 Stories and content in Weird Darkness can be disturbing for some listeners and is intended for mature audiences only. Parental discretion is strongly advised. Welcome, Weirdos. I'm Darren Marlar and this is Retro Radio Sunday on Weird Darkness. Each week I bring you a show from the golden age of radio, but still in the genre of Weird Darkness. I'll have stories of the macabre and horror, mysteries and crime, even some dark science fiction. If you're new here, welcome to the show, and if you're already a member of this Weirdo family, please take a moment and invite someone else to listen. Recommending Weird Darkness to others helps make it possible for me to keep doing the show. And while you're listening, be sure to check out WeirdDarkness.com where you can send in your own personal paranormal stories. Each horror host presents old scary movies 24-7. See weird news items. Listen to the Weird Darkness syndicated radio show. Shop for Weird Darkness and Weirdo merchandise. Listen to free audiobooks that I've narrated. Sign up for the newsletter to win free stuff I give away every month and more. And on the social contact page, you can find the show on Facebook and Twitter, and you can also join the Weird Darkness Weirdos Facebook group. Coming up, it's an episode from the Hall of Fantasy, a series dedicated to the supernatural, the unusual and the unknown. There is some conflicting information about the show itself in that some sources say that it ran on the Mutual Broadcasting System from August 22, 1952 through September 28, 1953. Yet another source says that it ran in 1946 and 1947 on the CBS Radio Network. So which is right? Well, both. The Hall of Fantasy started as a different program altogether. It began at KALL in Salt Lake City in 1946 and lasted just a year and a half. Richard Thorne and Carl Grayson teamed up to create a bare bones murder mystery drama with stories written or adapted by Robert Olson. But when Thorne and Grayson went separate ways, the series discontinued. Then in 1949, Thorne and Grayson happened to find themselves working at the same station again, this time WGN in Chicago, and the series was revived. This time, however, the focus was on supernatural horror with Richard Thorne writing or adapting the stories. But the conflict in air dates isn't the only mysterious fact when it comes to the Hall of Fantasy. Another mystery that still remains to this day is who the announcer actually was once the show was revived. His lines were so over the top, maybe he wished to remain anonymous, but it's this same, dead, serious approach to monsters, horror and the supernatural that makes the series so much fun to listen to today. Hall of Fantasy didn't seem to have much of a budget. The actors weren't big names and the music and sound effects were sometimes lackluster. But the situations and the original writing usually made up for these shortcomings. But I'll let you be the judge as we hear an episode from April 6, 1947, entitled The Judge's House, written by Holbermaster Bram Stoker. Now, bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, and come with me into the Weird Darkness. The Hall of Fantasy. The Hall of Fantasy. Welcome to the series of radio dramas dedicated to the supernatural, the unusual and the unknown. Come with me, my friends. We shall ascend to the world of the unknown and forbidden. Down to the depths where the veil of time is lifted and the supernatural reigns as king. Come with me and listen to the tale of The Judge's House. The Granite Furniture Company brings you the Hall of Fantasy. Listen now to original tales of the imagination and some of the classics of the supernatural as we take you down the corridors of the Hall of Fantasy to the mysterious realms of the unknown. These are stories of eerie and fantastic thrills brought to you by your friends at the Granite Furniture Store. And now for tonight's story, a radio adaptation by Bob Olson of Bram Stoker's story entitled The Judge's House. Justice, peace. How can we be certain of either when hateford burns unchecked even beyond the grave? Hi, I'm Malcolm Lane. This is my story. I want to tell it to you while there is still time. I watched them carry the parcels into The Judge's House. Mrs. Woodham, whom I had engaged as my housekeeper for the next three months, was directing the activity. She was an amusing little character. I had to promise that she wouldn't have to stay in the house after it began to get dark. The upholsterer's man was coming up the pathway with a cart in a new bed. Mrs. Woodham had insisted on this one new piece of furniture because, as she put it... A bed that just hasn't been aired for 50 years is not fit for young bodies to lie on. And she was right, of course. But my head was too full of plans for study to worry about such details as my living quarters. As for the tales about the harsh old judge whose house this had once been, I had only a mild enthusiasm. He must have been quite a character, though, to make an entire village fear him and his house even 50 years after his death. Mrs. Woodham was positive