 Tired of the everyday routine? Ever dream of a life of romantic adventure? Want to get away from it all? We offer you escape. Escape. Designed to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. Tonight we escape to a lonely lighthouse of the steaming jungle coast of French Guiana and a nightmare world of terror and violence. As George Tuduz describes it in his hair-raising tale, Three Skeleton Key. Picture this place. A gray tapering cylinder, welded by iron rods and concrete to the key itself. A bare black rock, 150 feet long, maybe 40 wide. That's at low tide. At high tide, just the light. Rising 110 feet straight up out of the ocean. And all about it, the churning water. Gray, green, scum dabbled, warm as soup, and swarming with gigantic bat-like devil fish, great violet schools of Portuguese Manowar, and yes, sharks. The big ones, the 15-footers. And as if this wasn't enough, there was a hot, dank, rotten-smelling wind that came at us day and night off the jungle swamps of the mainland. A wind that smelled like death. Set in the base of the light was a watertight bronze door. And in you went. Yes, up and up and round and round, past the tanks of oil and the coils of rope, cases of wicks, racks of lanterns, sacks of spuds, and cartons and cans. And up and up, round and round. Over the light storeroom was the food storeroom. And over the food storeroom was the bunk room, where the three of us slept. And over the bunk room was the living and cooking room. And over the living and cooking room was the light. She was a beauty, balanced like a ballerina on the glistening steel axle of her rotary mechanism. At night you'd lie there on the stone deck of the gallery with the light revolving smoothly and quietly over your head, easing her bright white eye 360 degrees around the horizon. You'd lie there watching to see that the feeders kept working, that everything ran right. It wouldn't be bad. The other two fellows snoring in their sacks two levels down. You'd smoke your pipe to kill the stink of the wind. And it wouldn't be bad. About those other two, Louis and Auguste, what a pair. Louis, he was headman. He was a big fellow from the Basque country. Black beard, little hard black eyes, and a pair of arms that, I'll tell you those arms were as big around as my legs. Yes, headman he was. And what word he let go was law. Silent fellow, and although I spent my first two weeks trying to strike up a real conversation, the most I could ever get out of him was... I took up this profession because I don't like people. They talk too much. It's quiet work, like tending. Let's keep it that way. You're getting to be as bad as Auguste. I thought maybe for once they'd send me somebody. That was Louis. And when he accused me of becoming like Auguste, I quieted down because Auguste was the talkingest man I've ever met, the talkingest and the ugliest. He was hunchbacked, stood four feet high, had red hair and big blue eyes. It seems he'd been an actor in Paris. Over 200 different productions, dear boy, at the Grand Guignol. But it was monstrous, horrible, the way we used to scare the audience. I was hated. Yes, yes, they used to throw things and his and bad their teeth at me. Finally it got too bad. I couldn't stand it any longer. I gave up the theater. My nerves, you understand. Yes, gave it up completely. I really did. I couldn't. It all started one morning at 2.30. I was on watch, lying on a cool stone deck, pulling on my pipe, staring out at the blackness, the phosphorescent comers and the big yellow stars. When, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something show up for a second, something the light had touched, far off. I waited for her to come around again, and when she did, there it was. A three master, a big one, about a half mile off and coming down out of the north-northwest, straight for us. You must understand, our light was where it was for a very good reason. Dangerous submerged reefs surrounded us and ships kept clear. But this one, this sailing vessel, was coming straight on. I went over to the gallery door and yelled down. I had the glasses out now. I couldn't read her name, but I could see her quite plainly, all sails set, the foam creaming away under her bow, her beautiful lines. Why didn't she turn? Every time it passed, our light hit her with a glare of day. North-northwest. The light will touch her in a moment. Oh, can't she see us? Look at her. She just keeps coming on. The square heads. What is it? What is it? Watch, north-northwest. I know. I know what it is. The Dutchman, the flying Dutchman. We did a play about her. A splegallion, haggridden, curse-driven, muster