In Brzeziny, October laid a carpet of leaves on the streets, and in the evening the town lit up with pumpkin lanterns. The shops had paper bats in their windows and the smell of cinnamon and baked apples came from the bakeries. A light mist hung over the market square, wrapping around the lanterns like a shawl. Children flitted about in costumes, taking turns calling out: - Trick or treat! In the old town hall, where the library was located on the ground floor, hectic preparations for the "Lantern Night" were underway. Ms Hanka, a librarian with pumpkin-coloured hair and glasses on a chain, was directing the volunteers with a conductor's gesture. - Zosia, Kamil, Lena - she called out. - The candy bowl goes to the games table. Bats to the ceiling. And remember, spiritual puzzles are left without scaring! Zosia, aged eleven, proudly fixed her fox ears on her headband. She was the fastest in the whole class, yet she could stand still for so long that even the cat Fritz recognised her as a statue. Kamil, a twelve-year-old in a vampire cloak, carried a screwdriver and string in his pocket "just in case" and always read the instructions to the end. Lena, drawing stars on anything that had a flat surface, wore a wizard's hat on her head crooked to look playful and a cat-shaped backpack on her back. - 'Look,' whispered Kamil, peering into a cardboard box of donations for the library. - Someone had given away an atlas. An old one, like a treasure map. The cover was blackened and the gold letters worn away. Kamil blew; a cloud of dust rose from the pages, which glimmered like glitter in the lantern light. Zosia slid her fingers under the hardcover and felt something uneven. Something rustled. - 'Oho,' said Lena, leaning over. - A card. And a leaf. The leaf was shaped like an almost perfect bat, the tiny veins arranged into wings. There was also a folded paper lying between the pages. Kamil unfolded it carefully. It was a map. Drawn in ink, with a stamp in the shape of a moon by the old town hall and a thin line leading through the courtyard behind the library to a circular patch described: "Tower". Underneath the drawing were cursive letters: "When the sugar street sings again and the moon spills milk over the rooftops, Look for the light that lives in the darkness. The key returns to the hands that yearn to light the lantern." - How it sounds - Lena all the way smiled - like the beginning of a game! "Sugar Street is a Halloween market, one hundred per cent. Zosia turned the atlas around. Something clattered against the table. A small iron key glinted on the wood. It had a crescent-shaped handle tied with a cloud; it was as cold as ice and heavier than it looked. - Mrs Hanko! - Kamil was already raising his hand, but the librarian at that moment disappeared behind a carton of ornaments. - Kids, I'm having a pumpkin crisis here! - she shouted from the back room. - Get it sorted out, and put the unusual stuff in the regional section! Zosia looked at her friends. The regional section was a shelf in the corner where chronicles, old photographs and stories about Birchwood from a hundred years ago stood. One of them spoke of the 'Lighthouse Keeper of the Mist' - a man who is said to have lit the lantern in the tower behind the town hall on autumn nights so that late children would find their way home. The tower still stands today, but has been closed for many years. The clock has long since stopped ticking and the bell was removed when it broke during a storm. - If the key 'returns to the hands that wish to light the lantern', then... - Kamil smiled crookedly. - I think he's talking about us. - And the map leads to the courtyard - Lena added. - 'It's just outside this door. - First the lanterns, then the riddles of the world - decided Zosia, although inside she felt curiosity tickle her stomach. - But I'm hiding the key - she slipped it into the pocket of her fox sweatshirt. When seven o'clock struck the town hall tower (although the clock was supposedly not working...), the "Night of Lanterns" was in full swing. Children in hats and capes laughed as they jumped through threadbare cobwebs, parents sipped ginger tea and the story-teller opened a book with a thick padlock. The library became as bustling as a beehive. Zosia, Kamil and Lena were handing out sweets and leading the "trail of the brave" between the bookcases. From time to time, however, they glanced at the door to the courtyard, behind which the wall of the tower could be seen. The fog outside was thickening so that the light from the lanterns was becoming as soft as wool. From far away came the singing of a merry group: - Trick or treat! Trick or treat! - Just say the word,' whispered Lena. - After all, this is our area. The library is in our care, the tower too... a bit next door. - 'Three minutes,' decided Kamil, pointing at his watch. - 'We'll take the torch and get back before Mrs Hanka notices. Zosia nodded. They took an old brass lantern from the props - it had diamond-shaped glass and a handle like a vine leaf. Kamil put the torch in his pocket, Lena the chalk and notebook. They walked through the side door into the courtyard. The air was cool and smelled of wet brick. A tower stood just outside, an undersized round tower of stone whose colour went from ashen to silver