Night Terrors: Season 2: The House in Cypress Canyon

You are in a land away from sunlight, you are in a land of darkness and fear, somewhere

between waking and sleeping, are night terrors.

Night Terrors, an anthology of horror and suspense.

Tonight's presentation was adapted from Robert L. Richard's story, The House in Cypress Canyon.

Sometimes, when you find something hidden in a house, you might want to leave it alone,

even with the best of intentions.

Merry Christmas, Jerry.

How's the real estate business?

Kind of early with your greeting, aren't you, Sam?

Well, I gotta get him in sometime.

I may not see you again.

This real estate racket gets any crazier, I'll be dead by next Christmas.

I'm glad you could get up here, though, Sam.

What's on your mind, Jerry?

Aw, you probably will shoot me when you hear it, Sam, because I'm probably nuts.

But doggone it, you're a detective and you're my pal, and I just had to tell somebody.

Well, you sound like it's serious.

That's just it.

I don't know what it is, Sam, but now listen, you know we're agents for a group of houses

up in Cypress Canyon.

Mm-hmm.

Those places that were started before the war.

Never got finished.

Oh, yeah.

All they got in were the foundations, just concrete and a couple of beams.

Well, they've been finished now.

In fact, I'm putting up the for rent on the last of them today.

Well, what do you want?

Police protection from the mob?

Listen, Sam, this house that I'm talking about, it's got a number now, 2256.

But before, when the men went back to work on it about three months ago, well, they just

started when the foreman on the job brought me a shoebox that he'd found up on a beam.

And this box had a, what do you call it, a manuscript in it.

A story, kind of.

All written out.

Yeah.

Well, he gave me the thing.

I read it.

I didn't think much about it.

I put it in my desk.

But the other day, as I happened to drive by there, I saw the number on the house and

what the house looked like.

I thought of this manuscript.

It, well, I don't like it, that's all.

There's something funny about it.

Well, what's funny about it?

Well, mind you, this thing was found in an unfinished house in Cypress Canyon.

Houses only just started building.

All right.

Well, listen, Sam, I want to read it to you.

If you've got the time, then you'll see what I mean.

Well, all right then.

Shoot.

Well, here's how it begins.

To whom it may concern, my reasons for setting down on paper what follows here will be abundantly

clear to anyone into whose possession it may fall.

First, let me say that I'm a very ordinary person.

My name is James A. Woods.

I'm 35 years old, by profession, a chemical engineer.

My wife, Ellen, was a schoolgirl.

She was a schoolteacher when I met and married her in Indiana seven years ago.

There's nothing in the past life of either one of us to suggest remotely any cause or

reason for the dreadful thing that has invaded our lives.

Our married life has been in no way different from that of millions of other average, reasonably

happy and congenial families.

Three months ago, I was ordered by my firm to take charge of a rather minor project in

Los Angeles, Hollywood to be exact.

The order was a sudden one.

There had been no time to secure accommodations and conditions.

Being what they are, the inevitable result was that, until the day before yesterday,

we'd been living in the cramped quarters of one of those characteristic California motels.

Needless to say, most of our spare time had been devoted to a search for something more

permanent and comfortable, but the fruits of these efforts had been financially, and

in every other way, a geometrical progression of discouragement.

Until then, I had been living in the cramped quarters of one of those characteristic California motels.

Until last Saturday afternoon, only four days before Christmas, we were driving into

town on our way to a movie when Ellen saw it.

Jim, look!

What?

That sign, in front of the real estate office.

Oh, yeah, yeah.

Don't you see what it says?

For rent, furnished to bedroom house, close in, immediate occupancy.

Yeah, uh-huh.

Aren't you going to stop?

Oh, Ellen.

Ellen, you know what a sign like that'd mean, right out in plain sight, in front of a real

estate office?

Oh, yeah, but Jim?

Probably, they want $600 a month.

Well, we'll never know until we ask.

If it's any good at all.

There are probably 50 people fighting for it right back there and right now.

Well, honey, there's no harm in trying.

Now, is there?

You really want to go back?

Oh, it's probably foolish.

But what can we lose?

Okay.

Oh, darling, come on, cheer up.

How do you know?

Maybe our looks changed.

Maybe fate's going to give us a nice new house for a Christmas present.

