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In one of the many rooms of the old house, which had long seemed abandoned, the last of the electric light bulbs burned out. It had served as a sort of pendulum for the landowner, who, to be honest, should have made substantial repairs to his dwelling or moved to a new place long ago. However, he was in no hurry to do so—either he didn't have the money, or he simply didn't feel like it. Now, he was sitting on the floor, trying to pry off pieces of the rotting wall with his fingers, which had turned blue from the effort. It wasn't clear why he was doing this, but soon he got bored, lay down on the floor, and began to sob in frustration. He could probably have continued doing this for a long time, but he still had to get up—a loud knock on the front door of the house demanded his attention.
As the owner of the house expected, the uninvited guest turned out to be his old friend, Herdon Vorlik. What had brought him here at such a late hour? The answer was simple—the landowner himself had invited him, but he had simply forgotten about it.
"Make yourself at home," said the owner, leading the guest into the dining room.
"That won't be easy," replied Vorlik, stepping over broken glass on the floor. The owner remembered him as an active and cheerful man, but even in his eyes, there was now a hint of sadness, and he seemed to have much less vitality than before.
As they walked down the long corridor, the guest peered into the numerous rooms of the house, some of which were slightly ajar, while others were shattered. A broken piano, gnawed pencils, torn papers, and shattered records. It wasn't a pleasant sight.
Reaching the dining room, Vorlik noticed a dead body of a woman he didn't know at the other end of the room. He figured that she must have been beautiful in her lifetime, but now the grimace of horror etched on her face could not help but disgust him.
"What is this?" he asked, covering his mouth and nose with his hand.
"Oh, this." The owner sat down next to him and explained. The "corpse" turned out to be just a doll, whose face he had forgotten to clean from dirt and dust.
"Wow," Vorlik breathed out, "they really make them realistic."
"Indeed. So, did you bring what I asked for?"
"Yes." Herdon Vorlik handed the owner a medium-sized bag.
"Hmm..." Inside were an oil lamp, a rope, and a bar of soap. "Thanks, buddy. You always come through."
"Don't mention it. But let me ask, I understand the rope and soap, but what do you need the lamp for?"
The two of them silently got up from the table and went into one of the rooms filled with darkness. When the room was filled with the warm light of the oil lamp, Vorlik noticed an unusual cleanliness for this house. He saw someone's full-length portrait in the center, some kind of equipment on the table next to it, and a cup with coffee grounds in it.
"I don't understand," Vorlik said, puzzled.
"And you don't need to."
