Second Sight

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 I jumped up in fright as a large hand grasped my shoulder. I covered my face and tried to calm down, as my heart felt like it was about to leap out of my chest. Looking around, I sighed, I was just in school.

My imagination was running wild again. A hand grabbing my shoulder? That was ridiculous. I froze, feeling it touch my shoulder yet again. Spinning around I came face to face with my teacher, Mr Walter.

"Um... Hi Mr Walter." I smiled, trying to brush off the fact that I had fallen asleep in his class for the third time this week.

"Meet me after class Miss Clarke." he replied slowly. I had clearly struck a nerve.

 As the bell went for the last time that day, everyone packed up their books and bustled out of the classroom. Everyone but me. I grabbed my things and headed to the front of the room, where Mr Walter's sat at his desk.

"You wanted to talk to me?" I asked.

"Yes, Megan. You've fallen asleep in my class almost everyday this week! Is everything alright at home?" he asked, giving me the look.

I hate that look. It's the only one I seem to be getting from people theses days. The I-am-sorry-your-parents-and-twin-brother-died-in-a-car-accident-and-now-you-have-to-stay-with-your-grandparents look. I'm tired of all the sympathy.

I put my hands on my forehead and sighed. "Everything at home is fine. I've just been having these dreams ever since the accident... and I never get any sleep because of them."

"Would you like to talk about it?" he asked as he straightened his tie.

"No thanks Mr Walter, I have to get home before my grandparents begin to worry."

I rushed out of the classroom and took a shortcut through the woods to get home. They always calmed me down when I was upset. I breathed in the fresh air and pulled my long, blond hair out of my face. It fell over my shoulders. Leaning against a tree, I closed my eyes only to snap them back open again. The images from my dreams clouded my brain.

The blood, the guts, the same gory killing over and over again. I could never see the victims faces, but I can just imagine the look of terror in their eyes. The dream played over again every time I let my eyes fall shut. It was like a broken record. The dream I couldn't escape.

I continued to trudge through the trees, pushing branches aside. I began to hum a catchy tune; one my mother would sing to me as I fell asleep. I missed the days when sleep was a good thing.   

I arrived home to the smell of fresh baked cookies. Of course, it was Friday, baking day.

"I'm home!" I called out, walking straight through to the kitchen and grabbing a still warm cookie off a plate on the round wooden table.

I spotted a note on the kitchen table right next to the plate. It was from my grandparents. I laughed because they knew I would head straight for the cookies and see the note.

'Gone to the store.' it said in my grandmothers beautiful hand writing.

Wanting to take advantage of my small amount of freedom, I grabbed a handful of cookies and headed for the living room.

***

I was trapped in the same dream I'd had in class earlier, only this time the clown face had the girl tied down to a table. The gag in her mouth stopped her from speaking but it didn't stop the anguished, muffled screams from escaping.

The masked intruder moved in closer to the table, a long serrated knife in his hand. The only light in the room came from the eerie flicker of the candles. He crouched down beside the girl and pressed the sharp edge of the blade against her face before whispering in her ear in that cold, flat voice;

"Shall we play a game?"

When I snapped my eyes open again I was back in the reality of the living room which was shrouded in darkness. I didn't know how long I had been asleep, all I knew was that my throat was parched and I was just happy to be out of that nightmare.

I walked out to the kitchen, poured the last of the milk into a tall glass, figuring my grandparents had probably bought some more when they noticed we were low, and turned to grab another of those delicious cookies. I caught sight of the wall clock over by the kitchen table and was shocked to see that the time was 5:44pm. I had only closed my eyes for a few seconds but I had been out cold for over an hour.

I found it strange that my grandparents hadn't returned from the shops yet, but then I guessed that they must have bumped into some friends and had probably lost track of time during their conversation. My mind went back to the cookies. There they were, sitting on that plate just wanting me to eat them. I smiled over at my grandmother's note, but seconds later a chill passed through me when I saw that instead of my grandmother's beautifully cursive script there was now writing that looked more like a spider had stepped into an inkwell and walked across the paper. Even the words had changed, I could only just make them out.

SHALL WE PLAY A GAME?