He was dreaming again.

No, that would be grossly understating the hopelessness of his present situation. It was a recurring nightmare!

Professor Elizabeth Adams and Doctor Richard Barker, both key scientists at the privately-financed Dream Analysis Research Centre, looked down with sympathy and intrigue at the thirty year old man reclined on the couch. His features were pale and gaunt; a fixed haunted expression upon his face.

Doctor Barker, a young bearded man with bright blue eyes, turned away to make some notes. Everything had to be logged exactly when and how it happened for an accurate final diagnosis of cause and effect to be possible. He took his position very seriously and was a positive stickler for details. He checked that the electrode sensor pads were securely fastened to the head and chest regions, then stood back to show that his checks were complete.

"All set, Richard?" Professor Adams, an elderly woman with a stern face but kind and professional manner, made some minute final adjustments to the machinery that all but surrounded their subject. She had used a mild tranquilliser, as the conditions were far from ideal to expect him to slip into slumber naturally.

Richard nodded once. "Ready, Prof."

Elizabeth scowled at the abbreviation of her title, but said nothing. "Don't miss a thing," she instructed, unnecessarily.

The needle registering brain wave activity jerked violently. The subject was entering the REM (Rapid Eye Movement) level of sleep, which indicated that the nightmare had begun.



George Summers was standing in a cave. It smelt dank and musty, like a cave which the sea entered regularly. It was dark and nondescript, except for a small passageway which led off from the rear. Something in the depths of his subconscious told him to run. He obeyed, quickly increasing his speed as panic ensued.

Before he knew it George was sprinting, as if the very Devil were on his tail. Eventually, after running for more than a mile along the featureless passageway, exhaustion brought him to a reluctant halt. He doubled over, breathing heavily. Then a sudden realisation occurred to him: it would not be safe to remain in one place for too long; in this strange place he was more than vulnerable. He began walking, gradually increasing his pace until he was jogging once more. Frequently he glanced with nervous apprehension over a shoulder; he felt certain that something was pursuing stealthily.

Then, abruptly, the passageway ended. On the blocking wall was a single large mirror. He studied the uncontrolled panic on his pale, hawk-nosed face and caught a glimpse of his disarrayed dark hair, as he sped towards himself. He juddered to a halt before the mirror. Here he began to whimper childishly...

He was trapped!

George Summers whirled around to confront his silent nemesis, but the passageway had vanished. Instead he found himself in a bare room only four feet square. Hundreds of various-sized mirrors covered the walls. Searching for an escape, he realised there was none. In despair he tried to climb the walls. It was hopeless; they were much too smooth and slippery. He just couldn't get a grip.

Now claustrophobia descended upon him.

Feeling desperate, he hammered on the mirrors, rebounding from the four walls like a trapped bluebottle.

George stopped as the room was plunged into darkness. But this wasn't normal darkness where, when the eyes are adjusted, there is always something at least discernible; no, this was an all concealing darkness. He wasn't even sure that he was still situated within the small room. There was one surefire way of telling, but presently he was far too terrified to even move. The pitch-darkness seemed to press forcibly against him, until it was encroaching upon his very soul.

As it was impossible to see at all, he strained his ears. But all he could hear was the deafening beat of his heart. He attempted to calm himself by inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, and was only partially successful. It was then that he felt the presence.

It was barely detectable, but it was there all the same. There was no mistaking the change in atmosphere. He stood rigid with fear. His mind cried out for him to run - to be away from this unrecognizable menace, however, his legs refused to obey the command. He sensed the presence edging steadily closer, until he felt the icy-cold, feather-light touch on his cheek.

It was then that he screamed.



A minutely hopeful George was sent home with the understanding that he would be contacted the moment the professor and the doctor had fully analysed the results of his tests. He continued to endure the same nightmare. Whereas it had originally been random, it was now experienced nightly.

A week later George was invited back to the D.A.R.C. He was welcomed by Doctor Barker and then led to the same area as he had visited before. It was here that the exhaustive tests had been conducted. Professor Elizabeth Adams awaited him, shaking him by the hand as he entered.

"Hello, Mr Summers. We've made a few conclusions from the results of your tests. When I explain, you will find that much of it is pure conjecture. But it is based on your reactions to each separate event within the dream. Are you still experiencing the dream?"

"Every night," replied George, grimly.

"Hmm," was the professor's reaction. "Richard?"

"I will run through each event and relay its specific meaning."

The professor was happy to allow him this pleasure, as she had reached the majority of the conclusions herself.

George merely nodded his assent.

"We discovered no direct connection between your background and the nightmare," began the doctor. But we were particularly interested by the presence of the mirrors. We believe that being closed in on all sides by mirrors means that the heart of the problem is with yourself and not any outside occurrence with which you are related.

"The unseen presence in the darkened room could relate to any number of theories. One is that you have made a decision which conflicts strongly with your conscience - a guilty conscience. A more plausible answer is that your subconscious is attempting to show or explain something which would otherwise never be realised." The doctor glanced at the professor, and she continued the explanation.

"Are you aware, Mr Summers, of the fact that even the most intelligent individual in the history of mankind would not have filled one-third of his/her brain capacity in a lifetime?"

"I have heard it said," answered George, wondering what connection it could possibly have with him. He ran a hand through his unkempt dark hair with undisguised weariness.

"Allow me to use the simile of a role-playing game to describe the stages of learning. In Dungeons and Dragons there are levels gained through experience. The levels of the mind are barriers, and it is possible that your subconscious could be showing you the way to break through to the next.

"The intelligence of man is considerably more complicated than it seems to be. Many scientists - us included - believe that talents such as telekinesis, telepathy and psychic ability are inherent within us all; only we do not understand how to seek them out and utilise them to the best of our interests, even though the knowledge has always been with us. Eventually, over a period of many generations, the remainder of the brain capacity will be utilised.

"Your subconscious could well be attempting to inform you of one of those talents. There is no valid reason why the most intelligent individual should realise those talents first. You are required to carry the nightmare to its conclusion to enable you to fully understand the message. If you are successful it could cause a Domino-Effect, and you could double the used capacity of your brain. Although it is extremely unlikely, you could even fill it in your lifetime. As we have already explained, all of this is pure conjecture; we could be totally mistaken. The key is the conclusion of your dream.

"There is nothing else that we can do at this time. I suggest that you return home and carry on as before, and inform us of any further developments."



At length George did return home. But there were no further developments.

He tried to return to his normal daily activities, but his thoughts plagued his progress. For the first two nights he found it impossible to sleep. He would lay awake, his mind in turmoil, too active with the words of the professor. On the third night he finally found slumber through sheer exhaustion.

Rising early the following morning, George felt a great sense of relief, as if the troubles of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Initially confused, he then realised that he had been spared the anguish of the nightmare. However, he wasn't as grateful as he should have been, and wondered why. Then he remembered that the professor had required him to carry the nightmare to its conclusion, and this was the first night for weeks that he had not been subjected to it.

He was spared the next night, too - and several nights after that. In fact, weeks ran into months, which then went into years. He was never to have the dream again. He should have been happy, but now he would never know what mental talents he could have been gifted with.

By seeking help and advice and receiving likely explanations for his dreams, explained to him by the professor, he had unwittingly dashed all hopes of - perhaps - becoming the first Three-Thirds Man.

END