Night Editor 45-xx-xx (02) Lightning Strikes Twice

Summary

Harold's Old Time Radio: "Night Editor 45-xx-xx (02) Lightning Strikes Twice"

Release Date: February 17, 2025
Host: Hal Berdyck
Episode Title: Lightning Strikes Twice

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Introduction

In this thrilling episode of Night Editor, host Hal Berdyck narrates the intense and suspense-filled story titled Lightning Strikes Twice. Set against the backdrop of a fierce thunderstorm, the narrative delves into the psyche of Rick Williams, an ex-con turned petty criminal, whose desperate actions during a violent storm lead to unforeseen consequences.

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Plot Summary

Initial Conflict

The story opens with Rick Williams, a former petty thief, contemplating his life choices amidst a brewing storm. Desperate for money, Rick plans a stick-up at a service station. However, the situation escalates unexpectedly.

Rick Williams: "Murder. That's what it was. He'd murdered a man." [00:52]

Rick confronts the service station attendant with a tire iron, aiming for a quick robbery. Despite warning the man, tensions rise, leading Rick to attempt his fatal shot after slipping on a grease spot. The accidental shooting leaves Rick paralyzed with fear and guilt.

Rick Williams: "Murder. That's what it was. They put you in a chair and burned you with electricity." [00:52]

Descent into Desperation

Fearing imminent capture, Rick devises a plan to hide from the authorities. He relocates the victim's car to the water tank area, creating a false lead for the police. Seeking refuge, Rick chooses an old, abandoned house known for its eerie ambiance during storms.

Rick Williams: "He couldn't stand there. He'd have to get going quickly before someone came along." [01:07]

As Rick settles into the deserted house, the storm intensifies, mirroring his internal turmoil. The ominous environment heightens his anxiety, making him question his perceptions and sanity.

Rick Williams: "He was standing in what must have been a living room. He tried to force himself to move on toward a door beyond the fireplace." [02:17]

Climax

The tension reaches its peak when Rick encounters a mysterious figure outside the window during a powerful lightning strike. Paralyzed by fear, Rick braces for confrontation but instead faces an unexpected threat within the darkened halls of the house.

Rick Williams: "His back was against the door. He crouched there, waiting, listening." [02:17]

A sudden gunshot echoes through the corridor, signaling the presence of an unknown assailant. In the ensuing chaos, Rick finds himself amidst gunfire and thunder, struggling to survive the night.

Rick Williams: "His death cry rose in an anguished scream as the writhing serpent struck toward him." [02:17]

Resolution

As dawn breaks, the aftermath of the storm and the night's violent events come to light. Authorities discover Rick's lifeless body beneath a large oak tree, along with clues that piece together the night's tragic occurrences. The investigation reveals inconsistencies, hinting at the psychological toll the storm and his actions had on Rick.

Officer: "Look at those grease stains on his clothes. Bears out what we figured last night he fell down." [12:27]

The story concludes with unanswered questions about Rick's motives and the true nature of the night's events, leaving listeners pondering the fine line between reality and perception.

Rick Williams: "He was safe. Safe from the cops, from the storm, from the lightning that made him think of that little room with its grim chair." [12:27]

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Key Themes and Insights

1. Psychological Turmoil: The narrative delves deep into Rick's mental state, highlighting how fear and guilt can distort reality and judgment during crisis situations.

2. Nature vs. Man: The relentless storm serves as a powerful metaphor for Rick's internal chaos, showcasing nature's overwhelming force against human fragility.

3. Consequences of Crime: Rick's descent into crime is portrayed not just as a series of actions but as a spiral that leads to his ultimate downfall, emphasizing the inevitable repercussions of illicit behavior.

4. Isolation and Paranoia: The abandoned house symbolizes Rick's isolation, where paranoia sets in, blurring the lines between threat and imagination.

