Stories from mental patients. Horror stories. My head was a complete mess, it was very scary, I went around turning the lights on and off, and by the morning I thought that dad wanted to cut my head with a chainsaw. I remember well: it seemed to me that everything I thought

It's not easy to work in a mental hospital. Especially if you come from the street and are employed as unqualified personnel. At one time, at our university there was a course in forensic psychiatry, which ended with a practical lesson in a mental hospital. And so, when life circumstances forced me, I went to get a job there as a nurse. During the day I went to university, and at nights and weekends I worked in a mental hospital for a ridiculous salary. The staff treated me unfriendly. I got a job in the women's department, where all the patients and all the staff were female. Some of the orderlies are former psychos, alcoholics, envious women broken by life. The nurses are either senile old women who should have retired long ago, or bitchy former orderlies. There was another one - my age, who was constantly proud of the fact that she was a nurse and every time she tried to hurt or humiliate me. Psychos are special people. The order in the department is such that only 6 cigarettes per day are allowed. Tea, coffee are prohibited, boiling water is prohibited. These women were ready to do anything for a cigarette or a mug of coffee. They would force you to wash the floors or do some other dirty work, trying to grab cigarettes, tea and coffee for the work, while collecting rumors and gossip so that when the opportunity presented itself they would snitch on you. There were also more arrogant women who tried to snatch cigarettes, coffee, and tea for free. The whole day they walked and screamed over their ears like seagulls: “Give! Give! Give!” Only at 5-6 in the morning few people came to change the diapers and pissed-off sheets of the old infirm grandmothers. But they came. This was a special category, the so-called close psychos. Each orderly has their own. They keep you informed of what is happening in the department, who is knocking, which of the staff is digging on you. Frail grannies are also a special category. These are grandmothers who were sent to a mental hospital by their relatives. They walk under themselves, they stink, they need to be fed, because few of them can eat on their own. At night they scream and moan. Those who can walk have to be tied to a bed, because they begin to frantically look for someone at night, fight and talk nonsense. One spent half the night looking for Putin’s reception room, the other got lost in the stables. This is how these grannies die within the walls of a mental hospital. There are criminal psychos - they lie in a “privileged” ward. They are led by the head of the department. They are allowed everything behind the scenes - they smoke without prohibition, they smoke, they are smuggled with mobile phones, drug addicts - even drugs. In general, there are a lot of girls who are drug addicts and go to bed to smoke. The thieves ate Cyclodol and behaved very brazenly; as a rule, they bought themselves a stay in a psychiatric hospital, because they were under investigation under Article 228 (drugs) and, in order not to go to prison, they allegedly became insane. This is how I accidentally met my classmate when I went with my crazy people to buy gruel. He went to the psychiatric hospital through connections, so as not to go to jail for 10 years. A couple of months later, I met him at sea, happy, free, happy and drunk in the company of his girlfriend. They drank expensive cognac, fried meat and ate cherries. There was no end to schizophrenics who were carrying paranoid delusions. They very sincerely told their tragic life stories, from which my head was ready to explode. I often had to get hit in the face by the insane. You tie them up or break up a fight, and they charge you so much that then you walk around like a panda with 2 black eyes. My hands were constantly burned by bleach - I developed very severe dermatitis due to nervousness. There was a cool aunt lying there - no one loved her, she had a difficult character - a police major, with two higher educations. Until she was brought to the psychiatric hospital, she held a fairly high position in the police. Both the staff and the psychos themselves were afraid of her. She was a formidable woman and very smart. She and I became friends and at night she told me the law “On the Police” by heart and helped me prepare for exams. There were also lesbians there - frenzied redneck women, it’s better not to turn your back on them. There was a case when they brought to us a paralyzed but completely sane granny, with whom I became friends. She was born in 1917, a survivor of the blockade, she lived alone - she had no relatives. She wanted me to take her out of the psychiatric hospital, and she bequeathed her apartment to me. I expressed my intention to my colleagues, had already begun to prepare documents, when after my shift, serious people pressed me against the wall near the hospital and explained to me that I shouldn’t interfere where I shouldn’t, otherwise I’ll regret it. I didn’t bother, but 2 weeks later this granny unexpectedly died. I felt sorry for her. The walls of this mental hospital are simply saturated with various stories. This is an old German building from pre-war construction, next to which there is a German cemetery. In my relatively short time working in this establishment, I have seen a lot. 3 years have passed and the memories are slowly fading, becoming less vivid, and something is being forgotten. After all, if you let it all pass through yourself, you can go crazy yourself. Before my graduation, I quit, they didn’t even give me a reference, like I was such a lousy employee. A year later, when I came to the psychiatric hospital (I needed a certificate that I was not registered with a psychiatrist), my “close” psychos recognized me, ran to meet me, asked how life was, etc. They said that There has never been a better orderly than me. Even though this was schizophrenic flattery, it was still nice, at least someone was able to appreciate my human qualities when I was feeling bad. I will probably add to this story, because many episodes still remain undescribed.

Mental hospital workers talk about their most terrifying patients: “Do you know what madness is?”

Even despite the fact that over the past few decades psychiatry has made significant strides forward and has learned to cope quite successfully with a wide variety of mental illnesses, and such terrible methods of treatment as electric shock and lobotomy have long become something of a property of the barbaric past, there are still There is something about mental hospitals that makes your skin crawl. Agree, a white room with soft walls is, perhaps, the last place in which the vast majority of us would want to be.

And who, if not the people who are forced to come to work every day in the madhouse, does not know the answer to the question of what madness really is. So, today we decided to collect for our readers a small selection of stories from mental hospital workers who talk about their most creepy, frightening and completely insane patients.

Obsessed?

“We had one young girl in our department, let it be Jane, who suffered from several rather severe disorders at once. On the very first night in our hospital, an orderly during night rounds found Jane in a pool of blood. She managed to rip off large strips of skin from her face with her own nails and almost completely skin her leg. After that we took action and she was under constant supervision. She had one strange trick: every evening before going to bed, she walked around her room and crossed each corner several times.”

“One night Jane got so angry that we even had to call security. When she was finally restrained, I went to her room to talk and asked: “Jane, honey, why did you attack the orderlies, is something upsetting you today?” She laughed, looked me straight in the eye and replied, “What makes you think you’re talking to Jane, you piece of meat?” Brr, it’s still creepy.”

“Let you be my mom!”

“I worked in a psychiatric hospital as a pharmacist. We had one guy at the time, to whom I gave medicines. I didn't know who he was or how he got here, but he was always very pleasant and sweet. He would run out into the hallway to greet me, call me “Mrs. Jones” or “Ma’am,” always smile sweetly and try to start a conversation. He and I managed to become friends, and sometimes I even secretly brought him chocolates and various little things from the store in the lobby.”

“One time the nurses noticed me chatting with him in the corridor, and as I was leaving, one of them took me by the elbow, took me aside and asked: “Are you completely crazy? Should I move you into the next room?" At first I didn’t appreciate such a strong reaction, but the girls quickly remembered that I was new and didn’t know all the local nuances. They told me that the guy with whom I communicate so nicely has been lying here for more than 15 years.”

“When he was in first grade, he fell in love with his young art teacher, and although he had a quite prosperous family, he regularly asked her to take him in and become his mother. The six-year-old boy ended up stabbing his mother to death in her sleep just so his teacher could finally adopt him. In general, all female workers are strictly prohibited from communicating with him and establishing close relationships.”

