Original subtitles

SERLING: Tonight's stars:

George Maharis,

Ray Milland,

Leslie Nielsen,

Sue Lyon,

Joe Campanella,

and Michael Constantine.

You're most welcome in this particular museum.

There's no admission, no requirement of membership.

Only a strong and abiding belief

in the dark at the top of the stairs

or things that go bump in the night.

Example, tonight's first painting.

Small boy encased in a crystal ball.

Born with a very special gift, he can prophesy.

But you'll wonder, as we look behind that picture,

if a prophesy is always a gift,

or can it, on occasion, take the form of a nightmare.

The painting's title is

The Boy Who Predicted Earthquakes.

And this is the Night Gallery.

Herbie, come on, this way.

Hey, Rance, is this okay?

Okay.

You're gonna need pillows. The kid's only 10 years old.

Mr. Wellman. When do you tape?

In just a minute, Mr. Wellman. I'd like you to meet Mr. Godwin.

What's the kid's name?

Herbie, Herbert Bittman.

Mr. Godwin here is Herbie's grandfather.

Mr...

What can he possibly do?

Well, it's in the nature of a commentary.

A commentary?

How old is the child, seven?

He's 10, Mr. Wellman.

He's 10?

A 10-year-old commentator?

Oh, that's really creative, isn't it?

That's innovative. What are we shooting for?

Wednesday night, 8:00,

the darkest hour in the rating wars,

and whom are we auditioning for our big gun?

A 10-year-old commentator named Herbie?

Mr. Wellman, this is Herbie's grandfather, Mr. Godwin.

This is Mr. Wellman, the head of the station.

You handle the kid?

I'm Herbie's grandfather. The boy has a special talent.

Fact?

I give this to you up front, Reed.

A special talent he'd better have.

Middle of the week, prime time against network competition.

You've got to be out of it.

Stand by to roll tape.

Roll tape.

Slate in. Three, two, one.

Audition tape number 323, The Herbie Bittman Show.

Action!

Hello. My name is Herbert Bittman.

I've been reading a very interesting book.

It's called The Count of Monte Cristo.

I feel that anybody might enjoy it.

I've also begun a book on astronomy

written by a man named Duncan.

Reading this book has made me want a telescope.

My grandfather says that if I work hard

and get good grades in school,

I can have a small telescope at the end of the semester.

That's what we're gonna need to find you, you know, Reed,

after I kick you out of here. A telescope!

About 15 minutes from now, Gwendolyn Box,

that little girl who's been lost in the Sierras since Thursday, will be found.

Her leg is broken, but she'll still be alive.

After I get my telescope,

I wanna become a member of the Society of Variable Star Observers.

It's a club where everybody...

You aren't really serious about this, are you, Reed?

You are putting me on.

You weren't intending to program this?

Mr. Wellman, the boy is unerring in his predictions.

Ask Mr. Godwin here.

Oh, I should ask Mr. Godwin?

If you could just control yourself for a moment, Mr. Wellman.

I guess that's all for now, except...

Tomorrow morning, at about one minute till 6:00,

there'll be an earthquake in the Los Angeles area.

It will be fairly sizable.

That's about all I can tell you now.

Except, there'll be some damage and some fatalities, as well.

I'm sorry to have to give you this kind of bad news.

And I'm very sorry to give you this sad news.

You have just witnessed Master Bittman's maiden voyage,

his audition and his swan song,

all concurrent with your final act as an employee of this corporation.

Now, Mr. Wellman, I checked him out.

He's altogether legitimate.

And several of the universities have wanted to examine him.

You're the one that should be examined, you realize that?

Against high-powered network competition,

you want to put a 10-year-old myopic

who sits on pillows and tells fright stories!

"Gwendolyn Box is going to be found in the Sierras with her leg broken!

"Los Angeles is gonna have an earthquake tomorrow morning!"

You should give the boy a chance, Mr. Wellman.

I should also contract pleurisy and fall down an elevator shaft.

Oh, Mr. Wellman, please be reasonable.

Did you catch that show, Mr. Wellman?

I caught it, I'm throwing it back.

I want that tape wiped.

Kid, I don't know who put you up to this,

but we are not amused, do you understand that?

Just a moment, Mr. Wellman.

Nobody put Herbie up to anything.

He has a special talent, a gift, if you will.

It was his own idea to share it.

You share it, Grandpa.

Buy yourself a wagon and take it on the road.

But right here, in this station,

I'm not interested in his gifts,

his talent or anything else.

If you can't wipe that tape, burn it.

All I want left of The Herbie Bittman Show is

a fading echo and a receding memory.

Oh, Mr. Wellman! Mr. Wellman!

We'll try the back later.

Have you forgotten the house of pain?

You made us in the house of pain.

You made us sing!

Not men,

but beast!

Sing!

