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It happened in 1993. I lived then in the Primorsky Territory in the city of Artyom. He often went hunting to his friend in the village of Yasnoe (Primortsy know him well).

I'll call my friend Alexander. His work was connected with the forest, so in the forest he is not an uninvited guest, but a welcome friend. The case happened in Pashkeevskaya Pad. These places are very familiar to me.

Arriving to visit Alexander, I did not find him, but there was a note "Come to winter." The winter hut was built by Alexander on the bank of the stream. If you walk by, you won't see it. It was done so because there are still trashy people among the hunters. They will come, get drunk, break everything, and even burn down the hut. So you have to hide winter huts so that they do not catch the eye of another's eye.

This is an introduction. Now the story itself.

It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon, maybe more. The road is familiar. I read the note, I threw my backpack and went. I had a dog with me at the time. A wonderful male, had a lot of diplomas in wild boar, deer, bear. Animal dog in general. He paid no attention to the fur. Yes, she was unnecessary to me.

All hunters, let's face it, are a bit of poachers. The government is helping us with this. But the poacher is different from the poacher. If you shot a roe deer or a wild boar and left with it, this is normal, but when they take one license, and click out several dozen, taking advantage of the weakness of the work of rangers or their blessing, and this is not uncommon), these are poachers.

In general, I moved to the winter hut. How it happened, I don’t know, but the road traveled more than a dozen times twisted me. The evening was on the way. I did not look for a way out at dusk, but decided to spend the night by the fire. In September, Primorye is still warm even at night.

Gathered deadwood, lit a fire. I chose a place near a littered cedar. And what? The eversion is powerful and the back is covered, and the fire is in front. The dog is nearby and the gun. What crazy beast will turn up? And the dog will warn you in advance. I warmed the tea in a pot, since the stream was not far away. Sliced ​​bread, sausages. I had a bite. I think I need to sleep.

Only at night in the forest what kind of dream is it? Yes, visibility. Maybe some sort of pro hunters will laugh. But when you are 2-3 people, sleep is serene and strong. But when you are alone, even though there is a dog and a gun, you won’t fall asleep much. So, drowsiness with falling asleep. You involuntarily listen to every rustle of the night forest.

In general, we had dinner with the dog. He curled up to my right, and I began to doze off. Suddenly I hear the rustling of leaves, and not as during the course of an animal, but as a man walks. Hunters know the steps are distinguishable and very. And now grandfather comes out to the fire. Tall, black or dark green cloak to the toes almost (did not look closely). I was struck by his beard, even in the light of the fire it was clear that it was white as snow and long, almost shoulder-length hair. He didn't have a hat on.

Any person in the forest is happy at night, and I was delighted, but I didn’t think where a person came from at night, but without a gun. But he got up and invited him to the fire. There was still half the tea in the pot. There was sausage, bread. I have a spare plastic mug and a spoon in my backpack (I always carry it with me just in case. Not heavy, but always useful). Sit down, I say, grandfather. Have a cup of tea. Sausages, bread.

Grandfather sat down on a small valezhinka which was to the left of me. She fell along with the cedar. Rather, falling, he twisted and its roots. Thank you, he says. But I can’t stand your food, but I’ll drink tea and thank you for the bread. I poured him some more hot tea (the kettle stood near the fire and did not cool down). He gave me bread and sugar. Grandfather did not put sugar in a mug, he ate it as a bite, noisily sipping tea and biting off pieces of bread from a slice.

I ask him: Why are you wandering around at night? He: Yes, I live nearby and I noticed you and your friend here more than once. You are a visitor, and he is a frequent visitor to me. This whole conversation didn't bother me at all. Neither his manner of speaking, nor the fact that he knows us and lives somewhere nearby. Then I was already thinking - but my dog ​​​​sleeps and does not lead with his ear. Like there is no one.

So the grandfather drank some tea and said: Well, I'll go. I told him: So darkness, stay by the fire, and it will dawn and you will go. He: It's for you to wait for the dawn, and I know every bush here. All paths are well-trodden. You are that guy. Go to sleep. Gain strength, but tomorrow morning you will go out onto the path and quickly come to the hut. Go into the hollow from the fall to the left, your friend knows it. You go upstairs, and he will rustle through the bushes from below, here you will shoot a couple of roe deer. After all, you don't need much. You don't seem to be sloppy.

