"She's finding out too much."

Penelope prowled through the forest, zooming between trees, sucking in every ounce of their natural energy. She breathed in the nighttime air and drew from its power, filling herself with the strength she'd be needing for the next hour.

"They are finding out too much, too. It's... not good."

She blew out of the woods and shimmied down the highway, farther from the house and closer to the motel. Like last time, she'd smelled their fear and used it to track them, though she had no trouble remembering where the hotel was. Never would she forget its run-down exterior, its flickering light showing VACANCY, and its parking lot with faded delimitations and pot-holes and clusters of trash overflowing from bins. Such a shitty choice of a lodging for someone who worked in the FBI, but who was she to judge? She lived in a furniture-less, ancient building covered in cobwebs.

The closer she got, the more she sniffed in the blood. Benny's blood. Its coppery stench drenched the atmosphere and resided in Penelope's nostrils, causing her to sneeze. She wasn't a fan of it, yet it was her best means to figure out which room he was in because that part, she'd forgotten.

Before entering the hotel, she paused at the entrance, hands on her hips, hesitant. "I can't let them return to their homes with so much knowledge. The toilet trick didn't work, and I have a bad feeling the scratching didn't either. So..." She shrugged, huffed, and zoomed through the doors. "Only death will fix this. Again."

The front desk clerk was half-asleep before a TV screen, feet propped up and hands resting behind his head. Penelope wavered past him without a second glance, and followed the trail of Benny's blood, still tinting the air with its nose-wrinkling stench. The halls were dark, their overhead lights twinkling, about to extinguish. Only a few muted sounds escaped under thresholds—coughs, a moan, television screams.

She whooshed into Benny's room and found him sound asleep on his stomach. "Already?" She pursed her lips. "I would have expected him to be up, typing a report, checking out his scars in the mirror..."

Supernatural beings in this dimension tended to lose track of time, so she had no idea how many hours had passed since he and Kylie had left the house. No clue how many minutes she'd wasted with Arielle, explaining things she shouldn't have.

Was she too late? Had Benny already sent over the evidence? Or...

She snorted. "Kylie has it, doesn't she?"

Penelope floated above Benny's bed, wishing she could see through the covers and the bandages—her masterpiece. She'd never dug so deep into a living being's flesh, never drawn so much blood and agony and horror. She hated to admit Arielle had been a great help. All the confusion she harbored and the feelings she repressed were furious energy sources, and Penelope had enjoyed taking advantage of those.

Yet as she let her gaze wander over Benny's near-lifeless body, watching his spine move up and down as he breathed, Penelope backed away. "No... not him."

She'd been ready to slice into him again, to claw through his organs and watch him melt off the bed, leaving him on the floor, his life draining, his soul emptying from its bodily cage. But she didn't have enough power for such a violent, hands-on murder. Despite all the energy she'd gathered on the way there, she wouldn't have such an impact on him without Arielle's aid.

And Arielle couldn't be involved in this.

"Eh, and he's kind of cute," she whispered to herself, as she went about messing up the paperwork on his desk. She had to do something to rile him up. "His discoveries are entertaining... but killing him won't make a difference."

She let her nose guide her to a different scent—that delectable, sweet aroma of petrification. The FBI agent next door, an easy, weakened target, was loaded with it, and Penelope would need it to succeed in what she'd come to the motel to do. The residual fright permeated Kylie's room, and Penelope let it charge into her nostrils as she swept through the wall.

Once on the other side, she captured the area to memory. Paperwork scattered all over the place here, too. A few mobile devices were plugged in, lights flashing from their extremities. And a portable computer sat on the desk, still turned on, the screen the only source of light in the otherwise obscure room.

Penelope skidded over to the screen, and saw an article about claw marks in three's and mockings of the Holy Trinity. She tutted. "Oh, poor, dear thing." She flipped around and peered at the curled-in-a-ball form on the bed, weighed down by piles of blankets. "She still thinks this means something? That I'm a demon? Cute."

She recalled when had Benny mentioned the number three and its significance. She'd guffawed at his words, under Arielle's curious gaze. "It's all bogus," she'd said, between bouts of laughter. "Three is a random number, but I use it to spook humans more."

Then Kylie had threatened the big guns—priests and exorcists. That had halted Penelope's amusement at once, because though demons weren't real and religious leaders could do nothing against ghosts... their presence always unnerved her. Their recitations irked her to the core and brought out sides of her she disliked... and she worried what Arielle would do when she saw those.

"Nope, no big guns can venture into my house, Kylie." Penelope squinted at Kylie's slumbering silhouette. "I have no choice. I have to use my own big guns."

Since she didn't have the required strength to scrape through Kylie's skin and maim her, she'd have to employ different methods. Methods that would be noticeable and loud, but they'd be efficient. Methods she hadn't divulged to Arielle... and that most creatures from other realms had no notion existed.

She shuffled all the paperwork and swept it off the table. Then she kicked at the laptop, effectively tossing it to the ground with a thud. Its screen cracked and a few keys broke off the keyboard.

At once, Kylie shot up, aiming her arm at the origin of the noise. She flicked the bedside light on, but Penelope had seen in the darkness what she'd been brandishing—an actual gun.