and... Oh, shut up! Will you? Yeah, she's laughing. Yes. It's a sloppy way to come about. She's derelict, that's it. Derelict. Abandoned. Crew left her for some reason or another. But instead of sinking, she's gone on, running before every wind. She'll not run long, not with these reefs to break her up. A beautiful ship. Now, why would men leave a beautiful ship like that? Yes, although we all expected it. But as we waited for the crash, she left again, caught some odd gust and went about. We watched her the rest of those black hours. Healing and rocking, pushed and pulled by every stray wind, every freak current. Watched her until the dawn came, till the sea turned from black to pearly gray. And on she came again, heading for us. We all had our glasses trained on her now. August, you can kill the light. Right, Chief. She doesn't look so good by daylight. Think she'll ground this time? I say, do you think she'll ground this time? Yeah, this is impossible. Absolutely impossible. What? Here, take my glasses. They're better than yours. All right. What is it, your... And then, my breath froze in my throat. The decks were swarming with a dark brown carpet that looked like a gigantic fungus, but undulating. And on the masts and yards, the guys and all were hundreds, no thousands, no mill. I don't know an inestimable number of tremendous... See them? Yes, I see them. Now we know why she's derelict. Yes, now we know. What are you two doing? Here, give me a look. Yes, give him the glasses. Take a good look, chatterbox. Give you something to talk about. She's still heading for us. Yes. If she's going to turn, she'd better turn soon. I suppose she doesn't. You mean suppose she piles up on the key? It's low tide. Yes. Yes, it is. Well, where's all the conversation, August? Here, you want the glasses again? You want another look? No! No! She's still coming on. Go away! You turn. Like a carpet. They're swimming. Sure, they're swimming. Those are ship threats. But they're swimming for the rocks. The door below, it's open. Well, come on. And down we went, racing down the stone stairs, taking them three and four at a time. Scared. You bet we were scared. August, you get the windows. Maybe they can climb. No. Oh, yes, I do. Up at the other end of the rock. Look at them. Millions. They smell us. Here they come. Close the door. I can't. Stop. Here. Let me go. Go. And his eyes go wild and red. His teeth long and sharp and yellow. He went for us, starving ravenous. And we fought him. Fought that one rat all over the room. It was, oh, believe me, I don't exaggerate. It was like fighting a panther. We'd better get her off. Mr. Hercules, we passed the tiny windows of the various levels. And at every one was a thick, wriggling, screaming curtain of brown fur. I was ahead of Louis. And I dreaded each successive level. Suppose they had found a way in. Look at them. Oh, and you look at them. It's a nightmare. Well, you look at them. They were thick and fetid with the stink of them. The light was dim brown, through the calling mass that swarmed over the glass. All about us. You couldn't see the sky? Nothing. Nothing but them. Their red eyes, their claws. Their wriggling hairy snouts. And their teeth. The rats. They screamed and howled and threw themselves against the glass. They were starving. And we three. We stood here very quietly. Oh, very, very quietly. In the center of the glass room. Under our beautiful light. And we waited. What can we do? What can we do, Chief? Take it easy. Take it easy. I can't. I just can't. Won't do any good. It won't do any good to stand here and shake. That's right. Get away. Away with them. They won't go away. Nothing to. What is it, Chief? Nothing to. Nothing until they've been fed. You can take just so much horror. And then you get used to it. And they were interesting to watch, you know. They couldn't understand the glass. They could see us and they could rush at us. But that thin invisible barrier held them off. Stop them. From time to time we caught a glimpse of the rocks below. More rats down there. Swarming brown velvet in the bright tropical sunlight. And then the tide began to rise. Only it had drowned some of them. Ships rats don't drown. No, sir. You can't drown one of them. If you're all climbing up the tower. This bunch around us is getting thicker. Say what's the time? Quarter six. You've got first watch on, all right. Wake me at ten. I will. Come along, I'll go. It was getting dark. One side of the room was lit a soft, filtered red. Sunset through the rats. Oh, very pretty. I set the wicks, checked my fuel. Then lit the lamp. It caught them. Lit them in their gigantic, wriggling