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- [Narrator] "Drew
reached for the doorknob,

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only it wasn't there.

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Her hand passed through the air.

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For a moment she felt like a ghost,

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like the knob was there and she
was the one who was missing.

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But, then reality sank in yet again.

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The Fireman smashed off this doorknob too.

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Of course he had. Why the fuck
wouldn't you see this coming?

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You're so fucking stupid.

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Of course he smashed this
one. He smashed them all.

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He's smarter than you.
They're all smarter than you.

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You deserve this. You deserve to die.

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'Fuck off!' Drew yelled,
surprising herself.

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It wasn't at The Fireman.
It wasn't even at herself.

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She was yelling at every snide comment

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from her mom that made
her feel like a failure.

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She was yelling at every piece of advice

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Rose gave her that she ignored.

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She was yelling at the universe,

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at the space-time continuum itself.

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She was calling out every swirling atom

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that led her to this moment of self-doubt.

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Drew wasn't a failure.

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She was a fighter, and
she was going to prove it.

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Drew spun away from the door in a mad dash

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to Eli's workbench.

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She tossed aside fried motherboards

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and disassembled computer parts

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until she found what she was looking for.

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Needle-nose pliers.

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She rammed them into the
shattered lock of the door

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in a desperate attempt
to create her own handle.

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She kept working the pliers,
trying every possible angle.

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'Open, open, open, open!
Why won't you fucking open?'

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And then something
changed inside the door.

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The needle- nose snagged on
the right piece of metal.

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'Holy fucking shit.'

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Drew twisted the pliers and
the lock turned in response.

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She savored the click

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and had a flash of a half-remembered movie

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where some cool guy in a denim jacket

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rammed a screwdriver into
the ignition of a stolen car

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and twisted until the
machine roared to life,

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driving off into the sunset.

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She ripped open the door,
triumphant, defiant.

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The cool night air kissed her skin

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as she took her first step,

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crossing the threshold of the door,

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stepping out of Greywood
House as its lone survivor.

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But then she heard it. A cough.

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It was faint and distant,
but unmistakable.

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Drew looked up beyond the
tall trees and at the moon,

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it was fulling, gorgeous,

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an impossibly bright
spotlight in the night sky

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illuminating her path to safety.

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She took another step following the path,

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but the coughing continued.

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It grew louder, harsher.

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Someone upstairs in the
house was still alive,

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and it wasn't Eli.

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It wasn't Wes.

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Drew clenched her fists and
stepped back into the basement.

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'Rose, is that you?' she whisper-shouted.

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The coughing intensified in reply.

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A haggard and desperate struggle for air.

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The human equivalent

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of an old car engine trying to turn over.

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Drew's face filled with optimism.

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Rose Calder was still alive!

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But then Drew's eyes were
drawn to the moonlight again.

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All she had to do was run and
be free of this nightmare.

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She'd be free to reach the
police, free to get help.

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That was the responsible
thing to do, right?

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To go get the police, to let
them deal with The Fireman.

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Let the professionals save Rose.

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Drew knew that was a lie.

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There was no way she could
get help in time to save Rose.

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That maniac was upstairs
with her best friend.

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Drew knew what she had to do.

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She had to turn around, storm
back up those rickety stairs,

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confront The Fireman again, and save Rose.

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Any other choice was selfish.

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Any other choice was one she'd regret

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for the rest of her life.

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Just thinking about it

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was wasting precious
seconds Rose didn't have.

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Drew charged back into the house,

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nearly face-planting into the concrete

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after tripping over a crate of videotapes.

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She cursed Eli's messiness,

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even though she knew her
room wasn't any cleaner.

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The coughing intensified as
she scrambled back to her feet.

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And then it stopped.
The house fell silent.

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'Rose!' Drew screamed.

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No hint of a whisper this time.

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Her footsteps slowed as she
near the kitchen stairs,

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as if her brain knew what
her heart wouldn't admit.

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She hesitated at the base of the stairs,

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wilting in the silence, praying
that Rose would answer her,

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if not by calling out her name,
at least with another cough.

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Another anything to prove her
best friend was still alive.

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But there was only silence.

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Drew looked up the staircase

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and saw nothing but
darkness in the kitchen.

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She wondered if The Fireman
had turned off the lights,

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until the darkness moved,

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and Drew realized the lights weren't off.

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The Fireman's enormous body

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was blocking the path to the kitchen.

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He advanced down the staircase toward her.

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His steps were no longer
slow and deliberate.

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He moved fast, shaking the staircase.

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He pounded the walls with his
axe as he rushed downward,

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thud, thud, thud.

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Drew raced like hell back
to the basement door,

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back to the moonlight, back to freedom.

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She leapt like an Olympic
hurdler over piles of Eli's crap.

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The door had drifted shut,

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but she grabbed the plier
handle and ripped it open again.

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The door was barely open an
inch when it slammed back shut.

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At first, Drew thought the
house itself had come alive

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and slammed it shut in her face.

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She liked that explanation more

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than what was really happening.

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The Fireman had thrown his axe.

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It pinned the door back into its frame,

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closing it in front of
Drew's horrified face.

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The sharp spike on the back of the axe

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was inches from Drew's right eye,

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threatening to perform
crude surgery on her cornea.

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Drew tried to scramble
away from the near-miss,

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but The Fireman was no longer patient.

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The game of cat and mouse was over.

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The Fireman charged at
her like a freight train.

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She never had a chance.

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The Fireman was on her
before she could react.

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His hand reached out and
grabbed her by the throat.

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He lifted her off the ground,

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his thick gloves closing
off her oxygen supply.

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In a split second, he drove
Drew's face into the spike,

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nailing her to the door like
he was hanging a piece of art.

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It wasn't like in the movies.

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The end didn't last an eternity.

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Drew didn't see a white light.

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Drew didn't watch a montage
of her life's best moments.

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She didn't see her loved ones.

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She just felt blinding pain

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as the spike impaled the
center of her forehead,

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splitting her open like a coconut.

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Skull, blood, brains,
crack, splash, squish!

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Drew Dens was dead. For now."