← The Horror! (Old Time Radio)
The Horror! (Old Time Radio)
A Horror Story by The CBS Radio Mystery Theater
This week on The Horror, The CBS Radio Mystery Theater brings us A Horror Story, their episode from December 11, 1978. More from The CBS Radio Mystery Theater https://traffic.libsyn.com/forcedn/e55e1c7a-e213-4a20-8701-21862bdf1f8a/TheHorror1260.mp3 Download TheHorror1260 | Subscribe | Spotify | Support The Horror Support your weekly hauntings by visiting donate.relicradio.com! Thanks!
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Oh, stories. Real stories. And murder too. Turn out your leg. Turn them out. Good evening. Come in, won't you? What's the matter? Surely you're not nervous. For example, I tell you the story we are meant to call from out of the past. Stories scream tales of mystery and terror by radio's masters of the maa story. Where is supernatural, the supernormal dramatized high fat face? The mystery, the unknown? We tell you this frightfully so if you wish to avoid the excitement tension of these magic play labels refer to our latest theory. This is the horror. Welcome back. Thanks for joining me. This Saturday. We're going to hear this Week from the CBS Radio Mystery Theater series that aired from 1974 to 1982 produced 1399 episodes, all hosted by E. G. Marshall. Except for its final year, our story today is titled A Horror story. It aired December 11, 1978. The CBS Radio Mystery Theater presents. Come in. Welcome. I'm Eg. Marshall. Tell me the truth. Are you sensitive? Impressionable? Tenderhearted? Squeamish, maybe? Are your sensibilities easily offended? Are you fussy or persnickety? If you are all or any of these things, perhaps you had better not listen to what follows. For the tale we are going to tell you is aptly called A horror story. Take them back. Take back these slippers. You don't like them? They are bewitched. But they're so beautiful. They are cursed. They are the spawn of Satan. Take them back. Our mystery drama A Horror Story was written especially for the Mystery theater by Elspeth Eric and stars Robert Dryden. It is sponsored in part by contact, the 12 hour cold capsule. I'll be back shortly with act one. Stack the holes with boughs of holly. Fa la la la la la la la. You're probably sick of hearing that, but then, maybe not. In any case, let's get down to business. I'm Tony Randall. Thank you. And I'm back again for Matuse, the superb that add dash to any holiday dish. Glazed ham, duck, l', orange, smoked eel even, or a partridge in a pear tree. Anyway, I bring glad tidings. Zesty Matuse rose and delectable white Matuse have been graciously placed in special holiday gift cartons. Give each one separately or give them together in a beautiful dual carton. Whichever way you choose to give them, you'll be giving friends the wines they choose to get. Remember, a gift is but a gift. But a gift of Matus is a gift of. Of Matuse. Matuse Rose and white Matuse separately Or together in holiday gift cartons imported by Dreyfus Ashby & Company, New York, NY. This winter, Delta Airlines invites you to become a stowaway. No, not on a plane. A stowaway at Stowe, Vermont, New England's most picturesque ski hideaway. Here's the plan. First, sneak on over to Stowe. Make your way up KN Mount Mansfield, Vermont's highest mountain. Then strap on the old skis and make a run for it down twisting, snowy trails that are as long as 3 1/2 miles. Delta's thrifty green vacation price will go down easy, too. Just $207 per person, double occupancy, plus Delta airfare to Burlington. And it includes a room for five nights, unlimited lift tickets, breakfast and dinner, daily ski lessons and airport transfers. For all the details, talk to your travel agent, and you too can become a Delta stowaway. This win. Fly Delta from Chicago straight through to Burlington, Vermont, any morning or afternoon. Stowe and Delta are ready when you are. You have been warned. You're about to hear as dreadful a tale as has ever been told, appalling in its frightfulness. So pause a moment. Think hard whether you're able to endure it. If you have quite about listening, turn to something sweet and soothing. But I urge you to gather your courage and listen. Nothing on the first floor. Nothing on the second. Only the third floor remains to be explored. Why do I bother? Why do I persist? Well, if anyone cares, this place fascinates me. Has for 20 years, ever since I first came to New Orleans in 1829 and saw a crowd of frightened people gathered outside this building on Common Street. By eavesdropping among them, I learned that they thought