Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 43 — page 25: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION level and steady by a deliberate effort. “Dreams, eh?’’ said the psychiatrist genially “What sort of dreams ?”’ This renewed parallel almost broke Michel. He felt a sud- den surge of that tremendous compulsion which sometimes accompanies the deja vu illu- sion—to break the sequence of “repeated’’ experiences as soon as possible. He felt impelled to explain, apologise, say, “I’m sorry, doctor, but I . dreamed about you last night, and seeing you now has given me a shock. The dream was so exact———”’ No. It was the same voice that had seemed to tell him to keep a grip on himself. No! That’s what he wants. . He wants you to admit it openly, give him a wedge with which to split your mind. As long as you don’t admit it, youre safe. Is he the psychiatrist? Is he behind the mask ? No. The _ psychiatrist is genuine. He picked this man as his mask in your dream last 24 night simply to make you afraid when you saw him in reality. Stop worrying. I'll help you stand the strain of déja vu. Who are you? Fool. Almost, he echoed that aloud. It could be no one but his own self. Maybe it was a sudden re-emergence of that sense sometimes called the sixth, given a false verba- lised expression because of the tremendous strain he had undergone these past few weeks. He steeled himself. “Nightmares,” said Michel aloud, every nerve screaming. ““Nightmares that make it so terrible to go to sleep that I don’t—three nights out of four.” When it was over, the relief left him like a wet rag. He said nothing about it to Quonsett, though—only made an appointment for full-scale analysis later on. Without really being conscious of what he was doing, he stumbled out of the house in Harley commcloooks.comnn