"I am the notary of Helena Kowalska."
He dropped the name slowly, like a chain of cold metal. A murmur rippled through the room.
"She stated… that her will is not to be read until she's buried."
Some shifted nervously in their seats. Others exchanged skeptical glances. Everyone here had
assumed Helena had nothing. Nothing but stern looks, silence, and a collection of yellowed
books.
"What kind of will?" my cousin Marta muttered.
"Probably her old tea set," someone scoffed.
"If anything, she's leaving us debts," my uncle grumbled.
But when the notary read my name – loud, clear –
"Oliwia Kowalska."
– the entire room turned to look at me. A wave of whispering rose.
"What does she have to do with the will?"
"She was never around…"
"She only shows up when there's something to take… typical."
"West brat…"
I felt their eyes on my skin. Cold. Judging. Like needles pricking beneath my sweater.
"Can we speak somewhere private?" the notary asked.
My uncle scowled, then grunted, "Fine. The old woman's bedroom."
We followed him down the narrow hallway. The floorboards creaked beneath our feet. The
wallpaper was yellowed, a light flickered above.
The door moaned as it opened. The room smelled stale, as if it hadn't been aired out in years.
The bed was covered with an embroidered throw. On the nightstand, a worn prayer book and a
rosary. The mirror above the dresser was so cloudy it barely reflected anything—as if it didn't
want to recognize us.
We sat down. I stayed standing. The smell made my stomach turn.
The notary set his briefcase on the bed, clicked it open. The tension in the room thickened like
smoke.
He pulled out a few documents.
"The deceased…" he began, "surprisingly owned more than expected. And she was very clear
about who gets what."
Everyone held their breath.
"And some items are older than she was. Much older." He looked up. Directly at me. "And
some... were not meant for just anyone."
His voice turned formal—cold and detached—like he was reading a list of old debts.
"Mr. Roman Kowalski – the eldest son – receives the rural property in Zabrze and the garage
that goes with it. Also: savings of 7,200 zloty."
I heard someone inhale sharply. My father—who hadn't even shown up—got more than most.
"Mrs. Zofia and Mr. Stanislaw – the deceased's children – receive the Limoges porcelain set and
the silver cutlery stored in the living room cabinet."
Zofia's mouth twisted. "What? That's it?"Her husband raised a brow. You could see the disappointment in his eyes – he'd expected
something that came in bills, not dishes.
Then the notary set the papers aside and pulled out a smaller envelope. And a box. Black. Old.
With intricate carvings that shimmered strangely in the room's light—like liquid metal.
He looked up. "Oliwia?"
The room grew tighter. The air more suffocating. That acidic scent of old smoke, stale decades,
and heavy perfume hung over everything.
My mother froze. My uncle, my aunt, my cousin – all eyes turned to me. Their stares burned into
my skin, gnawed at my curiosity, my fear.
The notary's voice dropped to a hush:
"Mrs. Helena asked me to give this to you. She said… the letter is for your eyes only."
He handed me the envelope. Old. Wax-sealed. Then the box. Cold in my hand. Heavier than it
looked.
"She also instructed me clearly: Do not open the letter until you're alone."
Silence.
For two, maybe three seconds, it was like the world had paused.
Then my uncle exploded.
"Kurwa mać! What the hell is this!? That bitch barely knew her! And now this whole
performance?! What's in that damned thing?! We have a right to know too!"
He slammed his fist on the table. His glass rattled. My mother flinched.
The notary remained calm. He met my uncle's fury with ice.
"Mrs. Helena's wishes were explicit. And I am legally bound to honor them. So, if you'll excuse
me."
He stood, snapped the case shut, and left. The door closed behind him—soft, final.
The room wasn't full of people anymore. It was full of something else: unspoken envy.
The bitter stench of cold meat, stale coffee, and resentment thick in the air.
"Come on!" my aunt hissed. "Open it! Read it out loud!"
I stared at her. Longer than I thought I would. Harder.
"No."
I slipped the envelope into my bag. The box too.
"Definitely not."
"You little brat! Then get out of my house!" my uncle growled, face red, forehead gleaming with
rage.
Suddenly, my mother placed a hand on my back. Her fingers trembled slightly.
"Come on, Oliwia… let's go."
The door closed behind us. Outside, it had gotten colder. Fog rose over the damp pavement.
The streetlight flickered.
We climbed into the car in silence. My mother turned her face to the window. I turned on the
heat, but the cold still crept under my skin.
I held the box tightly.It wasn't just cold. It… vibrated. Just a little. Almost like it was alive.
And I knew:
Whatever Helena had left me—
It wasn't just a farewell letter.
It was the beginning of something.
Something old
My phone buzzed.
Angelika.
"Girrrrlll! We're picking you up in an hour – farewell drinks!"
