The dilapidated house was inherited by Visvaldis GARAIS from his grandmother. The last years of her life, the woman was seriously ill, often fell into delusional states and repeated the same phrase: "The sound of waves in the old closet."
The grandson did not pay too much attention to the words of the suffering lady. But after her soul rested in peace, he decided to examine the dwelling and put it in order.
On a Saturday afternoon shortly before Christmas Visvaldis Garais and his friend Modris Ekatirinichevs began to dismantle wardrobes with old things. It was my turn to go to the closet in the basement. The old lock was so rusted that it was impossible to open it and the door had to be broken open. Modris crossed the threshold of the closet. We couldn't find the switch, and he shone a pocket torch into the darkness …
Visvaldis, who was on the first floor, heard a terrible scream. In several leaps he climbed the stairs and rushed to the entrance to the closet. Modris lay unconscious. Visvaldis with great difficulty pulled him into the corridor. It seemed as if an unknown force was trying to keep the victim inside.
- I somehow roused Modris, took him to the kitchen to get some tea, - Garais recalls, visibly nervous. - He was trembling all over. Suddenly he burst into tears and began to babble in an incomprehensible language. I called a former classmate. She is a translator and was able to identify it as Danish. I called a colleague Velga who speaks the language. The friend did not understand where he was and called himself a fisherman Ider Pedersen from the Danish city of Hunnested.
Visvaldis GARAIS changed his mind to find out the secret …
Velga asked her Danish friends to find out if the fisherman Ider Pedersen lives in Hunnested. Imagine her surprise when the news came: a man with that name went to sea a year and a half ago and never returned. It also turned out that not long before that Ider had visited Riga. It turns out that his great-uncle owned a barn that used to stand on the site of Visvaldis's house.
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However, this information did not help Modris. He continued to communicate in Danish, completely forgetting his native language. The doctors shrugged their shoulders. Everything was decided quite unexpectedly. One evening Visvaldis decided to ride a motorcycle with a friend.
In the area of the town of Olaine, their bike was cut by a reckless driver. Friends escaped with minor injuries, but the stress took its toll: Modris again spoke his native Latvian. However, he completely forgot what happened to him in the closet of the old house. And Visvaldis hammered the closet door with boards - out of harm's way.