SATURDAY NIGHT

We had spent the day out and walking around town, having everyone greet Mom. I had found myself carrying the letter around with me, but no one asked about it. I wondered if it was different, and if it was, how much so. I thought that, like I saw the words but couldn’t read them, they saw the letter but didn’t acknowledge it. If that was the case, how come I could see it?

At home later that night, we were all sitting in the living room watching TV. In the middle of a commercial, I showed Amy (who was sitting next to me) the envelope. She looked at it blankly. I took out the actual letter and I showed her the text. She looked over it and asked what it was. I told her and asked if she could read it. She replied with a vigorous head shake no. I had forgotten that she was only four. I tugged on Dad, who was on the other side of me, and showed him the letter. He looked at it, squinted and then looked at me. He told me it was blank. I argued with him and insisted that it had writing on it –typewriter letters. He shushed me as the show returned. I huffed and put it back in the envelope. I got up and went into my room, grabbing the laptop as I went.

Once in my room, I set the laptop on the desk and opened up the adult profile. (It was the only one that didn’t have restrictions on searches.) I put in the password that I knew by watching Dad type it in next to me and went onto the internet. I searched, “sIght”. Two results came up. One was a blog where someone misspelled it and the other was a link to an unofficial website. I clicked on the website and what came up surprised me. It was a hastily put-together site with no colors or textures, just text.

“If you are reading this, then you received a letter that you were not supposed to. You are wondering what the sIght is. What it is is beyond your comprehension and you would not be able to understand. Contact this number or email and we will retrieve it.” It read. After that it gave two phone numbers and two emails, all of which I ignored. I quickly bookmarked the page and shut down the computer, jumping into bed.

 That night I dreamed of a woman. It wasn’t Lauren. This woman had dark, dark black hair that was long and smooth. It went down to the middle of her arms. Her eyes shone with a dark blue luster and her skin was deathly pale. Her skin was flawless and her features were beautiful. She was tall and slender and she wore something that you would not expect a woman like her to wear: A jumpsuit. A dark blue jumpsuit. On her head she had a strange helmet. It was less bulky than a bike helmet, but it somehow looked sturdier. It had a few wires running around the surface of it that ran down her neck and into the jumpsuit. She had strange cap-like things on her fingertips that also had wires running from underneath them into the suit. Suddenly, she began to float upwards, her hair rising like when you rub your head with a balloon. Her arms rose as well, only stopping once they were completely horizontal and totally stretched out. Her eyes began to glow a bright orange, as if they were on fire, and swirling beams of light snaked out, flying and spreading around her person. Her head jerked so that it was facing me, and I screamed. She called out my name over and over again menacingly until I was woken up by Mom and Dad.