It was in the early hours of the evening and Octavia had taken a seat in the kitchen of her house, slumped forward in her seat with one of her elbows resting against the cold, wooden body of the table. In front of her, there was a half-full glass of fruity wine, the bottle it came in now half-empty.

It has been a while since Colour Palette had left after unloading his paintings for Octavia, and they currently sat in the living room, propped up against the wall and wrapped in protective linen sheets to keep them pristine and out of reach of the dust. Octavia glanced sideways for a moment, her expression blank, turning herself to face them.

She looked long and hard at the paintings, and she felt as if those gaping wide pools of black that served as eyes for the strange, eerie screaming pony painting were staring right through the linen and into her own eyes. Octavia turned away instantly upon the thought, feeling stupid for having such thoughts about some stupid, inanimate painting. That was all it was: a painting. Completely incapable of showing emotion and pony feelings.

''You've really done it this time, Octavia,'' She said to herself, picking up her wine glass and throwing her head back as she downed the last of the wine held inside of it. She just took it all in one big swig, hardly caring for the bitter aftertaste the wine had left in the back of her mouth. She didn't care enough to reel back from it. By now, she was very used to the bitter taste of the wine after the fruitiness had left it on the trip down into her alcohol-filled gut.

She grabbed a hold of the wine bottle beside her and pulled out the cork in the neck of the bottle, about to pour herself another glass when the entire bottle suddenly slipped out of her hooves. Luckily, the bottle didn't shatter, but it did gain a long, spiderweb crack that ran down the entire length of the bottle, the rest of the contents spilling out and staining the wood of the table and the tiled kitchen floor.

Octavia cursed to herself under her breath and rubbed her eyes slowly, feeling the effects of the alcohol flooding her system. She gave a long, deep sigh and she pushed the wine glass away from her.

''Well, I think I've had enough wine for today, anyway,'' She said quietly, looking down to see the wine bottle on the floor. She leaned down and picked it up before placing it into the kitchen sink, starting to feel a little light-headed.

Octavia proceeded to use a damp tea towel to mop up the mess, the white cloth becoming stained a deep cherry colour, and when she was done, she tossed the now-wine-filled tea towel into the sink along with the broken bottle. She gave a yawn and rubbed one of her eyes drowsily before she turned around and retired to her bedroom for the night.

As she walked by the painting on the way to her room around the corner from the kitchen area, she didn't even muster the strength to look at it. She kept her head turned to the side as she passed it, but she felt that same, cold and chilling feeling that she felt as when she first laid eyes upon it, as if it was watching her closely.

Octavia had a nightmare that night.

Octavia dreamed that she was all alone in her house, but it was darker than usual. It was the middle of the night, but the strange thing was that her house was in a cluttered disarray, like it had been ransacked and looted.

Both her own instruments and Vinyl's were scattered and broken across the floor, furniture and tables were tossed over onto their sides, some of them missing their legs and shattered and splintered, broken glass specked over the floor and gleaming in the light of the silvery moon like pixie dust. It looked chaotic.

Octavia stood in the dark, ominous corridor with the window behind her providing the only light, enabling her to see, but barely. The light of the silver-coloured moonbeams stretched into the house through the window behind her on an angle and gripped at the carpet, like a ghost dragging its nails across them and slowly working their way up towards the grey mare.

Octavia's eyes watched the house wearily, unsure of what was happening. The home was in such poor condition that she wasn't even sure that it was her home she was currently standing in. If anything, the home looked abandoned and completely left to the elements to take over.

In the air, there was a strong scent of decay and rot, as if something or somepony had died somewhere in the building and their corpse was on the road to become nothing more than a pile of bones as their flesh was eaten away by tiny bacteria and insects. It almost made Octavia gag from how repulsive it was.

''H-Hello?'' She called quietly, but the dead silence of the atmosphere made it carry more like a shout.

Ever so slowly, Octavia put one hoof in front of the other as she began to slowly move forward, weary and feeling her heart beat within her shaking chest. She found herself to feel cold and clammy, as if she was inside of a fridge. It didn't take a genius to know that something was very wrong, but she didn't know what that 'something' was just yet.

