“Let’s go on a crazy road trip,” dad joked. How I scribbled! And now he himself is somewhere unknown, along with a broken car, and his mother, Inka and Lesya are in a strange, seemingly extinct village, where everything is thickly overgrown with weeds and covered with moss. The tall grass is teeming with toads the size of cats, and mysterious figures with blank faces, similar to garden scarecrows, are on duty near each gate. There is no Internet, TV or telephone here, but you can hear the radio. The old receiver mumbles all day in different voices, tells stories, one more terrible than the other, intoxicates, beckons, fools. Oh, something will happen at night?