there was something about the old place, though she, nor anyone else, quite knew what it was. The consensus of opinion, however, was that they would not take all the money in Drinwater's bank to spend an hour here alone. But Mrs. Woodham startled me with a very rational statement. The place is full of rats, and rats is bogies, just the same as bogies is rats. That explanation suited me very well, for as I said once before, my head was full of plans to study. Examinations were coming up soon, and I had paid three months of rent in this old house, so that I would be assured of peace and quiet while I prepared for them. The only mysteries I'm interested in, Mrs. Woodham, are those of harmonical progression and elliptical functions. They're mystery enough for me. Not that you won't find company here, Mr. Lane. I've already cleaned all of 50 years of dust from everything. Oh, but that waste-cut in this room must be hundreds of years old, and you'll find creaky doors are plenty, and loose flats all over, ready to flap in the wind, and bureau drawers that stick and then fall down in the middle of the night. And don't forget the rats. No, Mr. Lane. Don't forget the rats. The workmen were all gone, and but for the busy little figure, the housekeeper I was alone. It was for this that I'd taken the tiresome ride to Benchurch, a remote little town that had all the attractions of a desert. It was drawing close to evening as Mrs. Woodham was unpacking the last hamper, and I could see that she was beginning to cast worried glances about as the shadows began to creep into the corners of this huge dining room I'd chosen for my living quarters. Oh, you may go now, Mrs. Woodham. It's getting dark in here, and I'm sure you're anxious to get home. You've done well with this old room. I shall reward you with complete possession of this house for the last two months of my tenancy. Three or four weeks would be all I'll need, and I'd hate to see that rent money go to waste. Thank you kindly, sir, but I wouldn't stay here for... I know, for all the money in Drinkwater's bank. I'm really grateful for I do want to be alone, and if you were not so opposed to it, I might be tempted to accept your company. Are you young gentlemen? You fear nothing, and I'm certain you'll get all the solitude you need here. Good night, sir. You'll find yourself underneath the cloth. Good night, Mrs. Woodham. Oh, yes, this was comfort. After I'd finished my supper, I cleared the great oak table and got my books out. Then when I'd put fresh wood in the fire and trimmed the lamp, I sat down to a spell of hard work. I hardly looked up from my books until nearly eleven o'clock, at which time I threw some more wood in the fire and indulged in one of my most deeply ingrained habits, a lot of tea drinking. I thoroughly enjoyed tea, drank it this night with a sense of real enjoyment. Soon the new wood I had thrown in the fire began to crackle and the new flame threw quaint shadows about the great old room, and as I sat there sipping my tea, I reveled in the complete sense of isolation. Then for the first time, I noticed the noise of the rats. Strange, I hadn't heard them before. Maybe they're just getting used to me, but they're bold enough now. How busy they were. What strange noises they made. Up and down the old wingscipping went, and over the ceiling and over the floor, racing and gnawing and scratching. There were so many of them that I'd have sworn that if they set their strength to it, they could have carried the house away. I had a smile when I recalled the words of Mrs. Woodham. Rats is bogies and bogies is rats. The stimulation of the tea gave me a sense of security, and I grabbed the lamp to take a good look around the room. Strange why such a beautiful old place should have been so neglected for all this time. The carving and the oak panels of the wingscip was fine indeed, and that around the doors and windows was a rare merit. I saw some old pictures in the wall next to the fireplace, but they were coated so thick with dust that I couldn't distinguish any of their details, even though I did hold the lamp high above my head. Now and then I would get a quick start, as the light fell upon the old walls and disclosed it during eyes of a rat as he would stick its face out of a hole or a crack. In an instant it would disappear with a squeak in the scanner. Another object that struck me as odd was the rope with a great alarm bell that hung in the corner of the room on the right hand side of the fireplace. After my inspection tour, I sat in a high back chair that was near the fireplace and sipped from another cup of tea. For a while I thought the noise of the rat would drive me to distraction, but that eased off and I became accustomed to it. The same as a person gets used to the roar of water when he camps beside a stream. Soon I was so engrossed in a mathematical problem that I had forgotten everything else in the world. But since the solution to the problem came stubbornly, I looked up and was surprised to see that the fire had fallen to a dull red glow. There was a sudden