I laughed.
"Okay! I'll get ready. But not for long – my flight's early!"
I hung up.
Silence.
Except for my father snoring like a dying bear in the background.
I reached into my bag.
The letter.
The box.
I sat on the edge of my bed. The light was dim, the walls pale, the air heavy.
I glanced at my little vanity mirror. Something felt… off inside me.
The ticking clock in the hallway.
The tightness in my chest.
The sudden rush of fear.
My breath quickened as I opened the lid.
A key.
Old. Black. Iron.
Cold in my hand.
Heavier than it should be.
A key that looked like it belonged in a castle—or a legend.
"What am I supposed to do with this…?" I whispered.
My fingers trembled as I opened the letter.
The paper was brittle, the ink faded.
But every word cut deep.
Dear Oliwia,
If you're reading this, I'm probably already underground.
First, I want to say I'm sorry… for all those years… for how I treated you.
I had to. Not because I didn't love you—but because it was necessary.
You needed to grow tougher. Colder.
Because what's coming will test every part of you.
You know I was never good at showing emotions.
But you should know…
You were always my favorite granddaughter.
Even if I never showed it.
The key in the box… keep it close. Guard it.
You'll soon understand what it was made for.
With love,
Helena
Underneath the letter was something else.
A rhyme.
Etched shakily on the paper's back.
"Where fire burned sacred walls,
You'll find what should've stayed lost.
But only at night, when the moon looks away,
And the heart no longer believes what it feels."
My throat was dry.
My eyes stung.
Something rose in me—
Not fear.
Not joy.
Something unfamiliar.
Like an echo from another life.
I wiped my face.
Stood up.
Slipped the letter into my bag.
The key—still cold—into my jacket pocket.
I wasn't ready to say goodbye.
Not completely.
But I knew:
Tonight, I was going.
To where sacred walls had fallen.
And maybe… I wouldn't just find answers there.
Maybe I'd lose myself too.
I pulled on my ripped skinny jeans, a tight black top—the one that made my mom roll her eyes every time—then my boots, my leather jacket, a quick spritz of perfume behind the ears, and I crept down the stairs.
From the kitchen: onions sizzling in oil, the soft voice of my mother—
"Oliwia, dokąd idziesz?!"
("Oliwia, where are you going?!")
I smirked.
"Idę pić z dziewczynami, mama! I nie, nie spóźnię się na samolot, przysięgam!"
("Going out drinking with the girls, Mom! And no, I won't miss my flight, promise!")
HOOOOONK!
They pulled up like it was a damn pirate ship.
I rolled my eyes, yanked the door open—and there they were.
Angelika behind the wheel, oversized sunglasses in her hair, even though it was pitch-black out.
Natalia in the passenger seat, one hand on an energy drink, the other reapplying lip gloss.
And in the back: bass blasting some ridiculous Kliklok remix.
"Bitch, get in! You need alcohol in your blood, like, yesterday!"
"You've been acting like some sad emo girl ever since the whole will thing."
"So? What was in the box? A cursed dildo from 1900?"
I dove into the backseat, landed in a sea of chip crumbs and chewing gum wrappers, and groaned.
"Girls… it was the cringiest funeral I've ever survived. I swear to God."
Angelika peeled off like we were in a low-budget action movie.
"Tell us everything! Was there wine? Or did you have to look sad while sober too?"
I sighed.
"There was a notary. A real one. Suit. Briefcase. Mafia-movie voice."
"Uhhh! Sexy?"
"Old. And kinda dusty. But like, sexy in a 'reads your inheritance and then dies mysteriously' kind of way."
Natalia giggled.
"And? What did you inherit? Her teeth? Corns? Blessed forks?"
I pulled the key from my pocket and held it up.
"Tadaaa. A Dracula key. And a letter. With drama. And… she apologized to me."
Silence.
Two seconds.
Then:
"SHE'S THE ONE WHO NEVER EVEN LOOKED AT YOU!"
"Plot twist, bitch! This is like Natflix! You're secretly the heir to a cursed kingdom!"
"Or you're adopted and she hid you because you're a demon child."
I laughed.
For the first time all day.
"It's weird. But I'm going. Tonight."
"Where?"
"Some old ruin. Because of the rhyme."
"Girl, you're either gonna die or become rich. No in-between."
Angelika hit the main road.
"But first, we drink. And dance. And then we drop you off at your haunted castle. With a flashlight. And vodka. And pepper spray."
"And if you find a secret door, call us. I want a cursed necklace too."
I grinned.
The night was ours.
For now.
The bar was a trashy little cave with blue neon lights dripping over sticky tables and sweat-stained walls.
It reeked of cheap vodka, stale cigarette smoke, and an entire generation's failures.
