Some of you may be considering what kind of New Year’s resolutions you could make as 2025 draws near. If these forecasts come true, then there’s no need to worry.
Yes, as 2024 draws to a close, the ghosts of the past become more audible as two of history’s most mysterious people, Baba Vanga and Nostradamus, make terrifying prophecies that never cease to both enthrall and horrify.
The prophetic abilities ascribed to these fabled seers have been a subject of discussion for many years, regardless of one’s stance.
Despite having died away in 1996, Baba Vanga, the blind Bulgarian mystic born Vangeliya Pandeva Gushterova, is credited with an amazing 85% accuracy rate in her predictions.
According to The Economic Times, they have reportedly included Barack Obama’s presidency, the 9/11 attacks, and Princess Diana’s passing.
With predictions spanning the next three millennia (scroll to the bottom of the page for that delightful reading), her prophetic talent has left a lasting effect and cemented her place as a formidable force in the field of prophetic mystery.
Furthermore, the 16th-century French astrologer Nostradamus recorded his visions in the enigmatic quatrains of his book Les Prophéties, published in 1555.
His predictions are credited with predicting significant occurrences as the ascent to power of Adolf Hitler, the murder of President Kennedy, and the September 11 terrorist attacks, solidifying his status as a visionary whose writings are constantly examined for hints about what lies ahead.
Unsettling Forecasts for 2025
2025 has been identified by both seers as a critical year with serious ramifications for the international scene:
Nostradamus predicts the rise of a dark cult and the establishment of an underwater dominion.
In the meantime, Baba Vanga adds a futuristic perspective to our comprehension of human potential when he anticipates the development of telepathy.
But the projections also have a darker tone when it comes to war predictions.
Both foresee a catastrophic war in Europe; Nostradamus refers to it as involving “cruel wars,” but he also cryptically states that “the ancient plague will be worse than enemies.”
Furthermore, Baba Vanga forebodingly says that this fight will “devastate” populations, which bodes ill for the near future and makes me wonder if I should really bother purchasing my yearly calendar featuring Neil Diamond.
And if that’s not enough to keep you up at night, Nostradamus also predicts the arrival of an asteroid on Earth, saying that “a fireball will rise from the cosmos, The world begs you to be a forerunner of fate. The fate of the Earth, a second chance: science and fate in a cosmic dance.
A Hint of Hope and Intriguing Extraterrestrials
There are glimmers of hope despite the ominous predictions.
According to Sky History, Nostradamus alludes to a potential end to the continuing conflict between Russia and Ukraine, speculating that interventions by countries such as France or Turkey might usher in peace and that both sides will eventually run out of energy.
Strangely enough, both seers hint at the prospect of extraterrestrial encounters; Baba Vanga, for example, speculates that aliens might show up at a big athletic event.
However, as I have already stated, Baba Vanga left us forecasts that would last for 3,056 years when he passed away. Needless to say, things don’t seem to work out well with the aliens.
Baba Vanga was a person who?
According to the Mirror, Baba Vanga, known as the “Nostradamus of the Balkans,” is said to have had an accuracy rate of 85%. Her forecasts have been known to come true even after her death.
At the age of twelve, she was supposedly blinded by a storm, during which her mystic talents apparently materialized.
However, what prophecy of the mystic has apparently come true in the past?
The terrorist strikes of 9/11
She made the menacing prognosis in 1989: “Oh, horror! The steel birds will attack and then the American brothers will fall. The terrifying allusion to “steel birds” may refer to the aircraft that Al-Qaeda hijacked and used in the horrific 9/11 attacks in 2001.
The Kursk’s sinking.
In 1980, Baba had a terrible vision of Kursk, Russia, being “covered with water, and the whole world will weep over it.” Her prediction was confirmed when a nuclear submarine sank close to Kursk in August 2000, killing 188 crew members.
Given the realization of those terrifying prophecies, it becomes plausible that you might want to worry about the following 3,000+ years. Here’s how she see the next three millennia developing, from the New York Post:
2025: The population of Europe will be destroyed by a conflict.
2028: Research on Venus as a potential energy source will start by humans.
2033: Sea levels will rise dramatically on a global scale due to the melting of the polar ice caps.
2076: Communism will take hold in numerous nations worldwide.
2130: Aliens will make contact with humans.
2170: Much of the globe will be destroyed by drought.
3005: A Martian civilization and Earth will engage in combat.
