I was born and lived in a small provincial southern town. My family was quite well-off, although we could hardly be called rich. Nevertheless, we lived in prosperity, and I didn’t need anything, well, that’s what my parents thought. Yes, and my parents were very strict and never spoiled me with excesses. But it should be noted that this did not prevent me from being a naughty child at all. If there was an expression in my childhood – “Golden Child”, that’s what people who knew me would call me. Dad never allowed me to brag in front of friends or people who at that time were living poorly, you could even say half-starved. Once, I decided to brag to my friends about our wealth, as my father heard the same thing, returning from service at that moment. There was a very serious and long conversation on this topic, which I have learned for the rest of my life. Nevertheless, I was very happy with my life!

We lived in an ordinary three-room apartment, in a very ordinary apartment building. But the apartment was beautifully renovated and expensive furniture. In general, chic, shine, beauty! And we also had a beautiful dacha, which was located in a picturesque place, not far from a beautiful lake in which wild ducks swam. Nothing here could disturb the beauty and silence of this place.

The two-storey house, standing in the middle of the garden, looked very nice, among fruit trees and luxurious roses. There were other dachas nearby, but some of them were completely abandoned. From the earliest spring to late autumn, we spent all weekends at our dacha. My father and I loved to go fishing early in the morning. There was still fog on the lake, which shrouded the whole lake, reeds and trees growing nearby. It’s an amazing time when it seems that everything around you, alive and inanimate, is still sleeping.

We loved to gather at our dacha, on holidays with our friends and numerous relatives. Dad knew a lot of jokes and always knew what and when would be appropriate and funny. Everyone loved him for his sense of humor, and he was also distinguished by such a trait as truthfulness and honesty, it is these traits that I am very similar to my father.

My mother, though she was a hospitable and hospitable woman, an excellent hostess and a beauty, but nevertheless she was a very strict wife and mother.

Once, when I was about fifteen, I woke up in the middle of the night and, lying on the bed, looked around the dark room. There was no one around. I felt very lonely, but I was not afraid to stay in the room alone; I was one of those children who were not told scary fairy tales or ghost stories at night, because of which children are afraid and hide under the pillow as soon as the door creaks or the light goes out. I wasn’t scared, but I decided to call my mom, and I just decided to shout at the top of my voice, when suddenly, to my surprise, I saw a young man standing by the bed, very tall, with an attractive appearance, he looked at me, not smiling at all, but with this severity he didn’t seem angry and angry at all. He was on his knees, his hands were covered with a blanket. I liked him, and I stopped whining. His hands caressed me; he lay down on the bed, smiled and hugged me. I felt very good, I calmed down and immediately fell asleep. I woke up from a sharp pain: it seemed to me that two sharp needles pierced my chest. I screamed loudly. The unknown young man jumped back, not taking his eyes off me, and slid to the floor. It seemed to me that he hid under the bed.

Only now I was really scared and screamed with all my might. The parents came running to the cry. After listening to my story, they did not take it seriously and began to console me as best they could. But even though I was a child, I still noticed that they were alarmed, although they did not show any kind. They rushed to search the room: they looked under the bed, looked under the tables, opened the cabinets. I heard my mother whisper to my father: “Feel the dent on the bed: clearly someone was lying here. This place is still warm.”

Mom stroked my head, she carefully examined my chest, where I felt the injections, and stated that there were no traces left on the skin.

Mom sat with me until morning. From that day until I was seventeen, my mother always stayed with me at night.

After this incident, I became very afraid of the dark and stayed in the room alone at night. My grandmother, my mother’s mother, came to my mother’s aid. Grandma was a very strict woman, loved order in everything. She was a very devout person and every night before going to bed she read a prayer. She started living with us and sleeping in the same room with me.

I remember my father coming into the bedroom; he was standing by the bed and talking to me affectionately. Then he asked me a few questions and laughed heartily at my answer. He stroked my hair, kissed me and told me not to be afraid of anything: it’s just a dream, nothing bad has happened to me.

I must admit, this did not calm me down: after all, I knew that the visit of a strange young man was not a dream.