Come in.

Oh, um, we're sorry to bother you, but we just happened to see that for rent sign outside,

and, uh...

Oh, yeah, I hung it outside just this minute.

Is the house available?

Why, sure, sure it is.

Let me introduce myself.

My name is James A. Woods, um, and this is my wife, Ellen.

How do you do?

Wow, looks like it's fixin' to rain.

Yeah, yeah, so it does, doesn't it?

Well, it was one of those things.

The real estate agent had just been off.

He'd been authorized to rent the place by mail that morning, and he'd hardly had time

to look at it himself and put up a sign when we drove up.

It was just an ordinary little California house about halfway up Cypress Canyon, number

2256.

Just an ordinary, undistinguished little house.

The agent didn't know much about it.

Construction on it had been stopped by the war, and it had just been completed and furnished

lately.

It'd been vacant while somebody's estate...

This estate was being settled, and now it was owned by a bank in Sacramento.

Of course, we didn't care about that.

Got this key in the mail, along with the authorization to rent.

Only one there is.

Of course, you could have duplicates made.

Seems to stick a little.

Ah.

Well, there it is.

Doesn't sound as though that door has ever been opened.

Well, a little oil on the hinges will fix that right up.

Oh, sure.

Well, now here's your living room.

Furniture's a little dusty, of course.

You've got to expect that.

It's good furniture, though, you see.

Benson Brothers.

Yes, uh-huh.

Now, over here's a little den.

Panel, you see.

Radio, fireplace.

Really a very attractive little room, particularly for a man.

Uh-huh.

Yep.

Now, the bedroom's off the living room here.

Everything's all on one floor, you understand.

Uh-huh.

It's, uh, quite nice, I think.

Yes, uh-huh.

You can see you get the morning sun here.

There's a view of the canyon through these front windows.

You've got cross vents...

That's about all there was to it.

Wasn't the best place in the world.

It was small and badly built, but, well, what would you have done?

We took it with as little inspection as that.

It was the Saturday before Christmas, and the very same evening we were struggling up

the steps from the road with suitcases and boxes and armloads of clothes and all the

endless bric-a-brac that people collect and never know they have until they move.

Ellen began unpacking and I began moving things around and taking the worst of the pictures

off the wall, doing all the little things that everybody does when they move into a

new place.

We tried to give it something of their own personality.

Don't be such a sourpuss.

You know it's a roof over our heads for Christmas, that's more than we ever thought we'd get,

isn't it?

Now, what in the world are we gonna do with those two pictures?

Well, why don't we just leave them where they are?

Jim, we can't.

They're too awful.

Eh, all right.

Put them in the closet then.

I can't.

Both the closets are jammed full.

No.

I mean the other one in the little alcove.

Well, I mean the one in the little alcove.

cove off the den. At least there's a door there. I suppose it's a closet. I don't know.

If that isn't a commentary on the housing problem, huh? A woman moving into a house

without even knowing where all the closets are. Take the pictures down, will you, honey?

Bring them in here. Okay, okay.

Guess I'll have to help me with this door. I can't get it open. Here, let me see.

Well, of course you can't, silly. It's locked. Where are those keys we found in the desk?

Here they are. Nope, not this one. I'm sure this one won't work.

Nope. Feels like an awful solid door for a closet. Hmm, that's one solid door in this house.

No, this one won't do it either. Well, we'll just have to get a locksmith up here on Monday.

I'll, uh, I'll put the pictures behind the desk, okay? Yeah, yeah, all right.

Jim, if you could help me move this armchair, huh? Oh, Ellen, will you let it go until tomorrow?

You know what time it is? Oh, but honey, I'd like to get the place looking just a little bit.

But it's almost midnight. In fact, it's exactly...

What was that? Tomcat, I guess. Out in the brush somewhere.

Sounded...

Out in the air. Hope that doesn't go on all night.

Oh, there isn't much we can do about it. Come on, Ellen. I'm dead tired.

All right, Jim.

Where'd you put the toothpaste, honey?

It's right in the medicine cabinet.

Oh, yeah.

Jim, we ought to get some firewood tomorrow. You know, a fire in that living room would make all the difference in the world.

We can't. It's Sunday.

Well, Monday, then.

Jim, I think red curtains are what we need, don't you?

