 In the weird circle. In this cave, by the restless sea, we are met to call from out the past stories, strange, and weird. Bellkeeper, hold the bell, so all may know we are gathered again in the weird circle. Listen closely, for you will hear the crying of lost soul. The story discloses the horror in man's mind. This is a tale of the house and the brain. Come with me to London, through the heavy fog of the city to a large house in the suburbs. A young couple enter the portals of that house to attend an art auction. Well, hello, Jim, we've been looking all over for you. We've got quite a crowd here today. Paul, Whitney, Sandra, I'm glad you've come. I thought you two were refugees from this sort of thing. Well, frankly, Jim, I've suddenly conceived a passion for good oil paintings, and I'm going to buy this fabulous painting in the ancient cutthroat. To tell you the truth, Jim, it's ancient or otherwise. Oh, my husband abuses me. I'm too nice to her, or she'd never be interested in any other man. But darling, the man in the portrait's been dead 400 years. Dead or living, he's not beyond your charge. Oh, but my husband loves me, Jim. Must be my fatal fascination. But I didn't come here to talk with you, even if it is fun. I came here to see that oil painting. Oh, it's quite a painting. Yes, so we've heard. It's in my study. Now, how do you feel about 15th-century reprobates? I'm not going to spend a fortune buying useless pictures. Well, there's the picture. What do you think? He has a face you'll never forget. And a reputation? Yes, sir, he lived a full life. You know, he was supposed to have been fabulously wealthy, but when he died, his fortune disappeared. Oh, my dumpling. He looks like the kind of man who sticks pins in people for the devil of it. Sandra, the strangest thing about the picture is your eyes. You get the feeling that the eyes are alive. Yes, very definitely. Clever work. Paul, what's the matter with you, Sandra? I could have sworn I've... I've seen that man in London recently. What man? The one in the picture. He's been dead 400 years. Stop snickering at me, Jim. I know what I've seen. Impossible. The only thing left of the honourable cutthroat Richards was 150 years ago, and it's never been really habitable since. Why? Well, this is your chance to laugh at me. It's haunted. Oh, not really. Oh, Jim, Jim, I've never met a ghost. And you never will, Sandra. Jim, oh, Jim, please. Please, oh, please. Imagine a really, truly ghost. Wonderful, Jim. Take us over. Or better yet, I'll rent the place for a week. I've heard a lot about ghosts, but I've never been able to pin one down. Jim, Jim, Jim, please. Oh, Sandra, I'm serious. It's dangerous business, this ghost hunting. Please, fella, anything to get Sandra's mind off buying that picture. Very well, but you'll find some very real ghosts over there. The housekeeper, Mrs. Browning, will rent you a room if you want one. But she's the only person who's ever been able to stay in the old house. Thanks, old man. Come along, Sandra. What the picture? Hang the picture, my sweet. I've got a genuine ghost for you. There's no one there. Ghosts aren't supposed to open by themselves, Paul. Well, what do you expect? The house is haunted, isn't it? Door slammed by itself, too. Woo, tricky place, isn't it? You frightened? Not in the least. And it isn't my knees that are shaking, Pat. It's yours. Wonder where the housekeeper is? Her name's Mrs. Browning. Call her and see what happens. All right. Mrs. Browning. I didn't poke you. Well, I didn't poke myself. I wonder if we're alone. But behind me, Paul, if it's a ghost, I don't want to meet it quite yet. Silly, it's broad daylight. It's the child's footprint right there in front of me, a wet footprint. Great heavens. No, another one. It's like the footprint of a child who's taken a bath. Oh, my chubby, yeah. Listen. The footprint's lead upstairs. Shall we follow? Well, it's the obvious thing to do. It's ghastly cold in here, Sandy, isn't it? Ghostly cold at any rate. You're not quite up to form, old girl. You sure you want to go through with this? No, I'm positive almost anyway. Sandy, the footprints, they disappear. Oh, maybe it's all done with mirrors. Good afternoon. Do come in the sitting room. Oh, you must be Mrs. Browning. I'm Sandra Whitney, and this is my husband. How do you do? How do you do? Mr. Danvers told me you were coming. Won't you be seated? Thank you, Mrs. Browning. I hope my stepdaughter didn't frighten you. Your stepdaughter? Well, I didn't see anyone. Naturally. She's dead. You mean the footprints we saw? Yes. Of course. Uh, you didn't see