the place haunted by a collection of gruesome ghosts. Now, let's see what's in here. I declare if the third floor yields no more than the other 2o. I say, what an exquisite fireplace. So delicate. Pure Adam. As a world traveler, I'd be become something of a connoisseur. Still you. What's this? Looks like a loose brick in the chimney breast. Oh, really, the town should take better care of. Let's see if I can pry it loose. Oh, yes, I can. Oh, why are people so neglectful? Still, no one comes here anymore. They're too frightened, I suppose. Imagine. For being afraid of ghosts. Aha. Got it. Good. Now, what may I find here? What could there be in the space behind. Oh. Oh, yes, there's something. Yes, yes, yes, there's a little book. A little book bound in red morocco leather and that. Wait. What have we here? Oh, good gracious, a pair of shoes. Oh, how sweet. How dainty. Now, back to the little book. Oh, my word. It's a diary. And the name embossed on the COVID as plain as day. Gaston d'. Aunet. Gaston. Gaston Donnet. Monsieur Sauvignay, Come here immediately. Something wrong, Monsieur Sauvignay? An emergency. The Count is coming for dinner. It's his first visit to the Palais Sauvignay. And what do you think has happened? The head chef has had an accident and he's in the hospital. Oh, what a pity. Well, you know who the Count is, don't you? Oh, I know. I know what's to be done. There's nothing to be done but turn the whole thing over to you, Gaston. What? But I have been engaged as assistant chef. I don't have the capacity. The experience, my friend, there is no help for it. I'll tell you what. I'll give you Pierre all to yourself. Pierre, the scullery boy. He's been with me for two whole years. Pierre, come here. You'll see, Pierre is very knowledgeable. Yes, Monsieur de Chauvenet. Pierre, my boy. Who do you think will dine with us tonight? The Count himself, friend to the King. But the head chef, he's in the hospital, unhappily. But we must not let that affect us in the least. Monsieur Gaston d' Aunay here will be in charge. Oh, and you, Pierre, you are to leave everything else to others and devote yourself to him. Do you understand? I understand. Now, what shall we prepare for the counter? Perhaps a leg of lamb Eslington with the proper vegetables. A Normandy soul before that. Oh, and for his particular pleasure, truffles served in the silver cocot and wrapped in our finest linen napkin. Oh, the poor Gaston d'. Ornet. Poor chap. It's no small thing to prepare a superlative dinner for an important client. I know. I've wandered the world. I've been in Paris. Ho, ho, ho. More than once. Well, let us read on in the diary. What happens next. Ah. When the Count has eaten his dinner of truffles of Normandy, soul of lamb Eslington. And all accompanied with the best wine, and all finished off with an exquisite plum brandy. What then? Success. Success, Caston. Oh, what a great success. I'm so happy, Monsieur Sylvie. She raved about the souffle. He was ecstatic over the leg of la. He all but but kissed the vegetables. Oh, let the head chef stay in the hospital. You new Gaston Donnet, you are the best chef in all Of Paris? Oh, Monsieur Sauvignay, surely not. Now, listen. Listen, dear chap. The count intimated to me just before he departed he plans to come back soon. It's too much. Da, da, da, da. Dry your eyes and get on home because that's where I'm going. Pierre. Adieu. You'll close the place, won't you? So that our heroic friend here can go home? Yes, Monsieur Savernet. Then good night, my valiant Gaston. Good night. Until tomorrow. Good night. Oh, what a glorious night it has been. Aren't you going home, Monsieur Nane? What home? Tell your wife about your success. I have no wife. Oh, there must be someone you can boast to. Monsieur Sauvignay said the count adored the souffle and the lamb. All but kissed the vegetables, he said. But he said nothing about the truffles. No, he didn't. The beautiful truffles in the silver cocot. Pierre. Did the count enjoy the truffles, do you think? Well, if so, why didn't Monsieur Savinet mention it? Well, they were a little overcooked. Overcooked? You said overcooked. I heard the count remark to his lady friend that they were slightly overdone. After all, they require only seven to eight minutes in the oven and yours were in there for 10. That's not so. That's not so. Oh, yes, I noticed. At least 10 minutes. Why, you dirty little beggar. Why, you. Keep away from me. Keep away from me. No. The knife. Put down the knife. Killed my piece of dirt. Nothing but a piece of dirt. Absolutely