"She loved photographs"

“My sister is the head doctor at a psychiatric hospital. Recently they brought a girl who cut her arms, legs and stomach and stuffed more than twenty photographs of her family inside the wounds.”

Biological threat

“We had one guy in a mental hospital. In addition to schizophrenia, he had HIV. The voices in his head told him that all of us orderlies wanted to kill him, rape him, or do something worse to him, so every time we entered the room, he would bite his lip and spit infected blood at us. The authorities forbade approaching him without a mask and protective suit.”

Lord of the Flies

“My father is a psychiatrist. He recalled that he once had a patient who, during an appointment, talked at length and in detail about how he had sex with flies.”

More blood

“The creepiest patient that I remember most was a girl about 27 who believed she was a vampire. In itself, such nonsense occurs quite often, but she was hidden with us after she killed two of her children in order to drink their blood, and already in the hospital she managed to gnaw the throat of one careless orderly.”

"Daddy, I'm ready"

“Social services handed over one girl to us. She had recently turned 14 and had been regularly raped by her father for more than half of her life. We needed to change her into a hospital gown, but she did not react to me or the other nurses, she was silent all the time and looked at one point. Then I tried to take off her clothes myself, and then she silently looked at me, very slowly undressed herself, got on all fours, turned around and said: “Begin, daddy, I’m ready!” It was the creepiest scene I've ever seen."

But let me tell you, friends, a story about how I was in a real psychiatric hospital. Oh, there was a time)
It all started with the fact that from a dashing and carefree childhood I had several scars left on my arms. Nothing special, ordinary scars, many people have them, but the psychiatrist at the military registration and enlistment office, a mustachioed guy with a sly squint, doubted my words that I got the scars by accident. “We’ve seen you like this. At first the scars are accidental, then you shoot your fellow soldiers after lights out!” he said. Two weeks have passed and here I am, along with a dozen of the same pseudo-suicidal people, heading for a final examination to the regional psychiatric clinic.
At the entrance to the hospital, we were subjected to a formal search, all our personal belongings were shaken and all the prohibited items that were found were taken away (stabs, laces/belts, alcohol). They left the cigarettes and thank you for that. Our department consisted of two parts. In one there were conscripts, in the other there were prisoners, mowing down from responsibility. It's such a neighborhood, isn't it? We almost never crossed paths with prisoners, and the most colorful character among us was a hefty Tatar in a Nirvana T-shirt, to whom the nickname “sex” almost immediately stuck. “Sex” was a wonderful, but harmless guy and loved to have a tasty jerk before going to bed. Moreover, he didn’t care about the jokes, requests to stop and direct threats. Without jerking off, “Sex” didn’t fall asleep.
The hospital toilet deserves special mention. The two unfenced toilets were clearly the same age as the pre-revolutionary building itself. But the worst thing was that the toilet was constantly crowded with smoking people. Here you could discuss bark, try to shoot a cigarette, make fun of the psychos from the third floor. Yes, there were real psychos above us and you could have a real rage over them, shouting at each other through the bars on the windows. It was extremely difficult to light a cigarette, because from complete idleness everyone was constantly smoking and tobacco stocks were melting before our eyes, and there was nowhere to replenish them. There was absolutely nothing to do, and when we were kicked out for a cleanup day, everyone was extremely happy. Cleanup work in a psychiatric hospital is a holiday, because on other days they were not allowed to go outside. Oh yes, the toilet. It was extremely difficult to satisfy natural needs, due to the same smokers. Do you think anyone came out? Yeah, right now. Over time, of course, everything settled down, they introduced a schedule and religiously followed it, but in the first days it was completely brutal. Those who were simpler climbed onto the toilets right in front of the smokers, the rest heroically endured and waited for the night.
But nothing lasts forever, our examination period ended and we left the not-so-comfortable walls of the psychiatric hospital. Few of the guys were drafted into the army after that; most were diagnosed with “Personality Disorder,” which greatly ruined their lives in the future. So much for random childhood scars...

There are psychiatrists who still break the ethical code and reveal the stories of their patients. This is not good, but thanks to them we can look into the heads of people whose minds have either been damaged, or, on the contrary, have seen the whole truth.

It seemed to the patient that he was being watched from the TV, listened to through the phone, and then the information received was publicly transmitted through the same means of communication. Enemies also spray perfume on the inside of his car, irradiate his apartment, and his passport and card are marked with special signs by which the secret services are monitoring him. The diagnosis was unequivocal - schizophrenia.

A patient was presented for a forensic psychiatric examination against whom the prosecutor's office opened a criminal case for vandalism.
What's the matter: about six months ago, against the background of relative calm in psychosymptoms, a man suddenly began to hear voices in his head. Against the background of the effect of haloperidol, the voices of the dead were heard very indistinctly. And then the deceased citizens came up with an idea: let’s install telephones in the cemetery! The patient rushed to fulfill the special order cheerfully, with a spark, and in a short time the city lost a couple of dozen working street telephones, and, accordingly, a couple of dozen not quite living subscribers connected to the afterlife telephone network.
The necromancer telephone operator was caught in a trivial way: the cemetery watchman, who decided at the wrong time to make a tour of the property, came across a suspicious guy who was burying a telephone receiver in a hole next to the grave.”

Male 47 years old, schizophrenic. He told how he communicated with the devil: he simply appeared in the room in the form of a dark-haired man with horns. He did not feel hostility from him, therefore he considered himself the official representative of the devil in the kingdom of people.
The same patient complained about his neighbors, allegedly they were irradiating him through the wall.

One day a rather aggressive and arrogant young man entered the department. He demonstrated complete fearlessness because he believed that he was the reincarnation of Bruce Lee.

Guy, 30 years old, schizophrenic. He began to feel attracted to boys and realized that he was a sinner and would burn in hell for this. Then follow the schizophrenic logic: he took a knife and went to the outskirts of the city, deciding that if he attacked someone, then evil men would come running to the screams of the victim and throw stones at him to death, which would automatically make him a martyr. And martyrs always go to heaven. But for some reason, passers-by did not stone him, but simply called the police.
“When we were still at the internship, we were told about an interesting topic on which one of the employees wrote a Ph.D. thesis. The fact is that patients with delusional disorders, by definition, have no criticism of the content of their delusions. At the same time, they can quite adequately perceive what is not directly related to this plot. The essence of the technique described in the dissertation was that the doctor, in a confidential conversation, told the patient about a certain patient who... followed by a description of delirium, identical in content to what the patient had. Then the doctor asked the interlocutor to express his opinion on this issue. The vast majority of responses sounded something like this:
- What a fool this Ivan Petrovich is! Spouts such nonsense! Everything is serious with me..."

A woman of an interesting type arrived, which can only be found in literary works: pretentiously dressed, a lot of makeup, expressive speech. And all because she appeared on the birthday, or rather, on the ten thousandth anniversary of the Queen of Cats.

One day a man bursts into the clinic, a large sports bag in his hands, madness in his eyes, and yells: “Help, cure me!” The doctors open the bag, and it’s all filled with papers with the results of procedures a la MRI, gastroscopy, ECG, about 30 colonoscopies alone! He feels the pain in his body acutely and quite sincerely does not understand why they tell him that he is healthy. And all his life he has been visiting doctors, in particular, surgeons. They cut him, find nothing, and sew him up. The patient turned out to be a hypochondriac, and his pain was phantom.

