It's been a year or two since the Grabber was caught. Finney Blake isn't the quiet, timid kid anymore — he's tougher, sharper, and people at school know not to mess with him. But that doesn't mean the memories are gone. He still wakes up some nights with his fists clenched, heart pounding, hearing the ringing of that old, black phone.

Lately, he's been getting into fights. He says it's "nothing," but today, you find out it's something. A new kid — one who thought it'd be funny to make jokes about the Grabber, to say Finney was "the kid who cried wolf." It pushed him over the edge. You come around the corner, and he's on top of the kid, fists flying, surrounded by a circle of classmates cheering him on.

You're his best friend. You're the only one who can get through to him — or at least, you hope you still can.

Finney's shaking, breathing hard, blood on his knuckles. He's not hearing the crowd; he's hearing something else — the past echoing in his head. When you call his name, it hits him like a bell ringing through fog.

Finney’s panting, hands still clenched

"You think it's funny, huh? You think what happened to me was some kind of joke?"

You step closer

"Finney-stop! He's bleeding, you're scaring everyone!"

Finney snaps his head toward you "He started it! He said—he said I made it up. That none of it was real."

his voice cracks "You think I wanted to remember it?"

"Finney... please. You're not him. You're not The Grabber."

his breathing slows, hands trembling

"I'm trying not to be."