Scary stories and mystical stories. Creepy hunt Hunters and their strange stories
An ordinary Russian hunter spoke about a seemingly unremarkable (in terms of some kind of mystery) incident that once happened to him and his comrades. Our compatriot then went with three friends to fish in the forest. The hunters wandered into a dense thicket in the evening and, as luck would have it, were left without matches. Mobile phones and satellite navigation did not yet exist in those days.
It was a cold late autumn, the weather had already turned bad, and the lost poor fellows began to freeze as darkness fell. Suddenly an abandoned gatehouse appeared ahead - very shabby, with only one door and no windows at all. Our heroes went inside and found only a table with a bench in the middle. There were no food supplies in this hut. Nevertheless, the hunters were happy with such a find - at least the rain did not pour on their heads and the wind did not blow to the bones.
However, it was not possible to take a nap in the lodge. Without fire, it was so cold inside that the comrades soon began to literally freeze there too. To at least somehow warm up, one could only move, but the hut was pitch black. Then one of the companions came up with the idea of running around the dark room in a kind of relay race. Four hunters stood in the corners of the room and began to quickly move along the walls clockwise, pushing (pushing out of the corner) each other.
You run to the next corner, push your friend, take his place and wait until they push you so you can run further. They ran around like that all night, they were exhausted, but, as planned, they didn’t freeze to death. When dawn broke, they left their camp and began to look for a way out of the forest. In the end, they were saved. The narrator was very proud of the resourcefulness of his company, which saved the lives of him and his comrades.
However, the attentive listener to whom this story was told was not so much impressed by it as puzzled. Thinking, he said:
Something doesn't add up in this story. There were four of you, and there were also four corners in the gatehouse, right? You took turns running from one corner to another, pushing each other. That is, one of you was constantly running, and one corner always remained empty. In order for each of you to push the other every time, there had to be five of you - four standing in the corners, and one running!
The narrator, who perfectly remembered this “relay race” in the dark and had not seen any logical contradictions in it before, frowned. Having calculated everything in his mind, he turned pale. Indeed: if the comrades took turns running around the guardhouse and each time pushing each other in every corner, then it turns out that there was a fifth person among them! This is how the hunters lived all these years, not even suspecting that they had come into contact in a forest hut with something frightening, potentially inexplicable and dangerous...
I must tell you about an interesting and inexplicable incident that happened to me while hunting in one ulus. So, let me begin.. In 2002, I and a group of friends went hunting in the forest, where, according to rumors, if the outcome was favorable, it was possible to catch a couple of moose. We went on a MTZ tractor with a trailer, there were five of us, we took three dogs with us. Having safely arrived at the hunting hut, we set up some kind of daily life, prepared a supply of firewood and went to bed. Before going to bed, one of our friends, who had hunted in these places more than once, said that we should be quieter here, not make noise, otherwise there are spirits here, in Yakut “abaahy”. We, the townsfolk, didn’t really believe this and decided that he was playing a trick on us.
As is usual when hunting in nature, we all began to tell all sorts of cases we had ever heard. Fatigue took its toll and I, half-listening to my friends’ stories, began to fall asleep. And I had the following dream: everything was the same, the same hut, the same friends telling stories about spirits, and suddenly I wake up (in a dream) and feel that I need to go out to relieve myself. Without thinking twice, throwing on a pea coat, I jump out into the street and see our dogs sleeping peacefully near the tractor. I walked away a few meters and began to relieve myself, and suddenly I heard footsteps behind me, turned around, and saw behind me the oldest and most experienced dog named “Scarlet”. I quietly call him by name and notice that Scarlet is standing and looking not at me, but towards the ruins of an old Yakut booth. And suddenly Scarlet says to me in human language: “Zhenya, you need to leave here, you are not welcome here!” I almost fainted and ran to the hut where my friends were.
