How sometimes you want to become a part of something great, unusual. You will soon be saturated with a quiet life, because you are exceptional, and others do not notice talents in you. Here begins a long and exciting search for yourself and your true place. You reject old authorities, you are ready to find new ones in the first person you meet, and it’s good if you meet a worthy example to follow. Once upon a time I was fond of classic English and American horror films from the series “The Crying Well” or the writings of Lovecraft. I especially liked the idea that anyone can open doors to otherworldly worlds, but only the strong in spirit can keep their sanity and blah-blah-blah. Oh, how it attracted.
Fortunately, I did not go further than reading books, my natural instinct of self-preservation worked. The same cannot be said about some of my comrades of that time. Time passed, I stopped dreaming of meeting the unknown. However, the unknown, apparently, was looking for a meeting with me… Some of the events I witnessed defied logical explanation and could easily have driven me to madness… Take, for example, a meeting with a demon-possessed woman. You will say, “It happens. They have already been written about / filmed the program / there was a cool video on YouTube.” And you will be right, but only partially… Imagine. Autumn evening. The sky is frowning in anticipation of a cool rain. The city blooms with night lights. The usual “yellow” minibus. Inside, despite all the squalor of the salon, it is much more cozy than on the street. Passing stops along the route. There are five passengers with me. At the same time, one is sitting next to the driver, the others randomly took their seats. The radio gurgles muted, some kind of pop frequency. At the next stop, two more people get into the minibus. I look at them, a reflex is triggered, but I don’t care who comes in now… And the nightmare begins.
They were very strange women, judging by the conversation, mother and daughter. It sounds silly and somehow wild, but there was little feminine in them. Even the clothes gave the opposite impression. There were other oddities in appearance. The eldest was thin and looked exhausted, she looked 60 years old, although her voice was very young. The one who was younger looked about 40 years old, very large, with reddish spots on her face. Who do you think was the daughter and who was the mother? That’s right… the “old daughter” kept holding her overly frisky mother by the elbow all the time. The minibus had long since left the stop, and these two could not sit down in any way. Because every time they chose an empty seat, they moved. It was even funny at first. But when mordataya, as I called a strange woman with spots on her face for myself, suddenly began to put other passengers away - and this with a half-empty cabin - and not one or two, but everyone who caught her eye, it became alarming.
Further more. The guy who was closest to the muzzle made a remark to the woman. There was a moment’s silence. A silly little smile appeared on the face of the restless aunt, which in a second was distorted by such an animal grin that goosebumps on the skin. How she started yelling at him. And not in one voice, but as if in a chorus, as if three or four people are shouting in different ways at the same time from the throat. It became scary. The “old daughter” shrinks into a chair and looks hunted at her mother. Passengers jump up from their seats and try to calm her down. The driver does not look at the road and tries to participate in this pile-up.
And what am I doing? I look at the floor and begin to read “Our Father.” At first, everything is the same. Chaos in a single minibus. The aunt curses, not just swears, but curses everyone who answers her or tries to pacify her. And laughter, such a terrible evil laugh through the phrase. But now, in the general hubbub, I hear a new shout: “Where are you? Where are you? I can’t see you!!! Stop it, bitch!! I’ll find-u-u-u! It hurts, s*ka!”. Such a chill on the back. I only think about one thing - not to look into her eyes, I continue to read. “It’s hot! Let’s go! We’re leaving!” - and the minibus is on the highway, it’s still a long way to go to the stop. My aunt is banging on the door. Everyone is yelling. I’m saying a prayer. The driver turns on the emergency light and opens the doors with an obscenity. Strange women run out into the rain on the street. The muzzle continues to howl and shake like a dog when shaking off water after bathing. We’re moving on.
Everything is calm. As if nothing had just happened. In conclusion, I will say that I began to read the prayer not out of a fit of fear, but rather by teaching. Then there was a feeling of pride in myself, as if a nasty little voice sang in my head: “You can do anything, that’s what a good fellow you are, admit it!”. And as soon as I cycled through this feeling, the words of the prayer got confused and confused. Pride is an insidious thing. Catching himself in time, he stopped being distracted by thoughts - only the words of prayer, rhythm, tempo… And I stopped reading only when we started moving. All.