 Good evening, friends of the creaking door. This is your host to welcome you into the Enosangton. Come in, come in. Ah, I always feel light-hearted in weather like this, so perhaps we ought to have a little poetry before we begin. An Arab girl named Yuhim was lied to by her husband, Menuhim. For this little trifle, she shot him with a rifle, and now she can see right through him. Ha ha ha ha! And now if your scalpels are sharpened and ready, we will proceed with the business of evening. Tonight we're going to do a little study in terror. Have you ever been alone with fear, alone in the night and frightened? Well, here is our star, Agnes Moehead, in the role of Linda Dixon, who will tell us a tale of terror by night. It was Friday night, and I think I was already a little nervous as I drove north into the mountains. I hadn't wanted to waste even an hour of my two-week vacation, so I'd had all my bags packed and the car waiting at the curb in front of my office building. Everything would have been all right if a fuel pump in my six-year-old car hadn't acted up. It took the mechanic almost two hours to get me going. So now I was driving through the night with fifty miles more to go and I was tired and nervous and irritated. And then I heard the whistle in the distance. At first I couldn't place it. And then I remembered the state prison was somewhere in the vicinity. The whistle. It meant, it meant a prisoner had escaped. I reached over and turned on the radio. Maybe they were broadcasting something about it. Motorists are warned to be on the lookout for Lee Hartley, who escaped from the death cell at state prison at 9.15 p.m. Tall, dark hair, regular features, no distinguishing marks. Hartley is a confirmed killer. He is believed to be armed. Beware of Hartley. He would rather kill than eat. He would rather kill than eat. And that man was loose, perhaps waiting around the next bed in the road. Hartley was helped to escape from the outside by his sweetheart Helen Hearn. A red-headed woman just as vicious as Hartley himself. It is thought that Hartley and the Hearn woman may have separated after the escape. All motorists are warned to beware of a dark-haired man and a red-haired woman alone or together. My hand was shaking a little as I turned off the radio. I looked in the car mirror and shivered. I too have red hair. There was a storm coming on and I was driving into it and the night was black and I felt small and lonely and frightened in the car. And then I saw them in the mirror, the headlights sweeping up behind me. A car. It had come out of nowhere. It was pulling alongside, cutting me off. I cowered behind the wheel and watched the door of that other car open. A man stepped out. Oh, and I breathed the sigh of relief. It was a state trooper. You're driving all alone, Miss? Yes, Officer. Sorry if I scared you. We're stopping all cars. Where are you headed for? Well, I'm going up to the lodge at Smuggler's Notch. That's near Mount Mansfield. You see, I started out late from the city and I'm having motor trouble. Yeah, sure. Can I see your driver's license, please? My driver's license? Yes, of course. Here, I've got it somewhere in my purse. I seem to be all fingers. It's that escaped prisoner, Hartley. How'd you know about him? I heard the prison whistle, and then it came over the radio about Hartley and his red-haired girlfriend. Hey, you've got red hair, too. You don't think I'm that woman? Find that license yet? Oh, yes, I'm sure it's in here. There aren't so many things in this bag. Oh, here, here, I've got it. Here's my license. Thanks. What time did you say you left the city? About five o'clock. It took you a long time to get up this far. Oh, I told you I had motor trouble. So you did. Okay, Miss Dixon, here's your license. Thank you. You can go ahead. Thank you. Oh, darn! There it goes again. Oh, motor trouble. Oh, it's the same thing. The mechanic said it might happen again. Oh. Oh, it started. You want to get that fixed the first chance you get? Oh, it's too late. All the service stations are closed. Well, there's one that's open all night, about two miles up the road. Better stop there. Bill Slater's place. He's a good mechanic. He'll fix you up. Tell him Joe Nesbitt sent you. Thanks, I will. And listen, Miss Dixon. Yeah. You be careful. Don't stop to give anyone a lift, man or woman. Oh, don't worry. I won't. In a few minutes, I saw the lights of the station. I swung into the open space in front of the pumps and stopped. There was another car, a coop parked at the pump, but there was nobody in it. And I didn't see any attendant around either. I pressed the horn button. No one answered. Everything seemed so quiet and suddenly ominous. I found myself shivering. I had a curious feeling that someone was watching me. I had to get away from there. Fast. Oh, the