Oooh... that will prove useful.

"Who's there?" Kylie sat up straight, hair sticking up behind her, chest caving in with her heavy breaths. Her tank top clung to her skin and her cheeks were puffy, red, stained with tears. Her arm trembled as she held her weapon up, directed right at Penelope—but she wouldn't be able to see Penelope unless Penelope chose to let her.

Instead of revealing herself, Penelope giggled and meandered over to the other nightstand, knocking over a half-filled cup of water. The motion sent Kylie jumping off, landing on the other side of the mattress. She wielded the gun in the direction of the liquid trickling onto the floor, her legs quaking beneath her. She could barely stand, and all the color drained from her face.

"What the fuck?" She cleared her throat. "This isn't funny. Who's there? Is that you, Benny?" She grabbed a pillow and hurled it across the way, as if expecting it would land on someone huddling on the other side of the bed.

Penelope had already carried on to the bathroom, where she'd switched on the light, turned the faucet on, and began to fog up the glass with a few whiffs of ghost breath.

That should draw her attention.

Kylie twisted around and glared at the area, redirecting her gun towards it as she crept over. "Okay, stop it, dude. This isn't cool. I've not yet recovered from earlier!"

Penelope cackled as she drew on the mirror.

"Not Benny."

Kylie approached, and smacked a hand over her mouth as she gasped. "You... how..." She spun, frantically scanning the bathroom for another person, then returned to the mirror. "Messages on mirrors... wait... are you...?"

Under other circumstances, Penelope wouldn't have replied to a living being directly. But Kylie wouldn't be living for much longer.

She dragged her fingertips over the mirror once more.

"Ghost from the house."

Kylie lunged backwards, her spine colliding with the wall. She nearly dropped her gun from the impact, but she gritted her teeth and tightened her grip, training the weapon on the reflective surface. "What the... the fuck? You... followed me here?"

Penelope sauntered into the main room and ripped the sheets from the bed. "I'm losing strength." She grumbled as she sat on the edge of the mattress and waited for Kylie to realize the action had migrated elsewhere.

The FBI agent eventually tiptoed over, her gaze fluttering from one end of the space to the other, having no clue where Penelope was. She passed Penelope's location and arrived on the other section of the mattress, then spun her back to the window as she gaped towards the door. "What... do you want?" She gulped. "You ruined Benny's stuff yesterday, huh? That was... you?"

Penelope sighed. "How to make this clear to you..." She plucked another pillow, wincing as she struggled to keep hold of it, and threw it at Kylie's stomach.

Kylie doubled backwards, once more managing to maintain her grip on her gun.

Damn, she's good at never letting that thing go.

"Rude," said Kylie, rubbing her belly with her free hand. She snuck over to the middle end of the mattress, facing the blank TV screen, as if to use it as a reflective surface. "Is that your way of... saying yes? What are you?"

Penelope smirked. She sensed her eyes bulging, becoming painful—which meant they were shifting to their enraged scarlet shade. She sensed her pulse thrumming with excitement. And when she flurried over to Kylie, slipping in front of her, she ensured the frightened FBI agent felt her presence.

"Whoa." Kylie's breath came out as a cloud of smoke, and she slithered a few inches backwards, the backs of her knees banging into the mattress. "You're... here. Right here." Her eyes widened, as if trying to visualize Penelope, to put a face to the creature haunting her.

And Penelope obliged. "I'll let you watch me as I take the life from you." She closed her eyes, swallowed up Kylie's rampant fear, stole a bit of Benny's panic—he was having a nightmare, she could tell—and guzzled up the tension from a few rooms down, where two beings were having sex. And with all that charged inside her, she opened her eyes, inhaled, exhaled—and made herself visible.

Kylie's knees buckled, and she fell onto the bed as her pupils focused on Penelope. "How... the heck... you? The ghost...?" She pressed a fist to her heart. "Am I... hallucinating?"

Penelope shook her head. She floated closer and placed her fingers to Kylie's temples, her touch immobilizing Kylie before she could run off, silencing her before she could scream. "Hello. Now, please turn the gun on yourself."

Eyebrows lurching up, Kylie tried to decline, to resist—but her arms moved of Penelope's volition, not her own. "F-fuck, no... why are you... doing this?"

"Turn the gun on yourself," continued Penelope, her voice suave, seductive, seeping into Kylie's brain and controlling it. "And pull the trigger. It'll all be over soon."

"Shit, no... please." Kylie's limbs quivered as she fought Penelope's orders, but it was no use. She wouldn't prevail against Penelope's power pushing into her.

Slowly, she raised the gun and twisted it until the end tipped against her forehead.

Levitating before Kylie, Penelope shoved her fingers deeper into the woman's flesh. Her lips quirked into a small smile. "Go on, unlock it."

A faint click signified Kylie had deactivated the security. "You... monster. You shitty ghost." Her eyes rounded as realization coursed into her mind. "You... you did it, you..."

Penelope grinned, lulling Kylie into pressing the point of the gun harder against her hairline. "Shhh. Pull the trigger."

Kylie's finger obeyed Penelope's sinister commands. An ear-piercing bang echoed throughout the hotel corridor, followed by a deadly silence.