In Sztormowo, the wind had combed all the roofs to one side, and the seagulls had their favourite chimneys for years. At the end of the town grew the Raven's Headland, a rocky tongue of land biting into the sea. There stood the lighthouse: tall, stooping like an old sailor, with broken glass in the greenhouse and a sealed door. It had been extinguished for five years after a storm that toppled half the harbour. It was said that no one would turn it on again. Lena and Maks were both twelve years old and were twins only by date. She had pockets full of ambers and stories, he pockets full of tools and ideas on how to make things work again. Teo, a year younger, knew the names of the birds, the directions of the winds and could whistle like a tern. Together they circled the quay from dawn to dusk, as if the sea were a huge book to be read from cover to cover. After the night storm, the beach looked like a page full of additions: branches, parts of crates, nets, pieces of colourful ropes. Lena saw the bottle first - green glass, thick, with the remnant of a red seal embedded in the neck. She wiped it with the sleeve of her blouse. Something was silvery inside. - 'Either there's a gin in it or an old herring bill,' she giggled and handed the bottle to Maks. Maks popped the cork with a knife. The air came out with a short sigh. They carefully slid out the folded paper. It was damp, but the letters and lines remained surprisingly clear. On the sketch, someone had drawn the headland and lighthouse from above, run a thick line across the rush-covered path and marked the spot below the lighthouse itself with a cross. In the margin was a mark: three waves and a dot above them. And next to it, in slanted script, the sentence: 'When the wind falls asleep, the light speaks'. Teo bit his lip. - Asleep? So... at night? - Or in silence,' Lena added. - Tonight at dusk is the Festival of Lights. Everyone will go to the square, it will be loud, but over the headland.... Maks traced the drawn route with his finger. - It didn't matter when. The main thing was that someone wanted to leave something exactly under the lighthouse. That afternoon, when the crowd was already gathering in the market square and the lanterns were swaying over the streets, the three friends were still sitting on the pier. The water clinked lazily under the planks. Maks was playing with an old bolt and noticed that one of the planks was crooked. He levered it up. Something metallic sounded. Under the plank, in a nest of sawdust and rust, lay a brass key. It had the same mark engraved on its round head: three waves and a dot. - Coincidence? - Teo was almost out of breath. - 'In the Storm we only call by chance what doesn't yet have a name,' Lena muttered, but her eyes were as big as full ones. They hid the key in Lena's backpack. Then, as if nothing had happened, they joined the rest. Lanterns flashed in the town square, children let paper fish fly in the air, and a band played about oars, which never get tired. The mayor, wearing a feathered hat, talked about past voyages. The sea, as if offended, purred from afar. As dusk fell and the first stars sat shyly over the bay, a brief flash came from the Raven's Headland. One. Then a second. Then a series of three, short and sharp. The lighthouse, the same one that was supposed to be dead, sugared the darkness with intermittent light. - Did you see that? - Maks went so far as to poke Lena. - I think everyone saw it - Teo didn't take his eyes off the promontory. - But... it doesn't shine like normal. See that rhythm. For a moment, nothing but music and laughter reached them. Then it repeated: short, short, long; pause; long, short, short, short. Teo straightened up like a string. - It's the Morse alphabet! - he hissed. - My grandfather taught me at the signal box at the sailing club. Like... like the beacon was writing something. Wait... C-H-O... D-Ź... C-I-E. "GO." Lena looked at people's faces. No one else seemed to be connecting the dots. The adults shrugged their shoulders: "Old cable", "Short circuit", "Fireworks". Her heart was under her throat as she looked at her brother and at Teo. They didn't need to say anything. They already knew where they would be in ten minutes. The path to the Raven's Headland was narrow and smelled of salt and the herbs that Mrs Gertrude planted every year to "make the sea manners". The lanterns from the market were left behind; here the light was alien: that from the lanterns, which appeared and disappeared, whitening the mist. The waves hit the rocks with the same persistence with which they have done so for thousands of years. - 'I hate the fog,' Maks muttered. - One feels like a fly in milk. - Quiet - whispered Lena. - Can you hear? At first they thought it was just the wind, but the sound was clearer, as if someone was whistling without a mouth, as if the stones were breathing. A soft, disconcertingly even whisper came from the very wall of the lighthouse. It didn't form into words, yet it had the sound of someone wanting something. - I'll turn on the recorder - Teo pulled out his phone, but the screen remained black. - What's...? It has a battery. - Mine's going stupid too - burbled Maks, looking at the flashing icon. - Probably the salt has gone in. Never mind. We're almost there. They reached the door. It was heavy, wooden, clad in sheet metal. A chain ran through the middle, and on it hung a padlock as big as if it were to guard something that must not be touched. On the padlock was a familiar sign: three waves and a dot. - 'I think someone is trying to tell us something in a very, very specific form,' Lena whispered and pulled out a key. The sky just above them was milky and starless. The beam of light from the lighthouse flicked on, sped up, slowed down, flicked on again. Teo squinted, counted in his mind, whispered the letters, but the rhythm suddenly changed, as if the sender had realised that the audience had changed. Now the light just hovered just above the door, shining straight down. Lena felt a cool patch of shadow on her skin, as if something very tall stood behind her. She turned around quickly. Nothing. Just mist and the outline of a railing. - 'Here, let's have it - Maks squatted down on the log. - Let's see if it fits before I freeze with curiosity. The key was heavy and cold. Lena slid it into the lock. For a split second it occurred to her that if she turned it, something would irrevocably start, even if it was just dust and spiders. She took a breath, clenched her fingers. Teo raised the torch, but it only flashed once and went out. - Three, two... - whispered Maks. - Now. The key turned with resistance. Inside the padlock, something rattled, as if a metal slug had awoken. The chain vibrated. At the same instant, the lantern struck white; the beam of light stopped and, for the first time since the evening, did not blink, but stuck to the door like an unmoving eye. Teo swallowed his saliva. - 'Do you hear that? - he choked out. Under the planks of the platform, to the left, someone stepped carefully on the gravel. One step. A second. A third. It wasn't the wind or an echo. It was the rhythm of someone's utterly real footsteps that did not belong to Lena, Maks or Teo. The steps stopped right behind them, so close that Lena felt someone's cool breath on the back of her neck. They didn't have time to turn around.