Zosia lived in a town where the rain knew people's names. The lantern on the headland only shone between downpours. It was said that then you could see things that weren't there. Zosia collected drops into jars and listened to them clatter. For a long time she had wanted to know what happened between the rains. No adult was looking in the window at that time, just her. One evening the drops formed letters on the glass. The drops formed a sentence: 'Come alone, bring a jar, I'm waiting between the rains'. Zosia slipped the jar into the pocket of her cape and grabbed the lantern. Mum shouted from the kitchen that she should definitely put on wellingtons and a hood. Zosia waved and closed the door before another drop fell. Fig, her cat, dashed under the fence and did not leave her side. The street shone like a mirror and the sea breathed deep. The lighthouse was silent when it poured, and woke between the clouds. Now the sky was just taking in the air between two great rains. Beneath the lighthouse hung a bell that no one touched. Yet it sounded when drops fell into the Zosin jar. The sound unfolded like a ribbon and touched the door. A mark flashed in the stone, similar to the swirling scales of a fish. Zosia pressed the jar against the mark, and Figa set her ears. The door, which had not been there before, drew itself in the wall with light. The handle stuck out like the metal tongue of a storm, cold and wet. Zosia gripped it tightly, her cheeks damp from the drizzle. The streak of light suddenly twisted and fell like a staircase from a cloud. Fig purred quietly, though her fur stood up. A whisper came from the depths of the sound, as if saying her name. On the other side, someone breathed so close that the flame of the torch went out.