 Did you lose an election bet yesterday, feel a bad cold coming on? Want to get away from it all? We offer you escape. You were groping in the midnight dimness of a gigantic department store, and suddenly you realize that you're not alone, but a hundred eyes are glaring at you from the shadows, a hundred hands reaching for your throat, and your most urgent desire is to escape. Escape, produced and directed by William M. Robeson, and carefully plotted to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. Tonight we escape to the dark labyrinth of a giant department store in the dead of night, and to a fantastic world of night dwellers, as John Collier imagines it in his eerie story. Evening, Primrose. Assati? Assati, hey, what's the matter? It's me. Oh, Sam, you nearly scared me to death. What do you mean, coming in so quiet? Hey, I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you'd be asleep. I didn't want to wake you. Oh, Sam, I'm glad you're home. Hey, hey, what's the matter? Oh, it's terrible. You gotta do something, Sam. Whoa, whoa, whoa, what's terrible? It's this. Just look at this. What's terrible about that? Looks like an ordinary pad of paper to me. It just did. That's just what I thought. But it's got writing in it. It's awful. Wait a minute. Maybe you'd better tell me what this is all about. Well, today I went shopping down a Bracey's department store. I needed some writing paper, so I picked this up. It was on top of the pile and bought it and brought it home. But tonight when I opened it, I found it's got writing in it. Well, that's nothing so terrible. Just take it back tomorrow and make him give you a new one. Oh, no, you don't understand. It's what's written in it that's so terrible. What do you mean what's written in it? Here, you gotta read it. Oh, Sam. No, no, right now. Read it. Look, Sadie, I'm tired. I've been bowing all the time. Please, Sam, please. Just read it. All right, for Pete's sake. October 13th. Today I made my decision. I decided to say goodbye to the world to get out, leave, break away. And I have done it. Oh, Sadie, it's a lot of this. Go on, read. And now I am free. Really free. Yes, I am free at last. The world is an intolerable place for a poet. I was broke, starving at my wit's end. And then I had a brilliant idea. I would escape to a place where I had no need to earn a living, where I could write to my heart's content and peace and security. Where is this place? Right under your nose. So close, you'd never think of it. I am now living in Bracey's department store. I have everything within arms reach that anyone would need or desire. And it's all free. Absolutely free. I arrived this afternoon. I'd spent three days looking over all of the department stores in town. I decided on Bracey's because of the completeness of their food department. Therefore, this afternoon, I entered the store and went immediately to the fourth floor to the rug department and hid myself in this dusty, out-of-the-way corner behind a pile of carpets. Once I'm settled, I'll furnish it with the best of modern pieces from the furniture department. It's small, but I'll be cozy enough and safe. After the store closed, I made my first venture out. I tiptoed as far as the stationary counter and got this paper, the writer's primary need. Now, after making my initial entry, I'll go out and get food, wine, the pillows for my bed, perhaps a fancy dressing gown. This is perfect. I'll be able to write here. Dawn, October 14th. I'm almost too unnerved to write this. The whole thing is unbelievable. After the store was dark and completely quiet, I crept out and started for the food department. One's footsteps echo hollowly in an empty department store at night, and I found myself gliding along the floor on tiptoe, moving as silently as possible, but the sound of footsteps persisted. Suddenly, I realized they were not my own. The night watchman. I was in the Salon Modin. Quickly, I seized a mink coat from a hanger, draped it about my shoulders and stood stuck still. I could have reached out and touched him, but he passed by without so much as a glance. It started to smile. The smile froze on my lips. There was someone else here. I was looking straight into a pair of eyes. Large, flat, luminous, inhuman eyes peering at me from among the Mrs. Tailord suits a dozen feet away. They belonged to a creature dressed as a man, but he was as pale as a creature found under a stone. His hands hanging motionless at his sides looked more like the fins on a fish than human hands, and then he spoke. I'm sorry, I didn't know anybody else lived here. We live here. It's delightful. We? Yes, all of us. Don't you see? Look around you. I looked around. I saw nothing. I looked again. I saw an old man come clambering out from behind a clock. There were three elderly Angenous, incredibly emaciated, pale as lace, almost transparent, simpering before the perfume counter. A chimpsy lady swam out from the curtains and drapes. They came swarming thick around me, pale, thin, wispy, moving silently, fluttering like gauze in the wind, whispering. Oh, raw, he looks. Who is he? His course is the sun. What is he doing here? A detective. Sing for the dark men. Yes, sing for the dark men. The dark men. They were pressing around me, clawing, holding me, their pale faces contorted with venomous inhuman hatred. I