I check into small hotel a few kilometers from Kiev. It is late. I am tired. I tell the woman at desk that I wanted a room. She tells me room number and gives the key. “But one more thing comrade; there is one room without number and always locked. Don’t even peek in there.” I take the key and go to my room to sleep. Night comes and I hear trickling of water. It comes from the room across. I cannot sleep so I open door. It is coming from the room with no number. I pound on door. No response. I look in keyhole. I see nothing except red. Water still trickling. I go down to front desk to complain. “By the way who is in that room?” She looks at me and begins to tell the story. There was woman in there. Murdered by her husband. Skin all white, except her eyes, which were red.

Story is told by Zendaya 017

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Zendaya 017


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