Running into the hut I saw that all my friends were sleeping. I started waking them up to tell them what had just happened to me, but none of them woke up. And suddenly I clearly heard the voices of two people outside the hut. They seemed to be speaking Yakut, but I did not fully understand the meaning of what was said. I understood only one thing: they came to take us all to themselves. I stood and listened in horror as they slowly approached our door. I couldn't move or do anything. At that moment I suddenly woke up. When I woke up I saw that two friends were sleeping, and two more were sitting quietly near the stove and talking. I was all sweaty, my heart was beating very fast, to calm down a little I got up and went up to the guys who were sitting near the stove and asked for a cigarette. When they saw me they laughed and asked: “What happened?” I told them about my dream, and they laughed at me a little and went to bed. After smoking, I also went to bed.
I slept peacefully the rest of the night. Waking up early in the morning, we cast lots as to who would stay in the hut during the day, go fishing in the lake with nets, and prepare food for our evening return. The lot fell on me... My friends laughed, seeing my timid attempts to go with them, and got ready for the trip. They warmed up the tractor, loaded everything onto the trailer and, taking all the dogs, left for the hunt, saying that they would arrive closer to night, and if Bayanai smiled, then he didn’t expect them until tomorrow. Left alone, I slowly cleaned up the hut, took out the nets and began preparing them for catching crucian carp. Before lunch I finished all my business and lay down to rest. All morning I couldn’t get my night’s dream out of my head. Unnoticed, I fell asleep, and when I woke up the house was dark, the stove went out and it became cool.
Having heated the stove, I decided, even though it was a little dark outside, since I had overslept, I needed to check the nets and prepare fresh fish for the arrival. Having caught a normal catch, I came home in high spirits. Singing along to some melody under his breath, he began to clean the fish by the light of two large candles. Suddenly I clearly heard a man coughing behind me, dropping the knife, I turned around, but didn’t see anyone. Fear began to creep into my soul again. In order to somehow distract myself from the oncoming feeling of fear and while waiting for the water to boil for my fish soup, I began to read the only book in the hut. Gradually the fear went away, by this time the water had boiled and after putting the fish in the cauldron, I finally calmed down. Suddenly, in the distance, I heard the sound of a working tractor, and I was very happy to see my friends return. While waiting for them, I began to look out the window every now and then, from where I could clearly see the descent from the hill into the Alas, where our hut stood. And then, from behind the trees, rays of light from the tractor headlights broke through and after some time he himself began to go down the hill. In the trailer I saw the silhouettes of three friends and began to prepare the table. About ten minutes later, the tractor pulled up and, purring, fell silent. Immediately I heard the voices of my friends and Scarlet’s barking. My heart was relieved and I decided to wait for my friends in the hut, and they, talking loudly and laughing, came close to the doors of the hut.
And suddenly everything became very quiet, no voices or barking dogs could be heard. Not fully understanding the reason for the silence, I jumped out into the street and was stunned... There was no tractor, no friends, and there was only darkness on the street... And then I understood the expression: “my hair stands on end” in the literal sense. It felt like someone grabbed my hair and pulled me up. Seeing nothing from fear, I hit the door, barely opened it and literally fell into the hut. And then another shock awaited me: an unfamiliar middle-aged man was sitting at the table with a pipe in his mouth and, looking angrily at me, suddenly shouted that my heart almost stopped, in Yakut: “KIER BUOLUN MANTAN!!!”, in Russian. - get out of here! I don’t remember how I ran out into the street, where I was running, I just remember that willow branches hit me hard in the face. I only came to my senses on the road leading to the neighboring farm, although this road was about fifteen kilometers from our hut. I didn’t feel tired, but my breathing was very rapid and my heart was beating, trying to break out. Six hours later I reached the farm; it was already the morning milking of the cows and the local milkmaids were very surprised at my appearance. After drinking tea and eating a little, I told them my story and asked the man to go pick up my friends.
