The Black Door Read Online Free

at least now I can see the problem. Maybe you should buy a full-page ad and explain your position. A full-page ad in the Dispatch, for instance.”
    I managed a smile. A waitress began pointedly clearing the table, but Kanter ignored her.
    “You once mentioned other experiences with clairvoyance. What were they?”
    “Well, the first really specific experience came when I was twelve. We’d gone on a weekend camping trip, my parents, myself and my brother and sister. My brother was fourteen, and my sister was eight. The second day, the three of us kids were playing in a small river near our campsite. My brother and I had made a raft out of logs, and were very much occupied with the project even though my parents had told us, specifically, to keep an eye on Kathy. Suddenly we realized she was missing. And, in that same instant, I realized that I was running as fast as I could—away from my brother, and upstream. I—I’ll never forget the next few seconds as long as I live. There was a turn in the river, maybe fifty yards upstream, and that’s where I was heading. When I got there and could look around a projection in the riverbank, I saw Kathy floating face down in the water. It was the—the most terrible—” I shook my head.
    “Was she all right?”
    I nodded. “Thanks to my brother, she was all right. He knew artificial respiration.”
    Kanter exhaled. “A happy ending.”
    “Yes.” I paused, collecting myself. Whenever I told the story, I inevitably felt drained. The image of Kathy floating face down often troubled my sleep.
    “What were the other experiences?”
    I shrugged. “They weren’t as dramatic to me as finding Kathy. One concerned a suicide. My father owned a hardware store, right here in San Francisco. He still owns it, in fact. Well, one Saturday I was working in the store. I was maybe fifteen at the time. A man came in the store and bought a quart of turpentine. I’d never seen him before; as far as I know, he was a perfect stranger. But, just as I took his money, I had this—this terribly clear vision of the man lying dead in a pool of his own blood. He—somehow I knew he’d killed himself. And—” I cleared my throat. “And sure enough, that night he committed suicide.”
    “Are you sure it was the same man?”
    “Positive. My parents knew him, as it turned out. They knew he’d been in the store during the afternoon. They even knew what he’d bought; they’d heard from his wife.”
    “Did you tell your parents about the vision?”
    I shook my head. “No, I didn’t tell anyone.”
    “Why not?”
    “I was ashamed. Frightened, almost. No one likes to feel that he’s different; not really. Besides, I was always very close to my father. And Dad, for some reason, always poked fun at gypsies, and fortunetelling, and séances. He’s the kind of man who normally doesn’t make fun of people or their beliefs. But, for some reason, he was down on mysticism. He dislikes any kind of superstition, and he thinks the two go together. Which, of course, they often do.”
    “How’s he feel about your, ah, current exploits?”
    “We very seldom talk about it. I’m afraid Dad thinks it’s all a publicity gimmick.”
    “It should’ve made a believer of him, though, when you found your sister.”
    “No, it didn’t. Because, even then—even at that first experience—my instinct was to conceal it. I was ashamed, as I said. It’s something I still feel. Intellectually, everything I’ve ever learned or believed contradicts ESP. But it just happens to me. I’m stuck with it.”
    “These, ah, visions,” Kanter said slowly, “seem to be concerned with tragedy.”
    “That’s quite common in ESP. One theory is that everyone, clairvoyant or not, is constantly receiving impressions at the subconscious level, but that only the strongest impressions penetrate up through the consciousness. Clairvoyants, according to some authorities, simply have a clearer channel to their