A Stir of Echoes - By Richard Matheson Page 0,3

anything," he said.

"You mean we're going through all this for nothing?" Elsie asked.

"Some people are harder to hypnotize than others, that's all," Phil said. "I don't know about Tom. But you, for instance, Elsie, would be a good subject, I'm sure."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Elsie said. "You just hypnotize your brother-in-law." Phil turned back to me.

"All right, brother man, you ready?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Cagliostro."

Phil pointed at me. "You just watch out," he said, "I have a feeling you're going to be a good subject."

"That's me," I said.

"Okay." Phil shifted in his chair. "Now everybody get quiet, please. Any distraction will break it up until the actual hypnosis takes place." He leaned forward and held out his forefinger again.

"Look at it," he said to me.

"Fine looking finger," I said. Frank snickered.

"Quiet, please," Phil said. He held the finger about six inches from my eyes. "Look at it," he said.

"Keep looking at it. Don't look at anything else, just my finger."

"Why, what's it gonna do?" I asked.

"Poke you right in the eye if you don't fermez your big fat bouche." Phil jabbed the finger at me and I shut my eyes instinctively.

"All right," Phil said, "open 'em up. Let's try again."

"Yes, sir," I said.

"Now look at the finger. Just the finger. Don't look at anything else. Keep looking at the finger, the finger. I don't want you to look at anything but the finger."

"Your nail is dirty," I said.

Everybody laughed. Phil sank back in his chair with a grimace and pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes.

"Like I said," he said, "a lousy subject."

He looked over at Elsie.

"How about it?" he said. "I'm sure I could hypnotize you."

"Uh-uh." Elsie shook her close-cropped head vigorously.

"Let him try, Elsie," Ron said.

"No-o." Elsie glared at him as if he'd suggested something vile.

"Come on, champ," I said to Phil, "let's put me under now."

"You gonna play it straight," he asked, "or you gonna play it for the gallery?"

"I'll be good, sir, Mr. Mesmer, sir."

"You will like..." Phil leaned forward again, then settled back. "Well, let's forget the finger," he said.

"Close your eyes."

"Close my eyes," I said. I did.

"Dark, isn't it?" said Frank.

I opened my eyes. "Not now," I said.

"Will you close your eyes, you clunk," Phil said. I did. I took a deep breath and settled back on the pillow. I could hear the slight breathings and chair-creaking's of the others.

"All right," said Phil, "I want you to listen to me now." I pretended to snore. I heard Elsie's explosive giggle; then I opened my eyes and looked at Phil's disgusted face.

"All right, all right," I promised, "I'll be good." I closed my eyes. "Go ahead," I said, "I'll be good."

"Honest Indian?" Phil enunciated.

"That's pretty strong language to use in the company of these fine women," I said. "However, honest, as you say, Indian."

"All right. Shut your eyes then, you bum."

"Now that's a poor way to win my confidence," I said. "How am I supposed to venerate you when you talk to me like that? Alan Porter doesn't-"

"Will you shut your fat eyes?" Phil interrupted.

"Shut. Shut," I said. "You may fire when griddy, Redley." Phil took a deep and weary breath. "Oh, well," he said. Then he started talking again.

"I want you to pretend you're in a theatre," he said. "An enormous theatre. You're sitting near the front. It's completely black inside."

Across the room I heard Elizabeth's slight, apologetic throat-clearing.

"There's no light in the theatre," Phil went on. "It's completely dark-like black velvet. The walls are covered with black velvet. The seats are all made of black velvet."

"Expensive," I said.

They all laughed. "Oh... shoot," Phil said. I opened my eyes and grinned at him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I said.

"Oh... the heck you are."

"Yes, I am. I am." I closed my eyes tight. "See? See? I'm back in the theatre again. I'm in the loges. What's playing?"

"You are a son of a b," said Phil.

"Sir," I said, "control. Go ahead. If I don't stay quiet, I give you permission to hit me on the head."

"Don't think I won't," Phil said. "Someone hand me that lamp." He was quiet a moment. Then he said,

"You really want to go on with it?"

"Brother man," I said.

"You..." Phil cleared his throat. "All right," he said, patiently. I won't go into the complete progression; it took too long. It's hard to get serious when you're in a group like that. Especially when Phil and I were so used to heckling each other. I'm afraid I broke up many