My guest today is very tired, and even a double black coffee is unlikely to perk her up. But I'm doing my job.

  Scalding black coffee appears on the table in front of the guest. Next to it is a sugar bowl with a heap of shiny, sparkling sugar — snow-white, like the first snow, brightly contrasting with the guest's waxy yellow skin, faded by time.

  And the unchanging cherries — perfectly smooth, like dozens of miniature mirrors reflecting the wrinkles of my elderly guest.

  She accepts the treat with gratitude; she is no longer at an age to be offended by the truth. Something completely different is gnawing at her…

  "You know, sometimes it's very dangerous to believe in miracles. And just to believe...

  I was nine or ten years old. My mother was offered a lucrative contract, and we moved. I can’t say that I took the move hard. Yes, it was sad to part with my school friends, but I loved life so much! I literally lived for new experiences.

  I was very lucky — or so I thought then. We were not just put up in an apartment. For that impressionable ten-year-old me, we had found ourselves in a fairy tale. We were put up in a real castle — with turrets, four floors, several dozen rooms, ballrooms, and huge fireplaces in which I could stand at full height. It was magical.

  I was so glad we moved in the summer: no school to distract us, lots of free time to explore this amazing place.

  I imagined myself as a princess kidnapped by an evil dragon, a brave warrior, and a shrewd thief looking for forgotten treasures. I could disappear inside for hours — at first just exploring room after room, and then looking for secret passages.

  And the basement, of course. True, my mother scolded me when I went down there: the stairs were really very fragile and unreliable. In the end, the basement was locked from me, but I wasn’t too upset — four floors were enough for me to play.

  I probably didn't get to the attic until a month after moving in.

  The door was absolutely incredible, like something out of a fairy tale: the slopes were like thin turrets, more like mushroom caps. And the key was sticking out of the lock, like an invitation.

  The door led to the stairs in the tower. As I climbed, the feeling of a fairy tale about a princess and a dragon intensified many times. And at the top… a kingdom of dust and secrets.

  There were a lot of interesting things in the attic: old wooden chests, hangers with long dresses like those of princesses from cartoons, a huge empty birdcage, and inside it a real swing on which I could easily fit. They had probably kept a real firebird in it.

  Light entered the room through a large round window. The glass was cracked and dusty, but there was enough light that more and more details gradually emerged from the dusty gloom. It seemed I had found my treasure trove…

  The magic vanished when I heard a creak. The fairy tale about the princess immediately turned into a terrible nightmare with ghosts. I turned my head, looking around for the source of the noise. I didn’t have to look for long…

  Under the round window, in the far corner where no light reached, stood a rocking chair. On it lay a dusty, tattered blanket — so old it would probably fall apart at the mere touch.

  The chair creaked as it slowly rocked on its huge runners.

  At first I choked with fear and froze. Even the air froze in my lungs and seemed to turn into real ice.

  And then I heard muttering. The voice was definitely coming from the rocking chair, but I couldn't see anyone. Once I got my breathing under control and the fear subsided a little, curiosity began to take over. I was still afraid to move or come closer, but I leaned my head as far as I could to hear the muttering.

  The voice turned out to be female and quite melodic — like the old actresses my grandmother loved to watch.

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  I decided to take a step forward.

  "Go away, little thief! This is all mine!"

  I froze — not so much from fear as from resentment. I wasn’t a thief. I had just come in to have a look. And anyway, I lived here with my mother, which meant I had a right to be here. I even said the last part out loud, although my voice was treacherous. And at that moment I was more afraid of my mother than of my ghostly interlocutor, because I doubted I was really allowed to go up to the attic. The basement had already been locked away from me.

  Be that as it may, the fear quickly evaporated. I began a dialogue — yes, a conversation with a ghost. She even deigned to become visible so that I would not be talking to emptiness.

  At first I thought she was a princess. Then I looked closer — no, she wasn't. Judging by her age, she was the princess's mother: a grown woman in a full dress with her hair up. She was dressed exactly as if she were going to a ball, and next to the rocking chair stood a long cane with a fan hanging from the handle.

  The ghost turned out to be the mistress of the estate. She had lived back in the days when the country was ruled by a king, not a president, and she had been presented at court — whatever that meant.

  I started going up to the attic every day. We talked for hours on end. She told me about balls and court intrigues, and I told her about cartoons, old school friends, and what my mother was cooking for dinner that day.

  She probably wasn't very interested. I could see her ghostly eyes clouding over as she listened to my stories; she seemed to fade, to become paler… more transparent.

  "Is something bothering you? Aren't you interested?"

  "No, no, child. I enjoy listening to your tales. It's just that I would also really like to… see the sea. I haven't been there for several centuries."

  I had just been telling her how, last summer, my mother and I went on vacation at the beach and I got stung by a jellyfish. My leg was swollen and red, and my mother wouldn't let me go near the water for the rest of the trip.

  I couldn't imagine how long several centuries were. But even at ten years old, I understood — I could feel how sad and lonely this ghostly lady was. And then I asked, why didn't she go to the sea? She was a ghost: she could walk through walls, stay in the most expensive hotels without paying, even fly higher than airplanes and see not just the sea, but the whole ocean.

  It seemed that this thought had never occurred to her. She was so struck by the idea that she seemed to become denser, almost tearing through the fabric of reality. I even thought I felt a faint breeze from her sudden movement. The lady rose from her rocking chair and began to pace nervously under the window. She became almost obsessed with the idea of going to the sea; her eyes shone with joy. It was as if she had come alive again.

  But the impression lasted only a moment. Very quickly, her enthusiasm faded, and she softly and slowly sank back into her eternal place.

  "I can't, child."

  There were tears in her voice. It sounded so desperate that it broke my little heart.

  "Why?"

  At that moment, I wanted to help her more than anything in the world. She bit her lip, as if hesitating whether to tell me, but then she decided to.

  "You see, girl, I am a ghost. And yes, I can pass through any walls or other objects. But that's only because they all seem like a gray fog to me — faceless and identical. And if I leave my house, it will become the same foggy clot as any other, anywhere in the world. I won't be able to return home. I'll get lost."

  I felt so sorry for her. I wanted to help so much. And then the lady's eyes lit up again. She had an idea.

  "There is an old lantern hanging above the main entrance door. In those distant days when I was alive, the lantern was lit at night so that lost travelers would know they could find warmth and food here. I will definitely be able to return if I see the light of the lantern!"

  And she looked at me with such desperate hope that I couldn't even answer. I just nodded. Of course, I would light the lantern for her at night. It was such a small thing. But at least she would finally be able to see the sea again.

  The lady smiled happily and immediately melted away.

  That evening, I slipped outside and turned on the lantern. There used to be a candle there, but now there was electricity. It was enough to simply flick the switch. The ghost would find her way home…"

  The guest barely sipped her coffee and put the cup down. She sighed deeply and pursed her lips. Her sigh sounded resigned…

  "I've been lighting the lantern for eighty years now.

  It took a lot to convince my mother to stay in this town after the end of her contract. Of course, buying the castle was out of the question.

  It stood empty for some time, and every evening I ran there to turn on the lantern.

  Then the castle was renovated and turned into a hotel. I got a job there as a maid and lit the lantern every evening. Needless to say, I never left again — not even for a single day…

  My daughter is fifty-eight. And my granddaughter is sixteen. I raised a worthy replacement. Now it is their duty."

  The guest took another sip of cold coffee and stood up. Something flashed in her tired, dull gaze… no, not regret… maybe the shadow of a distant sea…