Suspense. And the producer of radio's outstanding theater of thrills, the master of mystery and adventure, William N. Robeson.
Whether you call it by the poetic phrase, the silver cord, or more prosaically just mother's apron strings, smother love can louse up the life of a growing boy.
Complicated with what child psychologists call sibling rivalry, and the boy may cease growing altogether, at least emotionally.
Of such elements is Greek tragedy made, and as it happens, the story you are about to hear.
Listen. Listen then as Jackie Kilke stars in Shadow on the Wall, which begins in exactly one minute.
Now how many of you have heard a doctor lecture on the lining of the stomach and what you're doing to it?
Well you may think this line of gab is only for you.
Why son, doctors have been telling Americans this ever since we became a nation.
Like a fella come up to me the other day and asked about that great American Mike Fink.
Say, is it true that Mike once ate a buffalo robe?
Certainly, and with the hair on it.
Well why did he do that?
Well you see, Mike drank so much whiskey that he destroyed the coating of his stomach.
And the doctor told him that before he could get well he'd need a new coat for it.
Mike thought that over, and made up his mind that a buffalo robe with hair on it was just the thing.
So he sat down and swallowed one. He could drink any amount of whiskey after that, and that's a fact.
Folklore belongs to every nation's legendary past, and I guess we Americans have our share of some tall ones.
And now...
Shadow on the Wall, starring Jackie Kelk.
A tale well calculated to keep you in...
Suspense.
Soon, very soon now there'll be a shadow on the wall.
Shadows, always shadows.
I'll never get away from them.
I've been watching them for days now.
Or is it weeks?
I don't know anymore.
But I do know it started the last day of my brother's life.
My brother. My dear, dear older brother.
A thief. All my life he had stolen from me.
Stolen my father's respect and then my mother's love.
Now he was determined to steal a last day of my brother's life.
And I know that he was.
Stolen my father's respect and then my mother's love. Now he was determined to steal the last hold I had on life.
The house. The house where I was born and grew up out on Long Island.
He was building a modern monstrosity on the estate a few hundred yards away.
And when it was finished, the house, mother's house, was to be wrecked.
It was just too much.
Will you stop whining? I have a great deal to do before I leave for the coast.
Roger, if I have to get on my knees and beg, I will.
But please don't destroy the house.
This place is worthless. Victorian houses like this cost too much to maintain.
You think of nothing but money. What about my feelings?
Your feelings?
Yes, and mother's, if she was still alive.
Mother would approve. I'm sure of that.
How do you know? This is the house mother came to as a bride.
The house where she bore and raised her two sons. This house was her life.
Oh, really, Henry.
It's true. How can you stand by and watch the room where she used to kiss us good night broken to bits by wreckers?
Sentimental nonsense.
And what about all her silver and furniture? Old and beautiful.
You can't put things like that in a modern house.
We'll pack them carefully and send them to storage.
Yes. Yes, you just pack mother away and forget her. Look. Look here. Her favorite candlesticks.
Don't wave that around. It's worth a small fortune.
And a wealth of love to me. Where will these go in your fancy new house?
All right. Put them under your pillow then, like your baby teeth. I don't care.
No. No, you don't, do you, Roger? You don't care one little bit.
What are you talking about?
Why should you care? You got it all. You're the executor of the estate. Yes, and you've been the executioner of my self-respect.
Nonsense. Now, as I said, I have a great deal to do before I leave tomorrow.
I hate you, Roger. I hate you. What?
I'd like to see you dead. Henry, stop being childish.
I'd tear your heart out if you had any. Henry, put down that candlestick.
No. They're mothers and you want to pack mother away. I order you to put...
But you won't destroy us. You won't put mother's memory in storage. I'll make sure mother isn't hidden.
You give me that. No. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
I stood dazed. Roger lay on the floor, a trickle of blood oozing from his temple.
I bent over him. No breath. No pulse. Roger was dead.
Suddenly I heard a car coming up the drive. Mrs. Loomis, the housekeeper, was returning from the village.
I dragged Roger's body to the closet, pushed him inside and locked the door. Not a moment too soon.
Mr. Henry, I stopped by the laundry for Mr. Roger's shirts, but they weren't ready.
Oh? He'll be furious, I suppose, seeing he's flying to the coast in the morning.
Well, it doesn't matter, Mrs. Loomis. He's already gone.
Gone, sir? Yes. He decided to spend the night in New York at the club and go to the airport from there.
Well, I never got a chance to say goodbye to him. Perhaps we could go to the airport together and...
No. No, I'll... I'll see him off alone.
But I always wish Mr. Roger well before one of his trips.
I'll give him your best wishes, Mrs. Loomis. I'd rather you stayed here in the morning.
Very well, sir. It'll just be you for dinner, then.
Oh, don't bother tonight, Mrs. Loomis. Why don't you take the night off for a change? Go to a movie.
Why, I might at that, sir, if it's all right. Of course.
Thank you, sir. But I do wish I could have seen Mr. Roger off.