in the light of the lanterns. At its base was a low door. On their board, someone had long ago carved the sign of a lantern in a cloud; the drawing was worn away, as if the fog tried to wipe it away every night. - 'Okay, crescent to crescent,' muttered Kamil. - The key fits. Zosia slid the key into the rusty hole. Something clicked. The door vibrated and then slowly, with a sigh, swung back about a hand's width. There was a chill blowing from inside, but not the unpleasant kind - more like from a cellar full of apples, where everything smells of old wood and autumn. - Three minutes - Zosia repeated. - We go in, take a look and come back. The stairs ran in a spiral upwards. Stone, worn, narrow like the secret paths on Lena's maps. Someone had once drawn an arrow on the wall in chalk; it was almost worn away, but Lena dragged a fresh line across it. Somewhere above, something rustled slightly - as if a thick string had moved. - Brr - muttered Kamil, lighting the torch. - It's weird here, but look - a clock mechanism on the side. The gear wheels. Beautiful! They passed a small window. Through the glass they could see the market in a fog, the lanterns on the pumpkins looked like glowing eyes. In the library, shadows flashed between the bookcases and the echo of "Trick or treat!" still came from behind the door. On the first mezzanine stood a wooden box. Someone had nailed a brass plaque to it: "Don't open if you're in a hurry". Zosia smiled crookedly. - 'We're not in a hurry,' Lena whispered. - Exactly, we are in a hurry - Kamil rolled his eyes. - Mrs Hanka will eat us. Next. Higher up, the stones were rough and there was pollen that shimmered in the torchlight beam like miniature stars. Zosia lifted the brass torch to inspect the spiderweb, which looked like a lace map. As soon as she touched the handle, the lantern glass shimmered, as if a tiny flame had danced inside, even though no one had put a candle in. - Did you see? - she hissed. - Alone...? - Maybe it's reacting to the warmth of your hand - Kamil tried to sound as matter-of-fact as ever, but his voice reverberated on the stairs with a strange reverberation. On the next mezzanine stood a desk, and on it was an open notebook with thick paper. The title on the first page read: "The Lighthouse Keeper's Book". The letters were neat, as if written by a ruler. Zosia ran her eyes over the last entry from over a hundred years ago: "31 October. The street sings. The fog thickens. The lantern is ready. If anyone ever reads this - don't be afraid of the light, it knows the way." Lena swallowed her saliva and muttered: - Sounds like an invitation. - Or a warning," Kamil added. The stairs ended at a heavy door with iron fittings. Someone had carved tiny, repeating crescent signs on them. Zosia put her ear to them. Silence. And yet, somewhere above them, in the vastness of the tower, something seemed to ring slightly. A single, long tone, like the echo of a bell that was, after all, no longer here. - Did you hear it? - she whispered. - That's impossible - Kamil raised his torch. - The bell has been taken down. It hangs in a museum in a neighbouring town. We were on a trip there. - Then what's buzzing? - Lena gripped her chalk more tightly. - Maybe the wind? Zosia gripped the door handle. It was cold. The door creaked and gave way with difficulty, as if someone from inside was still trying to hold it down, but finally gave up. They entered a circular room. High above them was a blackened void where a bell had once hung. In the middle stood a metal lantern on a stand. It was no ordinary one: it had eight panes of glass, and on each was scrawled a different mark - a leaf, a cloud, a star, a raindrop, a snowflake, a flame, a snail and... a small crescent moon. When Zosia placed the brass lantern on the table, the one on the stand seemed to breathe and lit up from within with a warm glow that flooded the walls with gold. The shadows danced. Streaks flashed across the stone like handprints. And then, on the dusty floor, right next to their shoes, fresh imprints began to be drawn - delicate, as if someone had just walked barefoot, taking steps from the lantern straight towards the door and then stopping at Kamila's cloak. - Hey... - choked Kamil, taking half a step back. A single white thread of cobweb fell from the ceiling and disappeared into the light. A clock somewhere in the mechanism crunched, as if a long-frozen wheel was trying to move again. At the same moment, the lantern on the stand flashed brighter, and the drawing of a crescent moon on its glass twitched and leapt - not onto the glass next to it, but onto the stone wall, like a shadow that does not belong to any thing. - Zosia... - whispered Lena. - 'Look at these marks. They don't reflect like normal light. Zosia tightened her fingers on the handle of the brass lantern. She felt her heart beating faster. Kamil raised the torch, but its beam suddenly dimmed, as if something had swallowed it. In the silence, only the quiet, near-whispering sound of something sliding across the stone could be heard. And then, in the midst of the golden glow, right next to the lantern, the outline of a hand appeared on the ceiling and slowly began to descend down the wall - as if someone unseen was sliding down the light straight towards them.