The house was breathing, barely, as if its breath had been caught between its walls. Yuki walked alone this time, his steps guided not by instinct or voices, but by a dense anguish hanging from the ceiling like invisible cobwebs. The walls pulsed with a rhythm foreign to the world.
The room where the records had been was now different. The once dusty papers shifted as if they thirsted to be read. At the back, a blackened chalkboard revealed red chalk traces, names writing themselves: Luz, Damián, Elías, Margo...
"Yuki," a child's voice whispered, trembling and close.
He turned sharply. There, between the frames of a rusted old bed, a childlike silhouette stared at him. It was Damián. Not fully here, not fully gone. His face was made of stains, as if his memory was incomplete.
"You cried at night too, remember?"
Yuki trembled. Confused images surged: a shared bed, hands clasped under the covers, stories whispered between sobs. The forgotten childhood returned like a blunt blow.
Then Ershem spoke. Not from the shadows, but from within the house:
"The children didn't lie. They made me when they needed comfort. But when I was used for punishment... I broke."
Yuki felt the walls pulse. The floor covered itself in dry blood. Childlike voices filled the room, singing in half-tones:
"One, two, we close our eyes... Three, four, Ershem's on the floor... Five, six, don't say his name... Seven, eight, punishment comes with night..."
Rei burst in. He had followed him, bringing an old notebook. As he opened it, the pages revealed drawings by children: one showed a tall figure with long arms and hollow eyes, protecting four children.
But on the next page, the same figure appeared with its mouth wide open, devouring one of them.
Yuki collapsed to his knees. Rei caught him. "You were one of them, Yuki. You forgot because your mind tried to protect you."
A door creaked. It hadn't been there before.
Ershem whispered:
"The truth lies beyond the threshold. But beware...
...some memories should sleep forever."