incredible. Fantastic. Oh, my. I'm not at all sure I should let you hear this part. It's too, too, too. Well, we've read this far together and I know you're perishing to find out what comes next, so. All right. Gaston d', Aunay, as you've heard, stuck a kitchen knife right through Pierre's heart. And Pierre fell down, dead. Then Gaston, appalled at what he'd done dragged the boy's body into the little Cuisine. And there he. Oh, dare I tell you. There. He removed Pierre's clothes and burned them in the small fireplace ordinarily used to incinerate discarded sk. And feathers and other rubbish. Then he. Oh, this is fantastic. He. Well, he dissected and dismembered the body and removed every last bit of flesh. And then. Really, this part is superb. He prepared the flesh in any number of ways. Marinated, stuffed, gratinate, minced, pickled, smoked. Oh, you do have to admire the man's ingenuity, don't say you do. Then the following day, there was such an outcry in the kitchen. Where is he? Where is that boy? Where is that good for nothing boy? That stone. Heaven's name, what's the matter? Stupid upstart Pierre never showed up. Monsieur Sauvignay, I've waited all morning. I've searched the place. No sign of him, no word from him. Nothing. Just won't. Calm yourself. What am I to do without a scullery boy? I shall find you a scullery boy within the hour. You shall have a scullery boy. And a good one, too. Because you know. What? The Count is repeating his visit. The Count is. He's enamored of your cooking. Who knows? One day he might invite the King to be his guest. Would he come? Who knows? Now, what shall we serve the Count tonight, huh? Monsieur Sauvignay, is it true that the Count did not appreciate my truffles? I heard something to the effect. Oh, that was nothing. A trifle overcooked, he said. But it was nothing. Now, for this evening. First, some scampi, perhaps? Leave the menu to me, Monsieur. I shall prepare something. Something incomparable. Something new. You don't want to tell me what you have in mind? I want to work from my own inspiration. My own invention. I want it to be a surprise. I don't have to tell you, do I? That evening's repast was a mad success. A wild triumph. Start to finish. Such fragrance, freshness. Such combinations of flavors. Eight courses, and each one better than the last. The Count and his dinner guests agreed to a man that never, never in their gastronomic lives had they enjoyed such a repast. And they sent a great storm of compliments to the genius chef. Oh, isn't it marvelous? Isn't it divine? For, of course, you know what they had eaten with such gusto. Oh, my dear Gaston, let me kiss you both cheeks. Oh, I kiss your hands. The Count and his friends enjoyed their dinner. Enjoyed. They were rapturous, Gaston, they were ecstatic. They were beside themselves. Ah, I'm so glad. And the new scullery boy, Francois, he served you well? Well enough. Francois is a good boy. But you. Oh, you need no one but yourself and your incomparable talent. Ah, you're very kind. Yes. Storm, I cannot keep a secret, I must tell you. What secret is that? The Count is coming back. Oh. And this time? Tomorrow, or the night after. But certainly within the week. He hopes to bring a guest. A solitary guest. A lady? Oh, I think not. A gentleman. A high Born gentleman. The most noble gentleman of them all. What, you mean a royal gentleman? Gaston? Him, of course. He will come disguised. It wouldn't do. Oh, no, no, of course not. And the count wants you to prepare for this noble, this royal gentleman the same dinner you prepared tonight. The same? The very same. Oh, my reputation is made. Just wait till everyone is. Francois. Francois, Come here, my boy. Oh, and bring the large mallet with you. The one we used to hammer out the scallops. Oh, yes, yes, that's the one. Hand it over. Thank you, Francois. Now turn around and I'll face the other way. Yes, that's it. Now stand very still. I'm sorry, Francois, but what else could I do? It doesn't say in the diary if the count's guest was actually the king himself. Although it does say that both gentlemen enjoyed that dinner immensely and sent the most effusive compliments to the chef. However, according to what it says here, shortly thereafter, great outcries were raised by the mothers of the two vanished boys. And Gaston Donnet suddenly left Paris, never to return. Which is quite understandable, wouldn't you say? Ready to continue? Be very sure, won't you? Because there's more to come. And if your heart stops or your hair turns white, don't blame me. I warned you, didn't I? Yes, I did. I told