That is how I came to be sitting on a small, uncomfortable chair in a small, dingy house just a week later. Looking around at my surroundings, I wondered why someone who could travel into the future would ever live in such a gloomy house. Beside me sat my father, scanning the room with an air of superiority. Across from us sat a short man with graying hair. For whatever reason, he did not seem like one who could be trusted. For whatever reason, I still thought that he could get me to the future.
“I understand that the two of you are here to learn more about traveling into the future?” Henry asked.
“Yes. My daughter wishes to purchase a ticket, but first I wish to be assured that this is not a scam,” my father said.
“Sir, I can assure you that this is no scam,” Henry said smoothly.
“Why would I believe you?” my father asked.
“Why wouldn’t you?” Henry replied. “I am an honest man, one that would never sink so low as to con the best of our society.”
“That may all be true, but I wish for proof. I will not send my daughter on any trip that could be a fraud, nor will I allow her to take a trip that is potentially dangerous,” my father said, not won over by the man’s flattery.
“There is nothing dangerous about this trip,” Henry said. “I can show you the time machine in which your daughter would be traveling into the future, if it would make you feel better.”
“I suppose that it may help,” my father replied.
“Wonderful,” Henry said, clapping his hands together and getting to his feet. “Follow me please.”
He led the way through a narrow hallway with peeling paint and a lingering smell of rotten food, down a rickety staircase on which we could only walk single-file, down another small, dimly lit hall where my father had to duck to avoid banging his head, and to a small room in which sat one of the strangest contraptions that I had ever laid eyes on.
“The time machine,” Henry announced, gesturing to it with a flourish and leading us inside the room. Placing a hand affectionately on the lumpy silver machine, which looked vaguely like a carriage that had crashed into something extremely hard, immobile, and solid, he added, “this is my pride in life. I have traveled to the future many times, and I can assure you that it is a truly magnificent sight.”
“What is in the future?” my father asked, eyeing the time machine suspiciously.
“Oh, things that you would never understand without seeing them,” Henry replied, waving a hand casually. “But you could see them easily, just by purchasing the ticket and stepping into my time machine,” he added convincingly, giving the machine a pat.
My father gave me a questioning look.
“I still want to go,” I told him quietly.
“Do you?” Henry asked, overhearing me. “You must go then! Sir, would you really deprive your daughter of such a marvelous treat?”
“I suppose not,” my father said grudgingly.
“Then we can get your daughter into the future as soon as you wish, as soon as you purchase her ticket,” Henry said. “I have already made arrangements with a family living in the future; they have agreed to welcome vacationers into their homes, as long as the vacationers agree not to let anyone know that they are from the past. The futuristic family does not want attention drawn to them, you see.”
“Alright,” my father said, handing a few smooth bills to Henry, who, in return, produced a small, wrinkled ticket from his pocket. My father, wrinkling his nose slightly, pinched the ticket carefully in two fingers and passed it to me without glancing at it. I took the ticket eagerly in both hands and peered closely at the writing on it.
“May I go into the future now?” I asked, anxious to go before my father snatched the ticket from my hands and declared that he had changed his mind.
“Of course, of course,” Henry said. “Just sit down in the time machine whenever you are ready. The machine will be back to collect you at this time tomorrow.”
“Be careful,” my father muttered, still regarding the machine warily, as though expecting it to explode at any moment.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, and, with a hug goodbye, I stepped forward and lowered myself cautiously into the time machine. Henry pressed a small silver button on the machine, and suddenly the sound of rushing wind reached my ears. I open my mouth in a scream and felt the air rush into my mouth, making my throat go dry. Everything blurred and went black.

I blinked open my eyes, what could have been seconds, minutes, or even months later, and found three faces staring down at me.
“What is this?” I asked. My voice sounded creaky. I was very aware of how dry my throat felt. Suddenly, as if I was recalling a dream, images of sitting in a silver machine rushed back to me. I instantly remembered where I was. “Is this the future?” I asked, hardly daring to believe that Henry’s machine had worked.