or hear anything else? I know. Expecting anyone? Yes. They're coming for me shortly. My time is up, and I must die in the way they've planned it. They? Those who live in this house, Mrs. Whitney. Oh, God, Mrs. Browning, you don't really believe ghosts actually live here. Believe it? I know it. You see, Mr. Whitney, when I was first married 40 years ago, my husband, I was married 40 years ago. My husband, my stepdaughter and myself moved into this house. They were here then. Why didn't you move out? Oh, we became used to them. Then my stepdaughter died. My husband had an unfortunate accident, and I was left alone. You've lived here alone ever since? Yes. Waiting for them to take me. Mrs. Browning, how much will you charge my wife and myself for an apartment here by the week? Charge? Nothing. Nothing at all. Anybody who has the courage to stay here is most welcome. But I advise you against it. Listen. What is it? Souls crying for release. Release from him. Oh, come, Mrs. Browning. You don't believe me? Ha, ha, ha, ha. You will when you move in. When can I expect you? Tonight at eight. How about it, Paul? You'll use the east wing. I'll have a fire on it for you. But let me warn you once again. They'll be waiting for you day and night. Ha, ha, ha. Call back. Call back. Down back. Down, I say. Oh, if you keep squirming, I'll never get you on a leash. I'd better take some pistols along with us. Well, I'm not at all sure you can shoot a ghost, Paul. I'm not at all sure it is a ghost. Something awfully phony about all that. Oh, no. My intuition says there were ghosts in that house, darling. And I have a very perceptive intuition. So, you're not going to take Blackie with you? Of course I am. He's a watchdog, isn't he? Now, darling, remember how nicely he caught pheasant last year. But pheasants aren't the same thing as ghosts at all. And nonsense. You ready? Already. And here's your coat, Tim. Oh, look out the window, Paul. So peaceful out there. You've always been partial to twilight. Oh, reminds me of the time you courted me. It was such a nice time. Paul, that man, the one on the street. What man? The one standing right out there. Look at him. That's the same man whose portrait we saw at Jim Danvers' house today. Sandra, Sandra, where are you going? Oh, my chubby aunt. It is him. Excuse me, sir. I couldn't help noticing you, and... You noticed me? You are, Mr. Richards, aren't you? I've been known to many by many names. Oh, dear, please pardon me if I'm rude, but how in the devil did you manage to stay alive for 400 years? You will notice my eyes look deep, deep. Let me go. Let me go. Deeply into my eyes you've never seen me before. You don't know me. You can never remember me again. Keep walking, Sandra. I hope you're properly ashamed of yourself of approaching strange men and asking them silly questions. I'm sorry, Paul. It was stupid of me, to be wrong. Of course they can, but on the face of it it was silly, expecting a man who was alive 400 years ago to be roaming around loose. It wasn't a matter of looseness, Pat. It was a matter of largeness. Now, now come on. Stop being a husband and hold my arm. I ought to tear it off and beat you over the head with it. He's so virile, but I love him. Come along, Sandy. There's your haunted house ahead. I'm coming. Mrs. Browning. I'm in the East Wing, Mr. Whitney, just lighting the fire. You better go on up. This hall's dry. More than cold in here. It's almost as if something or somebody is draining your body of all warmth. That's a pleasant thought, Sandy. Now that you've scared yourself stiff, move. I was just getting in the mood for ghost. Where's the East Wing? This way, Mrs. Whitney. Hello, Mrs. Browning. Here's my mood. Nice fire, nice candle. Quiet, quiet, Blackie. You scare somebody. A dog scares somebody. Not tonight. They came tonight. What came tonight? You see. Better make yourselves at home while you can. Blackie, sit down. Over here, Blackie. Look at him, Paul. The hair's on his head or standing on end. Be quiet, Blackie. I told you they were here. Illuminous mass. Sandy, be careful. Coming for me. Mrs. Browning, Paul. I think they're choking her. Mrs. Browning. It's gone, hasn't it? Yes. It's gone, but Mrs. Browning. Nobody tells Detective Hodges that a flesh and blood woman gets bumped off by a ghost. But I, Detective Hodges, and go away. We'd catch the ghost. Paul's right, Sandra. Sit down over here. Jim Danvers, if you side with Paul, I'll never speak to you. Now, Mr. Whitney, if you don't mind, we'll go over the details again. What happened? Well, Mrs. Whitney and I were here in this room with