And now, a tale well calculated to keep you in...
Suspense.
In a moment, Act One of Devil's Stone,
starring Christopher Carey and Neil Fitzgerald,
and written especially for suspense by Jonathan Bundy.
This portion of suspense is brought to you by the makers of Parliament cigarettes.
Listen, more and more people are smoking to this tune every day.
Parliament gives you extra margins.
The filters recessed and made to stay unneeded.
Clean quarter inch away.
Parliament gives you extra margins.
You're smoking neat, you're smoking clean with Parliament today.
My name is Martin, Timothy Martin.
I live here in Dublin and very nicely too, thanks to a considerable inheritance
and sale of the family estate in County Kilkenny, which bought a very good price.
I have a comfortable cottage, a faithful manservant by the name of Everts,
and everything else I need to live an easy, contented life,
and without the need of applying myself to any sort of labour.
Even my financial matters are no bother to me, though,
handled by a penny-pinching old solicitor by the name of Ian Carney.
And mine was a contented life, until, that is,
until a long-forgotten uncle died and left me some property he'd owned but never lived on
up in County Fermanagh near Innerskillen, a place known as Devilstone.
And then, but let me digress for a moment.
I should say, let me seem to digress for a moment, and remember this, please,
for it may have much to do with a strange, terrifying tale I'm about to tell you.
Deep under St. Michael's Church, here in Dublin, is a crypt.
It possesses most amazing properties.
In it lie scores of bodies in a state of perfect preservation.
Albeit they are hundreds of years old.
The old ones used to say it's due to some wondrous form of black magic.
But modern science, modern chemistry, has exploded that ancient belief,
has shown that certain gases generated by the unusual composition of the dark,
dank earth in which the crypt is located, those gases have produced this amazing phenomenon.
Very well.
Now, a few days ago, I called Mr. Carney, my solicitor, on the telephone.
I've been hoping you'd call me, Timothy.
I wish to speak with you about that house and property in County Fermanagh that your uncle left you.
Well, I've certainly no desire to move away from Dublin, Mr. Carney,
so I've decided to rent out the old place.
Rent it out?
And why not, sir?
You really think you can?
Well, I'm quite certain I can.
I doubt it.
Well, as a matter of fact, an American couple by the name of Stoker
left here only yesterday for a look at it.
I see.
I expect they'll be back here a moment now to agree to lease it for the summer.
Timothy, you, uh, showed them the pictures and description of the place?
Yesterday morning.
They were so intrigued by them, they were all for signing a lease then and there.
You'd better have taken their money and let them do it, my boy.
Oh?
Aye.
I'm sure I don't see why.
Surely they're entitled to look at the place over before they take it.
After all, Mr. Carney, never having been there myself,
there wasn't too much I could tell them about Devilstone.
Exactly as it should be, Timothy.
Well, I'm afraid I don't understand you, sir.
I mean that now, my boy.
You will never rent it to them.
Not anyone else who goes there.
Why not?
Now, why do you say that, Mr. Carney?
Well?
You, uh, you don't know?
Of course I don't know.
Then perhaps your tenants, I should say erstwhile prospective tenants,
will tell you if you ever see them again.
Now, what do you mean by...
Excuse me a moment, Mr. Carney.
Yes, what is it, Everts?
I beg your pardon, sir, but there's a Mr. Stoker here to see you.
Stoker?
Yes, sir.
And if I may say so, he appears to be quite excited about something rather angry.
Hello?
Shall I tell him you're busy and suggest he see you another time?
Timothy!
Yes?
No, Everts, have him come in, please.
Very good, sir.
Hello, hello, Timothy!
Oh, sorry, Mr. Carney, but I've someone here to see me.
No, about Devilstone today.
I think I'd better call you back.
Very well, if you like.
But there is something about Devilstone, its history,
that you might not be cognizant of.
I will, I'll get back to you shortly.
Timothy!
Goodbye, sir.
Well, at least you didn't try to skip out on me.
Mr. Stoker, how are you? Nice to see you again.
Oh, it is, eh?
Did you and your wife get over to look at Devilstone as you planned?
We certainly did.
And by heaven, Martin, if this is your idea of some practical joke...
My what?
...sending me alone to that ungodly place would have been bad enough.
But my wife...
Martin, you ought to be horse-whipped.
No, wait, please.
I'll have you know that as a result of your having let her go there,
you and your twisted sense of humor...
What?