Sing, sing!

Mr. Reed wants you to turn on your television set, Mr. Wellman.

You tell Mr. Reed for me that he can go jump in a lake.

Mr. Reed says that it's a news bulletin.

Charlie? Charlie, hold the film

and get me the monitor, please.

The helicopter is approaching the little girl now.

Her condition at the moment is unknown,

but the pilot has radioed back that she is definitely alive.

Repeating that information,

Gwendolyn Box, lost in the Sierras since last Thursday,

has been found alive.

First reports indicate she has a broken left leg

and is suffering from exposure.

It could be a coincidence. A gigantic coincidence.

Oh, I'm so glad they found her alive, Mr. Wellman.

The tapes!

Call McManus and tell him not to wipe that tape.

And tell Reed to get a hold of that Bittman kid.

Made the news for February 8th, 1971.

In an attempt to undermine Vietcong support,

the South Vietnamese today invaded Laos.

Thirty-eight candidates have been chosen for the Nobel Peace Prize.

Thirty-eight.

Jack, that's fine, thank you.

Mr. McManus says the tapes have been wiped clean.

And Mr. Reed says the Bittman boy and his grandfather have left the studio.

Well why don't they...

All right, all right. We'll just wait until morning.

Anything else, Mr. Wellman?

You can ask me that again at 6:00 a.m., Los Angeles time.

All right, Harry, let's see the film again, please.

We'll see then how the cookie crumbles,

or those Los Angeles buildings.

But I tell you this up front.

If they get the shakes out there,

I'm signing Herbie Bittman to a 25-year contract.

Well, I don't blame you. How skeptical I was, too.

But then Herbie predicted about that little girl being found in the mountains.

And after that, LA had their quake.

Well, I immediately called Dr. Howard Hepburn,

you know, the big seismologist, and I asked him.

He said there was no way that

that quake could possibly have been foretold. No way.

Well, it became apparent that Herbie had some kind of special gift.

Then, a year ago, that Stratoliner wreck,

the gubernatorial election, and, let me see. Oh, yes.

Do you remember this submarine disaster in the Tortugas?

Marvelous, Herbie predicted the whole thing.

What's the boy like?

Well, he's just as normal as you or me.

Comes in here twice a week with his grandfather, does the show.

Never any problems, never any temperament.

Oh, yes, Doctor, perhaps you'd like to look at a few little trophies

that Herbie's picked up along the way.

You know, I'm very glad that the university has decided to study him.

In the year and a half that he's been with us,

he has made 106 predictions,

and every blessed one of them has come true.

Can I see him now?

Well, let's see. You've got 20 minutes till air time. Sure.

Right this way.

Herbie?

Herbie, I've got someone I'd like you to meet.

This is Dr. Peterson.

Dr. Peterson's at the university.

Oh, and this is Herbie's grandfather, Mr. Godwin.

Don't get up. Nice to meet you.

Herbie, you'll give us another great show this afternoon.

I'll see you all later.

Is this a convenient time for you, Herbie?

They told us last week we were gonna be investigated.

Not exactly investigated.

The university has been given an appropriation

to do a project on you.

We think we can learn a great deal about extrasensory perception.

Parapsychology.

For example, do you have any idea how this works?

You mean, my being able to predict things?

Yes.

It just, sort of, happens.

Do you get a vision?

You mean like pictures?

Mmm-hmm.

No. It isn't pictures and it isn't words.

It just, sort of, comes into my mind.

One thing I've noticed is I can't predict anything

unless I more or less know what it is.

I could predict an earthquake

because everybody knows what a quake is.

And when somebody is missing,

and I predict they're going to be found,

if I hadn't known they were missing,

I wouldn't have been able to do it.

I see.

Well, then you're not able to predict anything

that isn't already in your consciousness.

That's the reason why I read so many books.

The more things I know about,

the more things I can predict.

Herbie, could we see you in the chair now?

We're ready to paint.

Excuse me, Dr. Peterson.

What's it like living with such a celebrity, Mr. Godwin?

Well he's become public property.

He gets 1,500 letters a week.

He gets double that in offers

from government officials, bookies,

people with terminal diseases, schemers.

They write us, they telephone us,

they even camp on our doorstep.

You see that man over there?

He's with the government.

He sits in the studio during the taping of every show,

so that, in case Herbie should say something

that might be contrary to national policy,

they can stop the show immediately.

But he seems unaffected by all this.

Still, I can't help but wonder...

Go on. Well...

What it must be like to be able to look into tomorrow.

The deadly strain of it.

To suddenly have pierced your brain

with some knowledge of disaster or catastrophe,

and to be unable to do anything about it.

And to have that deadly weight on a little 11-year-old boy.

Mr. Godwin, can we see you over here for a minute?

A problem?

I'm not sure.

Excuse me.