quiet, a strange hush that comes in the hour before dawn. I became aware for the first time the noise of the rat had ceased. When it happened, I couldn't remember. Something instinctive told me that it had been in the last few moments and that it had been sudden. I looked up and what I saw, what I saw was the most amazing thing. For there on the high back chair sat an enormous rat staring at me through deadly, mud-lignant eyes. I tried to frighten it away, but it didn't stir him. It emotion is it to throw something at it. It only bared its teeth angrily and its cruel eyes shown all the more bright. I had grabbed the poker from the hearth and was going to kill the creature. But before I could reach it, that enormous rat jumped to the floor with a squeak that sounded like a consummate hater the whole world, scampered up the rope of the alarm bell and disappeared in the darkness. Then, as if by a signal, the noise of the other rat started all over again. At this time, I gave up whipping that problem and bartered it with some much-needed sleep. It was Mrs. Whitom who woke me as she came in to make up the room. You're much paler this morning, Mr. Lane. I am. You shouldn't stay up so late with your work. It isn't good for you. But tell me, how did you spend the night? I was certainly glad to see you. Alive? Oh, yes, I was quite all right, Mrs. Whitom. The something didn't worry me too much. But the rats certainly held themselves a camp meeting. There was one that sat up in that chair with a fireplace and wouldn't go away until I chased him with a poker. It was the biggest old devil I've ever seen. Old devil? Maybe it was the old devil. I only meant that- Never you mind, sir. Many a true word is spoken in jest. Well, pardon me, Mrs. Whitom. I didn't mean to be rude. But the thought of the old devil himself sitting in that chair last night struck me as being rather funny. And it's a good thing you can laugh. But all the same if I were to spend the night here tonight. Oh, heaven forbid, I'd make sure I was ready for him. That night, the rats put on an earlier show. So their scamperings began almost as soon as I'd finished with my supper. The cursed creatures seemed to get on my nerves. And I sat there and puffed at my pipe. And they squealed and scratched and gnawed. They seemed to grow bolder by the minute. By now they were coming to the chinks and cracks in the wall into their eyes shown like miniature lamps when the firelight struck them. They'd even make bold sallies under the floor and I'd have to frighten them away by ponding on the table with my fist. That was how I passed the early part of that night. Despite it, I became more and more engrossed in my studies. And then the strange sensation coursed through me. For there it was again. Instinctively I grabbed the handiest object I could find a book and flung it at the baleful little beast. But the book was too hastily aimed and a huge rat didn't stir. So once again I went into the poker routine. And once again it fed up the rope of the alarm bell. I tried to follow its flight more closely this time, but before I could see where it went it had been swallowed up in the shadows. And just as it happened last night, as soon as the big rat had gone, the others resumed their activity. I looked at my watch and found that it was very close to midnight. I built up the fire and blew myself a pot of tea. I tried to get back to my work but I suddenly became curious to know whether it had disappeared too. For I was certain that tomorrow I would most likely get myself a rat trap. I gathered all my books about me and put them in a handy position for throwing. Then I took the rope of the alarm bell and placed the end of it upon the table underneath the lamp, where there would be plenty of light on it. As I picked up the rope I was amazed how pliable and strong it was. An ideal I thought for hanging a man. Soon my preparations were complete. Well this time my friend I intend to learn more about you. Once again I was hard at my work and the noise of the rat was forgotten. But just as suddenly as before I was aroused by that same sense of startling silence. I was conscious of a slight movement in the rope in my elbow without stirring. I checked to see if my pot of books was an easy reach. It was. I cast my glance at the rope just in time to see the huge rat drop from it. To the back of a high oak chair. I grabbed a book and hurled it. With amazing agility the rat sprang aside and dodged it. I threw a second and a third but each time it managed to dodge my battery. It was almost funny, almost. Finally when I was down to the last book I took careful aim and as I did this the rat squeaked and seemed afraid. I let the book fly. It struck the rat with a resounding thud and it gave out a shrill terrified shriek and running up the back of the chair made a desperate leap. And with the speed of a bolt of lightning ran up the bell rope. The lamp rocked with a strain but it didn't topple. Then I saw the rat leap to a molding and disappear through the hole in one of the big pictures that hung on the wall. I