Evil Dreams Read Online Free PDF

narrative manner in which he related the details. Despite her initial fright, she believed him when he said that it never bothered him and shouldn’t be a source of worry.
    “Lots of people have dumb dreams that occur on a regular basis,” he had said, chuckling.
    Because she loved him so much and felt his love in return, she had dismissed the incident. But each time it happened, she became more concerned, until now it had given her an instinctive feeling of impending dire consequences if the nightmare were allowed to continue unchecked.
    At least he had consented to the first appointment and now, one week later, they knew it was not caused by something physical or organic. At least the tests gave her hope that the dream could not harm her husband bodily. Perhaps it was nothing to be concerned about and the psychiatrist would give him a clean bill of mental health to go along with the other results.
    The mantel clock in the living room struck the half hour past four and she finished tossing the salad. If the baked potatoes were to be done on time, she’d have to put them in the oven now.
    A sudden chill swept over her. Please, God, don’t let anything happen to him, she awkwardly prayed to herself.
    At five-fifteen, the front door swung open and Jon strode in.
    Looking up from the table where she had just lighted two candles, Trina said, “Hi, darling.”
    Closing the door, he answered simply, “Hi.”
    “How was it?” she asked, crossing the room to greet him more intimately. She kissed him deeply, wrapping her arms about him. Her tongue demandingly darted in and out of his mouth, eloquently hinting of the evening and weekend she had planned.
    He returned the kiss with equal ardor, smiling when they parted. “If that’s the kind of welcome I get when I come home from the shrink, I think I’ll ask if he wants to see me every day.”
    “So, how was it?” she repeated, leaving the room for the small kitchen.
    “I suppose it could have been a lot worse than it actually was,” he began, and told her about the meeting while she finished preparing their meal.
    When he finished, she slid the two steaks from the broiler. “When do you see him again?”
    “A week from Monday, the seventh of May.”
    She left the room with the plates, her husband following closely. “That’s it? No other comment or questions?”
    “What’s there to say?” She returned to the kitchen for the wine and poured the crimson liquid into tulip shaped glasses already on the table. Looking up, she found him scowling. “What’s the matter, darling?”
    “Get rid of that wine! You should know better!” His guttural voice sliced the air separating them.
    She stared at him. “What should I know better?” she asked quietly.
    “I don’t drink wine!” He growled the words in a voice Trina barely recognized.
    “You don’t drink—! Since when?” she demanded, a puzzled frown creasing her forehead.
    “I never have. Oh, maybe an occasional glass, years ago when I was a youth. I know better now. It’s not good for a person—especially me. I must be careful of what I take in the form of food and drink. I may even stop eating meat altogether.” His face contorted, a satisfied grimace twisting his features. “It could,” he continued, “affect my decisions … my ability as a leader … I mean, my powers of concentration … my creative abilities.”
    “Jon Ward!” Trina said sharply. “This is your own choice! Your favorite Beaujolais. You’ve always liked it.”
    His eyes glowing like coals, he said nothing, as if waiting for her to wilt under the pressure of his stare.
    She returned his baleful look with one of bewilderment and curiosity. What could be wrong? Hadn’t he always preferred this wine? Lowering her eyes to the table, she reached for the glasses. It would be senseless to argue over something so foolish. What he had said was totally out of character for him, but not worth an argument.
    “Hey,” he said quickly as