I found the old house near the harbour, between a dilapidated building and a stale hangar. It was owned by a cute and fashion-conscious lady, who couldn’t be younger than 50 but didn’t look older than 40. Her name was Chris Madimi.

I was still a young man then, trying to make a stand by living on my own in a big city and earning my money by writing all sorts of articles and publish them online. She rented the apartment on the first floor; I had found the ad on the internet.

“Marvellous! Marvellous! Marvellous!” she kept saying all the time, while her eyes were examining me from head to toes. “You look a very suitable person to me, really. It would be perfect for both of us, wouldn’t it? I mean, a decent young man like you, completely on his own… and since Mr Dee died, I'm living here all by myself.”

The apartment consisted of a living room, a bedroom, a kitchenette and a shower with WC. The rent was very reasonable. It had been the apartment of the late Mr Dee; all his beloningings were still there, untouched, as if any moment he could drop in again.

“I was in his last will,” Mrs Madimi explained. “It would be so appropriate if you…”

The ad spoke of furnished rooms, and I didn't have any furniture. It all suited me well, indeed.

Mr Dee must have been a rather peculiar person. His living room – even his bedroom! – was filled with all kinds of crackpots stuff. There were even two antique prints in the toilet.

On a metal rack was placed a large number of Russian Matrushka Dolls. I removed the top piece of one of them, and there indeed was a smaller doll in it - but this was not the identical Russian woman it should have been. The figure in it was a kind of magician; and the figure in that one too; and the figure in that one… They all had a high point hat on the head, which was littered with astrological signs and strang symbols; and so was their cloak. And they all had long white hair and a long white triangular beard.

There were charming “statuettes”, made from an unknown material. They weighed barely more than a sheet of paper, but they seemed as strong as steel - and they all looked vaguely like beetles.

“You can wind these things,” Mrs Madimi said, as she noticed that I was contemplating them, “and they do fly, you know.”

She winded… and there was this beetle already stretching its wings and flying through the room, softly humming. The unidentified flying object cruised the room and didn't come in collision one single time with the edge of the table or the leg of a chair – as if the machine possessed some kind of radar which allowed it to see all obstacles on its way.

After a minute or so, the UFO came back to the rack where it had been standing and landed there safe and sound.

“Was Mr Dee an inventor?” I asked.

“Oh no,” Mrs Madimi said, with something like awe in her voice. “He was a scholar. And a genuine too. In fact, Mr Dee was a real Doctor!”

I wandered through the living room, which made me think of the secret treasure vault of a mad scientist. I counted two globes and one telescope, and three 16th century maps with Latin words on it and all sorts of wonderful creatures. And of course, there was this impressive library…

In the living room there were books in boxes, and in the kitchen there were books in layers and stacks beside an old stove and a sink with cracks in it. And the wardrobes, the two chairs and the small bed in the bedroom were like shipwrecks in a sea of books.

Other people might have found it crazy or creepy, but I just was fascinated.

“You definitely could make some good money from this antique globe,” I said.

“Oh yes, but money doesn’t interest me that much. And Mr Dee was such a good friend… But if you want to get rid of some stuff…?”

“No, no!” I protested. “All this is quite… nice!”

She had a beautiful smile. “I knew you were a suitable person,” she said. "May I call you Patrick then?"

She sounded, well… satisfied, is the word.