Recently, a friend of mine, a work friend, died. The bus in which he was traveling had an accident, crashed into a truck. It so happened that of all the passengers on the bus, only my friend was fatally injured. Three days later, the funeral took place. I admit honestly: I am an impressionable person and poorly endure such events, but still, I couldn’t help but come to the last person I knew well. There is nothing strange that on that day my condition was unimportant. Probably, it led to the fact that returning from the funeral, I dropped my cell phone. He hit hard on the asphalt and broke. However, I was not at all upset and did not give the mobile phone for repair, since I had long wanted to buy a new one. Fortunately, there was enough money in the purse to buy another phone and already returned home that evening with a brand new smartphone.
Week later. And then one night, a phone call woke me up. In awake, I grabbed a smartphone lying next to it on the nightstand, but he, surprisingly, was silent. The sound, as it turned out, was coming from the far corner of the room where the desk stood. I had to get out of bed and half asleep to go up to him. An old mobile phone rang on the table with the same ringtone as the smartphone. The drowsiness immediately disappeared, and no wonder: the name of the deceased friend appeared on the display. Frankly, I felt a little creepy and did not want to answer the call. But judiciously, he decided that one of the relatives of the deceased was calling and, mentally cursing for interrupted sleep, he picked up the phone:
- Yes.
“Hello, Seryoga, why don’t you answer for so long?” Waiting for you tomorrow after work, as usual in the old place.
I did not have time to answer when short beeps were heard, then the phone stopped working. Actually, he could not work without a battery, because I pulled it out with the SIM card immediately, as it broke after the fall. And again: the voice of the caller, one to one, was like the voice of my deceased colleague. All this looked more than strange. The rest of the night passed without sleep at that time.
The whole next day, thoughts of a night call did not leave me. I wanted to share with someone about what I had experienced, but I realized that they would hardly believe the story. And, fearing to be ridiculous in the eyes of others, or, moreover, crazy, I had to be silent.
I guessed where I was invited, only for a long time doubted whether to go or not? Fear and curiosity fought in me, not giving rest. Curiosity prevailed, and by the end of the working day decided to meet the man who called at night. The meeting place was supposed to be a small cafe in which, with a dead friend, he often liked to spend time, especially in the evenings. The establishment was next to the printing house where we worked: he was a journalist, and I was a photographer.
Entering the cafe, I froze - there was a man in front of me at the table whose funeral was held seven days ago! Noticing me, he began to wave his hand, inviting me to join the company.
- Well, come on, come here! What are you waiting for?
As if under hypnosis, and, perhaps, it did come out, I slowly went to the table. For some reason, my tongue seems to have petrified. I couldn’t say a word, but meanwhile, my friend behaved quite ordinary.
“Have a seat that you are staring like an idol?” He threw casually.
I sat silently, and he began to tell, as if nothing had happened, about his daily affairs. As if enchanted, I listened without saying a word. I don’t remember how long it lasted when he suddenly asked:
- What's wrong with you today? Ill, or what? - but, not hearing the answer, he continued. “Well, as you want, but I have to go,” then, finally leaving, “bye,” he left the cafe.
I remained at the table for a long time. Only the words of the bartender “We are closing” finally brought me to my senses because what happened did not fit in my head. Arriving home, he plopped down on the bed and fell asleep almost immediately. That night the dream was stronger than ever.
The next day in the morning began not quite naturally. It seemed that all my actions and movements that I once did were repeated. It is as if a movie is re-scrolling, where you have to take a direct part. Although, in essence, nothing unusual happened - as always, morning procedures, then breakfast. So what is next…
Then I went to the printing house. No, I was not stunned with amazement when I saw my dead friend there - an inexplicable unknown force forced me to take up my daily business. And for some reason, I didn’t feel like talking to a colleague. Although the usual "Hello" we still dropped each other. Incredibly, our other acquaintances behaved as if nothing had happened. But not so long ago, almost all of them attended the funeral! And then a whole week passed. A week in the editorial office without a journalist could not go unnoticed!
“No, it cannot go on for so long, or I’ll go crazy. Something needs to be done ”- this thought stubbornly began to haunt me towards the end of the working day. In the evening a conversation took place. It took place in a cafe, where I out of habit popped in after work. Having settled at a free table, I sat silently, waiting for my order, when suddenly the same friend came up to me:
“Sorry, I couldn't chat today.” - Work, more than ever. Well, how are you? Yesterday I didn’t hear a word from you.
- Sit down. - I squeezed out. And then it seemed to break through me: a stream of words, poorly connected among themselves, fell upon the approaching one. My voice sometimes turned into a cry, thereby attracting the attention of other cafe visitors.
- Yes, calm down you! - I could not stand my friend, forcing me to moderate my ardor. - Come on first, and everything in order.
“Just don't interrupt, just don't interrupt.” - I chattered.
- Good. He said, sitting down next to him. - Do not shout, otherwise, they will ask us from here.
Having calmed down a bit, I began to more clearly talk about the events that have occurred recently, starting with a bus accident. Several times, my interlocutor still tried to interrupt me, but I showed him not to do it with a sign.
“And also,” I added at the end of the story, “I have a couple of interesting shots.” I was not going to photograph your funeral, so I did not take a camera then. But, I'm sorry, the professional habit has made itself felt - I still did a few shots on a mobile phone. True, he is now broken, but I think it can be repaired even then ... You probably consider me crazy?
- Do not know what to say. This is the most fantastic story I've ever heard. Although wait a minute, it can make an interesting article. Sure: readers will like it.
- Oh, come on.
- Yes Yes. It is an article. Take and write everything you told me about right now. We will publish it, and people will judge for themselves where the truth is. - The friend smiled.
“I knew you would laugh,” I muttered and got up from the table.
Already in the evening at home, I remembered the advice and thought: “Or is it really worth writing this unusual story?”