The rain drummed rhythmically against the roof of the house, which for years had stood on the edge of a forgotten forest, right under the spreading branches of a mighty oak tree. Inside, the dim light of a torch illuminated Julka's face. She was nineteen years old and had just organised this meeting for herself and her three friends Philip, Lena and David. The idea was simple - to test their courage and see if the old legend of the lost owner of the house had a grain of truth in it. "I have a feeling the building will scream if we take another step here," joked Filip, trying to lighten the atmosphere. However, the echo of his voice disappeared into the thick, damp walls. David was nervously looking around the corridor, and Lena had already glanced over her shoulder twice, as if expecting to see more than peeling paint. At one point, Julka raised her torch higher and spotted a strange, faded painting on the wall - something like a tree with mysterious symbols underneath. "Do you see that?" - she whispered. David reached into his backpack for his notebook. He had always been interested in puzzles and ciphers, and these signs looked like something that needed to be deciphered. Lena leaned closer, touching her finger to the dusty wall. At the same moment, a deafening thud sounded above their heads. Everyone froze. The sound repeated again, louder, as if someone or something was moving right in the attic. "Maybe it's just the wind?" - suggested Julka uncertainly, although her voice betrayed that she didn't think so at all. Philip nodded, but was already pulling out his phone to use the torch. Together they decided to check where the noise was coming from. The stairs to the attic creaked under their weight. With each step, the darkness seemed to thicken and the air smelled of dust and something vague, like old magic. At the mezzanine, Philip stopped abruptly, pointing to a door that trembled as if someone was whispering behind it. Julka gathered her courage and grabbed the handle. Inside, in the middle of the attic, stood a small, dusty casket - the kind used by former householders for their most precious secrets. The casket was wide open, and its interior glowed with a strange, greenish light that pulsed as if it had a heart of its own. Suddenly the door slammed shut and all the torches went out. All that could be heard in the darkness were quickened breaths and a quiet, protracted creaking, as if something very old was approaching the casket from every corner of the attic....