I got up and went. I don't remember how I fell asleep. Yes, he fell asleep as if at home in a bed behind brick walls. Woke up in the morning. Cheerful, sleepy. The dog wags its tail. I was struck only by the fact that the mug from which grandfather drank was standing on dead wood and covered with a piece of birch bark. And the tea in it is hot and next to it on another strip of bark lies a crust of bread. Not mine, urban, white, but from a black loaf and sprinkled with salt.

The main thing is that the tea could not be hot, the fire was small. Burned out until the morning. Yes, and in a pot of tea on the bottom and cooled down. For some reason, I began to analyze all this later, and then I drank tea, ate bread, and we went with the dog, and immediately went onto the trail. We seem to be near it and spent the night.

Came to winter. At first, from the threshold, he did not begin to talk about his grandfather. I do not know why. Immediately Alexander said: Let's go for the roe deer. Near here. He: Where do they come from. Here they never were. Well, I persuaded him. And not he, but I led him to the hollow, as if I knew this place very well.

Come up. As my grandfather said, I told Alexander. Come on, I'm here (I don't know why exactly from this place), I'll get up, after 20 minutes you go obliquely. Hunters know that the beast always runs uphill. So they did. I got up. I hear the hoof beat is audible. 3 roe deer jump out. Male and 2 females. So I took the male, and after a couple of minutes I heard Alexander's shot.

He came up to me soon and said: Well, what? I told him: There the stag lies. He: And I took one, the rest fled. In general, we skinned the animals. The meat was chopped. They took it to the winter quarters. Alexander put it in an earthen niche dug out by him (there all summer is like a glacier). We decided to get out to the house in the morning, otherwise the meat would be lost. Of course, in the evening we cooked a full pan of fresh meat.

After dinner, I told him about that night. Alexander laughed at first: You dreamed. I may have had a dream, but I don’t suffer from sleepwalking so that at night I can look for dried wood and warm tea until morning. And there were no birches near the place where I slept. Then Alexander began to interrogate me with details. Where did you sleep, how and what happened. He asked me about the place where the roe deer were caught. But he does not remember where the cedar littered near the path lies. No, he says, there is a fallen cedar.

I told him: I'll show you tomorrow. Pathfinder. You don't know your place. We woke up in the morning, packed up and left. We walked along the path, but the truth is there is no cedar. And I can't find the place. In general, I had to walk along the path back and forth, there is no place to spend the night and that's it. Delusion.

In general, we came to the village. Alexander folded the meat into the glacier and said: You sit down, I'll hit the road here to one person. We'll talk if he's at home. I sat down, lit a cigarette, stretched out my legs - they were all the same for a day. Alexander is coming, and with him an old man of such a homeless appearance is spanking. They came up, the old man begged me for a cigarette and began to ask what, how and when I saw and heard.

I repeated to him everything that I had told Alexander yesterday. The old man says: Lucky for you. You met the old forest man. I told him: What is luck? He: So not everyone leaves the forest after such meetings, and even with prey. You looked like you can see him. He is a tough old man. It won't help everyone. Sometimes it will lead to such wilds that either the person has disappeared altogether or will come out no one knows where. You will meet him again. Exactly.

We chatted about nothing else. Alexander dragged the hind leg from the roe deer to the old man wrapped in polyethylene, and with that the old man left.

I say to Alexander: What kind of bum? Him: Be careful. Don't look at people by their appearance. This is our local hunter. Takes him hunting. He, they say, also caught tigers with the team. And yes, she does herbs. Everyone goes to him for advice. Well, he drinks, so don't be stupid. Yes, for company. Mind never loses.

Here is a story that happened to me in one of the corners of South Primorye. But believe me or not, your right. I do not insist. He told me what happened and how. I still don’t know when I will meet the old forester again? And I'm not looking for a meeting with him specifically. How will it work.

