 It is your hope to welcome you through the creaking door into the innermost hanker. Come in. Come in and pull up a tombstone. The cheer situation is very grave here. Oh, don't worry if it feels a little dark in here, too. I've made arrangements for the few ghostly forms to come and blow. By the way, don't mind that guy in the back over there. We scared him to death last week. He's been horror-zantal ever since. Tonight's inner sanctum mystery, Death Watch in Boston, was written by Fred Mathal and stars Mason Adams in the role of Carl with Ted Osborne as Charon. In Boston, Beacon Hill looks down its narrow brick-lined streets with seeming scorn at the harbor below. Tonight the wind is from the sea and there is a mist that's heavy with the odor of fresh fish, salts and spices. Tonight, too, there is a man who has a horrifying secret to tell. This man is Carl Dickens, interned from a nearby hospital who walks wildly, coat-flapping hair to shovel. Young, his body is, his eyes are long, his face haggard. He carries a heavy wooden box about 12 inches square. He's mammaring through bloodless lips. Take thy beak from out my heart and take thy form from off my door, close the raven, nevermore, nevermore. A neon sign proclaims the door to be that of Captain Zeb's tattoo salon. Established 1905, Carl Dickens stops, looks quickly behind him and enters. Greetings, mate. Captain Zeb. I'm making it to no more tattooing tonight. Captain Zeb, lock the door. Hold on there. Lock this door, you know me, I'm Carl Dickens. Sunder, who you be? What else you have? Lock the door, quick, then put out your lights, please. Sure, sure. Here's to me like your one doctor needs a doctor, Carl. No, Zeb, I don't need a doctor. I need someone like you to listen to me. All right, I'll listen. What you got in the box? It's part of a man's body, his head. Oh. And it's sort of specimen-like for your medical work, is that it? No, Captain. It's the head of a man who is calling for me at my room at 11 o'clock tonight. What, Jack? Don't look at me like that, I'm not crazy, Captain. You've been working a mate too hard over them books, maybe, huh? I have been working hard, yes, but this is no hallucination. And I don't go around with belief that a man can live with about a head, son. You don't understand. The man this head belongs to is death. And it is death who is coming for me tonight. It tells me the whole thing, son. Maybe I can help after all. Will you come with me to my place after I tell you the story? Will you wait up with me till he comes, Captain? Will you? I can help you, son. You know my place on Pinkney Street on the hill. It's narrow and cramped with century-old houses. I've got rooms on the second floor of one place 29 Pinkney. I've been there two years since I first went to the hospital. In my living room, there's a bay window that juts out over the sidewalk below. That's where my desk is. Two weeks ago tonight it was. I had fallen asleep over my books. Something at the window woke me with a start, a tapping noise. I went to the window and stared. Perched there was a bird. A bird as black as the night itself. I opened the window. And instead of flying away, the bird hopped upon my desk and stood with head cocked to one side of my open book. By now I knew I wasn't dreaming. I spoke to the creature as you might have. Hey, isn't it late for a bird to be alive? It aired open mouths at the open window through which the creature disappeared. Then I smiled, realizing that it must be a pet. A minor bird, perhaps. I went to bed then, thinking of an amusing coincidence that the bird had been taught to say it's late and that I had referred to the hour myself. That's what I thought then. Until two nights later. That's when I met the stranger for the first time. You see, Captain, I have a bad heart myself and I'd worked very hard to save a patient who had a heart ailment the same rather rare heart condition I have. By ten Wednesday night I felt certain she pulled through. Just as I was going off duty my nightmares hurried to me. Doctor. Dr. Dickens. Yes? Doctor, the girl in 14. Well, no. Are you trying to say she died? I'm sorry, Doctor. But I can't believe it. I did everything that could be done and it looked certain. Are you positive? Yes, I am. Dr. Smith just confirmed it. Oh, Doctor, you worked so hard on that case. You're worn out. Why don't you go home and rest? I said, Doctor, what's wrong with you? What are you staring at? You were looking toward the window just now as I was weren't you? Well, yes, yes. I think so, why? Didn't you see something black fly past to the bird? No. Doctor, you look awfully pale. Can I get you something? No. No. I guess I'm tired. I'll go for a little walk and then straight to bed. He was waiting for me when I left the hospital. And I would have walked straight past him, but he spoke to me. Dr. Bitton. Yes? May I speak with you? How'd you know my name? Gabriel told me. Gabriel? Yes. This is Gabriel. I think you've met... Oh, that's good. Say, isn't that the bird that knocked on my window a couple of nights ago? Yes. We were out walking and Gabriel flew to your window. I see that you were very depressed. Can I help in any way, Dr. Dippon? No, no, thanks. Patient died, always gets me down. Oh, and so needlessly too. What do you mean needlessly? You will understand soon, doctor. Life and death are matters arranged elsewhere. Had it been so desired, your patient would have lived. Who are you? What's your name? I don't think you said... It is Charon. C-H-A-R-O-N. Charon. Oh, Mr. Charon, if