It was meant to be a moment of solemn closure — a quiet rural funeral on the edge of a sleepy village, surrounded by cypress trees and the murmur of wind through dry grass. The mourners, dressed in black, had gathered to say their final goodbye to a man named Areg Nalbandian, a 57-year-old who had lived most of his life in isolation, known by few and understood by even fewer. But what happened at the gravesite that day would become one of the most talked-about and mysterious funeral incidents in recent memory.

At first, everything followed the script of tradition. The priest murmured prayers, relatives wept, and the coffin was slowly lowered into the ground. A gentle stillness settled over the cemetery — until one of the gravediggers jumped back with a startled scream.

From the freshly turned earth began to emerge snakes.

Not one, not two — but dozens. Thin, long, hissing, they slithered between boots and tombstones, coiling through the grass. As the mourners began to panic and step away in horror, someone shouted again. Scorpions — black, gleaming, and unnaturally large — were crawling out from the very edges of the grave.

People screamed. The ceremony turned to chaos. One woman fainted. Others dropped their flowers and ran. Even the priest stumbled backward, visibly shaken. The gravediggers froze, not knowing whether to flee or fight back the creeping nightmare.

But amidst the panic, one elderly man stood motionless, eyes fixed on the grave. His name was Armen — a retired teacher who had known Areg since childhood. And what he said next would chill everyone more than the snakes or the scorpions ever could.

“He cursed the land,” Armen said quietly. “And the land is cursing him back.”

Who Was Areg Nalbandian?
Areg wasn’t widely known in the community, but he wasn’t forgotten either. He had lived for decades in a secluded stone house near the edge of the forest, rarely venturing into the village. Those who had dealings with him often described him as “peculiar” — an old-world herbalist, a recluse with a reputation for speaking to himself, for drawing strange symbols in his garden soil, and for never accepting visitors after sundown.

Some said he studied ancient manuscripts. Others whispered he had once trained under a mystic healer in the Caucasus. But what made him feared by some was his obsession with «purification rituals» — practices that bordered on the occult. Villagers would sometimes find charred animal bones at the edge of their fields, arranged in patterns. Once, a group of children claimed to have seen Areg performing a “cleansing” during a thunderstorm, barefoot, chanting in an unknown tongue.

It was never proven. No one dared to confront him.

When he passed away — alone, of natural causes — few came to the funeral out of affection. Many came out of curiosity. And some, perhaps, out of a desire to ensure he was truly gone.

The Shocking Revelation
After the snake and scorpion incident, authorities were alerted. The area was cordoned off, and pest control experts were brought in. What they discovered buried just feet from the coffin was enough to stop even the most skeptical officials in their tracks.

Underneath the grave, buried in a shallow pit that must have been dug years earlier, was a large clay vessel sealed with wax and covered in decaying cloth. Inside: dried herbs, animal bones, teeth, and something far more sinister — a scroll written in what experts later identified as Classical Armenian with coded phrases referencing curses, “gateways,” and the “binding of the restless.”

In simple terms: the grave had been pre-prepared for ritual purposes. Not just a place for burial, but for containment.

What Areg had buried there — and perhaps, what he believed he was sealing in — had been disturbed when his own body was placed on top.

Some believe the snakes and scorpions were naturally drawn to the energy of the site, or that the ritual items released chemical pheromones buried long ago. But others weren’t so sure.

A local folklorist, interviewed by national television days later, said:
“This isn’t just superstition. It fits the exact description of ancient Caucasian binding rites — meant to trap a spirit, a force, or even something the practitioner couldn’t destroy. When they opened the ground, they didn’t just bury a man. They may have broken a seal.”

What Now?
Since the incident, the cemetery has been closed to the public. The grave remains untouched, surrounded by temporary fencing and warning signs. Areg’s house, too, has been sealed off by authorities for further investigation. Reports claim that symbols matching those on the scroll were found etched into his cellar floor.

As for the villagers — most refuse to talk about it. Some won’t go near the cemetery at all. Others claim to have seen lights moving through the trees at night, or heard hissing from beyond the gate.

Whatever the truth is, one thing is certain:
That funeral didn’t mark the end of something.