Death Trance

Начало книги

I don't know when I fell asleep, but I was awakened by the sudden dimming of my bedside lamp.

'John,' whispered a voice. There was no mistaking whose voice it was. Croakily, I answered, 'Jane? Is that you?'

She gradually began to appear, standing at the foot of the bed. Thin, and sunken-eyed, her hair waving around her in some unfelt, unseen wind, her hands raised as if she were displaying the fact that she was dead but bore no stigmata. What frightened me most of all, though, was how tall she was. In those dim white robes, she stood nearly seven feet, her hair almost touching the ceiling, and she looked down at me with a serious and elongated face that sent dread soaking through me like the cold North Atlantic rain.

'Jane,' I said, in a constricted voice, 'you're not real. Jane, you're dead! You can't be here, you're dead!'

'John…' she sighed, and her voice sounded like four or five voices speaking at once. 'John… make love to me.'

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