I believe what you say, I would have to give up medicine. Not at all. Everyone has a mission to perform. And should... And what is your mission in life, Mr. Charon? Ah, that. What is our mission in life, Gabriel? Hmm? Speak up. That was the first time I met the man who caused himself Charon. I asked for a couple of weeks off at the hospital. I thought... Well, I thought it might be nerves. I stayed home and read detective stories. I was beginning to feel like my old self again. And on Sunday night, sometime around nine, I decided to turn in when there came more tapping on my window. This time I grinned. Wow, well, Gabriel, come right in. And I think, Ork, is that all you can say, Gabriel? The passage from Poe's poem, The Raven. At the same time, I felt a sudden chill in the room, since someone in the room, yet I had heard nothing. But I knew. I knew. He also knows a bit of peeps and shelly, doctor. How the devil did you get in here, Charon? Your door was not locked. Tell me, Dr. Dickens, are you afraid of death? No more than most people. But I'd rather not die if it's all the same to you. I'd hope you might think differently than others. At any rate, I have nothing to do with it. As I said to you before, doctor, these matters are arranged elsewhere. Where? Elsewhere. You're trying to tell me that you can predict death. Is that it, Charon? Of course. Like proof. Will you accept full responsibility for the knowledge? Sure. Give me a moment. As I stood watching them tall and black against the white door of my room, it seemed to me he had turned himself inward and that the living part of him had stepped away leaving only a gaunt shell. There was no life in him. Only the eyes staring. You will remember the name of Emily Cartier. Her passage has been arranged for her. Good night, Dr. Dickens. After he left, Captain, I walked straight to the phone to call the police. I tried to think of how my story would sound to them, not stopping for the moment. But I did look up the name Charon had quoted. It was in the phone book, Miss Emily Cartier. Her home was close by in Louisburg Square. I called her at once. No. Is this Miss Cartier, Miss Emily Cartier? Oh, yes. You don't know me, Miss Cartier. My name is Dickens. I met someone who claims to know you well. Wow. A man named Charon. But I knew what had happened. I knew all too well. Emily Cartier's passage. Had been arranged for. Very distinctive character, this Charon, don't you think? Pick him out in a shroud anywhere. Yes. Signs all his mail, eternally yours. Well, shall we get back behind the locked doors of Captain Zeb's tattoo salon? Now put yourself in Zeb's place. If a young wild-eyed fella came to you with a wooden box, told you it contained the head of a man who was calling for him at 11 o'clock that night, what would you do? You'd listen, wouldn't you? Well, listen. Hold up now, lad. Let me get the straight line of this. This man, you think, it was sort of death in mortal shape. I mean, his bird. He told you they could tell when the body was going to die before him? Yes. And to prove it, Charon gave me the name of the woman in Louisburg Square, Emily Cartier. She was murdered while I talked with her on the phone. And it's simple, lad. The man was mad. A murderer. He killed her. Did he? I thought that. I went to Louisburg Square after the call. I was determined to tell the first policeman I met the whole story. When I arrived at Emily Cartier's address, the place was teeming with excited people. Also, on the fringe of the crowd beneath the single streetland, the tall, gaunt shape of Charon stood. I went straight to him. Mr. Charon, Mr. Charon, I'm turning you over to the police. Oh, Mr. Dickens. Why? Why? Because I know you'll kill this woman. So, come with me. I will speak to the police for you. You don't dare. Come. All right, all right, all right. Come on, folks. Go on home. Go to bed. Will you please? Officer. What do you want? Officer, my friend and I are a little alarmed about this tragedy. Why? Well, we live nearby, you see. Oh, don't give it a thought now. We got the guy who did it. You caught the murder? Sure. One of the neighbors shot him through the head while he was clamming out the window. Now go on home and forget it if you can. Well, Carl, I wish you would leave me alone. Oh, that is not possible. One way or another, you must come away with me when I leave. I refuse to believe it. Suppose I prove my point again. Suppose I tell you the name of someone else who will die. If I am right, you will raise no more objections to leaving with me. And if your prediction doesn't work out, you will never see me again. Agreed. Agreed. Very well. Gabriel, our friend would like to know who do you know is next to go? Simian Black, is that it? Yes, Carl. Simian Black. Between 8 and 8.30 on the night of November 15, that is a week from tonight. All right, fine. If Simian Black doesn't die then, I will never hear from you again. That is correct. If Simian Black dies, as I know, it is arranged that he will. You will come away with me on the same night at 11. Good night, Carl. Good night. Raymond. November 15th. It's tonight, isn't it? Yes, Captain Zeb, that's tonight. And what about Simian Black land? It's bargain you made now. I found Simian Black. I found him this evening. It was a seamen. The Docs gave me his address, a cheap rooming house near the Charles River. The ship was due in at 7. Simian Black had to live. I stood outside his rooming house waiting. About five minutes after 8, a big, burly, rough man came along, heading for the doorway