Chapter 1 -Chișinău

In the darkness of the night faintly lit by the moonlight, I lay on my bed unable to sleep, swaying side to side with the shaking of my wagon. Calling it a "bed," by my standards, would be misleading; the truth was that the mattress was immensely uncomfortable, and the constant vibration of the journey, combined with the winter cold, made falling asleep a real challenge. Supposedly, the beds were very good for an 11-hour trip, but at least in my case, that wasn’t true.

I was lying on my back, thinking about the typical trivial things a person insomnia tends to ponder—or at least they seemed meaningless to me—because knowing that I wouldn’t have enough time to rest in the next morning, the best thing that I could do was having a good night’s sleep. When we settled into our cabin, Costin stayed awake for a couple of hours while we talked about anything. Anton fell asleep almost immediately, since he had worked that day and was exhausted even before the journey began—he works in elevator maintenance—while Alina stayed awake but didn’t talk much. The only thing I learned when I asked her was that she was browsing the internet for interesting places to visit in Chișinău.

We were traveling on a sleeper train called Prietenia, famous for being the last Soviet train in Europe. Our compartment had a very classic style, with our beds arranged as four frames along the two walls of the cabin, like bunk beds placed on both sides, with mattresses and simple cotton thread sheets. I’m not an expert in weaving, but I would describe the sheets as having a kind of "braided" pattern. The walls were metal, with a very industrial but elegant feel. We had a window right in front when we opened the door to the small room, which was decorated with a curtain that barely blocked the light coming from outside. In the middle of the four beds was a small table with a vase; we also had power outlets in case we wanted to charge our electronics. Costin and Anton took the upper beds, while Alina and I had the lower ones.

We must have been just a few hours from the border between Romania and Moldova. We had left shortly after 7:00 p.m., and I knew it was early morning, but we weren’t close to dawn yet, so we must have been at least more than four hours from our destination. As I shifted in my bed searching for a more comfortable position, Alina, who was at the other side of the cabin, whispered.

“Vasile, can’t you sleep?”

“No... I thought you were asleep. Did I wake you up?” I replied.

“I woke up on my own. I’m very cold.”

And indeed, it was January in Romania, and the temperature, from what I saw a little earlier, was -2 degrees Celsius.

“Me too, though with some luck I’ll sleep a bit. Tomorrow we won’t have much time.”

“I know.” She said, and after a short pause, she asked:

“Do you still want to go to that place I told you about?”

“The countryside or the ruins?”

“The ruins.”

“Eventually, yes. Although what excites me the most are the forest areas, you know? The ruins seem more touristy, so many more people go to visit them. The countryside feels a bit more deserted, and in winter the forest must look very beautiful, and with enough daylight, I think it’s worth going.”

“Okay, we can go to the countryside first, then the ruins, if that sounds good to you.”

“Deal.”

At that moment, Costin, who was on the bed right above me, moved a little and let out a faint "Hmm," as if he was about to wake up. Realizing this, we assumed it was best to sleep so as not to disturb the guys, or at least that’s what I interpreted from the expression on Alina’s face. After that, she told me, "Rest well," and settled into her bed to sleep. I did the same as best as I could. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the metallic sound of the moving train. After what felt like an hour, I finally fell asleep.

---

That same morning, I woke up to the sound of voices speaking in low tones; Anton and Costin were already both awake. Looking out the window, I saw that dawn had come, so we must have already crossed the border and should be near the Chișinău station. I grabbed my phone—it was 7:45 a.m. I peeked up at the bed where Anton was. Alina was lying face down; I wasn’t sure if she was awake.

“Good morning, Cinderella. Did you sleep well?” Anton said, looking down at me.

“No... Sometimes I wish I was the Sleeping Beauty,” I replied.

“That’s too bad, but I think it was a good idea to come by train. It feels like we’re in the Soviet Union, like a time machine. I love this stuff!”

“Constantin had the idea; he had taken the train once before.”

Constantin, whom we called Costin, was listening to the conversation.

“I knew you’d like it. I like traveling at night because we don’t have to spend money on a hotel. This way, we can just sleep on the carriage and save a day’s stay,” Costin said.

