I had always dreamed of a house far from the city, somewhere free from the noise, stress, and daily hustle and bustle. When I came across an ad for a beautiful old house in the countryside, the price seemed too good to be true.
“It needs some renovation, but it’s solid and safe”, the old man selling it told me. His gaze was gentle, but somehow… strange.
I signed the papers and moved in within a month. The house was beautiful, with high ceilings and old wooden floors. Everything seemed to hide a story from the past.
But then, one evening while I was cleaning out the basement, I found something that made my blood run cold.
Behind an old, dusty closet, I noticed something unusual, a small door in the wall, locked with a heavy metal lock. I didn’t have the key.
I couldn’t sleep all night. What was behind that door? What if it was just a storage room? And what if… it wasn’t? The next morning, I called a locksmith. He came, looked at the door, and said:
“This is no ordinary lock. It’s at least 80 years old. They must have wanted to hide something inside”.
After several tries, the lock finally gave way. The door opened with an eerie creaking sound.
Behind it, a small space, almost a secret room. Inside… an old, wooden chest. My heart pounded as I opened it. Inside, a pile of yellowed letters. I take one, open it, start reading…
And I realize that the letters were love letters. But not ordinary love letters. These letters were from a man who disappeared in 1947. And the last letter ended with a chilling sentence:
“If you’re reading this, it means they never found my body”.