Suspects.
And the producer of radio's outstanding theater of thrills, the master of mystery and adventure,
William M. Robeson.
It has been more than 60 years since a New England lady named Charlotte Perkins-Gildman
wrote a story called The Yellow Wallpaper.
Since then, this tale of almost unbearable horror has firmly established itself as one
of American literature's greatest tales of terror, ranked by the aficionados of the macabre,
along with the telltale heart and the pit and the pendulum of Edgar Allan Poe.
When you combine such a great story with the great talent of the First Lady of suspense,
Miss Agnes Morehead, you may be sure of an uneasy and unsettling half hour.
Turn down the lights then and listen.
Turn down the lights so you can't see the pattern of your wallpaper, as Agnes Morehead
staws in The Yellow Wallpaper, which begins in exactly one minute.
Smoke can't, smoke can't, smoke can't with the micronite filter.
It is the mild, mild cigarette that's got the freshest, cleanest taste yet.
It is the mild, mild cigarette, smoke can't, smoke can't, smoke can't with the micronite
filter.
And now, Miss Agnes Morehead in The Yellow Wallpaper, a tale well calculated to keep
you in suspense.
I've never seen a worse wallpaper in my life.
All those strangled heads and bulbous eyes and fungus growth seem to shriek with derision.
When we came to this house, the minute I saw it, I made up my mind secretly to start writing
again in spite of them.
But I don't dare let John know I'm keeping this journal.
It's difficult being married to a doctor.
John's an excellent doctor, I'm sure, but he's so inconsistent about me.
He says I'm not really sick, that I'm only a little run down from caring for the baby,
that I have a temporary nervous depression and so he forbids me to write a word.
But writing is such a relief to my mind.
I can write down things, tell things here that, no, John says I'm not too rude about those
things.
I confess they make me feel badly, so I'll only write about the house.
I saw it for the first time today, the most beautiful place.
John rented it for the summer and we drove up today, a perfect June morning.
The bay and the white sails and people already in swimming.
And then the shaded lane and the old fashioned flower garden and the gnarly trees and the
house.
The house standing alone in the summer stillness.
I could never tell John, but you know the house spoke to me.
It was only because he rattled on so that I couldn't hear what it said.
It reminded me of those English places you read about.
And at only 200 a month.
Gardens, cottage and everything.
Hedges and walls and gates that lock and there's a ghostliness.
Remember I rented it just for you and you're going to let Jenny do all the work while you
live the life of Riley.
Do you like it darling?
Do you?
Yes.
Yes, it's lovely, but strange as though it might be haunted.
Darling.
You've got that look on your face again, that dopey look.
Well, Jenny's home.
There's a station wagon.
And if I know my dear sister, she's already turned the place inside out and cleaned it
top to bottom.
John, is it haunted do you think?
What?
The house?
Yes.
At 200 a month?
That's asking too much of fate.
Come on, hop out.
Then why is it rented so cheaply and why hasn't anyone lived in it for such a long time?
I'd call it luck if I believed in luck.
There is something strange about the house.
I feel it.
Now stop imagining things.
I'm not imagining.
One reason I don't get well is that you don't believe me.
You don't even believe I'm sick.
You tell my friends and relatives I've heard you that there's nothing wrong with me.
There isn't.
Anything wrong with you.
Oh John.
I'm sorry.
Don't cry.
Come along.
Let's go inside.
So I came into this house in tears.
It was wrong.
It was all wrong.
Maybe the house saw me crying.
Or this room.
I got so unreasonably angry with John.
I shouldn't.
I know.
He's so careful and loving and I repay him so badly.
I should control myself.
At least in front of him.
But it makes me so tired not to show what I feel.
My sister-in-law Jenny met us at the door.
Naturally she saw I'd been crying.
We shook pains to ignore it.
Well hello.
You two are early.
You must have started at the crack of dawn.
How was the trip?
Made it in less than two hours.
There are like his peas in a pod.
Jenny and John.
Both efficient and kind.
How did you bear upset?
Very well.
Thank you Jenny.
I must say you look very well.
Both kind and both somehow cruel.
But I don't really think that.
You're in time for lunch.
I bought a flounder down at the wharf and cooked it with capers and cream.
Sound good?
Wonderful Jenny.
May I see the house first?
The whole brand tour?
The flounder will be cooked to death.
Well at least my room.
Our room.
All right if you insist.
With a vicious world don't blame me.
Why would I blame her?
Whose room is this Jenny?
Yours?
Yes.
It's small but it's near the door and the telephone.
Oh John.
John look let's take this one for you and me.
I love those roses over the window.
I've already put your things upstairs pet.
A little porch and such pretty old fashioned chintz hanging.
You like the room upstairs.