Mrs. Browning. When a blue mass suddenly floated in the door, the lights in the fireplace dimmed, the candles were extinguished, and Mrs. Browning began to scream. Why? Because she saw a ghost. It's really all so simple. Sandra, my dear. We've only materialized, at least sufficiently, for us to see two hands. Two hands without a body? The hands reached out, grasped Mrs. Browning by the throat, and... That was that. Thank you, Mrs. Whitney. I suppose you expect me to believe that story? There's no reason for you to doubt Mr. Whitney's word, Detective Hodges. I'm not saying there is. But there was only three people in this room, and one of them is dead. Everybody's under arrest. Oh, Paul, it's here again. Look, Detective Hodges. Paul, Sandra. Oh, Paul, for heaven's sake. What is it? An axe murderer, an ectoplasm. Sandra, don't be funny. Let's get out of this house before it gets all of us. It's gone. Yes, it's gone. Now do you believe us, Detective Hodges? Yes. Yes, I believe you. I'll have Mrs. Browning's body removed to the morgue right away. Paul, if you insist on staying in this house overnight, I'll not be responsible for what happened. But, Jim, I'm convinced that there are no such things as ghosts. Now, please, Jim, take Sandra back home and leave me. I'm not budging without you, Pat. Sandra, don't be foolish. Well, no matter what you two do, I'm not staying here. Oh, go, old fuzzy beard. Take thy tired body and deliver it to a safe warm bed. Poor Jim. Scared of a little ghost. It's 11 p.m. already. Well, good night, Paul, Sandra. Nighty night, Jim. What was that? You mean the footballs? Yes, what is it? The housekeeper's dead stepdaughter. You see, it's all so simple. Good grief, good night. Through the house, Paul, and I'm dead tired. Come on, let's go to bed. You go to bed. I'll sit up and read these letters we found in the attic. Come here, now lie down next to me. There, poor blackie, poor doggy. You don't like the ghosties, do you, Pat? Poor, poor blackie. This letter's interesting. What is it? Evidently a letter from the housekeeper to her husband. A love letter. She talks about her brother's child. It seems her brother left his money to his daughter and she handled the estate for the child. That's jolly. Maybe that's the child she calls her stepdaughter. Let's see what it says. Listen, since we have managed the child's end, you and I are more than lovers. We are partners in many things. Sounds as if they murdered the child. Yes, it does. Sandra, I wonder if my theory is right. If people felt strong passions and if those passions linger in a house after the people have gone, couldn't that create a heavy psychic atmosphere? Well, those fingers that murdered Mrs. Browning were more than heavily psychic. Unhook the collar of my dress, Paul. Where do I put the letters down on the dressing table here? Just a top hook. I better keep these pistols handy just in case. Something about a gun that gives me curtain. Funny. Oh, it's midnight. I'm tired and nothing's funny. You know, Mrs. Browning's sitting room. It seems to be an extra addition to this house. It juts out from the rest of the building like a sleeping porch. What's funny about that? Well, that horrible cold and the footfalls all seem to emanate from that room. Oh, you and your logical mind. Oh. What's the matter, Sandy? Oh, look, the fire's dimming. Oh. Oh. Just like a great black shadow standing in front of it. Give me my gun. Here, dear. Shhh. Blacky. Shhh. Look, Sandy. A hand reaching out from the wall. The letters. It's got the letters. Great, Scott. Oh, my chubby hand. Watch it. It's the hand of the housekeeper. How do you know? It's got the same ring on. She had on this afternoon. If that's not a ghost, I've never seen one. The fire's going out, Sandra. Ah! Sandra! Sandra! Will is greater. No. You're a shadow. And you are a mere mortal who knows no secrets beyond the veil. I control the world of shadows. So come, fool. So come. No. No. Go away. You're nothing but an image. You will die by my command in this house. You will die before morning. Admit my will. No. No. I will not admit your will. Sandra. You're safe. You're on your own. But just my still darling and dreamless. Paul. I was a fool to allow you to stay in that accursed place last night. I ought to have my head examined. I came over as soon as I got your message, Paul. Oh, come on in, Jim. Sandra's recovering from a bit of a shock. Yes, I heard about it. I warned you, Paul. That house is definitely haunted. I'm going to board it up. It's completely useless. No, that's not the answer, Jim. It isn't ghosts. At least, not in the real