Dad tried to convince me that it was he who came into the room, looked at me and lay down next to me; I must have been half asleep and didn’t recognize his face. His mother echoed him, but I was not completely convinced by these explanations.

On the same day, my parents, on the advice of my grandmother, invited the old priest. He came into the room, accompanied by his mother and grandmother, asked them a few questions and talked to me very affectionately. His face was kind and calm. He said that we would pray together, joined my hands and told me to repeat softly: “Lord, hear our prayers, for Christ’s sake.” I think I remembered these words for sure, because I often repeated them to myself, and my grandmother taught me for many years to end my prayers with them. I distinctly remember the kind, thoughtful face of a gray-haired priest in a black cassock. He was standing in the middle of my dim room, furnished with fashionable furniture. A ray of light barely penetrated through the heavy curtains.

The priest was on his knees, my mother, grandmother and I followed his example, and he began to read prayers. He prayed tremulously and quietly, as it seemed to me then, for a very long time. I don’t remember anything that happened before this event, and much of what happened afterwards. However, this picture, described by me, is always before my eyes.

Chapter 2. A strange incident

I want to tell you an unusual story that you will hardly believe in it. But nevertheless, everything that I will tell here is the pure truth; these events took place before my eyes. After a few years.

It was a warm summer evening. My father and I decided to go to the lake to go fishing. As I said earlier, we often went fishing together, both early in the morning and in the evening. And each time of the day has its own charm, in the morning – dawn, when all living things begin to wake up, and in the evening-sunset.

Approaching the lake, the father said:

– My brother promised to visit us, but, unfortunately, his visit to us is postponed. He will arrive a little later than we expected.

Dad’s brother was going to stay with us for a few days, and we were expecting his arrival any day now. He intended to introduce us to his adopted daughter, who was in his care. I’ve never seen this girl before. But it seemed to me that her company would bring a pleasant variety to my life. Therefore, when I found out that they postponed their arrival to us, I was very upset. I was looking forward to my uncle’s arrival and meeting his adopted daughter, Anna.

– And when will they arrive? I asked.

– Not earlier than in a month, maybe two, – the father replied.

Then he said the following:

– And I’m glad, my dear daughter, that you never had time to meet Anna.

– Why? I asked, burning with curiosity.

“The poor thing is dead – » my father replied. – Your uncle called me today and told me this terrible news. I’m sorry I didn’t say it right away, but I just didn’t know how to tell you about it.

I was shocked by this news. And tears gushed from my eyes. I clung to my father and began to sob. When my uncle called us, four or five weeks ago, he reported that his adopted daughter was a little sick, but he believed that there was nothing terrible in her ill health.

My poor brother has completely lost his head from grief. Judging by the phone conversation, he had completely lost his mind.

We sat down by the lake on a warm blanket spread out. Nature gave out a sad breath. The sun was sinking below the horizon, turning the surface of the lake scarlet. The crimson surface of the lake flowed and splashed almost at our very feet. And Dad told me the essence of the conversation with my uncle on the phone, word for word. I replayed this conversation in my head several times – but I could not fully understand the essence, because in many places my uncle contradicted himself. This chaotic conversation was so sincere, so fervent that I agreed with my father – grief clouded my uncle’s mind.

Father’s conversation with uncle:

I lost my dear daughter-yes, I loved her like a daughter. During the last days of Anna’s illness, I could not call you because I did not fully understand how serious the danger that threatened her was. I lost my daughter, I found out everything too late. She died in ignorance, full of hope, for happiness. It’s all the fault of the villain I let into my house, who took advantage of my hospitality. I thought I was taking in a decent, charming girlfriend for my daughter Anna. Oh, gods! How blind I was! My lovely daughter died without even knowing who caused her death. She went to another world, unaware of her illness and low addiction, the culprit of our troubles. I will devote the rest of my life to finding and destroying this monster. I hope to achieve my goal. Now only a barely noticeable ray of light is leading me on the trail. People warned me about the seriousness of what was happening, but I didn’t believe anyone. Now I curse my stubbornness, blindness, self-confidence, but it’s too late. I am in a severe nervous breakdown and cannot talk coherently about what happened. My thoughts are confused. As soon as I come to my senses, I’m going to devote myself entirely to investigating this terrible atrocity. I don’t know where my investigation will lead. If I am alive, then in the fall, if you allow me, I will visit you and tell you about what I can’t trust now, talking on the phone.