web of pale, hairless bellies. Twitching red tails, bright eyes. And then I started the rotary motor. The light broke and married. But she swung slowly and smoothly about. She blinded them in the fierce, stabbing bar of light, moving continually about, ever turning, ever touching, ever moving, around and around. And they twitching and shuttering, eyes flaming when they were struck by the light, the bright light moving. And behind, on the dark side of the room, so close, so close. I did not turn my back, as you can't help turning your back when you're in a room made of glass. On the dark side of the room, you couldn't see them, but only their eyes. Thousands of points of blank red light, blinking and twinkling, like the stars of hell. And when I came up into the gallery early the next morning, there stood August. His back to me. He was bowing to the rats, waving his arms and making a speech. My dear audience, I am going to play once again that magnificent role which made me the toast of the Paris Theatre. Play Lottie, the evil genius of the medieval underworld. I am he who did guide the dark soul to turn a shell into the nepharine. I stood staring at him, horror struck, but he didn't notice me. The man had gone mad. He kept turning, telling his stories to all the rats, leaving no one out. August! August! Another one, a late color. It's like the seat on the aisle. Stop it. Do you see the bloodstain once there was my father? He went on bowing and scraping to the rats, his big blue eyes rolling and winking, his wild red hair waving about him. I grabbed him by the arms and... He hacked his face. He looked at me like a child, and then his face screwed up. He looked as though he were about to cry. Go below. Go on. Oh, very well then. Later, my dear audience, later. Imagine today. He was crazy. But I guess we all were. A few hours later, he came back up and caught Louis and me teasing the rats. Yes. Sounds horrible. It was fun. We would get right up against the glass and make faces at them. It drove them crazy. They would scratch away, trying to get at our eyes. Louis was even cuter about it. He'd pull a piece of bread out of his pocket and press it against the glass. The rats would scramble into a solid ball, biting each other clustering like grapes. From time to time, a whole knot of them would slip and fall 110 feet to the surf below. Look at the sharks. They're eating them. Those sharks are our friends. Here, here, I'll get another bunch together. Here, my beauties. Ah, that's it. File up. Kill each other. August joined in, too. Very ingenious August. He learned that if he spready-goed himself against the glass, they'd bunch and bundle against his figure. Then he'd leap back. Look! My bushlet's in red! It went on all day. And then I was lying in bed. It was about midnight. I was very tired and I was just beginning to fall off to sleep when I became conscious of a new sound. I couldn't figure it at first. I got up, lit the lamp, and went to the window. Even as I looked out, I saw one of the pains begin to sag in. They had eaten the wood away. Louis, come quick! What? What is it? They found a way in! I held the glass with my hand. Now they were all going crazy. And assured of the success of this maneuver, we're all nibbling away at the wood. Louis ran below and then returned with a large sheet of tin. We spread it against the window and hammered it into place. Even as we did so, we felt the heavy bodies thudding against the other side as the window gave way. There! That ought to hold. If it doesn't, we're done for. We can eat tin. No, they can't. But what was that? I don't know. It came from below. The storeroom window. They're in! They're swarming up the stairs! Off the trap! Let's go after them! We didn't have to go after them. They came at us. I leaped to one side and grabbed a marlin spike, swung, and smashed one in midair. I quarreled to see Louis with the other. It had ripped his hand open and the blood was pouring out. The man aloft and kicked at the snarling rat. I stepped and swung and got him. Ow! My hand! He got my hand! That's both of them, Louis. I'll get you something to tie that up. I'll wind this kerchief around it. It'll be okay. There! There, that's not bad. Just the flesh. Then I became conscious of a new sound. They were gnawing their way through the wooden trapdoor. I watched the wood, fascinated. And even as I did, it began to give way. And a bristling, whiskly nose showed through. Louis! You've got to go up! The next level was the living quarters and kitchen. I slammed the trap there, but it too was wood. Oh, my blood. What are we going to do? I don't know. They'll be through