A (4:05)

Shank? Oh, the new writer. Yes, send him in, please. Shank, I'm glad to see you. Glad you made it. Have a seat. Thank you. Marshall. Did you decide to accept my terms? Well, your shows are famous. Sounds like I'm starting at the top. You are. You realize, of course, that this is a one time shot. Yeah, so I understand. No one ever writes two perfect scripts. But why? Once you've written one, you'll know the answer to that. A queer setup, but too good a chance to miss. When do I start? Immediately. I'll drive you up there myself. Up where? In the coast, a few miles to my beach house. You will find it perfect for writing your type of script. Sounds okay to me. Fine. I'll order the car. Mr. Main, call the garage and tell them to have my car ready in five minutes. I'll be up at my beach house. I'm taking the new rider. Just call the garage. I won't be back today. Now, shall we go? Sooner the better. Hmm. Trudy must have taken a walk. Trudy's the housekeeper. She spends a lot of time just walking on the beach. She had a terrible shock for a girl, but she's harmless. Well, it looks as if we'll have to let ourselves in. Trudy? Trudy, are you here?

C (5:33)

Here I am, Mr. Marchand.

A (5:35)

I knocked. Where were you?

C (5:37)

I was down. I was asleep.

A (5:39)

Well, no matter. This is Mr. Schenck. He'll be with us for a little while. I thought you were taking one of your walks. At first.

C (5:45)

Tonight.

A (5:46)

She's looking for her husband. He was a pilot and crashed in the sea close to here. Trudy thinks he'll show up.

C (5:53)

Oh, he will. Don't you think he will, Mr. Shank?

A (5:56)

Well, that's enough. Trudy, show Mr. Shank to his room.

C (5:59)

Same room he evers had.

A (6:01)

Of course. Now hurry. Mr. Schenck probably wants to clean up a bit. He's going to start writing, so take some cold milk and sandwiches to him. Or would you rather have coffee? No, milk would be fine. Show him where to find the writing materials too. He has a big night ahead of him. I'm. I'm sorry to hear about your husband.

C (6:25)

It was just the fourth landing. He walked away from three others. He'll come back someday.

A (6:32)

Yeah. Have you heard anything at all?

C (6:34)

Oh, yes. He sent me his ring. That's the signal he had to let me Know he was coming home.

A (6:41)

How did he send it, Trudy?

C (6:43)

The ocean brought it.

A (6:44)

The ocean?

C (6:45)

Yes. A little boy found it on the beach.

A (6:48)

You mean a ring was washed up on the beach?

C (6:50)

Some poor man was washed ashore. He had it on his hand. Probably a friend of Jack's. Many fliers were killed during the war, you know.

A (6:59)

Yeah, I know. So this flyer was washed ashore. Didn't they identify him? No.

C (7:06)

He was in the sea too long.

A (7:09)

Did you see the body?

C (7:10)

They wouldn't let me. They said it was too horrible.

A (7:14)

I can well imagine.

C (7:16)

This is your room, Mr. Schenck. They all use this room.

A (7:21)

Who all used this room?

C (7:23)

All the writers of John. Mr. Marchant's grip.

A (7:27)

It's a very nice room. Nice view of the ocean from here. I think I'll throw open this window and get some fresh air.

C (7:35)

Here's the clean linen typewriter and paper. And here's a picture of milk.

A (7:41)

Ah, thanks. Yep. This is sure a fine place to do a bit of writing, Mr. Shane. Yeah.

C (7:49)

Trudy, I'm sorry you came here.

A (7:53)

Really. Well, I'm sorry if you don't like me.

C (7:56)

Trudy, I do like you. That's why I'm sorry you came.

A (8:06)

Nice folks. Well, if I can't write a script here, I can't write it anywhere. What more can a man ask? A little more of that, Trudy, and I wouldn't be able to write the date. Too bad, too. Really not bad looking. Kind of pretty, in fact. Well, when a mind cracks, there's nothing much anyone can do about it now. Now for the perfect script. February 16th. Good start. The Perfect Script by Peter Shanks. Yep, you're on your way. A Marchant production is a very auspicious beginning. First inkling I had of any plot was when the deluded housekeeper told me that she wished I hadn't come. What has happened to the writers of the other perfect scripts, I wonder. If I had any sense, I'd scram out of here. That's Trudy. She's running down the beach looking for a dead husband. I think I'll just follow her and see what happens. Goodyear.

C (9:32)

Jack.

A (9:32)

No. No, Trudy. It isn't Jack.

C (9:35)

It isn't Jack.

A (9:37)

Sorry, Trudy.

