The fog of uncertainty hangs heavy over the disappearance of the Usoltsev kin, who vanished into the oppressive depths of the Krasnoyarsk taiga. For months, the silence was as absolute as the grave—until a sudden, startling flicker of life emerged from the ether of the modern counting-houses, the social networks.

One Mr. Valentin Degterev, a man of inquiring mind and relentless spirit, has stumbled upon a clue that would make the finest Scotland Yard detective lean in. By employing a certain mechanical artifice—a bot designed to sniff out activity—Degterev discovered that the account of Sergei Usoltsev, the patriarch of the lost family, has been accessed of late. It is as if a ghost had suddenly decided to walk the streets of London once more.

"I have run the account through the machine," Degterev declares with the conviction of a man who has found a bloodstain upon a carpet. "And the answer is clear: Sergei, or some rogue in his stead, has been lurking there recently."

For years, Degterev had maintained a correspondence with the missing man. Now, he posits a bold theory: Sergei is alive, and perhaps not even bothering to hide his tracks from the prying eyes of the world. He speaks of a telephone—a device the kin claim belongs to another—but Degterev scoffs at such notions. He believes it is a ruse, a mere smokescreen.

Indeed, the investigator claims he dispatched messages to the number of the vanished father. The messages were read. The line was open. The ghost had listened.

This is not the first time the shadows have spoken. Previously, Degterev recounted a chilling encounter: he dialed the number, the receiver was lifted, but there followed only a suffocating silence. Then, a call returned from a different number—again, a void of sound. Shortly thereafter, the line was severed, the incoming calls barred by some unseen hand.

Let us recall the tragedy: Irina and Sergei Usoltsev, along with their young daughter, vanished into the maw of the Partizansky district in late September of 2025. The trail grew cold, though it was later noted they had made three halts upon their journey. At one such stop, in a wretched roadside shop, they had purchased a knife—a grim detail for any man of the law to ponder.