The Relic of Past

"Squeak~"

The owner of the house pushed the worn and deformed wooden door open a crack. A bald fat man wearing a leather jacket was hiding at the door, staring at the young American man outside vigilantly.

When he saw the owner of the house, Sam's heart skipped a beat.

Trouble, this guy is a skinhead!

These scumbags are very easy to identify. The swastika pendants around their necks are the best evidence.

"What's up?"

The bald fat man was silent for a moment and asked coldly.

Noticing that the other party's hand had already reached his lower back, Sam calmly took a step back and raised his hands, "Friend, don't be impulsive. I just want to do a small business with you!"

"You better get the hell out of this town before I shoot you!"

"What if I rent your house for $100 for an hour just to take a few photos?" Sam said as he raised his hand and backed away.

"A hundred? For rent?"

The bald fat man paused, as if he didn't understand what Sam said.

"How about putting the gun down first?"

Sam signaled with his eyes, "I am a friend of the owner of the Lincoln Antiques Shop, Big John. Do you know Big John?"

"You know Big John? The damn madman?"

The bald fat man suddenly realized, "I've heard of you, the American guy from Big John's store!"

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Big John's name really worked!

"My name is Lev. You can just call me Lev. Big John often talks about you. He said that the American pie you made is very delicious! It seems to be called something like biscuit pie?"

Lev's attitude improved a lot, at least he put the gun away.

"Uh..."

Sam smiled awkwardly, "You can call me Yuri, or my American name Sam. Come to Lincoln Antiques Shop to find me when you have time, and I'll treat you to biscuits!"

"Tell me, what are you going to do?"

Lev still had no intention of opening the door, but Sam could see the greed in his eyes.

"That's right."

Sam pointed at the house and said an excuse that he had thought of on the spur of the moment, "I was planning to shoot a video about traditional rural architecture and share it on a small website in the USA. I just passed by and accidentally saw this building. It's very distinctive and has a sense of age, so I wanted to take some photos and videos of this house."

"Two hundred! No, four hundred!" Lev the Lion opened his mouth loudly.

"My friend, you should know that there are many similar buildings in this town."

Sam gestured with a pistol, "Besides, you don't seem to be very friendly to me. I can definitely ask someone else."

Lev's expression changed, and he changed the subject abruptly: "Tell me how you plan to shoot it first! I don't believe anyone wants to see this shabby house."

Sam slowly took out his cell phone and said, "Just use your cell phone to take pictures of the internal structure and some daily necessities with local characteristics. It won't involve your privacy."

He has now given up on digging out any treasure from this house. As long as he can make the green arrow on the map disappear, at worst the things he finds will belong to this scumbag, giving him a chance to make a fortune for free.

"Fifty bucks!"

Lev finally opened the door. "Fifty bucks, you can pay whatever you want. Believe me, this house is the most historic building in this town. It was built by my grandfather himself."

Do I look like someone who is short of more than fifty dollars?

Sam nodded happily, and then called Big John in front of Lev to tell him his exact location.

Lev took the cash handed over by Sam with a grim look on his face.

But to be honest, if it weren't for the phone call just now, it would be hard to guarantee that this guy would not play the role of a robber.

Following the distance instructions on the map, Sam took dozens of meaningless photos in the house and finally turned the topic to the dusty accordion on top of the refrigerator.

"Lev, I didn't realize you could play the accordion?"

Sam asked knowingly. If this drug addict with needle holes all over his arms could play any musical instrument, he would dare to eat a hat on live broadcast.

Lev blushed and boasted shamelessly: "Of course, this accordion is a treasure left by my grandfather. When I was a child, I often used it to play 'Home on the Range' at school parties."

"That's a pity. Since it's a treasure left by your grandfather, forget it."

Sam shook his head pretentiously and raised his cell phone to take a few close-up photos of the accordion.

Even if Lev was stupid, he understood what Sam meant. "Why? You like the accordion, too?"

"I can't play that instrument."

Sam shook his head regretfully. "But when I was a kid, I watched a lot of movies about the war, and I had a deep impression of this romantic instrument. I wanted to buy it, but I didn't expect it to be your grandfather's relic."

