Cedrowa 7 looked like any other house on this somewhat forlorn, outlying street. The roof slightly crooked, the white paint falling off the shutters in patches, the garden neatly tended just enough not to draw attention. But for Lena, Philip and Tom, this street was more than just the way to school or the grocery shop. It was the backdrop to their daily encounters, conversations and quiet attempts to escape predictability. That July afternoon, when the city seemed to be melting in heat waves, Lena was waiting for the boys, sitting on the curb just opposite an abandoned garage. She was wearing a wide shirt to hide from the sun, and was contemplating something that only she seemed to hear - a quiet whisper carried along the pavement. Philip arrived first, carrying a skateboard under his arm, and Tom appeared a moment later, with his arms full of papers and notebooks. - 'Are you drawing those weird things again? - Lena asked Tomek, glancing at his sketchbook. He just shrugged his shoulders, as if it was quite normal to draw trees with twisted branches resembling mazes and buildings that looked more like living creatures than architecture. - 'Maybe we could try something different today? - suggested Philip, looking at the letterbox standing alone at number ten. - 'Did you hear that it was lit up again yesterday in that house that's always locked? For a moment everyone fell silent. The wind briefly brought the smell of something indefinable, as if someone had just brewed coffee and left the door open. Lena glanced at her friends; a moment in which an ordinary afternoon might have turned into something more was just breaking away. - Do you want to check it out? - Tom threw in, although it sounded more like a challenge than an offer. - Since we have nothing better to do anyway. They crossed Cedar Street slowly, feeling the air getting heavier and heavier. The garden by the house at number ten was overgrown with lush lavender and mint bushes, and through the window they could see the interior plunged into semi-darkness. Philip was the first to notice that the door was not closed. - Maybe we should ring the bell ... Or at least knock? - Lena asked, but her voice was more curious than frightened. They approached and Philip, who always pretended to be the bravest, gently pushed the door open. It creaked softly and stood open. They slipped inside, a chill immediately enveloping their shoulders. Inside, the smell of coffee was stronger, and the light that had so intrigued them shimmered softly in the depths of the corridor. The walls were covered with dozens of drawings - the same twisted mazes and eerie shapes that Tom was so fond of drawing. Philip looked around nervously, but Lena came closer and noticed that in one of the rooms, on a large table, lay a huge, old-fashioned notebook. An old pencil case glittered beside it, and a silvery light bulb dangled from the ceiling, blinking in an irregular rhythm. - Check this out! - whispered Lena, glancing at the cover of the notebook. On it was her own name, written in someone else's even, unfamiliar handwriting. Suddenly, something squeaked in the room and the light flickered more strongly. The three friends looked at each other, knowing that they had just taken a step further from the familiar. Then from behind the half-open door came the muffled but distinct sound of footsteps....