02/12/2010 | Hunters at rest (scary stories)

We continue to acquaint readers with the work of Yevgeny Borodovitsyn, without resorting to proofreading the material. People have the right to express their opinion, even if it does not coincide with others. Moreover, it is even interesting. Naturally, the author's philological delights must be treated with the full understanding that they do not at all coincide with scientific facts. But everyone is trying to the best of their ability. I remember there are cases in history when Lomonosov noticed that a German academician produced the Russian "Kholmogory" from the German "Halm ger", and the Caucasian Alans produced Russia from "Ruskolan", that is, from the Alans. Brim produced "Rus" from the Varangian "ruotsu", that is, "team", and entomologists ... from the river Ros ... In a word, "horseradish, a broom and a bucket", so go wild. So, Eugene also offers us a version of the Egyptian-Mordovian roots along the way. Not new. But it's funny. It turns out that we are all Mordovians. Ukrainians will not agree with this, I believe. They also have their own version. In a nutshell: Hunting Tales, Part 4.

Before proceeding to the next story, historical information is needed, without which the text itself will be completely incomprehensible to most readers. I state everything through the lips of the heroes with my personal comments. The narrative should be taken as another "tale", and the details can be found on the Internet at the appropriate links. Forgive me historians and philologists ...

The word Ramon (Ramen, see Wikipedia) comes from the Erzya language (the state language of Mordovia, Finno-Ugric family of languages) and is translated as "I am Ra". A common name for villages and villages in the forest zone of the European part of Russia.

The Erzya tribes spread eastward through the Slavic lands to the territory of Hungary and Scandinavia. Worshiped the God Ra. Hence the name of Russia itself. Here I am! Erzya is older than Kievan Rus.

The battle cry of the Russians "u-ra" came to us from the Erzya language. Mordva walked wide!

Ramon is located 40 km north of Voronezh. The name of the regional center does not come from the generally recognized, mechanical, combination of the words raven and hedgehog, but from the word voronzhets (divination).

The region is a well-known world center of magic and quackery. The largest anomalous zone. I know firsthand - my paternal grandmother comes from Pchelniki, and all relatives now live in Stupino (not to be confused with the city of the same name). Both settlements are located nearby, five versts from Ramon. Today these are villages, and earlier there were churches, so they were once villages.

Huntsman Trifon (from patron)

Here the doctor was already talking about the huntsman Yegorych. I would like to tell you another, downright mystical story, which is very difficult to believe.

Once I was visiting my distant relative Uncle Tryphon. He lived in Pchelniki. Around the forest. The villagers did not have their own land, and from time immemorial they were fed by forests and apiaries. Hence the name. His house stood at the very edge of the forest, the garden turned into dense thickets of thorns. Not a house, but vegetables, berries and honey in one "bottle". Yes, his own cow, yes, a domestic bird, and the gifts of the forest: wild apples and pears, blackberries, strawberries, stone berries, blackberries, blackthorn. Mushrooms, upland and field birds, bunnies, wild boars and moose. There was always food and drink on the table. Not a cellar, but a self-assembled tablecloth! Beaver coat and boots. Riding horse.

He lived with Aunt Dusya together - the Lord did not give them children, they always avoided people for some reason, and therefore they always accepted me as their own son, they rejoiced at my every visit.

Uncle Trisha worked as a huntsman in a local nature reserve. And then we somehow got into a conversation about raids on his "domains" by aligarhs and bosses of all stripes. “Yes, there was trouble with this,” the huntsman admitted.

Here, one secretary of the district committee of the party with Komsomol members often visited me at one time. Drinking and debauchery. And where will you go - the bosses ... Yes, it would be okay if only this! They got into the habit of shooting animals at the feeding bases, where I put rock salt on them and fed them in the hungry time in winter, kept records. From the observation tower they got into the habit of shooting little animals, almost point-blank! And they knew me personally, trusted me, the wolves did not touch me. I had to - I spent the night with them in a den next to the lair, with one ax in my belt.

And the legend about the Ramon Castle helped me, told it to the “guests”, invited me to visit the monument to the wolf in the forest at night. They are atheists, they don't believe in devils. Agree immediately! We decided to go.

