text: (This was removed from r/nosleep for being "No Horror", so I try here) Apologies if my writing is not the best. I am 90 now. I speak Polish and German since childhood, but English only since I am 16, when the soldiers of the liberators taught it to me. And I studied it at home. But it is not my mother tongue. And I will die soon, and as you will see below, I am also in fear that I can not even show you my life story. But I hope this goes through. It might be the last time I communicate with anyone. But my death is not what should concern you, as you will see. My time just has come, and I have prepared to not be afraid. I will just go over the most important details. I am not even sure I can send this, but it is my last hope. You must know. Or rather my son must know. The issue is, I can't contact him now, and I don't know his Americanized name. His first name was Jerzy (named after me), but he changed it (and his last name) when he moved to the United States. For me he is Jerzy. And I can't get into my e-mail account, so I can't tell you his e-mail address or his Americanized name which I think was used in his address. I saw it once then saved it as "Jerzy" and always had it filled automatically without looking at it. But now I can't access my account there. To make this easier to read for him, I put my life in three (arbitrary) phases. He always wanted to know about my childhood, but I never told him. It hurt too much. **My early years - a lost childhood** I was not as lucky as many of you to have been born in a peaceful country. Although, when I was born, it was peaceful. 1929 in a small Polish town. You know those jokes about Polish people being thieves. Well, we had to deal with thieves, but they were not Polish. They stole our country, and then our lives. It happened when I was 10. See, I was born in January 1929, we celebrated in January 1939, but eight months later there was nothing left to celebrate. My first experience with the winged man was when I was a child. Or at least my mother told me so. My father worked on cultivation of potatoes, tomatoes, all those vegetables you find in Middle Europe. Radish, Celery, you name it. As a big farmer, he literally fed our family while also making some money - not much but enough to comfortably live in our farmhouse. My mother stayed at home, and watched little Jerzy. Yes, that is Polish for "farmer", not very creative but pointing towards their plan to eventually give the entire farm to me and the small business of selling vegetables and milk. So I told her that the winged man watches over me. But I don't remember. It must have been true, as she told me and it fits with what happened later. The nazis invaded, as I said, and they saw that my father was jewish but I was not, but as he was we were deported. I don't want to talk about most of what happened where we were sent to. I don't want to talk about the endless days waiting for my father to return from slavery work, the daily fear of being killed. I lost my faith. But then it happened. On one of those nights, not very late into the imprisonment - it was the first winter, so somewhere around December 1939 or January 1940 probably (we had no calendars there, and each day was just like the last and the next, so I can only guess by the snow we had). I saw that winged man. At night he came to me and talked to me. And he said I will survive, I will be safe. And he told me other things that are not meant to be shared. I did survive. But it changed me. As I learnt later, some of us were put into ghettos, but we were not so lucky, as I said. Seeing that we were among the richer people, the nazis wanted everything and took it. Now there were stories that they raped, and they killed. I don't know if that is true. They just deported us. They enslaved us. They forced me to work eventually, when they stopped enjoying the stories I told them. They called me the "Erzähler", the storyteller. My mother and I were treated better. Not good in any way, but they did not hit us as hard, they did not hit us when we were on the ground. They kept us alive, that is all. We didn't get much food, but we always got food. But that was because we kept them entertained. We told them stories. We spoke German, I learnt it for the business. My German was not perfect, but good enough so they could understand. So my mother told stories and I translated for them. And I survived. And she survived. We were beaten, but never to death. It changed when we ran out of stories. When we repeated stories. After a few days, they demanded something new. But we could not make up something. So they beat us hard. And then they told me, I must work. I must build for them. My mother must serve them. They did not hurt her. They did not force themselves on her. But she had to serve them by cleaning their shoes, their tables, their dishes. And she was beaten if she did not do it right. But they did not beat her as hard as others. They kept us alive, as I said. So that winged man appeared again when I had to work. And he told me the war will be over eventually. They will lose. But I did not believe it. Every day we heard their "Endsieg", their final victory, was just so close. We heard that Japan had overrun China. Japan was about to defeat the United States. Germany had invaded many countries. They were about to defeat Russia and Britain. That is what we heard. And I prayed. And the winged man replied. But I did not believe. It went on, day after day, the horrors, the starvation, sometimes I collapsed. But they kept me alive. They liked me enough to not kill me, but they would beat me. It was a very bad time. Eventually there were soldiers. After so many days. They came in. And we thought, they will kill everyone. They came in with their guns. And I saw the guns of the nazis often. But those guns were different. There were people with guns that would fire much faster. Much more. And we heard them outside. And then they came in. And we all cried. But then they came to us. And we begged. And they led us out. And then they brought us to some nursery. Mobile hospitals. They fed us. They made sure we did not get too much food. They told us that starving people die if they eat too much at once. And some did die, some stole food and then ate too much and died. But I was thankful to get anything. Eventually we understood that we were free. That this flag with the stars was not our killers but our liberators. And they helped us rebuild. Those were hard years. Poland was free. We were free. But many died. I have heard horrible things