This happened once: a man with persecution mania arrived. The conviction that they are watching him, they want to rob him, and other manic inventions and hallucinations on this topic.
I stayed in the hospital and received treatment. When he came out, it turned out that his house had actually been robbed.

“My wife was once called for a consultation at the pulmonology department. And there: it seemed - how, from where, granny - God's dandelion and then - once - and cockroaches appeared in the most brazen manner on her snow-white hospital sheet. So she began to make quite fair claims against the medical staff - they say, don’t catch mice at all.
In the department, on the way to the ward, the nurse recounted how everything happened and added:
- And now she's better. Here, look.
A completely happy old woman was sitting on a hospital bed. She looked around her bed with an enthusiastic look and, literally radiating joy, gently stroked the sheet with her palm. The nurse explained in a low voice:
“I walked up, shook the sheet and said that there were no more cockroaches, but look at how many flowers they poured on her at the request of the manager!” Since then he has been enjoying it. Maybe not prescribing anything to her is good for the person...”

So, first things first. All I can say about myself is that I am a first-year student at a provincial university, which is, however, quite prestigious in our Moscow region. I myself, although I have several trusted friends, spend more time either alone or with my family. I’ll sketch out a small plan of our town near Moscow: administration (“white house”), police, hospital, schools, etc. - everything is as always. There is also an old madhouse, closed under Tsar Gorokh, dilapidated and forgotten, standing in a once picturesque place, which is now overgrown with weeds, bushes and small trees. Actually, that’s what we’ll be talking about. I’ll start the story. Although I am a rather reserved person, a company of 2-3 people will not hurt me, especially friends, and especially if I “hook up” something interesting with them. I lived in this city not so long ago, so so far I have only made three good friends and avoided others. Of these three, two were visitors - Vasya and Sergey, and one was a native - Anton. Once, when the snowstorm stopped, we cooperated to climb into some abandoned house and hold small gatherings there (such as winter ones). We chose this same abandoned psychiatric hospital as an abandoned house, although there was also a burnt-out house as an option, but there was no roof. During the day we walked through the snowdrifts to this building - the idea of ​​​​coming at night was expressed, but was not taken seriously. With difficulty pushing aside the accumulated snow with the door, we squeezed inside. It was terribly dark in the corridor, one of us turned on a flashlight - we all had one. We looked around. Everything is like in ordinary abandoned buildings - fragments of boards on the floor, a crooked stand on the wall, broken pendant lamps on a dirty, smoke-stained ceiling in places - my friends were there not the first time, but this was my first time here. We moved to the door into the corridor, where a strip of light was visible. The four of us went out into the hall, quite bright from the snow outside the windows, and quite spacious. In front of the reception desk with a broken window stood two peeling beams. So that you can better imagine this place, I advise you to remember the local hospital and make it twenty years old, add tons of people who drank during this time on the first floor, and look at the resulting picture. This place could be called a monument of abandonment. We turned off the flashlight and went to the center of the room. On the sides of the register there were passages into the corridors; there once were doors on them. The register was empty and broken, even the table was broken. - Let's go! - said one of us, and we, dividing into two groups (two of two), moved into the corridors: me and Vasya - to the left, Sery and Anton - to the right. Walking slowly along the corridor, from time to time we pushed the doors with our feet, turning on the lantern and illuminating the next room. Maybe someone knows what an adrenaline feeling it is - to feel that you are alone in a large three-story building that no one needs, and you can do whatever you want. - What happened here? — I asked a question to my lagging companion. “Yes, there was a mental hospital here, only here they were doing something strange, like experiments on people...” I was already getting ready to listen to the story, when this idiot sharply slapped me on the shoulder and screamed. I swore and almost hit him on the head with a flashlight. He ran away and, laughing, said: “The devil knows, they kept the psychos, then they closed the house.” Look in the archives, they are on the third one, but you are unlikely to climb, there are no stairs there. I said that I would go further, he nodded, and we parted ways. I glanced briefly into some rooms - somewhere there were tables, somewhere they were broken, somewhere in the offices there was snow due to broken windows. The linoleum on the floor was torn and full of holes. I went up to the second floor - apparently, these were wards for ordinary patients, for doctors and service personnel - there were many large spacious rooms for several people, some even had iron frames of beds . I entered one such room. It was relatively clean, and there was a metal chair next to the wall. I went to the window - they were all intact, and behind the glass in the snow I saw footprints leading from the hospital wall into the forest. “Where did these guys go,” flashed through my thoughts, I was even surprised, but fear brought me out of my thoughts - a shadow flashed on the wall and stopped: someone was standing in the doorway and began to sneak. I recognized Vasya by the characteristic shaking of his head; the reflection in the window convinced me that it was him. “Go to hell!” — I barked, turning around sharply. The guy dropped the lantern out of fright and, tripping over a board, fell to the floor. “Ah... a fool!” - he shouted chokedly, and then I started laughing. I helped him get up, and we began to discuss the option of holding the party here. The wind didn't blow, it was even warm. More drinks, something to warm you up (like a kerosene stove), and then we’ll see. “Well, that’s some bullshit...” said the friend. “In the spring or summer, we’d like to stir it up...” “No, we need to go out into nature in the summer,” I objected. “We’ll see,” said Vasya, and we moved on. “Here, let me show you,” he said, when we passed by two whole doors. He pushed one of them, and it creaked and released light into the stairwell. On the right there was a simple stone staircase leading down, on the left there was nothing, just emptiness. “And this is on all the stairs,” said Vasya. “So that people don’t break their heads, these doors were left here.” And then drunk people use the rod anyway.” “So, no one climbed in?” “Yes, they did.” One climbed in, then said that he saw shadows in the corridor, then he saw people from the archive, they asked him for help, he “moved” and killed the whole family... - Vasya began to come up with ideas. I patted him on the shoulder: “After all, you are a great inventor.” He laughed and said that he would drop me off if I felt like it. I agreed - there was an archive there, and some hospital records from a psychiatric hospital can be no less frightening than horror films. Having collected and put together bricks lying around, boards and other rubbish, I tried to jump to the staircase, and when I succeeded (given my height), with the help of a friend I climbed up. There were no doors, in the corridor in front of me it was very light. I stepped forward and looked around. Bright corridors, on the sides there are many iron doors with tops. Everyone was locked, the tops were closed - apparently, violently insane patients were kept here at one time. I walked further and entered another shorter corridor (the building was U-shaped). There were more or less preserved offices, some even closed, some with normal doors, the floor was cleaner - it was immediately clear that schoolchildren and alcoholics hardly ever climbed in here. I walked further. My eyes met a long corridor with a small number of doors. I quickened my pace and moved forward. Approaching the door, I pushed it and found myself in the library. Half of the cabinets were lying on the floor, there were few books - apparently, after all this time, they still climbed here. The windows were intact, it was light. I noticed the switch, clicked it - it’s clear that the light didn’t turn on. I walked further, noticed a heavy wooden door, and pushed it with my foot. She did not give in, and I almost fell from this surprise. I hit the rotten door again and again until I finally knocked it down and found myself in a room with a mass of shelves, cabinets and tables. On each shelf there were cardboard boxes, some were packed, some were open - papers were visible in them, some of which were scattered on the floor. I walked between the shelves and pulled the first packed box towards me. It was quite heavy, and I decided to carry it to the table so as not to fiddle around in a cramped space. I was already bringing it to the table when something seemed to jerk the box, and there was a terrible roar. The bottom of the box became rotten and collapsed, and the cassettes that were in the box fell to the floor, rumbling wildly. I was scared, but quickly pulled myself together. Throwing away the now empty box, I bent over the contents. Simple cassettes, long outdated, large, black, with faded marks - sometimes in pencil, sometimes in pen - on the side. There were numbers, then a fractional sign and more numbers - obviously, these were video recordings of some kind of medical history. I took three of them and stuffed them into my jacket pockets - I hoped that these cassettes would provide a lot of interesting minutes. I also grabbed a couple of rather bulky folders, with difficulty stuffing them into the inner pockets of my jacket. I again sat down in front of the pile of cassettes and began to think about what to do with them. Having piled them up, I pushed the pile under the table, and at that moment I noticed a flickering shadow that ran through the doorway - I saw it on the opposite side of the opening. Sharply turning my head there, I shook violently. The thought flashed through my head that it was Vasya playing tricks again, that it could be the watchman (although he had never been here), or some kind of dog. I jumped to my feet in fright when my cell phone rang. Anton called. “Why are you crawling around there, come on down!” - his voice rang out. “I’ll come soon,” I answered and added. “I’ll break this idiot a little.” “Which one?” “Yes, Vaska, he’s tired of sneaking up.” There was silence on the other end, and after a pause Anton said: “There are three of us here.” The voices of Vasya and Seryoga confirmed this, I was surprised and seriously scared. Behind the door outside along the wall, anyone could be hiding and waiting for me. I looked around. In addition to the front door, there was another opening, closed with a CURTAIN! I rushed to the exit, and as I ran down the corridor, I dropped one of the folders. Running into the stairwell, I got scared again when I realized that I could fall from a considerable height - there were no stairs. I quickly went down in my arms, jumped to the second floor and saw some people in front of me, I screamed, but then I recognized Anton, Sery and Vasya. - Damn you! - all three shouted. “Are you crazy?” “There was someone there,” I said. All three shrugged their shoulders, Vasya said that he also saw someone - with a braid on his shoulders and in a black robe, and we laughed together. I didn’t tell them about the tapes, and as we walked along the road we discussed the party. Anton and Seryoga walked around the other wing and said that everything was generally bad there, I told them about the third, Vasya - about the second. “Screw him,” we decided. - Bad idea. Maybe it will be warmer - on the second it will be possible, but not now. But the wind actually rose, the snow began to sweep in with renewed vigor. - Where else did you go? - I asked Anton. - What do you mean? - Well, the tracks were fresh from the wall into the forest. All three looked at me, and I at them. - We didn’t go anywhere - we just wandered around in the psychiatric hospital. I told them about the tracks, and we decided that it was someone else wandering around. When I came home, I discovered that everyone in the family had gone to visit relatives in another city and they would be gone for several days . In this case, this worked to my advantage - I wouldn’t mind seeing what was on the cassettes. I had dinner, took out a good old cassette player from the mezzanine, and connected it to the TV. He dumped out the folders and put the tapes on the table. I waited for the VCR to start and inserted the tape into it. The device swallowed it, and stripes flickered on the screen. When the ripples passed, a woman in white clothes appeared on the screen, sitting on a metal chair like the one I saw in the hospital. She had her hands on the table, cuts were visible on her hands. The video was black and white, there was a lot of rippling in places, and the sound was simply disgusting. Apparently, the film was demagnetized while lying in the box. I connected the VCR to the computer’s TV tuner and transferred the recording to memory. It was already dark when I finished shamanism with filters, color, various programs for restoring old video materials, but the result was a rather bad, but still watchable video of a dialogue with a patient. She was young, judging by her face, and had a dialogue with the doctor, who wrote it all down. Through the interference in the sound, one could hear the conversation: “What is your name?” - Angelina (then there was interference) Andreevna. - What is bothering you so much? - I’m being pursued (then there was interference again). During the conversation, the girl sat straight, looking at one point , while scratching his hands. “Who’s following you?” “My dead sister,” the noise began to be interrupted by the sobs that had begun, ripples ran across the image, but one could see that Angelina was beginning to wring her hands. “How is she pursuing you?” “She’s coming to me.” into the ward,” the sound became better, although there were still ripples on the screen. “Why is she doing this... (doing it, I guessed, since the interference started again) “She’s taking revenge,” the girl drawled in a trembling voice and I looked up for the first time. I was a little scared - my eyes were exhausted, with a dark vascular network. - For what? — the doctor’s voice was clearly heard. “I didn’t save her,” the girl drooped, and her shoulders twitched. This dialogue of simple phrases continued for several minutes. The quality of the video became much better, and it was already possible to see the recording date - 1989. From the conversations it became clear that the girl’s sister was killed in an accident, and now it seems to her that her spirit is haunting her. However, then I started to feel scared. - Tell me, where did you get the cuts on your arms, back and legs? - the doctor asked warmly. “It’s her,” the girl said in a crying whisper. “Did she come to you at night?” “Yes.” And she started cutting me. Please don't take me to the third floor, leave me on the second, with people, I don't want to be alone. - Okay, you'll be on the second, but you have to promise that the cuts will stop. - I'll try, just don't leave me there alone, - Angelina begged. - Okay, go. “Take me out,” he told someone, and another woman, apparently a nurse, brought the girl out. “Severe depression, split personality, outbursts of auto-aggression, paranoia,” the doctor began to list, apparently for the record. He named several more tricky mental illnesses, named the date and last name of the patient - Churina, and this reminded me of someone... Yes, I definitely heard this last name before. I inserted the next tape into the VCR, launched the script, dumped the recording onto the flash drive, without stopping playback While the video was being copied, I opened one of the cases. A certain Vasily with a strange surname, when he turned 18, began to believe that his parents and sister were demons. Diagnosis: chronic paranoid schizophrenia. The voices of angels called him one night to take his grandfather's gun, load it and shoot all his family. He was arrested and sent to a mental hospital. He lived in some Lyubichchi in the Tver region. It is unclear how he ended up in the Moscow region - apparently he was sent for treatment. A photograph was also included, black and white, of course. The guy is like a guy, only his eyes are bulging. I was distracted from reading by movement on the monitor (the video was still playing) - on it, some silhouette was silently screaming, giving signs to the camera, which was installed, apparently, through the door. I was frightened by surprise, but I was seized with real horror when the girl (she had long hair) began to cut her hands with some sharp object, scratch and wriggle in the most incredible poses, trying to prick herself as hard as possible, while defending herself from something . Then the camera shook, and she began filming how doctors and orderlies ran inside and tied up the girl, gave her an injection and she fell asleep. The image disappears. To say that I was scared is to say nothing. I hastened to close the video. Yes, it was terrible. I intended to show the video to my friends, finished the rest and saw that the second video was already ready. I turned it on too, preparing to be scared in advance. The video showed the already familiar wall with a calendar and a poster with a picture of a brain - the quality of this video was much better. Another girl was sitting at the table, apparently with blond hair, and answered the questions of the same voice, while continuously swaying from side to side and biting her lip: “Anna.” Sometimes my hands catch fire. This is what worries me. - When does this happen? - Only when I fall asleep. - And that’s why you don’t sleep? How exactly do they burn? - Both palms at once, it’s very painful, Ivan Stepanovich. - But you don’t have burns on your hands. And we can guarantee that your hands won't just catch fire, you should be sleeping. Understand, two weeks without sleep is already serious! Suddenly the girl panicked: “No!” I can't! You have never experienced this, so you say so! This conversation continued for several minutes, for every question she had a crazy answer. Finally, the doctor said: “Okay, I’ll now prescribe you some pills, and we can transfer you to regular patients.” “Not sleeping pills?” - Anna said quickly and with fear. - No, just a calming one... The girl nodded her head and thought. I took a closer look. Yes, her eyes were closed. The rustling of the pencil stopped. There was tense silence. “Anna!” — the doctor called loudly. She, as if on command, raised her head and, immediately lowering her eyes to her palms, screamed loudly. I flinched from this terrible scream and turned off the speakers. When I looked at the monitor again, I saw Anna, in a semi-conscious state, rushing from corner to corner of the office, waving her arms and, apparently, screaming. The doctor jumped up, a moment later the orderlies came running, and the struggling girl was taken away. A man in a white coat walked to the table and sat down at it. I turned on the speaker. A voice rang out: “This time, first-degree burns appeared on the patient’s hands.” Perhaps a suggestion. He again began to list diseases, and I scrolled further down the recording. At some point, I got scared and almost screamed - the camera was filming a body hanging in a noose. There was no doubt that it was Anna. Then the recording showed how the body was placed on the couch; the camera casually filmed the iron door with the top, and after that there were ripples. I turned off the player and, turning on the music, began to leaf through the second folder with the patient’s personal file. It described a case of split personality, and another small case was opened for each personality. I started reading. It was written there about a woman who, under certain circumstances, was the most modest girl, but under others, she calmly worked as a prostitute, having got herself a separate apartment. Her third alter ego was a dog, which she transformed into when she found herself in the basement of her house. In her case, everything ended relatively well - she recovered. It turned out (all this was described in detail in her personal file) that when she was 5 years old, her mother often locked her in the basement of the house for several days, and her older brother demanded that she satisfy his sexual needs in exchange for food. A year later, the neighbors found out about this, and the girl was taken away. When she became an adult, these incidents completely faded from her memory. On the last back there was glued a piece of paper with two numbers separated by a fractional sign. The same sheets, but with different numbers, were also in other cases. I realized that these were cassette numbers and decided to go get them tomorrow. Having decided that that was enough for today, I went to bed. The first thing in the morning, I dumped the recordings onto a flash drive and called Vasya with an offer to go back to the psychiatric hospital for new stories about which I I told him right away. He rejected this idea in a sleepy voice and said that he would just look at the recordings and not go. “And Anton and Sery are unlikely to go,” he said, warning me to call them. “Why?” “Yes, I think so. I called them too,” they really refused to go, even though it was daylight. I decided to go alone, got dressed, took a lantern, and a knife just in case, and when I took it, I remembered the shadow that ran by then. It became scary, and I added a bat to the knife, hiding it under my jacket - it was small, but heavy, with a lead core. I locked the apartment and headed towards the hospital. It was already lunch when I got there and went inside. Same hall, same registration desk. I went into the left corridor, walked to the stairs and went up to the second floor. Just as I was about to step onto the stairs to the third, I got scared and remembered that there were no stairs, and I would have to either stomp home behind the canopy or think about what to do. I began to think. Walking home about a kilometer won’t do, you have to look for something. I brought about 10 bricks and a wooden stand from the first floor, stacked the bricks lengthwise on top of each other, and placed the stand on them. There was a great chance of falling, but I was carried over and I grabbed the edge of the stairwell. Then I pulled myself up on my hands and climbed onto it. I took out a bat and went out into the already familiar bright corridor. Everything was as it was then. Snow flakes flashed outside the window; the window itself was stained and dirty. I walked to the archives, bat ready, and pushed the door open. It opened with a creak, and I looked at the already familiar room. The cassettes were still lying near the table, all the boxes were in place. It looks like no one has been to this place since me. I entered the room. No one. I looked at the opaque green curtain that covered the passage - there was also no movement, but the curtain scared me wildly again - why was it hanging here, because in so much time it would either have been torn off, or it would have torn itself? So someone put it here. I shouted: “Hey, if there’s someone here, come out, I won’t do anything bad to you!” There was silence in response. I realized what an idiot I probably looked like now, and leaned over to the cassettes, choosing the ones I needed. And the ones needed were those whose numbers were written in the patients’ files. I found them by the half-worn inscriptions with a pen and put them in my backpack, having previously thrown in three more cassettes and about five cases. I was just about to leave when I glanced at the opening covered with a curtain. I came closer to her, feeling horrified. Pulling it back, I saw a square room, completely empty, without any signs of a person. Even when I shined a flashlight there, I didn’t see any door or hatch there, and how could it be there? I calmed down and went out. Again it seemed to me that someone was waiting for me behind the doors, but again there was no one there. Walking along the corridor, I suddenly stopped, feeling some kind of anxiety that was growing. I turned around. There were no silhouettes in the bright window light, no one was running. The linoleum was clean. It was this purity that reminded me that when I ran away from here yesterday, I dropped one folder, and now it was gone! I felt creepy, but I had a bat in my hands, and I decided to find out what was really going on here. I walked from door to door of the left wing, pushing the doors - a warehouse, an archive, a library... In the library, on the table, a clean object attracted my attention. Everything around was covered with a layer of dust, but it stood out for its cleanliness. I went into the library and took the item. It was a flash drive. The most ordinary flash drive, 16 gigabytes, is apparently intact. I had fun. Obviously, some of those who climbed here before me forgot it, and now I can become the owner of several hours of pornography, a bunch of films or music, and just a good flash drive. I took it and went out. Jumping from the stairwell to the second floor, I went down and went out into the street. Taking a breath of fresh air, I went home. At home, I dumped the contents of my backpack on the floor, separated the files and put them on the table, and placed the tapes in front of the VCR. At the same time, I started searching the Internet for information about the local psychiatric hospital. There was little information, but I went to some website where it was described in detail. It was also written there that there is little information, because the hospital has not been used for a long time, and data about it is stored mainly in books and magazines. However, it was still written that the hospital was hastily closed after some unpleasant incident occurred there. The hospital was not an ordinary one, they investigated something unusual there (here I remembered how the girl spontaneously developed burns on her palms), but then the research was curtailed. “Hmm, that’s tough,” I muttered and inserted the flash drive into the computer. It was recognized, a menu popped up, and I copied all the contents to the computer - the flash drive was almost full. While the data was being copied, I went to the cassettes. The first tape was of the guy who killed his entire family. I immediately inserted it into the tape recorder and turned it on. Again, disgusting quality, you can barely see the man wrapped in a straitjacket, you can only hear his voice through the interference. You will have to copy this recording to your computer and process it. I went to the computer - the data had already been copied, and I decided to postpone this matter for now. He looked into the folder with curiosity. About a hundred video files, each about five minutes long.