✨ A Journey Into The Dimension of Mind

The Danvers’ living room glows with September light, the air crisp with the start of fall 2025.

Ella, Helana, Eileen, Roxana, Margaret, and Patricia sprawl on the couch, their school bags scattered.

Melanie Crenshaw, clipboard in hand, beams at them. “Happy September, girls,” Melanie says.

“How’s 10th grade?” “School’s okay,” Ella says, shrugging.

“Kinda dumb, but we got our chosen classes.

Mostly online, so we study and eat pizza.” “My college started last month,” Patricia says, her translucent skin catching the light.

“It’s fun.

I’m making friends.” “Be careful,” Eileen warns.

“Don’t be too open with boys.

They’ll think you’re easy and take advantage.” “I stick to nice boys,” Patricia says, giggling.

“I can tell before meeting them.

I might take advantage of *them*.” “Melanie,” Ella says, half-serious, “we need a facts-of-life talk before she gets in trouble.” “Point taken,” Melanie says.

“I’ll schedule guidance sessions for Patricia.

Her freedom’s still new.” “Your 9th-grade and summer school grades are stellar,” Melanie continues.

“Top of the class.

Patricia, your first community college quarter is excellent.

Nine months without major drama—our program’s thriving.” “We need to talk about night school,” Helana says, frowning. “What’s wrong?” Melanie asks. “It’s fading,” Roxana says.

“We haven’t gone in weeks, not that we recall.

Last time, it felt distant, like watching little kids from afar.” “Yeah,” Eileen adds.

“When we wake, it’s a dream that slips away.

We’re not processing latent downloads.

It’s like we didn’t go.” “It’s worse,” Ella says.

“Reading the records is hard.

It used to be instant; now we strain, and it feels made-up, not real.

Are we losing our gifts?” “Our telepathy’s fine,” Ella adds.

“I’d go crazy without my sisters’ voices.” Melanie pauses, her expression thoughtful.

“You saw little kids at night school, far away? I think I know what’s happening.

Young children lose past-life and extradimensional memories around 7 or 8.

By adulthood, most recall nothing.

For teenage girls, paranormal and psychokinetic peaks mid-teens, then fade.

You’re growing past this phase.

It’s normal.” She softens.

“Growing up means focusing on adult resources.

Your gifts won’t vanish entirely, but your focus will shift to becoming the adults you’re meant to be.

You’re turning 15 this month—time to embrace that.” “What’s psychokinetic?” Roxana asks. “Things like poltergeist activity,” Melanie says.

“Objects moving, walls knocking.” “How do we keep our gifts?” Helana asks, tears brimming. “Like everyone else,” Melanie says.

“Daily meditation, prayer, seeking spirit guides, even if you can’t see or hear them.

This keeps your spiritual side alive.

You’re human now—be human.

Beware distractions: love, money, popularity.

Your wealth from your gifts is a trap.

Stay humble.” “Will Beaker fire us if our gifts fade?” Eileen asks. “No,” Melanie says, smiling.

“He’ll be relieved—they scared him.

Your value to the project grows as influencers, not psychics.

Focus on school, meditate, pray, and you’re set.” “If our readings aren’t accurate, what use are we?” Helana asks. “We’ll teach validation techniques,” Melanie says.

“Most remote viewers’ readings don’t validate, but the few that do are gold.

You’re already validating by working on the same task, filtering nonsense.” “We’ve started that,” Ella says.

“No more solo tasks—we tackle one together.” “Perfect,” Melanie says.

“Teamwork’s key.

Now, go home, eat, rest.” “It’s Ella’s turn to cook,” Roxana teases. “Screw that,” Ella says.

“Pizza delivery.” “Not smart,” Roxana says.

“You and Helana’s up two dress sizes since last year.” “At least we’ve got curves,” Ella retorts, grinning. --- ### Lost Crystal In the Danvers’ kitchen, the scent of coffee lingers.

Mr. Danvers, tie undone, glances at his wife, Judy, as she chops onions. “What’s with the girls?” he asks.

“All Zen on the living room floor?” “Meditating,” Judy says.

“Melanie’s idea.

It’s nice—they’re quiet, not begging for food.” “Let me know when they’re done,” he says.

“I need to talk to Aileen.

I’ll be upstairs.” “Dad!” Aileen calls.

“Come here!” Mr. Danvers steps into the living room, where the girls sit cross-legged, eyes closed.