sense of the word. Why, Paul, after what you went through, you say that? It's too malignant for a ghost. Do you believe in the power of hypnotism? Well, I've heard some amazing theories about it anyway. Well, I believe some power controls that house. Well, that's still ghosts. No, because the brain that controls the house is still alive. I'm convinced of it. Well, where do you think this man who controls the house is? He might be thousands of miles away. Remember you said that the eyes in the picture of the fabulous Richards seems alive? Oh, that's ridiculous. Not at all. In some crazy mad manner, Richards has kept himself alive all these 400 years. In some hypnotic way, he controls that house. Well, if your theory is right, how can we break his control? Well, I am certain that his control emanates from the little sitting room, which once belonged to Mrs. Browning. Yes. Now, if you'll let me, I'd like to hire workmen and tear that room off the rest of the house. Oh, but Paul... Well, that room is only an extra addition. Jim, it can't do any harm to try. Did you hurt yourself climbing that petition, Sandra? No. Oh, imagine a secret room down here, Paul, right beneath the sitting room. You see, Jim, Paul was right. It's like finding a box with a false bottom. That's all for now, boys. Careful of your head, Sandra. This room isn't very big. But it's as cold as cold storage. Well, now you know how a hunk of beef feels in an ice box. That's gay. A musty old room. Bed and four walls. And two drawers built into the wall over there. All modern conveniences. Try to open them. They look rusty. Just pull. All right. There. The drawer's open. Oh, nothing but a lot of musty old clothes. Listen, Paul, nothing unusual, Jim. Just the same footfalls we've been hearing all along. I'm beginning to become quite fond of them. Look, here. It's a miniature painting. Yes, a painting of Mr. Richards. Look at it. The same face as that painting in my house. Look at the eyes in the miniature. Paul, they're alive. Great heavens. They're moving. You better put that portrait down, Paul. Yes. They are alive. Living matter and a painting. Oh, Paul. It's getting colder in here all the time. I feel faint. Faint. And is it something unearthly? It's moving around. Open the next drawer, Paul. Hurry. I don't like this growing cold at all. It won't budge. A little blasted thing. Oh, there it is. Paul, there's a thin china saucer full of crystal liquid with a compass floating on it. That's a strange thing. Hmm. There's an inscription written in the drawer. What to say? As this compass moves, so my will dominates everything within these four walls. Everything dead or alive, a cursed be the house and restless the dwellers dare in. What does it mean? This is the brain, Sandra. Richards controls this instrument through hypnotism. He can control a piece of paper or a chair or even the souls of the dead. Then this house is haunted. Yes. Haunted by a malicious malignant will. It keeps a man's spirit roving restlessly after death. Paul. Paul, look. Look in that corner. Mr. Richards, you are alive. Yes, alive. Quite alive because I will to live. Very clever deduction, Mr. Whitney. Deduction? Yes. I heard your keen analysis of my activities. You are a hypnotist then. I have been powerful for 400 years. Your blind stumbling unto my secret will not stop me now. I can will anything. I will the spectator of the past to re-enter this room. In heaven's name, man, stop this. Oh, that black shadow. It's here with a closing in. Yes, closing in. All those who have died in this house are my slaves. As you will be my slaves in a very few brief seconds. You are not the brain controlling this house. You gave that power to this compass. I transferred your power to this moving needle. Am I right, Mr. Richards? What's that compass down on? No, I'll destroy it, Mr. Richards. No, you're completely powerless to harm us. Watch out, Paul. This partition is going to crumble. Paul! Sandra! Gosh, Paul, it's good to be back in our own home. What happened to Mr. Richards when the partition collapsed, Jim? Well, the workmen searched the debris around the house for Mr. Richards' body, but no trace of him was found. I'm afraid that he escaped. Oh, no. You mean he's still alive and free, Jim? Yes, indeed. That's just what I mean. Well, he won't be for long, Sandra. People everywhere will be warned, and every corner of this earth will be looking for him. Even his will can't defy the world, Sandra. No one man can ever fight the world. From the time worn pages of the past, we have recalled the house and the brain. Keeper, hold the bell.