The rain was tapping against the tin roof of the bus stop when Ignaz glanced at his watch. 10:12 p.m. At this hour, in this place, no one was likely to be waiting for the bus anymore - except him, Julia and Patrick. Although they had known the area since they were children, today they looked at each other somehow differently. In front of them, across the street, hiding in the darkness was the old "Countryman" factory - closed for years, surrounded by legends and stories passed down by the elders. This was a neighbourhood where the buildings had their secrets. Walls covered in graffiti, rusty gates, crooked fences. A part of town where the streetlights went out more often than anywhere else, and the creaking swings in the playground never stopped swinging, even without wind. On this night, however, everything seemed more real. Ignaz was the initiator of this trip. Julia, with a serious look on her face and a camera slung over her shoulder, was looking for the perfect subject for a photo competition. Patrick - sceptical but curious - did not refuse the challenge. They knew that a night in the factory would stir up emotions that they had not experienced even on their craziest outings. They walked through a hole in the fence, leading to an overgrown courtyard. The ground under their shoes was slippery, with shards of glass and metal rods scattered everywhere. The wind dragged between the broken windows, making low, melodious moans. Julia stopped and took the first picture - dark shadows were arranged in strange shapes on the walls of the building. They went inside through the ajar door of the warehouse. A musty smell mingled with the forlorn scent of tar. Somewhere in the distance something rustled. Ignaz squeezed the torch, which illuminated only a small part of the hall full of old machines, abandoned in a hurry. The light spilled over the dust-covered counters, the yellow "Do not touch" warnings and the door to the director's office. - 'Look at this,' whispered Julia, pointing to a wall where a bluish mark glowed, as if someone had moved a hand dipped in fluorescent paint there. Patrick scratched his head. There were strange rhythmic sounds coming from above them - as if someone was slowly moving something heavy over the old planks. They stopped motionless, listening. A moment later, Ignasio's torch went out. Total darkness reigned. Then a pale light flashed from behind the glazed door of the study. Someone or something moved behind the glass. The three friends held their breath, trying not to make a sound. Something began to tap rhythmically on the glass. A question hung in the air - were they there alone? Just then Julia lifted her camera, preparing to take the picture of a lifetime, and Igor and Patrick listened to the increasing tapping, which seemed to be getting closer by the second. And suddenly...