made a mental note of the exact spot. Third picture from the fireplace. I'll remember that and have Mrs. Whitmer scrub it clean the first thing tomorrow morning. I began to pick up the books I had thrown at the rat. As I did so I took a good look at their titles. Conic sections. Mr. Rat doesn't seem to mind that. In the D this one on cycloidal oscillations and this one on thermodynamics he dodged very neatly. Oh here's the book that got him. As I looked at the title of the book that had finally hit the huge rat I could feel a power spread across my face. For the title of that book was The Holy Bible. You are listening to The Judge's House by Bram Stoker in tonight's journey down the corridors of the Hall of Fantasy brought to you by your friends at the Granite Furniture Company with stores in Sugarhouse, Murray and Provo. If you love old-time radio you'll want to visit our friends at ClassicRadioStore.com who provide all the shows for me to wear. At ClassicRadioStore.com you'll find thousands of episodes available in pristine digitally remastered sound. Every episode they offer at ClassicRadioStore.com has been transferred from the master recordings and digitally remastered for superior sound quality. That's why the episodes that you hear on Weird Darkness sound so clean. And the shows at ClassicRadioStore.com are all uncut, unedited and are delivered to you as they were originally broadcast including the classic commercials. You can download great shows that'll chill you and thrill you, such as Suspense, The Whistler, Inner Sanctum, Lights Out and more. There are mystery and crime shows like Sherlock Holmes, Philip Marlowe, Dragnet and Sam Spade. They got a great collection of old-time science fiction radio shows like X-minus 1 or Dimension X. Plus, there is a ton of comedy and westerns there too if you want to relive the shows of yesteryear. All the shows are available to instantly digitally download and the links never expire, so you can order them now and listen to them anytime you like. And because you're a listener of Weird Darkness, you can save 20% on any and all radio shows on the website by using the promo code Weird at checkout. Just visit ClassicRadioStore.com, select all the radio show packages you want, then at checkout use the promo code Weird and save 20% on your whole purchase. That's ClassicRadioStore.com, promo code Weird at checkout. That's one of the things I came to talk to you about. Mrs. Whidham thinks you drink more strong tea than is good for you. She tells me also that you've been in quite long hours at your study. Mrs. Whidham, I engaged you as a housekeeper, not as a guardian. I... oh, please, Mr. Lane, I didn't mean to... As a matter of fact, Lane, she didn't mean to have me talk to you at all. That was my idea, I see. Well, now that you're here, what do you want me to do? Leave this house. Well, even if I could see the reason for it, I doubt if I would. But as for the tea in late hours, I might be able to give them up. Would it make you feel any better, Mrs. Whidham, if I promised not to study after one o'clock tonight? Yes, if you promise. Then I promise. I advise you, not as a total stranger to your problem, Mr. Lane. I was a student once myself, you know. Of course. Shall we shake on a doctor? Fine. Now, if you will, I wish you'd tell me what you've noticed in this house. Well, it's just as I've told Mrs. Whidham. I'd be working late tonight. Something you were ready for. And when I looked to see which book it was that had struck the rat, and the devil, as Mrs. Whidham calls it, I was amazed to find that it was the Holy Bible. There now. Please, Mrs. Whidham, you're not hurt. Now, Mr. Lane, you say the rat always went up the rope of that alarm bell? Always. I suppose you know what that rope is? No, I... It's the very rope the hangman used to execute the victims of the judge's hatred. Oh, no! Now, Mrs. Whidham, there's no reason to get upset about this, really. Doctor, you shouldn't put such horrible thoughts in poor Mr. Lane's mind. He has enough to unseat him already. I... I did it for a definite purpose. Mr. Lane, I want you to fix your attention on that rope. Now, I know your sound of mind and body, but hard work and long hours, and this suggestion of the devil, especially in this lonely old house, can do things to the mind. Now, I don't mean this as any offense, but if you should find yourself having, well, hallucinations, or some unexplainable fright, I want you to pull that rope. It'll give us some kind of a warning in the village. We might be able to be of some help. Well, thank you, Doctor. I'll do that. I may get stuck with the problem. Fine. Goodbye, Mr. Lane. And, well, I wouldn't be surprised if Benchurch hears the alarm bell from the judge's house tonight. I didn't quite share the doctor's views, but just the same, I caught myself staring at the bell rope. The more I stared, the more restless I became, and every now and then my mind would conjure up the vision of some wretched victim dangling from the land of it. But that line of thinking would have me out of my mind in a