3797: The Earth is no longer habitable, and humans will have to leave.
5079: The end of the world.
Neighbor Asked My Son to Shovel Snow for $10 a Day but Refused to Pay — So I Taught Him a Lesson He’ll Never Forget
When my 12-year-old son Ben took up our wealthy neighbor’s offer to shovel snow for $10 a day, he couldn’t wait to buy gifts for the family. But when that man refused to pay, calling it a “lesson about contracts,” Ben was heartbroken. That’s when I decided to teach him a lesson he’d never forget.
I’d always known my son Ben had a bigger heart than the world seemed to deserve. He was only 12 but carried a determination that could humble men twice his age.
A boy carrying many books | Source: Midjourney
Even so, I never imagined I’d be standing in the icy driveway next to my husband, exacting revenge against the man who thought cheating a child was just another business move.
It all began on a snowy morning early in December. Ben was buzzing with excitement after shoveling the driveway while I made breakfast. He burst into the kitchen, cheeks flushed from the cold.
“Mom, Mr. Dickinson said he’ll pay me $10 every time I shovel his driveway!” His grin stretched ear to ear.
A smiling boy | Source: Midjourney
Mr. Dickinson, our neighbor, was as insufferable as he was wealthy. He always bragged about his business ventures and showed off his luxury toys.
It wasn’t hard to guess he thought he was doing us all a favor by letting Ben “earn” his money. Still, Ben’s excitement was contagious, and I wasn’t about to crush his enthusiasm.
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” I said, ruffling his hair. “What’s the plan for all this cash?”
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
“I’m buying you a scarf,” he said with the seriousness only a 12-year-old could muster. “And a dollhouse for Annie.”
His eyes sparkled as he described every detail of the red scarf with tiny snowflakes, and the dollhouse with working lights that Annie had been obsessed with since she saw it in the toy store’s window display.
My heart swelled. “You’ve got it all planned out, huh?”
A happy woman | Source: Midjourney
He nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “And I’m saving what’s left for a telescope.”
Over the next few weeks, Ben became a blur of determination. Every morning before school, he bundled up in his oversized coat and boots, a knit hat pulled low over his ears. From the kitchen window, I watched him disappear into the frosty air, shovel in hand.
The muffled scrape of metal on the pavement echoed through the stillness.
A boy shoveling snow | Source: Midjourney
Sometimes he’d stop to catch his breath, leaning on the shovel, his breath forming little clouds in the freezing air. When he came inside, his cheeks were red, his fingers stiff, but his smile always shone through.
“How was it today?” I’d ask, handing him a cup of hot chocolate.
“Good! I’m getting faster,” he’d reply, his grin lighting up the room. He’d shake snow off his coat like a dog shedding water, sending damp clumps onto the rug.
A rug in an entrance hall | Source: Pexels
Each evening, Ben would sit at the kitchen table, tallying his earnings. The notepad he used was dog-eared and smudged with ink, but he treated it like a sacred ledger.
“Only 20 more dollars, Mom,” he said one night. “Then I can get the dollhouse and the telescope!”
His excitement made the hard work seem worth it, at least to him.
By December 23rd, Ben was a well-oiled machine of winter labor.
A person shoveling snow | Source: Pexels
That morning, he left the house humming a Christmas carol. I went about my day, expecting him to return as usual, tired but triumphant.
But when the door slammed open an hour later, I knew something was wrong.
“Ben?” I called out, rushing from the kitchen.
He stood by the door, his boots half-on, his gloves still clenched in his trembling hands. His shoulders heaved, and tears clung to the corners of his wide, panicked eyes.
A sad boy | Source: Midjourney
I kneeled beside him, gripping his arms. “Sweetheart, what happened?”
He wouldn’t talk at first, but eventually, he told me everything.
“Mr. Dickinson… he said he’s not paying me a single cent.”
The words hung in the air, heavy as a stone.
“What do you mean, he’s not paying you?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
Ben sniffled, his face crumpling.
A boy sobbing | Source: Midjourney
“He said it’s a lesson. That I should never accept a job without a contract.” His voice cracked, and the tears spilled over. “Mom, I worked so hard. I just don’t understand. Why would he do this?”
Anger surged through me, sharp and blinding. What kind of person cheats a child as a “business lesson”? I pulled Ben into a hug, pressing my hand against his damp hat.
