There is not a single fantasy story in this book; There will be someone to write fairy tales even without us. The authors of this collection are serious realists, they write the truth and only the truth, nothing but the truth. However, our truth is usually such that, knowing it, readers usually shake their heads, reproachfully say: “This doesn’t happen,” and go home, where a black hand awaits someone, the ghost of a great-grandmother in a linen closet, someone for someone it was a friendly party that took place four years ago, for someone it was the north wind that looked at the light and had already managed to put the kettle on. But they won’t tell anyone about this, because who wants to hear in response: “It doesn’t happen.” But we don’t care.