A Stir of Echoes by Richard Matheson

disconcerted sound. "I really don't think I'd care to take them back. Maybe we can mail them."
      "I threw them out," she said flatly and I felt a momentary burst of that protective hatred that had been in her the night before. I decided then that I'd have to concentrate on not anticipating her words. Her thoughts were coming too clearly now, too easily.
      "Did you give Elizabeth her comb?" I asked.
      Anne shook her head. "No. I forgot."
      "Oh."
     
      Silence a while. Then, as if it were the usual thing, I turned to Richard with a smile.
      "Did you baby?" I asked. "What was she-"
      Anne's fork crashed down on her plate.
    "Tom, he didn't say anything." Her voice was so restrained it shook.
      I stared at her a long time before looking down at my food.
      "Mama?" Richard asked. "What, mama?"
      "Eat your food, Richard," she said quietly.
      We ate in silence for a few minutes.
      "Oh, I… forgot to tell you," I said finally, "I'm not working tomorrow. I don't have to."
      Anne picked up her coffee cup without looking at me.
      "That's nice," she said.
      I jolted up with a rasping cry, my body alive with apprehension.
      Everything had suddenly been torn away; my life was only this moment of sudden waking and staring toward the living room where the woman was, waiting for me.
      Then I became conscious of Anne awake, looking at me in the darkness. She didn't speak. She didn't make a sound; but I knew the angry fear in her.
      Deliberately, ignoring every impulse screaming in my mind, I lay back and let breath trickle from my lungs, then lay there fighting the need to shiver violently. I clutched at the sheet with talon like ringers and closed my eyes tightly. My brain seemed lightninged with awareness, my body tense and sick with it. But I had to pretend it was nothing. I knew she was there, waiting.
      I don't know how long it was that I struggled against the pull of that woman. She was a living presence to me now. I actually hated her as I would hate another human being; hated her for being in there, for trying to drag me to herself with cords of icy demand.
      Only after a long while did I sense a breaking up of her power. Still I remained tense, ready to fight. Only when it had passed completely did I let my muscles go limp. I lay there, strengthless, knowing that Anne was still awake.
      I jolted again when the lamp clicked on.
      For a moment she said nothing; just looked at me without expression. There the resistance in her seemed to drain off. She looked at me more carefully.
      "You're soaking wet," she said.
      I looked at her speechlessly, feeling the cold drops trickle down across my cheeks.
      "Oh… Tom." She threw aside the covers and suddenly ran from the room. I heard her go into the bathroom, then she came back with a towel. Sitting quickly on the edge of the bed, she began patting my face. She didn't say anything.
      When she'd finished, she put down the towel and brushed back my damp hair with her fingers.
      "What am I doing to you?" she asked.
      "What?"
      "I should be helping you, not fighting you," she said.
      I must have looked very frightened and very hapless because she leaned over and pressed her cheek against mine.
      "Tom. Tom," she whispered, "I'm sorry, darling."
      After a few moments she kissed my cheek and sat up. I could tell from the obdurate expression on her face that she was going to try to face it fully and resolutely.
      "She-was in there again?" she asked.
      "Yes."
     
      "And… if you'd gone in," she said, "do you think you'd have seen her?"
      I drew in a deep breath and let it flutter out.
      "I don't know," I said. "I just don't know."
      "You're sure she exists, though," she said, "I mean-"
      "She exists." I knew she had been about to ask me if I was sure the woman didn't exist in my mind only. "I don't know who she is or what she wants here but… she exists." I swallowed. "Or