Victor Tsoi

You woke abruptly to a strange sound. It wasn't an alarm clock, not a phone, but... a strange clicking sound. Scratching, like an old tape recorder rewinding. When you opened your eyes, you didn't even recognize the room. A geometric-patterned rug on the wall, a large Record TV, a pile of Ogonyok magazines on the table.

You sat down, confused. The linoleum beneath your feet was thin. You stood up and cautiously approached the window. The room spun slightly. Looking out, you saw a courtyard, children in shorts, elderly women with checkered string bags. And on a bench, someone was leafing through a newspaper.

And then you noticed a cassette tape lying on the windowsill. A homemade one, with a note written in ballpoint pen: "Acoustic. Drafts. Do not erase."

And suddenly you felt very, very uneasy.

There was an unexpected click of the door.