Palms

This story happened to my friend Olga. She was living with her parents and brother in an apartment on the tenth floor of a 12-story building at the time. They had only recently moved there—maybe four or six months. It was November. Balcony windows often fog up at this time of year, and it was on these fogged panes that Olga began to notice something strange: small handprints had started appearing on them. It was as if a toddler had been playing around and left his own prints. The only problem was, there were no small children in the apartment. Olga was 19 at the time, and her brother, Stas, was 21. They didn't look like they were in kindergarten, but the prints, judging by their size, belonged to a three- or four-year-old.

At first, Olga didn't pay any attention to it: who knows, maybe someone had dropped by with a child while she was out. But the handprints appeared with enviable regularity, around the same time in the afternoon, two or three times a week. Olya then began asking her parents and brother if anyone had come over with a child. They said no such thing. The source of the prints, then, was unclear. They were always located on the middle windows, almost at the ceiling, ruling out the possibility that the neighbors' children had leaned over from their balcony and left them. They were at a loss, even though they didn't particularly disturb anyone or inspire fear. They were simply curious about this phenomenon, and who was leaving their mark on their windows. Maybe a brownie?

One day, Olya struck up a conversation with a neighbor on the landing, casually mentioning the mysterious handprints on the balcony. The neighbor turned pale and gasped, "Poor Dinya just won't calm down." Then she told them that a tragic incident had occurred in the apartment above Olga's three years ago. A young family lived there: a mother, a father, and a three-year-old boy, Denis. One day, the mother was hanging laundry on the balcony, and he was hanging around, handing her clothespins. The phone rang, and the mother went to answer it, leaving the balcony windows open. While she was on the phone, Denis pulled up a stool, grabbed a pillowcase and some clothespins, and climbed onto the stool. While trying to hang the pillowcase, he lost his balance, fell off the balcony, and died. The family struggled to come to terms with the tragedy for a long time; the mother blamed herself for her son's death and twice attempted suicide. She said she constantly dreamed of Denis, that he came to her, knocked on the balcony window, pressed his palms against hers, and begged to be let in. Eventually, they decided to sell the apartment and move away from the painful memories. The new owners had been in the apartment for a year now, and they didn't seem to have complained about anything strange. "Maybe he's looking for his mother? "— the neighbor suggested. "That's why he's been peeking into other apartments..."

Ola felt sick at the thought. She says she went upstairs, went out onto the balcony, and there she saw those little palms again. She burst into tears: "Little one, I'm sorry. Your mother isn't here. I'm sorry, baby." The next day, she went to church and ordered a service for Denis. The palms didn't disappear completely, but they began appearing significantly less frequently, or more precisely, during a specific period—mid-November, from the 13th to the 15th. They'd appear for two or three days, if the windows were clear, and then disappear for a whole year. Olga later specifically asked the neighbor when exactly the boy had broken his neck—she said early summer. Maybe his birthday is in mid-November, and that's how he's celebrated?