In the rainy summer of 1879, Evgenia Maksimilianovna arrived in the small town of Ramon, on her father's side - the Duchess of Leuchtenberg, on her mother's side - the Grand Duchess Romanova (niece of Alexander II from her sister Maria Nikolaevna), on her husband's side - the Princess of Oldenburg. She accepted the wedding gift of her uncle, Emperor Alexander II.

In four years, a two-story castle in the Old English style was erected. A fountain sparkled in front of him, and in the backyard, in front of a stepped descent to the river, a copper statue of a fabulous fish was erected, from whose mouth water flowed.

The princess was terribly fond of hunting. All her free time she rode horseback through the surrounding forests and dales. There, you see, she met a young beautiful werewolf, of which there are many around. And an inhuman love flared up between them, and passion took possession of both.

Everything would have continued, but the princess's husband suspected something was wrong, sent faithful people. Tracked down the sorcerer and the princess. He was killed with an aspen stake and his body was burned. The sorcerer cursed before his death both the forest, where he found his death, and the castle. And the princess from that time on lived alone until she was very old. And in memory of her love, she ordered to erect a monument to the wolf at the place of death of her beloved.

The villagers do not go there - this place is very difficult, with strong dark energy. And everything happens there on a full moon. People are afraid. And only lovers feel wonderful here day and night. Only they discover here the beauty of this truly fabulous place. Birds sing to them and the trills of nightingales are dedicated at night. This curse of the sorcerer did not touch them.

Run (from Tryphon)

The next day, he persuaded the local guys, they took their mongrels with them, tied their muzzles - so as not to yelp inadvertently, and hid around the appointed place at the appointed time. I'm at the head. club begged for rent from the theatrical equipment false fangs for teeth, tried them on in front of the mirror - he himself was trembling with fear!

They came to the place, unfolded the fire, laid out a drink, a bite, a drink. Komsomol members began to look closely at the nearest bushes in search of a bed of love in nature. And I gave the signal to the accomplices.

The guests saw a flicker of the green eyes of tied mutts glowing in the light of the fire and heard the directly inhuman howl of their owners. "Well, let's see who this brought us for dinner," growled one of them in a bass voice, using an empty rusty bucket instead of a loudspeaker. And the ghouls, for whom the company, already drunk, certainly took them, from all sides began to approach the fire with their arms outstretched forward, with a slow pace, as in a nightmare. The revelers rushed towards me out of fear. And here I am in fangs and with a mysterious Mona Lisa smile on my face ...

I actually feel sorry for them, even. How they rushed! To my hut. Nobody closed their eyes until morning, and early on they were gone! And so he discouraged everyone little by little, the huntsman finished his story.

Castle (from Dumovets)

Sorry to interrupt, but I also heard about the Ramon castle "in my line." An architectural monument of federal significance. Now it is under restoration. They've been restoring it for 30 years. The administration and the regional Duma are afraid to resolve this issue. Whoever tries, a curse immediately begins to act on him and his loved ones. Restorers and builders scatter in a week! That is why the authorities "sleep and see" - who would shake him off! They even announced a competition for long-term lease, but they still won’t attach it. There are no hunters!

Recognized psychics and physicists have proven that the castle is pierced by energy fountains that mercilessly affect the psyche of normal people. It is also suspected that this is a portal to access other dimensions. No wonder the coat of arms of Ramoni has a haunted castle…

Excursion (from the doctor)

But I was in the Ramon castle! Specialists from Germany came to us to install new equipment. And they had a mandatory visit to the palace in their plan - the Germans honor their history. So I was sent with them.

Needless to say, this trip left a lasting impression on me. The castle stands on a high hill overlooking the blue ribbon of the Voronezh River, the dark forest of the reserve, the sugar factory converted by the Princess of Oldenburg into a candy factory, whose products were well known in Europe, and the old pier built by Peter I when the Russian Black Sea Fleet was founded. Empire (at the end of the 17th and beginning of the 18th centuries there was a shipyard here). Here, by the way, the famous polar navigator V. Bering received under his command the warship "Taimolar" in 1711. They say that Y. Longo was ordained a sorcerer here, the inventor of the three-ruler S. Mosin, the poet and philosopher of the Pushkin era D. Venevitinov and many other famous people in Russia and abroad come from here.

