"I have told you what she wants--what all these hybrid horrors raven for. She will reveal herself to you in time, and when her will is strong upon you in slumber, you will do her bidding. She will take you down into the deep, and show you the kraken-fouled gulfs where these things bide. You will go willingly, and that will be your doom. She may lure you to their feasts there--the feasts they hold upon the drowned things they find floating from wrecked ships. And you will live such madness in your sleep because she rules you. And then--then, when you have become weak enough, she will have her desire. The sea-thing will usurp your body and walk once more on earth. And you will go down into the darkness where once you dwelt in dreams, for ever. Unless I am mistaken, you have already seen enough to know that I speak truth. I think that this terrible moment is not so far off, and I warn you that alone you cannot hope to resist the evil. Only with the aid of your uncle and me----" Doctor Yamada stood up. He moved forward and confronted the dazed youth face to face. In a low voice he asked, "In your dreams--_has the thing kissed you_?" For a heart-beat there was utter silence. Dean opened his mouth to speak, and then a curious little warning note seemed to sound in his brain. It rose, like the quiet roaring of a conch-shell, and a vague nausea assailed him. Almost without volition he heard himself saying, "No." Dimly, as though from an incredibly far distance, he heard Yamada suck in his breath, as if surprized. Then the Japanese said, "That is good. Very good. Now listen: your uncle will be here soon. He has chartered a special plane. Will you be my guest until he arrives?" The room seemed to darken before Dean's eyes. The form of the Japanese was receding, dwindling. Through the window the surf-sound came crashing, and it rolled on in waves through Dean's brain. In its thunder a thin, insistent whispering penetrated. "Accept," it murmured. "Accept!" And Dean heard his own voice accept Yamada's invitation. He seemed incapable of coherent thought. That last dream haunted him ... and now Doctor Yamada's disturbing story ... he was ill--that was it!--very ill. He wanted very much to sleep, now. A flood of darkness seemed to wash up and engulf him. Gratefully he allowed it to sweep through his tired head. Nothing existed but the dark, and a restless lapping of unquiet waters. Yet he seemed to know, in an odd way, that he was still--some outer part of him--conscious. He strangely realized that he and Doctor Yamada had left the house, were entering a car, and driving a long way. He was--with that strange, external other self--talking casually to the doctor; entering his house in San Pedro; drinking; eating. And all the while his soul, his real being, was buried in waves of blackness.