hurry. Mrs. Whidham had made the place neat and homey. I wandered over to one of the big windows and flung it open. I was surprised to find that a sharp wind had come up, a very cold wind for April. It was more than a sharp wind, really, but it was carrying a stone. Little drops of rain began to pelt me in the face, and till soon it became a thing of fury. I bolted the shutters and built up a fire with some fresh wood. I was uncomfortable, and was only vaguely conscious of the reason. Suddenly I knew. The rats were quiet tonight. It gave me a slight kiss of the jettison. I instinctively took a hasty glance at the bell rope. The rope was quite still. I wanted a hot cup of tea, but remembering my promise to Mrs. Whidham I resisted. Instead I set up a grid oak table and opened my books. Soon I had started a problem and the noise of the rats began. For the first time since I had taken up residence in the church's house, I was glad to hear those rats. I had worked for an hour or so, and suddenly became conscious of the furious storm outside. I was thankful that I didn't have to be out of it. The faint movement of the bell rope compelled me to walk over to it and take it in my hand. I saw nothing. It had only been the wind and the rope was rising and falling gently with each new gust of air, which caused the bell to sway back and forth a little. That rope had a deadly fascination to it. I wondered what the judge wanted such a grisly memento in his house. I thought of it in a chill through me. Or was it a thought? Didn't I sense a tremor along that rope? I couldn't be sure, but at that moment I remembered the picture. I walked over the table, picked up the lamp, and approached the spot where I'd seen the picture the night before. I counted out the pictures until I came to the third one from the fireplace. Even before I raised the lamp, I could see that Mrs. Whitam had washed it clean as I had told her to do. Then what I saw, what I saw gave me such a start that I nearly dropped the lamp. My knees almost gave way beneath me, and I was conscious of huge beads of perspiration that were forming in my forehead. Just looking at it made me tremble like an aspen leaf. The picture seemed fairly to leap out at me, for there, dressed in his scarlet and ermine robes with a judge, with his merciless, evil face, his sensual mouth, and a nose that was shaped like the beak of a bird of prey. His face had a cadaverous coloring. It was a ghastly picture, but it was the eyes that really made me go cold. Those eyes were, and heaven helped me if I'm going mad. Those eyes were the exact duplicate of the evil eyes of the great rat. The picture had been painted in this very room. I began to compare the two, and as my eyes swept the room, they were suddenly riveted to the judge's chair. For there, with a rope hanging behind it, sat the huge rat with the judge's eyes, and the hatefulness was now intensified with a fiendish leer. Never did the wind howl so. This had a stop. I wanted some tea, but I didn't take any. The doctor had been quite right. The rope must have been getting drawn pretty to it. Strange, too, because I never was in better health. Well, no tea will substitute some brandy, let's see now. I had a stiff glass of the brandy, went back to work. The rats were at it again, and I was glad to hear them, but they had become a sort of symbol of normalcy. The storm raised such a fury that I was unaware of anything else. But once, during a sharp silent lull, I heard another sound, a faint squeaking noise. I listened for it again, and so detected it. It was coming from the corner of the room with a bell rope hung. At first I thought it was just the motion of the rope and the storm, but I looked up and saw something in the dim light that made me all the more positive that I was going mad. For there was the great rat, clinging to the rope and gnawing at it. I could see the lighter coloring where the bare strands are exposed. Just then the rat finished a job and the rope fell to the floor with a thud. For a moment the huge rat just hung there like a tassel. It was then that I realized what had happened. My only contact with the village was now gone. I don't know why, but I rushed to the lamp and the table, snatched off the shade and ran over the picture of the judge. A chill of horror went through me, but I think I must have expected what I saw. It seemed more like a confirmation than a shock. For there in the center of the picture was a great patch of brown canvas, as clean and as fresh as the day had been drawn over the frame, and where the portrait of the judge himself had been, there was nothing. I heard a sound behind me. When I turned around I really got the palsy. I suddenly became incapable of movement. I could hardly think. I had been prepared to see most anything, but what was there? For there in the judge's high back chair, with his black cap in his hand, his ermine robes fixed about him with a smart of triumph, twisting his cruel mouth, was the judge himself. As the clock struck the hour, it seemed to beat the blood right out of my heart. At