C (9:38)

But he will come someday, won't he?

A (9:40)

Yeah. Yeah, he will. Here, let's sit down a bit. This running in the sand is very tiring.

C (9:46)

Jack isn't Jack, is he?

A (9:48)

Certainly not in your thoughts, Trudy? Well, you watch the sea a lot, don't you?

C (9:54)

I must watch the sea. I wouldn't want to miss sea.

A (9:57)

Yeah, I know. I spend a lot of time watching the sea myself. Mighty indifferent, the sea. Well, Trudy, shall we start back? Jack won't come tonight. Maybe tomorrow night. Yeah, maybe. Maybe the sea will give him to you tomorrow.

C (10:13)

You think so? You think he'll come back tomorrow? Tell me he'll come back tomorrow. Johnny said he'd never come back. Johnny lied, didn't he?

A (10:22)

Johnny? Who's Johnny?

C (10:23)

He's Johnny.

A (10:25)

Here you are. Are you ready to get started on that script? Where did you come from? I say, shall we get started on that script? Yeah, as a matter of fact, I've already started. Hey, what was that? What was what? I saw the shadow of a man diving behind that sand dune. Trudy, be quiet. Trudy always imagines these evenings at night. I think you're having the same troubleshank. That was just the moon shifting a new shadow across the sand. There's nobody around here closer than five miles now. It was a man. It was a shadow, Shank. Nothing but a shadow. Shadow. Mr. Marshal, I don't think Trudy was very happy to see me come out here. Why do you say that? Well, she told me she wished I hadn't come. What do you mean by that? Means? How do I know what she meant? Trudy's always afraid someone's going to take her away from here before she finds her husband. Pay no attention to it.

C (11:16)

There's George again. Oh, yes.

A (11:19)

I think we'd better get back to that street script shake. Are you ready? You know, on second thought, Mr. Marsham, maybe I can't cut it. Maybe I better try some other show at first. Till I get good enough for the perfect script. Show? Nonsense. You'll never be any more ready than you are right now. Yeah, I know. But the script, Mr. Shank, will be perfect. And you will write it. You are listening to the perfect script by Bob Olsen. In tonight's journey down the corridors of the hall of Fantasy. Presented by the Granite Furniture Company. With stores in Sugar House, Murray and Provo. Now back to tonight's story entitled the Perfect Script. Come in now for that script. Yeah. Better get started, huh? I thought you told me you'd already started it. Well, not. Not perfect enough. I tore it up. You shouldn't have done that. I wanted to see it. Maybe I could have offered you some suggestions. It wasn't any good. Just a false start. I see. By the way, I noticed you were taking in the view from your window. Yeah, I was fascinated by the way the moonlight topped those white caps. Very pretty. I should think you'd have gotten enough of watching the ocean in 29 months. Just a habit, Mr. Marchand. Just a habit. Tell me, what else did you see? See?

C (12:49)

Nothing.

A (12:49)

