Stella has moved with her husband and six-year-old daughter to a new house in a satellite town on the edge of a German small town. One day a strange man rings at Stella. He asks, if her television is turned on or whether she is listening to the music. He recognizes Bach. Fingers yellow from nicotine. What is needed to decompose a fulfilled life of a young, rich family into prime numbers? Melancholy, an obscure feeling that what is about to come is most probably going to be evil or even worse. An elusive fear for which we don’t have a name and which despite this fact eventually determines our life.