“Whatever the child fancies, as long as she isn’t crying”—I philosophically thought as I agreed to go with my sister to the country house of Semenitsky. A family friend claimed that a ghost had settled in the mansion—the night his elder daughter tragically died after falling from a window. But was her death an accident? And who is keeping the whole house in fear on purpose, if ghosts don’t exist? I know one thing: in the company of my new acquaintance, I’m not afraid of even the devil. The main thing is not to fall in love…