In a country dacha, with the fireplace crackling, when the night is falling outside the window and a blizzard is raging, it’s so nice to listen to an interesting story. It’s just not clear whether the people who gathered were not strangers to all sorts of devilry, or whether the strong drinks loosened their tongues, but the conversation turned to the supernatural. And each of the guests decides to tell their own story. Or is it true?