A curse placed on us

Until 1986, my family lived in a private sector. Our street was slated for demolition and the construction of an apartment building. We all expected to receive apartments in the building that was being completed nearby.

We had a neighbor named Grandma Dusya, nicknamed "Centipede." Grandma Dusya had her eye on an apartment in the building under construction even before the housing was allocated and was getting the builders drunk so they would decorate "her" apartment better. Unbeknownst to her, they were drinking her wine and doing everything the same as in the other apartments.

When the housing was allocated, "her" apartment was given to me, for which I was cursed by the centipede in every possible way, forever and ever.

I didn't pay much attention to this and it took a long time before I realized I needed help. The houseplants in this apartment, even with proper care, were dying, and the animals were getting sick.  My beloved cat, whom we brought in to move in, calmly entered my mother's apartment and started cleaning himself, but he stood in front of mine, screaming wildly and scratching. When I dropped the cat off at the door, he hid in the closet and howled. After that, I never saw my ginger cat again.

The woman I turned to for help couldn't do anything because Grandma Dusya had suddenly died, which somehow made cleaning the apartment difficult. My troubles escalated into real disasters. My husband went on a spree, got involved with shady businessmen, got into debt, and ran away. My daughter and I were assaulted in that apartment. My child was beaten in the spleen right before my eyes. Everything we had earned through hard work was taken from us. Because of my husband's "exploits," I spent several months fending off racketeers and hiding my daughter.

All these events brought my mother to her grave.  I cried all week without stopping. The night before the ninth day, I had a dream: my stepfather brought my mother back from the cemetery to my apartment and laid her on the bed in the small walk-through room. I sat on the edge of the bed and took my mother's hand. It was warm, and at that moment, my mother said, "Don't worry, my dear, I will always be with you." With a happy smile, I looked around and saw that this wasn't my apartment, but I liked it here. I woke up smiling. The dream was very clear. I didn't cry anymore.

Nine months later, my neighbor down the hall offered to swap our apartment for half the building where her mother lived. At the time, I hadn't yet recovered from the robbery and my husband's debts, so I refused.

But my neighbor, who really wanted to move her elderly mother closer, continued to persuade me.  Finally, I decided: I'll go see it, tell them I didn't like it, and then flat-out refuse. But when I walked into this house, it was like a bolt of lightning! It was the apartment from my dream. Even the color and pattern of the wallpaper matched! I "found a spare" and began preparing for the exchange.

After moving in, it felt like I'd lived here my whole life; I didn't even remember my old apartment. The only thing that bothered me in the new place was the shallowness of my sleep.

Usually, as soon as I laid my head on the pillow, I fell asleep immediately and soundly. Here, however, I tossed and turned in bed, woke up at night, and woke up tired. One night, I felt someone tapping my shoulder. I opened my eyes. A tall woman with dark hair like my mother's and a blurred face stood in the room. She pointed to the sofa perpendicular to my bed. I understood and moved over to it.  Now I sleep like a baby and wake up refreshed.

My daughter once confessed that sometimes at night she sees her grandmother sitting on the edge of her bed and smiling:

"Mommy, I feel so good after this, and everything works out..."