It's a frosty December evening in Nikolaev, full of creaking snow. The market smells of gingerbread, orange and hot spiced cocoa. Olive helps her mother at a small stall under a red umbrella. Since morning, the Christmas lights have been flashing more and more strangely and buzzing more quietly. First the ones by the fountain go out, then the ones above the stalls. Finally, the blue chain hanging straight from the town hall tower goes out. People shrug their shoulders, but Olive senses that something is wrong. Kuba, her third-floor neighbour and best helper, approaches. He has a reindeer hat and hands sticky with icing. - 'Those lights go out like dominoes,' Kuba says quietly. - Maybe someone is switching them off, walking across the market. Olive looks at the map of the lights, a line drawn in her mind. They dim from the north towards the town hall, like a flowing wave. - Let's check the plug box by the Christmas tree, she decides. A low hum is heard under the wooden cover, as if someone is muttering. Someone has loosened a cable, but the screws are intact and gleaming clean. A trail in the snow leads from under the box between the benches and the ice rink. They are tiny prints, like after a child's shoes, in stripes and dots. They follow them to the stage, where Santa's huge sleigh stands. Behind the leather seat they find a low door, almost hidden in the board. A green glow oozes from beneath them and smells of the forest after the rain. - Do you hear that countdown? - Olive asks, because it sounds like a whisper. It's quiet and fast: nine, eight, seven, until a shudder passes through. Kuba puts his hand on the doorknob and the snow is suddenly silent. Behind their backs, someone blows on the back of their neck and the door moves.