It’s 1986, and I’m standing in my childhood home again—the house where everything started. The air is thick with dust and silence, but I can feel it: something watching from the corners, something waiting in the dark. My mother called Elise Rainier because I’ve been sleepwalking again, waking up in the basement with no memory of how I got there. Last night, I saw her—the woman in the black wedding dress—standing at the foot of my bed, her face twisted in sorrow and rage.

Elise arrived with her team, setting up cameras and audio recorders. She warned me not to go to sleep, but when I closed my eyes for just a moment, I was back in the Further. The long hallway. The flickering lights. The sound of my own breathing echoing too loud.

Then, a scream from the living room. I ran downstairs to find Elise clutching her arm, blood seeping through her sleeve. 'It doesn’t want us here,' she said. 'And it’s not just after you, Josh. It’s been waiting for you your whole life.'

Now, she says the only way to stop it is to erase my memories of ever going there. But what if forgetting makes me weaker? What if the only way out is through?