One of the towers of the entrance gate is decorated with chimes of the Swiss company Winter. The castle itself is built of red brick, with walls a meter thick, and finished with white brick. The author of the project is unknown.

The secrets of water supply to the fountain, heating systems and acoustics have not yet been solved by modern engineers and scientists! A truly unsymmetrical, haunted English-style castle. Mice and rats do not live there, flies die. Do not lure a cat or dog there with any food! Photo and video equipment fails. Nightmare place...

Fairy tale (from a patron)

Yeah... Well, guys, it was all a saying, now listen to the fairy tale itself - the story that happened to me in those places. And believe it or not.

I listened to Uncle Tryphon and laughed at the unlucky atheists. "What's so funny about that," he suddenly said, and exchanged glances with Aunt Dusya, who was sitting near the stove and attentively listening to our every word. And it seemed to me that for a moment both of their fangs flashed. I did not attach any importance to this then, it seemed, they say. And in vain ...

“You are all heroes, but when it comes down to it, you drape without looking back from fear. Well, it's a full moon today. As ordered, - he narrowed his eyes, - let's go, let's go, it's not far at all here. And he began to gather, without waiting for my consent. I had no choice but to follow his example, although an inner voice just screamed, warning against the danger of this undertaking.

What happened next was like a nightmare. When we arrived, we were immediately surrounded by a pack of wolves. One hefty such beast, growling, went at me, but then an old she-wolf came out and hit the ground. Look, this is Aunt Dusya herself! "You can't touch him," she smiled. He is our family-tribe." Everyone here took on human form. A young girl, a hand-written beauty, came up to me, took my hand and led me along. Nobody paid any attention to us. They behaved like they were at an ordinary gathering in the village.

She led me to the fire, as if to Ivan Kupala, jumped over the fire, beckoning me to her. I jumped after, landed already on all fours in the guise of a wolf - this is the ritual of turning the “newcomer”, for some reason I immediately guessed. Unusual feelings came over me. And the most important of them is an unearthly passion for the forest beauty.

I won’t describe how all night long we loved each other in both human and wolf form, hunted hares, tore them apart with fangs and quenched our hunger, greedily grabbing warm pieces of meat, swallowing hot blood that had not yet been baked. The forest far carried the roar and howls of a young she-wolf enraged by the caresses of a male, the heart-rending moans and cries of a young girl at the peak of indefatigable passion ...

In the morning she led me to the huntsman's hut. Kissed. “I will wait for you in our dimension for exactly 5 human years,” she said goodbye and disappeared, disappeared into the thickets.

The next day I woke up when the owners were already busy with the housework. The aroma of fresh apple pies wafted through the hut. This is what it looks like! And I was not surprised even at the sight of gore on my lips and cheeks, even then my gums often bled. Shoulders and back were scratched. Never mind, I whistled. “Well, you’re healthy to sleep,” Uncle Tryfon, who entered the hut, laughed, “he switched off right at the table, they barely dragged you to bed.” Well, it was like a dream, and all doubts finally left me. It's all liqueurs and tinctures to blame. You need to drink less, you need to drink less, - as always in such cases, I recited aloud and laughed out loud!

It was too early to laugh. Since then, in a dream, my beautiful girl began to appear to me in a full moon, calling to her. And one day she showed up at the wrong time! She fell on her knees: the hunters caught her girl, asked to be rescued. I went and found out. Found a wolf cub. When he saw me, he jumped right into my arms! The hunters-friends marveled, but they gave away the puppy. I took him to Uncle Tryphon, he told me not to worry, he promised to fix it. And the girl appeared then for the last time, gave me this ring on her little finger. Punished: "What a misfortune will happen, take off the ring and put it on the other hand."

With these words, the philanthropist removed from his hand an amazingly beautiful ring made of a metal unknown to jewelers with an emerald in the shape of a wolf's eye, and showed it to his friends. “The ring was presented in a dream, and I have been wearing it for five years now,” he smiled. A full moon appeared, emerging from the clouds, and with it five wolves sitting some five meters from the fire. The doctor and the Dumovets fell into a stupor, lay down by the fire, and fell asleep.

