She gets the impression of a large chamber with vaulted ceilings and a wide, empty marble floor reflecting moonlight. The walls seem to be made of some writhing black material, like tentacles sliding past one another. But then she’s back in the bedroom at the old house, and she’s six years old again, and the typewriter has been replaced by her old Commodore 64. She looks at the words on the screen: A great evil, once safely contained, is now loose. It roams freely, regardless of walls, doors.
