 Dinner, Sanctum Mysteries, brought to you by Bromo Seltzer. Bye, Teddy Waste! Bromo Seltzer, Bromo Seltzer, Bromo Seltzer, Bromo Seltzer, Bromo Seltzer. Good evening, friends of the Inner Sanctum. This is your host inviting you through the gory portals of the squeaking door for another swary with some super duper supernatural personality. And if you've never met a super duper supernatural personality, aren't you the lucky one? Because they'd be vitalised people, usually somewhat dead, with transparent complexions and morbid imaginations. Would you like to become one? You won't have to worry about the high cost of living, and you'll never have to worry about dying because once you're dead, that little matter will take care of itself. But why don't I become one? I've got news for you. I am. Tonight's Inner Sanctum Mystery, Death Demon, was written by Milton Lewis and stars Everett Sloan in the role of Howard with Anne Seymour Ashilda, and is presented by the Emerson Drug Company of Baltimore, Maryland, whose registered pharmacists compound Bromo Seltzer, the headache product that fights headache three ways. Bromo Seltzer helps the pain of a headache quickly and pleasantly, and also helps the jittery nerves and stomach upset that may accompany a headache. No wonder in a recent representative nationwide survey, drugist report that of all headache products dispensed to their fountains, the overwhelming favourite is Bromo Seltzer. All right, friend. Let's stop all this ghoulishness and let's get grim. Now remember our rule. Don't jump out of the window unless it's open. Ready now. Then listen as Howard Ryan tells us his strange story. The wind was rising when I returned to Greystone Farms late that night. The house with its Victorian gables and towers looked like a clawing hand leaching into the scutting clouds. I went directly to my room even though the living room was lit up. I had no desire to see my stepmother or the man she had married. The moment I got into my room and turned on the light, I gasped. My things had been disturbed. Many of them were gone. I ran down to the living room. Come in, Howard. We want to talk to you. I looked at this young woman not more than ten years older than myself, whom I called mother. In the flickering firelight, she looked more beautiful than ever. But he was there too and I felt his voice cut across the room. You didn't stare at her like that, Howard. She didn't take those things out of your room. Who did, sir? I did. Please stop this absurd trick of calling me sir. Do you like it or not? I'm your stepfather. I'm sorry, sir, but my manner of addressing you is the politest I could think of. Please, Howard, where are the things you took out of my room, sir? Here. You had no right to take them. I told him to. You? For your own good, Howard. We were worried about you. Were you really? You've been ill. You know what the doctor said. What we found in your room justified all our fears. How long have you been reading these horrid books ever since my father was murdered? What do you expect to get out of them? Perhaps, sir. I expect it to find some way of reaching my father. You know that's nonsense. Is it? Books on witchcraft, necromancy, morbid rubbish. I give you credit for more intelligence, Howard. This brooding about your father might destroy your mind. And why should you care about that, mother? Because... because... Well, I'm fond of you, Howard. I'm not your real mother, I know. But I tried to be one to you when your father was alive. I want to help you now. Help? Then why don't you try to find out who murdered my father two years ago? The police are doing everything they can. You think I've stopped trying? Yes, mother. I don't believe you even care who murdered your former husband. All you care about is him. Now, see here, Howard. It's true. I know it. I'm not a fool. The only reason you permit me to stay in this house is because my father's will compels you to take care of me or you wouldn't have a penny of income. All right, you're hysterical. Can't you see what these books have done to you? Perhaps you'd like to see what they've done for me, sir. What are you talking about? This morbid nonsense. What if I tell you that some of those things are true? They can't be. Today, I'll be able to talk to my father and find out who murdered him in his sleep. Perhaps I might be able to do it right now. Right now? You're frightened? You wouldn't like to see him again. This man, you loved so deeply that you remarried a year after his death. Stop it, Howard. Stop it. And you're frightened, too, aren't you, sir? Good reason. I don't think you'd care to meet this man whose wife you stole. Would you like to see him? I'm not afraid. Then perhaps I shall make him appear. What are you saying, Howard? Do you know where I was all day, mother, at my father's grave? And look, this earth! I brought some of it back. This earth that's now mingled with his remains. That's Dane, my father's dog. Animals know when they're dead and near. This time it will work, I'm sure! The signs are right! What are you going to do? Throw this earth into the fire and follow an ancient ritual to set loose the chained spirits of the dead! There! Howard! Did you see how the flames leave up, mother? The lightning struck that tree and knocked a branch through the window. You're wrong! It's my father! But I knew that at