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Sleep No More 56-12-05 (04) Over the Hill - Man in the Black Hat
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Sleep No More 56-12-05 (04) Over the Hill - Man in the Black Hat
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- [00:00]
Nelson Olmstead
Trip Planner by Expedia. You were made to have strong opinions about sand. We were made to help you and your friends find a place on the beach with a pool and a marina and a waterfall and a soaking tub. Expedia made to travel in just a moment. Sleep no More. But first, summertime. Sounds like Charlie Spivak. Oh, yes. NBC Bandstand. Burt Parks, Vaughn Monroe, Fred Martin. This week sure helps the morning along. That finishes the dishes. Now, let's see. Better get some shopping done. I can listen to NBC Bandstand in the car. Anywhere, Everywhere. It's NBC Bandstand. And now stay tuned for Sleep no More on NBC. This is Nelson Olmstead. Sleep no more. Sleep no more Turn down the lights, sink back in your chair and don't look into the shadows. In the shadows there may be moving things Tonight it may be you will sleep no more.
- [01:48]
Ben Grauer
Good evening. This is Ben Grauer introducing tonight's tale of terror told by Nelson Olmstead on the National Broadcasting Company's presentation of Sleep no More. The story of terror can be as simple as a sheeted ghost rattling chains. It can be a complex and hidden world of horror lurking in such unholy dimensions as only the dead and the moonstruck can glimpse. Or it can be those terrible, fathomless shadows which lie buried deep in the primitive mind of civilized man. And for this evening, well, Nelson Olmstead.
- [02:29]
Nelson Olmstead
Tell us about this evening's story once again. Ben, we have two stories for the price of one, and this time both are by the same fine writer, Michael Fessier. The first one is over the Hill and is about a man who lives in his imagination for three glorious days. I guess it was imagining things that brought it about. I mean, imagining some things and not imagining others. Not even daring to think about them. Well, I'd always liked to imagine about going over the hill and finding everything changed. But I never let myself imagine the other thing at all. Just the same, I must have been thinking about it or it wouldn't have happened. I suppose I must have been thinking about it and didn't know I was oney. My wife had been getting on my nerves, and it got so that even when I was away from her, she bothered me. When I was home, she nagged me. And when I was away, I thought about her nagging. And it was just as bad thinking about it as it was hearing it. And she cried, too. And that's what I hated most, her crying. She would cry and I would try to get away from the sound, but I couldn't I would go outside and if I couldn't hear her crying, I would think about it. And it was as bad as hearing it. Nagging and crying. Oh, it's a wonder I didn't go crazy. The only times I had peace was when I'd think things to myself. It was hard not to think of Oni and her nagging and her crying. But sometimes I managed it, and then I was happy in my way. I like best to think about that hill. It was about halfway between San Ramon, where I lived, and the city. It would be nice, I would think, if sometime I would drive over the hill. And on the other side everything would be different. The service station and the nursery and the dairy farm would be gone and something different would be there. There wouldn't be any job to go to, and there wouldn't be any home to come back to. I was thinking this on that day, and when I drove over the hill, I found everything was different on the other side. The service station and the nursery and the dairy farm were gone, and it seemed like a park. The sun was shining and there were a lot of colored flowers in the grass. And the water in the creek was blue. There are probably a lot of children, I thought. And then I said, my Lord, this is the other side of the hill and it is different. And then it seemed quite natural. And I wasn't amazed or frightened. I just took it for granted. I don't remember getting out of the car, but I realized that I was walking through the grass and smelling the flowers. And the flowers were beautiful and their odor was sweet. But what I liked best was the smell of the grass and the earth. The earth smelled as if there had just been a rain. I wasn't surprised at all when I saw the children. It was as if the flowers had come to life. They wore bright clothes and they moved about as if the wind were playing with them. They called out to me and smiled at me. And I felt that they knew me and weren't a bit surprised to see me walking among them. I walked as if I knew where I was going and what I would find. I took a path that branched off from the one I was following. And I came to a house that was white and had flowers growing around the base. The stream flowed through the yard and the water was blue except for the sun shone on it and made it gold. A woman came out and smiled at me. And I smiled at her and said hello. She was