The DJ was spinning some 2000s remix no one asked for, someone was already puking in the bathroom, and the air was so thick you could slice it with a broken bottle.
This was where Poland's lost souls came to drown:
Gold-chain drunks, girls in skirts too short for winter, boys with eyes that had seen too much and understood too little.
It was the perfect place for a goodbye.
We stood at the bar, shouting over the music, laughing, downing cheap shots like water.
Angelika toasted me while reapplying blood-red lipstick in her phone screen.
"Come on, Oliwia! Let's drink you into oblivion – like you were never born!"
"Wait! I'm getting another round of tequila!"
I turned to Natalia, about to make a joke about the girl in the pink wig—
When Angelika's voice cut through the noise like glass:
"Oh fuck…"
I blinked.
"What?"
She stared behind me, frozen.
Natalia opened her mouth to speak—
"Oliwia!" Angelika shouted.
"What?!"
"Your. Ex."
My smile died.
I turned slowly.
And there he was.
Standing in the doorway like a bad memory in overpriced cologne.
Black leather jacket. Designer sneakers. Cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth like he'd just stepped out of a music video.
Hair gelled to perfection. That arrogant side part like a cartoon.
Thin lips curled into that smug smile like he was thinking, "Miss me, baby?"
His eyes scanned the crowd.
Locked onto me.
Slow. Possessive.
A look like a hand closing around my throat.
Behind him: his goons.
Bald, tatted, built like trash compactors.
The kind of guys who looked like they'd fought three people that morning and were ready for number four.
Angelika whispered:
"Should we stab him now or wait?"
I laughed—short, sharp.
"Relax. If he touches me, I'll personally punch him back into his mom's uterus."
He walked toward us.
That swagger—puffed up like the bar owed him rent.
Like he was still king of my world.
Like I hadn't already burned that throne to the ground.
He stopped a few feet in front of me.
Exhaled smoke.
Then said, slow and greasy, loud enough for everyone to hear:
"Well, well… my little expat. I thought your flight was tomorrow. Or did you want to see me one last time before you left?"
That voice.
That fake-deep bass.
Trying to be sexy. Just sounded wrong.
Everything about him was fake.
The aftershave he wore by the gallon.
The gold chain with his initials.
The eyes that undressed every girl but never saw any of them.
I stepped toward him.
My gaze? Ice.
"I came here to drink. Not to recycle trash from my past."
The people nearby murmured. His friends chuckled awkwardly.
Angelika stared him down like a wolf.
Natalia hissed:
"If he says one more word, I'm pouring this drink on his face."
He licked his lips.
"You missed me. Admit it."
I stepped closer.
Face to face.
My eyes scanned him slowly—
That polished, greasy grin.
That glitzy watch.
That fragile ego pretending to be a crown.
I smiled. Cold.
"I only miss the time before I met you."
Then I turned around.
Back to my girls.
"Another shot?"
"Two," Angelika grinned.
"One for each of his balls."
We laughed.
The night was ours again.
Almost.
Until—
I felt it.
His hand.
Cold.
Sliding across the back of my neck.
Down toward my chest.
"Oliwia…"
His voice—deep, greedy, dripping with that entitled confidence that only men with micropenises and mother issues have.
"Come on… let's have goodbye sex. One last time. You know you want to."
I froze.
For one second.
Then turned around slowly.
Gave him that look.
The one that makes even Satan step back and say, "Not today."
I stepped up.
Moved my hips.
Smiled. Sweet. Fake.
"You know what?"
He smirked.
Victory in his eyes.
"Why not…"
His eyes widened.
"I knew it—come here, baby—"
He leaned in.
Tongue already coming at me like a slug.
And then—
BAM.
My knee smashed into his balls like divine judgment.
A wet crack.
Emotionally orgasmic.
"Uuuugh… kurwa…"
He collapsed like a folding chair.
Clutching his groin.
Wheezing.
And then?
His goon moved.
The bald one with the Red Bull can lunged—
But Natalia was already airborne.
"HOLD MY VODKA!"
She didn't hold it.
She smashed the bottle over his head.
CRASH.
Vodka. Glass. Blood? Whatever.
The guy staggered like a moose on crack.
Another friend yelled:
"What the hell?!"
Angelika, our queen, screamed:
"FOR THE SISTERHOOD, YOU FUCKING TOAD!"
And threw a shot glass straight into his face.
He shrieked like a drunk Chihuahua.
We grabbed our bags.
Ran.
"OUT, OUT, OUT!"
The bar exploded into chaos.
Chairs toppled.
Someone yelled:
"ALARM! THE BITCHES ARE GOING FERAL!"
Outside. Tires screeched.
Natalia was already in the driver's seat.
Angelika threw open the back.
I dove in.
Behind us someone screamed:
"Oliwiaaaa! Kurwaaa!!"
