Three friends are hurled toward a hidden station on the Moon’s far side, where locked doors, glowing symbols, and clocks that run backwards suggest they are not alone.
Staszek, Lena, and Boris had spent years building cardboard rockets, drawing star maps, and arguing about which planet looked the strangest through a telescope. They never expected their school competition to carry them this far.
The prize was a visit to a European Space Agency base, where real astronauts showed them control rooms, launch pads, and suits that smelled faintly of metal and ozone. The children were halfway through trying on the helmets when a siren split the air.
Red lights snapped on overhead.
"Emergency capsule, now!" an engineer shouted.
Before any of them could ask what was happening, they were hurried through a corridor, strapped into narrow seats, and handed helmets that suddenly felt far too large. A countdown crackled in their headphones.
3... 2... 1... Launch.
The rocket tore free of Earth and climbed into blackness so deep it seemed endless. Staszek pressed his hands against the straps and tried not to breathe too fast. Lena kept her eyes on the tiny window beside her. Boris, for once, was silent.
Much later, after the shaking stopped and the engine noise faded into a heavy, ringing quiet, Lena leaned toward the porthole.
"Do you see that?" she whispered.
At first Staszek thought it was a trick of the light. Then the shape sharpened against the Moon’s dark surface: a building, half-buried in dust, with long silver panels and a tower rising above it like a finger pointed at the stars.
The capsule settled onto the ground with a soft thud.
When the hatch opened, cold moonlight spilled in. The three friends stepped carefully onto the grey dust, their boots leaving neat marks behind them. Ahead stood an old research station, its white walls powdered with age, its solar panels dulled by dust. Over the entrance hung a giant clock with no numbers at all.
"Moonwatch Station," Boris breathed. "That old explorer story was true."
The front door was already open.
Inside, the station was dim and hushed, lit by pale strips that flickered along the walls. Strange symbols glowed faintly beside each doorway. In one chamber, three clocks stood in a row. Each showed a different time. Each was ticking backwards.
Staszek took one step closer.
The clocks gave a slow, hollow throb, as if something deep inside the station had just woken up.
Then, from the locked door at the end of the corridor, came a soft knock.
Once.
Then again.