Grandfather Seraphim

I lived in a small military town in a five-story building. Life wasn't great, but we managed. About six kilometers outside of town, there was a small confectionery factory. Grandfather Seraphim, a pastry chef, worked there. One early winter, as he was returning from work, he was beaten by hooligans. Bleeding profusely, Seraphim lay near a garbage dump in the freezing cold for about three hours. This led to blood poisoning. He didn't live long, but it would have been better if he had died sooner...

When his nose began to rot, he wrapped it in a large burgundy scarf. Soon, it almost rotted and he lay down. His limbs began to fall off... Soon, he died alone in his third-floor apartment. Six months later, his apartment was put up for sale, and it was bought by a young family—a father, mother, and two twin girls.

The family fell apart within the first six months of moving in. One girl was kidnapped, and the second began to fall seriously ill (perhaps because they were twins). Soon, the one who had been kidnapped was found cut up for her organs... A month and a half later, the second girl went crazy and fell from the balcony. The mother couldn't bear the death of two daughters and wanted to kill herself in a car. She eventually became disabled, and the husband decided to sell the apartment and move to another city. He sold the apartment, but the day before his departure, he and his wife died in their own apartment from carbon monoxide poisoning.

The apartment was bought again by a family, albeit a single-parent one: a mother and daughter. They didn't live long. The daughter went swimming with friends in the pool one day, fell into the water, hit her head, and died. The girl was buried, but the mother began having terrible dreams about her daughter. Unable to bear it, she ordered the coffin opened. There lay her daughter, twisted and dead—she had been alive when they buried her... The mother then began hearing Grandfather Seraphim's voices—he blamed her for her daughter's death. Unable to bear the hell, she slit her wrists.

The neighbors gradually began to leave their apartments because of what was happening. Only one old woman remained, who said that she could always hear knocking in the apartment at night, even though it was empty. She said the knocking was reminiscent of the sounds Grandfather Seraphim made when he baked cakes at home, poking holes in them with a fork to keep them from puffing up...