the twelfth stroke, the judge placed the black cap in his head and walked deliberately over the place where the piece of velvet will play a heap in the floor. He picked it up and drew it through his hands as one would a valuable fur held. Then he began a knot one end, fashioning it into a noose. He tightened it and tested it with his foot. All this time he never took his horribly cruel eyes from my face. I began to feel trapped. For some reason I could barely move. I could only watch as he started to move along the table toward me. Then with a quick move when he threw the noose at me, as if to ensnare me in it, he'd missed. He raised it again, never once taking those hateful eyes from my face. Once more the noose came flying toward me. Once more with some last ounce of strength I dodged it. The room seemed flooded with light. The lamp had suddenly flared up high. I looked about the room and was astonished to see the shiny little eyes of the rats as they peered out the cracks and chinks in the wall. I looked up at the bell rope, my lost and last hope of warning the village. It was covered with the little fellas. Funny thing with those rats were the only thing that gave me even the slightest sense of comfort. For as the rats clamored along the bell rope, the bell itself began to sway, and I heard a tiny sound, yes, very tiny, as the clamber had touched the bell itself. It was only a whisper of a sound, but it would grow louder in time. Or would it? This sound the judge looked up, and a scarlet terrible anger came to his face. His eyes were like red hot coals, and he stamped his foot so that the house seemed to shake. The rats kept running up and down the rope as if they were conscious that it was a race against time. Now the judge was approaching me with a noose in his hand as he came closer there seemed to be something paralyzing in his presence, and I stood as rigid as a corpse. Suddenly I felt the judge's icy fingers against the skin of my throat. He was adjusting the rope above my neck. Then he picked me up and stood me in the high oak chair and put his hand on the swaying end of the bell rope. As he raised his hand I was conscious of my little rat friends fleeing through the hole in the ceiling. They were my last hope. I stood there on the chair and couldn't move a muscle. Now that my last hope seemed gone, I wanted the judge to hurry and get it over with. Soon he tied the end of the rope just above my neck to the dangling end of the bell rope. Then he jumped down to the floor and looked at me with those eyes that hated me so. The smile of diabolical triumph seemed to read them in horror. I began to wonder about hangings. I wondered how long it would take whether the doctor in the village could possibly reach me in time, for I knew that I would soon be sounding the alarm bell. I even wondered what kind of a shadow I'd cast on the wall as I dangled from the end of the rope in this grotesque candlelight. But I didn't wonder for long because suddenly the judge grabbed the chair in which I was standing when the sudden movement jerked it out from under me. So runs the tale of the judge's house. Let's join us next week at the same time for another journey down the corridors of the Hall of Fantasy. Tonight's program was adapted from the story by Bram Stoker entitled The Judge's House. Heard in tonight's program were Dick Thorne as Malcolm Lane, Beth Calder as Mrs. Woodham, and Mel Wyman as a doctor. Musical background was provided by Earl Donaldson. The technical supervisor was Nephi Sorenson. This program was written by Bob Olson and produced and directed by Richard Thorne. Remember, be with us again next Sunday night on call at 8.30pm when the Granite Furniture Stores in Sugarhouse, Murray & Probo will take you on another journey down the corridors of the Hall of Fantasy. Thanks for listening to this week's Retro Radio episode of Weird Darkness. If you like the show, please share it with someone you know who loves old-time radio. And a huge thanks to our friends at ClassicRadioStore.com for generously providing the old-time radio shows you hear on Weird Darkness Retro Radio Sunday. Remember, you can save 20% on all of the ClassicRadioStore.com shows by using the promo code Weird at checkout. The rest of the week, I narrate new stories of the paranormal or strange stories, true crime, monsters and mysteries, so be sure to subscribe to the podcast if you haven't already done so. I upload episodes 7 days a week. You can email me anytime with your questions or comments at Darren at WeirdDarkness.com. Darren is D-A-R-R-E-N and you can find me on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Minds, Miwi and the show's Weirdo's Facebook group on the contact social page at WeirdDarkness.com. Also on the website, if you have a true paranormal or creepy tale to tell of your own, click on Tell Your Story or call the dark line toll-free at 1-877-277-5944. That's 1-877-277-5944. Weird Darkness is a production of Marlar House Productions. Copyright Weird Darkness 2021. I'm Darren Marlar. Thanks for joining me in the Weird Darkness.