A Stir of Echoes - By Richard Matheson Page 0,6

command to-oh, well, never mind, my wife doesn't like that kind of talk. Do you, Lizzie old girl?"

"He's always making fun of me," she answered with attempted lightness. Her smile was pale too.

"I hope you didn't give me any other post-hypnotic suggestions, you idiot," I said. Phil shook his head with a smile.

"Nope," he said, "that's all, brother man. It's over." Famous last words.
Chapter Three
THE PARTY BROKE UP ABOUT ONE. Until then we sat around the kitchen table drinking coffee and putting down Elsie's high-calorie cakes; talking about what had happened during the hypnosis. Apparently it had been a roaring success. I'd not only gone rigid between those chairs, I'd laughed like a crazy man over nothing. I'd cried like a baby over nothing. That is, over nothing visible. Of course I had something to laugh and cry over. Phil was feeding it to me.

And I shivered and chattered my teeth on an ice floe in the Arctic. I sweated and gasped for water as I lay on the blazing sands of the Sahara. I drank too much nonexistent whiskey-glass by glass-and got owl-eyed, silly drunk. I grew knotted up with fury, my face hard and red, my body shuddering with repressed hatred. I listened to a Rachmaninoff piano concerto played by Rachmaninoff himself and told everyone how beautiful, how magnificent it sounded. I held out my arm and Frank hung from it and Phil stuck straight pins into it.

A roaring success.

I guess we could have gone on all night talking about it. It isn't every day that such intriguing fare enters one's life. But we had two expectant mothers on our hands and they needed their rest. Besides which, I suspected Elsie got a little fed up after a while. It was too far removed from her scope to be more than passingly interesting.

Anne, Phil and I said good night to Frank and Elizabeth after we'd left Elsie's house and they went across Tulley Street to their house as we went to ours.

There was a half hour or so of mute-voiced preparation for bed. I got the army cot out of the closet in Richard's room and unfolded it while Anne got bedding from the hall closet. Phil made up the cot and then we all got into our pajamas, washed our faces, brushed our teeth, said our good-night words and retired.

I couldn't sleep.

I lay beside Anne, staring at the ceiling. There were springs in my eyes. If I shut them they jumped open again. I kept staring at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the night-the rustle of a breeze-stirred bush outside the window, the creak of the mattress as Anne moved a little, the faint crackling settle of the house; up the street, a dog barking briefly at some imagined foe, then relapsing into sleep.

I swallowed dryly and sighed. I turned on my side and stared at the dark bulk of the bureau.

"What's the matter?" Anne asked, softly.

"Oh... can't sleep," I answered.

"You sick?"

"No. Too much coffee, I guess."

"Oh. You shouldn't drink it at night."

"I know. Well... you go to sleep, sweetheart. I'll be all right."

"Okay." She sighed drowsily. "If you feel sick, wake me up, now," she said.

"I'm not sick." I leaned over and kissed her warm cheek. "Good night, little mother."

"Night."

She stretched out and I felt the warmth of her hip against mine. Then she was still except for the even sound of her breathing.

I lay there; waiting for something, it seemed. I just couldn't shut my eyes. I felt as I had at college after I'd spent about five hours at intense studying-my mind swimming with information and intelligences; turning over and over like a machine somebody forgot to turn off.

I rolled onto my side. Nothing. I turned on my back and closed my eyes. Sleep, I told myself. I had to grin in the darkness as I remembered Phil's earnest voice telling me to sleep, sleep. Well, by God, he'd succeeded. I couldn't needle him on that count. He'd really pulled a fast one. I would have laid odds he couldn't hypnotize me. But he did-and with not too much trouble either. As soon as I'd stopped razzing him and relaxed, it had happened.

I turned irritably onto my side again and punched at the pillow. I heard Anne mumble something and I clenched my teeth. I was going to wake her up again if I didn't stop this twisting and turning. Why was I so restless? I'd had coffee, yes, but not