Free Strange Dominions: a collection of paranormal short stories (short story books) by David Calvert Page B

danger!”
    “Go away or I’ll phone the law!” she screamed, slamming the door agonizingly hard against his foot again.
    Emile threw up his arms in submission, “Okay! Okay! I’m leaving, but that won’t stop the nightmares!”
    She ceased her frantic assault. Maintaining a firm grip on the door she asked, “My nightmares? How do you know about my night-?”
    “Because you’re not the first this has happened to,” he cut in. “There were others just like you. I tried to help them, too. They went through the same things you’re going through, and things are going to get much worse.”
    “‘Others’? What ‘others’?”
    Emile felt the pressure on his foot ease a little. He was beginning to make some headway. Stooping, he picked up several newspaper cuttings that had spilled from his briefcase and passed them through the crack of the doorway.
    He heard the shuffling of the papers as Eve studied them, then her voice, “My God! All these women are dead!”
    “Yes, they are and they’re all Wormwood’s victims. Look at the dates on the cuttings, Eve, they go back more than fifty years.”
    He heard the rustling of papers again, then, “I don’t understand what this has to do with me though.”
    “Look at their pictures. Don’t you see the uncanny resemblance between them and you?”
    There was a long silence in which Emile pressed home his advantage, “Look, Eve, If I’d wanted to cause you any harm do you think I would choose to confront you in broad daylight and on your own doorstep? It doesn’t make sense. Surely that must tell you something of my intentions.”
    “I … I guess so.” she said, uncertainly.
    “Please let me help you, Eve!” he begged. “I’m the only one who can!”
    Whether through lack of sleep, or an overriding need for human companionship, Eve stepped aside and ushered him into her home. Imprudent though her action was she still had the foresight to leave the door ajar. One wrong move and she’d be out of there in a shot.
    As she showed Emile into the living room, he noticed the pile of books stacked neatly on the table.
    She led him to a large and comfortable armchair. Strategically placing herself nearest to the open door, she took her place on the sofa.
    “I see you have a fondness for Shakespeare,” he said, attempting to put his host at ease.
    Here at least he had found some common ground in which to engage her.
    “I’m writing a thesis on him for English Lit at the university,” Eve replied.
    “I’m a Wheatley fan myself,” Emile admitted. “He isn’t as high-brow as the Bard, but he knows his subject matter.”
    “Wheatley?”
    “He wrote occult fiction, mainly.”
    “Oh, I see. So you prefer horror then?” Eve was beginning to feel uneasy as to where the conversation was heading.
    “Actually,” responded Emile, “my interest goes beyond mere works of literary fiction and that, in part, is why I’m here.”
    The tension in the room had become almost palpable. Eve was now sitting on the edge of her seat, her heart racing, her gaze darting to the passageway and the open front door.
    “Please, Mr. Kahn, just cut to the chase and tell me what you’re leading up to. Why does this Wormwood want me dead, and what have my nightmares to do with anything?”
    “Wasn’t it the Bard who wrote, ‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy?’”
    Eve became conscious of her fingers biting deeply into the arm of the sofa, her knuckles blanching white with the pressure. She made a concerted effort to relax.
    “Well let me tell you;” he continued, “there are more things in this universe than you could ever possibly imagine. You need to consider the unthinkable, and all I ask is that you keep an open mind to what I’m about to tell you. Can you do that?”
    Eve hesitated. “I think so; yes”
    Emile sat forward, causing her to draw back. He held his hands up and settled into the armchair again.
    “When Eli Wormwood