— Wow! - I burst out, and I launched the first video. A chair appeared on the screen and a girl held her hands on the table in front of her. She was looking at one point and fiddling with something with her fingers. There were clearly visible cuts on his hands, and bandages were visible above the elbow. “What’s your name?” — from this voice I felt pressure in my stomach. Yes, these were definitely the recordings that I saw, only here they were in excellent quality, albeit in black and white. “Angelina Pavlova Andreevna,” I was surprised, they usually introduce themselves by putting their last name first. “What’s bothering you so much?” I pressed the space bar. Playback has stopped. I was terribly scared. Let's say someone before me collected all the recordings (only after that I noticed that the recordings had the same numbers as on the cassettes, except for the last ones), edited them and improved them, and on one of the trips I forgot the flash drive on the third floor. But why didn't you come? Maybe it was his shadow that flashed then? I began to think and decided that this thought was correct, because there were no more options. I scrolled through the recording to the end. At the end, I again found the scene where the girl hits the walls, the dull sound of blows is heard, she begins to cut and stab herself, while simultaneously defending herself from the attack of the “spirit”... I turned off the player and started the next recording. There, a very young girl, almost a teenager, was already sitting at the table, and in an elaborate manner, with active gestures and big eyes, she was saying in a sing-song voice that people were constantly walking around her, helping her, telling her a lot of new things. “Tell me who let you out of the cell.” ? - asked the doctor. “Well, one of my friends let me out, I asked him, he let me out, and helped me get out, and told me where the doctors were going, and distracted them with knocks and a shadow, and I left,” she laughed. The doctor He quickly wrote everything down, then asked: “Are there many of them?” How often do you see them? - There are a lot of them, I see them very often. Now someone is telling me that you forgot your cigarettes at home, ahahahaha! The doctor chuckled and ordered his assistant to take the girl away. When they left, he pushed aside the desk drawer and said for the record: “There are no cigarettes, apparently I either dropped them or forgot them at home.” I stopped the playback. Judging by the number of records, there would be enough for the second Great Wall of China. I have included the following entry. A girl of about 25, with short hair and dark hair, appeared there again. I looked at the date - 90th year. The last ones were 89th. Yeah, that means the farther away, the later the recordings. I turned off the player and started recording about three-quarters of the way through. The recording turned out to be in color; a girl I already knew was sitting on the chair. Yes, this is the one that saw people. Now she was just smiling, she had become an adult. “Tell me, what do people tell you now?” - a familiar, slightly thickened voice sounded. - That everything will end soon! - What exactly? - They will let me out. - But you understand that while you hear them, we cannot let you out. - I know. This conversation continued for several minutes . I stopped playback and went to the last recording. There was already excellent quality, rich color, good sound. At the table sat a woman of about 40, but looking good, who said with tears in her eyes: “Today they were there again!” I heard their steps! - Did they break in on you? - No, they just walked! I'm really scared! Are your doors strong? What if they come in? — the woman began to sob. “No, the doors are good, don’t worry.” But you can deal with them yourself. Do you remember that demon that came to you one night? Did you defeat him? - Yes... - So, you will succeed this time too. Just be prepared. - Okay... Then we could see the girl leaving the room, no one accompanying her. The doctor sits silently for a while, then stands up, shakes the camera and approaches the door. Apparently he forgot to turn it off. I began to take a closer look. Clean gray linoleum - the camera was tilted down and filming it. Suddenly the doctor apparently noticed that the camera was working, and, picking it up, turned it off. The playback ended, but in the last frames I managed to notice some light spot on the floor of the hospital corridor. I threw the video into the program and watched the last second frame by frame. Here the camera quickly rises, some object lying on the floor is blurryly visible in the distance, the next frame is clear - and I almost screamed: on the floor lay the folder that I dropped when I ran away from there for the first time! I jumped up. Yes, it was definitely that folder, even some papers spilled out of it. Today the folder was not there, which means the recording was made yesterday! Having recovered from the shock, I sat down at the computer again and launched a video called “1/10”. Same quality again. The same office again. Again the girl is at the table, but different. She tells the same doctor that there is someone under the skin of her face. - Who? - I don’t know. Maybe worms? I feel them crawling! - When do you feel this? - When I’m alone for a long time. This conversation was going on throughout the recording. I switched to the next one. Then on to the third. On the fourth, I got scared when I saw this girl's face. It was all torn, apparently by nails, and the girl herself cried and complained that the worms had gotten to her. I switched further in fear. There were fewer scratches there, the girl was calm. I skipped to the eighth entry and hiccupped, as the girl's face was a bloody wound. Apparently, the wounds were caused by a nail or a piece of iron, but whatever it was, her face was terrible. I felt that my breathing was ragged and tears were forming in my eyes. The next recording is snow, a path trampled in the snow leading to the house, the sound of crunching snow of two pairs of feet. The recording lasted five seconds. I stood up in horror. The devilry that was happening in this city crossed all boundaries. The doorbell suddenly rang, causing another chill to run down my spine. Looking through the peephole, I saw Vasya and opened the door for him, letting him into the apartment. He asked why I was so pale, and I showed him these ten entries in sequence. He looked through them silently while I poured tea in the kitchen. When I came in, he was sitting with bulging eyes, breathing heavily. “What is it?” - I asked. - I know her, this is my neighbor, she left for Moscow a month ago! I was stunned by his words. - Call the police! - he shouted, but the city did not have its own outfit - usually it was called from the neighboring one, but because of the weather it was unlikely that anyone would come to us - snow had piled up for the year ahead. - What should we do? - he asked. Judging by his face, he was not lying, and it really was his neighbor. It was getting dark and evening. We called Anton and Seryoga so that they could rush to us. We showed them these recordings, they closed their eyes in horror when the girl tried to say something with her torn mouth and only blinked her torn eyelashes. The last video (with a frightened woman) shocked all three of us when I told them that I dropped the folder when I ran away from there, and today she was not there. We began to consult. Anton's father had a pistol since the Great Patriotic War, and Anton promised to seize it. I took the bat, Vasya carried the camera, Gray was just walking for the company. We could have waited until the morning or called in more senior people, but we were afraid that we would simply attract the attention of the person who continued to operate in the hospital. Therefore, we quietly made our way to the hospital, when 15 minutes later we waited for Anton with a pistol. We found ourselves in a familiar hall. All four turned on their flashlights and looked around. Everything is the same, everything is the same. Vasya turned on the camera, it was hard to see, but at least the sound was recorded. We walked along the corridor, climbed the stairs to the second floor and stopped at the stairwell. In about five minutes, three of us climbed to the third floor, lifting each other up. Anton remained downstairs with the pistol. We went out into the corridor. It was strangely warm here, despite the winter. We walked quietly on the floor, illuminating the floor and walls. Vasya noticed several drops on the floor. We squatted down and began to look at them. Simple dark drops, thick, not frozen, gray in color. We moved on. All the same doors. I knocked on one of them with fear and put my ear to the door. Everyone held their breath. Silence. We examined the door. There was no lock or latch on it, just like on the top, as if the door was blocked or locked from the inside. “Strange,” we decided. Suddenly a strong light from a lantern came on from the side, we were scared, since neither of us had like this. The lantern lowered and we saw a man in a shabby security guard uniform, middle-aged, short, tired. “What the hell are you doing here?” - he asked the question in a sleepy voice. Apparently he had been sleeping recently, and his face seemed strangely familiar to me. It also seemed suspicious to me that he was sleeping when it was minus 10 degrees outside and the building was not heated. “There’s nothing to steal here anymore, except maybe these doors...” he kicked the iron door. “We’re just messing around here,” said Vasya, “We want to explore.” How to hang around in the cold. We woke you up, you know... “Sorry,” said Vasya, and we followed the watchman. Everyone except me - I said that I would look for Anton and went in the other direction. As I was leaving, I heard the conversation between my friends and the watchman: “How are we going to go down, there are no stairs there?” “I usually put mine up... There are only four of you?” “Yes.” I went down in my arms to the second floor and shouted: “Anton!” ? - came from somewhere