you from the very beginning, this is a horror story. Whatever kind of shirt you're into, get into an Arrow. Hey, Jim, that's a fantastic wool shirt. Thanks. It's an Arrow. An Arrow? Whatever kind of shirt you want, Arrow's got it. I love that turtleneck Hank's wearing. I bought it for him. It's an Arrow. Whatever kind of shirt you're into. When it comes to shirts, things are changing. But men are still changing into Arrow. Arrow gives you every style and all the confidence you expect from an Arrow. That shirt looks great with your suit. Sure, it's an Arrow. Whatever kind of shirt you're into, get into an Arrow. Whatever kind of shirt you want. Arrow makes. Makes all kinds of shirts for all kinds of men. That's why we're known as America's shirt maker. You're invited to Northwest Federal's grand opening celebration. It's another new saving center in Elmhurst with free gifts for savers and a Hawaiian vacation sweepstakes. Stop by any Northwest Federal savings center, including Elmhurst, and choose from over 20 terrific gifts, free or for special low price prices. With a deposit of 250 or more. Our new Elmhurst Grove Saving center has the Same convenient hours as all our Northwest Federal saving centers. 63 hours a week. Come celebrate our Elmhurst grand opening. You could win one of two free trips to Hawaii. No transaction is necessary. Void. We're prohibited. Entrants must be 18 years of age or older. Contest ends March 8, 1979. Register today at any Northwest Federal location, including our new. Including both our new locations at Elmhurst and Elmhurst Elk Grove. It's Northwest Federal savings time, 63 hours a week. One more time. It's Northwest Federal savings time, 63 hours a week. Shall we proceed? Sweet ladies, Kind gentlemen, remember, this tale has come down to us in the form of a legend built little by little by one storyteller after another. Each one delighted in what he had been told and then added whatever provocative details he thought might captivate his audience and seduce it into listening longer. That is, after all, how legends have come into being since the world began. Ready for the diary again. And for a change of scene. 1829. New Orleans was already a fair city and a prosperous one. A proud and stylish and extremely forceful man. Mr. Ponce was the leading citizen of New Orleans. And into his office one day stepped a sturdy, aggressive man who looked to be about 50 years of age. Mr. Ponce, I believe? Ah, the same, sir. And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing? My name is Ferraud, sir. Lucien Ferraud. A stranger to Normans? Not completely, sir. I have been plying my trade for some months. And your trade is? I am a shoemaker. You mend shoes, do you? No, I do not mend shoes, Mr. Ponce. I make shoes by hand. I cut every piece of leather, I sew every stitch. These two hands. I see. Well, now, what can I do for you, Mr. Ferraud? Everyone tells me you are the most influential man in New Orleans. I want to buy that building on Common Street. Which one do you have your eye on? The one with three stories. Six chimneys is the only one vacant at present. And you want to move your shoemaking enterprise into that building? I do, sir. Isn't it a bit large? Three floors, one floor. The first one will suffice for my workroom. The third floor, that will be my home. I have walked through it. The light is wonderful and the exquisite fireplaces in every room. But do you need so many rooms? A man living alone? But I shall not be living alone. I got married yesterday. Did you now? Well, that's splendid. Congratulations. As soon as Camille said yes, I made up my mind that the building on Common street must be mine. You. You're Married? Aye. Alas, I am a widower. But my beloved wife blessed me with a daughter. My angelic Monique. Who is more precious to me than all the world's treasure. Of course. How old is Monique? 17. In a few months. Soon, she will make her debut. Oh, how splendid. It will be splendid. I promise you that, sir. I'm willing to spend half of all I've got to see that she's introduced to society in the grand style. Perhaps. Perhaps when she has chosen her gown and had it made. Perhaps you would come to me for the shoes. Perhaps I shall. By the way, Ferraud, what do you propose to do with the second floor? You'll have your little shop on the first. You have your living quarters on the third. But what about the second? What. What'll you do with that? Oh, I'll find a use for it. Things are settling down. Quite a prosaic little diary. After all, there are lots of. Of mundane details I won't bother to pass on to you. All about Ferraud fixing up the top floor, this very floor, which I stand on now. And moving in with his rather colorless wife, Camille. Grandiose claims of how his shoemaking industry flourished. A lot of petty boastings you wouldn't be interested in. But now. Ah, yes. Here it starts to get interesting again. You like this part, I think. Good morning. Good morning. Oh, I was looking for Mr. Lucien Ferraud. Is he here? He's gone out on an errand. But he will be back. He didn't say when. Oh, I. I wanted to ask him to make something for me. Something very special for my daughter, Monique Ponce. You. You work here for Mr. Ferraud? I'm his wife. Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I haven't had the pleasure. Tell me, Mrs. Farra, how you enjoying your new home? It's very nice. Your husband's fame is spreading, you know, all over New Orleans. So he tells me. Everyone says his slippers are the softest, the most pliable. So flexible. The ladies who worn them say they can dance all night and on into the morning. So I've heard. I'll tell you why I'm here, Mrs. Ferraud. I wanted to order a pair of his wonderful slippers for my daughter, Monique. Look here. I brought a of the material her dress is to be made from. My daughter has dark hair and dark eye. Well, you can see this is the material. Damask, isn't it? I believe that is what they call it. White damask. With just the faintest little Thread of gold running through it. Beautiful, beautiful. Now, if your husband can make shoes to match. Will he be back soon, do you think? I've got no way of knowing. He never tells me anything. Oh, well, I'll wait a bit. Suit yourself. Tell me, your husband has rented out the second floor, hasn't he? Yes, he has. To a restaurateur, I believe. A private dining salon, they say. So they say. Small but elegant. So I've heard. Oh, forgive me, Ms. Ferraud, but you. You talk as though you'd never seen it. I never have. Well, I am surprised. Your husband makes an excellent investment. And you, you don't even care to see it. Oh, I care. It's grown famous all over New Orleans. The cuisine. Everyone raves about it. So he tells me. But you have never died there. Oh, no. Here's my husband now. Ah, Mr. Ponce. Ah, glad to see you, Ms. Crow. Mr. Fonse wants to order a pair of. Of slippers. Oh, fine, fine. For Monique. For my daughter. I showed you why the material address is being made from. You see that? This is a small swatch. Very nice. I can get more if you'd care to make the slippers to match exactly. No, no, that wouldn't do at all. I simply thought. I have my own materials. Well, if. If you insist. I do insist. My materials are a thousand times more pliant than this damask. Oh, whatever you say, Pharao. Well, good day, Mrs. Ferraud. Good day. How long was he here? Only a few minutes, Lucian. That's all. We chose to wait for you. What did you two talk about? Oh, your success, for the most part. He mentioned the restaurant on the second floor. He asked if I'd ever dined there. He asked you that? Of course. I said I hadn't. I said I'd never even set foot in the place. Why can't I see it, Lucien? Because I say you can. But why can't I? I'd like to so much, Lucien. I've already told you why you can't. Because you say I can't. Precisely. I see. But I'd certainly like to. I hesitate to tell you what the next few pages of the diary hold. Oh, I don't think I can read on yet. I must if we're ever to finish this macabre tale. So I'll just tell you straight out. The secret material Pharaoh used for his extraordinary slippers was human skin. There, I've said it. And the source of his supply was the slave market. Oh, my word. What a really terrible fellow. He was. Yet you do have to admire his enterprise and his courage in setting it all down here. You do have to respect that, don't you? Yes, sir. Do you have a reservation? Oh, yes. The name is Ponce. Table for two? Ah. May I show you to your table, Mr. Ponce? I suppose you might as well. But keep an eye out for my daughter, will you? We're dining together. She has dark hair, dark eyes, and she'll arrive alone. I'll watch for her and bring her to you. Ah, here's your table. Can I order you an aperitif? No, thank you. I'll just wait for my daughter. As you wish, sir. My appetite has been whetted by what I've heard of your cuisine. I'm looking forward to. I beg your pardon. I think I see a lady alone. It could be your daughter. Ah, Monique. Her name is Monique. Good evening, Madame. You're expecting a gentleman? No, I'm by myself. I just wanted to see what it looks like. The management