“Oh, baby,” I murmured. “It’s not your fault. You did everything right. This is on him, not you.” I pulled back, brushing his hair from his face. “You don’t worry about this, okay? I’ll take care of it.”
A determined woman | Source: Midjourney
I stood, grabbed my coat, and stormed across the lawn. The sight of Dickinson’s house, glowing with holiday cheer, only stoked my fury. Laughter and music spilled into the cold night as I rang the doorbell.
He appeared moments later, wine glass in hand, his tailored suit making him look like a villain straight out of a bad movie.
“Mrs. Carter,” he said, his voice oozing false charm. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
A man raising one eyebrow | Source: Midjourney
“I think you know why I’m here,” I said evenly. “Ben earned that money. You owe him $80. Pay him.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “No contract, no payment. That’s how the real world works.”
I clenched my fists, willing myself to stay calm. I opened my mouth to argue about fairness and the cruelty of his supposed lesson, but the look in his eyes told me none of that would persuade him to do the right thing.
A man staring ahead | Source: Midjourney
No… there was only one way to deal with the Mr. Dickinsons of the world.
“You’re absolutely right, Mr. Dickinson. The real world is about holding people accountable.” My smile was so sweet it could’ve rotted teeth. “Enjoy your evening.”
As I walked away, an idea began to form. By the time I stepped back into our house, I knew exactly what had to be done.
A furious woman | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, while Dickinson and his guests still slept, I woke the household with a determined clap of my hands.
“Time to go, team,” I said.
Ben groaned as he crawled out of bed, but caught the determined gleam in my eye. “What are we doing, Mom?”
“We’re righting a wrong.”
A determined woman | Source: Midjourney
Outside, the air was bitter and still. My husband started the snowblower, the rumble cutting through the early quiet. Ben grabbed his shovel, gripping it like a sword. Even Annie, too small for the heavy work, bounced along in her boots, ready to “help.”
We began with our driveway, then moved to the sidewalk, clearing paths for the neighbors. The pile of snow grew steadily as we pushed it all toward Dickinson’s pristine driveway.
The cold bit at my fingers, but the satisfaction of each shovelful fueled me.
A person shoveling snow | Source: Pexels
Ben paused to catch his breath, leaning on his shovel. “This is a lot of snow, Mom,” he said, a smile creeping onto his face.
“That’s the point, honey,” I said, piling another scoop onto the growing mountain. “Think of it as a reverse Christmas miracle.”
Annie giggled as she pushed tiny mounds of snow with her toy shovel. “Mr. Grumpy’s not going to like this,” she chirped.
By mid-morning, Dickinson’s driveway was buried under a fortress of snow.
A huge pile of snow in a driveway | Source: Midjourney
It was higher than the hood of Dickinson’s sleek black car. I dusted off my gloves, stepping back to admire our handiwork.
“That,” I said, “is a job well done.”
It wasn’t long before he noticed. Soon, Dickinson stormed over, his face as red as the Christmas lights on his roof.
“What the hell have you done to my driveway?” he bellowed.
A man shouting at someone | Source: Midjourney
I stepped outside, brushing off my gloves like I had all the time in the world. “Oh, Mr. Dickinson, this is a little something called quantum meruit.”
“Quantum what?” His eyes narrowed, his confusion almost comical.
“It’s a legal concept,” I explained with a smile. “It means if you refuse to pay for someone’s labor, you lose the right to enjoy the benefit of it. Since you didn’t pay Ben, we simply undid his work. Fair’s fair, wouldn’t you agree?”
A woman glancing to one side | Source: Midjourney
Dickinson sputtered, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “You can’t do that!”
I gestured toward the neighbors who had gathered to watch, their smiles thinly veiled. “Actually, I can. And if you’d like to call a lawyer, keep in mind that I have plenty of witnesses who saw you exploit a minor for free labor. That wouldn’t look great for someone like you, now would it?”
He glared at me, then at the crowd, realizing he’d lost. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stomped back to his house.
A house decorated for Christmas | Source: Pexels
By evening, the doorbell rang again, and there stood Dickinson, holding an envelope. He didn’t look me in the eye as he handed it over.
“Tell your son I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
I closed the door and handed the envelope to Ben. Inside were eight crisp $10 bills. Ben’s smile was worth more than all the money in the world.
Cash in an envelope | Source: Pexels
“Thanks, Mom,” he said, hugging me tight.
“No,” I whispered, ruffling his hair. “Thank you for showing me what real determination looks like.”
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