Nightmare

As the echo of Doom's words were swallowed by the mists of limbo, one of the assembled stepped forward. Tall, pale, and thin, with a shock of dark hair. Green and black were his colors, yet that was not the strangest thing about him. There was something about the dark eyes that triggered a faint recognition in everyone present, a maddening sense of having seen him before...not in this waking world, but in sleep, in their darkest dreams, those same eyes watched them as they suffered through their most personal horrors.

Only Doctor Doom met Nightmare's eyes. For the monarch of Latveria was a master of sorcery as well as science, and he had dealings with the lord of the dream dimension of old. Perhaps that is why he had invited Nightmare here...for the figure was more than another demon or petty sorcerer-lord. He was a Fear Lord, a Lord of Chaos, yet independent from the powers of Hell or Limbo.

"Hail, Doom," Nightmare spoke, and his voice was as the whisper of some many-legged thing on a floor in the dark, and an echo of Edgar Allan Poe, Aleister Crowley, and H. P. Lovecraft. "I have the scheme wherein your victory over the mortal wench lies."

"Nightmare. I warn you, dreamlord, that your traditional tricks are too obvious. The Fantastic Four have the Sorcerer Supreme as their ally, and in times past the witch Agatha Harkness has been under their protection as well. While you may well slip past Reed Richard's defenses, any hint of supernatural **** will be discovered quickly—and be easily countered."

The pale figure's mouth parted in a grisly smile. Something seemed to crawl in the dark shadows of his mouth, like some serpent that sought escape.

"You are correct, Victor von Doom," Nightmare said. "But my plan is more subtle than that. Master I am of nightmares—but what is a nightmare? What is fear, except a state of excitement, so closely allied to sexual excitement as to be indistinguishable? Millions of men and women give themselves over to horror movies for the sheer thrill; their terror is mixed and mingled with titillation, and the two blend so much one into another that where the erotic urge begins and where their paralysis of fear ends is as one to them."

Nightmare drew close. Without changing height, he seemed to loom over Doom, and the light outside their vicinity dimmed.

"Plus, I know Sue Storm of old. I know her hidden pleasures, the ones she dare not acknowledge or speak of. I know her dark side, and the name she had given to all thsoe parts of her she has long locked away—"

"Malice," Doom said, with interest. He knew of Sue Storm's alter ego—and had long suspected it of being some splinter of her psyche, broken off by the manipulations of many villains.

"Even so," Nightmare nodded. "It has long been through of as a separate personality—but Susan Storm is not so disturbed. It is the expression of all those impulses and desires she has repressed. Long has Malice been dormant, and yet she might serve our needs. With subtle dreams that Sue Storm dare not speak of, I can allow her to indulge that sexuality that she has ignored and denied. Until she comes to embrace it...embrace Malice...and then will your designs be fulfilled."

Doom's metal fingers scraped the chin of his mask. By himself, Nightmare might fail at this task—but with Doom's guidance, and some efforts to mislead any mystics who might otherwise aid the Fantastic Four, it was at least possible...

"Very well, dreamlord," Doom said. "We will try your nocturnal ****. What dream shall you send to Susan Storm first?

Midnight in the Baxter Building. Sue Storm slept alone in the master bed. In the lab, Reed Richards peered into uncanny vistas through a device he had designed himself. In their bedroom, the children slumbered. The walls vibrated as Ben Grimm snored, but the soundproofing held...which was just as well, as Johnny Storm was up late, entertaining his latest guest, who would be out of the building long before dawn.

Sue Storm slept alone in the bed. There was no-one there to see her kick off the covers, her long, toned legs bare in the moonlight that came through the window. No-one to see her nightie drenched in sweat so that it clung to her trim athletic body. Or to hear the gasp that came from her lips as her eyes shifted behind their lids, to stare wildly at a sight only she could see.