beautiful, and I knew how her voice would sound even before she spoke. It was Soft and kind and happy. And she sat on a white bench that had vines around the legs and back. And she motioned for me to sit down beside her. And I sat down and took off my hat and threw it on the grass. And I felt the breeze blowing through my hair. And I said, I've been a long way off and I've come a long way back. I didn't know why I said it, but she understood and she nodded and smiled. I said, you're beautiful and kind. And she said, everything is beautiful. You're beautiful. And I thought a while. I guess I am in a way. But I didn't know it. You forgot. Yes, I forgot. It has been a long time. Yes, it has been a long time. But it isn't anymore. No, it isn't. There were two children playing in the grass. And I called to them and they came over to me and they smiled and sat down beside me. And I thought, I'm remembering again. I'm remembering something I didn't know. If I were to ask them who they were, they would tell me. But I don't have to ask them, because I remember the woman went into the house and we followed her. She sat at a piano and she played tunes that I had never heard but that I knew. It was music that rippled and flowed and then laughed and bubbled. I watched her hands as they moved over the black and white glistening keys. And I thought it wouldn't matter if there was no piano and no music. Just watching her hands would be enough. It was night and then it was day again. And I woke up feeling that it didn't matter, that the night had gone. Because the day would be wonderful, too. And then night would come again. Night came again, and day came again. And the woman and the children and I were together. We walked and we talked and we rested. And the walking was fun and the resting was fun and the talking was fun. But I don't know what we talked about or even what I thought. I don't believe I thought the woman was beautiful and kind and happy. And the children were happy and I was happy. But I didn't think she's beautiful and kind and happy. And the children are happy, and I am happy. Because that was what should have been. It always was what should have been and always should be. Over the hill and on the other side. Things were as they should have been. Things were as they always should be. Be. It's hard for me to describe the change. I guess it wasn't a change at all. The thing was, and Then it wasn't. And because it wasn't, it never had been. You can't change from something that ever was to something that is. I had a dream last night, I thought, and I remembered it a while back. And now it's gone. I was over the hill and on the other side. And I was driving my car to work and thinking about my wife only and her nagging and crying. And I was thinking about how the crying was even worse than the nagging. And I thought it'd be nice to think about the dream, but I can't remember it. Then I was in the office, and I was wondering why the others look startled when they saw me. And I wondered why some of them looked startled and frightened. And it was time for the conference to start. And I went to the boss's office. He looked startled, too, and he said, good Lord, what are you doing here? Why, I came in for the Monday conference. He said something to a secretary and she left the office. It isn't Monday. It's Wednesday. And even if it were Monday, what made you come to this office? Didn't you know they were looking for you? Two days, I thought. Two days. This morning I got up and it was Monday. But while I was over the hill and on the other side, it became Wednesday. And then I remembered, and I thought it wasn't a dream. This is Wednesday. It isn't Monday at all. It's Wednesday. The boss's secretary came in and with her was a policeman. And she pointed to me and then ran across the room. And she was frightened. The policeman grabbed me by the arm and hurled me against the wall. And he put his hand in his gun and he said, you better come quietly. Why should I go with you at all? Don't play innocent. I'm not playing anything. I just don't know what you're talking about. I'm talking about your wife. And you know darn well I am. My wife. My wife. Why? Because you killed her Monday. And you know that darn well, too. This isn't Monday, I thought. It's Wednesday. It isn't Monday. It's Wednesday. And it seemed I should laugh at the policeman or become angry or shout denials, but I didn't. I felt I had to say something just to break up the silence in the room. I. I didn't kill my wife Monday. Well, maybe it was Sunday night then. My Lord, you're dumb. You didn't even change your clothes. Why should I change clothes? The policeman pointed at the sleeve of my gray suit. Why shouldn't you have changed, that's why. What's that on your sleeve? I looked at it and remembering and thinking ceased to be. And I said, oh, yes, I see. It's a blood stain. Nelson Olmstead again. That was the first one of our duet of Strange Stories by Michael Fessier. Number two is a haunting narrative about the very unusual man in the black hat. I had no money in the black and the stock