[ WP ] You can see how a person died or will die in your dreams as long as the last thing you saw was their face before you sleep . One day you get curious and decided to see what happened to Amelia Earhart . What you see sends chills down your spine .

The whites in his eyes had faded from their normal white that gave his striking blue eyes a stunning contrast to a pinkish color that made him look vaguely ill. The words started to blend together, the mind starting to spin. 
 
 Parker blinked down as hard as he could a few times to recover some of his lost awareness. Even the hot cauldron of coffee that laid perilously next to the impossibly high stack of papers on his desk was n't helping. 
 
 `` This stupid test is tomorrow and I have n't learned a damn thing,'' he said, nobody in the room to actually hear it. Parker looked upon the stack of papers, seeing literal red everywhere on them only broken up by the highlighter yellow that Mrs. Perez loved to circle when her kids screwed something up. 
 
 He sighed in resignation. 
 
 `` Just 5 more minutes,'' he thought, `` and then we'll go to bed.'' He turned to the digital clock in his room, the bright red numbers reading `` 2:13 AM,'' and reopened his textbook. He was starting to fade fast, but tried to push on, holding his head up for as long as possible, his neck starting to wobble over the prospect of supporting his head. His eyelids became as heavy as horseshoes, his body just the same. 
 
 At last, his head slowly turned and his rosy red cheeks met the sticky, glossy pages. His mouth started to relax open, the drool pouring out like a small stream over a picture of Amelia Earhart's face, turning the clear snipped of a picture into a wavy sea of ink. 
 
 The cask of darkness that overcame Parker slowly started to open, a shimmering blue light coming forth from the depths of his brain. The shapes started blurry but got clearer, bolder, brighter. The peach-colored malaise became flesh and bone, and a woman sitting high above the sky in her glaring silver cylinder became apparent. She had short, brownish tassels of hair poking through her brown, weathered cap, her slender face filled with confidence as she took the controls, preparing for a safe, steady landing. 
 
 `` Itsaca to Earhart, Itasca to Earhart, do you read me?'' the radio belted out. 
 
 `` Earhart to Itasca, I read you. Are we clear for landing?'' 
 
 `` All clear. Itasca out.'' 
 
 The woman jutted up on the brown, leather-lined handles, the plane jutting down towards the small, barren dot that protruded out from the Pacific, which went as far as the eye could see. 
 
 `` Wheels out, preparing for landing,'' she belted towards the silver radio, lined with black in the cockpit. The plane landed effortlessly on this patch of matted dirt, slowed to a crawl and finally became stationary. The engine's continuous but dull roar started to sputter before finally giving way to the crashing of waves on the beach and the gulls that would occasionally chirp out. 
 
 Amelia lifted the armrest up before turning towards the side to get up, the blood still not quite back in her legs after a 6 hour flight. She opened the door, and instantly the air retaliated, the Sun pelting her with a heat and the ocean pelting her with a dampness that together made one feel like they had just been airdropped into a sauna. 
 
 She pulled out her map from the leather jacket that she'd worn, a trusty companion that had been with her from Miami to Macau. 
 
 `` This should be Itsacatown,'' she said, a certain questioning tone coming over her voice. This was the right place, but something about the air made it feel a little too still. She walked over to the town, it being no more than 300 feet from the godforsaken airstrip she'd just landed on. Peering around, poking around, the stillness became even more apparent. 
 
 Amelia looked in the tiny, corrugated steel service station. Nobody was there. 
 
 Amelia looked in the weathered, creaky wooden homes that were bunched together like a bundle of sticks. Nobody was there. 
 
 Amelia looked in the watering hole, the cups still sitting on the bar, filled no doubt with the strongest of whisky. Nobody was there. 
 
 She walked around town again and again and again, hoping to find a soul. She was unsuccessful. Finally, in despair, tired, with no fuel, and with the backdrop of the Sun's white glow turning into a pinkish-orangish beacon over the western sky, she turned in for the night at the local inn. However, there too, she found nobody. 
 