You lie. I do? Never mind. It's of no consequence now. Let's get busy with that script. Before we do, Mr. Marshawn, I have a question to ask you. Well, what is it? Whatever happened to your other writers? Why do you ask that? Well, frankly, I. Thinking of my future. Very practical. And what did happen to them? I found a place for them. A place? What sort of a place? A very satisfactory place, Mr. Sheik. And you intend to find such a place for me? Indeed, I do. Fear not, my young friend. You shall have just such a place. Marchand is gone. Cards are on the table, guys. Even bolted the doors. For some strange reason, I can't budge the windows or even smash the panes. I know he plans to kill me to produce such a horror in this room that you'll have the actual passionate record of a terrified and dying man. But just how he intends to bring it about, I don't quite know. I just poured myself a glass of cold milk. Habit. This I do know. This script is written by Peter Schenck, a very mediocre writer, but one with enough talent to find an enthusiastic audience in the Los Angeles Police Department. Now, Mr. Shank, you will begin your script in earnest. And you seem to be collaborating in earnest. What's that in your hand? An army. 45? I am not a ballistics expert, Mr. Shank. I must confess my ignorance. All I know about this weapon is that it's very deadly. Yeah, it's an army. 45. Very deadly piece of merchandise. You find something amusing? Yeah. I was just thinking, Mr. Marchant, what a dirty trick it'd be if I should let you kill me and make you write your own perfect script. Oh, I don't intend to kill you, Mr. Shanks. You don't? Then why? The gun? This gun will keep you here until I'm through with you. I've no fear of anything I can live through, Mr. Marchant. Death is sometimes preferable. I have enough skill with this army. 45, as you call it, to make any movement on your part. An extremely painful one. From there on, I have someone who might inspire the fear you spoke of. You mean our shifting shadow George? Exactly. George has a cozy little apartment below ground. I hope he doesn't disturb you. So George is the inspiration for the horror you spoke of? George is very helpful. You know, Marshall, you strike me as being rather stupid. I'm sorry you think so. You want a script written. A perfect script. You engage me to write that script in the face of a torture and death from which you give me no chance to escape. You know, you ought to put a bonus on this thing. Give me a little incentive. That will not be necessary. I'm quite certain that in approximately five minutes you'll need no incentives. Five minutes? What's that got to do with it? You were observed pouring and drinking a glass of milk a few minutes ago. True? Yeah. Yeah, I guess that's right. Wait. You mean that you. Poison. No, Mr. Schenck. Just a little potion to deaden the willpower. In exactly five. No, four and a half minutes, you will act only on the power of suggestion. Does that strike you as stupid, Mr. Shank? A lying wait and see. Or have you something better to do? I have, you filthy maniac. Why, in two minutes I could kill you. Yes, and by heaven, I am back. You wouldn't get two feet. This is no capgup. Go ahead. As long as you're alive, you have a chance. Go ahead, commit suicide. See how much good it does now. You're lying, I tell you. Besides, I didn't have any of that milk. Now, Shank, you know differently. Just relax. Isn't so bad. You'll even get a feel out of it, believe me. Don't fight it. You only hurt yourself when you do. I hope you. You're the craziest of the lot, Marchant. Your sister at least has some trace of feeling. You're just plain mad. My sister? Who mentioned it to you? Trudy did. Marshawn or Johnny, if you prefer. You are more shrewd than I thought. You're just careless. You depend too much on the discretion of the insane. They prattle without thinking, Marshal. It doesn't matter. They'd be insane if you like. Maybe I am. It would be true if you had to hide someone like George from the world. That doesn't matter. As Petrudi, she's mad from heartbreak and shock. She could have been saved if. Yeah, if you'd let her. But it serves your plans better if she isn't too bright. She's bright enough. She likes milk too. You don't mean to tell me that you deliberately keep her dope out? Oh, she's insane, all right. Every once in a while. I can't depend on it. You hold a person's life of little value, don't you? She's the only one who can handle George. She wouldn't do it. Of her Own free will. So I just help her to make up her mind. But your time is up, Mr. Shank. How do you feel? Your eyes are quite classy. Soon you won't even be able to talk. Very effective. Very effective. Yeah. Yeah. Very effective. And now, Mr. Schenck, shall we start? The script. The script. Oh, yeah. The perfect script. Write it yourself, Marshal. The typewriter. Mr. Schenck, you are just about to write the finest script radio ever knew. Yeah. Yeah, that's right. I want to write. But what'll I write about? Write just what you see. Explain it in detail. Everything you see and everything you see. Yeah, but I don't see anything. Don't you, Mr. Schenck? Then turn around. Truly. And George, Mr. Schenck? George is going to help us with this. He's quite talented. What's he gonna do? A beautiful job of murder. Lootie, come with me. Where you going? We won't be far away. George doesn't like to have anyone in the family around to watch him. Do you, George? Bad blood. Bad blood. Let it down, Mr. Sink. There's plenty of time. Be sure to get it all. Here, you. You might like some fresh air. I'll throw open this window. Special glass, you know. Strong as steel. But you won't need it now. You won't try to escape. Yeah, yeah. I'm in the room with this monster. My shot did open the window. Easy escape. Yet I can't move. I can't leave this chair. I can't even cry out. Write it down. Write it all down. How my brain works like a trip hammer and my body does the bidding of a madman. It can't be happening. This is. This is like a dream where you want to run and your legs won't move. George is just staring at me and muttering about bad blood. Yes, he's staring with those wild eyes as if he were waiting for a signal. Now he sees it. Trudy at the window, holding a knife with a blade that looks