market stopped on red. So after holding me upside down and shaking the last dime out of my pocket, they turned me loose. Well, San Francisco isn't such a bad place to be broke in. You walk around and look at things and you forget your troubles. This day I was walking along Van Ness Avenue. Secondhand dealers had cars parked halfway across the sidewalk. Signs on the windshield said, this car for $100, this car for only $25 down. And I laughed to myself, thinking how I was broke and couldn't even buy gasoline for a motorcycle. Still, I read the signs and wondered which car I'd buy in case I had the money. All of a sudden I noticed a sign that didn't make sense. It said, this car free inquire upstairs, room 402. Other people glanced at the sign and kept on going. They figured it was some kind of advertising gag. Well, so did I. But I didn't have anything else to do. So I stuck around looking at the sign. It was on a brand new luxury 12 you couldn't touch for less than $4,000. Well, I'm curious like all other gamblers. And I walked up a flight of stairs and knocked on the door of 402. Somebody told me to come in. I stepped inside and a small man with a gray goatee raised his head. He wore a black hat of soft felt like I used to wear when the horses ran right or the stock market chart. Didn't look like a cross cut saw. And I said, are you the fellow that put the sign on the luxury 12 downstairs? And he said, yes. Well, what's the gag? No gag at all. He was looking at me out of eyes that didn't see me. They were solid gray. No iris or anything, just gray. They gave me the willies. I said, well, then, in that case, I'll take it, if you don't mind. Not at all. And he handed me a pink slip already signed. Well, what else is there to this? Nothing, thank you. I couldn't think of anything else to say. Don't mention it. Then I wasn't there anymore. I mean, I was standing in the room, but so Far as he was concerned, I was a million miles away. He ignored me so completely I felt I wasn't there myself. And I left. The key was in the car and I backed it over the curb and drove it to the luxury agency. And after a lot of haggling, they gave me $2,400 cash for the car. I took the money and played the stock market again. This time I played the red and I couldn't lose. The old man had changed my luck. The funny thing was, nothing seemed strange to me. Oh, I'd make words with my mouth and tell myself that the old man wasn't real. And that the goofiest thing that ever happened was me getting a car for nothing like that. But the words didn't mean anything. Something inside me took the whole business for granted. I took my winnings and bought a trip for myself. I went down to Florida and cleaned up a few thousand, shooting dice and betting in the races. And after that I went to New York. One night I turned a corner and almost bumped into the old man. I wasn't surprised, and I knew it. It seemed perfectly natural to see him. Except that he was broke. I could see he was, and I said, hello. Remember me? His gray eyes turned toward me with about as much expression as marbles. Certainly, he said. How are you? Why, Jake is Jamaica. Ginger. You mind walking aways with me? He fell into step with me and I led him around the corner to where my car was parked. It was a $5,000 Imperial I'd bought a couple of days before. And I said, this car is free. His eyes didn't show any feeling, but his lips smiled a little, and he said, what's the gag? No gag at all. Then in that case, I'll take it, if you don't mind. Not at all, I said. And I took the pink slip out of my wallet and held it against the windshield while I signed my name. And I handed it to him and he said, thanks. Don't mention it. And he got in the car and drove away. Three months later I was in Monte Carlo. I did pretty good for a while, and then the little ball started ducking my numbers and colors. And I lost steadily for three weeks. And finally I stood at the table and watched the croupier rake in my last frank note. I turned away, trying to grin, but it felt like a fuzzy worm was crawling around in my stomach. It's one thing to be broke in the States, but another to be broken a foreign port. The worm tasted of quinine. Somebody tapped me on the shoulder. The old man, black hat, gray goatee and expressionless eyes was standing there. I didn't feel a bit surprised, not a bit. It seemed I'd been expecting him. And he said, you dropped something. He held out a roll of notes to me. Careless of me to drop something I didn't know I had. Wasn't it? Quite, he said. I took the notes. Thanks. Don't mention it. And if I were you, I'd play the black 13 and 9. All of a sudden he was gone. I played the black 13 and 9 and I played them heavy and one heavy. I walked away from the table with enough money to last me a year. And I don't live in second class hotels. I didn't think about the old man. I was afraid to. You look at the stars and you don't think about them. And they're beautiful. You look at them and try and figure out how come they buzz around and never bump into each other. And pretty soon they get you locked up. That's the