 Good evening Dreeks. This is PFCX inviting you to visit the Mystery Playhouse. Tonight our story is about a ticking clock, a rather common thing and yet a clock has great dramatic possibilities. For example, undoubtedly at this very moment in some hospital waiting room, a clock ticks in rhythm with the anxious footsteps of some expectant father. Or perhaps somewhere in the world a clock ticks away the last 60 seconds of a condemned man's life. Well tonight's story written by Clarence Hill, an entitled beautiful silence, is about a man to whom a ticking clock meant frustration, terror and madness. I'm a chapel. The funeral services were beautiful and impressive just as they should have been. Now I'm alone, except for the organist. Naturally, there won't be any internment under the circumstances. Somehow it's easier here. The organ playing to think of things as they were. The resurrector passed for a moment. And to see Louise again. Just as she was on the day I left her four years ago. When the bummers were swarming over. Randy, what are you trying to tell me? I don't know quite how to put it, Louise. It's just that- I think I know. You've been listed, haven't you? Yes, today. Your legal experience? No darling. That's what surprises us. Jeff and I. Jeff? What are you going to? He failed the medical. They came to us because they knew we were both party about Marvel Railroad. They knew all about Jeff's hobby shop in the village, his clock collection and all that. But what have clocks got to do with it? The timing device on a delayed action bomb was clockwork Louise. When one falls and fails to explode, the mechanism has to be removed. Very delicate operation. The light is slip and- Oh. Well, that's why they called me up. I know clockwork like the back of my hand. When'd you go? Tomorrow. I'm to head up a demolition squad in London. I left the next day and thank God that Jeff could stay behind in Chenwick and look out for Louise. I don't suppose I saw Louise more than a dozen times during the next three years, but just knowing that Jeff was with her seemed to make it easier. My luck held out amazingly well. Until the day Corporal Hadley and I took on a 500 pounder near a church in the East End. There we are. Got the nose uncovered, Captain. Good. Let me see. Looks like she's going to be a sticker. Swisted up a bit, eh? Right. Maybe the desk's got it in. Eh, here you are, sir. Thank you. Right now, sir. Good Lord. What's the matter? It's not buzzing. It's tickling. Oh, I thought it was a new one. Listen. Right here in the nose. Darn it. Like a bloomin' alarm clock. That nose as few as right under the casing. I'll leave a special wrench. Did you bring the... Wait a minute. Get out of here and join us! All right, Doctor. I don't know yet, Mrs. Green. He used to have escaped the direct effect of the blast, but he couldn't escape the concussion. You know it may affect his mind. Possibly. Always. Oh, Randy. I'm so glad you're here. I... I think you'd better rest a while, Mrs. Green. Doctor, what's that ticking noise? Why, it's the alarm clock on the table there. A bomb. It ticked too, Doctor. It didn't buzz like the others. It ticked. Why, you have to leave. Please take it out, Doctor. Please! From that moment, I knew the bomb had left its mark on me. The sound of that ticking clock had brought it back. The bomb was there again, in all its ugliness. I could hear it there in the room with me. Ticking. A sort of prelude to the sickening buzz that came just before the explosion. I felt it again when I went to see Jeff at the clock shop on the day I arrived home. A chorus of ticking clocks hit me between the eyes the moment I opened the door. Randy, oh boy. It's good to see you. My Jove, you're looking better than ever. Thank you, Jeff. It's good to see you, too. Well, I've left your things just as they were, Randy. Nothing's changed now. I'm still the village eccentric. It's the same as when you were... What's the matter, Randy? Jeff, let's go into the back room. What? Of course. What's the matter, Randy? All those clocks that put me on edge. Clock? Don't ask me why it is. All I know is that ticking does something to me. Sure, Randy. Of course. Yes. I better put the few I have in the other room, too. Don't leave them there on the shelf. I'm leaving anyway. Jeff, I'm not crazy. Sorry, old man. I'm really not quite myself. Please don't say a word about this to Louise. I don't want to worry her. Oh, call, Randy. Call. That first day at home, I was jumpy and it was hard to contain my annoyance with the sound of the clocks in the house. I thought it best not to mention, however, until the second night I sat in the library with Louise and Jeff. Louise, I was just telling Randy. It might be a good idea to run up the lake district for a while or somewhere on the south coast. I think Jeff's right, dear. You've certainly earned a rest. Sherry Jeff? Thanks. I'll have a glass, too, if you will, Louise. Darling, do you really think you're better to have the glass of lemonade? Good idea. Oh, please, don't be silly, Louise. You can't be too careful, you know. You can't ignore the doctor, Randy. The doctor? Now, look. Please understand. Please pour me some sherry. Very well, Randy. I hope that's settled. Randy, it's not that you weren't stressed by the