.

Fortunately, there were a lot of rags in the village house.

I left one mirror open.

They buried my grandfather in a cemetery - on the outskirts of the graveyard - without Orthodox and religious ceremonies.

People were clamoring that now he was excommunicated from the Lord God.

I was terrified to go where a strong noose still seemed to me.

Walking around the house with memories, I accidentally looked into the mirror, which I deliberately did not cover.

What is it, good God!

In it, I saw the skewed grimace of my grandfather, which lies in the village cemetery.

Something dark and strong, probably a fallen spirit, forced me to visit him.

I didn't say anything to my father.

He came, sat down, sobbed.

And in the cemetery the wind is restless on the grave, as if from under the ground someone is desperately rampant.

The grave cross shook and I was doused with cold rain.

Not feeling my feet under me, I ran away from the cemetery.

Then my grandmother told me everything.

You can't go to church - a mortal sin on him. Why didn't you hide the mirror? Obviously the mind was not created! Now wait for him in a dream, grandfather will come, and you will wake up. His soul, already imprisoned in hell, cannot say goodbye to this world. You hid her in the mirror. Pray, miserable, otherwise it will be bad for you and your father - said the grandmother, baptizing me in the end.

“Our Father” I read, chattering my teeth at night.

Grandfather left hard, could not resist the noose.

Only me still I have dreams in which it is gradually tightened on my own neck.

Another story about the cemetery worse than the previous one.

Basically, everyone rests in peace there.

But there are those who wander forever in groaning.

I often leave some water or cookies on my grandmother's grave.

I remember her, I look around, and then I look - there is no treat.

Looks like I'm worried about someone...

For the twelfth year I have been visiting an old woman who starved to death during the war.

My the story about the cemetery is some kind of hell.

Once he came to visit his father, and on the grave, instead of “dead” flowers, ritual candles were stuck.

Black, red, yellow, seemingly extinct recently.

A little devil is lying nearby, or rather his wax figurine.

I dug them up, howling with indignation, and there, in the depths, an ancient dagger wounded my hand.

What is this, bloody masses?

He scooped up the defiling trash and threw it into the dustbin.

I ran to the cemetery worker and told him everything.

And he just shakes his head, they say, I'm sorry, brother, I'll notice, I'll beat it.

On Easter I went to my father again.

The same picture presented itself to the eyes.

Only instead of a dagger, I dug up chicken remains.

Creepy stories about the dead, death and cemeteries. At the junction of our world and the other world, sometimes very strange and unusual phenomena which are difficult to explain even to very skeptical people.

If you also have something to tell on this topic, you can absolutely free.

Mom died in September 1992. My older brother Gena lived in another city. During the years that my mother was ill, he came to us only once. And then, of course, they gave him an urgent telegram. He replied that he was leaving. However, it never arrived. I drank on the train and went on a binge. I woke up only a month later. He couldn't remember where he was or what happened to him. With that, he returned home. I must say that the brother actually held a responsible position and could not drink for years, but still occasionally broke into a binge.

I noticed that I write about snakes often. Maybe this is due to our mystical beliefs, I don’t know. Anyway, here's another mystical story for you.

This story was told by my classmate at school. And I remembered her because her father recently died, the main thing actor of this story. A friend said that he was afraid of snakes to the point of panic. For a long time the children could not understand why such a powerful man is afraid of even a harmless snake. However, over time they found out. Further from his words.

And creepy at the same time. As for the owner of the cemetery, maybe he stood up for the girl. I have already heard about the owner and read somewhere, they say that he can take on different guises, like even an animal too. There was one incident with me that I told my mother later, when we went to the cemetery with her to visit my father.

My mother lives in the village, or rather in the village, and people on the street could not be seen much at that time, there was almost no one. And at the cemetery and at all only my mother and I were. There were a lot of fresh graves around, the cemetery was large, but recently they began to bury in one part of it. The sun shone mercilessly, it was hot, summer, at four o'clock in the afternoon we were there. We came to my father's grave, and while my mother looked after the grave, I stood and mentally talked to him. It was so sad for me without him, even screaming, I missed him terribly, but I didn’t talk about this with my mother, I didn’t want to stir her soul. Especially in the first years, the loss of his father was physically painful, and I told him about it then, there, at the cemetery.

This incident happened two years ago. I was driving home from work. The road passes near the cemetery. Driving by, I "heard" a request for help. This time I did not think for a long time, turned on the turn signal and turned towards the cemetery. The grave was found quickly. Well maintained, nice marble monument. The inscription is Valentina Nikolaevna. I am wondering how can I help? And in response, silence. Waited ten minutes. So I didn't get an answer. At first I thought that I made a mistake with the grave. Decided to take a walk in search. But no matter how many times the answer came, there was none. On his way back, he heard crying. I approached and see, all the same tombstone.

He asked: "How can Valya help?" “It’s my son’s birthday today. I want to give him a present. Record player. At home in the pantry in a box,” was the answer. I think to myself that there is nothing complicated, I will come, I will say everything, my mission is over. But everything went wrong. I asked the people about Valentina, since we have a small village. And I heard this story.

According to Christian tradition, after the Easter service, it is customary to celebrate this holiday at home with the family.

My friend Katerina lived with her parents in a large house, divided into 4 parts, each of which was inhabited by their relatives. There was harmony between the neighbors. Holidays were celebrated together at a large table in the courtyard of the house. Long benches on both sides of the table accommodated everyone, regardless of age and build. Children grew up, created families, someone moved to their own separate housing, but on Easter, everyone was always there according to tradition. The table with benches was built by Katerina's father, uncle Lesha. He was a kind and hospitable person. By old age, of course, I lost a lot, but I always tried, if not to organize, then at least to support the fun. After his death, the neighbors at first began to get together less often, and then only the little ones were busy at such a playground. Yes, and it became sadder in the yard.