where I stood. He was carrying this box. Simian Black with 25 minutes to live. Are you Simian Black? Yeah. It's very important that I talk with you. Yeah, why? Who are you? Dickens, this is urgent. Please, listen. I'm listening. Go ahead. Do you know anyone who might want to do you harm? You crazy, mister. Sure I do. A couple of hundred guys all around the world. But you ain't one of them. Where are you? No, no, no, I'm not. But I talked to the man who said you were going to die between now and 8.30. That's why I'm here. Who? A man named Sharon. A minor bird that talks. Yeah? I think we better go up to my room and talk to him. Come on. In his room I told him all about Sharon and the bird. There was a large clock on the steeple of a nearby dockhouse. I saw that the minute hand stood at 25 after 8 when I finished. Black stood up his heavy face now, pasty pale, the veins of his neck throbbed. So you're the guy I've been waiting for. All right, Dickens. I met the man with the white martin ache. He told me to ask some dad to be killed. He sent you. But I'm not playing. I don't die easy, say. This thing says I don't. You fool. Put that gun down. Killing me won't help. All we have to do is wait till the time is past three more minutes. Sit down. Not then, Joe, and you're gonna... That gun was just stupid. Give it a... He was... I stood there gaping at the floor. The hook that had been simian black was crumpled grotesquely on the bare boards of the room. His denim shirts staining darker and darker as I watched it. Through my fog mind, I heard the clock strike the half hour outside. Simian black had died as Charon had predicted. But I had killed him. The gun was still in my hand as the door opened and Charon. Tall, gaunt, lips smiling, I smotering black stood there. You see, Carl? I've kept my bargain. Simian black. He's dead. You made me do this. You played me against black. You knew something like this had happened. Carl, when are you going to understand? Yes, I knew. But these things are arranged by you, of course. I made a bargain with you. Yes, you did, Carl. I will call for you at eleven. We will leave together. No. You are leaving now, Charon. No! For a moment I thought I hadn't hit him. But they were out of tremor. Then from his thin, colorless lips, a trickle of blood coursed down his chin. I can't tell you the triumph of the moment. The days of supernatural fantastic horror seem to run out of me. The sight of his blood told me this man was in death. This was a clever man who had somehow used me. Everything seemed right again in the world. No matter what happened to me, no matter what. What was going on? Not quite, Captain Zapp. As I regained my senses and saw him there still smiling mirthlessly on the floor beside Simeon Black, I had an impulse to be certain that he wouldn't come back to me. I found a knife in Black's kitchen net. I suppose I still wasn't thinking clearly. Stupidly, I thought perhaps even a supernatural being divested of its head might be powerless. Now I know better. So you told her at the top of him here from the waterfront in Simeon's duffer box. Yes. And as I walked to you, I began to realize Sharon will keep his end of the bargain. That's the story, Captain. And it puts me on the spotlight. I know. You want to call the police? Should you know? But you did promise to come to my place and wait till after 11 anyhow. I did? It's 15 or whatever now, Dad. I'll go along with you. Go ahead. What time is it, Zapp? Most 11. But I tell you again, Dad, ain't nothing gonna happen now. But I... I feel it. Sort of a chill. A tight, scared feeling about my life. I know Sharon is coming for me. I feel it. Listen, Zapp, listen. It's death coming. I feel it in my heart. Yeah. Sure, but... All right. Carl. Carl. What's up? What the devil? Come in, hang it. Come in. Dickens? Carl Dickens? It's him near officer. What's wrong with him? Well... he can believe it or not. I was just talking to the bad when he popped, sir. Turned blue in the face and just... stopped talking. He's dead. Oh, sir. What now? From the look of him, I'd say heart case. I have to wait for the coroner. Now the queer things you come across in this business? Queer? It's time for you to be here. Just at eleven. That's the queer one to me. Well, we got a stiff without a head down at the water for a couple hours back. Found a diary on him and we've been checking up. Who was it? Guy named Sharon. Was let out of Devil's Island when they closed it up a couple years back. According to the diary, he's been out to get everybody ever had anything to do with his being sent up. And not? He must have been a smart one. He names three people he wanted to get rid of. Played one against the other, I guess. But who? Who killed him? I don't know. Sergeant's working on it. All I know is in this character's book there's a note says C. Carl Dickens. Pinkney Street, 11 o'clock, November 15. What? What the devil was that? It's just the bird here. It's a tiny bird. Talks. These toys... I think it's a bird. My, my. You'd better see the head man's ass. You know, one thing to learn about all this is you should never lose your head in a crisis. Or you shouldn't lose your head anywhere, for that matter. Oh yes, just a bit of advice, folks. If some bird comes up to you and says it's late, you agree with them and call the zoo right away. It's probably a minor bird, and minors should be in bed when it's late. Ha, ha, ha, ha. Intersanctum came to you through the United States Armed Forces Radio Service. The voice of information and education.