bombs. Could have been other things. Excuse me, Mom. Where are you going? I just thought I'd put that clock in the other room. Where is it? Clock? But, Randy, there isn't any clock. What do you mean? There isn't any clock. But, Randy, darling, I... Jeff, you can hear it, can't you? Well, listen. Listen to the clock, Randy. You're wrong. You're both wrong. I can hear it. Randy. Come on, Randy. Let's take a walk in the garden. Let go of my arm, please. Don't humor me. Just please. Am I wrong, Jeff? There's no clock. I'm afraid not, Randy. Come on. All right. I'll go. Feel better, Randy? Jeff, I tell you it was there. I can hear it. Do you hear it now? No, it's gone. You've got to get hold of yourself, Randy. This can be serious. You've been through a terrible experience. But I wasn't hurt. How do you know? Shock can do horrible things to a man's mind. You don't know what you're saying. Oh, I do know what I'm saying. Come on. You ask me what you can do. You can take care of yourself for one thing instead of pretending you're just as good as you ever were. But, Jeff, you can go where you'll get proper care, somewhere in the country where it's peaceful and quiet. Where you can relax and give those scars a chance to heal. You're a sick man, Randy. It's going to take time and rest and silence. Jeff, listen now. You can hear that, can't you, Jeff? Listen now. You see there's something ticking here somewhere. No, Randy. Now, listen to me, Randy. You're not being fair to Louise. You've got to think of her. I hear it, I tell you. You're out of your mind. Jeff. Jeff, I'm afraid. Will you do as I say? Will you be sensible about this thing? Yes, I'll do anything. Just take it away, Jeff. Take it away. I have the papers for you to sign tomorrow. I don't know how I ever got through that night. As I lay in bed, it was all around me. Never stopping. The rhythm of it jabbing into my mind like a needle. My heart picking up the tempos that grew louder and louder, bouncing from wall to wall in the bedroom until I could almost feel the bed to shake under me. Jeff was right. I knew what the papers were that it meant committing myself to an institution. But it was the only thing to do. There at least I might find respite. And silence. Twice I got out of bed, but there was no escaping us. But ticking followed me everywhere. In the kitchen, the library, the living room. Well, Louise was still asleep at six o'clock. And I finally decided to see Dr. Lambert in London. I'm glad you've come, Captain. What is it, Doctor? What's wrong with me? You've developed a phobia as a result of that ticking bomb and hallucination. And I might add a natural warren viewer that tremendous shock you suffered. I suppose I should go away where it's quiet. I was about to recommend the exact opposite. Thank you, boy. You were sort of private battle on your hands, Graham. Inside your mind. Going to take courage to win it. I'll convince yourself that a ticking clock is nothing more or less than a ticking clock. Not something that's going to explode in your face. I see. It's a kind of a military principle, you know. Cheek out the enemy and attack him. Will you give it a try? All right. I'll do it. It was as if he'd challenged me. It would have been cowardly to back out and take the easy way. I wanted to try it at once. And there was one logical place, of course. Jeff's clock shop. I went there directly. Didn't even bother to go home first. Apparently, Jeff had been there earlier as the door was unlocked. Jeff. Jeff, where are you? Jeff! I was glad he wasn't in. It was better to go it alone the first time. There were clocks all around me. All sizes and shapes. The ticking seemed to grow louder as I stood there. To be, how shall I say, the sound itself were pressing in on me from all sides. Just as before, I had the feeling that the bomb was under me. Somewhere on the floor. But in the next second, the ticking would cease and the buzzing would start. I tried to erase it from my mind. I recited poetry. I read a magazine I found on the counter. I added columns of figures. Two, four, seven, eight, twelve, fifteen, five and carry one, nine, seven and sixteen, twenty-three, carry two, twenty. No! I slumped in a chair in the back room. Exhausted. It was quiet there in the back room. No clocks. Then, all of a sudden, something hit me between the eyes. No clock. The long shelf over the work table, filled with old alarm clocks two days before, was empty. My mind began to whirl with thoughts. Horrible, ugly thoughts. It took me ten minutes to get to the great barber in the garden and five more to pull up a loose plank in the flooring. Between the floor-studings was an alarm clock. The nightmare I had lived through during the past two days suddenly took on a purpose. A terrible purpose. The house was empty naturally. Louise and Jeff were together somewhere. Well, behind a row of books in the library, I found another clock and another in the drawer of the night table in our bedroom. Everything fitted together now. No. There was no doubt now. My beloved wife and my best friend were trying to drive me mad. Randy, darling, where have you been? We've been looking all over for you. We? Oh, Jeff and you. But, Randy, you worried us half to death. Whatever made you leave the house in the middle of the