– — Goodbye. Pray for me, dear brother.

So ended this strange conversation. Although I had never seen Anna, but I felt so sorry for her that my soul and heart were torn by sadness and grief, my eyes were overflowing with tears.

The sun had already completely disappeared below the horizon, twilight was coming. A quiet evening came. Sitting by the lake, we tried to unravel the meaning of my uncle’s phrases. We began to gather, after walking about a few hundred meters, we came out on the road leading to our dacha. We headed for the house. The moon was shining brightly, which illuminated our path.

The path we had just walked along opened up in front of us. Majestic trees grew on our left side, and a ruined water tower towered on our right. In the distance there was a steep hill overgrown with trees and shrubs; ivy-covered pillars could be seen in the shade.

In the lowlands, fog was creeping over the grass and the lake, hiding the distance. The dim reflections of the moonlight glittered in the lake. The evening breathed silence and peace. Moonlight always fills it with some kind of mystery and magic. I was sad, and nature seemed to be sad with me, but still nothing could disturb the calm grandeur of these enchanted distances.

My father and I were silent, admiring the magic of these picturesque places, admiring the beauty of the landscape and the magical moonlight.

The full moon has the most unexpected effects on a person. They manifest themselves in dreams; and some people, especially nervous and impulsive, may fall into sleepwalking or even insanity. In some magical way, the moon is physically connected to life. And dreams on a full moon have a special, and sometimes even, explicit meaning that warns a person, predicts his future, scares him, inspires new actions and deeds. For example, when my grandmother died, before her death I had a dream: a tall, slender woman in a long white dress, smiling, approached me, as if hovering above the floor. And as soon as she got very close to me, abruptly stretched out her hands to my neck and began to strangle me, and her face became sinister and turned into a skull. I woke up in a cold sweat and for the first seconds I couldn’t breathe or utter a single word.

Tonight-the moon seemed formidable and magical. Looking back at the lake, I noticed how its surface shimmered with silver, as if invisible hands had lit candles and were waiting for guests from the other world.

I was in a mood when I didn’t want to talk about anything. Listening to the silence, I looked dreamily at the lake.

– Somehow sad at heart, – said the father and, after a pause, quoted Shakespeare:

Sadness, like a weight, oppresses my chest. Add your own – you will increase the oppression; With your longing – you will press me down harder.

And then, unfortunately, I don’t remember. But it seems to me that some kind of trouble is coming to us. And perhaps it has something to do with the ringing of my poor brother.

At that moment, the sound of a passing car was heard on the road, it was clear from the sounds that the car was rushing at great speed, such a sound, very unusual in our area, and even at this time of day.

Soon the car itself appeared. It was a huge black jeep, and even the windows were so black that it was impossible to see it on a white day, it was so black! This car was followed by a minibus, but just as gloomy.

The cars were very expensive and high-status, as my dad said, apparently they belonged to a high-ranking person. We, without taking our eyes off, looked at such an unusual sight. However, after a fraction of seconds, events took a threatening turn: when these cars almost approached us, the jeep began to turn to the right, then to the left, and my father and I panicked. The Jeep was rushing towards us, with the speed of a hurricane.

We were horrified by what was happening, and a woman’s scream could be heard from the window of the jeep. My father abruptly grabbed me in his arms, and then rushed to the side with me.

The finale of this scene came very quickly. On the way to the car, a huge poplar tree grew near the road, opposite it, on the other side of the road, there was a street lamp. Now the car was racing straight into the tree.

Olete lõpetanud tasuta lõigu lugemise. Kas soovite edasi lugeda?

Note. Novel

Selle raamatu lugejad loevad ka