Needles

Until recently, I didn't believe in UFOs, ghosts, or other such "anomalous things." But now, it seems, everything has changed.

My friend Igor worked at a factory under construction near Novosibirsk. He might not come home to Krasnoyarsk for months, and we communicated mainly on social media.

One day, almost in the morning, he sent me a message, which I reread several times before I understood its essence: the text was riddled with errors and repetitions, and what it described was very strange.

That night, while walking around the area, he noticed something shiny on the corner of the building. Needles hung in the air, shimmering and bouncing in the light of the streetlamp—glowing needles, the size of knitting needles, pointed at the ends. Similar needles were also trembling in the sky above the streetlamp. Igor tried to convince himself it was the light flickering on the threads of the web, but the needles were moving, albeit slowly, in his direction. He went to get one of the workers, but when he returned, the needles were gone.

I texted him back with some nonsense like, "You need to drink less."

But the next day, my friend sent me a photo—low-resolution, clearly taken with a phone, but the thin, glowing lines, slightly blurred, were clearly visible. And the message: "I told Vova, who lives with me in the same train car. We checked, there's nothing strange about this place during the day. And they moved further away from the wall."

Although I realized then that something out of the ordinary was happening, I still didn't pay any attention to it—I had enough problems of my own. I advised Igor not to worry about it, and then I forgot about the needles for over a week. Work, family—I was spinning like a squirrel in a wheel until a phone call interrupted the usual hustle and bustle.

It was Lena, Igor's wife. Sobbing and chattering her teeth, she told me that my friend had died in an accident. I learned nothing more from her.

Igor was buried in a closed casket. The cemetery was a bit too noisy, and only Lena and Igor's mother stood silently, their faces frozen. Even though I was his friend, they didn't tell me exactly how he died.

After returning from the funeral, I immediately turned on my laptop. There were a lot of emails from Igor. I opened the last one.

"They're already right under our window, right in front of the glass. Vova told the boss, but they only yelled at us. They'll get inside soon!"

It looks like that's exactly what happened. Although I don't want to believe that some glowing thing could have killed my friend.

 Later, I called the factory under construction, trying to find this Vova, but they didn't tell me anything. I don't even know his last name, I don't know if he's alive, but I want to find him—only he can know what happened.

I'm writing this not because I hope to find an answer, and not because I feel guilty about Igor's death. It's just that yesterday, something very strange was shining under a lamppost...