I heard a voice.

I live in a typical five-story building, where there are usually three or four apartments opposite each other. Naturally, the sound from the neighboring apartments is very audible.

An alcoholic named Uncle Sasha lived below our apartment. He wasn't the most remarkable person, there are many like him in our neighborhood—he lost his job and lived under the care of his mother. But his mother—she was a wonderful woman, always friendly, never had a bad word to say, was friends with everyone, and loved her son very much, just as he loved her. True, she was very worried about her son (and who doesn't worry about their children?), and when her "gift" came home drunk and started acting up, his mother had a heart attack.

Our whole family chipped in for the funeral. It was a shame—she was a good woman. We buried her, as they say, and forgot about her... and for a long time, they blamed her son for his own mother's death. Uncle Sasha also felt guilty and had changed a lot since the funeral. We saw him less often, he lost weight and became silent, and we practically stopped hearing the sounds of drinking.

But everything comes to an end. So Uncle Sasha finally got his hands on alcohol and relapsed. And after that, we started hearing him crying very loudly at night, calling for his mother. He would scream hysterically, "I'm sorry, Mom!" – it was all terrifying to hear, and we couldn't sleep for a long time. One night, we even had to call the local police to calm the alcoholic down.

We found it very scary and avoided him. But no one thought it would turn out like this...

My parents went away for the weekend, leaving me alone, and I'm very afraid of the dark, so I had to call a friend and invite her to stay the night. When she arrived, I immediately warned her about what was happening at night. I told her not to be scared. She didn't pay any attention, and we had a pretty good time until about the middle of the night.

Suddenly, I heard a crash. I said to my friend, "Get ready, it's about to start."

As always, Uncle Sasha started crying. Whining that he wished he were dead. He kept saying, "Come get me, Mom." Basically, everything was the same—it didn't surprise me anymore. But then things started happening that surprised and frightened not only my friend but me as well. I heard the crash of furniture, breaking glass, screams. Deep down, I tried to calm myself: "So what, maybe he tripped and started wailing even more." And then his screams turned into unimaginable shrieks and screams. "Mom, don't!" he screamed.

And then everything went quiet. My friend calmed down and fell asleep. I couldn't fall asleep for a long time.

 The next morning, my parents arrived. They asked me why the police were at the entrance. Later, I learned from the old ladies sitting on the benches that Uncle Sasha had died of a heart attack: he'd been found in the fetal position on the floor. One of the old ladies said, "He got through! His mother must have come for him."