Mm-hmm.

You know, just at least in the living room.

Anyway, the ones that are now have just got to come down.

Yeah, I suppose they do.

What do you think of red?

Well, I guess it's all...

Jim?

Some Tomcat.

Jim, it sounded in the house.

Aw, now, how could it be in the house, Ellen?

We've been over every inch.

We've been over every inch of the house.

Except that closet.

Now, how could a cat or anything else be in a closet that's been locked up for over a year?

I don't know.

Yeah, I mean, probably under the house.

A wild cat or mountain lion or something.

I hear they have them in California.

Jim, I don't like it.

Well, neither do I like it, but there's nothing we can do about it tonight.

Well, maybe we ought to call somebody, the police or some neighbor.

Ah, don't be silly, Ellen.

You act like a kid.

Come on, let's go to bed, huh?

Oh, right.

I suppose it is silly.

Jimmy?

Did you lock the door?

Yeah.

Yeah, yeah.

Can I turn out the lights now?

Yeah, all right.

Good night, Ellen.

Sleep tight.

Good night, Jim.

I don't know what time it was.

Perhaps an hour, perhaps only half an hour later.

My mind was in that hazy borderland between sleep and a dream that's still part of consciousness.

Then I was awake.

Ellen, are you all right?

Yes.

Did you have a nightmare or something?

No.

I heard it, too.

Well, that didn't sound like any cat.

Put on the light.

Yeah.

It...

It seemed to be out there, Jim.

In the house somewhere.

I'm going to look into this.

Jim, you be careful.

Come on.

Where's my shotgun?

In the den, I think.

Jim!

What?

There's...

There's something wet.

What?

Wet?

Running from under the closet door.

Sticky.

Ellen, don't.

Don't touch it.

I had to.

Jim, it's...

It's blood.

It cannot be too difficult to understand from the foregoing why I have taken the pains to sit down and write a book.

It's the only way to avoid the events related here.

To find in one's newly-rented house a closet which cannot be opened is in itself certainly no great cause for alarm.

But to be awakened in the stillness of the night by unearthly cries within that house, to find oozing from under that closet door something that is unquestionably blood.

That's another matter.

Perhaps others might have been braver than we.

Suffice it only to say that we got out of the house in something very close to a panic.

and only returned when we had the moral support of two stalwart Los Angeles policemen.

So you, uh, just moved here, you say?

That's right, officer. You can, uh, you can see we're still unpacking.

And the place has been empty right along before that?

Yeah. I don't know much about that part of it.

You could check all of that with the real estate agent, though.

Well...

Where is this closet?

Oh, it's right in here, officer.

And, and the blood, the blood is...

Where? Where is the blood?

Jim?

Officer, I, I swear to you, there was blood on the floor less than an hour ago. I, I saw it.

Uh-huh.

It was running out from under that door.

We heard that noise, and we got up, and then we saw it.

The, the door was locked.

Locked, huh?

I, no. Oh, oh, oh, no, I, I...

Well, it seems to be all right now.

Hey, uh, you folks aren't trying to be funny, are you?

I, isn't there anything in it?

Uh, no, ma'am. There is not.

Look, officer, we're, we're reputable people. You can call my firm. They'll tell you all about me.

There's nothing wrong with the closet. The walls are solid.

There's no trap doors that I can see.

If you think I'm lying, you can...

I didn't say that, mister.

You probably did hear some sort of noise, and you got a little panicky, and, uh...

What about the blood? It, it got on my hands.

It isn't there now, is it?

Yes.

Where?

I feel it.

Now, look. Now, you folks just take it easy.

You know, you're liable to hear all kinds of noises up in these canyons at night.

You're, uh, you're from the east, you say?

Uh, yeah.

Yeah. I, I'm sorry, officer.

No, that's all right. That's all right.

If you have any real trouble, call us any time.

All right.

Well, good night.

Good night.

Hey, you ought to have this door fixed. That's enough to scare you.

Yeah, uh, we're, uh, we're going to have it fixed.

We didn't say much about it after that.

There wasn't much that could be said.

The next day, I went down to a lot and bought a little Christmas tree and some trimmings,

and we tried to pretend we were cheerful,

but there was an uneasiness between us that had never been there before.

Ellen seemed tired and listless.

