Dr. Francis Ashton (0:06)

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? Perhaps you. Can't 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 where 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 brave.

Narrator (1:02)

Welcome back to the horror. Thanks for joining me. This week we're gonna Hear from Theater 1030 this time a production of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. It was produced between 1968 and 1971. We'll hear an adaptation of an E.F. benson story this week. It's titled the Thing in the Hall.

Dr. Louis Fielder (1:24)

Time to tell tales of the unaccountable of apparitions by night and phantoms and shadow. Time to tell strange stories of fantasy and the supernatural. Theater 1030 presents the Thing in the Hall, a tale of The Supernatural by E.F. benson in radio version by Alan King and starring Chris Wiggins as Dr. Ashton and Henry Comer as Dr. Fielder.

Dr. Francis Ashton (2:01)

I, Francis Ashton, am quite certain as a brain specialist that I am completely sane. And that these things happened not merely in my imagination, but in the external world. If I had to give evidence again about Louis Fielder, I should be compelled to take a different line. Please put that down at the end of your account. Or at the beginning, if it arranges itself better, sir. Now, Mr. Sayers, what is it exactly you want to do? I want to read to you, Inspector, the complete statement which I took down from Dr. Ashton's dictation. Well, can't you just tell me briefly what it says? I'm afraid not. I know at a moment like this you don't want to waste time, Inspector, but if you'll give me half an hour, I think I can give you a full explanation of what had happened. And it's no good handing you the statement to take away because my handwriting is atrocious. Very well then, Mr. Sayers. Go ahead. Now, I would like a little information first. You live in this street too, do you? Yes, about six houses down from here. Friend of Dr. Ashton? Yes. And Dr. Fielder lived on the same street. He was a friend of Dr. Ashton too. Oh, yes. I was at the inquest just last week. Suicide? Yes, that was the verdict. Dr. Ashton gave evidence at the inquest. Had he and Dr. Fielder been friends long? Oh, they studied medicine together. Dr. Ashton specialized in diseases of the brain. You might say that Dr. Fielder specialized in everything. He was intensely interested in every branch of medicine. When Dr. Ashton came back to London after five years of study in Paris, he and Dr. Fielder resumed their close friendship. After I returned from Paris, where I had studied under Charcot, I set up practice at home. The general doctrine of hypnotism, suggestion and cure by such means had been accepted even in London. By this time, and owing to a few papers I had written on the subject together with my foreign diplomas, I found that I was a busy man. Almost as soon as I had arrived in town, Louis Fielder insisted that I take the vacant house next to his in what he called Chloroform Square. Oh, Louie, I don't know how I did without you for five years. You positively feed my brain. What about all those learned men in Paris? Charcoal, for instance? Ah, they crammed it full of knowledge. But you feed it with ideas so that it can go on growing. You know, I have a theory about that. Tell me. I believe that people who are ill are ill because their brain is starving. That's interesting. Go on. Oh, because their brain is starving, their body rebels and becomes diseased. I believe so. They get lumbago or cancer or anything else. I believe that all bodily disease springs from the brain. Now, if the brain is fed and rested and exercised properly, the body will remain healthy and immune from all diseases. And if the brain is affected, medicines are useless. Absolutely. You might as well pour them down the sink unless your patient believes in them. That is an important limitation. Ah, here we have suggestion again. Now, tell me, could you cure a patient by feeding him water and hypnotizing him into believing it was an unfailing cure? Theoretically, I think it might be quite potent. It's all right, old man. Don't jump. It startled me. You really ought to muffle your knocker, at least during meals. There isn't a knocker. There isn't. You were startled a week ago and said the same thing, remember? So I took the knocker off. You did hear a knock, didn't you? Didn't you? Most certainly. But it wasn't a caller. It was the thing. On that absurd remark, I rose to my feet and went to the door. There was no one there. No one even nearby in the street. I shut the door and came back to the table. There was no one there. I know. I told you. I said it was the thing. What are you talking about? Well, I don't know. What? The thing is, that's what makes it so interesting. Oh, come now, Louis. You're not suggesting it's a spirit? Not, I say. I don't know what it is, but we have to find an explanation. Now you tell me why it can't be a spirit. The whole idea of the influence of spirits on our lives, it exploded. Louis, it's so easy for a hypnotist to understand how brain can act on brain. That's how he affects his cures. Surely anyone can understand that. A strong mind can direct a weak one, just as a strong body can overcome a weak one. And the only mental influence you will admit is from a brain in a living human body? Well, of course. Tell me, have you ever tried table tapping? No, and I've never tried violet leaves as a cure for cancer. Will you take part in an experiment? If you like. You see, you don't understand what made that knock you heard. I want to see if I can bring you near to an explanation by table tapping. Help me clear the table and you'll see. You have a servant here, haven't you? Couldn't he have hammered at something? I've heard the knock when he's been out. Tell me, does your spirit perform in the prescribed fashion? One knock for yes and two for no. I won't even agree that it's trying to speak to to me. But you'll see. Now, there, everything's off. Sit down there opposite me. All right. Now, first of all, try the weight of the table. See if you can push it about. I can just move it. It's very heavy, solid mahogany. It would take the two of us to lift. Now put your hands on the top of it and see what you can do. Well, nothing, obviously. Now, of course, what we're going to do won't prove anything. You won't mean to push and neither will I. But we shall portion without meaning to. Let's both put our fingers only on the top of the table and push for all we're worth from right to left. Alright? There, you see? It doesn't move. What was that? Same as before. The thing. No rot. I don't believe it. All right. But I tell you, I've been studying rank spiritualism on and off for five years and I haven't told you before because I wanted to lay before you certain phenomena which I can't explain, but which now seem to me to be at my command. You shall see him here and then decide if you will help me. And in order to let me see better, you're proposing to put out the light? Yes, and you will see why I am here as a skeptic. Step away. That's as dark as I can make the room. The glow from the fire and the grate won't matter. Put your hands on the table. Now, quite lightly, and. How shall I say it? Expect. Still protesting in spirit, I expected. I could hear Lou's breathing rather quickened. And it seemed to me odd that anybody could sit in the dark at a large mahogany table expecting. Through my fingertips, laid lightly on the table, there began to come a faint vibration. Like nothing so much as the vibration through the handle of a kettle when water is beginning to boil inside it. And gradually it got more pronounced and violent till it was like the throbbing of a motor car. It seemed to give off a low humming note. Then, quite suddenly, the table seemed to slip from under my fingers and begin very slowly to move. Stand up, Frank. Keep your hands on the table and move with it. It seems to be revolving. Yes, keep circling with it. Are you there? Are you there? The table stopped moving. I know. Louie, what's that light? I see it moving across the table like. Like a firefly. There's a muffin. And another shift. It's all stopped. Yes, the bites, the sound, everything. What do you think of it all, Frank? Well, it's all stock stuff, isn't it? In other words, you believe that all you saw and heard tonight was only suggested. All these things you've seen existed only in my brain. Yes, I do. What is your explanation? Mine is that the thing was trying to communicate with us. It was the thing that moved the table and tapped and made us see the little lights. What is the thing? What is it? A spirit whose name. No, no, I don't know, as I told you, what the thing is, But I believe it to be an elemental. And what exactly is an elemental? There are good things in this world and bad things, right? Honesty is good. Lying is bad. Impulses of some sort direct both sides. And some power suggests the impulses. Well, I went into this spiritualistic business in part. I learned to expect to throw open the door into the soul. And I said, anyone may come in. Ah. And so you made yourself receptive to any imaginings. I think something has applied for admission. The thing that tapped and turned the table and sent lights across it, as you saw. Now, in my theory, the control of the evil principles in the world is in the hands of a power which entrusts itself errands to the things I call elementals. That is only your theory. Oh, They've been seen. I'm sure they'll be seen again. I did not and I do not ask good spirits only to come in. Nor do I want an elemental. I only threw open a door. I believe the thing has come into my house and it is it establishing communication with me. I want to find out what is it. In the name of Satan, if necessary. What is it? What was that? Something blew a page of music off the piano at the other end of the room. Is it coming to bear? It's coming towards us. Look, it's ruffling those daffodils and these candles. I can feel it myself now. It's cold. It's on me now. Look now. The fire. See the flames? Funny, wasn't it? Has the elemental gone up the chimney? Oh, no, no, no. The thing only passed