What is the matter with you, anyway?
The poor woman nearly went out of her mind.
Mr. Stoker, I just...
She still hasn't recovered from it.
Sure, sure, I got her back to Dublin all right.
But the doctors ordered her to bed, had to give her strong sedatives.
Now, I warn you, young man, if she doesn't recover completely...
I'll just leave.
Oh, don't bother, Martin, the less you say,
the less I have to see of you from here on out the better.
Here.
Here are the keys to that... that place.
No, look here, Mr....
Goodbye, Martin, if I ever see you again,
it will be in a court of law.
Believe me, Mr. Stoker, I don't know what you're talking about.
What are you so upset about?
Oh, you don't, eh?
Do you mean to say there's something wrong with Devilstone?
And do you mean to say that you, the owner of it, don't know?
We don't know what, sir.
You don't know that that ungodly place is haunted?
What?
You heard me.
Haunted!
Could I possibly have heard right, sir?
Haunted?
Was that what he said, Mr. Martin? Haunted?
Yes, that's what he said.
Oh dear, oh dear.
Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, but really, really, it's too amusing.
It's perfectly all right, Everett.
You go right ahead and laugh, and I'll join you.
That's about as absurd an excuse I've ever heard.
Excuse me, sir, you don't think he meant it.
But the Devilstone is haunted?
How could he?
Haunted houses went out of fashion a hundred years ago.
No, Everett, it was simply a silly excuse for not leasing the place,
now that he and his wife have had a look at it.
But what an excuse.
Does he think that we Irish are nothing but a lot of stupid, superstitious idiots?
I's right, sir.
What?
I mean, of course not, sir.
For anyhow, it's completely ridiculous.
So we'll simply forget it, forget about the Stokers,
place an advertisement in the papers and find ourselves some other tenants.
Yes, sir.
Maybe we'd best reduce the rate on it a bit.
Perhaps that's what scared them off.
No, that could be, sir.
Who knows?
Perhaps Devilstone isn't in as good condition as we've been led to believe.
But can you imagine anyone coming up with an excuse so patently absurd,
so completely asinine, so utterly foolish,
and expecting us to believe him?
To take him seriously?
Yes.
What is it, sir?
Everts.
The truth now.
Yes?
Do you believe?
Do you think?
Possibly.
Oh, no.
No, of course not.
It couldn't be.
And it...
Could that have been what Mr. Carney was talking about?
Or at least implying?
Mr. Carney, the solicitor?
Yes.
But Mr. Carney seems to be a man of good sense.
He was so definite about it, though.
When he told me I should have let them do what they wanted
after they saw the pictures,
assign a lease immediately.
Before they even saw Devilstone?
Yes, they would have, you know.
He would have signed and paid a couple of months' rent,
and Mr. Carney said I was wrong in not letting them do it,
in not getting what I could, and immediately.
Would that have been completely ethical, now?
You mean if something is wrong with the place?
But haunted, sir.
No, no, of course not.
Ridiculous.
Oh, of course.
And yet...
Well, there's one way to find out.
Yes.
Shall I put you in a car to Mr. Carney's?
No, no, no.
By doing that, I'd be admitting
that I might believe in such ridiculous possibility.
No, no, Everts.
You and I will drive up to Devilstone
and we'll investigate ourselves.
Capital, sir, a splendid idea.
You like it, eh?
Well, I never have seen the place either of us,
and after Mr. Stoker's reaction to it,
it might be quite exciting, sir.
Let's see now.
If we leave right away,
we should be able to reach Devilstone by nightfall.
Yes, sir.
So watch the car and a couple of flashlights, too.
Very good, sir.
And perhaps...
And perhaps I'd better take along a pistol just in case.
And of course...
What, sir?
Well, to conduct our investigation
in the ghostly place and style,
we'll take along one of the dogs with us.
Say, Red Kim of Hethescote.
An excellent idea, sir.
Now let's get underway.
Yes, sir.
Well, Everts,
if the man at the petrol station told us right,
the ramblin' old mansion you now see before you
is Devilstone.
Yes.
I see.
Now what kind of a reaction is that?
Now, a gloomy old place, if I may say so, sir.
Now don't you start conjuring up some ghosts.
Even Kim apparently finds nothing
particularly friendly about it.
Now look, Everts,
if you're going to become superstitious about Devilstone...
Oh, no, sir.
Come along, we'll have a look at you.