She half-expected something or somepony to lunge at her from the darkness, and the more she walked down the hallway, she believed that it would actually happen. Her head kept turning to look all around her, gathering her surroundings and taking in the account of the damage done to her home. It looked as if nopony had lived her for well over a decade. It was like she had entered some other dimension that held a parallel existence to her own, only this one consisted of isolation and despair, not one single soul in sight.

There was a flutter of something in the darkness directly in front of her.

Octavia stopped and listened for a moment, her muscles frozen as she watched intently across the room.

''Hello?'' She called again.

Another flutter, this time, louder.

''W-Who's there?'' She asked, hoping that nopony would answer.

There was a loud clunk, like a burlap sack full of bricks impacting with the rotten floorboards, followed by what sounded like a shallow breath to Octavia. It made her tense up, and her muscles felt like they were going to tear from the strain.

Looking forward still, Octavia's eyes shrank as she saw the pulsating clouds of frosted breath carry in the air. Something or somepony was breathing at the end of the room, and the frosted breath seemed almost translucent in moonlight as it entered its path, like it had the properties of a neon sign.

''Vinyl? Is that you?'' Octavia asked, hoping to Celestia that this was all some kind of sick, cruel prank plotted by her friend.

This time, after a few moments had passed, Octavia noticed that the pulses of frosted breath in the air had stopped. Her heart sank when she noticed that it had mysteriously disappeared, but she felt her heart drop out from her ribs when she heard a thud from behind her. Once again, the pulsations of cold, chilling and frosted-over breath was back, but, this time, it was directly on the back of her neck.

Whatever it was, it was now behind her.

Icicles formed over the fur on Octavia's coat, her eyes becoming small and glassy as the fear welled within her. She had alarm bells ringing in her head, telling her that she should run as fast as she can, do anything, something, to get away from whatever this creature or entity was. She wanted to run, but she found her muscles and nerves to be seized and unresponsive to her commands. All she could do was remain stationary.

The breaths began to inch in closer, running up the length of Octavia's cold-sweat-soaked neck, slowly slithering up to her ear. Octavia felt her lips tremble and quiver as she felt herself begin to break down, cold tears forming and welling up in her eyes. She could almost feel the figure looming over her as its lips were twisted into a sick grin.

''I'm here,'' It said, its deep voice carrying with a ghostly echo as it entered Octavia's ear and invaded her brain like a parasite. It delivered as a low, gravely rumble, somewhat strained and gruff. It didn't sound natural.

Octavia did the only thing she could do: scream.

Octavia awoke with a jolt, her mouth twisted into a scream as she shot upright in bed.

Her lungs were burning and her chest was heaving, hyperventilating as her mind was racing in shock and panic. She took short, snappy glances both left and right, searching each and every corner of her bedroom for any signs of intruders, but she found none.

Octavia relaxed once she concluded that she was all alone and completely safe and secure within her own bed chamber, and her breathing slowed a little. She could feel the sweat drip and roll down her back like cold marbles, akin to the large raindrops one might experience in the streets of Manehatten during a thunderstorm.

''Oh, thank Celestia,'' She breathed, her throat dry and her voice raspy from the panic still dying down in her system. ''It was only a dream,'' She said, fighting for control of her breath, trying to recompose herself.

Octavia looked down at her douvét and saw the sweat marks, like miniature puddles that were pooled around her like a sinkhole as she sat in the middle of them. She frowned and gave a tired, shaky sigh. At least she didn't wet the bed instead.

''Looks like I'm not going to be getting any more sleep tonight,'' Octavia said to herself, feeling a little annoyed.

All she could think of was that strange figure in the shadows, if it even was a figure. Octavia didn't believe in the paranormal, finding such claims and thoughts to be stupid and childish. Ghost stories, no matter how well they may be told or how they may be fabricated, were just stories. The same goes for legends and folktales. That's why they are called that. It's nothing more than a conspiracy of spooky tales and made-up stories to scare tourists and young children, no different than stories told around the crackling orange flames of a campfire.

But that strange figure, pony or something else, couldn't have been real, could it? Octavia was sure that, if it was breathing, if must have been alive, right? But it was nothing more than a dream, so how could it have been alive?