You can see there's not room for two beds.
And I won't hear of being in separate rooms.
John John and I talked it over.
The room at the top of the house has so many windows.
And you must absorb lots of fresh air darling to get back your appetite.
They smother me with concern.
They crush me with kind.
Come along.
I'm glad you found a good girl.
All right.
You know what's best.
Oh you'll like the nursery.
It's got loads of sunshine.
Up this steep narrow stair.
Two stories up to the very top of the house.
I told myself over and over I mustn't be angry.
They mean so well for me.
I'm not to have thoughts or feelings, likes or dislikes.
I'm to do what they say because they know what's best.
I'm not to cry.
I'm not to have dreams or fantasies.
Up, up the steep winding stairs to the top.
There's a gate at the top that locks.
I wonder why.
And beyond the gate is the nursery room.
This room.
It is big and airy.
Nearly a whole floor with windows that look every way.
They say it was a nursery.
But what was it?
This.
Over the mall, Jenny. Why?
Well, darling.
Why are the windows barred?
Well, that's for little children. Otherwise it wouldn't be safe.
Yes.
Children climb around so don't they?
What's...
What are those rings and things in the wall?
Oh?
Oh, I expect they made it into a gymnasium when the children were older.
A sort of playroom.
Oh, they must have hated the wallpaper.
They were rough on it, that's for sure.
They've torn it off in patches. I don't blame them. It's hellish.
Oh, who wants to look at wallpaper with this view?
You can see the whole bed.
It's a revolting color.
Sun clean. It's such a...
Such a sickish yellow there where the sun tainted it.
Now, now, darling, you must be hungry. I know you're tired.
I'm not tired.
Why do you both act this way?
I say the wallpaper's ugly and you look at each other.
Your eyes shuffle back and forth and suddenly you both act as though I'd lost my...
Darling!
That was something we weren't going to say.
Be a good girl, Pep.
We don't act anyway. We only want you not to worry.
We want you to be well.
It's true.
That's all they want.
John laughs at me, of course, but one expects that in marriage.
And he says I have foolish fancies.
And he sometimes can talk them away, but...
Not this time.
No matter what he says,
it's a smoldering, sulfurous, unclean, hideous wallpaper.
No wonder the children scratched at it and spit it out.
No wonder they gouged the plaster with their little fingernails.
No wonder they hated it.
I hate it myself.
Somehow I feel it.
It hates me.
In just a moment, we continue with...
Suspense.
The best things in life may not always be free,
but some of the worst things sure are expensive.
The trail that litterbugs leave behind them costs our government
50 million dollars a year on primary highways alone.
And the best thing is that we're not going to have to pay for it.
We're going to have to pay for it.
And that costs our government 50 million dollars a year on primary highways alone.
And that's only part of the penalty, for none of us enjoys the countryside
when it's littered with sandwich wrappers and old newspapers.
Every year, thousands of Americans sustain injuries from broken bottles,
rusty beer cans and other objects thoughtlessly cast out on the highway.
As a result, work hours are lost and wages remain unearned.
A carefree holiday is hardly carefree if you're careless about trash.
Your neglect can only add to your tax bill
and damage property you might otherwise enjoy.
It creates a health hazard for yourself and others.
Wherever you are this minute, out in the country or right in the heart of town,
CBS radio hopes you'll join the nationwide campaign
to keep America beautiful.
There's no membership card, no dues.
All it takes to join is the resolve to keep America beautiful
by keeping litter off streets and highways.
And now...
we continue with the second act of...
the yellow wallpaper starring Miss Agnes Moorhead.
A tale well calculated to keep you in...
suspense.
We've been here two weeks and I haven't felt like writing again since that first day.
I'm sitting up by the window now...
in this frightful nursery room.
There's nothing to stop my writing as much as I please.
John is away all day and sometimes even at night if he has a serious case.
I'm glad my case is not serious.
These nervous troubles can be depressing all the same.
John doesn't know how much I suffer.
He knows there's no reason to suffer and that's satisfying.
I suppose John is never nervous in his life.
He laughs at me so about this wallpaper.
No, I won't let you have your way, you silly goose.
If we'd taken the room downstairs you'd be seeing faces in the shin straight.
Not faces, John.
Look at that spot.
And that one over there.
Yeah, I see. It's a recurrent pattern.
It's a broken neck with two bulging eyes staring at me upside down.
And to me it's climbing ivy or some kind of vine.
Take your choice, it could be anything.
It's the everlastingness.
Up and down, climbing up and down, sideways, crawling, crawling...
and everywhere there was unblinking eyes.
Now you must try to rid your mind of such nonsense. You simply must.
All right, John, I'll try.
But first of all it's only in certain lights when I look at the wallpaper from the bed that I see.