"Two hundred dollars!"

Lev was too excited to care about being reserved. "For only two hundred bucks, this accordion is yours."

"You know, I work in Big John's shop, so it's inevitable that I like some historical stuff, but I'm not stupid."

Sam stretched out his fingers and touched the accordion, then wiped the dust off his hands on his clothes. "It's not worth two hundred. Even if it's new, it's not worth that much. And you see, its bellows are cracked."

"How much would you pay to take it away?"

Lev asked anxiously. He had finally met a rich fool, and he was not willing to miss the opportunity to make money.

"Fifty bucks."

Sam opened an online shopping platform and showed it to Lev. "Look, a new accordion only costs about fifty bucks."

"OK! Deal!"

Without waiting for Sam to finish speaking, Lev quickly took the accordion from the refrigerator and stuffed it into Sam's arms. In the process, he even accidentally dropped the TT-33 pistol on his waist onto the garbage-covered floor because of his excessive movements.

"Well, including the cost of filming, the total is a hundred bucks, take it!"

After the money and goods were paid, Sam left Lev's place holding the accordion as if he was running for his life. He didn't want to stay and be shot.

After driving the car back to the Lincoln Antiques Shop, Sam anxiously went into the room holding the accordion.

When he got the accordion, the green arrow on the map had disappeared. If nothing unexpected happened, there must be some secret hidden in this old accordion.

He borrowed the tools that Big John used to restore antiques and disassembled the accordion. He saw that there was indeed a square army green canvas bag fixed on the inner wall of the bellows.

When he opened the canvas bag, the first thing that caught his attention was a Walther PPK pistol soaked in gun oil!

This jet-black pistol was equipped with expensive ivory grip patches. One of the ivory patches was engraved with the words "1939 Katyn 2762," and the other was engraved with an oval pattern with a sickle, hammer, and a sword in the middle.

Why do I seem to have seen this pattern somewhere before?

Sam put down the pistol and continued to take things out of the canvas bag.

In addition to the pistol, there was also a folded blue wide-brimmed hat in the canvas bag. When he unfolded the hat, a flash of lightning flashed through Sam's mind, and he finally remembered where he had seen that pattern!

The NKVD!

The pattern on the pistol handle is the emblem of the former Soviet Union's NKVD!

Many people may not know about the NKVD, but many people must know the KGB, and the former is the predecessor of the KGB! If we go back in time, even the Ministry of Internal Affairs, to which the modern police forces belong today, can be considered the successor of this violent agency!

Coupled with the iconic blue-topped wide-brimmed hat and the words carved on the other side of the gun handle, Sam couldn't help but shudder!

Could it really be that?

Sam suppressed his speculation, reached into the canvas bag with trembling hands, and continued to take things out.

This time, what he took out was a thin kraft paper envelope.

The envelope was not sealed, and a first-class Order of the Patriotic War was pinned on the spot where a stamp was originally placed!

Oh no!

Sam cursed and carefully took out a yellowed piece of letter paper from the envelope:

"I am Oleg Blokhin, one of the executioners who massacred the Poles in the Katyn Forest in 1939, and a hero who received the First Class Order of the Patriotic War of the Soviet Union. The so-called hero is probably a mockery of the crimes I have committed.

In 1939, I used this pistol captured from German spies to kill 2,762 Poles. Some of them were prisoners of war, some were spies, but more were innocent civilians and doctors.

Since then, I have been trapped in endless remorse forever. When I killed the Poles, I also shot my own conscience.

I have a premonition that my time is running out. Today, I seal this letter of confession along with all the memories of the massacre in my beloved accordion. Perhaps one day after my death, my dear grandson Lev will discover that the grandfather he worshipped like a hero was not only a coward but also an executioner with blood on his hands.

This world is really ironic.

Oleg Blokhin

13.04.1990"

"This is the real murder weapon."

Gently putting down the yellowed letter paper, Sam picked up the pistol that smelled of gun oil again. It was hard to imagine that this exquisite and small pistol that looked more like a work of art had actually killed more than two thousand people!