Alena never liked autumn. The cold wind, the early dusk, the heavy silence of fading nature – all of it weighed on her heart. Yet every year, around this season, she faithfully went to the cemetery to tend her mother’s grave. It had become a ritual of love and remembrance, something she did without fail.

That day began just like the others. She carefully placed fresh flowers, wiped the dust from the headstone, lit a candle. Normally, this would have been the end of her visit. But suddenly, something caught her attention: hidden behind overgrown bushes stood another grave, abandoned and almost invisible under weeds.

A Strange Pull

Curiosity drew her closer. The tombstone was tilted, the engraving nearly erased, but she managed to read the name: Maria Nikolaevna Kuznetsova Orlova. The place was neglected – dry grass, scattered trash, traces of long-forgotten bouquets.

An odd feeling washed over Alena: pity mixed with an inexplicable pull. Almost without thinking, she removed her gloves, pulled out a bottle of water and a cloth, and began cleaning. Her hands worked on their own, as if guided by someone unseen. She wiped away layers of grime, cleared the weeds, straightened the soil.

When she finished, the grave looked completely different – no longer abandoned, but quietly dignified. As Alena walked away, she glanced back. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though the stone was watching her leave. A chill ran down her spine.

The Unsettling Morning

The next morning, Alena awoke earlier than usual, disturbed by a vivid dream. Someone had been softly calling her name. She sat up, turned on the light – and froze in disbelief.

On her bedside table lay a small bouquet of yellow wildflowers. The very same kind she had noticed near Maria’s grave the evening before – old, withered remnants. Yet here, in her room, the flowers looked fresh, as if just picked from a meadow.

Her heart pounded violently. She lived alone. The door was locked, the windows shut. How could they be there?

Searching for Answers

The mystery gnawed at her. She went to the local archives to learn about the woman. Records revealed that Maria Nikolaevna had died tragically in a car accident in the late 1960s. Her husband and son soon left the city, and their trail vanished. No other family remained.

Alena still couldn’t explain why she had stopped at that forgotten grave, why she had felt compelled to clean it. But from that day on, she returned often, bringing flowers and keeping it in order.

And each time she left, she felt an unusual calm – as if a grateful soul now stood quietly by her side, protecting her from afar.

A Message from Beyond?

Perhaps it was only coincidence. Perhaps the mind plays tricks when emotions run deep. Yet Alena still keeps that bouquet of yellow flowers, pressed between the pages of an old book.

To her, they are a reminder that the line between the living and the departed is thinner than we believe.

But was it simply a strange occurrence – or a deliberate sign meant for her alone?