One of the wolves turned into a beautiful woman who approached the patron and bowed. “Come with me to my world, for the last time I ask you,” she moaned with a prayer in her voice. There life flows in another dimension, there is eternal youth, there is my love, there travel to other worlds awaits you. There is no place for evil. What is this sinful earth to you?

The sponsor was silent. Then she bowed low, to the very ground, to him: “Farewell,” she said with tears in her eyes, “turned around and left into the early morning night.” The wolves also turned into two girls and two guys, bowed silently and left after their mother. One lingered, approached the patron: “Thank you, dad, for saving me from the hunters then, don’t try to find mom. There you will find a deadly duel with her new life partner. And you can’t defeat a werewolf with superhuman strength, and the weapon is powerless there, and there will be no one to help you. With these words, she removed the cherished ring from the finger of the patron, kissed him on the lips and left after the rest of her relatives.

The philanthropist wept until morning. He only now realized that he had lost a family, the existence of which he did not even suspect. There was no way back. He was waiting for the earthly path, which he himself chose for himself. Dreamlike memories awaited him.

Evgeny Borodovitsyn (Baybeg)

The recreation center, by the way, was located in the depths of the forest, and within a radius of 8-10 kilometers civilization was no longer observed, but there were trees, a lake with clear water, cozy wooden rooms, a Russian bath, and a lot of vodka and a variety of snacks - lepota, one In a word, the Russian people know how to have a cultural rest. But this has nothing to do with this story, but the fact that by midnight, while drinking alcoholic beverages, the whole company got into it, except for me and a man of about 30 years old that I didn’t know well, will be the subject of my story. I only knew about him that his name was Cyril, he is an avid hunter and ... And that's it, I saw him only a couple of times before and, to be honest, I was not sure with whom he came. Kirill had been sitting on the pier for more than an hour, periodically lighting a cigarette, carefully shaking off the ashes and disposing of the cigarette butts in a beer bottle, looking thoughtfully at the lake, in which the full moon was reflected. There was nothing much to do, I didn’t feel like sleeping, and I drank a little. Taking a bottle of vodka and some snacks, I went to Kirill. The conversation started somehow immediately, about nothing, in a word, the acquaintance was successful. I was only embarrassed by the fact that Kirill, as it seemed to me then, did not take alcohol at all, as if he drank water, but this is so, only my observations, especially since the hunter’s experience, which turned out during the conversation, is very rich. Lighting a cigarette, I looked at the moon and just like that, to keep the conversation going, I said something like:

- Beautiful. It's quiet here, it's quiet.

Cyril's answer surprised me, especially since it did not really fit with what I said.

- She is unkind, however, as always, there is nothing beautiful in her. And in your place, I would not be calm where there is such a moon.

Cyril said, as it seemed to me, almost a whisper.

- And what's wrong with it, why should you worry? I inquired, in response to hearing a story that still haunts me.

- In the 60s of the last century, to the northeast of here, about 250-300 kilometers in the N. region, there was the village of Komarovka, there were about 5 residential buildings, the locals were only old people. In that village, hunters, before going into the deep taiga, constantly gathered, made plans, consulted maps, and stocked up with food. About 15 kilometers, if deep into the taiga, to the north, the house was a hunting house, where they made the next parking lot, and four hardened men went to this house from Komarovka, not for the purpose of hunting, but to patch up the house itself, for the season when the bump goes, prepare , yes, drink far from home, relax your soul, in a word, for a couple of days.

Kirill paused, lit a cigarette and poured vodka into glasses.

- So what? What's with the moon? I asked skeptically.

After drinking, my interlocutor continued:

- They left for a couple of days, but they only found them two weeks later in that house ... Torn to pieces, in the literal sense of the word. The house was of good quality, the window was intact, and no animal would poke its head in there, and the worst thing is that the door was locked from the outside. They were found by the same hunters, whom the relatives of the dead put on their ears when they did not return home for two weeks. The KGB Chekists quickly took the case from the local cops, and so all the facts were not made public. The facts were interesting...