Come along, Kim. Come along.
Now let me see if I can unlock this door.
Yes, sir, here.
I'll hold the flash on it for you.
Good.
I believe this is the key.
Well, the door is already ajar.
Oh, yes, sir.
So I see.
Well, come along, you two.
Come on, Kim.
He's protesting rather vehemently, sir.
We'll just get him inside and we'll close the door.
Yes, sir.
Kim.
What the devil is going on?
Kim, what the devil's the matter with you?
Come now, boy. Are you a dog or a mouse?
He more certainly is frightened of something, sir.
Yes.
He doesn't look like a ghost hunter
crouched down there in the corner that way.
And if I remember the pictures correctly,
this door here should lead to a small out-
enclosed court, sir.
And my wood.
Just another nightbird, Everts.
Don't let it bother you.
Now, now, do you mind telling me why, why did you do that?
I beg your pardon.
What?
Why, you're still over there at the door.
And yet, I distinctly felt something or someone bump against my shoulder.
And I thought someone walked on past me.
Look here, look here, Mr. Martin.
Yes? What is it?
In the mortar.
In the mortar, out there in the court.
Shine your light on it, sir, where mine is.
Why, why, yes. Footprints.
But big ones. And fresh.
And do you see more of them are being made even as we look at them?
No.
And yet there's no one there to make them.
Impossible.
I, I know, sir.
But you're right, Everts. You're right.
Back inside now and quickly.
Now, whatever is making those footsteps can't follow us.
It does feel a bit safer in here.
No wonder Kim is frightened.
With things like that going on.
But why? And how?
Do you suppose, sir, that one of the old lamps could be lighted?
Well, if they have any oil in them.
And it shouldn't take us long to find out if they...
Oh, no, no, no, wait a minute.
What are we acting this way for?
It's trickery, that's all it is. It's trickery.
By whom, sir? And why?
Well, that is something we shall have to find out.
Now, where is Kim?
Oh, there he is, still in the corner.
St. Wilfrid.
Do you suppose, sir...
No, nonsense.
Whoever it was that scared Stoker and his wife out of here is trying to scare us now.
And I mean to find him out.
But the dogs, sir.
And if it's true about them and that there is a ghost...
Nonsense.
We'll just look about here.
Where? Now what's the matter?
That door, at the other end.
What?
Behind you.
It's opening by itself into a small room beyond.
Ah, good. Then we shall start our investigation in that room.
Well, are you coming?
Yes, sir.
Oh, clumsy. Now you've dropped your flashlight.
I didn't, sir. I didn't.
It was knocked out in the hand.
It what?
Honest. Honest it was, sir. I swear it, sir.
Now, Everett, don't be silly.
Go on back in there and get it.
I'd really rather not, sir, if you don't mind.
Oh, the door. It's closed by itself.
And now we're locked in.
Oh, we are in.
Who did this? Who closed this door? Who's there? Who's there, I say?
The same one.
What?
The same thing.
What are you talking about?
The same thing that struck your shoulder, that made the footprints in the mud, and that frightened poor Kim so badly.
And frightened you, too.
Well, I say it's trickery. Trickery. It has to be.
It has to be. Who's doing this? Answer me. Answer me.
Your death began.
What?
Your death began.
Yes. Yes. I guess we'd better.
Yes, sir.
No, no. Not a bit of it.
Please, sir. Please. In the name of heaven, sir.
No. We're going to stay right here, Everett, until we find out.
Your death began.
No, no, no. Not until we learn just what's going on and...
Where's that voice coming from?
I've tried to warn you.
Please, sir.
They've tried to scare us, that's all. Tried to scare us.
Yes.
So that you'd leave this place.
Why?
Because if you do not, you will suffer the same fate as the dog.
Kim? Fate?
What are you talking about?
Look, sir. The door is opening.
Yes, look. In the light of the flash that was dropped in there.
Kim!
Everett. Everett.
Kim is dead.
Then Mr. Martin...
Please, sir. I beg of you.
Who did this?
Show yourself.
Yes. I will show myself.
Look.
What?
Look, sir. Out of thin air.
Yes, yes. I see him.
Mr. Martin. Mr. Martin.
Yes, yes, yes. All right, all right. We'll leave.
Come along, Everett. Come on.
Yes, yes, yes, Mr. Carney. I thought at first it was trickery or perhaps some kind of joint hallucination by Everett and myself, induced perhaps by the gloomy atmosphere of the old house and whatever it was that Stoker had said about his wife and her being so terrified.