We talked about what we would do when we arrived at the station and how we’d get to our lodging. After a few minutes, Alina woke up, and we all decided to go to the dining car for breakfast. We didn’t have much time to talk after that, as our arrival was scheduled for 8:50, so we only managed to finish our meal and get our things ready to get off the train.

When we arrived at the station, it was noticeably quiet. Our train was the only one there, and the people present—who weren’t many—were those who had accompanied us on our journey from Bucharest. The first thing we did was exchange lei at the station’s currency exchange. Then we bought Moldovan SIM cards and some snacks from the vending machines. A man asked if we needed a taxi, but Costin politely declined, saying it wasn’t necessary because we would take the bus. And that’s what we did—our lodging was very close to the city center, so we only had to walk a bit and wait a few minutes.

“We’ll get there in 15 minutes. It’s very fast,” Costin said.

The morning was cloudy and extensively white. It wasn’t snowing, but the bright reflection of the snow-covered streets and thin layers of frozen water hinted that the previous night had been bitterly cold—though not cold enough to cover large parts of the city or block vehicle traffic.

We headed toward the city center. At first, we passed through an area with low-rise buildings, with shops and businesses on the ground floor and apartments above. Where we were, a tree-lined avenue stretched to the end of a street that led to a large plaza, where a building with a political air stood—I guessed it was some government office.

“So, you had been to Chișinău a year ago?” Alina asked Constantin.

“Yes, it was a work trip, but I didn’t have much time to visit the city then. Before that, I came many times with my family during my childhood, but the last time was many years ago, and I don’t remember that occasion very well. I didn’t take many photos either,” he replied.

“Why?” Alina asked.

“Because I was 16, and at that age, my parents still didn’t let me have my own camera. They took some photos but only printed a few. They’re still framed at home, but that’s my only memory of the trip. Maybe with a cellphone, I could have taken photos—I always wanted a Nokia back then.”

“Though I guess the resolution wasn’t very good” said Anton, who was listening.

“It wasn’t, at least compared to today’s cameras, but it was kind of a status symbol, you know?” he said, laughing.

Costin had visited the city several times. His parents were Moldovan but moved to Romania before he was born. Native to Bacău, he and his family were relatively close to Chișinău, so they often visited when they could.

“I’m sure you’ll like it, especially you, Vasile. Chișinău is great for finding spots for urban exploration, especially on the outskirts.” Costin said.

I met Costin at university in Bucharest. We had one class together and had to do a project as partners. It was just that one class, but we remained friends throughout our studies. We shared several hobbies, one of which was urban exploration. I had never explored back then because I never had someone to go with; my only experience was through videos and blogs I used to watch online. There weren’t many, as the practice wasn’t as popular then, or at least the cameras weren’t good enough to document it well. Costin had already explored some buildings in Bucharest and considered himself experienced. We didn’t know Romanian laws well, but as young adults, we assumed exploring was considered trespassing, so we took precautions and only frequented places at night, making sure no passersby were around because we didn’t want them to call the police.

On one occasion, during one of our first trips, we visited an old brewery that was easy to access because it had several windows with broken glass that allowed entry. We just had to jump a small wall. At the time, we thought it was strange that the building didn’t have bars or any way to prevent entry. The site was huge—a single, not very tall building stretching along one street, probably six or seven floors high, adorned with many windows and chimneys. The walls were visibly old and covered in mold and some climbing plants that spread in some areas until they had no more room to grow. The bricks were exposed, and the paint, though still present, had seen better days. We explored the surrounding property until we found a collapsed wall, so it didn’t take long to get inside the building’s base. From there, we could go up a single staircase connecting all floors. Upstairs, we found a long space surrounded by pillars where brewing machinery once stood; we knew this from marks on the floor that still showed traces of metal being dragged. The ceiling had beams connecting all the pillars in a uniform pattern, and on both sides were windows—many of them with broken glass—that looked out over the city and the courtyard.

“Not everyone gets to see these places from the inside,” Costin said.

“It’s just as I imagined, only better,” I said, while looking out of one of the windows, at nearby buildings.