was paralyzed. All I could do was repeat over and over again. I'm not a detective. I'm not a detective. I'm not. Burglar, then. A burglar. Tie him up. Hold him, carry him to the place. Sing for the dark men. Stop. Stop. Let him speak. I'm not a detective or a burglar. I'm a poet. Then what are you doing here? I've, I've renounced the world. I came here to live where I could be alone. Away from the world. Why then? He's come over to us. He's just like us. He's come over to us. A poet. She must meet Mrs. Vendor Bend. Yes, Mrs. Vendor Bend. She's coming now. I follow their eyes toward the balcony. There, coming down the wall like an ancient spider clambered an old lady. Wrinkled and cracked and emaciated, she must have been at least 80. A shadowy matriarch. And the things around me bowed and scraped as she reached the floor and floated toward us. What's going on here? Where is that stupid girl? What's keeping her? Oh, uh, Mrs. Vendor Bend. Well, what is it? Who's this, Mr. Roscoe? Mrs. Vendor Bend. May I present Mr. Uh, Snell, Mr. Snell, Mr. Charles Snell. Yes, yes, of course. Mr. Snell. He is a poet, and he's come here to live. Oh, he has, has he? That's what he says, and I believe him. Well, he avoided the night watchman quite neatly for a beginner. Oh, thank you. Very well, we shall see. A poet should find inspiration here. Mr. Snell, Mrs. Vendor Bend is our grand old lady. Oh, I am quite the oldest inhabitant here, Mr. Snell. Three mergers and a complete rebuilding, but they didn't get rid of me. Oh, really? How nice. Oh, where is Ella? Where is my boss? She's bringing it, Mrs. Vendor Bend. Oh, terrible little creature. She is our foundling, Mr. Snell. She's not quite our sort. Is that so? I have been here, Mr. Snell, ever since the terrible times of the 80s. I was a young girl then, a beauty, they say, and poor papa lost his money. Oh, braces meant a lot to a young girl in those days, so when I wasn't able to have a charge account, I came here for good. That's better than a charge account. I was quite alarmed when others began to come after the crash of 1907, but it was the day, a judge. You do? Yes. The kind of... How do you do? Yes. Mrs. Bilby? How do you do? Mrs. Bilby writes plays and comes of an old Philadelphia family. Oh, you will find us quite nice here, Mr. Snell. I'm sure I will. And of course, all our dear young people came in 1929. Their poor papa's jumped from skyscrapers. They couldn't bear to be without charge accounts either. Do you mean all these people live here? Oh, and many more. You shall meet them all later. Oh, here comes Ella with my block. Come, come, you stupid thing. Mrs. Vanderpant is waiting. Yes, ma'am. Yes, sir. I'm coming as fast as I can. Thank you. Be careful. Don't spill. Oh, but she's young. Well, of course she is a little younger than most of us. And she... she's different. She's beautiful. Mr. Snell, Ella is Mrs. Vanderpant's maid. That's right, old man. She's really not our sort at all. You shouldn't say such things. She can hear you. Oh, that doesn't matter. You'll understand these things better after you've been here a while. But it seems to me that you would... Mr. Snell, we have certain rules here. They are necessary for our survival. I'm sure you won't find it hard to observe them. Well, yes, I appreciate it. I should advise that you try. If you do not, that would be most unfortunate, Mr. Snell. Most unfortunate for you. October 15th. You can imagine my feelings last night. My first thought was to escape as quickly as possible. In fact, I planned to wait till morning when the store opened, then quit my hiding place, mingle with the crowds, and leave Bracies forever. But just at dawn, Mr. Roscoe brought me a cup of coffee, which must have been drugged, for I fell asleep. And when I awoke, I found I had slept all day, and night was closing over the store once more. Later, I've spent my second night here. I saw Ella again. Ella, the pearl of this remote, fantastic cave. She's not like the others. A trifle pale, but otherwise normal, and human, and beautiful. A child of perhaps 18. She's the only thing that makes this nightmare bearable. October 20th. Escape seems almost impossible. There's a very effective burglar alarm system, and the doors are all carefully guarded. But that's nothing compared to the Dark Men. Who are the Dark Men? I don't know. But they threaten any transgressor with these Dark Men. I shall try to discover who they are. At least I'm sure I'm watched, though they've begun to trust me now. Speaking to the Night Watchman would be suicide. Even if he believed my fantastic story, or didn't shoot me as a burglar, I'm convinced that neither Ella nor I could get out of here alive. She and the Night Watchman are the only real people here. And how the others hate the Night Watchman. Odious, vulgar creature. Eureaks of the core sun. I'll come now, Mrs. Bilby. He's really a personable young man. Very young for a Night Watchman. Mr. Snell, sometimes I wonder about your taste. You mustn't stay so much to yourself, Mr. Snell. You must become better acquainted with our ways. Yes, old man. You must come to the play tonight. We're going to be entertained with one of Mrs. Bilby's tragic comedies. Love in Shadowland. I'm sure you'll enjoy. I'm sure I will. It's really a festive occasion, you know. Wanamakers is coming over. Wanamakers? Yes. The entire colony over at Wanamakers is coming here and must to attend the play. You mean there are people living in other stores? Oh dear yes, didn't you know? Of course the best people live in braces. And Wanamakers. Oh, come now, Mrs. Bilby. There's some very nice people at Alton's. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Bilby. Oh, hello, Ella. Good evening, Mr. Snell. Mrs. Bilby. Well, what is it? Please, ma'am. I'd so love to see you play tonight. May I have your permission? Certainly not. You know better than that, you stupid creature. You know where you belong. In the basement, by the garbage cans. But, Mrs. Bilby... Hush, Mr. Snell. Ella, you're becoming entirely too forward of late. I'd advise you to watch your step. Remember the dark men. Oh no, please, Mr. Roscoe. I'll be good. I promise I will. No, please don't send for the dark men. I'm sorry, Mrs. Bilby. Excuse me. Ella, come back. Mr. Snell, you forget yourself. Let her go. But how can you treat her like that? Why do you always frighten her? And what is all this about the dark men? Well, the dark men... Oh please, Mr. Roscoe, not now. You'll spoil our whole evening. And I do so want Mr. Snell to enjoy my play. Very well. Later, Mr. Snell. But I want to know about the dark men. Later, later. October 21st. At last I found an opportunity to speak to Ella alone. I hadn't dared to speak to her before. Here one has a sense always of pale eyes secretly watching. But last night at the play I induced a fit of hiccups. As I anticipated I was sternly reprimanded and told to go and secrete myself in the basement where the night watchman wouldn't hear me. This was exactly what I had planned. I went to the basement. There in the darkness, among the garbage cans and the rats, I heard sobbing. Ella. Ella? Ella, is that you? Yes. Why are you crying? What is it, Ella? They... they wouldn't even let me see the play. Is that all? Oh, Mr. Snell, I'm so unhappy. They're there. You mustn't cry. You're the only one. The only one who's kind. Ella, why are you here? Why do they treat you so differently? Because I'm not like them. I didn't choose to come here. You mean you're a held prisoner? Yes. You see, I was only six. I came here on a shopping tour with my mother. I got lost and fell asleep behind a counter. It was dark when I awoke and they found me. Some of them wanted to send for the dark men because they were afraid I would tell on them. But Mrs. Vanderpant said no. I could stay and be your maid. I've been here ever since. Since you were six? Haven't you ever tried to get away? No. I don't know anything about... out there. I wouldn't know what to do. Besides, I'm afraid if anyone tries to get out, they send for the dark men. Ella, who are the dark men? Don't you know? Oh, it's horrible. Tell me. You know how people live in all the stores. At Gimbles and Bloomingdale's? Yes, yes. I know. Well, the dark men live at the undertakers. Good heavens. And whenever someone dies or breaks the rules, when a burglar gets in and sees these people and might tell, they send for the dark men. Oh, horrible. They put the body in the butcher shop in the food department and then the dark men come. I saw them once. It was terrible. What did they do? They go in where the dead person is. They have wax with them and all sorts of things. And when they're gone, there's just a wax model left on the counter. Then our people put a frock on it or a bathing suit, mix it up with the other wax models in the windows. And nobody ever knows. Ella, you mean all these dummies around us? Well, not all of them. But if you displease these people, the same thing will happen to you. October 30th. I haven't kept up my journal. Writing has been out of the question. Once more, I'm frozen with terror. But not for myself now. For Ella. They hate her. Anytime they might turn against her and send for the dark men. My mind is filled with her. I dream of her every day. I'd live to see her at night. We've managed it several times. They trust me now and let me roam about without interference. Finally, tonight, I met her again and said it. Oh, Charles. I love you, Ella. Let's get married or whatever they do here. Then we can live together in my home in the carpet department. They wouldn't dare hurt you then. Oh, Charles. Don't look so dismayed. If you like, we'll go away from here. Maybe we can get transferred to, to Bergdorf Goodmans, overlooking Central Park. Don't, Charles. Don't. You mustn't. But I love you. Ella, you're not in love with someone else. Yes, Charles. I am. But who? I thought you hated them all. It must be Roscoe. He's the only one that's young enough. Who knows, Charles? Not Roscoe, especially not him. I do hate them all. They make me shudder. Well, who is it then? It's him. Who? The Night Watchman. No, impossible. I love him. He smells of the sun. Ella. Oh, it was wonderful the way it happened. Don't tell on me, Charles, that they'll punish me. Oh, no, no. I was careless, and there he was, coming around the corner in the ladies' laundry department. I was caught. There were only some wax models in their underthings. There was nothing else to do. I slipped off my dress and stood still. I see. He stopped and looked at me. And Charles, he spoke to me. He said, say, honey, I wish they made him like you on Eighth Avenue. Charles wasn't that a lovely