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Notable Quotes

• Rick Williams on the Crime:

  "Murder. That's what it was. He'd murdered a man." [00:52]

• Rick Reflecting on Punishment:

  "They put you in a chair and burned you with electricity." [00:52]

• Describing the Hideout:

  "He was standing in what must have been a living room." [02:17]

• Post-Incident Analysis:

  "Look at those grease stains on his clothes. Bears out what we figured last night he fell down." [12:27]

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Conclusion

Lightning Strikes Twice masterfully blends elements of suspense, psychological drama, and the unforgiving forces of nature to craft a compelling narrative. Through Rick Williams' tragic journey, listeners are invited to explore themes of guilt, fear, and the inescapable consequences of one's actions. Hal Berdyck's adept storytelling ensures that the episode remains memorable, echoing the timeless allure of the Golden Age of Radio dramas.

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Next Episode Preview:

In the upcoming episode titled Important Trifle, listeners will encounter the return of beloved characters U.S. Fireman First Class Slats Malarkey and Sergeant Tim O'Connor, promising another action-packed adventure. Tune in next week for more gripping tales in the newsroom of Night Editor.

Transcript

[Ryan Seacrest]

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[Hal Berdyck]

Edwards the coffee with the extra flavor lift brings you Night Editor, Night Editor starring Hal Berdyck in another of his famous stories from back of the headlines titled Lightning Strikes Twice.

[Bill Baldwin]

Murder. That's what it was. He'd murdered a man. They didn't send you to prison for a couple of years and then let you out on parole for that. They put you in a chair and burned you with electricity, white and blinding like. Like the lightning that was beginning to play along the ridge of distant hills.

[Hal Berdyck]

If you're a real Night Editor fan, there's proof you'll enjoy the story Hal has for you tonight. And if you're a real coffee fan and like a second cup with your meals, well, chances are you drink close to 2,000 cups of coffee a year. So finding a really good coffee is important to you. That's why you owe it to yourself to try delicious roaster fresh Edwards Coffee. You'll like Edwards Coffee, I feel sure, because it's specially blended according to Mr. Dwight Edwards own personal formula from the choicest Central and South American coffee beans, blended to bring you an extra flavor lift Edwards, you'll discover is extra rich, extra good. Edwards Coffee is featured and fresh ground to your order at all Safeway stores. Buy a pound and try it. Your money refunded if you don't agree. It's really grand coffee. Now we join Hal and Bobby. A thunder and rainstorm swept over the city tonight. And instead of going down to the corner lunchroom for their customary late cup of coffee, Hal and his assistant are down the corridor in the home economics department. And there.

[Bill Baldwin]

