The tower on the edge of the Sea looked as if it remembered other people's dreams and storms. Nadia held a dictaphone while a cool breeze whisked the grasses around the rust-coloured fence. They were looking to the school's podcast for stories that would induce shivers, not naps in their listeners. Igor was joking, but his eyes were alert, like those of a dog tracking a storm. At midnight, the mysterious Channel Zero, a pirate broadcast with no transmitter and no author, was due to launch. The legend was that Channel Zero picks one person and answers a question that no one has asked. It sounded like a gimmick, but the town swore by the sacred sardines. Last year, a harbour boy heard the voice of a grandmother he didn't know at night. She told him where a letter lay that the family had been silent about for decades. Nadia didn't believe it, but curiosity warmed her neck like a lamp over a piece of paper. They squeezed through a breach in the netting and entered the barracks under the tower. Inside it smelled of dust, ozone and old coffee that never cools. The dead controls flashed once, as if someone had winked at them from another room. Igor plugged the powerbank into the mixer and Nadia set the microphone's soft sensitivity. The watch showed 23:57, but a minute rumbled in the headphones that refused to pass. Nadia raised a finger and whispered: - Can you hear it? - It's not a hum, it's footsteps on the stairs. However, no one came in; the door was hooked shut from the inside. The indicator on the old transmitter vibrated and stopped abruptly at zero. Then they heard a crackle, and then a voice, as close as if it were speaking from their own throats: - Good evening, Nadia. Good evening, Igor. The phone's display flashed without a touch, scrolling through the list of recordings they didn't have. A file flashed on the screen, marked with a date from tomorrow and the title: Do not open. Igor swallowed his saliva, but smiled crookedly, as he always did when he was scared. - Is this a joke? - he tried lightly, but his voice trembled as if he were standing on a platform. A new line came from the speaker, a whisper clear and cold: - Nadio, if you hear that sound, don't look at the red light. At the same moment, the lantern at the top of the tower lit up and spun, stopping the red beam right in their faces. Nadia instinctively closed her eyes, but the red glow still pulsed under her eyelids. Metal rustled on the roof, as if heavy footsteps were learning to walk on the trellis. A tapping sounded from the loudspeaker in the rhythm of the Morse alphabet, which arranged only one word: N-A-D-I-A - and then someone breathed right behind them.