No, my boy.
But when it actually happened, he actually appeared there before us out of thin air, this misty, tenuous, impalpable figure.
And then when we found there wasn't so much as a little mark on Kim, the dog, who up to that moment had been as healthy as I.
But why didn't you tell me about whatever it is in that, that inhabits that place when I talked to you on the phone?
I tried to, Timothy, but you cut me off.
And after all, I'd known about it only as a legend from hearsay.
And he was a huge man and powerful, this ghost.
Yes, I should say it was Jason Walsh.
Your ancestor who built the place for his wife.
It was to have been her castle.
Was.
Yes.
But the first day she sought to enter into it, she fell, tripped upon the threshold.
She struck her head and she never regained consciousness.
I see.
The doctor was summoned, did all he could for her, there in a smaller room off the main salon.
Yes.
But she died that night.
And then Jason O'Flynn swore by the book that no one would live in that house but he did.
Until his body turned to dust.
He walked out of that little room then and was never seen again.
And ever since that time.
But now you know the rest.
Wait.
Yes.
Until his body turns to dust.
His own words.
And he wasn't seen to leave.
No.
What are you thinking of, Timothy?
I'm going back there, Mr. Carney.
Tomorrow in daylight.
Hmm.
I just don't get it.
And I certainly found no signs of hollow walls or hidden panels on the floors above, sir.
And yet, Everett, somewhere.
Somewhere close to that small room.
Hmm.
Don't you think it's best we simply leave the place and hang out?
No, no.
No one but he.
What?
Until his body turned to dust.
What, sir?
And although there must have been other people about, he wasn't seen to leave.
And to me, Everett, that means only one thing.
Somewhere in this house lies the key to this mystery.
But we've been here most of the day, sir, and we've found nothing.
And it's getting dark.
I know, I know, I know.
But until I find some...
Oh, sorry, sir.
Let me help you.
The old rug was so badly wrinkled, it's no wonder you tripped.
Wait.
Everett, listen.
A very hollow floor, I should say.
Here.
Help me fold this rug back.
Yes, sir.
Here now.
And look.
A sort of trap door.
And fit it in the floor so tightly.
Yes.
And this, it looks like a seal around the edge.
Oh, yes, sir.
And a heavy lift and raise.
Well, then give me a hand.
We'll see if we can raise it.
Now.
Oh, it's very tight, sir.
Yes.
But the seal is giving way a little.
Put everything you have into it now.
Yes, sir.
Ah.
Good.
We made it.
A musty, fetid horror over coming up out of that place.
Yes.
Yes, Everett.
Like that in the caves, the casacums under St. Mike's.
You mean where all the bodies and...
Yes.
Quickly now.
The flashlight, give it to me.
Here, sir.
Now.
Look down there on the earthen floor below.
Do you see?
The wrists are cut.
He killed himself.
No.
No, it's he.
It's the ghost that we saw.
Yes, Everett.
The body of Jason O. Flynn.
And so perfectly preserved as though he died only moments ago.
Oh, it's horrible.
Until his body turned to dust, he said.
So we know now.
Now that we've found it.
So please, sir, let's leave this place.
Wait, Everett.
Wait.
Do you see?
Now the fresh air has reached it.
Oh.
Oh, good Lord.
Yes.
The color is leaving the cheeks.
The pallor of death is taking its place.
And yes, now, at long last, the body will turn to dust.
No longer will Jason O. Flynn walk the night.
Requiescat in pace.
Suspense.
You've been listening to Devil's Stone, starring Christopher Carey and Neil Fitzgerald,
and written especially for suspense by Jonathan Bundy.
Suspense is produced and directed by Fred Hendrickson.
Heard in tonight's story were Gilbert Mack, Walter Grise,
Reynolds Osborne, and Frank Milano.
Music supervision by Ethel Huber.
Sound patterns by Walter Otto.
Technical direction by Fred Cusick.
Associate director, Bernie Seabrooks.
This is Stuart Metts speaking.
Every weekday evening, Chris Schenkel is anchorman for a global news show.
Every weekday evening, Chris Schenkel is anchorman for a globe-girdling roundup of firsthand reports on sports activities everywhere.
Make this your address for worldwide sports every weeknight.
He Who Elapsed, Authentist, airs Arthur Gottfriedtime weekdays on the CBS Radio Network.