 I am the master of the headless dead. I say, Goyd, just call me Swiss, sir. Spell with an E at the end. Yes, yes, yes, of course. You'll remind me before. What were you about to say, sir? I was about to observe that this Tower of London is quite a historic place. That it is, sir. Historic indeed. And, uh, Haunterdive Hotel? Have you known, sir? Oh, yes. Don't tell me you haven't heard stories about the Tower's ghost. Perhaps I am. Perhaps not. Of course, I don't believe that sort of rubbish, you know. Rubbish? Certainly rubbish. Don't tell me, Mr. Swift. Don't tell me you believe in such things as ghosts and, uh, and haunts. What I believe, sir, I believe. Certainly not the legend of the gambling spook of Wycote Hall. The ghost invariably appears whenever a gambling game is in progress in Wycote Hall, here in the Tower, and always wins the stakes. Yes. Don't tell me you believe such a fantastic yarn as that. Or such an unbelievable story as the one about the pig-faced specter of the rectory. I imagine Brother Randolph would tell you there's nothing fantastic about the story at all. Brother Randolph? Yes, sir. He's the overseer of the rectory. He's seen the specter many times. Oh, he's probably just superstitious too. Brother Randolph says the thing is always dressed in a long black cloak. As the body of a human, but the face is that of some grotesque and repulsive animal. Mm-hmm. It sounds like an old wives tale. Well, mind you, sir, I'm not trying to convince you about such things. Uh, that's the entrance to the choir loft. The chapel over there. Hmm, chapel. I didn't know there was one in here. It's a chapel of St. Peter at Windkira. Is it possible for me to go in there? Picking your body, sir. That's what the climb of the stairs was for. We always like to show visitors the choir loft, the chapel. Well then, let's have a gambler at the place, shall we? Yes, it is, sir. Yeah, the key. You always keep this locked. Or have it in anything else. Nobody ever climbs those steps unless they're shown them through the tower. There they are, sir. Yeah, I say. There's dark in there. How about a light, my man? Oh, no, blimey. I completely forgot to turn the lights on. The fuse box down below. If you don't mind waiting, sir. Oh, no, no, no. Wait. I wouldn't ask anyone to climb those steps again. There's enough light coming through the stained glass panes. I say, would you lead the way? Yes, yes, yes, of course. What's your step, sir? A step of beer. Ah, there you are, sir. You can observe the chapel below, sir. Yes. It's deserted looking, isn't it? It isn't as deserted as you might think, sir. What was that? You see only as far as you permit yourself to see, sir. I don't believe I understand. If you look for emptiness, sir, you'll see emptiness. But it is empty down there. Is it, sir? I suppose you're trying to tell me this chapel is haunted, too. And it ought to be, sir? Right. Yes, indeed. You see, sir, it's the buried place of the Edless Dent. It's another of those idiotic legends. Oddly a legend. You see those flagstones down there in front of the altar? Faintly, yes. Those stones far more than just the sanctuary floor, sir. They're also tombstones. You tell me such a thing as that, Mr. Swift. Because it's truth. You mean people are buried beneath those flagstones? Including, I might add, two of England's queens. Not actually. Oh, yes. I've never heard that before. Few people are, sir. Then that's why you say the place down there isn't deserted. In a manner of speaking. That's what I mean. Yes. I've observed the huge pipe orga here in the loft, sir. Oh, yes, yes, sir. I noticed when we came in. Getting back to what you were talking... It's quite a famous instrument, I might say. It's played by dozens of famous people. Oh, it has? Could I play it? It's against regulation, sir. But, well, if you play softly, sir. Oh, now I say that's mighty good of you. I do have somewhat of a reputation for playing the organ. Play well, sir. What well? Thank you. Old instrument, isn't it? Beautiful tone, though. Beautiful. Quickly, sir. Let's play it. Play. Always speaks like that in Latin. Whenever a stranger plays this organ for the first time. No one has ever seen who he is. We hear no more of him today. But what's the explanation? Who is it? Why does he do that? I