“I have a friend who often comes with me too; you’ll meet him someday.”

Anton was Costin’s childhood friend, born in Bacău, he also studied in Bucharest, but at a different university than ours. We met one afternoon before visiting the abandoned train yard. Anton was slightly shorter than Costin and me but visibly more athletic because he went to the gym often. He wasn’t funny, but he thought he was, and although he bragged a lot about being popular with women, I never saw him go out with one. My first impression of Anton was that he was arrogant and talkative. He had some unpopular opinions about politics, religion, and other topics he wasn’t shy to discuss. Sometimes he was particularly annoying when he commented on how I dressed, ate, drove, spoke, what I read, the websites I visited, my habits, and so on. He spoke about what was and wasn’t “optimal” in his own words, but that was his way of saying, “If you don’t do it like I do, it’s wrong.” In short, the first months living with Anton were a bit forced because he always came along when we decided to explore. Costin was closer to him, so I decided to tolerate him. After a while, he stopped being so talkative, almost as if gaining trust was what he needed to calm his urge to give opinions. We even discovered we had common tastes like cycling, alternative rock, and Mexican food.

“Here, Cinderella,” he said, handing me a spare pair of shoes he had in his backpack, from the time I tripped and lost one of my sandals when we visited the sewers.

I met Alina also at university, born and raised in Bucharest, with Danish parents. We had organic chemistry together. She was a brilliant student and especially good at presentations and research work. She was (and still is) very detail-oriented, noticing things many other classmates missed, which earned her great recognition from professors. She’s four years older than me and noticeably taller—the tallest in our small group. She had traveled to various places in Europe and considered herself an adventurer, preferring to get lost in an unfamiliar city at 10:00 p.m. rather than stay indoors watching a movie when she wasn’t sleepy. And I know this really happened because she did it when we were in Spain. We started dating a little more than six months after meeting. She complements me as a person because she motivates me to do things I wouldn’t do on my own. She’s an excellent climber, having spent much of her childhood and adolescence practicing the sport, which gave her a strong and resilient body. She was the one who taught me to climb, and we often went to the climbing gym. I was the one who introduced her to urban exploration. She loved it almost immediately because it was the kind of exotic activity an enthusiastic person enjoys. At first, we went with Costin and Anton, but when our schedules didn’t match, we usually went to the train yard on our own. Later, we visited the hospital, the brewery, the old movie theater, and even the old communist-era building. We had one month where we did four excursions—one each weekend.

“How are you feeling?” I asked her while we were still on the bus.

“Good, thanks” Alina said.

“Do you remember what you had for breakfast yesterday?”

“Yes, gnocchi.”

At that moment, Costin interrupted us saying:

“Attention, guys, we get off next stop.”

When we got off the bus, we found ourselves in a large residential area surrounded by several buildings very close to each other. We were in a small park that separated the main street from the parking space of one of the buildings. At first, I thought our accommodation would be in one of them, but after asking, Costin told me we had to walk a bit beyond the residential area, as we wouldn’t be staying in an apartment, but in a house. Walking was a bit difficult because each of us was carrying a significant amount of luggage, which made it hard to pass through the narrower parts of the sidewalk. The snow, which had been cleared, made the pavement too slippery to walk comfortably, and adding that to the weight we carried made moving around noticeably complicated. After two blocks, we reached a part of the neighborhood with a very wide area on both sides; there were no buildings or houses, just some bushes and trees scattered around. It was practically empty land except for a single house located a bit ahead on our left side.

“That’s our house; that’s where we’ll be staying,” said Costin.

We walked a little more, this time having more space to move around, so it was easier to walk, although it was still slippery due to the snow, which had not been cleared in this area. A few minutes later, we could see the house more clearly. It was a two-story home with a brown tile roof and cream-colored walls. It had several entrances: two in the front and probably one in the back. It wasn’t fenced and had a stone path connecting the entrance to the covered porch of the house. There was a balcony on the second floor completely enclosed by glass panels that extended from the floor to the ceiling. There were barely any windows on the first floor. It had a chimney, and judging by the size of the roof, I assumed it had an attic. It was decorated with an exterior light on the side that illuminated another stone path that circled the house to the back. There was also a small covered area on its right side, presumably to protect tools and other items from the snow. It wasn’t a shed because it was completely open on the sides. Right next to it was another covered area, also open on the sides, which I assumed was for parking a car. When we reached the stone path and arrived at the porch, we rested our luggage and sat on some chairs there.