“Yes. Welcome to 2015,” the woman said, holding out a hand. I tentatively reached for it; she grasped my hand with hers and helped me to my feet. I brushed nonexistent dust from my dress and stared blankly at the family, trying to take in my surroundings all at once. The entire family was dressed oddly: the woman in short knit pants and a baggy, brightly colored top, the man in slightly longer pants and a striped top, and a boy of around my age who appeared to be their son in a blue top with some form of logo on it and tan pants.
“My name is Patrick,” the man in the striped top said, smiling welcomingly. “This is my wife, Gail, and our son, Louis.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, smiling hesitantly back at them as I looked around the room that we were crowded into. It was small and nothing like my own house. On the plain, off-white wall across from me hung a large box with a shiny black surface that reminded me of a starless night sky reflected in a puddle. Behind me was a tan couch littered with fluffy, maroon pillows. Oddly enough, the time machine was nowhere to be seen. I supposed that it had returned to Henry’s house.
“What’s your name?” Gail asked.
“Emma,” I replied. “Emma Malton.”
“Ah,” Gail said. “Henry told us that you were considering coming for a visit. Well, you only have a day here, so there’s no time to waste. Why don’t we show you around the house first, and if you have any questions just ask.”
“What is that?” I asked, gesturing across the room to the black box.
“A television,” Patrick responded. “If you turn it on, you can watch shows on it. Louis, why don’t you demonstrate?”
Louis picked up a small, rectangular object covered in buttons and pressed something on it. I jumped in surprise as the black box sprang to life; suddenly the once blank space was bustling with activity. There seemed to be faint voices coming from it. Louis pressed a button on the small rectangle in his hand and the images faded from the television.
“Wow,” I breathed quietly.
“If you think that’s cool, wait until we show you a cell phone!” Louis exclaimed enthusiastically, reaching a hand into his pocket and pulling out a rectangular object even smaller than the one used to control the television; I was starting to wonder whether every fancy gadget in 2015 was rectangular.
“A cell phone?” I repeated, peering curiously down at the object.
“Cell phone. It’s used to communicate instantly with people close by, or even people far away,” Patrick clarified. Louis, why don’t you show Emma how to use a cell phone by calling your sister? She’s supposed to have been home from the movies an hour ago. I’m getting worried.”
“She probably just lost track of time,” Gail said, laying a calming hand on her husband’s shoulder. “You know how kids of her age are, always out with friends, having fun, not a care in the world.”
“I know, I know. It just worries me, that’s all,” Patrick said with a sigh.
I turned to Louis, about to ask what the movies were, but he was already prodding the cell phone with his finger. It made small beeping sounds with each poke.
“Here, I’ll put it on speakerphone,” Louis said, then, turning to me, added, “that means that everybody in the room will be able to hear it.” He poked one last button on the cell phone. It began to emit high-pitched ringing sounds. I winced and drew back in surprise. The ringing stopped suddenly.
“Hello?” a girl’s voice called. It sounded as though she was trying to be heard over a roomful of people. I glanced around, but nobody had entered the room. The voices were all coming from the phone.
“Melissa?” Louis asked, holding the phone in front of him between Patrick, Gail, and I.
“Louis?” the girl’s voice called loudly. “Is that you? I can’t hear. Guys, be quiet, I can’t hear!”
The voices in the background were silenced abruptly.
“This is your mom,” Gail said into the phone. “I’d appreciate it if you could get home now, Melissa, we have a guest.”
“Fine, I’ll be right there,” Melissa said. There was a click, then the room fell silent.
“Well, we may as well continue with the tour,” Gail said cheerfully, leading the way into a small hallway whose walls were hung with colorful, framed photographs. I followed her into a small room, taken up mostly by counters and cabinets.