thing to say. Personally, I should have said Park Avenue. It doesn't matter what street. It was a lovely thing to say. But what can you do about him? Ella, he belongs to another world. Yes, to Eighth Avenue. I want to go there. Charles, are you really my friend? Yes, of course I am. And I'll tell you, I'm going to stand there again in the laundry department, so I'll see me. And then? Perhaps I'll speak to me again. Ella, you're only torturing yourself. No, because this time I shall answer him. He'll take me away. Take you away? Oh, no, Ella, I couldn't bear that. You don't love him. You only think you do because you think he'll take you out of here, but you don't know that he will. And I will, Ella. I've made up my mind. No, Charles, I couldn't let you do it. Even if I loved you, you couldn't do it, Charles. Why not? Because you really belong here. You've become one of them now. Ella, you mustn't say that. It's true. And, Charles, I've got to go. There's someone watching us. I feel like it. No, wait, Ella. Goodbye, Charles. No, Ella, come back. Please, old man, you'll arouse the night watchman. Roscoe? Yes. Love can be very upsetting, can't it? You heard? Yes. Just the last moment or so. Very touching. Yet it's understandable. I've been attracted to Ella myself. So she loves another, hm? Too bad, old boy. Who could it be? Could it be that I am the cause of your heartbreak? You flatter yourself too much, Roscoe. Then whom? The old judge? Certainly not. The colonel? Hardly. None of those. Oh, not one of the customers. The staff. She loves the night watchman. Can you imagine that? She loves the... Roscoe, I shouldn't have said that. It's not true. At least I don't think it's true. You wouldn't... Roscoe, you said you loved her too. You wouldn't do anything. Tell anybody. This is a secret between us. Between friends, isn't it? Of course, old man. As secret as the grave. She's young. Perhaps he'll leave and she'll forget him in time. Who knows? Perhaps she'll learn to love you... or me. Of course, in time. And we'll figure a way to keep her safe here. Absolutely safe. Now, don't you worry about it. It's almost dawn. Time for bed. Good morning, Mr. Snell. Early evening, November 4th. I was a fool. I should have known he couldn't be trusted. He must have gone straight to Mrs. Vandepant because this evening the atmosphere has changed. People flicker too and fro. Smiling nervously, horribly with a sort of frightened, sadistic exaltation. An informal dance in the record department has been called off. I can't find Ella. I'm going out again now to look for her. Roscoe, what have you done with her? Quiet, old boy. The night watchman. I don't care. What have you done? Whatever I did was for your own good as well as for the good of a soul. Wait a minute. What is that? What are those people carrying? That's Ella. She's tied up. They're carrying... Ella! Ella! Stop it, Charles. Stop it. Stop it, Charles. Stop it. You'll arouse the night watchman. They're taking her into... into the butcher shop. Midnight. I'm scribbling this last entry hurriedly. They... are in there in the butcher shop with Ella. The dark men. There's only one thing to do. I'm going to find the night watchman and tell him. He and I will save her. If we can. And if we are overpowered I will leave this pad on the stationery counter. Tomorrow if I live I will recover it. If I do not whoever finds this and reads it look in the store windows. Look for three new wax dummies. Two men. One rather sensitive looking. And a girl. She has blonde hair and blue eyes and her nose turns up a little. Look for us. And then find them. Smoke them out. Exterminate them. Avenge us. Oh Sam, isn't it horrible? We...we gotta do something. Tell somebody something. Oh Sam, what do we do? Do? Well, nothing. Go to bed. But Sam. Whoever wrote this has sure got a weird sense of humor. It's probably some clerk Donna Bracey's what to be fired. But you... You mean you think it's just a story? Are you kidding? You don't believe this stuff, do you? Well, I don't know. Oh, forget it baby. I'm going to snap out of it. I'm alone. You got too many ideas when I go out bowling at night. But uh... Don't you think maybe we ought to just take it back and show somebody? Oh nuts, it's not worth the bother they'd laugh at you baby. You think you're crazy or something? Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right. I guess I was silly. Forget it. Oh come on, let's go to bed. I'm tired. Gee, you know there for a while I sure was scared. I even forgot what I was going to tell you. Sam, I found the cutest dress today. Only 1995. Yeah baby. Yeah. It was in the window with Bracey's. It was on a beautiful little wax model with blonde hair blue eyes and a turned up nose and there were two men standing beside Escape is produced and directed by William M. Robeson and tonight brought to you Evening Primrose by John Collier adapted for radio by John Dunkel with Elliott Lewis as Charles Snell Paul Fries as Roscoe and Pat Lowery as Ella The special musical score was conceived and conducted by Cy Fuhr. Next week After you've had a tough day at your office or leaning over a hot stone when your four walls seem to be closing in on you Next week at the same time when you want to get away from it all we again offer you Escape This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.