And I could not have gone there.

It was May, I had a day off from school, and my dad had just gotten home from work. We ate dinner, sat on the couch, and turned on the TV. Dad grabbed the remote and started flipping through the channels. We happened upon the news, which was about the reopening of Polish bomb shelters and bunkers that hadn't seen a living soul in years. They were secured against collapse and decorated with various exhibits, such as replica weapons, copies of important World War II documents, soldier uniforms, and many other historical artifacts.

My parents are very interested in history, so when they heard about the possibility of visiting such a place (since one was a few kilometers from our house), they immediately ordered tickets online. Of course, they took me.

We arrived, and I wasn't particularly happy. I'd never liked such places because I always associated them with suffering, and I didn't really understand how anyone could visit such places "for pleasure." Well... We went inside with a guide, and he told us about Polish history... I admit, the man explained things very well; I understood everything much better than in history class at school. However, what I liked most was that there were so many rooms inside, and each one usually served a different purpose. We covered a good few kilometers during this tour. I was slowly starting to get tired. In one of the rooms were beds where soldiers were sleeping. I sat on one for a moment to take a break from the constant pacing. After a while, they all disappeared from my sight, but I could still hear them, so I didn't worry because I knew they were still nearby. I lay down and listened to the stories of the guide, who seemed to be still nearby. I didn't have a watch or phone with me. I didn't know how much time had passed... I opened my eyes and suddenly I stopped hearing the guide's voice.

It turned out I was actually hearing him in my mind and he hadn't been near me the whole time. I panicked and tried to run towards the exit, and I might have succeeded if it weren't for the fact that it was my first time there and I had no idea where the exit was. I kept wandering through the same rooms. Suddenly, I heard from the speakers mounted on the basement walls: "automatic closing." 

I was terrified; the lamps went out, and the only light came from small red lights placed in places where there were steps or slopes that visitors might trip over. The only thing that made me feel a little better was finding a flashlight in my jacket pocket. I remember my dad telling me to take it with me on the trip. I switched it on. I wandered through those long corridors, looking for an exit. I thought that even if they didn't open it today, I'd surely be able to get out faster the next day if they didn't have to look for me. After 20-30 minutes, I gave up. I sat down on the dirty ground and started crying. I looked carefully at the place I was in. A small hole in the floor appeared. I shone the flashlight on it; a rusty ladder was attached to the walls. I was very curious about what might be inside, but all I could see from above was a table with some papers on it... After a moment's thought, I decided I had nothing to lose anyway, and somewhere in those papers might be a map of the entire underground, so I took a chance. I went downstairs.

From above, the room seemed smaller than it actually was, so I started looking around... I noticed bars were mounted in the walls. I began to examine everything very carefully. The only thing that came to mind when I looked at this repulsive den was a torture chamber. Why did I think that? There was a lot of blood on the floor in the sections separated by bars, and in one of the boxes scattered in the corner were dirty knives, weapons, and some large, sharp implements I'd never even seen before.

I walked carefully, observing every nook and cranny. I glanced back as I continued forward and stepped into a large pool of blood, making a loud sound. Then I felt as if I was being watched; my sense of security vanished, and I was overcome with dread and fear.

I continued walking, feeling worse with each step. Just then, I heard someone descending the ladder; it certainly wasn't my imagination. The sounds were very loud and distinct. I aimed my flashlight in that direction, but all I saw was a shadow quickly disappearing from my sight. Now I knew I wasn't alone. Many thoughts raced through my mind. "Where did he/she come from?" "Who is he/she?" "What should I do now?" "Where can I hide?"

I tried to be as quiet as possible. I wanted to hear what the person was doing. Then he/she picked up something (most likely a walkie-talkie) and said, "I heard someone walking around our property. Yeah... I'm sure. I see someone was looking at our weapons. So we're not alone." 

Now I could tell from his voice that it was a man, and a very old one at that. What scared me most was what he said.  

So there are more of them here.

While I was pondering, the mysterious visitor climbed the ladder again and left me there. I didn't know what to do. I approached the table with the papers (which I had previously thought might show me an escape route), but when I examined them, they turned out to be neither a map nor anything else I could still think about. They were papers that described, in great detail and accuracy, the murders of people. Some even contained horrifying photographs of the murders, clearly taken in the very room I was now in. I read furiously, still hoping there was something here that would give me a clue as to how to escape. Unfortunately, I found nothing, and as I read further and further, I came across various names. Typically Polish.  

Again, I heard someone coming down the ladder. I hid behind the bars, sat on the floor, and crouched down so they couldn't see me. Now there were two of them, and I could hear them talking to each other. They were always talking only about me. I also heard one of them rummaging through the boxes of sharp torture instruments, and I could hear knives clashing against each other. I was sure I wouldn't live to see tomorrow.

They were walking towards me, approaching my hiding place very slowly. They had a flashlight, and I could tell how far away they were because the closer they got, the brighter the light reflected off the pools of blood. And finally, it happened. THEY FOUND ME!

They looked terrible, very disheveled, and clearly showing their age. When they spotted me, one of them immediately grabbed me and held me against the wall, while the other held a flashlight and asked me questions like: how did I get here, how old was I, what did I plan to do here, who was I, and did I plan to harm them? I answered all the questions. When the men got their answers, they let me go because they knew I wouldn't do anything to them, and even if I wanted to, I couldn't. The second older man (the one asking me questions) stopped shining his flashlight directly into my eyes and aimed it lower. At that moment, I had a chance to get a better look at him; I'd seen that face somewhere before. YES! YES! THAT WAS AN UNCLE!

I wasn't 100% sure about it because it was quite dark and I couldn't be sure anyway, so I asked:

– Sir... Your name is Marek?

– Yes, exactly Marek W*******i, and where do you know me from?

– It's me, Kasia... You're my uncle, do you remember me?

"Oh my god! It's you! You can't ever tell anyone you saw me here, do you hear me!?"

- Why?

When I asked this question, my uncle vanished like a ghost. However, the other one, who had come to me with him, remained beside me. We stared at each other for a moment until I finally dared to ask him:

– And you? Who are you?

"I'm Ryszard P*****i, one of the thousand people your uncle killed. I don't know if I should tell you this, but since he's no longer here, I can tell you a secret. However, if you tell anyone what I'm about to tell you, you'll die in agony, understand?"

– Yes, I understand, please explain it to me, I won't tell anyone....

- Come.

He led me to this table and showed me everything again. It turned out it wasn't just a list of those killed. At the top were those who had committed the murders. 

– So my uncle killed other Poles in this room?

– He didn't just kill them, he tortured them here, humiliated them, starved them... And in fact, he wasn't even your uncle. 

- What do you mean not?

"He simply claimed to be your relative, but he's actually of German descent. He changed his name to yours so you could believe it. He did it so he could legally be outside Poland."

I don't remember the rest of the conversation. The next day, I left the shelter (this man showed me the way out). A good 10 years passed. I met a man named Paweł P*****i. I fell in love with him, a few years later we got married and started a family. One day we sat together in the living room and reminisced about our childhood. Then it turned out his mother had been killed by Marek... Yes, that Marek... His father had disappeared under unknown circumstances, and his name was Ryszard... I remembered that I had talked to Ryszard, but for a long time I couldn't remember his last name, and surprise... He has the same last name as my husband, and if he were alive, he would be my father-in-law... 

Since then, I've felt Ryszard's presence every day, often dreaming about him, and sometimes even seeing him in real life. He became my lifelong friend...