I waited in the library until I heard Mrs. Loomis go out. I had to get rid of the body now.
But where? As I gazed out across the lawn to the new house, that awful modern house, the idea came.
That very day, the workmen had just finished the base of the fireplace.
A broad, fieldstone structure, about three feet high and eight feet across.
The mortar would still be wet. The stones would easily pull loose.
Yeah. Why not? The perfect place.
After all, Roger was so fond of the new house.
It took longer than I thought. But when it was done, I returned to my room.
I now had to explain Roger's disappearance. I sat up all night thinking, thinking.
And then as dawn crept over the lawn, I knew what I'd do.
Good morning, sir. Oh, good morning. I'm on flight 88.
Your ticket, sir. Yes, here. That's right. Flight 88. Any baggage?
No, just this briefcase. All right, Mr. Harper. Everything's in order. Gate 14. Thank you.
I sat down and waited for the gate to open. I would board the plane, fly to Los Angeles, and then come right back.
The airline would support the evidence that Roger Harper was on the passenger list.
And when he didn't show up in Los Angeles, I'd report him missing.
As I waited, I overheard a small man arguing with the desk clerk. This was even better.
Not this late, sir. I'm sorry. But I've got to catch that flight. Isn't there anything you can do?
Not a thing, sir. You might try overland airways. I have a morning flight.
Well, thank you. I'll see what I can do. The man turned away from the desk and I hurried after him.
I beg your pardon. Yes? I heard your conversation with the clerk over there, and I may be able to help you.
Oh, how's that? You see, my plans have suddenly changed. I'll be happy to let you have my ticket.
You're kidding. No, no, take it. Oh, I've already checked it through. Everything's in order.
Well, I don't know what to say. That's all right. But hurry. They're announcing the flight.
Well, thank you. Here's the money. I had it all ready. All right, all right. You'd better hurry.
Just go on the plane as Roger Harper.
He went through the gate and up onto the plane. The hostess smiled and checked the name on the clipboard.
Roger was now confirmed on the passenger list. And I wouldn't have to explain my absence.
I went to bed early that night, but I couldn't sleep. As I lay staring at the ceiling, the enormity of the thing I'd done overwhelmed me.
At first, it was more a feeling than anything real, a fleeting feeling that another presence was beginning to form in the house.
I got up and flooded my room with lights, but I couldn't push the thought from my mind.
Then, just after midnight, the doorbell rang. I peered through the crack of my bedroom door as Mrs. Loomis hurried downstairs.
Mr. Harper, a gentleman to see you. Who is it? He says he's from the police.
Police? What does he want? I don't know, sir. He wants to see you.
I'll be right down.
Yes? Mr. Henry Harper? That's right.
Detective Sergeant Allen, sir. Sorry to disturb you at this hour, but it is important.
It's all right. I'm here about a Roger Harper, this address.
Roger? He was on Flight 88 out of LaGuardia this morning, is that right?
Yes. Yes, he was. You're sure about that?
Yes, of course. I saw him off myself.
I'm sorry, Mr. Harper. Flight 88 crashed in the Rockies late this afternoon. There were no survivors.
The second act of suspense continues in one minute.
This is Johnny Baker with Communism on the Spot.
One of the most important terms in the Communist political dictionary is the socialist division of labor.
It describes the communist technique for integrating members of the so-called socialist camp into one economic system.
In practice, communist exploitation of Soviet-blocked nations doesn't differ from that of traditional colonialism.
The only difference is that Soviet colonialism justifies its actions on the basis of the so-called economic unity of socialist society.
This means that the subject nations serve as first-class sources of raw material for the Soviet empire.
And now we continue with act two of Shadow on the Wall starring Jackie Kelk,
a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
I was safe. Safe now. I walked on air the next day. The second day was peaceful bliss.
Then on the third day it began again. The feeling of another presence was coming back.
I mustn't leave my room. I was always safe in my room when I was a little boy.
But it was no use. That's where I saw it for the first time.
It was barely visible at first. Just a dim shadow on the wall across from me.
And then slowly, ever so slowly, it began to grow wider and wider, darker and darker, until it became a perfect silhouette.
I was too terrified to move. My hands gripped the sides of the chair as I looked at the shadow.
The shadow of a man hanging by his neck.
I stared rigid at this ghastly vision. The head bowed against the chest.
The hands tied behind the back. The feet together, hanging limp. It stayed there, motionless.
And then, slowly as it had come, it disappeared. The head blended into the body.
The legs seemed to melt into the wall. And at last it was gone.
Mr. Henry, sir, I have supper ready. Mr. Henry.
Mr. Henry, what is it?
Oh, Mrs. Loomis.
You gave me a fright, sir. Staring straight ahead like that.
What? What time is it?
Is something wrong?
No, no, nothing at all. What time is it?
It's after six o'clock, sir. I have supper ready.
Oh.
Please, sir, what's the trouble? Shall I call the doctor?
No, no, I'm perfectly all right.
