On Halloween, Lena, Olek and Nina find a brass key hidden in a pumpkin at the school fair. The trail leads to the old train station, where the big clock has been silent for years. When the hands suddenly vibrate and the door gives way, something unex
In Zaciszewo, autumn smelled of campfire smoke and baked apples. The streets were dressed in orange lights and pumpkin lanterns twinkled in the windows. In the gymnasium of Primary School No. 3, a huge Halloween fair was in progress: paper bats swayed on strings, tin cans were piled on tables for knocking down, and someone from the fifth-grade class played "The Phantom of the Opera" on the ukulele, getting every other chord wrong.
Lena corrected her cat-eared headband and brushed an unruly strand of hair off her forehead. She was twelve and liked to have a plan. Olek, her brother who was two years younger, carried a notebook full of drawings of stones and buttons found on pavements. Nina, their friend, dressed in a wizard's coat sewn from a navy blue veil, had a backpack stuffed with a torch, biscuits and a measuring tape "just in case".
'The Pumpkin King must win,' whispered Nina, and gently placed their shared pumpkin on the podium: huge, with a slightly crooked smile and triangular eyes that looked as if they were asking for an extra serving of caramel.
'At least it has character,' muttered Olek, but pride sounded in his voice.
Just then, the lights under the ceiling flickered. It got darker for a second, as if the room had taken in air before sneezing. When the light returned, something flashed in the centre of their pumpkin, behind the candle. Lena slid the lid off the seeds and flesh. At the bottom lay a leaf folded in four and a brass key on a black ribbon.
Nina removed the card with two fingers so as not to get it dirty with pumpkin juice. On the paper, like an old ticket, were the printed words: "If all is silent, listen to what does not stop counting. You will find a trace where trains have stopped." Underneath, someone had drawn a small clock, with a cross beside it.
Lena lifted the key under the light. It was heavy and smooth from the touch, with a tiny maple leaf and two letters engraved on the head: D.W.
'Narrow gauge station,' Nina read out. - 'That's three streets away. We'll have a look and then go back to the costume competition. We have twenty minutes.
'We'll tell Mrs Veronica we're going to get some extra lights for my house,' suggested Lena, feeling a tiny prick in her stomach that wasn't fear at all. - 'And we're taking a torch.
Five minutes later they were gliding along a leaf-strewn alley. The city hummed with laughter and music, but the further they got from the school, the more it sounded like breathing. The station stood at the end of James Street - a small brick building, overgrown with ivy, with a corrugated metal roof. A circular clock hung above the door. The hands were stuck, as usual, at seven twelve.
Something strange happened: although the street was almost silent, Lena really heard a ticking. Very quiet, as if someone was counting in their mind. One, two, three... Then silence again.
The courtyard was closed, but the fence gave in without resistance as they moved the rusty gate. The smell of damp wood was giving, and somewhere on the railing beam sat a bearded cat and measured them with its yellow eyes.
Up close, Lena saw a narrow wooden door under the clock, even lower than she had thought. A brass keyhole glinted in the board, right next to the handle.
I think this is... - she started, but Olek was already holding the key.
May I? - He asked, and when she nodded, he slid the metal into the lock. Something inside rustled, as if it had woken up after a very long nap.
The ticking returned, clearer. The hands on the dial trembled, a lazy jump, then a second. Seven thirteen.
Lena grabbed the cool door handle. When she pushed the door open, the air inside was colder and smelled of dust, grease and something... sweet, like an old orangeade.
In the gloom, the outlines of benches and metal plates with the names of stops glinted. On the floor, among the leaves, a thin trail led into the depths - as if someone had dragged chalk across the boards, leaving milky lines. To the left stood a large trunk, bound with leather straps. From its lock hung a second, narrower loop of ribbon. The same as at their key.
He didn't have time to finish. The clock above the door struck once, so audibly that the cat on the railing snorted and ran away. At the same moment, a whisper sounded in the depths of the waiting room. Three short syllables, clear as breath just above the nape of the neck: