
The Hall Of Fantasy shares a story on this episode of The Horror. Here’s their version of The Tell-Tale Heart, their broadcast from June 1, 1953. Listen to more from The Hall Of Fantasy https://traffic.libsyn.com/forcedn/e55e1c7a-e213-4a20-8701-21862bdf1f8a/TheHorror1230.mp3 Download TheHorror1230 | Subscribe | Spotify | Support The Horror If you enjoy The Horror and would like to help support it, visit donate.relicradio.com for more information. Thank You!
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Narrator
Oh, stories. Real stories. And murder too. Turn out your legs. Turn them out. Good evening. Come in, won't you? What's the matter? Surely you're not nervous. For example, I tell you a story we are meant to call from out of the past. Stories strange, weird tales of mystery and terror by radio's masters of the macabre. Story of the supernatural. The supernova dramatized by fantasy. The mystery of the unknown. We tell you this, Franklin. So if you wish to avoid the excitement tension of these magnet play, we urge you our latest theory to turn off your.
Host
Welcome back to the horror. Our story comes from the hall of Fantasy this week. The series debuted in November of 1946, aired for 29 episodes until June of 1947. It was off radio until 1949, when it moved to WGN where it aired until March of 1954. Produced over 200 episodes in all. There's only 40. Something left for us to listen to. I Our story today is from June 1, 1953. It's their adaptation of the Telltale Heart.
Narrator
And now, the hall of Fantasy. Welcome to the hall of Fantasy. Welcome to the series of radio dramas dedicated to the supernatural, the unusual and the unknown. Come with me, my friends. We shall descend to the world of the unknown and forbidden. Down to the depths where the veil of time is lifted and the supernatural reigns as king. Come with me and listen to the tale of the Telltale Heart. I had nothing against the man. I didn't want his money. And those who say I did are crazy. He was always agreeable and liked me. But there was one thing about him that bothered me. That eye. That eye of his. That pale blue vulture eye. Why did you do it? That voice. It's always with me. It's always with me. Why did you do it? Why did. Why did you do it? Listen. Can't you hear it? No. Rhythmic beating Beating. It's with me. It follows me wherever I go. The pounding of his heart. The pounding, beating rhythm of a telltale heart. Be quiet. Be quiet. Be quiet. In just a moment, the hall of Fantasy will present the Telltale Heart. And now for our story adapted for radio by Richard Thorne, entitled the Telltale Heart. Yes. There was an advertisement in the paper. I'm here to answer it.
Mrs. Gorman
I see. Won't you come in, please?
Narrator
Yes. Thank you. Are you the one I'm supposed to see?
Mrs. Gorman
No, I'm Mrs. Gorman, the housekeeper. Mr. Lawrence, the old gentleman. He's the one you're to see. You'll just wait here. I'll tell him you're here.
Narrator
Yes, thank you. Of course.
Mrs. Gorman
Mr. Lawrence?
Narrator
Yes?
Mrs. Gorman
Someone here announced the advertisement he placed in the paper.
Narrator
Send him in. Mrs. Corman. Sir.
Mrs. Gorman
Mr. Lawrence will see you now.
Narrator
Thank you.
Mrs. Gorman
He's over by the desk, sir.
Narrator
Yes, ma' am. I see him. Thank you. You come in answer to the advertisement in the paper? Yes, sir. Care to sit down? No, no, I'll stand. Thank you. What's your name? Crowther. David Crowther. Aside from my housekeeper, Mr. Carver, I live here by myself. I feel the need of a companion. Someone to whom I can talk. Mrs. Gorman is a housekeeper. She doesn't talk very much. Very competent person, but very uncommunicative. You have references, I suppose? No, Mr. Lawrence. I. I haven't. Ah. What work have you been doing? I'll be completely honest with you, Mr. Lawrence. I. I haven't been working for the past year. I was only released from the hospital two weeks ago. I noticed you looked rather pale. Are you well or now? Oh, yes. I've completely recovered. Well, you don't have references. I don't. Please, Mr. Lawrence. I need employment. My money is all gone and I must work in order to live. I see. What about your family? I have no family. No other attachment? No, sir. I'm going to take a chance on you, Mr. Crowther. Thank you, sir. Of course, your salary won't be too large, but you'll have a roof over your head and plenty of food to eat. When can you start? Tonight, if you like, Mr. Lawrence. Excellent. You know, Mr. Crowther, David, if I may call you that. Yes, sir. I have the feeling that we're going to get along quite well together. I was with him for several months. I don't know when the idea first entered my mind, but once it was there, it haunted me day and night. It enveloped my brain with its cunning. I had nothing against the man. He was always agreeable and liked me. But there was one thing about him that bothered me. That eye. That eye of his. One day I asked the housekeeper about it. Mrs. Gorman?
Mrs. Gorman
Yes, David?
Narrator
The old gentleman. One of his eyes. Is there anything wrong with it?
Mrs. Gorman
I don't think so, David. I hadn't noticed.
Narrator
To me, one of his eyes resembles that of a vulture. Pale blue it is, with a cloudy film covering it. It didn't bother me at first. In fact, it doesn't bother me now. Unless he looks at me, but.
Mrs. Gorman
Unless he looks at you? Why?
Narrator
Well, every time he looks at me, my blood runs cold. That pale blue vulture eye.
Mrs. Gorman
I think you're imagining things, David.
Narrator
Yes. Yes, Mrs. Gorman. Perhaps I am imagining things. You won't say anything about it to Mr. Lawrence, will you?
Mrs. Gorman
Of course not, Dave.
Narrator
I don't know what came over me. Of course, there's nothing wrong with the old gentleman. Nothing at all, that's what. There was, that eye of his. That pale blue vulture eye. Little by little, I began to hate him with all my heart. One evening a few weeks later, the old man and I sat in the living room. We had just finished dinner and were talking as we usually did. Just as you say, Mr. Lawrence. We'll have to wait and. And we'll. What are you looking at? What? David, Are you staring at me? No, of course not. Yes, you are. Don't look at me like that. Don't look at me. Turn it away. Turn it away. Turn your eye away. Evie, what's wrong with you? Nothing's wrong with me. Only your eye. Like a vulture's. A few days passed, and I guess he thought I had forgotten about his eye. But I hadn't. No, I hadn't. And every night about midnight, I'd get out of bed, creep from my room to his. I'd unlatch the door and open it. And then after it was opened wide enough to stick my head through, I would put in a covered lantern, all closed so that no light would shine forth. And after I had my head in the room, I would undo the lantern so that only a single ray of light darted out. And I would shrug it on his face to see if his eye were open. No, it never was. Not then I found the eye always closed. And you see, that made it impossible to be my work. But it wasn't the old man that bothered me, but his eye, his evil eye. Unless his eye will open. I couldn't do it. But I knew that one night it would happen. Yes, it would open. And then I could do it. Then I couldn't kill him. Back now to our story, adapted especially for radio by Richard Thorne, entitled the Telltale Heart. And so I waited. I went out of my way to make him comfortable. I made sure that I never mentioned anything about his eye to him. And every morning I would go into his chamber boldly and ask him, well, Mr. Lord, did you sleep well last night? Why, yes, David, I did. You didn't hear anything? Any noises? No, not a word. I'm glad of that. Why? Did you hear anything? No, no, no, no, not a thing. And why? Did you ask me if I had? Oh, I was just asking, Mr. Lawrence. I wanted to make sure. I wanted to make sure. And he thought Everything was all right. He was a fool, just like all the others. Well, how could he know? Yes, how could he know that everything on a stroke of 12. I looked in upon him as he slept. You know, David, I didn't sleep very well last night. You didn't, Mr. Lawrence? No. I had a bad dream. Oh? What did you dream about? I dreamt that someone was looking in at me when I slept. Just waiting for a chance to kill me. Well, that's just a dream, Mr. Lawrence. Nothing to worry about. You know that. Yes, I.
Mrs. Gorman
I guess it was just a dream.
Narrator
Because the only people here are Mrs. Gorman, myself. And neither one of us would hurt you. You know that, don't you, Mr. Lawrence? Yes. I'm glad you're both with me, David. Just the same, I can't seem to get rid of that feeling. Frightens me. Don't Worry about it, Mr. Lawrence. No, don't worry. I'll take care of you on the 8th. And last night I took special pains to make sure he wouldn't hear me. A watch's minute hand moved more quickly than did mine. I crept out into the hallway, made my way to his door. His room was all black. Black as coal. Black as midnight. I think he heard me, but I knew he couldn't see a thing. The room was too dark for that. I was almost in the room and about to open my lantern when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening. And the old man was immediately fully awake. He sat upright in bed and whispered. Who's there? He said, who's there? I kept still. I didn't say a thing. No, not a thing. And for what seemed like an hour I stood there and didn't move a muscle. I knew he wouldn't lie down. He was sitting up in his bed listening. Listening for what it was that had made the noise. The old man was in mortal fear. When I had waited a long time and still had not heard him lie back upon his bed, I resolved to open my lantern a little. Yes, just a little. Just the tiniest bit. Presently, the tiniest bit of lights gurgled out. I directed it towards him like the thread of a spider. And finally it came to rest upon his vulture eye. And then I seemed to hear something. I didn't know what it was. I couldn't distinguish it at first. And I racked my mind to think of what it was. And then finally it came to me. Yes, that was was the beating of the old man's heart. We can't hear. I could hear it distinctly. He was so Afraid. Beat. Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. I could feel its rhythm. The old man was in mortal terror. But I held the lantern motionless. I tried to keep the beam of the light focused on that terrible eye. That pale blue vulture's eye. The incessant drumbeat of his heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker. Beep, beep, beep. Louder, louder every moment. Female man's terror must have been extreme. I thought of something else. The sound of his heart was so loud, it might be heard by someone else. By Mrs. Gorman, by some prying neighbor. And I couldn't allow that, could I now? And the beating grew louder and louder and louder until I could stand it no longer. Who's there? Don't be afraid, old man. Is that you, David? That's right. It's only me. Nothing to be afraid of. What are you doing in my room? Just watching over you, Mr. Lawrence. I thought it was someone else. You have nothing to fear from me, old man. You should be asleep. Oh, I'll go to sleep. And so will you, old man. So will you. Evan, what's wrong with you? Nothing. Nothing, old man. Nothing at all. Don't come any closer to me. Stay away from me. Die. Let your heart die with you. Die. Die. Close your eye. Let vulture eye expose it forever. I stood there in the darkness, looking down upon him. He was quiet now. Strange kind of stillness was upon him. For he was dead. His eye would trouble me no longer. And I knew that I had to dispose of the body. And I racked my brain to think of a place. And then it came to me. Yes. I pulled three cords from the floor. I had to work quickly. The blackest light was fast changing to gray. I placed his body under the flooring very neatly. And then I boarded it up again. I did it so well that even I could hardly recognize the spot. On the way which the body was hidden. Yes. His room looked as if nothing had happened. Striking of the town clock made me realize how late it was. Well, the job was over and no one would ever be the wiser. Who's there?
Mrs. Gorman
This is Gorman.
Narrator
Just a moment. Yes? Yes, what is it?
Mrs. Gorman
Where's Mr. Lawrence?
Narrator
He's not here.
Mrs. Gorman
Not here?
Narrator
No. No, he. He went out to the country. Late this evening.
Mrs. Gorman
I heard something up here.
Narrator
Such as?
Mrs. Gorman
A scream.
Narrator
No one screamed, Mrs. Gorman.
Mrs. Gorman
I guess I was mistaken. I'll have to send them back there.
Narrator
Who?
Mrs. Gorman
I was afraid. When I woke up, I heard.
Narrator
Or.
Mrs. Gorman
Or I thought I heard a scream.
Narrator
You didn't hear a thing. Mr. Lawrence has been gone for some time.
Mrs. Gorman
What are you doing up here?
Narrator
I wanted to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. What you probably heard, Mrs. Gorman, was the neigh of the horse as the carriage carried Mr. Lawrence away.
Mrs. Gorman
Then I. I must tell him to go.
Narrator
Who? Who's downstairs? Who is it?
Mrs. Gorman
Well, I was frightened. I called the police. They're waiting for you downstairs. For both you and Mr. Law.
Narrator
Back now to our story, adapted especially for radio by Richard Thorne entitled the Telltale Heart. I was so sure that no one had heard anything. But Mrs. Gorman, the housekeeper, she must have heard him scream. Or did she hear the beating of the old man's heart? I went downstairs with her.
Mrs. Gorman
Here's Mr. Crowther, officer.
Narrator
Thank you.
Mrs. Gorman
Will you be needing me anymore?
Narrator
No, I don't think so.
Mrs. Gorman
Good night, then.
Narrator
What can I do for you, gentlemen? You'll have to pardon us, sir, for disturbing you. We received a complaint from your housekeeper about some strange noises she heard. She must be mistaken, officer. Nothing's happened here. The housekeeper said she heard a scream from upstairs. Oh, she must have been dreaming. Perhaps. But I hope you'll excuse us, sir, if we take a look through the house. Why, certainly, officer. I have nothing to hide. Well, where do you want to start, gentlemen? If you'll just show us around. Pleasure. Just follow me. I led them from room to room. I took them all over the house. I wanted to show them I had nothing to hide. I showed them every nook and cranny in the place except the old man's room. He came back to laugh. Finally, I took them into his room. And though they searched exhaustedly, they found nothing. I was quite pleased with myself. That housekeeper of yours must have imagined she heard a scream from up here. Probably just a nightmare. Well, perhaps what she heard was me. I. Yes, I had a nightmare. And I think. Well, I might have been the one she heard. Well, there you are. That's a simple explanation of it. Yeah, I often have nightmares. We ought to go to her room and tell your house. Don't worry about it, Tom. It wasn't her fault. Yes. Well, as a matter of fact, how would she know who made the noise? She said there was a Mr. Lawrence living here, too. Oh, yes. Where is he now? Okay. He isn't here, that's evident. But where is he? Well, he. He went out to the country for a few weeks. He left tonight. I see. Sorry to have trouble you, sir. No trouble at all. Upset? Well, let's get out of here, Ed. We're keeping this gentleman up. If you gentlemen don't think it presumptuous. Won't you have a glass of wine with me? I know how it is after you've been up all night. Oh, I don't know, sir. We're not supposed to drink while we're on duty. But, Ed, we're. We're almost through. Let's have a glass of wine. McFanish here. We can go home. Yes, yes, do have some wine. All right. It's a pleasure. All right, I'll get it for you. Mr. Lawrence always kept the decanter and glasses on that table. Did you say kept, sir? A slip of the tongue, Officer. The hour is late, you know. Don't mind Edmundson, Father. He's suspicious of everybody. Yes, of course. Well, that's your job. Well, here we are. I hope you like sherry. Always have it at home. Good. Glad to hear that. Here's yours, sir. Thank you. And yours. Thanks. There. Now, shall we drink to something, gentlemen? Well, let's drink to you, sir, as a sort of apology for interrupting your suite. Yes, that's very good. You know, you did interrupt me. I wanted to show off. I had seated them in the old man's room, and after all, in a way, this was a celebration, a token of my ingenuity. I had seated myself on top of the very spot under which I had hidden the body. We had one glass of wine, then another and another. We were talking quite freely when I. When I heard it. Won't you gentlemen having a. What's that? What's what, sir? That noise. That beating. I don't hear anything. Anything wrong, Mr. Crowther? No, nothing. Nothing's wrong. Have some more wine. I wish they'd leave. They were getting on my nerves. I had a terrible headache. I seemed to hear a beating in my ears. They began to look at me queerly. And yet that sound increased. There was nothing I could do about it. It was a low, dull, quick sound like the beating of a drum. Where had I heard that sound before? Watch big closely. I paced the floor. Hey. I didn't know where the sound was coming from. Beep, beep, beep, beep. Grub drum. Where had I heard that? Up before I knew they suspected. Who wouldn't, with that incessant beating that filled the room. That seemed to make the very wall shake with its monotonous beat. That rhythm. Or had I heard him before? Or had I? I knew I knew where I heard it before. Beat, drop, beat, dropping. Be, be. Yes, I knew what I said before. What's the beating of the old man's Heart. What's the matter, Mr. Crowther? Can't you hear it? Hear what, sir? If I can. What's the matter with you? What are you trying to do? Stop it from feeding. Stop what, sir? Get out of here. Both of you. Get out of here. Get out of here.
Mrs. Gorman
Can't you hear it?
Narrator
Can't you? I can stifle his heart. That throbbing heart. Can't you hear the throbbing? Can't you hear it? The only thing we hear is you, Mr. Crowley. I can't stand it. I can't. Sick Whiting will never stop till I tell you the truth. The truth about it. About the old man of Uncle Florence. I did it. I did it. What did you do? I killed him. Under the floor. Body is under the floraly. Stop that beating. Stop the beating of his. That voice. It's always with me. Always with me. Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Listen. Can you hear it? Slow, rhythmic, beating. Beating, beating. It's with me. It follows me wherever I go. The pounding of its heart. Pounding, pounding. The beating, beating rhythm of his telltale heart. Be quiet. Be quiet. Be quiet. So runs tonight's tale of the unusual, the terrifying, the unknown. Join us again when next we journey down the corridors of the hall of Fantasy to hear another strange tale of the supernatural. All characters and events portrayed in these programs are fictional and any similarity to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Host
That's our story for this week. You can find more from the hall of fantasy@ Relicradio.com alongside other versions of the Telltale Heart. If you want to hear those, just search for them. Shoutcast stream is up and running there with even more old time radio. Lots to listen to there. All made possible by your support. If you'd like to to help out, visit donate relicradio.com or click on one of the links on the website. Thanks to those who have. Thanks for joining me this Saturday. I'll be back tomorrow with Strange Tales and next Saturday with our next episode of the Horror.
Podcast Summary: "The Tell-Tale Heart" by The Hall Of Fantasy
Podcast Information:
The episode opens with a captivating narration that sets the eerie tone, inviting listeners into a world of mystery and terror.
This introduction establishes the suspenseful ambiance, hinting at the dark narrative to unfold.
The host provides a brief history of The Hall Of Fantasy series, emphasizing its legacy in old-time radio dramas.
This contextualizes the episode within the broader scope of The Hall Of Fantasy's extensive repertoire.
The story delves into the psyche of David Crowther, the protagonist, who becomes obsessed with his employer's unsettling eye.
This quote highlights Crowther's fixation, setting the stage for the ensuing horror.
As Crowther's obsession grows, his actions become increasingly sinister. His nightly vigil reveals his deteriorating mental state.
This moment captures the tension and Crowther's lapse that leads to the fatal act.
After the murder, Crowther attempts to conceal his crime, but paranoia and guilt plague him.
These interactions with Mrs. Gorman build suspense, suggesting that Crowther's actions may soon be uncovered.
The inevitable unraveling occurs when police investigate the disturbance, leading to Crowther's downfall.
The auditory hallucinations of the beating heart symbolize Crowther's guilt, driving him to confess.
Overwhelmed by his conscience, Crowther ultimately confesses his crime, unable to silence the metaphorical heart.
This admission brings the story full circle, encapsulating the psychological torment that leads to self-destruction.
These quotes serve as pivotal moments that highlight the protagonist's descent and the story's central themes.
The adaptation remains faithful to Poe's exploration of guilt, paranoia, and the human psyche's fragility. Crowther's inability to evade his conscience underscores the timeless nature of Poe's message.
RelicRadio.com's rendition of "The Tell-Tale Heart" masterfully captures the essence of the original tale, delivering a spine-chilling experience that resonates with both old-time radio enthusiasts and new listeners alike.
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