that supposedly happened in that war. I did not see them. But I saw my share of horror. I believe that those other stories are true. I never visited the other places, but I saw what they did. I don't want to talk about it. Not even now. Not even 75 years later. But as I said, we were freed, and after a while, when we were well enough to survive on our own, we returned home. **Rebuilding a stable life** I was 17 now. It was 1946. We had survived. My father was not so lucky. He did not come back from work one day, shorrly before they told me I must work. We had gone to what was left of our farm. The unused land, the burnt down small shop, the destroyed farmhouse. We rebuilt. It was difficult. Everything was difficult. The winged man was there again. He told me I would live long. He told me I am chosen by him have a son who will do his work. But I never wanted to marry. I thought I will never have a son. I did not believe him. I was just 17, but I saw what humans can do. I did not trust anyone anymore, except my own mother. I did not even trust our liberators. I was glad to be back. You might think that being free feels good. But there were nightmares, there was fear. Only when I was back at the farm, destroyed as it was, I really felt like it all was over. And then I somehow told myself it never happened. I started to believe it was all just a bad dream, all those years never happened. I was 10 one day and 17 the next. And the memories are somewhere. But I can't access them. I only can remember a few. The worst. The outstanding ones. And the winged man. I want to believe it was all a dream, but it wasn't. I just made myself believe it for many years. But I digress. In any case, we rebuilt the farm. We fought a hard battle against the now barren ground to get our harvest, but it worked. I survived. We lived for a few more years there. But in the middle of the 1950s, to be exact in 1957, my mother got ill. And eventually she died. It was the cancer. But we didn't know. And we had no cure. Only the doctor later would tell us it was cancer. But I never asked for details on what cancer does. Not then. But after a year or so. When I was able to. My world had died again, but the daily farming life kept me busy until one day I exploded in tears. And eventually, after hours of crying, I felt like the burden was gone. And a few weeks later, I asked the doctor about it. I learnt about cancer. I learnt that there is no cure. And that became important later. I eventually had enough money to expand, all from my hard work. I hired someone and bought farmland. And in 1962, I opened my second farm. I did not want to marry. I did not trust anyone. But eventually there Lechsinska came. I was almost 40 when we married. 1968. The world was in turmoil, but I remembered the winged man. He visited me every now and then, telling me how to make the best of my farm. And eventually we expanded. I had three farms when my son was born. 1971. And the winged man came again. He told me that this will be my legacy. That my son will do his great work, and my contribution is finished. But I will live until the fruits of the work exist. But not until they will blossom. He told me I will live to be 90. And as the years went by, I grew accustomed to my incoming death. I prepared inside. The years went on. We had three farms, we had a few people hired to run the farms, but money was tight for our family. We could not expand further. My son learnt of his grandmother, and he decided to spend his life fighting cancer. He became a doctor. And he went to starland, as I called it because of the flag I saw back then. The United States. He sent us money for a private phone. We had one in our shop, and he would call there, but now we could talk more easily at home, without having to be in the shop. Sure, the shop was attached to our home, and we had two phones there now, but it was nice. We could be in the living room, and we had a television, and a phone, and it was a good time but hard. **The great work of my son** But life was always hard. Not only then. And our son made us proud. He became a doctor, as I said, before going to the United States. He then eventually switched to the other fields, not the practical use but the development in science labs. He wrote letters and got a green card, he got a job there in a lab. That is why he left us. They fought cancer there, and not in Poland. Or at least not anywhere where he would be able to work. And there was a cure now for some. I don't know what it is, it sounds all strange. They would shoot radiation at the cells and give some medicine, and people would lose their hair and their cells die but also the cancer cells would die from that. Or something like that. I never really understood what he said about that. But it could be cured, but only for some. And they tried to cure everyone. So he went to the United States to cure everyone. He visited every year except the first. Usually shortly before Christmas. He brought us some presents, but he left early as he did not want to get into the Christmas holiday travelers with even more crowded airports and so on. He did not come in 2001. He only called then. You know why. But he promised to schedule a flight when it was safe, and he came again around Easter 2002. And then on Christmas that year. That was the only year where he actually was there on Christmas, and not just prior, like the years afterwards again. In fact, the last time I ever saw him was just a few months ago, in December 2018. We enjoyed the company each year. But he always had to leave again for work. We kept in contact on the phone. And eventually he gifted me a computer so we could remain in contact on e-mail. I first wondered how that should work, but then I learnt it is short for "electronic mail". Not what I thought it was. That would not have worked (but it would have made good kitchen equipment). Anyway, we kept in contact often. But for important things we would call each other. He would only check his private mails rarely, with all the work he had. But my mails were checked daily. He set up some forwarding, whatever that is, to have my mail in a special folder. I don't understand what that means. But apparently he would see mails from my e-mail address there and work mails somewhere else and other private mails somewhere else where he would accumulate them and only check on his weekly day off. Ask him what that means, not me. The winged man appeared again eventually, around Christmas. He told me that everything is on a good way. And the winged man was