A Night After a Burial

My friend had a misfortune: his sister was knocked down and killed by a car on her way to school. I took active part in organization of burial as neither he, nor his mother could take any decisions adequately.

Generally, I had not slept for three days. I have done all I was ought to do from point of view of funeral, and came back home very tired. I went to bed at once. 

At night I heard a door bell ringing through the sleep. I decided to ignore and pretend I was away. But someone continued ringing the door bell persistently. "Hey, – I supposed – they know I am home." The thought that it could be my friend came to mind. Perhaps he was absolutely sad being at home, and he decided to spend the night at my place. Having risen myself from the bed, I hurried to open the door. It was half past two o’clock in the night. 

I opened the first door and was ready to open the second one when I felt some unaccountable inward agitation. I decided to ask first:  

— Who is there? 

I heard a voice in reply. I understood at once that it was not my friend’s voice. I couldn’t even make out whose voice was that – female, male or childish. It was very strange, it was an unrecognizable voice: 

— Open the door! 

The dream started slipping from me slowly. I asked: 

— Who is it? 

I head more persistent voice in reply: 

— Open the door! 

I woke up absolutely. I began quickly figuring out what neighbor this voice may belong to. At this moment, somebody kicked the lower part of the door. It puzzled me. The intention to open it had gone absolutely. 

Somebody began pulling the door handle from the other side. 

— I am going to open the door now and to pin your ears back! — I told threateningly. I said it more to muffle a rising feeling of fear in me. 

— Open the door! — a harsh male voice said. 

I looked into the door viewer. It was dark there as if the light was turned off or somebody shut the viewer by hand. I disliked this at all. 

— I won’t open! — I said. — If you keep ringing the door bell, I’ll call the police. 

I heard childish funny laugh, then that rough man's voice told again: 

— It won’t help you. 

After these words I got angry instead of being hammering in a hysterics from fear. Probably, the funeral affected me and all my feelings were already dulled. I rushed in the kitchen, grabbed a kitchen hatchet and, having run up to the door, wanted to open it already and to punish the jokers. I had almost done it, when I heard joyful whisper behind the door: 

— He’s opening the door! 

My hand suddenly stopped on the last click in the lock. Right at this moment I felt a blow of incredible force upon the door. I began closing the door again on all locks. Somebody howled angrily behind the door. 

— Whoever you are, leave me alone. Oh, my God, that’s all for me for today, I can hardly keep standing! — I told to those behind the door blowing off steam. 

I heard hissing behind the door as though water was splashed on incandescent coals. 

I had strained my ears for ten minutes. I heard no rustles, voices and noise anymore.  

I was exhausted so much that I didn't clarified the situation, I simply went to sleep. In the morning, I drew out no conclusion comprehending the event. 

A bit later, having a little thought, I hung up an icon and a jesus piece on a rope between the doors. Just in case... 

Much time passed since that night, but I still ask myself a question who came to me in the night after a funeral.