must admit, sir. I've often heard of the ghost of Saint Peter's Chapel, but this is the first time. He always does that? Whenever a stranger plays this organ for the first time. Will he return if I play again? No. He always speaks just once. He is never heard again. Until another organist plays for the first time. Amazing. Absolutely incredible. I say, sir. It's about closing time. Do you mind if I leave you now? I know. Of course not. You recall your way out of the tower, I trust. Look around a while longer, if you wish. I'll return later to lock this car lot. But I don't know whether I want to remain here. Oh, don't worry, sir. You're quite all right. Besides, you don't believe in such rubbish as ghosts. Yes, but I'm happy to have shown you an answer. By the way, what did you say your name is? Holman. Frederick J. Holman. Then I'm very happy to have known you, Mr. Holman. Who knows? Perhaps your virial will make you a changed man. Hmm. Whatever did he mean by that? I say, he's come over me. Oh, sleepy. Let's close now. Mr. Swift definitely returned. Locked me in. That's strange. Why didn't he awaken me? It can't be. There's stones at the foot of the altar. They're being pushed up by someone underneath. Hands. And arms. And bony arms. Pushing up the flagstones. And over to the right. Two ghostly figures rising out of the tombs in the floor. Dozens of them now, leaving their tomb, forming a procession down the middle aisle of the chapel, carrying his head before him in his hands. A procession down the center aisle. And soundless feet, the one in ancient armor, be the leader of those fantastic creatures. Oh, is this a dream? Is this a nightmare? No. It is not a dream. Just a moment ago, you were down below, leading the procession. It is not our custom to hold our rights while an intruder is present. But I was locked in here. I didn't intend to be here. Now that you are here, you must make the most of it. What? What do you mean? You are now as one of us. It was you who played when I played the organ earlier today. Yes. I always play when a stranger sits at the console. You see, it was I who first played this organ when it was installed. Don't you think I play well? But why do you return when others play it? Because no one could ever play it as well as I. Therefore, I pray for them. You, you're dead. And yet, you're playing the instrument now. Yes. I always provide the music for our nightly meetings. I don't understand all this. Those others down there, they're ghastly creatures. Headless. Yes. They were less fortunate than I. You see, I managed to keep my head. They were executed. How else would they have come to be headless? You see, we would become quite uncomfortable lying in our graves beneath the black stone floor if we didn't arise occasionally and stretch ourselves. Good. Down below there. Will it amaze you for me to tell you that in that procession are some of history's most famous people? Surely this isn't happening. Indeed. Believe me, you're quite mistaken. Didn't you know that here in the chapel of St. Peter at Ventura are buried such famous people as Sir Thomas Moore? Henry VIII's queens, Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard. Do remember that. But as well as Lady Jane Gray and Dudley, her husband, and Sir Walter Raleigh and the Duke of Monmouth. But they have all been dead for hundreds of years. Art rule, Halman. You will join us. What? I said you will join in the procession with us. No, not I. It must be so. No one can look upon the procession of the headless dead unless he joined them to save himself. Save myself? What do you mean? You will discover what I mean if you refuse to take part in the ceremony. But not now. Not tonight. Perhaps later. Yes, some other time. It will be more satisfactory for you to join us tonight. I can't tonight. Can't we make it some other night? Honestly, I fell asleep here. It's later than I thought. It's exactly midnight. I must return home. My family will be frantic. