A Stir of Echoes by Richard Matheson

By Richard Matheson

Tom Wallace lived a typical lifestyles, until eventually an opportunity occasion woke up psychic skills he by no means knew he possessed. Now he's listening to the personal strategies of the folk round him-and studying surprising secrets and techniques he by no means desired to comprehend. yet as Tom's life turns into a waking nightmare, even higher jolts are in shop as he turns into the unwilling recipient of a compelling message from past the grave!

This eerie ghost tale, via award-winning writer of Hell House and I Am Legend, encouraged the acclaimed 1999 movie starring Kevin Bacon.

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Extra resources for A Stir of Echoes

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Bobby Richards was talking to me. He hadn’t called me a freak. No, he’d asked me out. Unbelievable. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. ” he prompted hopefully. ” “Yeah. ” “Good one. ” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “My parents will be out of town. ” Tell him no. You refuse to play along, remember? “I don’t know,” I found myself saying instead. ” His voice dipped low with suggestion and promise. ” The butterflies’ dance became frantic. “Mr. Richards,” Mrs. Collins admonished.

He and Mercedes have –” Wait. Most likely here, in this messedup reality, they haven’t. “I seriously doubt someone like Bobby would date someone like Mer… cedes,” he finished lamely. He pressed his lips together, as if he realized he’d said something wrong and wanted to snatch back his words. My entire body stiffened. Yesterday I’d been the “someone like Mercedes”. I’d been the outcast, the girl everyone hated. Had Clarik thought that about me yesterday? That I wasn’t good enough for Bobby? Wasn’t good enough for him?

He remembered. I almost grinned. ” His smile grew wider. ), and I slid inside. Foam protruded from a myriad of cracks, scratching my skin. I didn’t care. Scratches were the least of my worries. ” I asked when he eased into his seat. ” Relaxing, I buckled up and settled into the lumpy cushion. Clarik smelled good, like soap and a hint of motor oil. I could feel the heat of his skin, could even hear the sound of his soft inhalations. I’d never been this hyperaware of a boy before. Part of the game, perhaps?

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