That's where the ramblings went full blast. It turned out that the land here is some strange, the dead man lies in it for decades. The chatter went even further. Corpses already began to get out at night from graves, to walk around, it seems even someone saw them ... approximately At the same time successors of the Prince decided that to live to them here it is optional, but couldn't sell the earth. Then I went beyond them.
- When I was engaged in the plot, have long tried to figure out where the hell that thing could go... first, the transport, of course, was not then the place was considered pretty wild – one of the railroad near there. And the main thing, it not only now the site is in the wood, then there was the same. That there is happening – in village could only guess, to see fires of and to hear noise can be was wasn that with bell tower Church, made there many not you can see.Plus to this Pro of the, which killed, talked strange things – as I understood, have him were have him were problems with head. Incidentally, cousin his, which I have house bought,, too,, seems, moreover.
"I wonder... how does it manifest itself?"
"He's got a bad look in his eyes. Look, we're almost there. Behind this turn there will be a straight glade, at the end-a rusty gate. Behind them begins the estate.
– Perfectly. Valer, turn into the bushes. You wait here for us, will you?" And no lights.
It's unclear if Rosenthal is home. Maybe no one's waiting for us.
* * *
- The initials of the former owner, D. R., Dmitri Rosenthal, could be seen against the night sky in the rusty scrollwork of the gate that leaned against the crumbling brick towers. We had flashlights, but we didn't dare turn them on. Rosenthal, Jr., who may have been somewhere very close, could have run away, or he could have fired: a man with an oddity, it is very difficult to guess his mood in advance.
- We walked in total darkness, no lights were visible. About a hundred yards ahead, he could see the outline of a dilapidated house that had once been at least two stories high. On the left I could see the traces of a stone fence, and on the right I could see the remains of a summer-house among the trees. There must have been a Park around the house once, but it had long since merged with the forest. There was no sign of the paths, and we kept tripping over mounds here and there.
- "Dammit –" whispered his colleague, " there are some suspicious piles. Maybe this really is a cemetery.
I didn't argue.
- "No problem. That would be unoriginal. You know, from the metro Station "Prospekt VETERANOV" you will pass deep into the blocks five-there Khrushchev stands, fenced so, and inside-mass graves. Live people, and nothing. About volkovskiy Prospekt I'm not saying there the same Khrushchev are in the middle of the cemetery. I never understood it – was there not enough land in the sixties?... But Rosenthal was a special person, maybe he even liked it that way.
- – B..., a pervert. Where was he? Here is sits now with rifle on what any on the tree.
- "It's possible. That's probably why there's no light... Let's go around the house. Maybe the Windows on the other side are on fire.
Trying not to crash in the dark, we turned right and went around. The building in many places was nice destroyed. The front porch, which had once looked impressive, retained only two of the four columns, and the roof over the porch had collapsed. The wall to the right was also crumbling. But strangely enough, in two places I thought the holes in the wall were fairly fresh, and the stones did not seem to have fallen of themselves. I wanted to share his observation, but a colleague, instead of listening to me, quietly cried out and fell somewhere down.
"Damn it," he whispered from below. It's not a city to change pipes in.
I lay down on the grass and pressed the flashlight against the wall and turned it on.
The cliff ran along the side of the house, and went somewhere down under the half-fallen wall. There was a damp smell, almost nothing to be seen. Ragged walls on one side, and swollen earth on the other. This must have been the entrance to the basement, excavated by the Professor.
I jumped down. Together we walked about ten meters deep. The floor was littered with shards of stone, and several times there were steps leading down. I didn't see any cracks, and there was no need to be afraid that the light would be seen. First, under the rays of the lanterns across only the old stones, in some places the wall was made of bricks. Through a semicircular archway we entered a room high enough for a basement, in the corner of which was a worm-eaten oak door with iron bars stuffed into it. Trying not to step on the crunching underfoot fragments of something like cement, we slowly approached and listened. It was quiet on the other side.
The lock on the door was broken. When I pressed it, it seemed to me that the creaking should be heard by the agent we left two kilometers from here... but either the owner was not at home, or the soundproofing was here, as in the recording Studio: no one appeared... we went in.
It was a strange room. There were no Windows – the ceiling was perhaps three meters below the ground. There were shelves along the walls, antique cupboards in the corners, some of them made of glass, like in shops... In the corner, under the beam, something bright, as tall as a man. I returned the flashlight beam ... A skeleton stood in the corner.
- Biology class, huh? – A colleague came closer to the skeleton and looked at what he held. "He was pinned to the ceiling by the scruff of his neck.
A large mahogany table held flasks and a kind of moonshine still, as well as several burners. It was all covered with age-old dust, as were the books on the shelves. I couldn't make out the names on the darkened bindings.
That there was in wardrobes, through dirty glass, too, was not in sight, but in some connections guessed zaspirtovannye parts of human tel.and Here is on iron the chamber contrary doors teetered closed tightly a piece of glass with a real human head. Eyes open, trimmed under the pot his hair was slightly ruffled, facial expression confused... Where are we?
– You know, it all seems to be from the old master. Look, the furniture is old, the test tubes are of some strange shape-probably used to make such ... Remember, Rosenthal's Deputy said that they were in the family of doctors and scientists?
– Yes, something like that... but that's the thing the interior does not fit.
There was a long zinc box on the floor in the corner. On the lid was a scrap of paper with a seal and handwritten numbers with a signature, and on the sides of the lid – traces of wax seals.