us. It only. Frank, what's that? Look, there on the wall. I see it. Like a shadow. The shadow of an enormous slug at one end, a sort of head. There's a loving tongue up to the mouth. It. It keeps moving slowly. No, no, it's fading. Just going away. I said I was ready for any. Any visitor to come in. I would. By heaven, we've got a beauty. Even then I was still convinced that I was only taking observations of a most curious case of disordered brain. Accompanied by the most vivid and remarkable thought transference. And when after six months of constant watching, the thing did not appear to us again, I began to feel that we were really wasting time. However, as a last resort, I suggested that we get in a so called medium, induce hypnotic sleep and see if we could learn anything further. As before, we sat round the dining room table, Louis and I and Cyril Miles, the young medium. The room was not quite dark so that I could see quite clearly what happened. The first step was to put young Miles into a light hypnotic sleep, which I did with East There seems asleep now. I feel we are going to see something this time. I'm sure. Well, if not, this is my last experiment. As I told you, I do. Hank, it's here again. It's with us. We want more than rats. We? Louis, look. I see it. I see it slide across the table. Its shape is clearer this time, Louis. It's luminous all the way along. Look now, peering up before the medium, waving its head in front of him like a frank book. Is he awake? Can he see it? No, no, no, no. He's asleep. But his face. I never saw such terror. He must see it. So I tell you he'll sleep till I wake him. Listen Frank. It's got him. Quick, get hold of it. I can't. Frankly. I don't swam. It does nothing to move on to. Frank. We've got to ever kill him. Wait. Wait. I know. The lights. Down. The light. Light. It's gone medium. On the floor. Frank. Is he dead? I don't know. Help me up with him. Here. Into the chair. That's it. Frank. Look at his throat. Those marks. See? Two little punctures. They're bleeding slightly. I'll see if I can wake him. All gone. Whatever. It's all right, Miles. My throat seems to be. Is this what? It's nothing. Do you not remember what happened to you? No. No, I. I never have any recollection of what happened to me in a drunk. That's elementary, Louis. Hypnotic sleep is different from ordinary sleep in that no recollection whatever persists. My. My throat pains work. Was there something? A struggle? There was nothing unusual. You wrestled with something while you were asleep and sustained a scratch or two. That's all. Oh, I see. I'll call a cab. I think you'd better go home and rest. Dr. Fielder will attend to the scratches on your throat. The scratches on his throat. Oh, if I had known that night what was to happen. Later, I lay awake thinking the elemental had been there in a form that could be seen and felt. But I told myself it was only a thing of twilight. The sudden kindling of the light had shown us there was nothing there in the struggle. Perhaps the medium had clutched his own throat. Perhaps I had grasped Louis sleep. Perhaps he had grasped mine. But though I said these things to myself, I'm not sure that I believe them in the same way that I believe the sun will rise tomorrow. I was so busy with my practice that it was a week before I saw Louis again. I brought news that I expected would shock him. But it was I who received the greater shock. I thought I noticed a change in his appearance. But it was not until I had announced my news that the full realization came upon me. Have I seen the evening paper? No. What does it say? It's about Cyril Miles, our young medium. He died this morning of blood poisoning. Good, Louis. I say good. We have our proof now, haven't we? Our Elemental is no longer a thing of our imagination. It exists. It has power. And this is the proof. Our Elemental. It's no thing of mine. Oh, yes it is. We've both seen it. Did we imagine those marks on Cyril Miles throat? Did we imagine his dead? He died from blood poisoning. He may have come anyhow by those scratches, you know that isn't true. Frank, look at me. Look into my eyes. Now, tell me you don't believe, Louis. Tell me. Oh, God help you, Louis. God help us. Bohart. Do I need. With God's help, I have a power on my side now that no man has ever had before. Think of it, Frank. Those two elemental forces that have striven through the centuries for the mastery of the world. Good and evil. And from the depth of hell, I have summoned up the element of evil. Mine is the power and the mastery. I fled from Louis Fielder's house, his mocking laughter ringing in my ears, till I'd entered my own front door. And at that moment I wished myself on the other side of London, no longer neighbor to the creature that Louis had become. After that, I avoided him as much as I could. But it was not always possible. Several weeks after the last meeting I described, I was just turning into my house late one night when I was startled by a terrified screaming from his house. And in spite of myself, I rushed to the door. And finding it open, I ran