My grandson excavated his grandfather's grave and found a secret door beneath him. When he opened it, his cry echoed throughout the cemetery...
It's been raining for two days now.
Daniel stood in front of his grandfather's freshly made grave in the small cemetery near Troyan and clutched the shovel with two hands.
After the funeral he had found a very strange note written with his grandfather's handwriting:
“Danaile, if you’re reading this, you still have time. On the third night after my funeral, dig up my grave. Look under the coffin. Don’t let the secret stay buried.”
After a few hours, the shovel hit something that didn't sound like a finger or a tree.
The bottom under the coffin was not of dirt. A dark metal plate with a large iron ring was fed under the lining.
He grabbed the ring and pulled with all his might.
The lid opened and revealed a deep vertical shaft.
Daniel began to come down.
A large underground camera was found around it, and at the bottom of it stood a door of strange white bone-like material. In the middle there was a dent in the shape of a human hand.
Daniel set his.
The door opened.
A huge hall filled with hundreds of glass vessels was opened in front of him.
But the most terrifying thing was not that.
In the center of the hall there was...
There was a chair in the center of the room.
Not an ordinary chair.
It was made of dark metal, covered with traces of rust and something that looked like withered mud. Thick leather straps were attached to the armrests. From the ceiling above it hung cables, glass pipes and small lamps that blinked with pale blue light.
And there was a man sitting in the chair.
Daniel froze.
It wasn't possible.
The man was thin, with gray hair and a long face. He was wearing an old suit that Daniel had only seen once before, in the black and white picture in his grandfather's home.
The same suit.
The same dark tie.
The same scar above the left eyebrow.
His grandfather.
Stoyan.
Only Stoyan was dead.
Three days ago, Daniel was standing by his ark. He had watched people throw a finger at the lid, his grandmother Anna crying without a sound, as if her tears had ended years ago.
His grandfather had died in his home.
His heart had stopped overnight.
The doctor signed the papers.
The priest had read a prayer.
Everyone was told it was the end.
And now he was sitting before Daniel, with his head tilted to one side, and his eyes, which were slowly opened.
"You're late," Stoyan whispered.
His voice was weak.
But alive.
Daniel missed the lantern.
He fell on the stone floor and his light turned in a circle, illuminating the glassware on the shelves.
Then Daniel saw what was in them.
They were not organs.
It wasn't strange experiments, as you first thought.
They were small objects.
Watches.
Rings.
Photos.
Children's shoes.
Keys.
Letters.
Hundreds of small items arranged in transparent vessels, each with a label written by hand.
Names.