“The owner should be here already. I don’t have the keys. Give me a moment; I’ll call him,” said Costin.

Immediately after, he took out his cellphone and while dialing, moved to one side of the porch, peeking to see if he could spot the owner arriving. While waiting, Anton mentioned that after leaving our luggage in the house, he would go buy some things for himself at the nearest supermarket, and if we wanted, we could go with him. Alina said she would stay a bit longer before going out because she wanted to sleep a little more. I wasn’t hungry, so I just said I would decide spontaneously what to do. A little over ten minutes later, a very elegant black four-door car approached the property and parked near the stone path. A man who appeared to be in his forties got out. He wore a light brown jacket, blue jeans, and winter boots. He greeted us from a distance and as he approached, greeted us again.

“Good morning, guys. Have you been waiting long? Welcome to Chișinău, by the way,” he said.

“We just arrived. Thanks for coming,” Costin replied.

“Don’t mention it! If I didn’t come, how would you get in?” he said laughing, then continued:

“My name is Mihail, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” we all said almost simultaneously.

“Well then, here are your keys. Shall we go inside and I’ll show you the house?”

Mr. Mihail proceeded to open the door for us and helped us with one of our pieces of luggage. Inside, we found a simple but cozy interior. The wooden floor was decorated with a large rug covering the living room on our left, where there were two armchairs, a glass table in the center, and a small TV mounted on the front wall. Just to the left was the fireplace that connected to the chimney we had seen outside. In front of us was a hallway connecting several rooms, with a staircase on the left leading to the second floor. To the right was the kitchen, which we could access from the hallway. It had a countertop decorated with a ceramic vase that allowed us to see into the kitchen from the living room. Also on the right was a dining table with some chairs.

“You can leave your luggage in the rooms at the end of the hallway. If you need more space, we have two more rooms upstairs,” said Mihail.

“Could you tell me where the bathroom is?” asked Alina.

“Of course, it’s this way,” he replied.

Costin and Alina followed Mihail down the hallway carrying their luggage while Anton and I sat in the living room.

“It’s nice, I like it, very simple,” I said to Anton.

“Do you think there might be some tools in that small covered area on the side of the house?”

“I don’t know, we’d have to check it out. What do you plan to do with them?”

Anton was a mechanical engineer and liked looking up tutorials on how to build interesting things. One of his projects had been a light bulb connected to a phone battery to improvise a lamp.

“No idea, it depends on what we find here. I don’t think the owner would mind,” he finally told me.

At that moment, Mr. Mihail returned from the room with Costin and showed him the kitchen briefly, then told him to follow him upstairs to see the rest of the house. Alina didn’t accompany them since she needed to use the bathroom. Anton found the TV remote, and after turning it on, started flipping through channels. Not finding anything interesting, he settled on the public channel airing the morning news. On the screen was a young reporter announcing the news. She had short black hair, wore a long-sleeve white shirt with a small microphone clipped on, and had simple but attractive makeup.

“Moldovans seem nice. I like how they speak Romanian,” said Anton.

“I don’t think there’s much difference in the accent, or at least it doesn’t seem so to me,” I replied.

“They use some Russian words from time to time, which you don’t find in Romania.”

The reporter was announcing a car accident where two people were injured, which occurred in the northeast of the city. At that moment, Alina came back from the hallway and joined us in the living room. I asked her to please take my backpack to the room. Mr. Mihail returned with Costin from upstairs.

“Perfect, guys. I’ve shown young Constantin the house and explained the house rules. Ask him if you have any questions. Feel free to use the garage if you plan to rent a car. I just ask you to be careful with the shower hose, I need to install a new one.”

“Do you mean the covered space outside when you say garage?” asked Costin.