Octavia was still able to feel the freezing breath of the creature, and it made her uneasy and on-edge. She remembered how it had somehow managed to transport itself from one end of the room to the other in the blink of an eye without her noticing, only to appear directly behind her. It sounded stupid to her now that she thought about it, but Octavia was more than certain that she was going to die only minutes ago.

But, while she hadn't been able to come up with a plausible or reasonable explanation for what she had seen and experienced, she couldn't help but feel something...familiar about it, like she's heard that voice before. She couldn't place it, but she was sure that the voice of the creature that had appeared next to her sounded just like...

No, no, that's absurd, Octavia thought to herself. Not only is it stupid, but it's also impossible! There's no way that it could be him!

But it made no sense. Even though they hardly spoke a word to each other, she knew what his voice sounded like and how closely it resounded with the voice of the creature that she had witnessed in her dream. The resemblance was just uncanny! It had to be! It just had to be...

''Stencil Palette?'' Colour Palette asked, his voice twisted into one of confusion, as if he thought Octavia was crazy for suggestion such a thing. ''As in, my uncle?''

''Yes!'' Octavia said as she was standing next to Colour Palette's kiosk, her face full of frustration and vague annoyance at how unseriously she was being taken. To be honest, if it was the other way around, she may not take herself serious, either.

''Um...no, I think you're mistaken, Miss Octavia,'' Colour Palette said, unconvinced. ''You see, my uncle couldn't have been the one you saw because he's no longer with us. As in, he's no longer living,'' He said, hoping to make Octavia see what he was getting at, but it only frustrated her further.

''No, I am telling you the truth, Mr. Palette!'' She argued. ''I don't know how else I can explain this to you, but I'm more than certain that your uncle, Stencil Palette, was definitely in my dreams! I swear it!'' She said, taking a step towards the now-nervous young stallion art pony, causing him to back up against the wall of the kiosk as Octavia stuck a hoof out to emphasise her point.

''No, Miss Octavia, I don't think you're thinking clearly,'' Colour Palette said, pushing down the grey mare's hoof lightly, sniffing the air in front of her. ''Have you been drinking, by chance?'' He asked, apparently able to still smell the lingering scent of Berry Punch's fruity wine. Octavia became sheepish and blushed, backing up slightly.

''No, well, um, yes...'' She stammered, feeling embarrassed, knowing how crazy she might have looked in the eyes of the public.

''And have you been sleeping alright?'' He asked, motioning to the faint black bags underneath her eyes. Octavia sighed.

''Well, no, actually,'' She began. ''I had a bit of an...unusual night, for lack of a better word,'' She said. ''As I'm sure you know,'' She said, pointing to her eyes and slightly untidy mane.

Octavia didn't sleep at all last night after that strange dream. Celestia knows that she tried, but she didn't have any luck in finding peace in the realm of dreams, unable to block out her thoughts on that strange figure in her destroyed and decaying home. The one thing that she couldn't get off of her mind more than anything was the slow, deep rumble of a voice that spoke directly into her ear, the one that she knew belonged to Stencil Palette.

Colour Palette nodded understandingly and he gave the mare a sympathetic look, coming to place a hoof to her shoulder as he looked directly into her amethyst eyes.

''Miss Octavia, I know you think you know what you saw, but I'm telling you that it's impossible. Stencil Palette is dead, and that is all I can tell you. Whatever you saw in that dream of yours wasn't real. It was only a dream, nothing more, nothing less,'' He spoke softly, like a parent trying to comfort their distressed child.

Somehow, Octavia felt ashamed of herself for having brought back the pain of loss to Colour Palette by reminding him about Stencil's untimely death. She felt like what he was saying was true and that it really was just a dream. It probably was nothing more than a dream, and she must have misheard the voice and mistaken it for somepony else's. Maybe it was the wine that had caused her to have such a horrific dream, and the more than Colour Palette comforted her, the more she believed it.

''Perhaps you're right, Mr. Palette,'' Octavia said reluctantly, feeling herself deflate with shame of having ever brought the topic up. ''Maybe it was only my imagination,'' Octavia said, and Colour slowly nodded, giving her a weak smile.

''I think all you need is a good rest, Miss Octavia. Try to relax a little, calm your mind,'' He suggested, brushing back some of his platinum blonde mane over his shoulder. ''A rest'll do you some good.''