does not permit ladies unescorted. Are you the owner? I am the owner. Now, if you please. Lucien Ferraud is my husband. He's your landlord. I cannot permit you to stay. He owns this entire building. It's his shoe shop on the first floor. I help him there sometimes. And we live on the third floor. But I've never set foot on this floor. And I thought. Absolutely impossible. If I could just look in this one. On the other hand. Come with me. I'll show you the whole place. Oh, it's lovely. I'll show you everything. You're very kind. Through this door here, if you please. Is there another room? Yes, through here. Oh. But. But. Gone. Gone. But I don't. But this is the kitchen. It is the kitchen. And that is the back door. But I don't want. And you're leaving by the back door. No, I don't. You're leaving now. I don't want to leave now. Camill. This instant. You. You called me Camille. Oh. Oh, Lord. How do you know my name? Shut up, woman. Shut up. Why, Lucia, it's you. What on earth have you done to yourself? Shut your mouth. But you look so young. You. You. You sound so young. Oh, you're quite different. You be quiet and get out, Camille, or you'll ruin me. What's the point of this masquerade? Why are you pretending to be two people? You're a fine shoemaker. Why do you have to be a chef as well? Why should I be one man when I can be 2? But which is my husband? What is My name. You can't go on with this deception. You must stop. Never. Never. We shall be so rich. Coming. No. No, I won't go on this way. I can't. I don't know who I am. Who you are. I'll tell. I'll tell everyone. I'll tell no one. Oh, Cammy. Poor Cammy. Why did you do it? Why did you come here just when everything was going so well? Poor Camille. Indeed. For her desperately ambitious husband strangled her right there in his own kitchen. And that. Oh, merciful heavens. I. I hate to tell you what comes next. What it says here. As he looked around him, and the pots and the pans and all the accoutrements of his profession, the thought crossed his mind that. Oh, how can I say it? He thought to himself, what a fabulous. What a fantastic dish. I shall serve my customers tomorrow night. The strange, the weird, the grotesque, the bizarre. We so seldom encounter such things in our ordinary lives. They are confined to the world of fantasy, of fiction, of fable. And for my own part, I am perfectly content that such should be the case. I'll be back shortly with Act 3. Know what really makes Christmas special for our family? Doing the expected, the traditional things. We get together and sing the same old Christmas carols, listen to Uncle Henry's corny stories, and we always put a Whitman sampler out in the hall. It's part of the Christmas tradition with us. In fact, that Whitman sampler is as much a part of our Christmas as Uncle Henry's corny stories. Whitman's part of America's Christmas for us. 136 Christmases. Take your contact. Take it now, if you're cold. To contact. I'm gonna change your mind about nighttime cold medicine. You see, of all major medicines, only one works up to 12 hours against the cloggy virus symptoms that keep you awake. Only contact 1. Capsules. Relief stays with you all through a long night's sleep. No matter what cold virus attacks only only contact if you're cold. To contact, take only as directed. This winter, Delta Airlines invites you to become a stowaway. No, not on the plane. A stowaway at Stowe, Vermont, New England's most picturesque ski hideaway. Here's the plan. First, sneak on over to Stowe. Make your way up Mount Mansfield, Vermont's highest mountain. Then, sky strap on the old skis and make a run for it down twisting, snowy trails that are as long as 3 1/2 miles. Delta's thrifty green vacation price will go down easy, too. Just $207 per person, double occupancy, plus Delta airfare to Burlington. And it includes a room for five nights, unlimited lift tickets, breakfast and dinner, daily ski lessons and airport transfers. For all the details, talk to your travel agent and you too can become a Delta stowaway. This winter, fly Delta from Chicago straight through to Burlington, Vermont, any morning or afternoon. Stowe and Delta are ready when you are. Back to our legend, which was invented to curdle your blood and freeze the marrow in your bones. If it has not done so, then it has failed in its purpose. For to make you gasp, exclaim, to make the hairs on your body stand on end. Why, that is a very proper purpose of a horror story. Oh, I'm feeling better. Better now. Able to read on. I think there's a passage here that reveals what you must already