 And now, another tale well calculated to keep you in. Most of us live out our lives in quiet desperation. We set by nameless fears plagued by unconscious guilt. We adjust our neuroses to reality as best we may and somehow stay clear of the loony bin. A fortunate is he who knows what frightens him. For then he can do something about it as does the young lady in the story you're about to hear. Certainly, there's nothing like action to dispel anxiety. And any psychiatrist can tell you that if you face up to your fear, it usually disappears. Or does it? Well, we'll find out as in the moment we listen to Nightmare. Written for suspense by Lucille Fletcher. The Time Election Night, 1956. The place? VBR Selection Headquarters in New York, Robert Frost speaking. This is the way the total popular vote looks to President at 730 Eastern Standard Time. 30 minutes past 7 in New York, Eisenhower has 222,000 votes. Stevenson has 196,000 votes. An early tabulation. Four years ago, Election Night. That story is history. And once again, Election Year has rolled around. Election Night swiftly approaches. And Robert Trout will serve as anchorman for CBS News Election Headquarters. With him will be a staff of top CBS Newsmen to analyze major trends. Edward R. Murrow, Bole Thomas, and Eric Severi. To relay the overall progress of the vote, Blair Clark. Howard K. Smith will interpret electronic computer data. Night long, get election story from top-ranking CBS News on CBS Radio. That, Miss Rhodes, it's impossible. This is a maximum security prison. We haven't had an escape in years. Well, you have one now, Warden. Tom Nixon. How can you be sure? I saw him in New York City two days ago. Did you know him well? Well enough. He was my mother's starboarder for years. Where I sat opposite him at the dinner table from the time I was a girl of 15 until he murdered her. And now somehow he's escaped from here and he's after me. Miss Rhodes, it's impossible, I say. Warden, great. Ten years ago, when mother was found murdered, I knew it couldn't have been anyone but Tom. I testified against him. I was the chief, practically the only witness at the trial. And when they sentenced him here for life, he swore to kill me. He swore in the open court to get even with me. Ten years I've lived in deadly fear of him. And now he's free. Where exactly did you see the prisoner, Miss Rhodes? That's just the point. That's why I know he's after me. I saw him in the building where I live. Well, I don't see how. He has a job there running the elevator at night. I live all alone in a small three-room penthouse on the 18th floor of an office building. The other night, about a week ago, I came home alone from the movies after midnight. I was already in the elevator before I noticed there was a new night man. It was Tom. His hair had turned white and there was a stoop to his shoulder. But everything about him, the crook of his head, his high, thin nose, the hollow cheekbones were all the same. And then he turned and stared at me. I could see those deadly pale cold eyes. Those heavy eyebrows. That familiar, quiet, sarcastic mouth. Oh, Miss. Oh, my foot. Yes, the penthouse, please. The penthouse? Where's that? On the roof? On the roof, please, 18th floor. Okay. It was like being in a cage with a wild bee. He kept watching, hearing at me furtively as the elevator moved upward with agonizing slow. I shrank back to hide my thing. The light in the car was dim. My only hope was that he didn't recognize me. This is your phone, Miss. Thank you. Good night. Good night. Good night. You can go back down. I don't need anything. Thank you. What's the matter? Did you forget your key? No, no. It's just...it's right here in my bag. I'll find it in a minute. Want me to let you in? Let me in? No, no. I got pass keys to all the doors. It's no trouble. No thanks, but I... No, no. Here, here. I have it right here. Good night. In just a moment, we will return for the second act of... Since show business is the business of entertainment, performers are far from dull folk. Now, this is a matter you'll have fun verifying each Sunday night when the Mitch Miller show brings sparkling show business chatter your way over these CBS radio stations. So give Mitch Miller and his guests a listen and prove it to yourself. Now, an average attendance at one of Mr. M. Suarez might include a Broadway actress chatting about her craft with a comedian. Around on the other side of the round table, you might hear a singer try out a few songs for size on a film director or producer also in attendance. But no matter who's on hand for this happy open house, no matter what stars of the entertainment world are banding the banter about, you can be sure a good time will be had by all. Yourself included. So Sunday nights, get better acquainted with your favorite limelight personalities on the Mitch Miller show. And that was the first time you saw him? Yes, Warden. And that was all he did, or said? Yes, but it wasn't so much what he said. It was the awful feeling that he was only playing with me, torturing me until he was ready to kill me. Warden Graves, I don't even have a telephone. I've always been afraid to be listed in the phone book. And the only way up to that penthouse is by that one elevator. I was trapped up there at his mercy. What did you do? I spent the night crouched against the wall with a flat iron in my hand, waiting for that key to click in my lock. But it didn't? No. No, it didn't. The next day I began to wonder if I wasn't imagining the whole thing. Then that night... You think he recognized you then? Recognized