In the Masuria region, summer can turn time into something completely different - the sun was reflected in the water of the Lake of Spectres in a shadow, as if trying to hide something. Seventeen-year-old Kuba, for whom this was the last carefree season before his high school graduation, convinced his friends Natalia, who knows all the legends of the area, and Igor, a fanatic about strange weather phenomena, to spend two weeks together on his grandfather's old plot of land. The house stood halfway between the forest and the shoreline. All around it smelled of mint and resin, and wildlife tracks disappeared into the tall grass leading straight to the lake. In the evenings, the chill came faster than anywhere else, and that's when they sat by the fire, devising the next few challenges for the days ahead. It was then that Natalia told of an old manor house on the peninsula - abandoned for years and apparently guarded by someone who doesn't like uninvited guests. - My grandfather repeatedly told me not to go there. The last ones to try it are said to have come back different," she chuckled, looking after them with a seriousness she usually lacked. For Kuba and Igor, this was reason enough to plan an expedition. The next day they set off in an old green canoe, cutting through the water almost silently. Fog lay low over the surface, and the shores of the peninsula looked untouched by human foot. The manor was hidden behind dense hazel trees. From a distance it looked like an abandoned artifact: windows boarded up, plaster falling off in patches, a stork's nest on the roof. They entered the grounds, looking widely around for anyone - the silence was almost absolute, broken only by the reverberation of their own footsteps. Igor pointed to something in the tall grass - a metal, rusty ring stuck into the ground. They pulled, but it did not budge. Only after a while did Natalia, carefully pushing away the leaves, notice a masked hatch under the ring. They exchanged glances. Kuba shone his torch inside: the stairs led down, under the manor. The smell of damp and old wood squeezed out of the darkness. Although their beating hearts told them to go back, they descended slowly. A tunnel stretched underground, leading them deeper into the peninsula. Again and again they turned, feeling as if they could hear a quiet whisper behind them. After several minutes, their light reflected off the metal walls - in front of them was an old harbour, and a submarine-like structure, overgrown with algae, with a barely visible sign, floated on the water. Cuba wanted to say something, but at the same moment a light flashed on the other side of the boat. And then they saw the silhouette of a man who was apparently waiting for them.