Night Sounds in a Transformer Booth and an Attic

And on the topic of night sounds. Once a friend and I rented a cafe on the shore of the Azov Sea. Well, "we" — I transferred 15,000 rubles to him, at his request, because he called and said the deal was a sure thing, and he personally knew the owner of a tourist camp in Dolzhanskaya, and he suggested renting a cafe for the season. But when I arrived, I was fucking stunned — it wasn't a cafe, just some technical room, you know, something like a transformer booth.

Anyway, the point is, at some point my comrade went to the city and left me alone for a few days. So I'm sitting at night, around 2 a.m., vacationers haven't arrived yet, no security guards yet, and I'm the only one for several kilometers — preparing the "cafe" for the season: either I hook up electricity, or I wipe down some stoves from under a dumpster, so politely, gifted to us by the owners, wiping off 10-year-old grease. And one night I got fucking exhausted and decided to just sit on my laptop, play Minecraft, because there was not only no internet — there was no connection at all.

So I'm sitting alone, at 2 a.m., on the shore of the Azov Sea, in a transformer booth, out of season, where for several kilometers there's not a living soul and all the houses are far beyond the fields, playing Minecraft. When I FUCKING CLEARLY HEAR THE CRUNCH OF HUMAN FUCKING STEPS. I had prepared the paths that day myself, walked to the sea and back, and I myself had covered the perimeter of the booth with shells, and I planned to cover the path itself the next day.

AND I HEAR THE CRUNCH AND REALIZE THE CRUNCH IS WITHIN 20 CM OF THE PERIMETER. I suddenly look in front of me, weigh the options, and realize I can't call anyone, can't shout for help, can't run away, can't hide, I can't do anything — I don't even have a knife, not even a frying pan. I'm alone for several kilometers, surrounded by the sea on one side, fields on the other. And I sit, looking in front of me, and realize this is the most important moment of my life, which might end.

I stopped pressing the buttons, turned off the sound in Minecraft, froze and listened. And I realize that whoever stepped on the shells is two steps away from me, right around the corner, literally, a second away from a lunge. And I realize I turned off the sound and I'm not moving, and, fuck, I realize he knows it too. I recall that sound, recall that it's a human foot, it's a boot, and right now, FUCK, HE'S STANDING, AROUND THE CORNER, STANDING AND WAITING!

I sat there, with trembling hands quietly take out my phone — and there, expectedly, no signal. And another nuance — my transformer booth has no other exit except one, where someone is already standing around the corner. He's standing and not moving, because even if he lifted his foot — I would have heard the shells. And, imagine, the light is on too, because I can't see anything, but everyone can see me.

I sat and listened for half an hour. And nothing. At some point I decided that standing in a tense position for half an hour — he probably got tired and might have lost his vigilance. I slowly stood up, slowly, so I could hear any rustle of shells, walked to the door, peeked through the opening, slowly stepped over it and stood up. I forgot about the danger, over those half an hour of silence it dissolved and the sharpness went away. And I very, as I now realize, naively, but simply stepped around the corner and... There was no one there. No one.

I heard someone walking on the shells. I heard someone step on them. Clearly. I would have heard if the foot was lifted off the shells. But, I swear, the foot wasn't lifted — they stepped and stood. And I look — and no one. Nowhere. For several kilometers — absolutely. No one.

And, probably, another case from strange but real stories about night sounds. At one period of my life I lived in a town on the shore of the Azov Sea. That same friend who once dragged me into the cafe story gave me the opportunity to live for free in his house. Well, there was a nuance — the house was in a dilapidated state, it had no water, heating or toilet. But there was electricity, so I lived there fine and was glad it was free. And, if someone from Kuban is reading me, this house is our classic story of a house with several owners. Through the wall — an old man and woman live, then — me, and in the yard one of their sons built a separate house and lives with his family.

So, one day I'm sitting in this house, just chilling. Time — around 3 a.m. I'm alone. Not just the neighbors — it seems the whole little town had already fallen asleep. In the area and in the yard in general — complete silence. And suddenly I hear something fall in the attic, and I FUCKING CLEARLY HEAR SOMETHING TALL, ABOUT 2 METERS, ON THIN LEGS START RUNNING IN CIRCLES AROUND THE ATTIC. I look at the ceiling and literally see through the sound thin limbs and a tall, hunched figure. I can't exactly put it into words, but by the sound, by the movements, by the materials of the ceiling, by the acoustics of the attic — I could as if clearly understand what was running there, and this something possessed greater consciousness than a dog, but less than a human — the movements were strange.

And I realize, again, that I'm alone. But I somehow wasn't even scared, I don't know exactly, I can't explain why there was no fear. I just matter-of-factly went outside, glanced at the attic and saw that the only exit and entrance to it — were locked with a huge barn lock. I came closer, shone a flashlight and saw a layer of dust on it. And, somehow absolutely matter-of-factly, just shrugged, went back into the house — and there everything had already stopped.

And it never happened again.

My friend, many years later, was clearing out that attic because he started a major renovation in that house. I remembered that story and asked if he had seen traces of anyone's activity, well, at least bats, rats, or anything. But no, he said it was absolutely lifeless there — only a heavy nightstand wasn't standing, but lying down.