night? It was six o'clock in the morning. But where did you go? I went to see Dr. Lambert. What did he tell you? Just what you did. What? I got through it again. Randy, is there something about all this that you haven't told me? What did I tell you that you don't know? Oh. What did Dr. Lambert say? He said that I'm in a dangerous condition. It seems I have hallucinations. You see, Randy, we were right, weren't we? Not entirely. Uh-huh. He doesn't think it advisable to commit me. He'd go away. Apparently, there's still hope. That's wonderful, Randy. Yes, business. He says the best defense against this sort of thing is a strong attack. Well, that's odd. What does he mean? I don't know. But how can you... I said I don't know. Is that clear? I simply don't know. It was true. I didn't know what to do. All I knew was that the two people I loved most in all the world had joined against me, and a plus it was more cruel and insidious than outright murder. For five straight days, I stayed in the house, trying to figure it out with those clocks ticking all around me. I let them tick. I didn't want to disturb their plans in any way. To indicate that I had any idea what lay behind their patronizing solicitude, their poisonous pampering, designed only to make me feel more and more like an invalid. Then on the sixth day, I ran across an item in a London paper. Something had happened in Dover, and it gave me an idea. A wonderful idea. I knew now precisely what I was going to do. After reading about an incident at Dover, I realized what I would do to my wife and her lover. I went to Dover, found a cottage in the very heart of the district that had been hardest hit by the cross-channel bombing. It took me a week to make preparations to secretly assemble the ingredients of a time bomb. A special handmade variety with a good loud ticking. Then I invited Louise and Jeff to join me. How do you know you're completely cured, Randy? Why so old man? No difference between a mental wound and a bodily injury, you know? You might have a relapse, Randy. A relapse? I soon made an excuse to leave the cottage. Gave them time enough to plant their infernal clocks to arrange my relapse. I returned. Randy, what do you suppose causes these shells to explode after lying in the earth for months? Hard to say. Perhaps light jarring from the heavy equipment working in the street. I should think it would set you on edge. Did it first. Two kind of enforced mental disciplines. But I think I've got a lick now. I'm almost sure. I'm almost... I'm... What matter, Randy? And I put them all away. Randy, you're not hearing it again, are you? It's your imagination, Randy. Get hold of yourself. That's where you're wrong. Let's get out of here. It's not my imagination this time. There's a bomb under this house. Listen. There's no ticking, Randy. You're ill. You're slipping back. Get hold of yourself. I'm sane, I tell you. The doctor says I'm sane. This house is going to blow up. Now will you believe me? All right. Operator, I want long distance. London, Ex-Mister 87742. Dr. Stephen Lambert. L-A-M-B-E-R-T. Yes, quickly. What are you doing? I'm calling the doctor. He can't help you now, dear. He was wrong, don't you see? I can hear it. It's real this time, I tell you. Now will you believe the doctor if he tells you I'm sane? There's no reason, Randy. There's no ticking in this room. We could hear it if it was real. I tell you I'm all right. I'm well. I'm... Hello. Hello, doctor. Randy Graham. Yes, Randy Graham. Look here, doctor. They think I'm crazy. I claim there's a bomb under this house and they won't believe it. I can hear it, doctor. They won't leave. They'll be killed. The house is going to blow up, sir. Now will you talk to them and tell them I'm not crazy? Here, Jeff. Talk to them. Yes, doctor. Jeff, talk to them. He'll tell you I'm... All right. Here you are. Talk to them. Easy, old boy. Hello, doctor. No. No, of course not. No, there's no ticking. Yes, it's imagination. Yes. Just like the first time. We were sitting here in the living room when... Yes. Don't you believe me? What can I do, Randy? You'll love me, don't you? Of course. Now listen, darling. It's not my imagination this time. Will you believe that? There's a bomb under this house. You're ill, Randy. Listen, Louise. Listen. You hear that? That's a bomb. Will you believe me? No. All right. You can stay here and die. I've done all I can. Goodbye, Louise. I looked at my watch. 729. One minute to go. They had one minute to live. I ran down the side streets. One block, two blocks. I was safe. The alarm clock stayed planted while I was gone had obscured the other noise. I could see them congratulating themselves again. I'd been careful. It was time to the split second. Six seconds. Four. Two. I'm here in the church now. It's over and done with. The Dover correspondence was ported another bomb accident. 11. I know. I can love her better remembering her she was. Thinking of her. I was just quiet thinking. No ticking clocks. No hallucinations. No papers to sign. No Jeff. No Louise. So, Martin Gable for a fine performance in Beautiful Silence, written by Clarence Hill. And now creeps this is PFC X closing the doors of the mystery playhouse and reminding you to sleep tight. Good night. This is the Armed Forces Radio, sir.