in the living room. But my wife did not see him, even though she watched the television and the winged man was in front of it. He talked to me, he told me my son would do the great work next year (i.e. in 2019). He kept on appearing through the years, and always he told me he was proud of me and my son. We were chosen. My son would do the great work on cancer. But that day was when he told me that the great work was almost done. But let us not get too far ahead. I have grandchildren. My son married and gifted us a grandson and two granddaughters. They have grown into beautiful young people. They were born when he was still young, at the end of the past century. He married at 26, and his wife immediately was pregnant with the son and then afterwards with the twin daughters. And my grandson wants to study medicine, just like his dad. His son and his daughters sometimes came with him, and they want to be stewardesses. Crazy. I mean, you fly in the air all the time. The winged man appeared some more times. And every time he told me about the future. Usually it was just tips on how to run the farm. But in 2002, after Easter, he told me that my grandchildren might die young, in 2020, as cancer would mutate to become airborne. That was why my son had to do the great work. That was why he was chosen. Because many people would die. The last time the winged man appeared was a week ago. He told me I had two more weeks to live. My wife knows nothing about it. I don't want her to know. I never told her I will die at 90. And her health also declines. She also is over 80 now. We shared good times and bad times. And she brought me most of my good times. I wished I could die happy. But what I found out today... but I digress again. Let me try to put it in chronological order. That last time, the winged man told me I should not tell anyone about the future. He told me that my son is about to finish the great work. He told me that back in those days he protected me and my mother so we would survive. He told me that he protected us from the hearts of the nazis so they would not kill us in their hate and anger. He manipulated their hearts to not kill us. He told me how my son was the only one to do that work, and that he had finally made the breakthrough that would be so important. And that now all the protection he did back then was worth the effort. He told me that he put much energy in it, and he was thankful to me for raising my son, and that I should be glad that my son has finished the great work. Finally I brought up my courage and asked for his name. But he told me I will know it before I die. I called my son. I wanted to congratulate him. The phone rang three times, then I heard his voice. But it turned out to be only the answering machine. Today I received his call. He told me they were experimenting with cancer cells, they tried to defeat them by putting other viruses on them. They want to see how they interact, if other viruses kill the cells. After all, some other harmful virus might be the less dangerous alternative. It all happens in a high-security lab, so there is no danger for the population. I told him about the winged man. I told him what he told me. I told him that his work was extremely important. But he told me they had not yet a cure. I told him that he already had made the breakthrough. I told him that the winged man told me that. I told him everything. We talked for two hours. My son sounded a bit depressed. And then he told me that apparently a dose was missing from that lab. He told me that it was their latest experiment. If that was the breakthrough, which would coincide with the time the winged man appeared, they had to get that dose back. But the strange thing was that the video tapes they have did not show anyone entering the lab. Last night it was still there and this morning it was gone. Nobody entered the lab. Nobody had access to the stolen sample. I did not tell him that I was about to die. I have experienced so much. I am not afraid. For me it will be salvation. Or it would be. But there is one more thing, and that shattered that thought about salvation. As you can see, my son has gifted me a computer, and I can access those online shops. That is crazy. You just click on something and they send it to you and they take the money from your bank. So I ordered some books about death, and they arrived yesterday. In my last years I turned to the jewish religion, with my death coming closer. I regained the faith lost in my youth, but I don't believe in it exactly, but in some of its mythology. So I looked through some of the books. And then, in a book about jewish mythology, about the struggles of Israel in the days of the Thora, I found a depiction of the winged man. He was depicted with Moses. I immediately knew it was him even though his face was - of course - much different. He looked just like a human. But I knew it was him because he had only one wing. The picture was in a jewish book about death which included various stories from the jewish mythology, and the struggles of the people of Israel as a whole, and how the jewish God always protected the people even from certain death. The title of the picture was "Abazethibou hardens the heart of the Pharaoh". I read a few lines on this chapter, a box that tells about Abazethibou, and what I found scares me. He is a fallen angel who followed Beelzebub. He battled against Moses. He tried to destroy the jews in Egypt. And then he eventually was sealed into the Red Sea. It is not a long text that is there, only a full page. But one passage tells that Beelzebub said, Abazethibou will return when he is ready. And then he will triumph. I tried to call my son again. But for some reason, now my phone is dead. My e-mail account does not work. I can't reach my son. But I must tell him. He does not do the work of God, but of the devil. Maybe it is too late already. The internet still works, even though the phone does not work anymore. If the phone line is dead, internet should not work. It is at the same line. But it does work and so I can send this message. Or at least I hope so. Maybe when I click on "post" it will tell me that the connection has timed out. That is what it says when internet does not work. But I have prayed more in the past half hour than in the rest of my life that somehow I can "post" this, i.e. that I can publish my life story to you. Just in case this goes through: Please. You are my only hope! Can somebody tell my son that he must find the stolen virus? It might mutate to spread cancer airborne...