that moment my father came back to this earth. They were terrified, both of them, though they tried not to show it. That night I went to my room, listened to the storm howl itself out. But there was no further sign of my father. I must have slept, perhaps dreamed, because I heard a voice I hadn't heard in two years. I recognized it. Still thick with the accent he had acquired from his boyhood in Europe. My son! My son! Wake up and find the person who murdered me. Wake up, my son! Wake up! Something I knew I was rubbing my eyes. My room was full of mist, tinted a strange yellow gold by the murky moonlight that filtered through the windows. My father's dog, Dane, was tugging at my leg. He was trying to leave me out of the room. I followed him through the halls of that huge silent house to my father's study. It had been locked up since he died and no one ever used it since. But when I tried to handle this night, the door opened as though being pulled by some unknown force. Mist and moonlight crept into the study, lit the dust and cobwebs and shadowy furnishings with an eerie light. And then something crashed. A broken vase with a tiny key among its fragments lay on the floor. It might have been Dane who knocked over that vase, but I don't think so. I picked up the key. The moment I had it in my hand, I remembered a scene from my childhood. I had secretly observed my father remove a book from one of the cases, take out this tiny key and open a hidden panel in the bookcase. Like a man in a dream, I repeated the action. I removed the book. And there was the secret panel. I opened it with the key. There was nothing in it, but a few large notebooks. I took them out, opened one, and by the flickering yellow lighted my match. My father came back to this journal. I record thoughts that if they remain unexpressed, might drive me mad. I know now that my wife shielded Isini another man. I know his name. Dane Barton. What do you want, Mother? Just to see you. I've been worried about you. Really? Why? You've been locked in this room for the last two days. Here, I have brought you some food. Thank you. Where is your husband? He had to drive to town. Howard, you can't go on like this. You love him very much, don't you? I wouldn't have married him if I didn't. You love him more than you love my father? Please, there's no point in discussing this. Your father's dead, and that's all past. Not quite dead. In fact, he's very close to us at this moment. Close? Yes. So close that he can reach out and touch you. Howard, let go of my hand. You don't believe me, Mother. This is all nonsense. Is it? What would you do if I told you that my father is holding your hand this very minute? What would you do if I told you that he has taken possession of my body? Howard, you're ill. You don't know what you're saying. Did you know Dale Barton before my father was murdered? No. I only met him after your father died. You lie. That's his voice. You have been seeing Dale Barton for months. I know I followed you. No. No. I talked to you about it the day before I died. You swore he meant nothing to you. Let go of me. Let go. Did you kill me? No. No. Answer me. Did you murder me? You once said you hated me. Let go of me. Please. You said you loved me even on the day I was murdered. You're hating me. Did you murder me? Was it because of him? Tell me. Healthy. Crazy fool. What's going on here? Dale, healthy. He wants to kill me. All right. Let go. No. She's mine. No. Come, shielder. I'll take you out of here. He let her out of the room while I lay on the floor. Had she murdered my father, had he? I knew at last I had the means of finding out. There were thick vines outside my window. And late that night, as I had often done when I was a boy, I carefully, quietly climbed down them, stopping at a point outside their window. I clung to the wall like a bat. And I heard them talking. Didn't you hear his voice? You don't actually believe. I don't know what to believe. He looked so much like his father. When he seized me, he spoke to me. It was his father. Truly, you're being foolish about this. Am I? On the day William was murdered, Howard was away at college. How could he have known what we talked about? And he didn't know. That boy seemed to know every word. That boy, what is he, his father? Shielder, do you know what you're saying? Yes. This isn't an ordinary thing. There's nothing you can do about it. Oh, yes, there is. I climbed back to my room to think. I dared not go to sleep because I knew my father had been murdered in his sleep. And if they had murdered him, they'd certainly have an excellent reason to kill me. I thought of running away, but then I would never find out. I know now why I couldn't run away. My father within me was holding me there. I lay down on my bed to rest. And then suddenly, I found myself dreaming. Dreaming that a pair of powerful hands were touching at my throat. I struggled gasp for breath, tried to scream. I was being murdered in my sleep just as my father was. I tore at those iron fingers, clawed at those hands that were cutting off my life, and then opened my eyes and discovered that it was not a nightmare. I hadn't been dreaming. It was real. I was being murdered. You are listening to Inner Scientum. What do you buy? Bromoselter, Bromoselter, Bromoselter, Bromoselter, Bromoselter. Right now, after all the excitement of