Several times during the day, I noticed her washing her hands with, uh, with a brush,

scrubbing the one that had touched the blood.

That night, we each took a sleeping pill and went to bed.

It was sometime after midnight when I was suddenly wide awake, staring into the darkness.

In some way, I, I knew at once and instinctively what had awakened me.

Ellen was not in her bed, nor in the room.

The name of the room was Ellen.

The nameless thing I had feared gripped at my heart until I could scarcely breathe.

I opened the bedroom door, started through the house, putting on every light that I could find.

There was not much to search, but I searched thoroughly.

The, the living room, the kitchen, bathroom, den, even the garage,

and all the time, the dread of looking where I knew at last I must look.

For I think I knew from the very time where I'd find her.

It must have been a full minute that I started to think,

I stood before that closet door.

Then, I opened it.

She stood there, rigid, her arms at her sides.

Her fingers extended like claws.

Her hair was over her face.

Her eyes stared out of it.

Her lips were drawn back in a grin like an animal at bay.

For a moment, I was frozen with the horror of it.

I stretched out my hand, very deliberately.

She turned her head and sunk her teeth until they met into the flesh of my forehead.

I'd raised my hand to strike at her, but already, she'd relaxed her hold and gone utterly limp.

She would have fallen unless I'd caught her.

I carried her into the bedroom, laid her on the bed.

Strangely, at that moment, my only thought was how I might revive her.

Until I saw that it was.

It was not a faint, but a sleep that she'd fallen into.

A sleep as deep and heavy as though she'd been drugged.

And so, I left her.

But for me, that night, there was no sleep.

…

Jim?

Yes, Ellen?

What are you doing up so early?

Oh, I, um...

I got a little restless and I went out to make some coffee.

I had the most wonderful sleep.

I feel so rested.

Do you?

Mm-hmm.

Um...

Jim!

What?

What's the matter with your arm?

Oh, um...

I just hurt it.

Oh, honey, it's terribly swollen.

Let me see it.

No, it's all right, Ellen.

Oh, it isn't all right.

You've got to see Dr. Westleaf right away.

Sure.

Sure, I will.

Now...

No, now you promised me, Jim, that you'll go first thing this morning.

How did it happen?

Oh, um...

I, uh...

There, uh...

There was a dog.

Dog?

Yeah, I, uh...

I heard him trying to chew through the, uh...

The screen door.

I went out to chase him away and he...

Uh, he bit me.

Well, you mean with all that racket and I didn't even wake up?

No, Ellen.

You, uh...

You didn't even wake up.

It was clear to me that Ellen knew nothing of what had transpired the night before.

I went to my office that morning and made a pretense of going over routine business if

only to restore my mind to some semblance of calm by the sight and sound of calm and

familiar things.

The pain in my arm had become a persistent dull throbbing.

I made a late appointment with Dr. Westleaf.

She treated my arm with something of an arched eyebrow and she said,

Well, I've never seen...

anything quite like it before. That is, such a rapid onset of infection.

It was certainty that it was the darkness and the night that I had to fear.

The curves of the canyon seemed endless. Then the cold fear reached up inside me.

My house, too, was dark.

I went slowly up the stone steps from the road, looking, praying for some sign of light or life.

There was none.

The house was empty.

Ellen was gone. I looked with the same self-torturing thoroughness. And in that closet,

first of all. Knowing as I did so, it was hopeless. And so, alone in that empty house, I waited.

Powerless. Helpless now. Deadened in thought and will. Empty as the house itself, save only for

the overwhelming sense of a terrible foreboding. Sometime in the early hours of the morning,

I snapped on the door.

On the radio. Shortwave. Why? Surely a minor question now. I only know that I did. And then I heard it.

Cough 58. Cough 58. Go to Laurel Canyon, the 4000 block. Report that a man has been injured or attacked.

Conditions ought to be critical. Ambulance will follow. That is all.

I was there almost before the police, edging my way through the little crowd,

staring down at the man lying there in his white uniform under the streetlight.

Yeah, the milkman. Poor guy.

I heard him scream, but when I got here, he was just like this.

All right, stand back. Stand back. Please, stand back.

I, uh, I heard it on the radio. I live just down the road.

What? What happened?