Kirill again poured vodka and lit a cigarette, after drinking, took a deep puff and continued:

- The hunters who found them said that there were “wolf” wounds on them, characteristic bites and torn flesh, said that it was a wolf. But how could four healthy, strong, armed men allow this to happen?

I interrupted the interlocutor:

- Drunk to death?

Cyril looked into my eyes and smiled, after which he continued:

- Not. There were still claw marks, and experienced hunters could not identify an animal that could inflict such lacerations with its paws. And wolves can’t bully anyone with their paws at all, there were no bears and wolverines in those parts. And the door, like his mother, the door closed? Herself? But the marks were from wolf paws, hefty wolf paws, and there was a fifth finger, on your hand it is called the thumb. Do you know an animal that has a thumb, not to mention all kinds of primates? Do you know the taiga animal, Siberian? I know of only one such beast - a man.

Here I already poured and, having drunk, asked a question:

"So who was it?"

Looking at the full moon, Kirill began to speak:

- It was then that everyone remembered the old tales from the old people of the village of Komarovka, as back in the days of Stalin's rap
A peasant showed up in those parts, asking all the locals about the surrounding villages, and how to go deeper into the taiga. He said, they say, a geologist or a cartographer, now no one remembers, and then he went into the taiga, but he never came out of there. He was strange, the old people said, he smelled of cold and something inhuman, something of an animal. And it was a matter of the hunters in the house in those parts, people disappeared, it’s just that no one found them and will not find them, and whoever knew about this had already died long ago. Well, okay, it's an old thing. Such cases have happened more than once, but in different regions, but little truth reaches us. I won’t say anything more, I went to sleep, and you remember - there is nothing good in the moon, remember and be careful.

Wishing Kirill good night, I was left alone on the pier with my thoughts, and to this day I sometimes think about his story. Werewolf?

Having started collecting information on this topic, I learned a lot of different things, from outright nonsense to quite reasonable arguments. Kirill categorically refused to give the exact coordinates of Komarovka, but nevertheless I confirmed the fact of the existence in those parts of a village, or rather villages, about 4, with that name. It was possible to learn something about that case, but this is again at the level of legends. In a word, I abandoned this business. If any of the readers of this site has such information, or has come across something similar, write in a personal, if, of course, there is a desire.

What I want to talk about happened a long time ago, probably in the year 89-90. My father has always been an avid hunter. Every year in late autumn, he and a friend took a vacation and went to the forest for two weeks. We usually go to the same place. This is an abandoned village, somewhere in the forests of the Novgorod region. Almost all of the houses there were destroyed a long time ago, only one remained, and even then, due to the hunters constantly stopping there. The forests in those places are very deaf, far kilometers to the nearest civilization.

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 together quickly. They left their junk in the car, put the dogs in and drove off. They arrived at the place already closer to the 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 got to know each other. It turned out that these men also come there every year. Well, they collected it on the table there, they began to drink for the meeting - everything was as it should be. Our fathers didn’t pour us a lot, Yegor and I listened more to hunting tales with our mouths open. But they themselves tried, so much so that in the morning there could be no talk of any hunting. All early in the morning began to "treat".

Egor and I were bored just sitting like that. We already shot at cans and bottles, climbed the whole attic and basement. Nothing, of course, was found: everything that is possible has 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 mushrooms, dry them on the stove and bring them to our mothers, so we moved there. But when we arrived, we were severely disappointed. The grove was the remains of an ancient cemetery. It seems that the inhabitants of our zabrokha found their last refuge here.

The graves were all ancient, long since razed to the ground, the crosses had crumbled, but in some places the inscriptions could be read. Yegor and I walked and neighed like horses, reading the names. We wandered for a long time, and suddenly, quite unexpectedly, we stumbled upon a cross. Such a good, solid wooden cross, like the Old Believer with a "roof". Straight and even, as if set 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 was scared, but at school we were taught then like this: there is no God and all such coincidences mean nothing. Prejudice is everything. We only complained then that this guy died quite young and right on his birthday - 35 years old. Laugh and forget.