the Fourth of July, I'll bet lots of people have holiday headaches. If you're one of those unhappy folks, I'll tell you how to get fast headache help. Just take a sparkling, refreshing glass of Bromoselter. You'll find that Bromoselter fights headache three ways fast. Bromoselter helps the pain of a headache and does it quickly and pleasantly. Second, Bromoselter helps calm, jumpy, jangled nerves. Third, Bromoselter helps soothe an upset stomach. And since stomach upset and jittery nerves may team up with an ordinary headache, it makes a lot of sense to insist on Bromoselter, the headache help that's famous for fighting headache three ways. Bromoselter is a favorite help all year round because it's so refreshing and present tasting. Ask at your druggist's fountain or counter for speedy, economical... Bromoselter, Bromoselter, Bromoselter, Bromoselter, Bromoselter, Bromoselter, Bromoselter, Bromoselter. Well, old friend, your breathing spell is over. Now it's time to lose your breath again, so let's get back to our story. Now, what did we do with the call? Oh, yes. We were interrupted while we were making one. And if you remember, the corpse belonged to Howard Ryan, the young man who was telling us this story. He had just discovered that his dream had come true and someone was choking at the death. That's a nice way to wake up from sleep, isn't it? Well, let's have Howard tell us what happened. My eyes focused through the haze and I recognized Dale, my stepfather. And his hands that were around my neck. Suddenly I heard Dale bark, and the door flew open and like a rising cannon shell, the dog flew through the air to throw to my stepfather. The moment later I thought his hands released me as he shoved him. Stop him. Go on, move on. Just kill me. I'll take it. For a moment I did nothing. I knew I wanted him to die, but I still wasn't sure if he had killed my father. I suppose I was a fool, but I yelled, stop it, counting down. Here, Dale, come here. What? Who opened the door? I want to get out of here. Not yet. All right. Are you going to turn that dog loose on me again? Perhaps. You want to kill me. You've tried to kill me. Kill you if you lost your mind completely. I woke up with your hands around my throat. You're insane. I was trying to pick you up on the floor. You're lying. I'm not. I heard you mourning and screaming, and I came up to see what was wrong. I found you on the floor. You were having a nightmare. Was I? Of course. Why should I want to kill you? Because I may find out how you murdered my father. What he said could have been true. I had had little sleep for a long time, and his attack on me could have been a nightmare. I could never be certain. But to protect myself, I kept a gun with me at all times. I read and reread the journals of my father, which I had found. More and more often, it was his voice that came out of my mouth, his thoughts that filled my mind. And then came the night when I found out the truth. Good evening, Al. What are you doing in my room, sir? I came to have a talk with you. Dane! Dane! It was no use calling for your dog. You'll never see him again. What did you do with him? What should have been done long ago. What? What have you got there? A knife. And it's quite sharp. Quite suited to the purpose I intended for. You came to kill me. Did my mother put you up to this? No. As a matter of fact, your stepmother is in town right now. We two are quite alone. I see. You've always hated me. Haven't you, Al? Yes, sir. I suppose you can't help her. Your stepmother is a very beautiful woman. She has nothing to do with us. It makes very little difference. The fact of the matter is that you become dangerously psychopathic. I want you to know that I've taken steps to have you confined. Come on, so that's the game. Sir, you're going to kill me and tell the authorities you are protecting yourself from a homicidal maniac. I'm glad you're aware of your disadvantages. But you're not aware of yours. A gun. Did you murder my father? What are you going to do? Did you kill me? Who's speaking? Answer me. Did you murder me? What are you? What are you? Answer me. That's all I'll answer you. I'll kill you. Don't. Speak before you die. Did you murder me in my sleep? I have got to know now. Murder you. Did you? Did you? But he never spoke again. My father, using my body, had murdered him. Have you seen Dale? Yes, mother. Where is he? Come in. He's in here. Howard, you... He murdered him. Yes, when he tried to throw that knife at me, you see he still has it in his hand. Howard! He tried to get away. Let me out of here. No, mother. And don't call me mother. You're no son of mine. You're a murderer. Yes, mother, but less of a murderer than you are. At least I killed in self-defense, not when my victim was asleep healthness and unaware of danger. Let me out of here. No, you're going to stay. Yes, this gun. The same gun I used to murder your husband. Stay just where you are. Why? Because I want you to see this man who succeeded my father. This creature whom you love. Look at him there, mother. Twisted grotesquely into the whining coward. He proved himself to be in death. Look at him. This is the man you gave up my father for. This is the man you committed murder for. Let me go. This is the man who used his last breath to betray you. Yes. How? He said that you killed my father. It's a lie. Is