ROYAL TRAGEDY. William and Kate are in shock.

When the Prince and Princess of Wales bought pizza for mountain rescue workers, they met a man selling pizza and wrote a touching funeral speech for him.

Father of two Peter Morris, who was 47 years old, died of cancer in May, not long after Kate was told she had it.

On notepaper from Kensington Palace, Prince William wrote his wife Tracey a letter of condolence. When he died, it was read.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what a huge hole he will leave in your life,” he wrote. “My heart goes out to you and your family.”

“Catherine and I had a great time meeting Pete.”

“We know Pete was a very dedicated and well-liked member of the community because of how people have responded to his death.”

“I wanted you to know that you and your family are thinking about you right now.”

In April of last year, Kate and Wills bought 12 pizzas from Peter’s converted VW van for £127.50. Peter is from Ebbw Vale in South Wales.

They gave the Central Beacons Mountain Rescue Team a choice of pizzas while they were at Dowlais Rugby Club in Merthyr Tydfil. The pizzas were margarita, pepperoni, BBQ chicken, and goats cheese.

At the time, Peter said, “They were really nice.” When I was setting up the business, I never would have thought that one day I would work for the young king.

In 2016, Pete opened Little Dragon Pizza Van.

He had beaten esophageal cancer, but doctors found it in his adrenal gland and liver four months after he became a royal. He died in less than a year, but the business keeps going.

The letter from William will be framed for Pete’s daughters, who are eight and five years old.

Tracey, who is 40 years old, told The Sun, “It was a huge surprise.” I have no idea how they learned that Pete had died. Because Kate is getting help, it may have struck a chord with them.

“He talked about how normal they were.”

“Many people wrote to tell us they loved Pete, but the letter from William and Kate was the most lovely.”

William wrote his wife Tracey a letter of condolence on paper from Kensington Palace.

I Opened a Mysterious Door in My Cellar—Now I Regret Everything

I never believed in hidden doors or secret rooms; those were things from mystery stories. But when Florence and I decided to renovate our cellar, we found more than just a door behind the old wallpaper. It was something we were never meant to discover, and now, I wish I had never opened it.

You never truly understand a house until you’ve lived in it for some time. That’s what I always believed. Florence and I bought this old Victorian house five years ago. We called it our dream home. It had history, charm, and unique details, the kind of house with a past you could feel in every room.

When we started the renovation project, we thought we knew what we were getting into. The cellar was dark, damp, and unused. Peeling wallpaper and cracked tiles told us it hadn’t been touched in years. But we were excited about turning it into a useful space, maybe a wine cellar or storage room. That’s when we noticed something odd—a section of the wall that didn’t match the rest.

In the back corner, we found something even stranger: an old wooden chest, covered in dust and cobwebs. It was locked, but the lock seemed weak, like it could easily break. Florence begged me to leave it alone, but I was too curious. I forced it open, and what I saw made my heart race.

Inside were old documents, letters written in a language I didn’t understand, and something wrapped in a faded cloth. When I unwrapped it, I froze. It was a small, strange object that didn’t belong in this world. Florence screamed and ran out of the cellar, terrified.

I should have followed her, but I was too deep into it. I put everything back in the chest and closed the door, but the feeling that something had changed wouldn’t leave me. Since that day, things have been different. Strange noises, cold drafts, and shadows moving where they shouldn’t.

Now, I regret opening that door. Florence refuses to go back into the cellar, and I can’t sleep at night. I don’t know what we uncovered, but I fear we’ve let something into our home that we can’t control. Every day, I wish I had just left the door hidden behind the wallpaper, where it belonged.

Now, the cellar remains locked. I’ve sealed the door with heavy boards, hoping that will keep whatever we disturbed at bay. Florence refuses to go near it, and our once happy home feels suffocating with the tension between us. It’s like the house itself has changed, like it’s watching us.

At night, I hear whispers coming from the floor below. I try to convince myself it’s just the wind or my imagination, but deep down, I know something’s wrong. The object I found in the chest haunts my thoughts—I’ve hidden it away, but it’s like it calls to me. Florence says I need to get rid of it, but I’m too afraid to touch it again.

I tried contacting the previous owners, but they didn’t know anything about the hidden room. They had lived here briefly before selling the house. No one in the neighborhood seems to know its history, and records of the house are vague. It’s like this part of the house was meant to stay forgotten.

I keep telling myself everything will be fine if I just leave it alone, but the strange occurrences are getting worse. Lights flicker, doors creak open on their own, and sometimes, I catch glimpses of something moving in the dark corners. It feels like the house is alive—angry that we disturbed its secret.

Florence is talking about moving, and maybe she’s right. But part of me knows that whatever we let out, whatever we disturbed, might not stay behind. And now, I wonder if sealing that door was just the beginning of something far more terrifying.