Nice and cozy. I called it. I just hope the girls don't notice the inroads we made on their Edwards Coffee when they come in tomorrow. I don't think they'll begrudge us what little we took, Bobby. Besides, they couldn't expect us to go out in a storm like this. And on top of that, Hal, I'm scared Of lightning. So no fooling. I. I hate thunderstorms. Well, you can take comfort in the knowledge it never hits you but once. Meaning it never strikes twice in the same place. Oh, you know, I. I once rounded up some facts that in a way might be called an exception to that rule. And the story of what happened to Rick Williams. Who was Rick Williams? Some pal of yours, Al? Well, hardly. Rick was an ex con, Bobby. A petty larceny stick up man. Until that certain stormy night when he added murder to his list of crimes. And that was the night this incident happened. The night lightning struck twice. For the love of Pete. Don't stop there, Hal. Well, it was like this, Bobby. Rick didn't want to kill the service station man. Murder was completely outside his line. When he came up to the highway from the water tank where he'd left the freight train just at dusk, it was with the idea of an easy stick up that would put a little money back in his pockets. And by Rick's standards, it was the fellow's own fault. Instead of putting up his hands, he came at Rick with a tire iron. Rick backed away, warning the fellow, but he kept coming on. Even then. Rick had no intention of killing him, but his foot slipped on a grease spot and. And he fell. The fellow was right there over him, ready to brain him. Rick tried to shoot for his hand, but his aim was bad and the fellow went down. Rick pulled himself to his knees, crawled toward the man. The bullet had caught him just under the heart, coursed upward. He. He was dead. Rick stood up, trembling, his heart pounding madly. He'd never killed a man before. Made him feel kind of faint, standing there looking down at him, lying so still. Yeah, and he felt cold too. A chill sharper than that of the wind which was freshening ahead of the gathering storm. Murder. That's what it was. He'd murdered a man. They didn't send you to prison for a couple of years and let you out on parole for that. They put you in a chair and burned you with electricity. White and blinding like. Like the lightning that was beginning to play along the ridge of distant hills. Well, he couldn't stand there. He'd have to get going quickly before someone came along. No houses nearby, no one could have seen or heard. Get away fast. The guy's car was there. Grab it. Get going. Sure, when the cops found out, the car would be hot. But by then, as the car swung out onto the highway, an idea began to take form in Rick's fear maddened brain. Sure, the car was hot. But it also could be put to good uses. Drive it back down to the water tank, leave it there when they found it. The dumb cops would go for the easiest answer. That the killer had changed his mind about using the car and decided to hop. Afraid only Rick wasn't hopping any freight. As he guided the car down the dark road toward the tracks, the rest of his plan was taking form in his mind. About a mile up the track, up a dirt road on a little knoll, there was an old house, empty for the past six months or more. He'd seen it when the freight was slowing for the water tank sighting. Later, hiding in the brush until dark, he'd heard two bows by a jungle campfire talking about it. One of them had used it the night before. They talked about going back there to get out of the approaching storm and decided in favor of going on into the town. A few miles further on, Wyatt was made to order for what Rick needed in this emergency. While the cops were covering all the highways tomorrow, searching all the trains, he would be hiding out in the last place they'd think of looking for him. Right there under their noses, within a couple of miles of the scene of his crime. The first gust of rain hit him in the face as he left the car and hurried on up the track as fast as the darkness and the insecure footing of the ties would let him. Wind was getting stronger, too. Going to storm plenty that he didn't mind so much. If only that lightning would stop. He never did like this stuff. Made him nervous. And now. Now it made him think of something else. He'd seen it once when he was working around the prison as a trustee. A straight, squarely built chair with straps and other gadgets on it. They put you in it and a guy threw a switch and the electricity went zigzagging through you like lightning hitting a tree. And after that, a closer flash of lightning turned the night into a split second of incandescent daylight. He cried out and cringed away from it and quickened his stumbling pace. The full fury of the storm was around him when at last he reached the old house. Even then, he didn't go right on inside. There was something. Something sort of awful and deathlike about it. Standing there empty, silent like the gravestone to some man's hopes, with the skeleton arms of trees tossing and weaving around it and the moaning of the wind. It was like the shuddering groan of the service station guy as he went down when the bullet hit him. Yeah, perhaps A jagged splinter of lightning ripped out of the darkness Closer now, its eerie glow making the old house look more tomb like than ever. There was no choice. He had to go on in. Out under the trees was the worst place to be, with a lightning that close. The glow of the match cupped in his hand showed him that he was standing in what must have been a living room. Windows on three sides, fireplace against the wall. He blew out the match. There was no chance of anyone being out in the storm, but just as well not to show a light. He'd stand there for a minute, then have a look around. After that, sure he'd feel better as soon as the storm passed and that lightning stopped, he'd be all right. And his idea still was a good one. The ideal hideout until it was safe to move on. Around him, the empty house was filled with ghostly voices. The creaking and groaning of the frame in the wind, the rattle of branches against the roof