Exciting News for International Readers! 🌟

The Mysteries of the Old Houses is currently being translated into English and will soon be available for purchase as an e-book. Stay tuned for updates! Enjoy this exclusive sneak peek into the first chapter:

Niya had not planned on coming to this place. She knew of the house from the conversations between her mother and father, but she had never paid much attention to what exactly they were discussing. She had a faint memory of visiting as a small child, but aside from the image of the house itself, rising proudly at the top of the hill, nothing else remained in her mind.

Just a month ago, her parents had lost their lives in a tragic accident on the Hemus Highway. Sudden and unexpected, like all such tragedies. When their personal belongings were handed over to her, Niya found a note in her mother’s purse.

"Niya, go to the house in the village. Don't waste time, we will be waiting for you there!"

At first, Niya paid no attention to the note, assuming her mother had forgotten to leave it behind before they set off. But afterward, almost every single night following the accident, she saw her mother in her dreams. She remembered nothing else except the fact that her mother kept appearing right there, in those dreams.

Eventually, she decided to go after all. She had taken a long leave of absence and could stay there, especially since it was mid-May and summer was just beginning, promising to be quite a hot season.

As she entered the village, she was immediately struck by the old houses perched across the four hills, which were visibly well-maintained. She had no trouble finding their house. The place where it stood was deeply etched in her memory.

She drove slowly up the hill, carefully watching her path, for there were no paved streets here—only cobblestones.

She pulled up in front of the house and stepped out without taking her luggage from the car, and only then did she realize she didn't have a key.

At that exact moment, an elderly woman stepped out of the neighboring house.

"You must be Niya, aren't you?" the woman asked with a natural, warm smile.

"Yes, I am," Niya replied, her face registering surprise, because this woman looked as though she had been waiting for her to arrive.

"Nobody locks their house around here, go right on in. If there's nothing to eat, just knock on my door, I won't leave you hungry."

Niya nodded gratefully and headed toward the house. It looked as though someone had just stepped out for a moment. There was a neat flower garden in front, a wooden bench made of two old logs with a wooden plank on top. Everything looked so old, yet so remarkably well-kept. She had no idea her parents came here so often. Or perhaps someone looked after the place while they were in the city?

Niya entered the hallway, slipped off her sneakers, and went in to explore the house, to familiarize herself with this unfamiliar place.

From the hallway, the doors to four rooms on the first floor were wide open. At the far end, a staircase was visible, clearly leading to the second floor. The first room on the right was the kitchen. It was small, but equipped with all the modern conveniences a contemporary homemaker could need—there was even a dishwasher, which her parents hardly required. Most interestingly, there was a large cast-iron heating stove, which Niya would likely be using soon. Later, she noticed the radiators on the walls and realized it was a wood-fired central heating system.

On the left was a space that served as both a dining room and a living area. There was a dining table with six chairs, a cupboard stocked with plenty of tableware and glasses for every occasion, and other small items. A small television hung above it.

The room behind the kitchen housed a bathroom and toilet on one side, with a washer and dryer installed on the other.

The room on the left was evidently her parents' study, its walls lined with bookshelves filled with a wide variety of books. There was a solid wooden desk where, for some unknown reason, a desk lamp was glowing. They forgot to turn it off, Niya thought. This room also held a beautiful, stylish armchair, which Niya sat in immediately, deciding it would be her favorite spot during the day.

After inspecting the first floor, she began climbing the stairs to see what lay above.

All the rooms had beautifully carved wooden nameplates. "Maria"—that was her mother, "Simeon"—was her father, "Niya" was herself, and "Miya"... Here, Niya paused, wondering who Miya could be. She tried to peek into this room, but it was locked.

And yet, the woman who welcomed me said nobody locks up around here, Niya thought with a faint smile.

She walked into her own room and gasped in astonishment. It was an exact replica of her bedroom in the city. The shock was truly profound. Even the books, the computer, and everything else were identical, as if someone had just transported them moments ago.

Niya felt a prickle of fear at these discoveries and experiences. But since the journey had been long, it was more important now to get a bite to eat and rest.

She opened the refrigerator in the kitchen, and it was stocked with everything a family would need for a week. She decided to make a simple sandwich and think about her next steps afterward.

She sat down in what was already her favorite armchair and gradually drifted off to sleep. Somewhere in the distance, a woman's voice echoed: "Niya, Niya."

Niya startled awake in the armchair, her heart pounding in her throat like a trapped bird. She looked around frantically, but the room was empty. Only the soft glow of the desk lamp cast long, dancing shadows against the walls.

The voice had been so clear, so familiar, that she involuntarily reached her hand out into the empty space before her. "Mom?" she whispered, but the only answer was the crackle of the wood in the old kitchen stove, echoing through the house.

Niya stood up, shaking her head. "I must be overtired, and the stress is playing tricks on my imagination," she tried to calm herself. Yet curiosity, mingled with a growing dread, pulled her toward the upper floor. That name—"Miya"—hung in her mind like an unsolved riddle.

She ascended the wooden staircase, which creaked in a peculiar, rhythmic cadence with her every step. When she reached the locked door, she stopped. The hallway was silent, but the air here felt thicker, as if heavy with unspoken words and untold stories.

Niya reached out and touched the carved wooden nameplate. The wood felt warm, almost vibrating. At that moment, she noticed something she had missed earlier—beneath the "Miya" plate, right on the threshold of the door, lay a small, silvery key shaped like a tongue of fire.

With a slightly trembling hand, she picked up the key. It was ice-cold. Niya placed it in the lock. It turned with a soft, confident click, as if the door itself wanted to open.

The room had not been locked out of fear of theft. It was... an exact replica of Niya’s room.

Here, however, the computer was turned on, and on the screen, she saw herself, but dressed in clothes she had never owned. The Niya on the screen wore garments from either a distant past or an unknown future... The attire, or rather the dress she saw, was not made of fabric, but of strange beads that radiated warmth instead of light. If she didn't know her own family, she would have thought she had a twin. But could that really be the answer to the mystery...

Suddenly, the window of the room flew open from the wind, blowing the lace curtains like white wings, and Niya saw a woman standing in the garden below, by that bench made of logs. It was the woman from the neighboring house, but now she wasn't smiling. She was looking straight up at Niya, holding something in her hands that was difficult to discern in the darkness.