me. Warden Graves, I haven't changed. Perhaps I've grown a little thinner, but don't you see, he'd come there only to trap me. He'd taken that particular job, plotted, schemed. It was only a question of when, when he was going to do it, when Max was going to fall. He kept grinning at me as I stepped out of the elevator. And then just as I was going to bed... Oh, is it? What do you want? What are you doing here? It's your laundry. They told me to put it inside in case you weren't home. You might have given me time to answer the door. I'm sorry, Miss Rhodes. I'm very sorry. Don't let it happen again. Good night. I was just thinking, there's no way to get up here or down except in my elevator. Even the service elevator doesn't get up this far, does it? Here, aren't you? I don't understand what you're talking about, Miss. I don't understand what you're talking about. Turn for the third act out. Ever notice the way Pepsi Cola has of disappearing fast? It's easy to understand when you remember how every ice-cold ounce of Pepsi tingles with a taste that everybody in the family enjoys. And then, too, there's no time limit on Pepsi. Day or night, with meals or by itself, work days or weekends for parties or all by yourself. Ah, but the thing that really makes Pepsi go fast is its light touch. Pepsi always refreshes lightly, without filling, so a Pepsi just never tastes like too much. To make sure your supply of Pepsi meets the demand, always buy an extra carton or two. You can't run a household without it. Be sociable. Don't stop with Pepsi. I haven't seen you since, Warden. I barricaded myself in again that night, and next morning I got down to the public phone and put through the call to you. But it wasn't any use. And it was the day I was out of town? Yes, but I still don't see why they couldn't have told me. After all, I was giving them information. Well, it's one of our strictest regulations that also apartment state penitentiary never to discuss any of our prisoners over the telephone. That's what they said. So you came all the way out here in person? Yes. Now you want me to send someone to apprehend this man? I want you to bring him back. That's all. Back where he belongs. Mr. Rhodes, I can't bring Tom Nixon back. He's here. Oh, no. No, Warden Graves, please. I've seen him with my own eyes. I've talked to him face to face. Maybe there's someone here calling himself Tom Nixon. But he's escaped. He's free. I know it. Well, you just, uh, step this way with me, Miss Rhodes. No, no, I don't want to see. I don't want to see his cell or talk to anybody. Tom Nixon is dead, Miss Rhodes. He's buried in the prison cemetery. I'd like for you to see his grave. This is a photograph taken of him just a week before he died. See, he wasted away quite a bit. He was in the infirmary all last year. He became very religious, too, because he hadn't spent a good deal of his time praying. Praying? Yeah. All the fights seemed to go out of him as soon as he knew that he was seriously ill. Now, you'd say this was his picture? Wouldn't you, Miss Rhodes? Yes, it's Tom. All right. Now, these are little personal belongings. Ordinarily, we turned these over to the family, but in Tom's case, well, we couldn't trace the family. Now, you would recognize these as his? Yes, I... I don't know them all, but that gold watch. He used to wear it every Sunday. His mother's. He wrote a couple of notes before he died to a fellow prisoner into the prison chaplain. Yeah. You recognize this handwriting? Yes. This seems to be Tom's. Well, Miss Rhodes, you feel a little better about your elevator operator now. You must think me a fool. An awful fool. No, not at all. But the likeness was so extraordinary. It was almost like seeing... A ghost? Oh, come on, Miss Rhodes. Now that you've gotten all this off your chest, isn't it perfectly obvious that poor night man's done nothing or said nothing to you at all out of the ordinary? It's only that... Well, you seem to be the victim of some kind of a guilt complex. Guilt complex? Well, I'm not guilty of anything. Well, what I mean is that Tom has been on your mind now for ten years. You testified against him. He threatened you. Gradually, you came to see him everywhere. No. No. Only this once. Only these last few nights. All right. But now you know the truth. That should clear your fears forever. Tom's dead and buried. Go back here and take a look at this night man again. Now that you know Tom's dead, I'll lay odds the whole resemblance will vanish. I hope so. My advice to you, Miss Rhodes, is that we to go straight home. Use that elevator as much as possible to get acquainted with this night man. For your own sake, try to get the better of these hallucinations. That's all they are. Just hallucinations. In a moment, we continue with the concluding act of suspense. Maybe you'll recall this tuneful reminder of times past. This is Dennis James with something else worth remembering. It's this. It's all right to stay regular with Kellogg's All-Bran. See, it's the normal, natural way to useful regularity. The whole brand content of Kellogg's All-Bran supplies your system with all the bulk-forming food that you need every day. There's only one All-Bran. It's Kellogg's All-Bran. So relieve irregularity from lack of bulk, as millions do, with a bowl full of Kellogg's All-Bran each morning. A-L-B-R-A-N. It's Kellogg's All-Bran. Good evening. Good evening, Miss. Could you help me with these bags, please? Okay. At all, Miss? Yes, thank you. This is for you, Charles. No, thank you, Miss. I never take tips. No, it's all right. I'd like you to have