have guessed. The proprietor of the restaurant on the second floor was not only Lucien Ferro, he was likewise Gaston Donnet from Paris. Dear me, how things are turned around in this world. It's enough to make one's head spin. Well, anyway, the diary goes on quite calmly for a while, and then. Ah, Mr. Ferraud. Mr. Ponce. Welcome to my little shop. You're looking extremely well. Thank you. I never felt better. And your charming wife, is she doing well? Satisfactorily, thank you. I'm sorry not to see her. She's elsewhere. You know, it was to your wife that I first showed the little swatch of damask. She admired it so much. And I told her about Monique's debut. She seemed most interested. Yes, I'm sure she was. Oh, yes, we had. Nice little chap. Nice little chat. We spoke of your tenant. My tenant? The man to whom you let the second floor. Oh, yes. And the restaurant that he opened. Why, it's become almost as famous in New Orleans as your delectable little slippers. Has it indeed? Yes. Well, shall I Fetch the slippers, Mr. Ponce, for your daughter? Ah, Monic slippers. Of course. That's what I came for. I have them right here. Ah, here. Here they are. Oh, Mr. Ferraud. Oh, my friend. You like them? I like them. I have no words to convey what I feel. How white they are. How pure and white. Yes. Oh, they are like jewels. Royal jewels. Jewels, I call them. My masterpiece. Has your wife seen them any? No, I haven't shown them to her. It'd be so nice if she were to come in right now. That is unlikely. Before I take them home, you might have a long wait. Yes, you're right. I must take them home. And show them to Monique. God bless you, Perot, and give you continued success. Have you guessed it? Has your clever little mind penetrated the secret of Lucien Thoreau's latest? And Denchak? Have you succeeded in following the intricacies of his criminality? If so, I don't have to tell you that the soft and supple slippers which Mr. Ponset carried home in triumph were made of the white young skin of Camille. Pharaoh. Hello? Hello? Are you here? Where are you, you rogue? Come out here. Mrs. Ferraw, are you here? I must see your husband at once. It is imperative. Well, I must see someone. I must see someone now. You who are looking for me. Villain. You monster. Something is wrong, sir. He the devil. I. Mr. Ponce? Or are you a sorcerer? A wizard? Mr. Ponce? Or do you have the evil eye? Confess, you barbarian. But what is it? What must I confess to? You know very well. No, I don't. Mr. Ponce left here an hour ago with the slippers. You seemed happy. The slippers? Yes, yes, the slippers. You don't like the slippers? Cursed slippers. They are. Barber does not like the slippers. Where are your slippers? Take them. You're bringing them back. You take them and never let me see them again. You don't want them. You unwrap them and you'll see. Unwrap them and see what you have created. Unwrap them and behold your masterpiece. I shall. I shall not. In my presence. You won't wait till I'm out the door and never come near me again. What in the world? What went wrong? What's that? What's that sound? Can it be? Is it. Is it in here? My slippers. My beautiful white slippers. What's cutting to them? What are you saying? Are you mad? Quick, quick. Come back. Stay still. Where are you going? No, no, don't. Don't touch me. Not me. Not me. Not me. Touch me. Stay away from me. I got scared. They're following me. Even leaving. If I can get to my own floor, my own place. I'll hide here. I'll hide. I'll hide here. They're here. They got in. They're coming at me. Ah, they're on me. They're crawling up my back. My hair on my face. No, they're sliding down my back. There are my diary. No one must ever see my diary. No one would ever know what I have done. If anyone didn't know. Oh, no, no, no. Heaven forbid. Where can I hide it? Yes, yes. I'll hide it here, behind this brick. In the chimney? Yes, yes. Here. Yes. Behind this brick. Don't ever find it. This would back the brick alone. The slippers have skittered into the chimney. They're sitting on top of the diary. Well, at any rate, they're not chasing me. Put back the brick. Now. Have peace. A little peace. Ah. Ah, yes. Quieter. No noise. All quiet now. It's all very quiet. Camille, where are you? Where have you gone? Camille. And Francois and Pierre? The police. They're here to get me. They're going to arrest me. But what have I done? I haven't done anything. Just tried to make a living. Had little success. I'm innocent. I'm innocent. I'm in fire. Dear friends and citizens, may I have your attention? I know you. I