My husband is a military man. In fact, those women who have not had the opportunity to face this have little idea what the life of an officer’s wife is.
It can only be understood by someone who, like me, had the opportunity to shove with her husband around the garrisons, sit without work and live, albeit in an officer room, but a hostel. Therefore, I can’t even tell you, as I was delighted when, two years ago, we were finally allocated our own apartment in one of the closed military camps.
However, it could be called an apartment with a big stretch, the total area was only 25 square meters. A tiny room, an even smaller kitchen, 2 square meters of the corridor — that’s all our wealth.
But it was his, separate.
I suspect that the garrison authorities, however, with no less joy, got rid of the flat that was on the balance sheet, but for a long time. Very much she was small, according to the norms she was not even one person, and as you know, lonely people in the army were not allowed flats.
They are given only to families with children.
Those wishing to move into such a room were not located for three years.
But our family really wanted to move from the hostel.
Less than a month after we had a housewarming party, as I noticed, our baby sleeps very badly at night: she often wakes up, cries, is afraid to stay in the room alone. It was very strange, because he used to sleep well.
And there was no such thing that he was afraid of something at night. Now, as a rule, he woke up at 2 in the morning and could not sleep until 4. Of course, we didn’t sleep with him either.
I could not understand what was happening.
And one night, I got up to him — he just burst into tears. And I hear, he tells me something strange … He complains about some uncle who is hiding under his bed.
Say, he grabs his hand in the dark and wants to drag him under the bed.
I did not even know what to answer the child. At first I thought it was normal children’s fears.
I tried to calm him down, began to ask what this uncle who was sitting under the bed looked like.
And instead of answering, he showed me in the direction of the refrigerator, which stood between us at the entrance to the room and the sofa on which we slept — there was nowhere else to put it.
So he shows a pen in this direction, and says that there is an aunt and uncle standing there, and they will take him away now.
At this point I became completely uncomfortable. I involuntarily looked where he showed me, and it really seemed to me that I felt the presence of strangers in the room.
Although, of course, I did not see anyone in this corner, and there could not be anyone there.
I even got goosebumps on my back. After a minute, this feeling disappeared, and I began to rock the baby again.
She hardly managed to calm him down and put him to bed.
She lay down on the sofa again — there was no husband that night, he was on duty. I turned on the nightlight, because I myself was scared. Tossing and turning.
But she could not sleep until morning. My husband came back, I fed him breakfast and put him to bed.
And she didn’t talk about what happened at night. He was tired, he didn’t want to be bothered with unnecessary worries, and, frankly, didn’t want him to think that my head wasn’t all right.
Instead, I decided to better ask the child about what he sees at night.
Not that I took seriously his visions, but I decided that if we talk, it would help him understand his fears, get rid of them, and I, too, would not have to be scared anymore.
Therefore, I began to ask him leading questions, trying to act as carefully as possible so as not to injure the child’s psyche.
And that’s what I learned. It turns out that at night an unfamiliar woman and man appeared in our apartment.
They came out from the side of the bathroom (there is a big mirror hanging on the door). Then they came to the refrigerator, began to follow him and started calling Pavlik to go somewhere with them.
Of course, he refused. Then the man dived under the children’s bed and began to grab the child by the arms and legs, trying to pull him out.
At that moment, a terrible old woman joined the woman (Pavlik said that it was Baba Yaga), but only she silently watched everything and did nothing.
Of course, children’s imagination is very strong. But so much so … For some reason, I believed that he really saw them.
Perhaps, the feeling that I myself experienced at night played a role in this.
In general, I decided to call my mother and consult her. She remembered that she has a friend who predicts the future on maps and generally has some kind of extrasensory talents.
I talked to my mother and asked her to consult with Aunt Natasha — maybe she will tell you something. I was even afraid to think that I would have to go through another similar night.
A couple of hours later my mother called me back and said that, according to Aunt Natasha, the whole problem lay in the mirror that hung on the door of our bathroom. A friend recommended removing it from there only in such a way as not to break.
And in any case it does not look at it. The mirror had to be taken out in the trash, and it is better if it is not near the house, but far away.
Aunt Natasha said that the mirror is a portal connecting our world with the world of the dead. In this apartment the husband and his wife used to live. The man served in the same part, and his wife was a doctor at a local hospital.
Some time ago they were transferred to another part, there they got into a car accident and both died.
Through the mirror they got used to returning to this apartment as if they were going home. They really wanted to take Pavlik to him — he very much resembles the appearance of their own son, whose fate is unknown to them so far — they cannot find him.
As for the grandmother, she came to the apartment on that night quite by accident, for the company, she has no relation to this family and the events taking place.
When my husband woke up, I immediately demanded that he remove the mirror from the door in the bathroom and take it to the farthest trash. He was surprised at my mood — and it was very decisive — so he didn’t ask too many questions.
When he returned, of course, I told him a story that my mom learned. Just in case, we went to the neighbors who had long lived in this house and asked them about the family who lived in the apartment before us.
Indeed, everything coincided.
By the way, we learned from them the fact that the boy, the son of this family, survived in a car accident and is now in an orphanage.
Apparently, they have not yet found him.
Or they simply do not have access to it — a mirror through which they can see it.