High above the roofs of the old quarter, where the windows flank the sky, Lena lived in the attic of a 19th-century tenement. She was an artist, and her flat was a veritable labyrinth filled with unusual objects with a history. Some of them remembered their previous owners, some of them remembered a journey across half of Europe, and some of them remembered the first, shy rays of sunshine coming through the cat window. But not everyone knew that after dark, when the last footsteps of the neighbours disappear from the stairwell and the city quiets under the weight of night, real life begins in Lena's flat. That's when her objects woke up - and it's not just that they looked alive. They just ... they spoke. The sideboard named Bonifacy, a tall, centuries-old piece of furniture with a carved top, loved to tell stories about its former owners. The Martha cup from the delicate porcelain set had a reputation for being a little too nosy, and the Stanislas lamp - although it shone the brightest - was most likely to stay in the shadows, muttering philosophical sentences under its breath. One steamy summer night, Lena returned late. On her shoulder was a linen bag, and in it something heavy. The household-objects glanced after each other, feeling a strange tension. As soon as Lena fell asleep, whispered deliberations began. - What did she bring? - whispered Marta, trying to peek through a crack in the glass of the shop window. - It looked like a clock. But ... - here Boniface mused deeply - not that ordinary. I felt a chill from it all the way up to the hinges. Stanislaw lit up a little more strongly. - I've never seen Lena so thoughtful on her return. This clock could be important. Just then the bag, quietly standing in the corner, began to tremble. A slight sound came from inside - not so much a ticking, but as if a slow dragging after a long journey. The objects held their breath. After a moment, a thin, metallic pointer emerged from the bag, sliding uncertainly across the dance floor. The new clock looked unusual: instead of traditional numerals, it had crystal symbols, and the centre of the dial resembled an eye. It was quiet, making almost no sound. Instead of saying something, it looked at the rest of the objects with a bright glow that flashed across its interior. Boniface closed all the drawers, and Martha began to shake so hard that her saucer had to be supported. Stanislaw leaned over so that the shadow of his lampshade fell on the clock. - 'Who... or what are you? - He asked cautiously. Just then a strange metallic rasp sounded in the flat. The clock suddenly turned its hands - backwards, against the flow of time - and an unfamiliar symbol appeared on the crystal dial. The front door shook from a gust of wind, even though all the windows were closed. The subjects looked at each other anxiously. The night had just grown even darker and no one knew what the next hour would bring. At that moment, the clock spoke for the first time - its voice was quiet but clear. Something was waiting for him that neither of them had ever seen before....