Locations

John Dog’s Office is a modest room on the third floor of an old building where time seems to have slowed down. The walls, once painted pale yellow or green (it’s hard to tell now), are now covered with damp patches and cracks. A fluorescent lamp flickers annoyingly and unpredictably from the ceiling, buzzing in the evenings like an angry hornet.

Behind a desk cluttered with papers, empty coffee mugs, and sandwich crumbs sits John Dog himself. A faded photo hangs on the wall, next to a board filled with disjointed notes connected by red string—just like in the movies. In the corner rests an old record player, sometimes playing scratchy news reports or Tom Jones songs—apparently, Martha, the landlady, occasionally puts on her vinyl collection.

The door creaks, the couch is worn and long out of shape, and a dusty plant sits on the windowsill—one that John often forgets to water. The air carries the scent of coffee, cigarettes, and something stale—perhaps old cases that were never solved.

Welcome to Mr. Ashfish’s Distant Rehab! Once a luxurious hotel, today this charmingly budget accommodation continues to impress with its unparalleled natural beauty! The walls still remember the days when the elite flocked here to enjoy the mountain air and solitude. But times have changed, and now Mr. Ashfish’s is a place of low prices and a strange atmosphere—as if past and present are stuck here, with no ghostly hint of the future.

The rehab is perfect for those who:

• Dream of escaping civilization (and maybe their creditors).
• Love cozy rooms with an original design style best described as “something definitely happened here” (read: creaky floorboards and mysterious stains on the ceiling).
• Want to improve their health (or at least ruin it for good—there are some very peculiar treatments here).

The building is a massive constructivist structure, but time has not been kind: plaster is peeling, balconies are leaning. Inside, it’s dim: long corridors with cracked parquet floors, chandeliers missing bulbs, and old photos on the walls showing smiling guests whose fates are now unknown.

But the most mysterious thing is the owner, Mr. Ashfish. Rumor has it he rarely shows his face, and when he does, his shadow glides through the corridors so silently you might doubt he was ever there at all.

Here, spring can’t seem to win over winter, and the echo of the past blends with whispers of the present. Here, John Dog is about to face something... far stranger than just a depressing resort.

Packed your bags yet? We’re waiting for you at the edge of the world in our rehab! Here, those who no longer care come to rest.