Sorry about the long wait; I've had somewhat of a busy schedule. But the important thing is that I'm here now, and I nave a new chapter! I hope you like it!

Chapter Six: Nightmares

On the twenty-first hour of the twenty-first day of November, Ellen Cynthia Fenton sat out on her balcony, breathing in the cold night air. It had been a particularly warm year; the snow was over a week overdue from the norm in Amity Park. Many strange things happened in this city.

Jake had gone to bed over an hour ago, and Ellie sat out here unable to sleep; neither twin any closer to unraveling the mystery about these strange abilities. It was terrifying, one moment knowing exactly what your station in life was and suddenly being jerked out of the norm much as an angler catches fish. The abilities themselves, however, had become a bit easier to comprehend, as are the symptoms of a disease. Apparently, Ellie and her brother had been afflicted by involuntary lapses of intangibility, invisibility, and gravity defiance.

Now that she thought about it, these abilities had seemed familiar when she read over the essay again, at Jake's instruction. She had noted that all ghosts, the spectral imprints of dead creatures, had these abilities–a layman might call them powers, but that seemed too endearing–in a more controlled manner and could wield them to their whim. Maybe this disease was ghost related somehow...

Snickerdoodle, Ellie's pet cat, chose that time to hop up in his mistress' lap. Taken with pleasant surprise that guided her away from her previous musings, she began to gently caress the cat's calico-colored fur. He purred in satisfaction, stretching out his six-digit paws and briefly extending his claws.

Ellie looked at Snicker for a moment and sighed. "At least one of us is able to relax," she murmured.

The day Ellie was blessed with this kitten was the happiest day of her life. On a trip to Key West, when she and her brother turned ten, Ellie's mother had taken them to visit the house of late author Ernst Hemingway, one of her favorites. There, over sixty descendants of Hemingway's famous polydactyl cat resided, under the care of the house's owners. In a special deal, Sam was able to adopt a young kitten for the twins as a birthday present. Jake had taken little interest in the cat, being a dog-person. Ellie, on the other hand, loved her little kitten, taking him everywhere she went. She would have taken him to school, as well, save for the strict anti-pet rules.

Squirming around in the manner of cats, Snicker cozied into the crook of Ellie's elbow, his purring creating a calming sensation in his mistress' mind. This was a great time for the both of them: when they could put one another at ease from the troubles of the world.

Ellie looked at the clock. The glowing green LED read 9:17. Very late.

Taking the cat in her arms, the younger Fenton twin–only by eight minutes, as she'll tell you–crawled into the scarlet sheets of her Victorian-style bed, drawing back the matching curtains. Snicker climbed onto her chest, curling up in his nightly resting spot atop his mistress' form. Ellie never minded this, yet her brother could not stand it when the cat did the same to him. Closing her bright blue eyes, she drifted into a vivid sleep...

Ellie stood in the middle of her elaborate memory palace, the starting point of all her dreams. Her steps echoed on the marble floor, rebounding off the Romanesque columns. It was so peaceful here; it was a place where no one could find her, no matter how hard they tried.

The memory palace had always been there, and was likely to always be there. She hadn't known what to call this elaborate mansion in her mind until she submitted to Jake's first dream analysis exam. He'd been egging her on about it for weeks, being unable to find another test subject. During the session, she mentioned the mansion as a startoff point in each dream. Jake explained that this was a mnemonic device used in ancient times by certain scribes as a mental link system, also known as the method of loci.

The dimensions of Ellie's memory palace are different from others. In most, a certain pattern, defined in Cicero's De Oratore, are used to structure the mind into a discernable form. Ellie's mnemonics do not use this pattern; in a physical sense, her mind palace would resemble the Winchester Mystery House in both architecture and miasma.

Also, normal mnemonic systems are not present in dreams. The mental house of Ellie Fenton is only accessible in this state of unconsciousness. One time, after she sustained a concussion from crashing her scooter, she had stayed here for over three days in a state of torpor. During that time, she'd come to know this place like the back of her hand. She also knew that not everything in here was safe; some things here were dangerous.

Tonight, she did as she always did before her dreams set off: she rest her head against the cool marble flank of Adonis, a statue in the main hall. It had been her favorite ever since she had seen it in the Metro Museum. She had made copies of many other pieces as well.

But today, something was different here.

A greenish mist that undulated with lifelike quality drifted downwards from a flight of stairs that led to the Hall of Instinct. In this region, Ellie held her desires, her dreams, and her deepest fears. As she stepped towards this mist, she choked on the smell of lightning, yet persevered. The vapor was coming from a gnarled door at the end of the Hall, carved from ancient mahogany. She opened the door, and a ghostly wraith of a creature stood within, the fog yawning a ghastly stench.

The creature was a female humanoid in form and appearance, but its face was nothing human. The eyes were a glowing, neon green, and the white hair gleamed like that of a predator lurking beyond a firelight. The skin set in the face was corpse-pale and seemed to have a hazy quality about it. The rest was covered by a hazmat suit, glossy black with white gloves, boots, collar, and belt.

Ellie's first instinct was to back away; the form floated out into the light, bringing its ozone stench with it. The girl tripped on the top of the stairs, her pursuer floating down after her tumbling form. Ellie wasn't hurt; this was her dream, after all. Yet the sheer terror radiating from this form was uncontrollable.

Then, in what looked like childlike confusion, the thing tilted its head...

It was then that Ellie Fenton woke up in a cold sweat. She let out a short, high-pitched yelp, leaning upwards enough to dislocate Snickerdoodle from his resting spot. The yelp quickly faded out of hearing, replaced with labored breathing. Somewhere in the darkened room, the polydactyl cat mewled.

Everywhere, the moonlight outside cast eerie shadows around the room. Objects seemed warped from their true proportions, like the figures in a Francis Bacon painting. It all seemed netherworldly; Snicker had readjusted himself at the foot of the bed, his eyes reflecting green light in the most ghoulish of ways.

Ellie looked at the mural ceiling as she lay back down in bed. It was engraved with a replication of Raphael's Sybils portrait; the prophet women in the mural conversing with the infant cherubs. It gave her a bit of calm, as it often did.

But then, for a split second, a flash of green came from the portrait center.

Spots flaring in front of her eyes, Ellie sat up once again, examining the spot where the flash had originated. Nothing.

She looked at the clock on her nightstand. 10:32.

The morbid knowledge that something was afflicting her brother and her bloodstream coupled with the flare of green that had came out of thin air, was enough to ensure that Ellie would not fall asleep for the rest of the night.

You know what to do, my friends. I really appreciate you all!

Regards,

Caracal.