razor sharp. It's meant for me. I have no will for anything but to stay here and write this cursed script. Yeah, of course it's perfect. Why shouldn't it be? It's a diary of a monstrous murder. I'll never get out of this chair. Would I experience pain? I don't know. The script couldn't be perfect if I didn't. I hope I do. I want to experience something. Something that hasn't been willed on me by that insane Marchand. Trudy's handing the knife to George now. She's pointing to me. George turns and faces me, walking toward me. Why can't I do something to protect myself? Bad blood. George have bad blood. Everybody says, george have bad blood. George needs good blood. Then he be fine. No more bad blood. Trudy's climbing in the window. There are tears in her eyes. She's watching George. Trudy feels just as I do. Mine's working, but can't do anything about it. I don't know what it is that Marchant's given us, but it's really hypnotic. George get good blood now. George need good blood. George need lots of good blood. Then he all rides. Then George, like everybody else, can walk in the sunshine and swim in the ocean just like everybody. And people say to George, hello, George. How you today? George say, my blood very good today. George get good blood. Now Trudy's standing there, trying to say something to George. Tears are streaming down her cheeks. Trudy doesn't want me to die. I gave her false hope she'd find her husband. And now Trudy knows that if I die, that hope dies too. Oh, if Trudy only had the will to. What irony. The only person in this room with any power over his body is George. And he has no mind with which to control it. There's Marchand at the window. He looks horrified. Something going wrong with his plan. Trudy. Trudy, get out of there. You know what George is. When any of us watch him get out of there before it's too late. George heard Marchand turning around, sees Trudy watching him, sees the tears. His face lights up with anger. He grabs Trudy by the wrist, slashes at her with a knife. Oh, please, please give me the strength to move. Give me the power to get out of this chair. Marshan's standing there now. Now he's leaping through the window. I think he's going to try to fight. With George rushing at the monster. George brushes him off. As he does, the sharp blade of the knife opens a deep wound in the side of Marchand's neck. Judy's lying on the floor. He doesn't stir. Marchand falls and lays quite still. Pool of blood forms quickly from the gushing wound. Sight of the blood excites George. He kneels over my shop. He. Oh, no. I. I can't write it. It's too horrible. I've never seen a more grotesque sight in my life. I. I'm gonna be sick. Now George is getting up. He's actually smiling. Sees Trudy on the floor, and he stoops to pick her up in his powerful arms. Strokes her hair just as he did on the beach. His hands leave rich red stains on her face and hair. Now he's setting Trudy down. Tenderly, he turns towards me. Now. George got good blood. George got Johnny blood. Johnny blood good blood. Now George, like everybody else, George blood very good. Today I tried to say something but didn't have the power. Perhaps that's what saved my life. This time George had forgotten about me and his exhilaration over getting Marchant's good blood. Yeah, Trudy's dead. No doubt about that. Knife had slashed her from just above the ear to the corner of her mouth. Trudy's dead. And I can't help but think that now she'd find Jack at last. C isn't so indifferent after all. This night is interminable script soon will be finished. Marchant will never produce it. Yeah, I had written it well. Couldn't help myself. Had to do it. The Marchant's final triumph. The worst of all is the quiet description of this room after George had gone telling about the two bodies going cold. My great fear is that George will come back before this potion wears off. I sat dying at the window now letting in a chill breeze. Just about convinced myself that George wouldn't be back. When there he was. The thing I feared was happening. George did remember at last that Trudy had told him to kill me. And I am still powerless to help myself. This was the story that Marchand designed for the skin. Now he's about to get it. Get it too late to bring him any more of his precious fame. George do bad things. George forget Rudy. George forget. George do bad things. Once more I tried to move, but couldn't. All I can do is write. I'd at least leave a record of this thing because in all the world would know what a half hour of a perfect script had cost the lives of so many people. George is standing over me now. He's raising his arm. The knife blade catches a glint of light and my eyes are blinded momentarily by the brilliance. George shifts his weight a little to plunge the knife. He pauses. And you know, suddenly, for no reason at all, I think of a road. A road that I walked along in Arizona just a week ago. Free, happy, glad to be alive. And then. George. Fine. Now. So runs the tale of the perfect script. But remember to join us next week at the same time for another journey down the corridors of the hall of Fantasy to hear the tale of the Catch of Amontillado. Tonight's program was an original radio drama by Bob Olson and Patrick titled the perfect script heard in the Night's program were Richard Thorne as Marshown, Carl Grayson as Shank, Beth Calder as Trudy and Nelson hall as George. Musical background was provided by Earl Donaldson. The technical supervisor was Nephi Sorensen. These programs are produced and directed by Richard Thor. Remember, be with us again next Sunday night on call at 8:30pm when the Granite Furniture stores in Sugar House, Murray and Provo will take you on another journey down the corridors of the hall of Fantasy to hear the tale of the Cask of Amontillado.

B (28:23)

There's always more horror relicradio.com alongside all of the other podcasts and more from the show you heard today. There's also a shout cast stream with even more old time radio streaming 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Lots to listen to there. All made possible by your support. Thanks again to those who have helped out. Thanks for joining me this week. I'll be back tomorrow with Strange Tales and next Saturday with our next episode of the Horror.