it. I'm sure the superintendent wouldn't mind. The superintendent hasn't anything to do with it. No. Well, aren't we going to start? Yeah. All right. Been out of town? Yes, I have. Yeah, I haven't seen you for a couple of nights. I was in the country visiting with a friend. Oh. It's beautiful weather out in the country this time of year. I wouldn't know. Oh, my floor already. No, it's not. Then why are we stopping? The elevator's stuck. Power's cut off. Cut off? Uh-huh. But how could that happen? It's never happened before, as long as I've lived here. Well, sooner or later, I guess it had to happen. Well, isn't there some way we can get it back on? Some buzzer for the seller or something? If the power's off, the buzzer isn't working. So one of the lights is still on. The light? Yeah. They'll probably go out in a minute, though, and then it'll be black in here. Black is the grave. Oh. Let's get out of here. Open the door. Can't. She won't budge. But you haven't even tried. I don't have to try. We're stuck between floors. The door is flush with solid wall. Solid wall? Yeah. Kind of like being bricked up in a cell. But there must be some way out of here. Some... Isn't there a little door in the roof? Something you can pry open? Something you can climb up out of and into the shaft? Don't see any. But what are we going to do? What are we going to do? Wait. Wait until somebody comes along downstairs and finds the elevator stuck and then rings up the superintendent. But that might be ours. Might be. You're wasting your breath. Everybody's left the building. I know because they're all signed out. Nobody's down in the basement. There won't be any passengers or I ringing for an elevator this time of night. You seem awfully sure about all that. Jumpy, ain't you? No. No, I suppose really there's nothing to be afraid of. Sooner or later they'll come. Oh, sure. Sooner or later. It's just that being stuck up here between these... You're not... You're not jumpy on account of me. You? I know. Of course not. But you were kind of jumpy the other night. With me. Weren't you? The other night? When I brought the laundry into your apartment. Unexpectedly. Oh, that? That was a mistake. A mistake? I just thought you were someone else that's a friend of mine. Someone I've always been afraid of. Oh. But now I've learned it couldn't be you because this friend's dead. Dead and buried. Dead and buried? Yes. What was his name? Maybe I... Maybe I know him. Oh, light went out. I knew they'd go sooner or later. Oh, no. No, they can't be. I can't see her alone in the dark with you. Oh, so you are jumpy with me. No. No. I thought you said this guy was dead and buried. He is. He's screaming. What are you screaming like that? Only it's so dark in here. So close and creepy and... What did you do to this friend that makes you so jumpy? Do? Do to him? Well, nothing. I didn't do a thing. No. It was he. He threatened me. He was a murderer. He killed my mother in cold blood ten years ago. He was our border for ten years. And one afternoon... Don't move! I'm not moving. Go on. One afternoon I... I came home and... There was mother lying on the floor with her clothes. No! It's you, Tom. Isn't it? I thought you said your friend was dead and buried. Stop it. Stop torturing me. Tell me the truth. You escaped, didn't you? You didn't die. And it was someone else, someone else's grave. Just as I thought you escaped and found me here. Answer me! Just send you there. It was only because I loved you, Tom. I hated mother. And I hated you for loving her. It was only to get revenge on you both that I killed her and framed you. To me. She treated me like a slave. If you'd spoken one kind word... One word. To let me know you loved me. There's a passenger ringing in the lobby. You're not, Tom. No, miss. You're... You're not going to kill me. Not me. It was all just a... just a crazy hallucination like... like the war in the city. Because the power went off and you looked so much like... like Tom Nixon. Oh, forgive me. Please forgive me for being so sad. There's nothing to forgive. And you'll forget about those silly things I said, won't you? I didn't mean them. It was just because I was beside myself. What silly things, ma'am? Oh, those silly things about... about my mother and Tom and... Here. This is for you. No, no. I insist this time. I insist. I'm sorry. But I'm afraid I... I never accept tips. Oh, but please... Particularly from a dame who framed my... twin brother. Good evening, Warden. Good evening, Lieutenant Nixon. She's confessed. Yeah, I thought she would, Lieutenant. No. You've been listening to Nightman. Written for Suspense by Lucille Fletcher. In a moment, the names of our players and a word about next week's story of suspense. How would you like to make a new friend? With students and teachers in Japan, young people in their 20s, in the new nations of Africa and Southeast Asia, and adults all over the free world want to make friends with you. They want to know how you live, what kind of food you eat, what kind of work you do, what you read, what you do for entertainment. In other words, they want to know all about the American way of life. Now, you can make a wonderful new acquaintance simply for the cost of a postage stamp. And all you have to do is this. If you are between the ages of 16 and 60, just drop a line to Letters Abroad, 45 East 65th Street, New York, 21, New York, stating your age and your principal interests. And also, please enclose this stamp, self-addressed envelope. Letters Abroad will then put you in touch with an interesting correspondent overseas.