starter wouldn't work again. Not again. Oh, he won't die. For a long time, I sat behind the wheel listening. Listening for the sound of footsteps stealing up behind the car. But there were none. Then I could bear it no longer. I had to get out of the car. I had to see what was in that office. I opened the door of the car and stepped down on the gravel. I clenched my fists and stepped inside. There on the floor at my feet lay the body of a man. His mechanics jumper was stained red. And his throat was cut. The long I stood there, I'll never know. I was petrified. Unable to move, unable to take my eyes from the body. It must be Hartley, the killer. He must have been hiding somewhere upstairs. I must get away. My car won't run. There's a car, the coupe. The coupe I could jump into that, yes. Yes. Or if I can reach that coupe before he comes down. Anything wrong, sister? Oh, too late. Anything I can do for you, sister? Yes. Yes, it's my car. It won't start. I thought someone here might help me. Sorry, there doesn't seem to be anybody around. That's my coupe over there. I stopped for gas and no one came out, so I went in and looked around. But did you find anybody? There isn't a living soul in there. Oh. You look kind of tired. No, no, no, I'm all right. My name is Taylor, John Taylor. I'm Linda Dixon. Linda Dixon. Glad to know you. You traveling far tonight? I'm going to Mount Mansfield to the largest smuggler's notch. They're expecting me. What do you know about that? What? Mount Mansfield is the place I'm heading for too. Isn't that a coincidence? I'm sure it is. And your car won't run. I'll tell you what. We'll put your baggage in my car and I'll give you a lift to Mount Mansfield. You can send for your car in the morning. No. I'll have your bag switched. Please. No, I'd rather not. Hang on. All switched. Come on. Get in here. We're way into the night. Leaving behind us the dead man in the service station. From where we sit, it looks as if Linda Dixon's got herself into an awful jam. And believe me, she's shaking like jelly. Let's see how our star Agnes Moorhead and the role of Linda Dixon is making out. All alone in the car with a strange man. But after all, she shouldn't be too scared of him. He's just a felon who needs a friend. I sat stiff and tense beside the man who called himself John Taylor. He had both hands on the wheel and he stared out through the windshield. My eyes focused on something on his right hand. It was a stain, a small stain, but it was wet and red. I couldn't take my eyes off it. What are you looking at? Oh, nothing, nothing at all. I think I'll turn on the radio. Did you know there's been a jailbreak? Hartley is five foot ten, very dark hair. Don't be fooled by his pleasant manner. He is a killer by instinct. A killer by instinct? I look at the man beside me. He is accompanied by Helen Hearn. Helen Hearn is a clever and dangerous woman. Five foot three, red hair, very pretty. I caught Taylor looking at me out of the corner of his eyes. What are you looking at? That's your hair. It's red. There was a streak of lightning and looking out of the rain swept window I glimpsed a signpost. The lightning illuminated the sign and my heart skipped a beat at what I saw. That sign we just passed. What about it? It said, Barrington ahead, we're going the wrong way. We should be on the Mansfield Road, not the Barrington Road. That's funny. I must have taken the wrong turn. Well aren't you going to turn back? Sure. Whatever you say. Turn around and go back. Oh. We're in the ditch. In the ditch? She won't budge. Well, looks like we're stuck here for the night. I think I'd better get out and walk. Perhaps there's a house nearby. Walk? In this weather? I don't mind the weather, really I don't. You can't walk in this storm. You're staying right here until I get the car out of the ditch. I've got some tools in the trunk compartment. You stay put. I heard him open the trunk in the back. I listened for further sounds but there was nothing. I didn't hear him moving back there. I didn't hear any tools. I had to find out what he was doing. Slowly, carefully, I got my door open. I stepped out into the rain and sneaked back toward the rear. I saw him there not moving in front of the open trunk compartment bending over with a flashlight in his hand. The ray of light was focused on something curled up inside. It wasn't baggage or tools. It was a woman's body. Just then he saw me. He snapped the flashlight off but not before I caught a glimpse of red. I must have fainted. When I came to, I found myself seated inside the car again. The storm was over. The night was quiet. Oh, so you're awake again? I don't feel well. Is it because of what's in the trunk compartment? Oh, she's dead. I told you not to get out of the car. What are you going to do with me? What do you