I have many memories of Antonovycha St. (formerly Horkogo, after Maxim Gorky) in Kyiv, Ukraine โ some good, some bad, some iridescent, some genuinely nightmarish.
The story I am about to tell you, however, is not a memory, distorted by time. Well, certainly not my memory, anyway. Before that, however, letโs see how I was geolocated to this spooky location:
The first person to find my precise location was the wonderful Mark Krutov:
Mark knows Kyiv pretty well, but even he had some initial trouble, and Iโm glad he provided us with some guidance on how he zeroed in on me:
The fact that I was in Kyiv (also spelled Kiev in Russian, but since the war began, more and more of us have switched to the Ukrainian spelling โ because go to hell, Putin) was made apparent on my social media as well.
Not everyone had an easy time of it, and I especially want to thank Dave for pointing out how challenging this one could be for people who a) arenโt Kyiv experts and b) arenโt OSINT experts (but are getting there):
Markโs hint wrt physical maps is a great one to remember when youโre faced in geolocating someone in an unfamiliar city.
Another hint is this: If youโve figured out the city, read up a few paragraphs about its architecture! In the photo, Iโm surrounded by older looking buildings and mature trees. If you know a few facts about the way Kyiv is laid out you would note reference to hills, older buildings, and tree-lined allรฉes (not to be confused with alleys) โ it would lead you to look in the city center. The city center is not that big!
Another cool element to consider in my photo is the fence:
It is distinctive, and thereโs no corresponding fence on the opposite side of the allรฉe.
Does it show up on satellite, perhaps?
Well, hello!
You may not spot the fence due to the foliage, but you do see that little gap, an asymmetry at the top of Antonovycha. This, along with the trees planted in the center of the street, make it easier to narrow down the location and confirm it on Google Street view:
This was not an easy challenge for beginners, and I genuinely thank everyone for participating.
Big thanks to Eric for also providing his methodology:
When we share our methodologies, we make the OSINT community stronger. Never be too shy to share, even if it takes you a long time.
Now, the story I am about to tell you is emphatically not about sharing. Rather, itโs about how bonds break apart. It was told to me by a fellow former Antonovycha resident, and itโs juuuuuuust realistic enough to keep me up at night.
Real estate on Antonovycha is very expensive these days, and has been expensive for a while. Older owners of much coveted, Stalin-era flats around here have been known to go missing due to dirty real estate schemes. So when an older widow went missing from one of the apartments overlooking an echoing courtyard just off of the main street a few decades ago, her neighbors werenโt exactly shocked.
The woman had an extended family who were capable people, and they eventually privatized her large apartment and started to rent it out.
The trouble was, things were always going wrong in that place. First, some unscrupulous person wound up subletting it to someone even more unscrupulous, who turned the place into a brothel. The police raided the premises. The neighbors were upset.
Then, pipes kept bursting.
One day, it was said, the antique wallpaper caught on fire, seemingly all on its own. The writer Mikhail Bulgakov, himself a fellow Kyiv native, had a name for old Soviet flats that seemed to house dark, supernatural forces: โะฝะตั ะพัะพัะฐั ะบะฒะฐััะธัะฐโ (wicked apartment). Because people were obsessed with real estate and dealing with state terror back in Bulgakovโs days, residents of nice apartment were frequently denounced to the authorities. Some were executed. These cynical betrayals naturally resulted in a spooky atmosphere. It seems, in some ways, the atmosphere has stayed, trapped between the sturdy walls of these beautiful buildings.
Because of all of its issues, the apartment went vacant frequently. You just canโt rent a nice place out properly when mice constantly invade or a new bathtub leaks and floods your long-suffering downstairs neighbors.
It was during one of those vacant spells that the friend who told me this story heard noises from the apartment one chilly autumn night. He was living directly across the courtyard from the wicked apartment, knew it was empty, and immediately suspected squatters.
So he tromped up the steep, Stalin-era stairs and banged on the door for a while. No one answered and the door didnโt appear to be damaged in any way. He decided he had imagined the whole thing.
However, as he exited the building and made his way across the courtyard, he heard another noise, looked up, and saw a big, black raven with an honest-to-God red apple in its beak flying out of a curiously open window in the wicked apartment. What bothered him most about the sight wasnโt even the raven โ Kyiv is known for its ravens โ or even the fact that a window was open. It was that the apple looked so fresh. For whatever reason, it filled him with dread.
The apartment was empty and secured. Covered in dust and spider webs, probably. Silent. And here was a very large bird with a bright red apple like something out of the Garden of Eden. Like a message my friend wasnโt sure he wanted to decipher.
He saw the raven again on Antonovycha several times. Each time he told me he was certain it was the same raven. It perched on the very same fence I zoomed in on above, and occasionally watched him go to work in the mornings.
He didnโt like the experience. It was as if the raven wanted something from him.
Years later, when he told me the story, he reflected on how, perhaps, the widowโs relatives had murdered her for her apartment. And how the raven with the apple was a sign โ as was everything else that had gone wrong there over the years.
I asked him what the significance of the apple was and he replied, โBecause it represents sin. The relatives were tempted by an expensive apartment, like Eve by the apple. They fell to temptation and we all know the rest.โ
I said, โWasnโt the forbidden fruit a fig, maybe?โ
And he said, โI donโt think ravens are into the history of religion.โ
We left it at that.
And thatโs the story. We were able to solve the geolocation mystery, but as to the mystery of the widow, it will likely never be solved. I do hope her spirit found peace. And as for you โ I hope you hug your loved ones extra tight today, and never betray them for square meters at a prime location.
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