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In my life I have seen quite a few horrors: I saw how my brother was shot in cold blood; I saw how the doctor's throat was torn open with claws; I saw severed heads rolling on the floor with grimaces of pain, but what lay in the box could not be compared with them.

- It's a doll! Astakhov reassured me. - Just a doll, Kira!

I clung to him, shuddering from crying. A doll... A little boy's doll was lying in the ground, judging by the smell taken from the cemetery, and from that it smelled of death.

When Astakhov was pulling me away, I caught the box and it fell to the floor. The earth crumbled, and the doll began to cry so loudly that I could not hold back the second painful scream.

What kind of sick bastard did you have to be to do that?

- What have become, bl * d! - lifting me in his arms, Astakhov shouted to his scumbags. - Bring the courier back! Fast!

He carried me to my room and sat me on the bed. I was trembling. I still smelled the nauseating smell of the earth. A child's cry rum