“Correct. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

On the news, the reporter was now announcing an armed robbery that happened last night downtown. Anton, who was sitting on the sofa farthest from the entrance, asked:

“Is Chișinău very violent? It’s been just two minutes since I turned on the news and already two tragedies have been reported,” he said jokingly.

“It’s peaceful. I’d say the most dangerous thing here is the drivers. Many idiots are terrible behind the wheel! As for violence, we’re certainly not Iceland, but I’d say it’s possible to walk around the city without paying much attention, as long as it’s during the day and in the safest areas,” Mihail said.

He paused as if thinking, and after a few seconds mentioned:

“There was a guy about a year ago who shot some people with a shotgun.”

Anton, who had been smiling, wiped the expression off his face when he realized Mihail wasn’t joking. I turned my head and looked at Mihail. Costin stared blankly, distracted and unsmiling, probably because he didn’t know what to say at that moment. After composing himself a bit later, Anton broke the silence by asking:

“Really?”

“Yes, things like that happen from time to time,” said Mihail.

“Why?” Anton asked.

“No one knows. They couldn’t find that guy, not even the weapon or what he wore. He was dressed in military clothes and a winter vest. I don’t remember many details, but I know he killed five or six people over several months. One person survived — the brother of one of the victims — and according to his testimony, the guy was a real son of a bitch and had the strength of a demon.”

“You sure know a lot about this even though you don’t know the details,” I said, laughing.

“I watch a lot of TV. Being a property owner doesn’t give me much work.”

After a short pause, he continued:

“The attacks didn’t happen in the same year. The guy seemed to attack once a year,” Mihail added.

“Do you think the guy will attack again?” Anton asked.

“Well, it’s possible. I don’t know if the police issued an official statement about it, but I imagine they’re aware. There was a lot of fuss back then. People barely left their houses at the time,” Mihail said.

There was a short silence in the room. I asked:

“Where did the attacks happen?”

“One was in a rural area northwest of the city, on some abandoned property or something like that. Another, I remember, was on a dirt road. I don’t remember the other, but I know all happened in the Durlești area.”

There was another short silence. I lowered my gaze for a few seconds. When I looked to my left, I saw Anton smiling nervously at Costin.

“Anyway, guys... be careful if you go out at night, and I recommend not visiting the rural Durlești area at dawn. Nothing has happened for a while, but you never know,” he concluded.

Mr. Mihail let out a laugh, as if trying to lighten the seriousness of the conversation, then said not to worry and to enjoy our stay in Chișinău. He said goodbye, gave the keys to Costin, and left through the door waving. At that moment, Alina came back from the room to join us.

“Great place for urban exploration, dickface. We basically came to visit the rural area,” Anton said to Costin.

“I didn’t know anything about this, not even when I came last year,” Costin defended himself. “But if you don’t like it, we can always visit other places. It’s not a big deal.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Alina asked.

Before they could answer, I made a signal with my palm signaling them to wait since Anton and Costin knew Alina’s condition and knew it was best not to worry or stress her.

“I’ll explain later, it’s nothing important. Hey, don’t you want to go to the car rental place you mentioned yesterday? I don’t know where it is,” I said.

“I wanted to sleep a bit more... maybe later,” she replied.

I didn’t insist, but I asked her to send me the location. She agreed, and after saving the address on my phone, she returned to the room to sleep. Anton put his luggage in the second-floor room because there were only two beds on the first floor. When he returned, he joined me and Costin at the dining table.

“Alina was the one who convinced me to take this trip. I thought it would be a good idea to improve her mood,” I said.

“I think you should have told her now. She’s going to find out sooner or later. ‘It’s nothing important’ — Anton said, mocking my voice — Are you stupid?”

“Guys, I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. There are lots of things we can do other than exploring. Or just explore other places,” Costin said.

“I just feel bad because I told Alina this trip was for exploring; she loves that,” I said.

“Besides, there’s a chance nothing will happen. Maybe we can explore without running into anything bad. Nothing ever happened to us in Romania,” I added.

“This is not Romania,” said Anton.