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 high school, then college, started working, got married. We went hunting every year, repaired our dilapidated house as best we could, lived in it for weeks, but we didn’t go to the cemetery anymore and didn’t start any conversations about that incident.

And a few years ago it so happened that I went to work in the United States. I lived there for several years, and when I arrived, I found out the sad news: my childhood friend, Yegor Gorshkov, died. At first I didn’t even understand what had happened, just like a butt on the head ... Only at the cemetery they explained the situation to me.

Egor celebrated his anniversary - 35 years. Everyone was drunk and went to the balcony to smoke. Yegor fell from the 8th floor. Death was instant. What really happened there, I was not interested, embarrassing ...

I looked at the cross. Solid, beautiful, wooden... And on it is the inscription: “Egor Nikolaevich Gorshkov. May 19, 1972 - May 19, 2007.

So don't believe in fate after that! What was it then in the forest? Prediction? Some kind of 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.

Once, when I went on vacation, a friend invited me to go hunting. I agreed, because he loved to hunt and fish, because there was still a river there. We agreed to meet in the village at the mother of a friend. I packed my things and came to the village (I have a motorcycle with a sidecar). I caught a friend cleaning a gun. He sipped from a forty-degree bottle and sang a simple tune. Seeing me, he waved his hand and said that some grandmother had met him and advised him not to go hunting.
- Don't, my dear, - he says, - you chose the wrong time.
We laughed, got our gear and hit the road.
It took about five hours before we hit the trail of a large deer. A friend (Sasha) rode his motorcycle in one direction, and I went in the other (surrounded). And after a while, I lost sight of both the moto friend and the driven deer. Drove a little more, slowed down slightly and suddenly stalled. The headlight went out, darkness remained. I listened. The roar of Pissani's engine was not heard. Heck!
I made at least fifteen attempts to start the equipment and all to no avail. Strange, the tank is full, no other damage was found. And then there was a groan, creaking like this, with an aspiration. I raised my head. Nothing but trees around. Yes, and still squelched underfoot: drove to the outskirts of the swamp.
The groan was repeated, now not far, about thirty meters away. It could not be a sleigh by definition.
And then I saw a faintly glowing silhouette. Judging by the outlines, it was a girl.
I was scared to death. The silhouette was getting closer. The ghost did not move its legs, it just floated on me through the air ...
Gun…
Pulling the trigger…
It didn't work out...
Mmm, what's the matter?!
Forgot to call!
Raised…
Aimed…
By that time, the ghost had reduced the distance to 10 m...
Shot. Doublet.
The silhouette stopped and... Quickly went underground.
At the same second, the motorcycle roared with the engine and the lit headlight grabbed a good half of the large swamp.
And I? I slammed on the fifth point, the gun fell to my knees.
I sat there for ten minutes, maybe more. Got up, raised the gun, reloaded. While reloading, the red cylinders of charges strove to fall out of his trembling hands. But nothing, he did it. I got on a motorcycle and went to look for Sanka. Searched until the morning. In the morning I arrived at the village, managing to slap a small boar along the way. In the village of Sanya, drunk as a dead sleep, he slept in his motorcycle, a shot deer was lying in a carriage, and an unloaded gun was sticking out from there.
He made decisions on a drunken head. So I decided that I would get to the house myself and there was no need to look for me.
I woke him up. Sanya looked at me numbly and said:
“You have no idea what I saw while hunting drunk yesterday!”
- What?
- Estimate, food, food, I'm leading a deer. Well brought, aimed, shot down. Stopped and started packing. And then some ghostly girl comes at me! Well, then I got scared and with two guns at her! She disappeared.
“Hmm,” I said, lighting a cigarette. - Only you, dude, it did not seem. I slapped that girl too. Have you got a moth?
- By the way, yes! Right before she shows up! And as soon as he fired, my Harley immediately turned on ...
I found a grandmother who warned Sanya about this danger. She said that a lot of people died in that swamp, and it was on the day when they begin to roam the forest in the form of ghosts that we started hunting.
- You, my dear, - he says - are terribly lucky, the ghosts of enti could even break!
After that, I fell out of love with hunting, sold the gun and got into fishing ...