think? They say that when a person loses all hope, he subconsciously seeks refuge in sleep. That's what must have happened to me. I must have dosed or perhaps I fainted. I don't know. But I awoke with a start at the sound of breaks. I sat up straight and saw that we had stopped in front of a small field stone house. Why are we stopping here? I'm out of gas. Oh. Come on. We're going in. The sign on the door said Roger Bryce, M.D. A doctor's house. I began to feel a spark of hope. There might be a chance. I'll do the talking. Is that clear? Yes. There's the bell. You must be awake. There's a light in the parlor. How do you do? Oh, good evening. I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, doctor, but my sister and I were heading for Mansfield and we seem to have gotten lost. And we're out of gas. His sister? He was passing his office, brother and sister. Now I knew why he hadn't cut my throat as he had that service station hence. He was carrying me for protection. I was his passport through the police cordon. His sister. I'm afraid I can't be of much help to you. I'm seven miles from the nearest town and I haven't any spare gasoline. But come in, won't you? Well, yes. Thank you. We will. I wonder if I could offer you my hospitality tonight. Oh, that would be imposing. Not at all. I have two rooms that aren't being used. Well, really. Oh, come. Come, I insist. I had hoped for a chance to talk to Dr. Bryce alone. Just a word to warn him. But Taylor never left us alone for a minute. He insisted on coming into my room to make sure he said that it was comfortable enough for me. Then he took the doctor by the arm and went out with him. The nicest, sweet dreams. I was alone, free of the presence of John Taylor. I had another lease on life. I lay down on the bed, but I didn't dare close my eyes. I waited, my heart pounding to give him both a chance to retire. And I slipped off my shoes and got off the bed in my stocking feet. I stole across the room and inched my door open. Slowly, carefully, I stepped out into the corridor and turned right toward the doctor's room. What's the matter, Sister? Sleepwalking? You weren't thinking of going anywhere, Sister. Were you? I wanted a drink of water. In case you didn't know it, there's a water pitcher on your dresser. Oh, well, I didn't see it. Good night, Sister. I turned around and went back into my room. It was no news. I lay down on the bed. How long I lay there, I don't know. Perhaps I slept, perhaps not, but I heard that slight creak as my door began to inch open. The blood chilled in my veins. Daguely, I saw the outline of the hand and the knife it held. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. He came to the bed. Now he stands over here. He raises the knife. Rolled over on the bed just as the knife slashed down. I rolled over on the bed and cowered in the corner. That horrible cower there in the corner was safe for all of us. And then, what won? In the dark, I strained my eyes to see. It isn't Dr. Bryce. It's... It's I, John Taylor. It was John Taylor standing there at the light switch. And on the floor lay Dr. Bryce unconscious with a long dash in his head. I... I had to hit him with a... a water pitcher. And Bryce swung back to Dr. Bryce. And I saw the knife still gripped in his right hand. That's Hartley, Linda. Lee Hartley, the killer. It... It was he who came in here with the knife? Right. I was down the cellar just now. The real Dr. Bryce is down there, dead. This guy posed as Bryce when we came to the house. Oh, but... Then you... You're not Hartley. Oh, what a situation. All the time you thought I was Lee Hartley and I thought you were Helen Hearn on account of your red hair. Oh, but the... But the body of that red-haired woman? That's Helen Hearn. This guy must have killed her back at the service station and stuffed her body in my trunk compartment while I was inside. That all happened last summer. In time, I think I'll manage to forget that night of terror. But it won't be soon. Sometimes in the night I dream that I see that awful figure with the knife coysed above my throat. And I... I wake up screaming. But then John takes me in his arms and holds me tight and tells me that everything is all right. You see, I'm Mrs. John Taylor now. Well, what do you know, a happy ending? As for Mr. Hartley, that pleasant killer, he got what he deserved. Some people never know when they're well off. He should have stayed in jail, where they never raise your rent, where they make no charge for meals or for electric current. You see, when you're in jail, everything is free. Except you. Well, friends, it's time once again to close that creaking door. Until next week at the same time when we'll be back with a little hunk of horror. You'll be sure to listen, won't you? Until next week then. Good night. Pleasant. Free.