“You heard me?” “No, we felt you,” Aileen says.

“What’s up?” “Do you know Billy Mitchell?” he asks. “School kid,” Aileen says.

“In trouble again?” “No, but his friend might be,” Mr. Danvers says.

“Billy came to my office, asking about you, Aileen.

His friend Crystal, who he says is your friend, didn’t show for school.

She’s been gone from her group home for months.

The house mom didn’t report it, so we filed a missing persons report.

Billy said, ‘Ask Aileen.

She can find her.’ Who’s Crystal, and why does he think you can?” “Crystal’s a school friend,” Aileen says.

“She’s why we were on Jackson Street that day.

Alone, I can’t find anything.

Together, we can find anything.

We’ll meditate.

Come back in 30 minutes—and order big pizzas.” --- ### Lockdown “Pizza’s here!” Judy shouts from the kitchen.

“Wake the girls?” “Nah,” Mr. Danvers says.

“The smell’ll break their trance.

Put it in the dining room.” “That’s a lot of pizza,” Judy says.

“I’m taking one upstairs.

I’ll be in the bedroom.” As the girls bicker over the last slice, Mr. Danvers asks, “Did you see anything? Where’s Crystal?” “We don’t know where, but we know why,” Ella says. “It’s weird,” Patricia says.

“I’m new to this.” Margaret explains, “Crystal’s in ‘lockdown.’ She’s at her boyfriend’s house.

He’s scared she’ll cheat, so he keeps her locked in.

When he works, friends guard the house.” “His parents allow this?” Mr. Danvers asks, horrified. “He’s got his own place,” Margaret says.

“He’s older—almost twice Crystal’s age.” “She’s 14, and he’s nearly 30?” Mr. Danvers says.

“That’s multiple felonies.

I need her location to save her.

He belongs in jail.” “That’s not how it works there, Dad,” Aileen says.

“Lockdown’s common in that neighborhood.

Crystal doesn’t feel trapped—she wants to be there.

She loves him.” “She loves the power,” Ella says. “Exactly,” Margaret says.

“Crystal’s an early developer.

At 14, she passes for 25, as long as she doesn’t talk.

She’s stunning—one of the most beautiful girls we know.” “Her beauty and sexuality are her power,” Margaret continues.

“She’s intoxicated by it.

She met this guy with his wife, a woman in her 30s, like her mom or house mom.

Crystal took him from her, wielding power over older women.

That’s her addiction.” “Even if we got her out, she’d run back,” Ella says. “We’re just ignoring this?” Mr. Danvers asks.

“She’s ruining her life.” “It’s not ruined,” Helana says.

“She’ll move on from him, then others like him, have kids.

Later, she’ll get her GED, go to college, maybe become a nurse or counselor.

This is shaping who she’ll be.” “If she survives,” Mr. Danvers says.

“As a prosecutor, I’ve seen girls like her die or end up broken—drugs, abuse, living on the streets.

This is illegal.

We need to stop it.

Find her.” “Dad,” Aileen says, “there are dozens like her in town, thousands in the state, millions worldwide.

Save them all? Your laws and courts don’t fix this.

It works itself out, as it has forever.

Crystal’s a fighter.

She’ll make it.” “I can’t believe you’re letting this slide,” Mr. Danvers says.

“What happened to your ‘save the world’ drive?” “My fault,” Margaret says.

“When they blended with me, they saw my abuse—the evil in the world.

They’re pragmatic now.

Fighting darkness is endless, and you lose.

We’re not abandoning Crystal—she’s our friend, and we’re here for her.

But she must navigate this.

Interfering would worsen it.” “Thanks for the info,” Mr. Danvers says, “but I can’t let it go.

She’s a runaway.

If caught, she’ll go to juvie until a secure group home’s found.

Her current one’s under investigation.

If I find that man, he’s jailed.” “I know you have to do what you think’s right,” Aileen says.

“But it’ll make things worse.

Don’t adopt her—you do that.

And don’t be shocked when it doesn’t help.

You don’t get her world.” “Bedtime, girls,” Judy calls, descending the stairs.

“If Margaret and Patricia are staying, I’ll set up the couch bed.” --- Ella’s bedroom is a cocoon, the September night soft beyond her window.

At 12:35 AM MST on a September Friday in 2025, she opens her diary, the day’s weight heavy.