“The kitchen,” Gail said, turning and doubling back until she came to a staircase halfway down the hall. We went up the staircase, down another hallway, into four more rooms, three being bedrooms and one being a bathroom, before going back downstairs. I could not help but note that the house was far smaller and far less impressive than my own mansion. I wondered whether all houses in the future looked like this.
“I’m sure this isn’t as fancy as what you’re used to,” Gail said, as if reading my thoughts; for a brief moment, I started to think that perhaps people from the future could, in fact, read minds, but I quickly reminded myself how foolish that thought was.
“Hey, why don’t we show Emma what her mansion looks like now?” Louis suggested. “It’s not too far away.”
“That’s an excellent idea!” Gail exclaimed. She started to say something else, but a loud chime interrupted her.
“That must be Melissa,” Patrick said, hurrying away down the hallway. He returned a few moments later. Behind him trailed a somewhat irritated looking girl.
“So, are you ready to go?” Gail asked brightly.
“Go where?” the girl asked.
“We are visiting the mansion nearby, where Emma lives,” Gail replied.
“The nearest mansion is at least an hour away. I guess that’s Emma then?” the girl asked, turning her piercing, dark brown gaze on me.
“Nice to meet you,” I said politely.
“Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes and earning herself furious glares from her parents. “I’m going to my room. You guys go tour the mansion for the millionth time without me.”
“Sorry about Melissa,” Gail whispered to me as she led the way out of the house. “She isn’t usually so grouchy.”

About an hour later, we arrived in front of what appeared to be my home. We traveled there in a large, gleaming car that blasted music as we sat inside of it. As I stare up at the ornate marble mansion in front of me, I am suddenly overwhelmed by all that has happened. Somehow, inexplicably, I had ended up in the future. I was now standing at my home, still in the future, attempting to take in my surroundings all at once. Part of the spacious lawn was taken over by rough pavement on which cars were parked. It seemed that my home had been converted into some type of tourist attraction. The sight nauseated me.
We entered my home, although it seemed to me like a replica of my home, not the real thing. We had to pay to enter it. I picked up on each tiny difference between my home and this museum-like version of it. In each of these rooms was a sign, explaining the room’s purpose and history. The intricately carved table in the dining room had been shifted slightly to the left. The books had been rearranged in the tall bookshelves lining the reading room walls; some had been spread out on a table for people to gawk at. One of my favorite paintings, which usually hovered just above the fireplace, had been taken down. Sections of the house were roped off so that I could not see what had been done to them.
The biggest shock came when we reached my room. A sign hung on the wall, announcing that the room belonged to Emma Malton. Below these words was a picture of a smiling woman with long, dark hair standing in a garden; I assumed that this was a picture of me in the future. I noticed old, framed papers on my desk; they were letters written by my future self to people I had yet to meet. It was all too much to process. I automatically started to cross the room to the comfortable floral sofa where I often collapsed after a particularly chaotic day, but found my path blocked by another stretch of rope. I swayed slightly on the spot.
“Are you okay?” Gail asked, hurrying to my side.
“I’m sorry. It is all just too much to comprehend,” I said, my voice faint and weak.
“It’s okay. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Why don’t we go now?” Gail suggested, gently leading me out of my room. I stumbled a bit as I walked, barely able to keep myself upright. I was beginning to realize that this whole trip was a mistake.
I felt numb as we left the house, almost as though I was watching the following events, but not really being a part of them. We went back to Louis, Gail, and Patrick’s house, we ate food that seemed tasteless to me, we talked about things even though I was not fully listening. The sky outside grew dark, and I was led to a small guest bedroom. It was nowhere near as comfortable as my own room, but I fell asleep quickly nonetheless. I awoke, still feeling far more fragile than usual, and ate breakfast in a robotic manner.
Finally, without so much as the sound of a pin dropping, the time machine appeared in front of me. I stepped into it with a mumbled goodbye. There was a rush of wind, then everything went black. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in Henry’s dingy, foul house. I had never been happier to be in such an unpleasant place.