"GET THEM! RIP THEIR HAIR OUT OF THEIR ASS!"
We laughed.
Natalia hit the gas.
In the rearview mirror, I saw my ex and his buddies stumbling out of the bar like deflated teddy bears.
We all gave them the finger at once.
"CIAO, SAUSAGE PRINCE!" I shouted.
Angelika added:
"YOUR DICK WAS NEVER WORTH THE DRAMA!"
And waved a tampon from her purse.
Natalia yelled:
"GOD I LOVE US!!"
We howled.
Crying, laughing, eyeliner smudged, voices full of vodka.
Then…
Silence.
The kind that hits hard in the chest.
I swallowed.
"I'm gonna miss you guys."
Angelika:
"Shut up, kurwa… I'm gonna cry, damn it…"
Natalia sniffled:
"We'll visit you. And then we'll suck British and American dick together—with glitter lip gloss and fish and chips, bitch!"
"HAHAHA!"
We lost it again.
Natalia nearly swerved off the road.
I reached into my pocket.
The key.
Old. Heavy. Almost black.
It vibrated in my hand…
Like it was waiting.
A pulse.
"Girls… we're doing it. Now."
Natalia turned.
Eyes lit up.
"To the adventure… our last in Poland."
"YES, BITCHES!"
"Let's goooo."
I pulled the wrinkled rhyme from my jacket.
I read it aloud.
"When the shadow falls on the ancient wall,
And the wind whispers a forgotten name,
There, where ruins tremble in the moonlight—
Begins that which knows no sleep."
It felt surreal.
Like a curse.
Or the start of a novel that ends in blood.
"Okay… where do we find old ruins?"
We brainstormed.
Angelika googled.
Natalia picked at her eyeliner.
I stared into the dark.
Then…
"Wait…"
My voice shook.
I remembered.
A lullaby.
My mother used to hum it when she was sad.
One her mother had sung to her.
A line came back like a ghost.
"Tam, gdzie stare cegły śpią, pod koroną mgły…"
(Where old bricks sleep beneath a crown of fog…)
"Oh my God…"
I stared at Natalia.
"I know where it is."
Angelika:
"WHERE?!"
"The old manor house near Grochowce. Middle of nowhere. No signal. My grandma used to call it 'the lost house'…"
Natalia stepped on it.
"Then let's take that cursed key there before we grow old, ugly, and married!"
Grochowce Ruins – 3:08 AM
Temperature: 2°C
Blood alcohol level: 120% Vol.
We stood in front of the crumbling estate like three half-dead Disney princesses on acid.
The wind hissed at us like it wanted us gone.
Fog crawled across the ground like a dying breath.
The stones stank of mold, old blood, and Polish men's cologne from the 80s.
"What are we even looking for? A ghost with a GPS?"
Angelika muttered, trying not to fall into a hole.
We stumbled through the broken entrance, laughing.
Flashlights on.
Shoes too expensive.
Dignity too drunk.
"AH!"
"What?!"
"I walked into a fucking wall, kurwa!"
Natalia rubbed her forehead and grinned like a deranged Tinder date.
Laughter. Tears. Chaos.
"Shut up, bitches… there's probably corpses here."
Angelika's voice echoed down the dead halls.
"Or some ghost's gonna rail us from behind."
"I hope it's hung like a ghost stallion."
Natalia winked.
We cackled like witches.
Then—
I froze.
Out of the corner of my eye—
The woman.
The one from the funeral.
I'd thought I imagined her.
But she stood there.
White coat. Black hair.
No eyes.
Just… there.
At the base of a broken angel statue.
The statue loomed—moss-covered, lips red, a dagger in its hand.
Name on the base:
"Helena."
My heart raced.
I looked at the ground.
Felt it.
"What are you doing?!" Angelika.
"I don't know… haven't you ever seen horror movies?! I'm digging, okay?!"
Mud under my nails.
The air smelled like metal and omens.
CLANG.
Something solid.
"Help me, you whores!"
"With love."
We yanked out a mossy chest.
Dark wood. Symbols.
An owl. A skull. A crowned sun.
Dust scattered like ash.
I pulled out the key.
It fit.
Inside… a necklace.
Not just any.
Heavy.
Gold so dark it looked black.
A blood-red ruby shaped like an eye.
It pulsed.
Around it: spiderweb-fine silver strands.
So fragile, yet unbreakable.
It smelled like roses.
And iron.
And memory.
"OMG you're rich! Sell it, girl!"
Natalia stared at it like it was a cursed lottery ticket.
I put it on.
"Do I look like Grandma?"
My voice cracked.
"No…" Angelika smiled.
"You look like Grandma on crack."
We laughed.
But this time… different.
Like that moment in a movie.
Right before everything goes to hell.