That night, sleep eludes Arjun. In the black of his bedroom, the once-bright basement bulb glares in his mind's eye. He dreams relentlessly: hands tying him to a chair, his own face pale as he slowly digs a shallow grave in that basement. Each nightmare ends the same way – Arjun's voice begging, "Why?"
In reality, he can't escape the sensation of being watched. Every closet creak makes him snap the light on. He finds crumpled plans of the house blueprint, and realizes with dread the hatch and tunnels are not on record. On a trembling impulse, he scratches a tally count into the plaster of his room wall for each day this has happened.
Downstairs in the basement, something shifts. He decides to return. Another tap of his own blood trickles from a crack overhead. He follows it to a seam in the wallpaper. Where the tear is, the concrete wall is scrawled in red: "WAKE ME." The letters are a child's scrawl, bold and urgent.
Arjun steps back, spine tingling. The word rearranges itself in his mind – it eerily spells his own name. A cold hand of realization grips him: did he write this? Or was it always there, hidden in blood? In the cracked mirror leaning against the wall, he sees his reflection. For a second, something moves behind him. He whirls – nothing. Just the dim pool of flashlight light. Cliffhanger: As he turns back, the writing reads a new message: "LOCK THE DOOR."