Gosty: Po Tb

Anton understood then that the dampness in the walls wasn't just rain. It was the presence of those who had lived—and died—in the crowded, sick-choked communal apartments of the past, waiting for someone to finally open the door and listen to their silent, persistent story.

Anton sighed, setting down his book. He wasn't expecting anyone. He lived alone, and even the postman usually just shoved letters under the door. He opened the heavy, creaking door. gosty po tb

He laughed, assuming it was a stupid prank by the teenagers downstairs. But the tapping continued for days, even with the door locked and bolted. The apartment felt smaller, filled with a heavy, stifling atmosphere, as if the air itself was infected with a memory. Anton understood then that the dampness in the