He was dead. And he was lying on his back. And his throat had been torn out as though by the fangs of some wild animal.

He was dead. And his throat had been torn out as though by the fangs of some wild animal.

It is now Christmas Eve, or rather Christmas morning, for it's a little after midnight.

I've been waiting here, here in the stillness of this empty house for nearly 24 hours, waiting for the end.

Already once tonight, I've heard that dreadful wailing cry somewhere in the hills.

I've nailed up the closet door, but that I, I know is childish, useless.

My arm is horribly swollen and turning black, but that's nothing.

It's another end that I foresee, as surely as other men foresee the rising of the sun.

I hear the cry again. It's nearer now.

I shall leave these notes in a sealed envelope and put it in a shoebox

in the hope that someone will give credence to these dark and terrible events.

Yes, if indeed such nameless horrors can ever yield to mortal understanding.

As for myself, I no longer feel any fear or even sorrow.

Only a desire that the end and the thing I must do may come soon.

And it will be soon, I know.

Yes, for there is something at the door.

Someone at the door.

Huh. What do you make of it, Sam?

It's quite a yarn. Well, what of it?

That's what I thought. Now, listen, that's not quite all of it.

Oh?

Clip to it's a newspaper clipping. Listen.

Hollywood, December the...

December the 26th, police reported what was apparently a case of murder and suicide in Cypress Canyon

sometime in the early hours of the morning.

The victims were James A. Woods, a chemical engineer, and his wife, Ellen.

Preliminary investigation indicates that Mrs. Woods was killed by the blast of a shotgun

in the hands of her husband, who then turned the weapon upon himself.

That she fought desperately for her life, however, was evident in the disorder of the room

and the severe lacerations inflicted upon her husband about the neck and arms.

This is the second tragedy to be reported in Cypress.

The first one was the murder of a young man named Frank Polanski, a milkman.

Well, no such murders, or whatever they were, ever occurred, if that's what's worrying you.

The clipping, well, you know, you can have those things printed up, you know.

Oh, no, it's not that, Sam. The story was found in an unfinished house in Cypress Canyon.

No number, no nothing. Just a framework.

Uh-huh.

Now that the house is finished, when I drove by it today, but that's what stopped me, Sam, because it all fits.

Now that it's finished, it is...

Is the house in the story.

The same construction, the same vines and creepers on the lawn.

Even the same number.

So what? A guy who knows roughly what his house is going to be like writes a yarn and loses it or something.

Did he know the place was going to be listed for rental today, the Saturday before Christmas?

Jerry, coincidence.

Two bits, you find the guy next door is a ghost story writer or something,

and he's been wondering for a year what happened to that thing he wrote.

Okay, okay, coincidence.

I'm sorry I bothered you, Sam.

Eh, don't be silly.

I liked it. It's good yarn.

Uh, that the for rent sign you were talking about?

Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm going to put it up outside now.

Uh-huh. Well, so long, Jerry, and Merry Christmas again.

Yeah, well, thanks, Sam.

I guess I was kind of silly, all right.

Listen, when a guy named Woods, whatever it is, with a wife named Ellen comes in to rent that place from you,

then you can start worrying.

Yeah, well, so long, Sam.

So long, Jerry.

Come in.

Oh, we're sorry to bother you, but we just happened to see that for rent sign outside.

Yeah, I hung it out just this minute.

Is, is the house available?

Why, sure it is.

Let me introduce myself.

My name is James A. Woods, and this is my wife, Ellen.

How do?

Wow, looks like it's fixing to...

Yes, it does, doesn't it?

I guess you could say that Jimmy and Ellen have to relocate more than others.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

you've been listening to darker projects production adapted from robert l richards

the house and cypress canyon through the generic radio workshop script library

featured in this episode were nick armstrong as sam randy strew as jerry shane harris as james

a woods katherine frameth as ellen persephone rose as the real estate agent james c ferguson

as first officer dave morgan as second officer wendelin jetson woodard as dr westleaf and the

radio dispatcher other roles were played by our actors and mark brzee as your host harbinger

the house and cypress canyon is written by robert l richards music was by celestial eon project

post-production by mj cogburn the series producer is mark brzee this is edward herman this has been

a darker projects production visit us on the web at wwf.org

www.darkerprojects.com thanks for listening