See what?
Nothing.
Nothing, nothing, John.
No, you're... you're right.
There's nothing except a pattern.
A front pattern.
And an under pattern in a different shade of yellow.
It dwells in my mind, sir.
I lie on that great immovable bed.
It's nailed down.
And follow the pattern about by the hour.
And then where it isn't faded and when the sun is just so, I see a strange, faint formula sort of figure lurking,
waiting behind that front design.
There are things in that wallpaper that nobody knows but me.
You know, there's a woman stooping down and creeping about behind that pattern.
Last night it was moonlight.
And the moon shines in all around just as the sun does.
And John was asleep and I hated to waken him, so I kept still and watched the moonlight on the wall
until the figure behind began to shake the pattern as if she wanted to get out.
I got up softly and went and felt the paper to see if it did move.
It moved.
I'm sure of it.
And the woman cried out as though her voice came a long way over water.
Let it down! Let me down! Let me down! Let me down!
When I went back to the bed, John was awake.
What is it?
Why are you up?
Don't go walking around like that. You'll catch cold.
Well, the moonlight woke me.
You are cold. You're shivering.
John, I'm not really getting better. Hope you take me away.
I don't see how we can leave before our lease is up.
Of course, if you were in any danger I would, but you really are better, dear, whether you see it or not.
I'm a doctor and I know.
My appetite may be better in the evening when you're here, but it's worse in the morning when you're gone.
You're gaining weight and your color is better.
I don't weigh a bit more, not even as much.
Nonsense. You're getting better, I tell you.
Better in body, perhaps, but in mind.
Darling!
For my sake and your sake and for the sake of our child,
I beg you not to let that idea enter your head, not for one instant.
Can't you trust me as a doctor when I tell you it's a false and foolish idea?
Answer me, darling.
Don't you trust me?
Yes, of course I trust you, only.
Only what?
Oh, nothing. I'm sleepy.
Let's go to sleep.
But I didn't sleep.
I lay there for hours trying to decide if the front pattern and the back pattern move together or separately.
No, there's no question about it.
In the moonlight the front pattern becomes bars, the outside pattern, I mean.
The woman behind it shakes the bars as she creeps around.
I like this room now.
And life is much more exciting than it used to be.
I have something more to expect, to look forward to, to watch.
And I really do eat better and I'm quieter than I was.
John is pleased to see me improve.
You see, you're flourishing like a weed in spite of your wallpaper.
Yes, yes, in spite of the wallpaper.
In spite of it.
Because of it.
But I had no intention of telling him that.
He might want to take me away.
And I don't want to leave now until I've found out.
There's a very funny mark on the wall low down near the mopboard.
The streak that runs around the room.
It goes behind every piece of furniture except the bed.
A long, straight, even smudge as if it had been rubbed over and over.
How was it done?
Who did it?
What did they do it for?
Round and round.
Round makes me dizzy.
I really discovered something at last.
There are a great many women behind the pattern and sometimes only one.
And she told me that she was going to be the only one.
And she creeps around fast.
And her creeping shakes the pattern.
She's trying to climb through and can't because the pattern strangles everything.
But she does get out in the daytime.
I know because I've seen her.
When a car comes she hides in the blackberry vines.
I'd hide too.
I always lock the door when I creep by daylight.
There are only two days left to tear the paper off and let the woman out into the room.
The chance beginning to take both.
I don't like the look in his eyes or the way he talks with Jenny about me.
I overheard.
She isn't sleeping night so she's quiet but I know she's awake.
No wonder she sleeps the whole blessed day.
Maybe I ought to call in another doctor.
It's just stubbornness John.
She's determined to prove you wrong.
I suppose you're right.
Maybe a sanitarium would be...oh, Raleigh.
Hello pet. How you creep about.
That's a funny thing to say Jenny.
It isn't I who creeps.
Jenny says you stay in your room too much.
You don't take your exercise.
You tell me to rest and take exercise.
I can't do both.
As though I can't see through them.
Well tomorrow's our last day here.
We'll talk about exercise when I get you back to town.
I'll have to rouse you out of bed pretty early pet.
Some of that furniture up there belongs downstairs.
The movers will be here at night.
Maybe you'll sleep upstairs tonight Jenny.
So you won't be alone darling.
You won't be here tonight John.
Not till tomorrow evening.
I have a difficult case at the hospital.
And if you're going to feel lonesome...
Oh no Jenny.
I'll rest better alone. I'm sure of it.
Thank you all the same.
They think they're so clever.
I won't be alone a bit.
As soon as the moon shone in...
The poor thing began to crawl and shake the petal.
I ran to help her.
I pulled and she shook.
I shook and she pulled and by morning...
