Dead of Night Page #4

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some sort of a game?

Well, not exactly a game,

my dear.

Mr Craig has been dreaming

about you for years.

Not only you darling, all of us.

Come upstairs and take your things off.

It's all perfectly simple really.

- Just like your husband's hearse.

- Oh?

I don't mean his hearse,

I mean the one he saw

when he was in your nursing home.

Or the one Dr Van Straaten said

he didn't see.

Oh, dear,

I think I'd better start again.

Mr Craig has been having

the most frightful dreams...

Penniless brunette

laid on according to plan.

- How's that for evidence, Doctor?

- You'll say it's a pure coincidence.

- You can't say that, Doctor.

- The odds are a million to one against.

I am a little indignant.

I am driven to the conclusion it's all part

of a very carefully prearranged plan.

An extraordinarily elaborate

practical joke at my expense.

- Oh, really!

- You think we cooked the whole thing up?

As an explanation, it's not any more

farfetched than Mr Craig's.

The jokes on me, too,

for I didn't know anything about it.

A funny sort of practical joke.

It isn't funny.

What conceivable motive do you

think we possibly could've had?

No doubt you thought

it would be very amusing

to watch my cherished disbeliefs

being shattered.

Very clever of us, I must say.

I wonder if we have any more

surprises up our sleeves?

- That's it! Your glasses.

- What about my glasses?

It's later on,

we're having drinks,

you break those glasses of yours,

and then, quite suddenly,

the room goes dark.

Then, Foley, you say something,

something about the death of a man

I've never heard of.

And that's where my dream

becomes a nightmare,

a nightmare of horror.

Horror? What sort of horror?

I feel my will power draining away.

I feel I'm in the grip of a force

that's driving me

towards something unspeakably evil.

It shows that you have some heavy

weight on your conscience.

Now, in my opinion...

I'm no longer interested

in your opinion, Doctor.

You shook me at first

with your ingenious theories.

I thought perhaps

the whole thing was a delusion.

But Mrs Grainger's arrival

has altered all that.

I have been here before

in my dream.

For some reason, I was given

foreknowledge of the future.

Why? I don't know.

I want to know. I must know.

Sally, dear, I think perhaps it's time

you were going off home now.

Mother means she wouldn't want

your infant mind warped, my pretty.

I'm sorry, Sally. I didn't mean

my fear to frighten you.

It's all right, Mr Craig, it didn't.

All the same, I'll go, if you like.

But it seems rather silly to me,

considering I've had some myself.

- Some what?

- Subconscious thingamajigs.

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