''I'm sorry if I unintentionally upset you, Mr. Palette,'' Octavia apologised. ''I was so sure that the voice truly did belong to your uncle and...'' She sighed. ''...I wasn't thinking straight at all. I must look like a fool,'' She said, looking sadly into the charming, cool eyes of the art pony.

''It's quite alright, Miss Octavia,'' He said. ''Now, you should go on home and get some rest,'' He said, prompting Octavia to head home with his hooves. She did just that, turning around and bidding farewell to the young stallion, but as she walked a few paces away, she suddenly stopped and turned to face Colour Palette once more.

''Mr. Palette?'' She asked. He looked up at her curiously. ''Would you mind if I asked how your uncle died?'' She asked tentatively.

Colour Palette's face went blank, as if somepony had cut the power to his emotions, and he stared at Octavia for a solid minute, as if he was thinking about the question thoroughly. His eyes were still bright, but they were not as vibrant as she recalled them being minutes ago, and she noticed his lips move discreetly, as if he was talking silently to himself, mouthing silent words.

''No,'' He said after a pregnant pause, his face still expressionless as he spoke. It was as if he was trying to dodge the question, and it didn't go unnoticed by Octavia. She had the very distinct feeling that he didn't want to share the information with her, and it got her curious. Nevertheless, Octavia decided not to press on the declined question and she turned back around and walked the rest of the way to her home.

By time Octavia had arrived back to her shared home, it was the late afternoon, and that meant that the mail mare had already been, the grey one with the wall-eyed stare and blonde mane. She was a sweet-hearted pony with nothing but good intentions, and Octavia recalled numerous times when the mare had accidentally lost her balance in the air and crash landed, whereupon the mail she was carrying tended to explode and mix itself up.

Octavia felt a pang of sympathy for the mare, and she even felt bad enough this one time that she offered her to come inside for a spot of tea. She did, of course, and they were stuck in the middle of a conversation for a few minutes before she went on her way again, saying something about finishing her rounds before the day turned into night.

Her name was Derpy Hooves, if Octavia remembered correctly. Nice mare, but not too bright. Regardless, Octavia liked her. She was too nice and sweet to hate or dislike for some of her clumsy and often ridiculous antics.

The male mare had been, as Octavia found out when she had entered her home and found that there was a letter on the floor sealed in a manila envelope. Shutting the front door behind her as she entered, Octavia leaned down and picked up the letter, turning it over. She recognised the stamp straight away.

It had a purple wax stamp on the back of it with Vinyl Scratch's cutie mark embedded into it, and it made her smile on the inside at knowing that her friend cared enough to write. On the front of the envelope, as she turned it over again, Octavia saw that the sender's address was from Manehatten, some considerable distance away from Ponyville.

Breaking the wax seal and unfurling the flap of the envelope, Octavia pulled out the piece of paper encased inside of it and unfolded it, beginning to read what was on it.

Dear, Octavia,

How's it going, Octy? The journey so far has been epic and I can't wait to get to the next concert! We've already rocked Fillydelphia, Mount Eris, Canterlot and Appleoosa! Next stop: The Crystal Empire Stadium! Everypony seems to love the new album, and I hardly even get a moment to write to you because I nearly get swarmed to death every night by fans! I was lucky enough to have the time to write this, so I wanted to see how things are back at home.

You're not missing me too much, are you? I know that I'm missing you. It's not really the same out here without you, Octy. I miss having someone to boss me around and to get on my case half of the time, and I just wanted to say that I can't wait to get back. If you'd like, maybe I could put some of my earnings towards a one-on-one dinner, just the two of us? It'd be nice to catch up.

Missing you and I'll see you soon,

Your friend,

- Vinyl Scratch

Octavia read the letter a couple of times to take in every last detail that she could, and a smile curled its way onto her lips. When somepony like Vinyl Scratch offers to take some pony out to dinner, be it Octavia or some other business partner, what she really means is, 'How about a nice, expensive dinner so I can tell you all about what it's been like on the road and then some!' So typical of her. It amused Octavia and she chuckled to herself.

''At least somepony's having fun,'' Octavia said to herself, looking towards where the three paintings were across from the entrance of the house. She looked at them for a moment and bit the side of her lip, thinking deeply about the one that Colour Palette had offered up to her and fought her upon taking.