We peeled off yards and yards of that paper.
A strip about as high as my head...
And half around the room.
When Jenny came up in the morning...
She looked at the wall in amazement.
What in the world?
You know what I did?
You know why I did it Jenny?
Just to spite the vicious thing.
Why are you so surprised?
I...I'm not why...
I wouldn't mind doing it myself.
But you must be tired.
She wouldn't mind doing it.
Why don't you come downstairs and lie down?
It'll be dreary up here once they take the furniture out.
They can't take the bed out.
It's nailed down you know.
I like it here.
It'll be quiet and empty and clean.
But you'll sleep downstairs tonight when John gets home.
Oh yes.
Yes when John gets home.
How she betrayed herself.
She wouldn't mind doing it.
But I'm here and no person touches this paper but me.
I lock the door and throw the key down into the front path.
I don't want anybody to come in till John gets home.
I want to surprise him.
And I've got a rope up here.
Even Jenny doesn't know that.
If the woman gets out from behind the pattern and tries to run away...
I can tie her securely to one of the rings in the wall.
There.
There she is.
See how the pattern moves?
Like wallowing seaweed.
How monstrous and pointless that pattern is.
It'll strangle her unless I help.
Wait.
I'll help you.
I'll peel off all the paper I can standing on the floor.
Now wait.
Just wait.
Be patient.
Yes.
You push and I'll pull.
Oh it sticks horribly to the plaster.
Maybe I can get it off with my teeth.
Oh it hurts but I'm getting it.
Wait.
Just a little bit more.
I'm getting it.
Wait.
A little bit more.
I wonder if they all came out of the wall, people.
As I did.
I think they did.
But I have you securely tied by my rope.
You'll never get away.
But I don't want to get away.
It's so pleasant to be on the wall.
To creep about as I please.
It is pleasant.
But at night you have to get back behind the pattern.
That will be hard.
Well, it's better than going outside.
I won't go outside even if Jenny asks me to.
Outside I have to creep on the ground where everything is green instead of yellow.
And here I creep smoothly on the floor.
Listen.
There she is now.
Darling, open the door.
Why, it's John at the door.
Open the door darling.
Open it please dear.
How he does pound and shout.
It's no use Dr. John.
You can't open it.
Open it.
Do you hear me?
Open it.
Jenny, bring me an axe quickly.
Oh no.
He'll break down that beautiful door.
John dear, the key is down in front of the house.
Under a plant and leaf.
Please darling.
It's down by the front door John.
Open the door.
For heaven's sake open it.
I can't.
The key is downstairs John.
It's under a plant and leaf by the front steps.
It's under a plant and leaf John.
Go and see.
You'll find it if you look.
There.
There he's gone to look.
Now I can creep slowly, smoothly on the floor.
Round and round and round and round.
And my shoulder just fits into that long smooch on the wall.
So I can't lose my way.
He's coming back.
He's running on the stairs.
How astonished he will be.
My dear.
Oh my dear what is it?
What's happened?
I've got out at last John.
Out?
Out from?
Yes.
In spite of you and Jenny.
I pulled down the paper.
I shook the pattern and pushed and pulled it down.
It stuck horribly.
But you'll never, never, never put me back.
You're so pale John.
Why do you close your eyes?
Watch how swiftly I creep in this lovely yellow room.
Thankless.
Why should that man have fainted?
But he did.
And right in my path by the wall.
And I have to creep over him every time.
Round and round and round and round and round.
Suspense.
In which Miss Agnes Moreheads starred in the yellow wallpaper.
Directed by Sylvia Richards.
From the story by Charlotte Perkins Gilman.
Listen.
Listen again next week.
When we return with Alibi.
Another tale well calculated to keep you in.
Suspense.
Supporting Miss Morehead in the yellow wallpaper were Anne Hunter as Jenny.
And Joe DeSantis as John.
It's true that all news reporters broadcast some of the same news items.
But there's a great difference in news reporters.
There's no substitute for instance for the years of wide diversified experience Lowell Thomas brings to his nightly newscasts on CBS radio.
Gold miner, cow puncher, college professor, newspaper reporter, editor, historian, biographer, movie commentator, lecturer, author and film producer.
Have been some of the professions followed by Lowell Thomas in his active life.
And he draws on all these experiences to illustrate and spice his broadcasts.
As an explorer and world traveler Lowell Thomas has led expeditions to the far corners of the globe.
And written some 43 books based on his travels.
He has met many leading personalities of all countries.
And when their names are on the news headlines Lowell Thomas usually has an interesting anecdote to tell.
As an aid to understanding the news behind the news.
Join him every Monday through Friday night on most of these same stations when Lowell Thomas reports the news.
This is the CBS Radio Network.