A man who gave his name as Yegor told me that this was not the first case in the alas where that hut stood. Local boys used to hunt there, but one day a tragedy occurred there: after drinking together, the son shot his father. And then he hanged himself. And since then, strange things began to happen there. And what’s surprising is that if older, older men come to hunt, then everything goes fine, but when young people like us come, they always see a man with a pipe who drives them out. Closer to lunch, my friends arrived, who were no less frightened by my disappearance than I was. This is the story that happened to me back in 2002 in one of the regions of the republic. Dear readers, this is not fiction, not fantasy, but a real, real case. Subsequently, I heard a lot of interesting things from other hunters, maybe someone will post them on this group. Let others know and be ready if fate takes them to those places. Sincerely, "Believer" (from the forum)
Subscribe to the project: on diaries
Share your stories in the comments or send them by email [email protected]
My grandfather recently retired, and despite his age, he is quite young and active. He has been interested in hunting since his youth, six months ago he bought himself a small hunting house and moved there. The house is located on the Izhma River, it is quite far from civilization. The nearest city, 10-15 km from the house, is Sosnogorsk, in the Komi Republic.
The place is very beautiful and quiet, I myself am quite quiet and calm, and I really liked this place. I come to see him every holiday, and my grandfather always tells me interesting stories that he visited while I was at school. He talked about the life of animals, about UFOs over forests, he even had to deal with mysticism. Sometimes I witnessed such stories. For example, how foxes fought among themselves, or how a UFO hovered in the sky and emitted various light emissions. Most of all I liked his mystical story that happened to him at the end of September. The story is more sad than scary.
As always, at 16:00 in the evening, he got ready for the hunt, taking everything he needed. He hunts mainly on his own bank and crosses the river very rarely. But that evening he decided to cross the river. Normal hunting, sitting, looking around. Suddenly he heard rustling sounds, looked around, and there was another hunter.
- Scared me, the site is a cat! - Grandfather screamed.
- Sorry, man. Hush, hush...,” the man answered in a whisper.
A conversation began between them. The man seemed quite friendly to my grandfather. Despite his youth, he turned out to be without “show-off” and did not show off. He had a dog named Trace, the dog was calm, the same as his grandfather’s interlocutor. The man often smiled and was eloquent in his conversation with his grandfather. Grandfather thought that they could be comrades. They talked all evening while walking through the forest. The sun was already disappearing behind the horizon, they came to their meeting place. Grandfather was the first to extend his hand to Seryoga (that was the name of this stranger), showing him his respect for him. Sergei continued to smile, the dog wagged its tail cheerfully. They agreed to meet the next day at the same place, at the same time. Sergei and Sled went deeper into the forest, and grandfather went home.
The next morning, the grandfather waited until evening to meet his friend again. I understand him, I think everyone has experienced this: they have just met a person, and he is already like a close friend to you. Evening came. He went to that place. Grandfather saw Sergei with the Trace and rushed towards them. The trace barked towards him, Sergei smiled, but there was something different in the smile, as if he himself was waiting for this meeting. They said hello and talked. And we went to the river to hunt ducks and other animals. Along the way, their friendship strengthened; without even noticing, they began to communicate on a first-name basis. They approached the river, looked around and saw a flock of ducks. They hid in the bushes, the Trace behaved quietly.
“It’s a good dog,” said the grandfather.
“My Trace is the best,” Seryoga hugged Trace.
Grandfather simply looked at them and smiled. They again focused the site on ducks. Everyone chose a goal for themselves. Shots were fired. The flock took off, leaving two ducks floating in the middle of the river. The trail followed the first, then the second.
- Good dog! - The grandfather said and gave him a piece of sausage.
The sun was disappearing behind the horizon again. They came to the place of their first meeting and were still chatting about this and that. Sergei was the first to extend his hand and said:
— Thank you, Vanyok (that’s my grandfather’s name) for everything. You have set me free, now I can go. I give you my Trace, please take care of him. And here, take my duck.