like. Like hurrying footsteps. He tried to force himself to move on toward a door beyond the fireplace, but the strange terror of the darkness held him where he stood. And then. Then it happened outside. A blinding flash that flooded the empty room with cold blue light. And with it, his own scream rising to mingle with the deafening crash of thunder. In that brief instant of light, he'd seen it. A man standing outside the window, his white face pressed close to the glass. The gun was out of his pocket, clutched in the cold dampness of his palm. His body was numb with an icy fear that poured through him with each beat of his pounding heart. He couldn't have been mistaken. He'd seen him clearly, if only for that fraction of a second. Or was his imagination playing tricks on him? Had this old house and the thing that happened back there at the service station and the storm and the lightning whetted his fear into making him see things that weren't there. Of course, that must be it. Why, even if they'd found the body and the search had started, no one would have followed him here. He was safe. Safe from the cops, from the storm, from the lightning that made him think of that little room with its grim chair. Hang on to his nerves until the storm quit. That's all he had to do. But wait. What was that noise? Was it someone creeping along the side of the house? Or just branches rubbing against the wood? That slow, awful squeak? A door opening cautiously, or a loose shutter? His ears pushed against the living darkness. His staring eyes tried to pierce the blank wall of it. It'd be easy for anyone to sneak up on him with the whole house filled with those Crazy noises. Sure, the guy could hide there in the dark and on the next flash of lightning, drill him before Rick had a chance to shoot. Well, it wasn't going to happen that way. His guess was that be a narrow hallway running back from the front door to the kitchen entrance. The other guy would try to come in the back way, get out in the hall by that front door, at the first sound from the other end of the passageway, start shooting. Even in the dark he couldn't miss. And if it proved to be his imagination, so what? He was as well off spending the night in the hallway as anywhere else. His back was against the door. He crouched there, waiting, listening, While all around him, from the deep recesses of the old house, the voices of the storm mocked and jeered his terror. And then a sharper sound like a foot pressing against a squeaky board, a louder squeal as of a rusty door hinge. Rick straightened, the gun level in his hand, his heart pounding with sledgehammer blows against his ribs. The guy was there, at the other end of the hallway, waiting. As Rick was waiting for that next flash, it came suddenly, close by, burning away the darkness, flooding the black corridor with blinding light. And with it, Rick saw him at the far end of the hall, tensed forward, gun raised, ready only for a second, but that was enough. Through the blackness that followed, the flash of his gun was spitting fire. The roar of it tearing holes and the louder explosion of the thunder, the hot lead of it slatting down the narrow passageway until the gun was empty. Then silence. Rick knew he had him. There was no doubt of that. He'd gotten him with the first shot, no answering fire. But he wasn't going to investigate. He was getting out of there, storm or no storm, lightning or no lightning. Twice tonight he'd killed and he wanted only to run. Run where? It didn't matter. Run away from the madness this night and the storm had put upon him. At the foot of the porch steps, he plunged blindly onward, not caring whether he found a path or not, until the blacker outline of a big oak tree blocked away. He stopped beside it, leaning against it, fighting for breath, wondering which way to turn. And then it came again. Once more, the night blazed with fiery anger. Above him, the branches of the trees seemed to fling welcoming arms toward that terrible brilliance that fused earthward from the storm ridden sky. His death cry rose in an anguished scream as the writhing serpent struck toward him. And then Rick Williams was lying very still as the darkness poured in around him. The morning sunshine was warm and fragrant after the night storm. It lay in a golden pool around the group of people who stood a little distance from the big tree, listening to the officers who stood looking down at the crumpled figure on the ground beside it. It's the bird who killed Eddie. Sure enough, one of them was saying, look at those grease stains on his clothes. Bears out what we figured last night he fell down when Eddie went at him with that tire iron. Yeah.

[Hal Berdyck]

Yeah.

[Bill Baldwin]

Must have come up here counting on a good hideout, huh? Or we wouldn't think of looking for him after planting the car with a water tank to make it look like he hopped. Afraid? Yeah. But what gets me is from the mud tracks inside the house, he must have spent some time in there. So why would he leave it to come out here under this tree, which is the worst place he could be in a lightning storm? I don't know. Search me. And that isn't the only mystery. No? No. Take another look. In the house at the far end of the lower hall, there's a big built in mirror. It's all smashed to pieces where he must have emptied his gun into it. Now why would he do that? Shot up the mirror? I don't know, Tom. Put it down to being storm crazy. I guess that's as good a reason as any.

[Hal Berdyck]

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[Bill Baldwin]

There's a smile and some dramatic excitement in next week's yarn as two old favorites of many a night editor story return to U.S. fireman First Class Slats Malarkey, United States Navy and Sergeant Tim O'Connor, United States Marines. And an action packed yarn title important trifle See you in the newsroom next week. Good night.

[Hal Berdyck]

Listen next week at the same hour when Hal Berdick brings us another of his thrilling night editor stories. This is Bill Baldwin saying good night for Edwards Coffee.

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