 She went upstairs, the floors squeaking. All the rooms were empty, but she found one that looked like nobody had actually been in there in a while. Taking off her black flying boots, her gloves, and resigning herself to the bed with its yellowed sheets and dusty pillows, she started to drift off, knowing tomorrow, she'd fly again. 
 
 The morning sun came belting through the windows, almost as if the sunlight was being quite literally thrown into the room. The light struck her narrow face, her eyes twitching from the sudden outburst of sun. Annoyed at first but wanting to shrug it off and get an extra hour or two of slumber in, she turned away from the window, or at least tried to before a horror came across her. 
 
 She tried to kick over her legs, but could n't. Her pants, filled with her tired, weary legs the night before, were now filled with nothing but air. 
 
 Amelia tried to get out of bed, but could n't, her arms thrashing and struggling in panic before she finally fell off the bed face first, her arm broken from the fall. With only one arm to spare, she started to drag her body behind her, trying to get to the cockpit of her plane, no doubt hoping that she could be lifted out of this torturous prison. 
 
 She kept her arm in front of her, her face smashing against the floor every time she grasped at another piece of the dusty carpet laid about the splintered, wooden floors in this hallway. The stairs became her personal hell, as she tried getting down by wedging her now limbless torso on one stair with her one good arm anchoring her. Eventually, this chore became so much that after a couple of steps, her arm gave way and flung her down the rest of the stairs, leaving a massive gash on her forehead and her nose as crumbled as a cracker. 
 
 Still, she kept dragging, her arm squealing at her in pain, her nose whistling with every burst of effort. Finally, she had made her way to the door, shoving it aside as she felt once again the overwhelming mugginess and heat of the air around her. Making her way from the inn's porch to the road, a burst of static erupted from the towering concrete lighthouse nearby. 
 
 `` Hello Amelia,'' the bullhorn rang out. It was a male's voice, the same male that had guided her in to this island the day before. 
 
 `` Who are you!'' she shrieked out, her voice clanging off the hapless wooden structures that dotted the landscape. 
 
 `` That's not important,'' the man on the bullhorn said. `` Amelia, you are part of Manhattan Project Codename Houdini as of now.'' 
 
 `` What?'' she asked, incredulously. The man continued unencumbered. 
 
 `` Codename Houdini is our baby. You see, over the last few years, we've started to realize that we're going to be in another war, quite soon in fact. Hitler's team of rocket scientists think they've got an edge on us, but we're developing something completely dominating, something that will change warfare forever.'' 
 
 `` Where are my legs!?'' Amelia screamed out. The man apparently at least heard her this time. 
 
 `` Amelia, your legs have been vaporized into thin air by our latest and greatest technology. When you walked through the town and saw nobody else, they suffered the same fate, except it was with their whole body. We tested this out on them, but we needed an outside subject. Unfortunately, this island is such a hellhole that we knew nobody would much come here voluntarily, so we arranged for you to come in.'' 
 
 The mans voice trailed off for a bit, but picked back up again. Amelia started to notice that her broken arm was no longer there as well. 
 
 `` Goodbye Amelia Earhart. You have served your country well, and we thank you.'' The Star-Spangled Banner started to play as Amelia shrieked out one last time in utter terror, a primal fear setting in. 
 
 And then, as if she were never there, she was gone. 
 
 Parker jolted back up to consciousness, his brow damp, so damp that the first few paragraphs on his opened history book that had been his pillow the night before were blurred. He looked down at his legs, thankful they were still attached. He looked out at the sky, the clouds grey, the rain pelting the windows that overhung his desk. 
 
 There was a knock on the door. Parker yelped like a terrier trying to get a treat. His mother opened the door and entered, a slightly worried look coming over her face. 
 
 `` Parker?'' 
 
 `` Ye..ye..yes mom?'' 
 
 `` Are you okay? We heard you screaming last night and everything.'' 
 
 `` Yeah mom, I'm fine.'' 
 
 He trailed off for a second to gather his voice. 
 
 `` Everything is okay.''
