The Dyatlov Pass Incident. Mystery of the Fireballs. Sergei Mikhailov

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      Maxim studied the faces in the photograph, trying to understand what had driven them to slash their tent and flee into the freezing night. What force could have broken the ribs of experienced hikers?

      He leaned closer to the image. This story had long been part of his life – how many hours had he spent studying documents, reading witness testimonies, trying to unravel the mystery of Dyatlov Pass? And now…

      Reality around him began to blur, shattering into fragments of visions. The night sky erupted with strange lights, mysterious glowing orbs danced in the air. He saw the panic in the tent, heard the screams, felt the burning cold of snow under his feet. Then his consciousness seemed to split – he was everywhere and nowhere at once. Now he was driving a truck loaded with barrels of alcohol along a snow-covered road, now operating a train, now checking documents at a station in a police uniform.

      Gasping, Maxim collapsed into a chair. Blood pounded in his temples, fragments of visions still flashing before his eyes. The photograph in his hands pulsed with strange energy, as if it were alive.

      “What’s happening? Why am I seeing all this?” he whispered, feeling fear mix with burning, irresistible curiosity.

      Then his gaze fell on a diary lying on the table. The worn leather cover bore the marks of countless touches. With trembling hands, Maxim opened it and froze – it was Igor Dyatlov’s own journal.

      “My God…” he breathed, realizing the value of his discovery. In his hands were the writings of a man whose mysterious story had haunted him for years.

      Dyatlov’s diary was full of secrets. The pages were littered with diagrams, formulas, and encoded entries, as if their author feared they might fall into the wrong hands.

      The lines unfolded before Maxim like a map of unknown territory. A second group – never mentioned in any official account – had also been there at Kholat Syakhl. The choice of the tent site hadn’t been random – precise coordinates, calculated using mountain peaks, rock formations, and a specific cedar tree.

      His fingers shook as he turned the pages. An encounter with an elf-like being they’d offered sugar to. A broken light filter used for determining coordinates. Panic in the tent.

      One entry stood out – hurried, with smeared letters, as if Dyatlov had rushed to record what he’d seen before it slipped from memory:

      “Today we saw something strange. Something glitters in the distance, on the mountain slope. We decided to check it tomorrow morning.”

      Then Maxim stumbled upon something incredible. An entire page was devoted to strange glowing spheres in the sky. Detailed diagrams, thorough descriptions of their movements – smooth, as if guided by intelligence. They emitted a peculiar light that penetrated even the densest darkness. Sometimes they would hover motionlessly, as if observing, then vanish at impossible speeds, leaving behind silence and an inexplicable sense of unease.

      Sitting in silence and reading these lines over and over, reality around him became increasingly unstable and unreliable. Overwhelmed by the depth of the mystery before him, he realized that the Dyatlov group was merely one link in a chain of events reaching back to the previous century. They hadn’t simply encountered something inexplicable – they’d become part of a grand design whose scale was only beginning to emerge.

      1891. A secret expedition of the Russian Empire to the Urals. Scientists sent to investigate mysterious geomagnetic anomalies and strange lights in the night sky. In the yellowed pages of Professor Voronov’s diary, their quest came alive:

      “Again observed strange luminous phenomena on the horizon. They appear as if from nowhere and vanish without a trace. We are powerless to explain their nature. The locals call them ‘spirit lights,’ but I am convinced – there is something more behind this, something that could overturn our understanding of reality.”

      Maxim slammed the diary shut. The silence in the apartment pressed against his eardrums. The story that had begun more than a century ago still hadn’t reached its conclusion. And now he stood on the threshold of uncovering the truth.

      The choice was crystal clear – though terrifying in its certainty. He could put the diary aside, return to his ordinary life, forget all this like a strange dream. Or step into the unknown, following the footsteps of those who had tried to uncover this mystery before him.

      The answer was obvious. He couldn’t unsee what he’d witnessed, couldn’t unread what he’d discovered. He had to find the truth, no matter how terrifying it might be. The Dyatlov Pass tragedy was just the tip of the iceberg – beneath it lay a story capable of changing humanity’s destiny.

      A chill ran down Maxim’s spine – he physically felt the weight of unseen eyes. Someone was watching him, evaluating, weighing. They were waiting for his decision, testing whether he was worthy of the ancient knowledge passed down through generations.

      With a determination that surprised even himself, he stood up, feeling the heavy tension in his chest give way to clarity. A dangerous journey lay ahead – one that could change not only his fate but the course of world history. There was no turning back now.

      Chapter 3 – Shadows of Ivdel

      The photograph of the Dyatlov group drew Maxim’s gaze like a magnet. For hours he had been studying the black-and-white image, and gradually it came alive before his eyes. Nine young faces, full of life and hope.

      In the center stood Igor Dyatlov, his gaze fixed on some distant point, as if he already sensed the approach of something inevitable. Next to him, Lyuba Dubinina smiled – her warmth reaching across the decades, touching even now. Yuri Doroshenko must have just told a joke – laughter still sparkled in his eyes.

      As Maxim ran his finger along the photograph’s rough edge, he felt a strange connection to these people. It was as if he had been there himself, on that frozen day in 1959, sharing their last moments of carefree happiness before the impending tragedy.

      He shook his head, dispelling the vision, and opened the diary again. Exhaustion weighed on his shoulders, but he sensed something important still eluded his grasp. Again and again, he pored over the lines written in Dyatlov’s hand, trying to penetrate the dead hiker’s thoughts.

      Then suddenly – a discovery. On one of the last pages, he found something he’d overlooked before – an encoded message and a map with mysterious markings. His pulse quickened. Perhaps here lay the key to unlocking the mystery of the pass.

      Turning to his computer, Maxim dove into the depths of the internet. On specialized forums, amid thousands of theories and speculations, he stumbled upon something truly disturbing – the testimony of Pelageya Solter, a nurse from the Ivdel morgue.

      Her account of the bodies delivered in early February 1959 completely contradicted the official version. According to her, they brought in two women first – though documents told a different story. But most shocking was Solter’s claim that there weren’t nine bodies, СКАЧАТЬ