song-yi isn't sure of when she fell asleep, how she ended up here, and what this is. all that she remembers is the glow of the refrigerator light, how it glinted off the kitchen countertops, and the post-it the nanny had left. she remembers sitting down, either on the couch or one of the chairs by the dining table. her phone was there, in her hands. she was looking at some file or another. it must've been the children's progress reports from school, charts on how well they're doing in each class, little notes from their teachers. and then, she's standing here, wearing her coat and carrying her bag, knuckles turning white from gripping its strap. " what do you mean die? " the man up front is a solid figure, a distraction from the scrawls she recognises as the ones she put up on her refrigerator just yesterday. the letters, too, look real, eerily familiar in its strokes. she steps forward, chasing after him as he starts to walk. " what is all this? who are they? " she tugs at his sleeve, willing him to stop. in the back of her mind, she recalls it: the stories on the internet, the strange email in her spam folder. oh god, why did she click on it? " who are you? if this isn't a nightmare, what kind of game is this? " her voice wavers. " i have kids. these — they look like their drawings. how do you have them? "