this one in a minute. To the gallery. The trapdoor and the gallery is metal. Good. We made it. They crossed the trapdoor, exhausted. While below us the rats took over the entire tower. I could hear them howling and fighting over our food supply, our water, our leather. And all about us, the others screamed and glared in at us, swayed in a tangled mass, hypnotized by the ever-turning light. By morning, the air in the little room was horrible. Until now, we'd been getting air from the tower below. Now that was sealed off. And so was all our food and water. We lay exhausted, panting, waiting, waiting. And the hours crawled on. I was almost dozing from fatigue when I saw a sight that brought me too fast. Would you like to come in, my beauties? Would you? I hold the powers of life and death, and I can let you in here now. August was standing by the glass, and in one hand he held a big wrench. He was tapping the glass gently, not quite hard enough to break it. I eased myself to my feet, and slowly, very slowly, tiptoe toward him. All I had to do was tap just a little harder. I found a coin of wire in the tool kit, and I trust him up, fastened him to a stanchion in the center of the room. Louis was of no help. He lay on his side, looking at his bloody hand, weak and sick as a baby. So there I was, a lunatic and a coward for company, and all about watching our little drama, the rats. The day dragged by. The supply boat wasn't you for another 12 days. I don't know what they could have done if they had come, and we had only one way of summoning them. That was to shoot off distress rockets, but the rockets were four floors below. And even if they'd been right there in the gallery, I couldn't have opened a window to fire them. I tended the light, but its flame was devouring our oxygen. The following day, we lay thirst tormented, starving, waiting. And the following night, I again tended the light. But the small supply of spare wicking we kept in the gallery had become exhausted, and quite suddenly, at about midnight, the light went out. There was nothing I could do. Wicks were stored three levels below. Nothing I could do, nothing. From time to time, I'd strike a match to see the clock. And when I did, it lit up the million red eyes about us, watching, waiting. Below, if it grown quiet, they'd cleaned us out, and now they, too, were waiting, all waiting. And then, the rats, quite suddenly, were silent. And then I saw the sky and the stars. The rats were gone. I went to the glass, out there on the water, a small freighter, a banana boot, showing a few lights came softly and innocently towards us. Our light was out. They didn't know. I wanted to open the windows, call out to them, to warn them somehow, but I was afraid. What if the rats were hiding from me, tricking me? So I waited. She grounded very softly on a wreath, not 200 yards from the key. Grounded so gently that the man playing the cornet, was he a passenger, crewman, off-watch? Didn't even stop playing. They tried washing her back off. Instead of told them to save their fuel, the tide was rising, would have floated her free. And I waited. That's all. That's the story. The sun came up and there wasn't a rat on the whole key. Every last one of that terrible army had left us, gone back to sea on their new ship. August, in St. Asylum. He never recovered. They took him into Cayenne, where he died of blood poisoning from his bite. Yes, that's the whole of it. And if you'll excuse me now, I must go set my traps. No, no, mouse traps. No rats in this lighthouse. I should say not. Life in the lights isn't bad. But sometimes, when I see a strange vessel approaching, I get a little nervous. Sure. Somewhere on the seas, there's a little banana boat, without a crew. That is, without a human crew. Escape is produced and directed by William N. Robeson. Tonight we have presented Three Skeleton Key by George Tuduz. Adapted for radio by James Poe. Featured in the cast were Elliott Reed as Jean, Bill Conrad as Louis, and Harry Bartel as August. Special music was arranged and conducted by Adele Castillo. Next week... You are standing on the deck of a ship headed on an illegal mission to Central America. Before you, holding a gun in your stomach, is a desperate man who has just given you the choice between being killed or becoming a murderer yourself. Next week we escape with John and Gwen Bagney's exciting tale of a murderous trio of gun runners in Central America, Maracas. Goodbye then until the same time next week, when once again we offer you escape. Now for Life with Luigi, which follows over most of these CVS stations. This is CVS for Columbia Broadcasting System.