I took out a bank loan and bought a smart studio in a house under construction. Three months later, the institution where I worked was closed, and I was downsized. I couldn't find another job, so I had to move to Krasnodar. I found a job there that was not in my specialty and not very well paid. But it was paid daily. As an option for the first time will do. The only thing was that there was no money left after the loan had been paid. I had to go to the developer and ask permission to move into an unfinished house as an exception. The only things left to do there were interior finishing and utilities. The very first night the "miracles" began.
I should say at once: the house is multi-storey, apartment building and completely empty, I'm in it alone. But at the entrance is an iron door and the keys to it only have me and the foreman. The door is always locked against all kinds of drunks, drug addicts and burglars. My apartment is on the sixth floor. The first evening I heard footsteps rising in the dull, empty staircase. The sound of heavy boots. Walking leisurely. It was as if they were coming up from the third or fourth floor. Coming towards me, that is, upstairs. The time is 23:00. I think, who can be here at this hour? I stand at the door, listening with bated breath. Footsteps came up to my sixth floor and froze. And then the dishes, cups, and plates, which had not yet been put away, standing in stacks, began to rattle, as if someone was rocking the rickety table underneath them.
I just froze in fear. After about a minute, everything stopped. No return, descending footsteps could be heard. Silence. I crammed myself into the corner of the bed like a child, pulled the blanket up over my ears, and sat there like a mouse. I don't remember how I fell asleep. And then the pacing began every night. Footsteps, and then the dishes rattled, then out of nowhere a stream of icy air started blowing in my face. I'd tell her to fuck off and it would stop. My daughter moved in with me a month later, and we both "enjoyed" these visits every night. When we hear footsteps, we grumble: here he comes again! We called him the dead Tajik. I don't know why. It seemed like there was no one else. He used to come to us from the fourth floor. That floor made me feel scared. It was a corridor house, and the light bulbs on that floor always burned out. Even though I tried to, running up there with a stepladder during daylight hours, changing the bulbs all the time. Because when I was coming back from work, especially if the light was not on, it was very frightening to walk by it, and to turn my back on it was even more frightening because I could feel people's eyes on me. And sometimes even footsteps follow you. You hear that someone is following you, almost breathing down your neck, but no one can see.
And cats from "our entrance", if they manage to escape from the apartment, run straight to the fourth floor and there run, bounce, as if playing with someone invisible. Three months later a family with two children moved in on the second floor. They too heard those footsteps and their cat, like my cat, was constantly trying to escape to the 4th floor. My daughter was very much afraid of that "tajik". I reassured her that there was no need to be afraid. He wasn't hurting us. He just wants to tell us something, and we don't understand. When the house is settled and he stops coming to us, he will have neighbors of his own on the fourth floor. That's pretty much what happened. And that's not the only incomprehensible phenomenon in this apartment, but that's another story.
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