way I felt about the old man. If I took him for granted, he was just a quiet old fellow with a gray goatee, a black hat and funny eyes. If I started figuring out how come, I'd go out of my mind. I took my winnings and went to Paris and got bored. I wondered why I'd come. And then I knew. It was in what they call a Latin Quarter. A mob had gathered on the sidewalk. In the middle was a gendarme. He had the old man by the collar. His black hat was mashed and his goatee was must, but his eyes were expressionless. It seems the old man just walked up to a fellow in a high silk hat, pulled out a gun and let him have it. They said the guy in the silk hat was a government official. Well, the next day I went to the American council. He's an American, I said. You got to do something. He agreed to investigate. The next day he reported. I don't even know that he is an American. He says he hasn't any nationality. Even if he were an American, I couldn't do anything. He admits he killed a deputy. But why? I asked. The consul shrugged like a Frenchman. He says he didn't have a reason. That's all the police can get out of him. Except that he didn't know the man he killed, hadn't seen him before and hadn't even heard of him. Well, the thing didn't surprise me. The old man gave away an automobile to a stranger for no reason whatsoever. Why shouldn't he Kill a stranger for the same reason. That added up. It made sense. But I couldn't get anybody to see it. They listened to my story and threatened to have me thrown in jail, too. I didn't know what to do. They wouldn't let me see the old man. They said he claimed he didn't know me and didn't want to see me anyway. I don't know if they were telling the truth. I suppose they were. I had to give up. I hung around Paris for three months and then caught a boat for home. I went down to the bar and ordered a whiskey sour as we left the dock. And just as I finished it, the old man in the black hat appeared again. And he said, have one on me. Now, if you put your finger in boiling water, you'll get scalded. But if you put it in molten metal that's a hundred times hotter, you don't feel anything. Surprises that way. If I'd seen anything that was merely terrifying, I would have shrieked like a woman. But I saw the man in the black hat, and I was calm. Maybe I was too stunned to be frightened or alarmed. Anyway, I spoke calmly. You were being taken to jail. The last time I saw you, I escaped. What will it be? Whiskey sour. How did you manage it to whiskey sours? Why, I just walked away from there. I took my drink and I started to lift it to my lips. And then I set it down carefully so as it wouldn't spill. And I said, now, look here. This can't go on forever, you know. One of us is out of a mind. And if it's a tie, I don't like it. Now his head was turned half away from me. But his gray marble eyes swung around and stared into mine. And he shrugged and his eyebrows lifted. Is something the matter? Good Lord. Something. Why, they executed you. They cut your head off with a guillotine. So, yes, I read it in the papers. That's their notion of it. Have another. Give me the bottle. I took a drink and kept my hand in the bottle. He took it from me and poured himself a drink. And he tossed it down without taking his eyes off me. Now, they. They did execute you. They cut your head off and you died. I know they did. Now, don't tell me they didn't. All right, have it your own way. I. I took another drink and I thought a while, and then I gripped the bar with both hands and I said, all right, I'm ready. I've got to know sooner or later. So let's have it. Who are you don't you know I'm asking. All right, I'll tell you. A drunk came by and lost his balance. And he threw his arms around me and almost dragged me down. And when I got rid of him, the man in the black hat was gone. I couldn't find him anywhere in the boat. I'm in the United States now. I keep traveling around, but I know it isn't going to do me any good. Someday, someplace, I'm gonna meet the man in the black hat again. I know he'll tell me who he is. And I don't want to be.
- [23:03]
Ben Grauer
You can turn up the lights now. You can look around you. Nobody is there, really. Everything is all right, isn't it? Step over here, Nelson Armstead, and tell us about next week's story.
- [23:26]
Nelson Olmstead
Well, next week, Ben, we have a story of breathtaking, taking suspense by a past master of it. It's called Three o' Clock. Its author is William Irish. You better be there.
- [23:45]
Ben Grauer
You have been listening to Sleep no More, an NBC Radio Network production, directed by Kenneth McGregor. Mr. Armstead's albums are recorded exclusively for Vanguard Records until next week, when Nelson Olmstead will again be here in person. This is Ben Grauer bidding you good night.
- [24:19]
Nelson Olmstead
Our life expectancy average could be even more impressive than it is if it weren't for the high accident rate on our nation's highways. Would you be willing to drive carefully so today's children will have a better chance to live out the long life medical sciences made possible.