below. - Get up, we were discovered... - Who? - Local watchman. I heard Anton’s steps, then I saw a lantern - he was going up. Approaching me, he said: “What kind of watchman?” He hasn't been here since the day it closed! I was surprised and suddenly it jerked me - I recognized the security guard! The face on the tape I watched was pretty hard to see, but I compared it to the photograph - yes, it was him. The same simple village face, the same bulging eyes of a maniac who had gone crazy and shot his entire family with his grandfather’s hunting rifle... I rushed to the second staircase, Anton, preparing a pistol, behind me. We went down to the first floor. It was quiet. Footsteps were heard from somewhere below. We turned to the stairs and began to shine a flashlight there. A guard appeared in the light, and, covering his face from the light of the lanterns, asked: “Anton and his friend?” We lowered the lanterns, the guard removed his hand from his face. Yes, it was him. - Where are they? - I asked. The watchman smiled sarcastically and said: “I’ll clean you up anyway, you bastards!” He didn’t have time to get the pistol out of his jacket - Anton shot him in the leg, and he fell, spinning like a top. Our ears were squealing from the roar of the shot, we ran down the stairs to fetch our friends. We entered a dark basement. Using a flashlight, we found some object in the corner, covered with a tarpaulin. It turned out to be a generator. I started pulling the rope while Anton stood guard, and finally the generator started up. Light spread throughout the room. It turned out to be a morgue. Spacious, with stone arches, a lot of recesses in the walls and a huge wide iron door at the end. I walked up to the first notch and pulled the handle. Something like a shelf rolled out. Anton came up too. There was something on the shelf covered with a sheet. It was a body, there was no doubt about it - the outlines of the head, torso, arms - we did not look further. My head was spinning... What is the body doing here if the hospital was closed 15 years ago? Anton slowly took the blanket and sharply pulled it back. When he did this, I was a little distracted, because it seemed to me that someone was knocking at the other end of the morgue. But when I turned my head, I screamed in horror. On the shelf lay the same girl with a terribly torn face, open eyes and mouth, but the worst thing was that her legs were cut off. Fully. Anton stood in a stupor, I quickly pushed the shelf back and brought him to his senses. “We need to find Vasya and Ser...” my words addressed to him were interrupted by a groan and a knock at the other end. Anton heard them too, and we rushed there, additionally lighting the way with flashlights. We reached the firebox. Yes, it was a crematorium - a huge wide door with rivets. In such a furnace it was possible to burn a bull. We lifted the bolt and opened it. Two giant worms fell out of the open door, causing dust to fall. Something hissed. The worms moved and began to cough - these were our friends who had gotten dirty in the ash of the crematorium. And the gas was hissing, the sharp irritating smell of which both Anton and I felt, quickly locking the door and raising our friends. “Let’s go…” muttered Vasya, and we moved towards the exit. We did not turn off the generator and went up to the first floor. The guard was no longer there. We were terribly scared and saw that a trail of blood led to the second floor. Vasya and Sergei dissuaded us from going there, but the four of us went up anyway. Friends told us that in the crematorium, besides them, there was also some kind of hefty cauldron - with the help of a lighter they were able to see human bones there. We followed this story along the trail. The trail led to another wing. Stepping carefully, we walked along it. Our opponents knew this building better, and the worst thing was that we did not know who it was or how many there were. Maybe this is one crazy person, or maybe there are hundreds of them here. The trail led to a stairwell and up a leaning ladder. We climbed up it to the third floor. It was terribly dark, the streetlights were slowly starting to go down. The trail led us to the junction of two wings of the building, to an office with a normal door. We looked around. No one. We began to kick the door, it had already begun to give way, until Anton reminded us that the guard had a pistol, which we forgot to take from him. We stopped indecisively, moving to the sides of the door. I turned my back to the door and kicked it open with a crash. We stood there for about a minute, not daring to even look there. Finally, having agreed by signs, we jumped into the office together, shining our lanterns. There was no one there. The trail of blood turned into a puddle under the chair - apparently, someone helped him, and that someone was a doctor. Anton began to stand outside the door while we fiddled around in the clean office. I sat down at the table... Yes, this was the same office that constantly appeared in the records, there was no doubt about it. There was a computer connected to an uninterruptible power supply, which was apparently being charged from the generator in the morgue. This reminded me of the last name - Churina. I asked Vasya and Seryoy if they knew one. They said no. - Anton, what about you? — I shouted. While he was walking, I opened the drawers in the table - in one there was another flash drive and keys. Seryoga found a large camera in the closet. “Some kind of maniac,” he said with feeling. “What am I?” - Anton asked, looking into the room. - Do you know Churina? - Well, yes, that’s my mother’s maiden name, but what? I must admit, I was horrified by these words. - Yes, I’ve heard about her. What happened to her?— She died during childbirth. - A-a-a... Yes, everything was fine. The recording was made in 1989, now 2011. Anton will turn 21 this year, he was in the army - hence the ownership of a pistol. He is a native of this city. Yes, his mother was here...I took the keys and we left the office. It got completely dark. It was as if the world had been flooded with black paint. We went to the cells for the violently insane. With difficulty I found the hole for the key, and with even greater difficulty I found the right key in the bunch. The lock clicked, the heavy door creaked, I ran to the side - you never know what could have run out of there. But it was quiet. I looked there. No one. A toilet, a couch, on the couch there was a rag, next to it there was a metal table built into the wall. And no one. We moved on to the next door. Nerves were on edge, and Vasya said: “Maybe we’ll come tomorrow?” You never know, it’s dark now, and this watchman is wandering around somewhere. With a pistol. We unanimously decided that this was a good idea, and quickly left the third floor, grabbing the keys. Quickly getting out of the hospital, we stomped towards me. When they arrived, they began to warm up with beer, partially purchased for the party. Vasya and Sery went to the bathroom separately to wash off the corpse’s ashes. And I decided to show Anton the recording with his mother. He remained tensely silent throughout. When the playback ended, he said: “Is that all?” “Yes.” “Where is her file?” My aunt really crashed... Nightmare. - I don’t know, it’s in the archives, it seems. I sympathize. When the four of us gathered, I connected the flash drive to the computer. There were only three videos, but they shed a little light on what was happening in the hospital. The first video showed someone bandaging a maniac sitting in a chair. The video is short, 15 seconds. The second one showed the same office as when questioning the patients, only instead of the patient there was a maniac. “You have to clean them out!” They think you're stupid, but you know a lot! - the doctor urged. - I can’t touch them, I need a gun or fire! - I put the gun in your room. Don't cook them, BURN them! Don't give them a chance to make themselves known, otherwise there will be hundreds of them! Remember what you did with the demons of your family, bring light into the world! For about five minutes, the doctor washed the patient’s brain until he got up and left. “Horror,” Gray commented on what he saw. But the real horror was in the third video. The doctor, apparently, was a cameraman and filmed how the watchman used a hacksaw to saw off the girl’s legs from the dead body of the girl, one by one, with a disgusting dull sound, like on a rotten board, and loudly, like on wood, when it hit the bones. after which he placed them side by side on the floor. Having completed this, he covered the corpse with a sheet and pushed the shelf, then took an ax and chopped off each leg at the knee, piled it all on his hands like firewood, and moved towards the crematorium. The operator followed him. In the open door of the oven stood a huge cauldron, occupying about half of the oven. The watchman put the stumps in a cauldron, and one could hear them gurgling in the water. Then the stove was closed, some switches and levers were turned, and tongues of flame began to jump from the stove into the cracks between the door and the wall. After about five minutes of this shooting, the lever was turned again, the door was open, steam was pouring out of the oven. The operator's voice was heard, we recognized the doctor's voice: “Delicious,” he inhaled the steam. “The patients