it, Shilda? William. Is it? Yes, I didn't murder you. I mean to know the truth. Do not think this is some trick played by my son. I am William. I know things which only you and I in all the world know. Tell me the truth. Don't point that gun at me. Your only chance is to tell me the truth. William, will you let me live? It will depend on what you tell me. Then why should I tell you? Because I am your husband who once loved and trusted you, Lila. Tell me. Tell me now or you will die. Very well. I did it. I committed the murder. What you wanted to hear is it? What you wanted me to tell you is it? It is what I wanted to know. What do you got to do? What do you think I should do? Let me live. I've loved you. I've always loved you. It wasn't my fault he put me up to it. Now that he said I had realized what I've done. Do you? Yes. Let me live. Let me live. Perhaps I shall, mother. Howard. Oh, you, you understand, don't you? It's just as it happened with you and your father. So it happened with Dale and myself. You, you won't do anything to me, will you? I'm not your real mother, I know. But I have loved you, Howard. You know I've loved you and I still love you. Tell me one thing. Was he as guilty as you? Yes. Yes, it was really all his fault. Then come with me, Gilda. We're going to the police. And that's what happened, Inspector. She finally confessed. And I brought her here. Have you anything to say, ma'am? Yes, Inspector. What? Everything I told my stepson. Every word of my confession was a lie. Mother! This boy's insane. He's been out of his mind ever since his father was murdered. I only made that confession to humor him and save my life. And I can prove what I say. More than one doctor has found him unbalanced. I believe you, ma'am. Inspector, you, you, you can't, this woman murdered my father, she told me. We know how murdered your father, son. He was not this woman. He picked up a man yesterday. He confessed, gave us all the details. They all checked with the evidence. His name is Ralph Stone, criminal with a long record. And he murdered your father for money. Then... It wasn't my money. No, it wasn't just that, Mother. No. It was her husband, Dale Burton. We learned that he hired this Ralph Stone to commit the murder. Then I was right. My father knew what he was doing when he made me pull that trigger. I wonder, son, because you're under arrest for murder. I kept telling them that I didn't murder Dale Burton. I didn't pull that trigger. It was my father who murdered him. They don't believe me. But it has to be right, you see. How could father have known Dale was guilty without supernatural knowledge? My father still lives inside of me and sometimes he talks. Well, friend, there's nothing wrong with little old Howard. Just a little bit nuts, but who isn't? And how'd you like someone to possess you someday? Just think, you could lead a double life for the price of a single. In fact, you may be able to save money because, as everybody knows, two can live cheaper than one. Which brings us to the moral of tonight's story, taken from the cronings of nature, girl who wobbles. Don't drop dead except in bed, otherwise you can break your head. It's common knowledge, I suppose, that jittery nerves can help to cause a miserable headache. And it's almost as well known, I think, that bromoselter can help a headache in short order, even when that headache is accompanied by jangled nerves or stomach upset. Because bromoselter not only helps the headache, but it helps calm the jumping nerves and stomach upset at the same time. The makers of bromoselter have just received a letter from Mrs. Helen A. Haas of Mount Vernon, New York, in which she said, I've used bromoselter many times. As director of a children's dramatic school, many times jumping nerves bring on a headache. But thanks to your fine product, a headache no longer creates a problem. Thank you, Mrs. Helen Haas. You pointed out once again what millions of smart men and women know. Bromoselter fights a headache quickly and helps calm jumping nerves, too. What's more, it's so present tasting, it's actually refreshing. Caution, you zone me as directed. If headaches persist or recur, see your doctor. But for ordinary headaches... Fight! Headache! Freeways! He-he-he-he-he! Bromoselter, bromoselter, bromoselter, bromoselter. It's time to close that squeaking door for another seven-day rest. Until next week at this time, when bromoselter brings you another inner sanctum mystery directed by Hyman Brown. By the way, this month's inner sanctum mystery novel is Report for a Corpse by Henry King. Next week's tale is titled, Death is a Magician. A guy loses his girl, loses his mind, and meets a magician named Marco. Now, Marco makes it an easy mark of our hero, and in turn, our hero uses Marco for target practice in a marathon murder. Marco, you see, just won't stay dead. He-he-he-he! Son's grandma. See you next Monday, friends. And we guarantee to scramble you some, too. Until then, good night. Pleasant dream? Hmm. He-he-he-he-he. This is Dwight Wiest inviting you to tune in again next Monday at the same time to inner sanctum, which is brought to you for your entertainment every Monday right through the summer by... Bromoselter, bromoselter, bromoselter, bromoselter. Bromoselter, bromoselter. This is CBS, where 99 million people gather every week the Columbia Broadcasting System.