She went towards the paintings and carefully pushed the one with the screaming pony on it aside, allowing her to see the other two smaller paintings behind it. Gently taking a hold of the linen covering them, she took care in pulling the protective coverings off as to not damage them, and she let them fall to the floor beside her.

The first one was a piece that Octavia had seen during Stencil Palette's induction to the Equestria Art Hall of Fame, one by the title of She Has Pretty Eyes. It was, as the name suggested, a super close-up of a stallion's eyes, his eyes taking up the entire canvas it was painted on. This one appeared to be painted with oil rather than acrylic paint, and the eyes, rather than white, were a rose pink with a figure of a pony within them, and it looked like a young mare.

The mare was brightly-coloured, with a chocolate brown coat and a pearl white mane that was long and elegantly curled around one side of her face, whisping at one of her cheeks. Her magenta eyes were facing the stallion in a suggestive, alluring expression, half-lidded and inviting. Even Octavia thought that she was rather adorable, and she noticed that she seemed to have longer eyelashes than usual, and, looking into the painting, she imagined them curling like a hoof that gave a couple of flicks, as if beckoning for the stallion to come forward to join her.

It wasn't what Stencil Palette's style normally went for, and it seemed strange to Octavia why he would paint such a thing. It wasn't his type of work from what she'd seen in the past. Perhaps the mare in the picture was some old flame of his from his youth? Octavia had a strong suspicion that it he painted this picture to evoke feelings of romance and to get the oxytocin flowing. Who knew such a dark mind could have such a soft side?

The next painting was also oil-based, and it was very much in the way of Stencil's signature style. It consisted of dark blue paint that resembled a winter sky surrounding a tranquil lake in a a pocket in the middle of a forest during a blue moon. Brilliantly and delicately placed greens, both light and dark, came together to really bring out the texture in the leaves and the grass around the small lake, and the water had glossy white paint carefully absorbed into it to mime reflective properties, sparkling beautifully with the moon. Although very tranquil and pretty to bear witness to, it gave the feeling of being lost and being minimised by the towering trees. It was as if they honed in on the viewer and slowly leaned down to envelope them in their leaves, like an organic prison chamber.

Octavia looked at the painting very closely and she could almost feel herself become one with the scene. She could see herself now - she was alone at night and inside of a deep forest somewhere untouched and unknown to the pony race. She was on sacred land, and if she didn't treat it with respect, she will pay dearly for it.

Although the painting wasn't as dark as the majority of Stencil's work, it still made her feel uncomfortable, but not in an overbearingly negative way, much like that screaming pony painting. Speaking of the screaming pony painting, Octavia turned to view it off to the side, still wrapped up in the linen sheet.

Reluctantly, Octavia headed towards it and removed the linen sheet, feeling her innards call out to her in protest, begging her not to remove the linen from its surface. Octavia ignored the feeling and wished that she had listened when she pulled the linen off of the painting.

Somehow, in the minimal lighting of the living room of her house, the painting looked more sinister to Octavia. It gave her immediate, chilling flashbacks to her dream, and it spooked her something fierce on the inside. Staring at it now made her wish she had never pulled the linen cover off.

The gaping black holes where eyes were supposed to be placed looked alive and full of hatred as they stared directly into Octavia's eyes, and they shined with a faint red gleam, like blood-stained glitter that was embedded into the paint. It gave her the chills. And that contorted silent scream that its face was stuck in...it looked like it was moving! It was as if she was looking into the reanimated face of a corpse that was thirsty for fresh, warm living pony blood!

Octavia quickly threw the linen sheet back onto the painting's front and concealed it, not wishing to gaze into its unforgiving, black holes of evil any longer. She felt herself begin to sweat and she felt a little sick, a lingering warm bath of puke sloshing around in her gallbladder, waiting to crawl up her throat with an unpleasant, sour-tasting warmth.

''You're a hideous thing, aren't you?'' Octavia said venomously, facing the now-concealed painting.

The rest of the night, Octavia distracted herself by playing stress-relieving tunes on her cello, losing herself in the deep, soothing rumble that her instrument produced with each low and smooth drag of her bow.