Domovoi in a Nakhodka apartment block: duplicated earrings and an egg

My mom lived at the edge of the world in the coastal city of Nakhodka, in the blooming USSR. They moved into a building that was a new development at the time, an ordinary five-story block. And according to my mother's stories, there was a total, unrelenting shitshow going on there. A cat meowing at a specific corner, my little brother at the time pointing at that same corner and saying "uncle," household items disappearing and later turning up in the most obvious places — all of that was pretty normal.

And so my mom and her college girlfriends, like all girls that age, decided to do some fortune-telling. In that fucking apartment. They read coffee grounds, some of it came true, whatever.

After the fortune-telling, mom decided to show off her red earrings that she'd bought at a flea market. She took out the jewelry box, opens it, and can't find them at all. How's that? They were there! She asked her mom — she hadn't touched them, her dad — no either. Where did the earrings go? No idea.

Time passes, the jewelry box sits untouched for a month or so, mom does some cleaning, wipes the dust, opens the little box, and inside there are THREE earrings. And so, over time, the story repeated, and the number of duped earrings reached five, fucking, pieces.

There was another story — she goes out to the balcony, sees a large oval egg sitting on the windowsill. She thought dad was messing around, decided to make an improvised incubator just out of curiosity — wrapped the egg in a scarf, well, it's interesting, what is it, put the whole thing in a nightstand and closed it. About a week passes — she suddenly remembered that story, goes up to dad, asks:
— Was that you who left that unusual egg on the windowsill? Whose is it? A snake's?
— What egg? What are you talking about?
— What do you mean what egg? I'll show you right now.
She reaches into the nightstand, sees — the scarf is there, the egg is gone. According to my mother's stories, as she later found out, an egg like that is a sign that a domovoi has taken up residence in the house, and if you treat the egg well — everything will be fine. After that story, the shitshow in their apartment stopped, except for small, useless things going missing, while at the neighbors' it started on a tenfold scale.