Out in the middle of the woods, there sits an old barn. It is a beautiful thing, but also an odd thing. Instead of red with white trim, as most barns want to be, this barn is black. Its knotted boards are weathered and worn and easily over a century old, but they are still as coldly black as night itself. Which is, perhaps, doubly odd, because night is when the barn comes alive.

If you were to foolishly wander into those woods late at night, you might catch a glint of light from somewhere deep in the trees. If you followed it, you might find the barn, its doors tightly locked and its windows clouded over by the passage of time but still glowing with weird light from within. There might be strange music. You might hear laughter. You might even make out the whirring and clanking and banging of strange tools and devices and contraptions, clattering away at all improper hours.

If your timing is perfect, and your fortunes are just right (or, perhaps, just wrong), the door might crack open, and you might be invited inside...