know you expect from me some explanation of what was found in the place on Common Street a few weeks back. The authorities have said that I might tell you all that is known. Though how it all came about is a matter for conjecture. When the police broke in on the third floor of the Common street building, they found. Be brave, my friends. Be prepared for something horrendous. They found a dead man. They think they recognized him as the owner of the building. Though to be brutally honest, they could not be absolutely sure. Because the body. The body. God. People had been skin. Yes, my friends, they have concluded that this poor man went mad and flayed himself alive. I know what you're saying to yourself. Yes, I do. You're saying, how could he read all that last part in the diary? How could anybody have written it down with the slippers, Carrying on like that. It's impossible. Well, you're right. The reason I know what happened is that I am Gaston Donay. Later Lucien Ferro. That is to say, I am his astral, his etherical body. Body called a ghost. So I know all about it. Oh, and that banging at the door that poor Donne Ferraud thought was the police. No, not so. It was two ordinary men who knocked. One wanted to buy the restaurant for an astronomical sum. The other had come all the way from Paris. A certain wealthy count had died and left a quantity of money to Gaston d' Aunet in memory of a marvelous meal he had cooked for the count some years before. All at work for nothing. Where did I go wrong? Where? It seems clear that there was a place on Common street in New Orleans 150 years ago. And a man certainly did rent it and opened a shoe shop on the first floor and rented out the second floor for a restaurant and lived with his wife. On the third floor and later died. And no doubt there was something strange about the man, but those are all the verifiable facts we have. As for the rest, well, you know how people talk. And as they talk, legends are born and legends grow. And legends never die. I'll be back shortly. If you're a driver, if you're actually driving a car right now, consider this. This 55 miles per hour saves you gasoline. And you know how much money that can cost you these days. 55 miles an hour saves you other troubles you don't need. Like to worry about that car behind you with the flashing light on top. It's after somebody else. 55 also saves wear and tear on your car. But even more important than any of those things, 55 saves lives. Since 1974, when this national speed limit began, driving, 55 miles an hour has been the single biggest factor in reducing highway deaths by more than 36,000 people. That's a lot of lives. So check your speedometer frequently. And remember, 55 saves lives. One of them could be you. A public service of this station, the U.S. department of Transportation and the Advertising Council. The horror story in modern literature started with the Castle of Otranto written by Horace Walpole, quickly followed by the Mysteries of Udolpho by Anne Radcliffe Honori Balzac took up the form and implied improved on it in France. Bulwer Lytton rivaled him in England. And in America it was brought to a peak by our own Edgar Allan Poe. Let's face it, the horror story is here to stay. Our cast included Robert Dryden, Mary Jane Higby, Ian Martin and Arnold Moss. The entire production was under the direction of Hyman Brown. And now, a preview of our next tale. Not possible. First, because you have to see me to know that I am your mother. You mean you have proof? I have the best proof in the world. What? You will see. All right. But you'll have to come here to my house. Very well. I know the address. I will be there within 15 minutes. Madam Bomb. Something wrong, Sue? She hung up. Is she coming here? Yeah, she'll be here in 15 minutes. She said. She said she has proof. Proof? That she's your real mother? Yes. What proof? She said I. I would see for myself. I don't want her to be my mother. I don't want to see her. Mrs. E G Marshall inviting you to return to our mystery theater for another adventure in the macabre. Until next time, pleasant dream. Foreign. That's it for the horror for this week. I hope you enjoyed it. You can find a lot more from the CBS Radio mystery theater@ Relicradio.com alongside thousands of other old time Radio episodes and our Shoutcast stream. Don't forget, if you'd like to help out, visit donate. Relicradio.com or click on one of the links. Your support makes it all happen. Thanks as always to those who have and thanks for joining me today. Be back next week with another episode of the.