After talking to Tanya and the guys, I found out that we'd all had similar dreams—similar in the fact that they all graphically depicted the things we feared the most. Could it really just be the aftermath of a rather spooky and intense investigation, or something more?

Once Erik dropped me back off at home, it was already past ten o'clock, and since I had classes the next morning, I went ahead and told everyone goodnight and got ready for bed. As I brushed my teeth, I had an uneasy feeling, but chalked it up to the eventful weekend I'd had. I'd say I'd feel like this all week, or at least until, like Nick said, we got a few good nights of normal, nightmare-less sleep.

As I went to brush my tongue, it felt like someone hit my hand, ramming my toothbrush into the back of my throat, immediately causing me to gag. Needless to say, my entire supper came up in my sink. I hated throwing up more than anything, yet every time I thought I'd stop, my gag reflex would kick in again.

"Honey, are you okay?" Mom asked from outside the bathroom door.

"Yeah." I puked again, which prompted her to get the key we kept above the door and open it.

"You don't sound okay." I'd made it to the toilet by now and heard her running the water. "Here, put this on your neck." I felt her lay the cold rag across the back of my head.

"I'm really not sick, Mom," I managed to get out, which only made me gag again. I pointed at my toothbrush, which now laid on the floor beside me. "I accidentally... jabbed it... down my throat."

"Oh, my goodness. I've told you not to dance around while you brush your teeth," she fussed.

"I wasn't." Every time I tried to talk, I gagged. Maybe my toothbrush had scraped my throat.

"I'll get you a trashcan," Mom said as she walked out.

I turned around to get a drink of water, hoping that would help, but as soon as I took a swig, I got choked on it, which caused Mom to come running in again. This went on for the next hour, until Mom finally left me alone and I realized that lying totally still—no talking, swallowing, or hard breathing—seemed to pacify my gag reflex.

I couldn't seem to get the thought out of my head, how I'd actually felt something—or someone—hit my hand. I wasn't close to the wall, mirror, or anything else, so I know I didn't bump into anything. I debated on calling Nick or Erik, but knew I'd start gagging as soon as I went to tell them, so I decided to wait until tomorrow.

Somehow I managed to go to sleep, but wished I hadn't, since the dreams came again. This time, I was swimming in the ocean, surrounded by jellyfish. The pain from their stings made it impossible to swim, which didn't really matter, since the sharks came and started feasting on me. It was like I could feel every bite lacerating my skin until something finally woke me up. At first, I was thankful, glad to be pulled out of the dream, until I woke up enough to realize what it was that had woken me up.

I heard scratching from underneath my bed, which was coupled with three thumps that I could actually feel—fists against my bed frame. More scratching, like nails on metal, accompanied by more thumps, bumping my bed. I instinctively pulled my covers up, knowing they couldn't protect me, but feeling a bit safer, nonetheless... until the singing started.

It was her—Eleanor. I knew it as soon as I heard the high-pitched whisper that sent chills down my spine. Even though it was barely audible to my ears, it echoed loudly inside my head. Too afraid to run, I was forced to listen to the slow, eerie song she sang.

Crazy, crazy... that's what they say,
Psycho, insane... they won't go away.
Voices, voices... inside my head,
I can't hear them... if they're all dead.
One chop, two chop, three chop, four...
one after one they all hit the floor.

As soon as my head went silent, I threw back my covers, hoping my legs would be strong enough to get me out of here, but before I could move, she was there, stopping me. I shut my eyes, not wanting to look into her face, which was floating mere inches above mine, but even when I closed my eyes, she was still there, her eyes appearing to glow in the blackness of my room. When she whispered my name, the smell of her breath assaulted me; a mixture of a dirty bathroom and the bad smell that floats around nursing homes. It smelled like death.

"Aaambeeeeer..." she sang again, and this time, as her words slithered across my face, I gagged. "One chop, two chop, three chop, four..." That was it. I couldn't take anymore.

I don't know if my fear gave me the strength to run, or it was purely the adrenaline of it all, but I ran. I ran faster than I'd ever run before.

Halfway down the stairs, my foot slipped, since I had skipped over most the steps, sending me flying into the solid tile floor below with a hard thud. At some point, as I was falling, part of my body hit the table that sat by the door to the garage, next to the stairs; the catch-all table that was mainly for mail and keys, but that also had an antique lamp on it. I hit it so hard that the lamp came crashing to the ground, causing glass to shatter all around me.

It was only silent for a matter of seconds before the entire house—Mom, Dad, and Kylie—came down to see what had happened. "Amber?" Mom sounded panicked. "Are you okay?"

"Don't move," Dad ordered. "You may have broken something. And there's glass everywhere."

"I'm okay... I think."

As soon as I went to move, I knew I wasn't. Pain radiated from my right side—the side I'd landed on—and I knew immediately that something was wrong with my shoulder. When I moaned, Dad announced they were taking me to the hospital.

What felt like forever and a day later, we were finally in an emergency room, waiting to be taken back for x-rays. The doctor had offered me pain medicine, which I gladly accepted, while we waited. I'd explained what had happened—the fake version—and how I'd gotten thirsty from puking before I went to bed, and came down for something to drink, missing a step and falling. They didn't question it, knowing I was a bit clumsy.

"Amber Davis?" I looked up to find a man in blue scrubs with a wheelchair standing by my door. "I'm gonna take ya down for x-rays." As I slowly got up, I told him I thought I could walk, but he said it was protocol for him to wheel me. "Just sit back and enjoy the ride." He looked at Mom and Dad before adding, "We'll be back in a jiffy."

He made small talk as we made our way to radiology, where he left me in a dark room, sitting on a cold, hard table, while he loaded my film. It was so cold, I started to shiver, chills popping up on my skin.

"Okay, I'm gonna get you all set up," he explained, "and when I do, don't move."

"Okay."

He made sure I was where I needed to be, lined up under the white lines, before going back into his little cubicle—the one that protected him from the radiation while he hit me with it full force—and continued to take pictures of my shoulder, saying he was going to do my arm next.

Before he was done, I heard a scraping sound in the corner of the room. "I like it here, don't you?"

My head snapped to the side, and there she was—Eleanor—sitting in the corner, rocking back and forth as she bared her rotten teeth at me, which looked worn, almost pointed.

"Please, don't move," the tech ordered again, "or we'll have to do them over."

I looked back in the corner, seeing her fully for the first time, like she was really sitting there, even though I knew she was dead. Her eyes were glazed over, almost a solid grayish, white, except for small black dots in the center, smaller than any normal pupil should be. Her gown, which had obviously been white at one point, was tinged gray, like her hair, which, with her sitting down, hung all the way to the floor. She was still smiling at me, holding her knees to her chest as she continued to rock. It looked like she had a bloody line down the center of her face... like it had been split open at one point in time; then I remembered it had.

Before the tech made it to reposition me, Eleanor came toward me, slowly crawling across the floor like they do in horror movies, but I was living this one. "One chop... two chop...," she started to sing.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I asked, my voice small and shaky.

"What did you say?" the tech asked, peeking around the wall, but I ignored him.

"Why?" I asked again, a tear leaving a cold trail across my skin.

Without warning, her slow crawl turned into a quick one as she raced across the floor towards me. As my scream filled the small x-ray room, echoing off the machinery that surrounded me, darkness and silence overtook me, but I could still hear her singing.

"Crazy, crazy... that's what they say."