Richard Matheson - What Dreams May Come

We started to walk again. “Are you glad you came?” she asked.

“Yeah; it’s beautiful here,” I said. I’d been dubious about taking four young children camping; but then I’d never gone camping as a child so I had nothing to judge by. “I think it’s working out great,” I said. I didn’t know it then but Ann’s desire to camp-notwithstanding her anxiety about trying anything new at a time of such mental stress-was to open up a world of lovely experience not only for me but for the children as well.

Continuing on, we reached a spot where the path divided. At the head of the right path was a sign that warned hikers not to go that way.

Ann looked at me with her “wicked little girl” expression. “Let’s go that way,” she said, drawing me toward the path on the right.

“But it says not to go that way,” I told her. Playing the game.

“C’mon,” she urged.

“You want a dying redwood tree to land on our heads?” I asked.

“We’ll run if one starts to fall,” she said.

“Oh . . .” I clucked and shook my head. “Miz Annie, you-is- bad ,” I said, doing my Hattie McDaniel from Gone With the Wind .

“Uh-huh.” She nodded in agreement, pulling me toward the right hand path.

“You’re a poor excuse for a forest ranger,” I told her.

Moments later, we reached a rock slope which declined to the edge of a cliff some fifteen yards away. “See?” I told her, trying not to smile.

“Okay, we’ll go back now,” she said. She repressed a smile. “At least we know why we weren’t supposed to come here.”

I gazed at her with mock severity. “You’re always taking me where I’m not supposed to go,” I said.

She nodded in pleased agreement. “That’s my job; to bring adventure into your life.”

We started across the top of the slope, heading back toward the other path. The surface of the rock was slick with a layer of dry needles so we walked in single file, me behind.

Ann had only gone a few yards when she lost her footing and fell on her left side. I started toward her and slipped myself, tried to get up but couldn’t. I began to laugh.

“Chris.”

Her urgent tone made me look toward her quickly. She was starting to slide down the decline, each movement she made to stop herself making her slide further.

“Don’t move,” I said. My heart was pounding suddenly. “Spread your arms and legs out wide.”

“Chris . . .” Her voice trembled as she tried to do what I said and slipped even further. “Oh, my God,” she murmured, frightenedly.

“Don’t move at all,” I told her.

She did as I said and her backward slide was almost checked. I struggled clumsily to my feet. I couldn’t reach her with my hand. And if I tried to crawl where she was, both of us would slide toward the edge.

I slipped and fell to one knee, hissing at the pain. Then, carefully, I crawled to the top of the slope, speaking as I went. “Don’t move now, just don’t move,” I said. “It’s going to be all right. Don’t be afraid now.”

Suddenly, it all came back. This had already happened . I felt a rush of intense relief. I’d find a fallen branch, extend it down to her and pull her to safety. I’d hold her in my arms and kiss her and she’d be-

“Chris!”

Her cry made me whirl. Aghast, I watched her sliding toward the edge.

Forgetting everything in panic, I dived down the slope, skidding toward her, looking at her dread-whitened face as she slid backward. “Chris, save me,” she pleaded. “Save me. Please. Chris! ”

I cried out in horror as she disappeared across the edge and vanished from sight. Her shriek was terrible. “Ann!” I screamed.

I jolted awake, my heartbeat racing; sat up quickly and looked around.

Katie was standing beside the sofa, wagging her tail and looking at me in a way which I could only interpret as concerned. I put my hand on her head. “Okay, okay,” I murmured. “A dream. I had a dream.”

Somehow, I felt she understood what I was saying.

I put my right palm to my chest and felt the heavy pulsing of my heart. Why had I had that dream? I wondered. And why had it ended so differently from what had really happened? The question harrowed me and I sat up, looking around, then called Albert’s name.

I started with surprise as instantly-and, Robert, I mean instantly -he walked into the room. He smiled at my reaction, then, looking closer, saw I was disturbed and asked what was wrong.

I told him about the dream and asked what it meant.

“It was probably some symbolic ‘leftover,’ ” he said.

“I hope I don’t have any more,” I told him, shuddering.

“They’ll pass,” he reassured me.

Remembering Katie standing by me when I woke, I mentioned it to Albert. “I have the strangest impression that she understands what I say and feel,” I said.

“There’s understanding there,” he replied, bending over to stroke her head. “Isn’t there, Katie?”

She wagged her tail, looking into his eyes.

I forced a smile. “When you said think of you and you’d be here, you weren’t kidding.”

He smiled as he straightened up. “That’s how it is here,” he told me. “When you want to see someone, you have only to think about them and they’re with you. If they wish to be, of course; as I wished to be with you. We always did have a kinship. Even though we were years apart, we were on the same wave length, so to speak.”

I blinked in startlement. “Say that again?” I asked.

He did and I’m sure my mouth fell open. “Your lips aren’t moving,” I said.

He laughed at my expression.

“How come I didn’t notice that before?”

“I wasn’t doing it before,” he told me. Lips unmoving.

I stared at him, dumbfounded. “How can I hear your voice when you’re not talking?” I asked.

“The same way I hear yours.”

“ My lips aren’t moving either? ”

“We’re conversing with our minds,” he answered.

“That’s incredible,” I said. I thought I said.

“Actually, to speak aloud is rather difficult here,” he told me. “But most newcomers don’t realize, for quite a while, that they aren’t using their voices.”

“Incredible,” I repeated.

“Yet how efficient,” he said. “Language is more a barrier to understanding than an aid. Also, we’re able, through thought, to communicate in any language without the need of an interpreter. Moreover, we’re not confined to words and sentences. Communication can be enhanced by flashes of pure thought.

“Now,” he continued, “I’ve been wearing this outfit so you wouldn’t be taken back by my appearance. If you don’t object, I’ll return to my natural garb.”

I had no idea what he meant.

“All right?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said. “I don’t know what-”

It had to have happened while I blinked. Albert wasn’t wearing the white shirt and trousers any longer. Instead, he wore a robe the color of which matched the radiation around him. It was full-length, hanging in graceful folds, a gold sash at its waist. I noted that his feet were bare.

“There,” he said. “I feel more comfortable.”

I stared at him-a little impolitely, I’m afraid. “Do I have to wear one too?” I asked.

“Not at all,” he said. I don’t know what my expression was but it obviously amused him. “The choice is yours. Whatever you prefer.”

I looked down at myself. It was a little odd, I had to admit, to see the same clothes I’d been wearing the night of the accident. Still, I couldn’t see myself in a robe. It seemed a bit too “spiritual” for me.

“And now ,” Albert said, “perhaps you’d like to take a more extensive look at where you are.”