Daniel called his brother, Mark, to come over. Within an hour, the two stood side by side in front of the mysterious door, armed with crowbars and flashlights. It took several tense minutes of prying before the hinges finally gave way. A foul, stale odor rushed out, making them step back instantly. When their flashlights flickered into the opening, they saw a narrow staircase descending into complete darkness.

Mark hesitated. “This looks like something out of a horror movie,” he joked, half serious. But Daniel couldn’t resist. Every instinct told him to stop, yet his curiosity pushed him forward. He took the first step down, the wooden board creaking under his weight, and slowly disappeared into the dark. Mark followed behind him, gripping the railing tightly.

At the bottom of the stairs was a small concrete room—barely the size of a closet. The walls were rough, the air thick and damp. A single table sat in the corner, covered in dust. On top of it was an old, metal box with a small padlock hanging open. Daniel knelt down, opened the lid, and immediately froze. Inside were stacks of black-and-white photographs—each one showing groups of children sitting in that same basement, staring blankly at the camera.