in. And the sounds had stopped by the time I found him. Louis. Louis. Louis, what's the matter? What's been happening? You heard, did you? What did you think it was? My elemental got out of control. Louis, what were those screams? What? Oh, good heavens. Now you see it. A moment too late. I couldn't prolong its death any further. The cat. Louis, what have you done? Material for a scientific paper, my dear doctor. Trying to get to the bottom of the ridiculous myth that a cat has nine lives. Are you out of your mind? Nine lives? Silly, isn't it? There are grounds for the belief, though I proved that a cat hangs off black. Hangs off hates to give up. I was trying to see how much pain it could stand before it would give itself up to death. Torture. Isn't that what cats do with mice? The cat and mouse game, Frank. Only I was the cat and my cat was the mouse. Such only fair, isn't it, as a cat and a mouse horrified you. Then why should I? Louie the power bank. A power. More than ever. I tried to avoid him, but it was hard to forget. I thought of moving, but something held me to that place. I knew that sometime something had to be resolved. But before the end came, I spent one more evening with Louis. Strange stories have begun to come to me. Stories of his depravity in all branches of his life and morals. It was becoming a matter of common knowledge. I would shudder as I passed his house, expecting I knew not what fiendish thing to be looking at me from the window. And then one night as I came home and entered my living room, there he was, seated in a comfortable chair, grinning evilly at me as I stood in the doorway. Come in, come in. Make yourself at home. Louis. It's all right. I didn't break in. Your housekeeper admitted me. Oh. Aren't you going to sit down? Yes, of course. As a matter of fact, now that you're here, there is something I want to say to you. Good, good. Fire away. Well, I won't be subtle. I've heard things, Louis. Everywhere in town there's talk of you. Your behavior has become a scandal. People come to me with stories, knowing we're friends. I try to turn them aside. You tell them anything, Louis. Won't you let me help you? It's not you that's doing all these things. You're possessed. You're mentally ill. I could help you, Louie. Of gossip and scandal. I know. It's all over town, isn't it? But I've a story to tell you, Frank. We haven't got far yet. It only happened today. What? What? What is it, Louis? I was turned out of my club for cheating at cards. Sounds like a cheap novel, doesn't it? But it was great. You should have seen the prank. Gentlemen. Honest and true, shocked to their very souls. It would have been bad enough if I'd merely cheated. But what rocked them was that I stood up and laughed out loud. Ridiculed them for their self righteous faces. And then I stood there and looked into their eyes. And they were silent. They were frightened. They felt the power that was in the room with them. I despised them. And when I turned on my heel and walked out, they sat there in a dumb and terrified silence. Oh, Frank. The power. The elemental power. I never saw him again until a week ago. If you were at the inquest, you heard my evidence. But to no court on earth, to no human being could I describe the sound that filled the street and woke me from sleep that ghastly morning. I ran out of the house in my pajamas, out into the street. But the policeman on the beat had heard it too. And together we burst open the door into Louis house. The screaming had ceased a moment before we gained entry. He was there in the wall, dead. When we reached him, both jugulars were severed and torn. It was dawn, early and dusky, when I got back to my house next door. Even as I went in, something seemed to push by me. Something soft and slimy. It could not be Louis. Imagination. This time. Since then, I've seen glimpses of it every evening. I'm awakened at night by tappings. And in the shadows of my room, there sits something more substantial than a shadow. In the corner of my room, there sits something more substantial than a shadow. That is the end of the statement Dr. Ashton dictated to me, Inspector. Exactly when did he give this statement to you, Mr. Sayers? He finished dictating about an hour before I met you here in his house. Were you the first to get there? Yes. One of the neighbors summoned a constable, but it was five minutes before he arrived. Will you tell me exactly what happened? Well, I heard a terrible cry. It seemed to fill the street. It must have been like the one he describes that he heard. The night Dr. Fielder died, were you awake? Yes. I was reading over his statement. Immediately I heard the screaming. I dashed out onto the street and made for his house where it was coming from. His housekeeper was standing at the open door. Speechless with terror, I pushed by and made my way to his study. Where was Dr. Ashton? On the floor in the study. He could have been dead at the most two minutes. There was no need to make an examination. I could see his throat from where I stood. Both jugulars were severed and savagely torn.