Grandfather did not understand what was happening. Sergei continued to smile, he said: “Bye!” and went deep into the forest. Trace remained sitting next to his grandfather, and they both looked towards the departing Sergei. Grandfather felt lonely in his soul. At night he dreamed of Sergei, a light going into a white space, Sergei thanked my grandfather again and left.
I often noticed and continue to notice how my grandfather, sitting next to Trace, sits and looks at this forest. And my grandfather told me this story, sitting in the same position next to the Trace and looking into the distance. But he does not lose heart. Life goes on!
The village where Olga’s grandmother lives is lost in the taiga and is considered a classic wilderness - the main street, along it there are houses, at the end there is an administration and a store. A paramedic and midwife station, police, school and other amenities of civilization are located in a neighboring, larger settlement.
Granny Alevtina Egorovna herself is a dry old woman with a corrosive look, a malicious smile and the temperament of a mad squirrel. Olga visited her in August 2009. I came for a walk in the taiga, to pick berries and mushrooms, to take a break from the bustle of the city.
On the very first day of the visit, Olga began asking Alevtina Egorovna about the surrounding region. I was interested in everything - the presence of swamps, bears and various places in the surrounding taiga where you can go hiking. The granny willingly told everything she knew, but warned her not to go a mile away from the so-called Moon Slope - it turned out to be a swampy place south of the village. Why the slope - don’t ask, according to Olga - a swamp, like a swamp.
There are landmarks in the taiga, if you see them, immediately turn in the other direction, or better yet, invite your neighbor Grishka with you, he is 17 years old and he knows every bump here. “You will have company,” the grandmother assured.
In a few hours, Olga, with great difficulty, managed to extract the history of the Moon Slope from her grandmother. She didn’t want to tell, because she firmly believed that such stories attract trouble.
Okay, I’ll tell you, but you definitely won’t sleep at night...
They say that in the 50s of the last century, the old veterinarian Miron lived in a then quite prosperous taiga village. Grandfather was an “Aibolit” from God - he treated both animals and birds. Moreover, I felt the sickness and pain of the animal in my gut, sometimes I even just came to visit, as if by accident, but not in vain. For this, people gave grandfather a silver medallion in the shape of a wolf’s head, which he proudly wore without taking it off. It was this instinct of his that played the most important role in the next story, and the medallion made Olga (and me at the same time) almost completely believe in it.
At that time, the roads to the village were still quite good, and various people often came there, both from the city and from other areas to work in the taiga. The swamps were (as they are now) rich in cranberries, the forests were rich in mushrooms. Well, for hunters there was generally a paradise. And then one day a company of five young people appeared in the village. They told the locals that they had come for cranberries, and there was nothing suspicious about it - the season was in full swing. They were advised to go to a swamp called Red Slope - the most berry-rich place in the area, and they forgot about the visiting guys, how many of them are there? But Myron couldn’t get them out of his head; his grandfather felt something like that. In addition, as he noticed, they gathered for cranberries at night, and not early in the morning, like all decent people. Why would that be, huh? Miron took the gun and went to the Red Slope to look after the company from afar. They were going there, weren't they?
It gets dark quickly in the taiga. One - and the shadows thickened, and darkness and damp cold spread across the ground, two - and only the flame of the fire slightly dispels the thick darkness, making the trunks of the pine trees flicker with a reddish light.
Grandfather’s heart was beating quickly, his legs were buzzing and aching, it was high time to take a break. But anxiety and that same premonition still forced me to step forward. Suddenly, before reaching the Red Slope, Myron heard the desperate cry of an animal. “The wolf cub screams in pain and horror!” - the veterinarian determined, because he had cured a lot of wild animals in his life. The grandfather, forgetting about the pain in his legs, started running and, rushing out into the clearing, saw the following picture.