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll return to join you tomorrow at midnight. Tomorrow at midnight. You will return to join in the procession. Yes. Yes, that's fine. You can count on it. Raise your right hand. Right hand? Yes. Raise it. Now, repeat after me. I solemnly swear. I solemnly swear. By the souls of the sacred dead. By the souls of the sacred dead. To return to this chapel tomorrow at midnight. To return to this chapel tomorrow. So help me, heaven. So help me, heaven. Now, you may go. Yes, but the door to the choir locked is locked. It is locked, but you will have no trouble going out through it. And remember, Frederick Holman, tomorrow night at midnight. Frederick dear, you're worried about something. I know you are. It was one o'clock when you came home last night. You've never done that before. I know, Lola, my dear, I know. You acted so strangely when you did get home. What's more, you didn't sleep. You tossed all night long. Lola, I must tell you something. Well, I certainly think I have some explanation coming. Yes, yes, you have. I don't know how you're going to accept this, but... Well, here goes. I went to visit the Tower of London yesterday. I saw the prison cells and the execution and torture chambers. Finally, the guard took me to the little chapel of St. Peter, I think. Promised to return to the chapel tonight at midnight. And they permitted me to leave the chapel. Frederick, sure you were dreaming. No, I'm sure it was no dream. It was all too realistic. I saw those people and heard them. Now, but things like that don't happen. I'm very positive this happened, Lola. Oh, nonsense. You were just affected by those ghost stories that Guy told you about the Tower. Oh, dear, you're wrong. I've never believed in such things before. Now? But surely you don't intend to go back there tonight. Do you? I don't know, Lola. I say, Lola, are you there? Lola! I'm sorry, dear. I thought for a moment we'd been disconnected. Yes, I can hear you now. And what I called for, dear, was to say I'm dining at the club tonight. All Simon Joster's off to the Orient. We're having a dinner for him. Yes, I'll be home early. What's that? Decided not to go to the Tower tonight. I think you're probably right. It all must have been a dream. Good evening, Mr. Holman, your car, sir. Thank you, Henry. Shall I drive you to the Tower, sir? Of course not, Henry. Drive me straight home. Whatever made you think I'd want to go to the Tower at this time of night? I don't rightly know, sir. Begging your pardon, Mr. Holman, I don't know what made me ask you that. Really, I don't. Don't drive me home, Henry. Yes, sir. By the way, what time do you have, Henry? It's just a minute or two before midnight, sir. Oh, very well. Take me home at once. Did you say something, sir? Did you hear something, Henry? Hear something, sir? Yes, a voice. Voice, Mr. Holman. Don't you hear that voice? No, sir. I don't hear nothing, sir. It's him. Listen to him. You must be tired, sir. There's nobody. Good voice. Really, sir? Don't tell me you haven't heard the camping spook of work at all. Can't be. Oh, brother Randolph's thick-faced specter of the rectory. No one could ever play the organ as well as I. That's what he said. The man in armor. You see, only as far as you permit yourself to see, sir. You see, I managed to keep my head. If you look for emptiness, sir, you see emptiness. Then it wasn't a dream. The flagstones of the sanctuary floor are also tombstones. It's true. It wasn't a dream. You must join our procession. Henry. The endless debt. Join our procession. The endless debt. Join our procession. The endless debt. Henry. In the name of heaven, ma'am. Look where you're driving. I can't stop, sir. Look out. Look out. Mr. Holman. Henry, look out. Mr. Holman. Are you all right, sir? We hit that truck. Mr. Holman, we hit that truck broadside. Mr. Holman. Look out. It's Treasury Coleman. And welcome. I am pleased that you have kept your appointment with us. You have heard the headless dead. Tonight's original tale of dark fantasy by Scott Bishop. Ben Morris played Frederick Holman. Eleanor Naylo-Corn was Mrs. Holman. Fred Wayne was Swift. Garland Moss was the leader of the headless dead. and Murillo Schofield was heard as the chauffeur. Next Friday night at this same time, we'll bring you a strange and weird tale of the unusual. Death is a savage deity, based upon Scott Bishop's novel of the same name. Listen for this breathtaking tale of witchcraft and black magic. Dark Fantasy originates each Friday night in the studios of WKY, Oklahoma City. This is the National Broadcasting Company.