Free A Stir of Echoes by Richard Matheson

going to dream tonight?" she asked.
      "I don't know," I said. "I don't think so, though."
      "Maybe it's gone."
      "Could be."
      Silence a while.
      "Honey?" she said then.
      "Yes?"
      I heard her swallowing.
      "About…"
      "About last night?" I asked.
      "Yes. I-I'm sorry I let myself get out of hand."
      "It's nothing to be sorry about, honey."
      "Yes, it is," she said. "It's pointless to think about such things just because of-what's happened."
      "I guess," I said. I rolled onto my side and put my arm over her.
      "You-promise we-"
      "All right," I said, "we won't talk about it."
      "I-just don't think it's-sensible," she said.
      "I suppose not," I said.
      She kissed my cheek. "Good night, honey," she said.
      "Good night," I said. On the bedside table, the radium-faced clock read eleven-thirty.
      "No!"
      I wrenched up from the mattress, awareness razoring in my mind. My eyes were wide open, stiffly set. I stared toward the living room.
      Anne had jolted awake with me. I heard her now, her voice shaking.
    "Again?" she asked.
      "Yes. Y-es."
      "Oh… no. No" ." She sounded almost angry.
      We sat there a few moments. I could feel my chest rising and falling with fitful motion, the breath gushing out through my nostrils. My lips were sealed together, my heart thudded harshly, off-time.
      "What are you going to do?" she asked. There was a scared, embittered challenge in her voice.
      "What-can I do?"
      She drew in a rasping breath.
    "Get up and see."
      I twisted around. "Honey, what is it?"
      "What is it? What kind of question is that? You know what it is. Now get up-" A sobbing broke her voice. "Get up and go in there."
      Breath shuddered in me. I felt myself shaking helplessly. Every time I thought about the woman she seemed to flare into strengthened clarity in my mind - white-faced and staring, her dark eyes asking for something.
      I caught my breath.
      "All right," I said. I don't know if I was talking to Anne or to the woman. "All right." I snapped aside the covers and dropped my legs over the side of the bed.
      "Honey." The anger was suddenly gone from her voice. Only concerned fear remained.
      "What?" I asked.
      "I… I'll go with you."
      I swallowed dryly. "You stay," I said.
      "No, I-I want to. I want to."
      I rubbed a shaking hand over my face and drew away cold sweat. I knew I should make her stay.
      "All right," I heard myself saying. "Come on then."
      I heard the liquid rustle of her nightgown as she got up. I saw the dark outline of her figure against the window. I stood and we came together at the foot of the bed. I felt her hand clutch at mine and I grabbed it tightly. It was cold and dry; it trembled in my grip.
      I took a deep breath and tried to stop the shaking of my stomach muscles. They were tight and cramped again. I felt that hot, needling pulse at my temples.
      "All right," I said. "Come on."
      Did ever two people stalk the darkness more slowly? We moved as if our legs were lead, as if we were statues come only half alive. We edged to the door in whispers of movement; and all the time my heart kept beating faster and faster and I thought I could almost hear the beat of it. My hand shook now too. It was no comforting strength to her. How can there be comfort from a frightened man?
      We reached the hall and stopped as if by mutual consent. Between us and the living room was a door. We stood there shivering in the darkness; then jolted with shock as, in the other bedroom, Richard stirred a little. Then I heard Anne's voice, barely audible.
    "Open it" she said.
      I set myself. I gripped her hand until I'm sure it must have hurt her.
      Abruptly, I kicked open the door.
      We both recoiled automatically, braced for the worst.
      Then it all seemed to drain away with a sudden recession. Our hands fell apart.
      We walked into the empty living room. The tingling in my head was