There is a captain's house in the village.

There is a captain's house in the village. He steamships on the Seliger and the surrounding area.

Well, the time came, and the captain died. They said about him that he was a good man, he loved his grandchildren very much. In general, he lived a positive life. And after his death, the house was full of the devil. Well, in the attic rumbling and in the house - that's nothing. Here's what his grandson told us. That grandson was about 20 years old, he was going for a walk with the boys, he went out with them, and suddenly they somehow began to turn around at the house. And in the attic window a devil was sitting. Sat for a few seconds and took off.

As described by the boys - it was 100% not a cat, because such large cats in our village has never been. And cats in their house did not live.

The time came and this house was sold to a friend of my father. He wanted Seliger peace, quiet and nature in general. So he bought this house. The guy's a shooting coach and he's not a shy one. A big guy. So when they told him about the fubla, the guy laughed and said he didn't believe in anything and that it was all nonsense. So the night passed, in the morning he came to us pale and uncommunicative. He said he had not slept well in the new place. After the second night, he decided to tear down the hut and build a new house (next door), and sleep with us.

After some brief questioning, he tells us that he sleeps in the house. His dog sleeps at his feet. No one else. Walking on the ceiling begins. It's like someone walking around in felt boots. Softly. Well, he thinks there's all sorts of animals living in the house that don't come into view. Ferrets, or weasels. Didn't pay any attention, but the dream disappeared. Lying there like a fool, he listened to the ceiling. Suddenly, a cold sweat ran down his back. The bed in his room (an empty, ordinary iron bunk) suddenly sagged before his eyes (as if under the weight of his body) and began to creak. He jumped up, the dog crammed under the covers... The bunk sagged a couple of times (as if someone had rolled over), and he heard a moan. To his senses, it was as if the moaning was not from the bunk, but everywhere else, like an echo. Then the creaking and moaning continued. The man could not stand it and jumped to the light switch - click - and no one was there. The light is on - all is quiet. The bunk wasn't bent. On half-bent legs he went to the refrigerator, poured a shot of vodka and cut off a piece of black bread and said: "Look, I don't know who you are or what your name is, but I'm very tired from the road, please let me sleep." And put the vodka and bread on the nightstand. In the morning there was no bread or vodka, so he, after quickly throwing things into the bag and hooking the dog, came over to us.

I must say that my father immediately raised him laughing, saying: "Why didn't you let the spirits fuck you, you bastard?" or "You probably drank the vodka yourself and blamed it on the ghost," but either way, that was it.