The visiting “berry hunters” were all drunk and had just dealt with the she-wolf and her cubs. The skin of the wolf was half torn off, one wolf cub lay with its belly torn open, the second had its furry head cut off, and the third was held by one of the drunken knackers by the hind paw with a knife at the ready. Myron fired into the air. The monster dropped his little victim, but the wounded baby couldn’t even crawl away from his tormentor.
Look, grandfather, how we hunted with only knives! - one of the company vividly boasted.
The old veterinarian jumped up to the flayers in a few long steps, grabbed the surviving wolf cub and put it in his bosom. What he was yelling at the same time, the grandfather himself did not remember. Suddenly he realized that the company surrounded him.
You, old goat, give me the spoils. Not yours, but you yourself here and that one,” the newcomers threatened.
Seeing the knives pointed in his direction, Myron intercepted the gun:
Try...
One of the flayers swung his weapon at him, and the grandfather, hoping to intimidate the attacker, pulled the trigger again, but heard only a dry click. However, a slight hitch allowed him to escape from the ring of enemies, and the grandfather ran towards the Red Slope, hoping to hide in the swamps. The drunken company rushed after him.
Myron ran, feeling that his heart was about to jump out of his chest, the bloody, trembling body of the wolf cub began to seem incredibly heavy, and the voices of his pursuers were heard closer and closer. The only thing that saved my grandfather was that they were drunk.
He finally made it to the Red Slope when someone’s knife hit him between the shoulder blades.
Miron’s body was found two days later, in one of the swamps on the Red Slope. The neighbors came for the berries and saw the murdered veterinarian, who was tightly clutching the dead, tortured wolf cub to his chest, but they could not get them. As soon as people tried to get to them, the swamp “sighed” and the bodies disappeared into the mire. No funeral, no church ceremony (in those years!). And so the old man died.
After this, something inexplicable happened to the Red Slope. Within a day, the swamp had risen so much that almost all the trails had disappeared. You take a quick look and it’s like there’s water everywhere. And at night, in the moonlight, the place began to look as if it was flooded with silver. So the once Red Slope became the Moon Slope. But that's not all.
A week later, one man from that same company came running from the forest. He was skinned, dehydrated and clearly mentally damaged. He demanded the police, then the priest, then asked to hide him somewhere. He refused to answer the questions of the discouraged villagers, only waved a knife and made wild eyes. The local blacksmith had to hit him over the head with a heavy fist and tie him up until the doctor arrived. A paramedic who arrived from a neighboring village injected the deranged man with a heavy dose of a sedative and then heard a strange story, after which he handed the patient over to the police, from where he, in turn, after a short investigation, was transported to a mental hospital.
The man fussily talked about how he and his friends, having gotten into a great hole in nature, harassed a she-wolf with her cubs, and how they were attacked by an old man with a gun, which they barely fought off with knives. Well, then something terrible happened. The next day they headed to the Red Slope for cranberries, but did not find a single path; they all led into such a swamp that they had to turn back. As a result, until the evening we just wound up, and picked only a few berries. They got ready to return and realized that something bad had happened - they got lost in the swamp. It seems like the way back has disappeared. The friends panicked. Somehow we found a small island and decided to wait for dawn on it. But the swamp was getting dark, and the island was getting smaller. One of the men began to pray loudly out of fear. At that moment, a terrible wolf howl hung over the swamp. The men, petrified with horror, suddenly saw a tall figure approaching them with a gun, next to which the shadows of a she-wolf and three wolf cubs thickened. At that moment, the dead veterinarian pointed his gun at his five killers and pulled the hook. Two of them immediately died of fear, silently falling into the quagmire. The other three ran screaming and ran in the direction of their eyes. The narrator quickly lost sight of his friends; he heard a piercing wolf howl and growl behind him. Something monstrous was driving him into the very swamps. Suddenly he tripped and fell. Before he lost consciousness, he saw eerie yellow eyes above him.