“But damn, we’re already here! You want me to tell her we’re not going to the rural area after telling her we would? You criticize too much sometimes, Anton,” I replied.

“Bro, lower your voice,” Costin asked, looking toward Alina’s room.

Realizing it, I apologized, lowered my voice, and said:

“Well, I just ask you not to tell her anything. I’ll tell her maybe we won’t go to the rural area, and I’ll apologize if necessary. But I still think we should go anyway. I think it’s very unlikely anything will happen.”

Anton and Costin nodded, signaling they would do as I asked. After our conversation, Costin showed Anton and me the kitchen, which was equipped with a fridge-freezer, a sink, a microwave, and the usual kitchen items. Then he showed us the rest of the first floor (except for Alina’s room), where there was a small storage room with a washing machine and a shelf, the water heater that connected to the two bathrooms, and other items like a bucket, a broom, a mop, a hammer, and folding ladders. This room had a door with a window leading to the back. Upstairs, there was another bathroom to our left, the room where Anton and Costin would sleep to our right, and behind the stairs, a door on the right led to the balcony with the glass enclosure. To the left was a closed door, which Costin told us was the owner’s room. At the end of the little tour, Costin said he would go with Anton to buy food at the supermarket and asked if I wanted to come.

“Not now. I’m going to rent the car so we don’t have to do it later. Then I’ll stop by the supermarket, maybe come back later,” I said.

“Do you know how to get there by public transport?” Costin asked.

“I’m not taking public transport; it’s a twenty-minute walk. I think it’s easier.”

After leaving the house, I sent Alina a text message telling her we were going shopping and to wait for us since I had forgotten to mention it while she was awake. Upon leaving the porch, the guys walked with me to the street where we took the bus, and when we arrived, they told me they had to go back the way we came from the station, and I would take the opposite direction. We said goodbye and separated after that. None of us mentioned it at the house, but given the nature of the conversation, I assumed they didn’t want to visit the rural Durlești area. As I walked, I thought about what I would say to Alina, how I would apologize or prepare for her reaction. Part of me believed she would understand. Since I met her, she was always a calm woman who didn’t get upset easily. After the accident, however, she had become slightly unpredictable.

Later, when the clock struck four in the afternoon, the sun in Chișinău was quickly setting on the horizon, tinting the clear sky of the capital orange. As I drove through the Otovasca area, we were heading to a viewpoint nearby to watch the sunset. I hadn’t spoken much since we started the trip. At the house, I told the guys that I wanted to be alone with my girlfriend; they eventually found an excuse not to come with us.

We arrived at the viewpoint shortly after. While driving through the entrance, one of my favorite songs by a band I liked was playing on the radio.

"Închide ochii şi dă-mi-i mie 

Am să-i închid şi eu 

Să ţi-i dau ţie" 

 

“Do you remember this band? We saw them live at the Hard Rock Cafe,” I said.

“I remember, the one where you bought the shirt and took a picture with the vocalist?”

“Yes, I like their more energetic songs. This is their most popular track, and I like that it’s in Romanian. They recorded that album almost entirely in English, except for this song.”

She smiled as she looked out the car window, focusing on the sky, then paused briefly before answering.

“I like it too. I think they sing in English to become popular outside Romania,” she said.

"Prin ochii tăi nu pot să mint 

Prin ochii mei înveţi ce simt 

Mă vezi mereu 

Mereu zâmbind 

Prin ochii mei înveţi ce simt" 

 

When we parked, Alina looked at me and said:

“Vasile... is there something you want to tell me?”

I didn’t answer immediately; instead, I turned off the engine without taking the keys out of the ignition, leaving the radio still on. Then I took a few seconds to think about the answer, and after failing to find the right words, I decided to answer honestly.

“Yes.”

“Is it something bad? I feel like you’ve wanted to talk since this morning.”

“It’s about our plans, and I felt it would be better to get some fresh air before telling you,” I said, lowering the radio volume.

"Acum priveşte-mă prin ochii mei în timp ce eu
Te privesc pe tine prin ochii tăi în timp ce tu..."

 

We arrived at the viewpoint and were now watching the sunset.