N. A. Limonov. Expedition Notes

We were heading to the second level of the anomalous zone, the path to it lay through the basement. This time we were descending from the ninth floor of what seemed to be an ordinary Soviet apartment building; last time everything was slightly different.

Gridin – the expedition leader, who had been there three times already – believed that the "Whispering Forest" awaited us, judging by the notes I caught out of the corner of my eye in the logbook.

On the first floor, hearing some noise, I hesitated for a moment and didn't manage to follow Simonov; the basement door slammed shut right in front of my face with such force, as if someone had pushed it from the other side. At that same instant, something grabbed me and pulled me into a dark, dusty apartment. I couldn't resist, only scream.

Locked inside a room, with a trembling hand I am writing these lines by the light of a flickering flashlight. The batteries are dying, even though they were changed just an hour ago. Something is scratching greedily and ominously at the door, wanting to get in, and a black figure is rhythmically tapping on the window flooded with yellow light.