This story was shared with me by a relative who survived the Holocaust as a child. Further from her words.

Before the war we lived well. Our family was large and friendly. I was the eldest child in the family, I helped my mother with the housework, looked after the younger children and, like all Soviet children, dreamed of a brighter future. Once my mother told me: “Daughter, today I had a terrible dream: my grandmother came to me and said that we would all die, and you would be saved, and you would live happily ever after.” This was

In my life I have heard different real stories about the dead and the cemetery. I decided to tell my own. This story happened to me when I was young. Odd man, who showed up at night, asked to fix the tombstone

It all started with a visit to the big old city cemetery. No one has been buried on it for many years. The abandoned necropolis struck me with some kind of solemn, albeit somewhat frightening beauty. Many inscriptions were in Latin, others in pre-revolutionary Russian. Some of them were erased by ruthless time... But from that moment on, I was deeply addicted to the topic of epitaphs and tombstones. And then an idea came. I spoke with my supervisor at the institute.
- And what? The topic is interesting! Go ahead, Roman! - said the professor. - First, let it be a term paper, and then we'll see, maybe before thesis grow up!

There are several cemeteries in our city. I visited one of them almost every day after class to work on the epitaphs. One thing I did not like: I had to get from the hostel through the whole city. Once I saw an announcement that a watchman was required for one of the cemeteries. And since there were holidays at that time, I decided to get a job: to improve my financial situation, and to continue working on my coursework. My partner San Sanych, a puny little man of about sixty who obviously liked to look into a glass, handed over the shift.

You, boy, the main thing - do not be afraid! Do not let anyone else into the gatehouse, if someone comes at night, God forbid! And the ghouls - they are mostly normal, quiet, do not roam the alleys! he chuckled.
- In the majority? And what, there are those who roam? It's impossible to tell if he's joking or not.
- Anything can happen! I say, don't open the door! Well, you can read Our Father, if anything... Yes, I almost forgot: Andrei Nikolaevich, well, the one who worked before you didn't take some of his things. Maybe call for them.

Grandfather was drowning, and I took the camera and went to take pictures interesting monuments and epitaphs on them.
I don't like working with photos on a computer, so I went to the nearest store where they provided printing services. In the evening I started looking. In order to save money, I took all the pictures on plain paper, some of the inscriptions turned out to be difficult to read. Soon I lay down on the trestle bed in the gatehouse and dozed off ...

In my sleep, I heard someone knocking on the door insistently. To be honest, I felt a little uncomfortable: I immediately remembered the words of my partner about the nightly uninvited guests. Looked out the window. In the light of the bright full moon I saw an elderly man of an intelligent appearance.
- Young man! Please open! Do not be afraid, in front of you is not a stranger, but a local!
I thought that this was probably the previous watchman who had come for his things. Why he appeared in the middle of the night, I had no question. Opened it for him and let him in.

Come on in. Are you Andrey Nikolaevich? - asked the stranger.
- I? - He asked absently, did not give any intelligible answer and stepped towards the table on which my papers lay. And then in the most brazen way he began to dig into them.
- What are you doing? - My indignation knew no bounds.
- I?! Looking for...
Why are you rummaging through my papers? I yelled. - Exit - there! Nobody invited you here!
- Me?! The man seemed to be mocking me. - Found...

He picked up one of the photographs, exactly the one on which he could not read the epitaph:
- “Such pain cannot be expressed in words, it is all in my wounded heart. Cruelly as fate disposed of us, not allowing us to stay on earth together. But in my loneliness yearning, under the hot sun and when it rains, I remember about you, I love you! My most faithful husband! See you... Wait!”
The uninvited guest sank wearily on the couch, his shoulders trembling with sobs.
- I beg you, remove this inscription on the monument! That husband was a very bad man and does not deserve such flattering words from a woman whom he betrayed all his life!
- What nonsense? How do you imagine that? Delirium, right?

I turned my back on the crazy peasant for a minute to put some wood on the stove.
- Do me a favor! It hurts to realize that Mary suffers and continues to love this scoundrel! When you destroy the old inscription, make another one: "Wife, forgive my sins, for which I now suffer in hell."
- How do you imagine that? There is a watchman in front of you, and it is not his duty to spoil the monument! Are you crazy? - barked at him, turned to the guest, but he was gone, as if he had never been.
The scattered papers testified that this crazy man did appear. I went to the door, but it was bolted shut. “Hmm ... How did the man get out? Probably just slammed shut ... " Soon he fell asleep again ...

In the morning San Sanych came, I told him about the night incident.
- A-ah-ah ... That professor was again! - the grandfather was not surprised. - And Andrei, well, the last watchman, survived from here. Made me go every night! I'm not afraid of him, Ivan Antonovich peaceful, I will read a prayer, and he will perish!
- And what kind of professor?
- Duc on one of the alleys is buried. His faithful all went to the grave to him and was killed with grief! People said that this same dead man was still that reveler during his lifetime, he didn’t miss a single skirt, but Maria, well, the wife, in a sense, didn’t know anything about it! All well-wishers who intended to enlighten her were sent to a well-known address. And recently the children took the woman to another city. So, I think, maybe, after all, respect Antonych and redo the inscription? Will he suddenly feel better?

"Another freak!" - flashed through my head. Before leaving, I decided to look at the professor's grave. What was the surprise and fright when I recognized the night guest in the photo on the monument ...
I never went to work as a night watchman again!