will be happy.” This is where the recording ended. Sergei and Vasya, who had gradually turned green throughout the entire video, rushed to the toilet, and characteristic sounds were heard from there. Anton and I just looked at each other. We decided to go to bed. The thought flashed through my head that the maniac could have tracked us, but I drove it away. In the morning we woke up safe and sound, but we were late for the institute - it was already Monday. We were not particularly upset, since we had something more interesting to do than the institute. Having gathered and equipped ourselves, we moved towards the hospital. When we began to approach it again, we noticed something strange - on the third floor of the hospital, the windows were strangely clean, as if washed - light. Noting this to ourselves, we went inside. We noticed snow in the hall - it was suspicious. Lumps of snow came across here and there, and looked like footprints. We quickly climbed to the third floor and moved along the corridor along the metal doors. Glancing at the end of the corridor, I noticed that the door to the office was closed. We approached the first door we came across and I inserted the key. To our general surprise, the door opened easily even without the help of a key - it was not locked. We carefully walked inside. Along the wall there was an iron lounger, embedded in the wall, with a mattress on it. There was a washstand and a toilet on the side, and a stained mirror hung. On the metal table there was a plate with the remains of the liquid, in which we identified what was being cooked in the crematorium and what was dripped in front of the door. We went around the cell, even though it was small. On the walls I saw a lot of strange drawings, scratched with a nail, and there were words that looked more like spells to ward off evil spirits. There was a dark cloth under the window, which obviously covered it. I had no doubt that this was the cell of the girl who was afraid of demons... But what kind of demon did she defeat? There was a hammer under the sunbed. We left the strange room and went to the next one. It was also not locked and opened surprisingly easily, as if it had been lubricated. Everything in this room was exactly the same as in the previous cell, with the exception of the bloody floor near the bed and traces of bloody palms on the walls; the mirror was broken, there was blood and shreds of fabric on its fragments. There were wide bloody stripes along the wall. Without talking to each other, we somehow immediately realized that there lived a girl who had torn her face to pieces... She cut it with fragments, tore it apart, running it along the wall... Creepy. Suddenly, we all jumped when the cell door slammed shut. - What the? - Anton yelled and pushed the door with his foot. The door did not open, and we began to slowly panic until I remembered the keys and opened the door from the inside. We went out. There was no one around, but there was no draft that would close the door. Anton kept his gun ready as we opened the doors one after another. In all of them there was the same thing - emptiness, only a bed, a table, a toilet, a washbasin... Only in one room the bed was embedded not on the right, but on the left in the wall, and I immediately recognized the room in which the girl, who was afraid of her flammable palms, hanged herself . She hanged herself on a pipe that for some reason was located in the room from above. We also saw the maniac’s room, the mattress was in the corner, the doors were scratched with nails - apparently, at one time he had a good rage. We reached the last cell, the walls of which were covered with notebook sheets with drawings. This surprised us, and we began to look at them. Simple children's drawings, some silhouettes around a child... Above the child there is an inscription - Katya. Exactly. This is the same girl who saw spirits around her. I noticed one leaf that caught my attention. I tore it off the wall and began to read. “Today is January 28, 2011 (this surprised me greatly, because it was today!) - which means you are already reading this letter. You've seen the tapes with me and you know that I won't lie now. If you understand this, then know that we are already dead. You must find us, people who died even earlier tell me. Everything you know about this building is enough. Just don't be afraid and take your friends on your journey, they will help you. Our souls will calm down as soon as our tormentor is punished.” “Wow...” I said. “What?” - my friends asked me, and I gave them a piece of paper. Gray, twirling it in his hands, asked: - So what? We left and went to the office. It was not locked, but we did not find a camera in the closet. “So he was here...” said Anton. They began to discuss where the maniac could go and where the patients were, and at that time I was absorbed in thoughts... This girl knows that I'll help her. Therefore, she knows how. "Everything you know about the building..." What does it mean? I just needed to move myself... And where is this guard? So... What do I know about the building? Well, built in the 80s, closed around 95, there were rumors that the government was researching the supernatural abilities of people like the girl who had her palms on fire, or the one who saw ghosts. Lost in thought, I went to the window. The snow was already falling in flakes and spinning strangely near the window, as if inviting me to look outside. I looked, and then I was shocked - I recognized this path on the street! She was on the last tape with the girl who tore her face apart! I turned around and told my friends about it. They fully supported my idea to go along this path - we had a pistol. We quickly got out into the street, walked around the building and followed the path. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up when I remembered the notes. The friends were also silent and walked seriously. We walked along the path for about 15 minutes until we came across a small house in the forest. Smoke was coming from the chimney. We decided to stop by. In the only room there was a stove, near which sat a man in a white robe. He turned his head towards us, and we saw his face - the face of a mad genius, with sparkling eyes and bared teeth. He laughed so hard that we ran out into the street and ran in horror for about a minute until we stopped and began asking each other whether it was real or a hallucination. When we again dared to come to the house, it was empty. We followed the tracks from it for about 50 more meters and saw some kind of machine, like a sawmill, absolutely smeared with blood and some kind of rags. Blood melted the snow around her in a hot pool. Vasya vomited, we looked at this structure in horror and were afraid to accept the idea that several people were lowered into the tray and cut into pieces, then cut again and finally turned into a red liquid that swayed in the pit where all this and merged. The cracking of branches made us jerk sharply towards the source of the sound. It was the doctor. Giggling disgustingly, he said in a mocking voice: “Yes, it’s me!” It was I who asked them to go down there for liberation! And they went, he-he-he, let's go! One after another, and your mother, Antosha, who was afraid of demons, and the fortuneteller, they all went! And your uncle, Vasya, he wanted it too! - What nonsense, I don’t have an uncle! - Vasya yelled. “Naive boy!” Do you really believe that your relatives will tell you how your uncle killed all his relatives? Yes, you are named after him! And your mother,” he turned to Anton, “do you think she is sinless?” Yes, she killed a homeless man with a hammer when he was walking on the third floor! And she could have killed the one who was wandering there the day before yesterday, and we would have made soup from him too! — after these words, I felt something turn over in my stomach, because it was I who walked there. And then I remembered that on the recording this woman said that someone was walking outside the door. - Lie! I'm not from these places!—Ha-ha-ha! - the psycho cackled. “Fool, do you think they would have left you here?” A shot rang out, interrupting the madman’s speech. Anton fired his pistol, but missed. The psycho chuckled and said: “Don’t try, son.” Dad will do everything himself. - Dad? Fuck you! - Don't you like my joke? — the psycho took out a box of matches. Only now did everyone notice the smell of gasoline and the psycho’s wet clothes. “I thought it would be fun,” and he lit a match. The pillar of fire stood calmly for a while, but then began to run through the forest, screaming and rolling on the ground. Anton wanted to shoot him, but Vasya lowered his hand: “Let him suffer.” A minute later, the psycho fell silent and just smoked. We sighed with relief and, trying not to look at the terrible unit about ten meters away, turned back. “Go back to hell, bitches!” — a possessed voice came from the unit. But no one had time to react except Anton, who quickly grabbed his pistol and fired in the direction of the voice. The bullet ricocheted off the metal, sparks flew into the psycho’s face and he, unable to resist, fell into the hole, splashing thick blood, rags, some black scraps, hair onto the snow near the hole... We hurried to get out of there. This is the story that happened. The cops confused us a little, then let us go, even thanking us.