The man didn’t remember how long he wandered through the swamp without food and water, didn’t remember why he didn’t drown, didn’t remember how he got onto the path. I only remembered the tall dead man with the wolves. Even when he stepped onto the path, he was haunted by a terrible wolf howl: “Don’t you hear? Right now? And the old man over there looking out the window with dead eyes?..”
After this story, people stopped going to the Lunar Slope, especially since it became practically impassable. Soon the swamp became notorious - both visitors and local residents began to disappear there. Moreover, those who wandered there and returned unharmed often talked about seeing the silhouette of a tall old man in the swamps, or that terrible eyes glowing with gold looked at them from the darkness. Some believed them, some didn’t, but in the end, the village men got together and fenced off the terrible place with poles.
After this story, Olga was tormented by nightmares all night - both about her grandfather and about wolves.
But the morning came, the sun came out, the dew drops sparkled and the fear disappeared. And, of course, the first thing Olga did was to go and take Grishka to watch the legendary Moon Slope. The girl was tormented by curiosity, Grishka by the desire to impress her.
Olga felt scared already near the poles. The swamp was still not visible, but the taiga around had thickened and became cold and unfriendly. It smelled damp. However, curiosity turned out to be stronger than fear.
Fifty meters later there was a squelch underfoot and the trees suddenly parted, revealing the legendary place to Olya and Grisha. The moonlit slope was beautiful. Green, brown, light green moss, in the distance silvery puddles of water, bushes of real ripe cranberries. Grishka just gasped in surprise, saying that there were no more berries here. The fear immediately evaporated, and they began to collect ripe berries. Nothing bad can happen in such a beautiful place, right? They also jumped and rolled around on the elastic moss. Olga’s sanity returned a few hours later - she suddenly noticed how Grishka shivered chillily and that the sun was already setting behind the forest. And then fear struck with renewed force. Trying not to show it, Olga called the guy, saying it was late, it was time to go home, and noticed how his face immediately fell off. It turned out that they had gone quite far into the swamp; he had never been here and did not know where to go now. The guys tried to calm down, because from now on they could only rely on themselves. As a result, they wandered, as it seemed to them, back. But the path still did not appear. That's when it got really scary. We decided to yell, maybe someone will hear us and won’t leave us in trouble. They shouted until they were hoarse, and the twilight deepened. Suddenly Grishka saw something like light from a flashlight in the opposite direction. The guys, stumbling and falling, ran towards the light, screaming for the man not to leave. Grishka told Olga that he was a hunter - he had a gun and a dog was running nearby. Moreover, the person is most likely not local - you can’t drag villagers here for a cannon shot, but this one responded. The hunter stopped and waved his hand, saying, I’ll wait. And the would-be travelers ran after him, squelching their boots. It was clear that the man was in a hurry to get out of the swamp, but they, of course, were only happy about this. As a result, about twenty minutes later, Olya and Grisha got out onto the path, wondering how they managed to get lost in the first place.
They wanted to thank the hunter. He stood on the border of the taiga and the swamp, about thirty steps away from them - a tall, elderly man with a sad face. The guys shouted words of gratitude, and he shrugged his shoulders and, waving his hand goodbye, disappeared among the trees. Then his big dog jumped into the bushes.
For some reason Grishka looked very frightened and hurried Olga home. They quickly grabbed the backpacks that had been forgotten here during the day. Suddenly Olgino’s attention was attracted by some shiny thing. She pulled it out of the mud, and suddenly there was some vaguely familiar medallion in her hand - a silver wolf head on a chain. While Olga was trying to figure out where she knew the find from, Grishka took it with very cold hands and put it on the moss next to the hummock, saying that nothing could be taken away from this swamp.
As a result, by one o'clock in the morning they reached home safely. It was then that Grisha said that it was not a hunter who brought them out of the swamp, but a ghost. Because the animal that Olga mistook for a dog was in fact a small, lean she-wolf.
