The quiet rustling of leaves accompanied three silhouettes moving along the fence of the old school. Ola, Bartek and Nina - they are all nineteen years old, but on this night even they feel uncomfortable. The old school had stood empty for years, and there were strange rumours about its attic: it was rumoured to be where the clatter of a great, forgotten clock could be heard, long after the clocks in all the other classrooms had stopped working. The night was cool and quiet. When they managed to get through the hole in the grid, the deafening echoes of their footsteps resounded on the decayed boards of the corridor. Almost instinctively, they lowered their voices. From the darkness of the corridor, the hazy shapes of old benches and twisted shoals of dust emerged. The incidental light of Nina's torch illuminated a wall of faded photographs of a former classroom - the children smiling at the lens with an unsettling seriousness. - 'Maybe we should go back after all...' - whispered Ola, but Bartek shook his head. He knew why he had come here. For months he had been trying to work out why, every year, at exactly midnight on his birthday, there was a yellow glow coming through the window of the old school. A creaky, narrow staircase led them to the attic. There, under the very roof, stood a large dark wood clock, taller than either of them. Through the dusty glass, the motionless hands - the minute and hour hands - could be seen. But there was a distinct tension in the air, as if the clock mechanism was just waiting for the right moment to fill the silence with clatter again. Nina raised her torch and its light stopped on the departing spider web. The clock was strangely cool, almost icy under Bartek's fingers as he touched it. - 'Do you hear that? - whispered Ola. Everyone fell silent. A distant metallic click came to their ears. Then another. The clock slowly started ticking... At the same moment, a muffled, unfamiliar voice rang out from the darkness behind the clock: - My turn...