My dog had never behaved like this. Rick is an intelligent and calm dog who has obeyed me all his life and never barked without reason. But in the past few weeks something changed: he began barking at night, stood up on his hind legs near the kitchen cabinets, and—strangest of all—climbed onto the upper shelves — where usually even I can’t reach.

At first I blamed everything on old age or stress; I thought maybe the neighbors were making noise, maybe a cat had appeared somewhere. But his insistence was frightening — he knew the rules: no climbing on furniture. And yet, he stood there firmly, looking toward the ceiling and growling softly, as if warning about something very important.

“— What do you see there, buddy?”

I asked him, sitting next to him. He turned his head; his ears were perked. His bark was short and sharp. And every time I tried to get closer, he barked even louder.

One evening, Rick began growling insistently and his barking intensified. I was exhausted by this tension: you can’t stay awake all night listening to sounds only he can hear.

I took the flashlight, put on my jacket, and brought the old folding ladder from the storage room. My heart was beating strangely — from nerves, worry, or because I finally wanted to put an end to the situation.

Rick stepped aside nonchalantly, but intentionally, and looked upward. I climbed. The ventilation grille was hanging slightly to one side and, I think, I had never paid attention to it before. I thought: “Well, finally — maybe it’s a mouse, maybe a teapot, something unimportant.” I removed the grille — and at that very moment I saw something terrifying 😲😱
To be continued in the first comment 👇👇

Behind it, in the dark duct, lay a man. Bent over himself, his face covered in dust and his eyes full of panic, he seemed to have been hiding there for centuries.

He began moving immediately, sighed, then tried to get up — without complete success. In his hands were a few small stolen objects: a wallet without money, a mobile phone, a keychain that did not belong to us.

I took out my phone, trembling, and dialed 102. The words came out on their own, my voice shaking, but the dispatcher understood:
“There is a man hiding in the ventilation of my house. Please come quickly!”

While I was speaking, Rick, wagging his tail, kept sniffing the duct, as if confirming — yes, he’s there.

The police arrived quickly. They carefully pulled the man out, set him on a blanket, and checked his breathing. He was weak, exhausted, with cuts on his hands, his eyes restless.

One of the officers took another small “treasure” from him — a silver chain with a pendant with initials. Someone, probably, would be looking for it.

Then the investigation began. It was discovered that this man was not the first who had used the ventilation ducts of our building.

Neighbours, interviewed by the officer, suddenly remembered strange disappearances:

A couple noticed that a few small pieces of jewelry were missing.
Others had a bank card disappear.
Some neighbours were missing a few rings.

There were no obvious signs of break-in. He, sly and flexible, snuck through the narrow and dark corridors between the floors. In the evening he chose the smallest and most discreet objects — the ones easy to hide and quickly take.