Lena came home faster than usual. It had been raining since morning and the yard had turned into a maze of puddles. As she climbed the stairs, she again heard the characteristic creaking sound under the fourth step. She heard the same sound every day, but only today she decided to find out what was causing it. She pulled the rug away. To her surprise, she found a small door that she had not known existed. It was the colour of old brass and intricately carved with leaf and snail motifs. Unable to stop herself, Lena opened the door. Behind them was a narrow, dark space from which a delicate violet scent came. She carefully slipped inside. Inside, it was surprisingly spacious. On a small table stood caskets, old pens and clocks whose hands spun in opposite directions. A mirror hung on the wall, reflecting not her face but completely different images - once she saw a clearing in the moonlight, another time a misty street. Suddenly, one of the clocks began to strike a strange rhythm, and a silver-bound postcard fell from the shelf. On its back was a fresh, glossy ink inscription: "Leno, are you ready? Time to start the game." The girl held her breath. The door behind her slammed shut with a quiet click, and an old porcelain lamp shone with light on the table....