Here Olga’s brains clicked into place - after all, the medallion with the head of a wolf, according to legend, belonged to a veterinarian who died here more than half a century ago.
This is the story. Maybe the grandmother lied about something, people’s rumor - she sometimes embellishes beyond all measure. Maybe there was even a hunter there, and not a ghost. In general, what I bought it for is what I sold it for.
What I want to talk about happened a long time ago, probably around 89-90. My father has always been a passionate hunter. Every year, in late autumn, he and a friend took a vacation and went to the forest for two weeks. We usually went to the same place. This is an abandoned village, somewhere in the forests of the Novgorod region. Almost all the houses there have long since collapsed, only one remains, and that’s because of the hunters who constantly stay there. The forests in those places are very remote, and the nearest civilization is miles away.
That year I turned 15 and my father took me with him for the first time. Dad's friend, Uncle Kolya, always traveled with his son, Yegor. He was older than me, he was already 17, but we were still friends.
We got ready quickly then. They threw their junk into the car, put the dogs in and off they went. They arrived at the place closer to night and were pleasantly surprised to find that three hunters from St. Petersburg were already in charge of the house. Well, of course, we all became acquainted. It turned out that these men also come there every year. Well, they gathered for the table there, began to drink for the meeting - everything was as it should be. Our fathers didn’t pour us much; Yegor and I listened more to hunting tales with our mouths agape. But they themselves tried, so much so that in the morning there could be no talk of any hunting. Everyone started “healing” early in the morning.
Egor and I were bored just sitting there. We already shot at cans and bottles, crawled around the entire attic and basement. Of course, we didn’t find anything: everything that was possible had already been found before us. We went for a walk. We see a birch grove not far from the village. We thought that maybe we could at least pick some mushrooms, dry them on the stove and bring them to the mothers, so we headed there. But when we arrived at the place, we were severely disappointed. The grove was the remains of an ancient cemetery. Apparently, this is where the inhabitants of our abandoned place found their last refuge.
The graves were all ancient, long since razed to the ground, the crosses had collapsed, but in some places the inscriptions could be read. Yegor and I walked around and neighed like horses, reading the names. We wandered for a long time, and suddenly, quite unexpectedly, we came across a cross. Such a good, solid wooden cross, like the Old Believer cross with a “roof”. Straight and even, as if installed a year ago. And the dates are clearly written on it: “Gorshkov Egor Nikolaevich. May 19, 1895 - May 19, 1930."
My friend was a little taken aback. These were his last name, his first name, his patronymic. And even the birthday coincided - May 19th. When I realized this, I became scared, but at school we were taught then: there is no God and all such coincidences mean nothing. Prejudice is everything. We only complained then that this guy died very young and right on his birthday - 35 years old. They laughed and forgot.
Two weeks flew by like one day. We had a great hunt and returned home to Moscow happy and rested. A couple of years later I graduated from school, then college, started working, and got married. We went hunting every year, repaired our dilapidated house as best we could, lived in it for weeks, but we no longer went to the cemetery and did not start any conversations about that incident.
And a few years ago it happened that I went to work in the USA. I lived there for several years, and when I arrived, I learned the sad news: my childhood friend, Yegor Gorshkov, had died. At first I didn’t even understand what had happened, it was like a blow to the head... Only at the cemetery they explained the situation to me.
Egor celebrated his 35th birthday. Everyone was drunk and went to the balcony to smoke. Egor fell from the 8th floor. Death was instant. I wasn’t interested in what happened there, it’s awkward...
I looked at the cross. Solid, beautiful, wooden... And on it there is an inscription: “Gorshkov Egor Nikolaevich. May 19, 1972 – May 19, 2007.”
So don’t believe in fate after this! What was that in the forest then? Prediction? Someone's prophecy? Punishment for our laughter in that place and mockery of the memory of Orthodox Christians? I don't know. In any case, I am ashamed and I apologize.