But you don't seem to be, sir. If only...
Mrs. Loomis, will you stop?
I'm sorry, sir.
I can't stand you babying me all the time.
Very well, sir.
Never mind dinner. I don't want it.
That thing, what was it? A shadow? A vision? Something real?
I was too jumpy. I was losing confidence.
But the next day, a look at the chimney on the new house, growing higher and higher over Roger's body, reassured me.
Nothing out of place. Acting suspicious. Nothing to fear.
That afternoon when I entered the library, I found Mrs. Loomis.
Oh, Mr. Henry.
What are you doing with those candlesticks?
I didn't hear you come in.
Why are you holding those candlesticks?
Why, I always polish them regularly, you know that, sir.
Oh, yes, of course.
Did you know one of these is dented?
Dented?
Yes, look.
How did that happen?
I don't know. I'm always so...
Those were my mother's favorite pieces. What did you do to them?
I didn't...
Give me those.
Mr. Henry, I swear to you...
Who else could have damaged them? Are you suggesting I might have?
Please, sir. Don't look that way. Please.
I'll take them to my room. You won't touch them again. Ever.
Oh, she'd been so close. Too close.
But how could she suspect after the plane crash?
I took the candlesticks to my room.
I'd hardly closed the door behind me when, gradually,
I had the feeling that something was coming into the room.
I could feel it moving about.
There, by the desk. No, it's near the bed.
No. No.
There on the wall.
It hung like a ghoulish vision.
The head bent, the hands tied behind the back.
The shadow was as clear, if not clearer, than before.
Now I knew...
I knew certainly that this thing on the wall,
this shadow, was waiting for me.
Act Three of...
Suspense follows in one minute.
This is Johnny Baker with Communism on the Spot.
Citizens are guaranteed freedom of speech,
freedom of the press, freedom of assembly,
and freedom of street demonstrations.
Now that sounds pretty promising, doesn't it?
It might even be a quote from the United States Constitution.
Not quite. These are some of the freedoms supposedly guaranteed
by the Soviet Constitution.
Guaranteed, but never practiced.
Soviet jails are filled with those who speak their minds,
students who ask the wrong questions,
plain citizens who err their gripes and are now paying the price.
They're learning the hard way that Communist Constitutions
are not worth the paper they're written on.
And now...
We continue with Act Three of...
Shadow on the Wall, starring Jackie Kelk.
A tale well calculated to keep you in...
Suspense.
Same grotesque thing.
The shadow had spread across the wall.
The head bent against the chest.
The terrifying hump of the back.
What do you want?
Is it me?
Are you waiting for me?
Well, you'll never get me.
Never, because this house is coming down.
You'll have to go away, because I'm tearing down the house, do you hear?
You've won. You've won. It's coming down, so go away.
Go away! Go away! Go away, please!
Please, go away.
Mr. Henry. Mr. Henry, sir.
Mr. Henry.
You're awake at last, sir.
Mrs. Loomis.
Where am I?
In the guest room, sir. You've been here for two days.
Two days?
We thought it better to move you in here after the shock, sir.
I don't understand.
What you don't remember, sir.
You collapsed in your room.
The doctor says it's emotional stress.
You've been unconscious for two days.
I... I don't remember.
It's all right now, sir.
In your state of mind, it's no wonder you took on so.
What... what do you mean?
Why, seeing that awful shadow on the wall.
Shadow?
It gave me a turn, sir.
After we moved you in here, I was cleaning up your room next afternoon.
And I saw the strangest shadow on the wall, like a man hanging.
Oh, it was awful.
You saw it too?
With my own eyes. But it's gone now.
And we'll never see it again.
What do you mean?
Why, I showed it to Mr. Simpson.
Mr. Simpson?
You know, the contractor who's building the new house.
Oh, yes.
Well, he did some investigating.
He said it was the oddest thing he ever did see.
What, Mrs. Loomis?
Well, every day when the sun gets to a certain spot behind the new house over there,
the fireplace chimney casts a shadow.
It's fieldstone, you know, and the rough stones cast that awful shadow right into your room.
Fireplace.
But don't worry any more about it, sir.
Mr. Simpson's got the chimney almost torn down now.
He's going to move the fireplace to the other side of the house
and not going to charge you anything extra.
That's nice of him, don't you think?
The shadows are coming again now.
There, on the wall.
The long, thin shadows.
Thin as a rail.
And just five inches apart.
Long and thin and even.
I wonder...
I wonder if I'll ever find a place where there aren't any shadows on the wall.
Suspense.
In which Jackie Kelk starred in William and Robeson's production of
Shadow on the Wall, written by Robert Juren.
Listen.
Listen again next week when we return with Vanessa Brown in
Vamp till Dead.
Another tale well calculated to keep you in
Suspense.
Supporting Mr. Kelk in Shadow on the Wall were Jeanette Nolan,
John Hoyt, Frank McDonald, and Charles Long.
Suspense has been brought to you through the worldwide facilities
of the United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.
The United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.
Thank you.