He seems very disturbed.

What's the matter, Herbie?

Grandfather, take me home.

What is the trouble here? What is going on?

Now, Herbie, Herbie, what is the problem?

They tell me you don't want to do the show.

I want... I want to go home.

What has been happening here?

Now, now, Herbie.

Now you know that whatever the problem is, I'll fix it.

Don't you feel well? Are you too tired?

I feel okay.

It's just...

I just can't do it today.

Herbie, we have to do the show today.

Why hasn't someone called a doctor?

I don't need a doctor. It's just that...

I got to go home, Grandfather.

Then, that's just what we'll do. Come on.

Oh, really?

Just like that, take a walk, is that it?

What about the crew here?

What about the production schedule?

What about the time and effort and money

that I've invested in this show?

Now, let's just be rational here.

If this child is not ill, then there's no excuse for...

The excuse, Mr. Wellman, is just that Herbie doesn't want to do it today.

Come on, Herbie. What are we going to do?

Mr. Godwin!

Herbie.

Herbie, boy.

Herbie, now listen.

Herbie, have you thought about the people that depend on you?

What about your devoted fans, Herbie?

Fact.

Herbie, there are people who sit by their television set

every week and wait for you to come on.

They depend on you. You're very important to them.

Now what's gonna happen when you don't?

It's going to frighten them, isn't it, Herbie?

You can see that, can't you?

Maybe...

Maybe you're right.

Herbie, just as soon as you're finished,

we're gonna discuss a nice long vacation for you.

Two weeks, maybe four weeks, any place you like.

Europe, Asia.

And the station footing the bill, Herbie.

Herbie, right now,

the most important thing you've got to do is get back in there

and do that show for us, Herbie, just like always.

Just get in there and go to work.

All right, Mr. Wellman, I'll try.

Good boy. Good boy, Herbie.

All right, back to work, everyone.

It's okay, Grandfather. It's really okay.

Okay, places, please. Come on, everybody, let's go.

One minute to air. One minute to air.

What do you suppose the problem is, Mr. Godwin?

I don't know, Doctor.

And frankly, I'm not quite sure I want to know.

Camera two, let me see your close shot.

Gene, you want to straighten his tie.

Yeah, yeah, that's it. Okay.

And that's what I learned this week in school about mechanical drawing.

And it's really very interesting.

Nothing. No predictions, no nothing. Dullsville, USA.

It seems like he's holding back.

And now I wanna...

I want to tell you about tomorrow.

That's better. Here he comes.

Tomorrow is gonna be different from anything in the past.

Tomorrow is going to be

a start of a new and better world for all of us.

In the past, we've had a pretty bad time.

We've had wars and famines, and pestilence.

And we've had depressions,

and nobody seems to know what causes them.

People have starved when there was food,

they've died of diseases when there were cures for them.

We've seen the water and the air

and everything else get polluted.

And we've seen so much hatred.

Well, beginning tomorrow,

all that's going to be changed.

There won't be any more wars.

We're going to live side by side like brothers.

We're going to forget about killing and breaking and bombs.

And all over the world,

there's going to be a kind of garden growing.

And nobody will be afraid anymore.

For the first time since human beings have lived on this earth,

we're going to live the way human beings should.

Tomorrow is going to be the beginning of all that.

That's all for now.

Goodbye.

Good night.

Save it

Herbie? Dr. Peterson is here.

We had to have our phone cut off

because there was such a commotion after Herbie's telecast.

Well, I suppose you've seen it for yourself.

Herbie?

Herbie, you told me that you couldn't see into the future

for more than 48 hours.

That's right.

Then how could you foresee all the things you predicted this afternoon?

You really want me to tell you?

I certainly do.

I wouldn't have known if I hadn't read this book.

I'd just have known

that something big was going to happen.

But now I know.

I read about it in my astronomy book.

Look over there.

Tomorrow won't be like that.

What are you trying to say?

Tomorrow, the sun will be different.

I think it's better this way, Doctor.

I wanted them to be happy.

So that's why I lied to them.

Herbie, what is it?

What's going to happen tomorrow?

Tomorrow,

the sun...

Yes?

What?

I forget the word.

It's what they call it when a star flares up,

becomes a billion times hotter than it was before.

A nova?

That's right. A nova.

What does that mean?

That's when the sun explodes.

Don't be frightened, Grandfather.

It'll happen so quickly,

we won't even feel it.

And nobody else will feel it, either.

They'll just expect it to be a better day.

Maybe afterwards, that's what it will be.

Miss Lovecraft sent me.

I'm from the agency. I'm your baby sitter, Betsy.

Hi.

Ought to have that oiled.

Oh? I rather like it.

Your wife getting dressed?

No, she went on ahead.

When there's a full moon, there's no restraining her.

I told her to start without me.

A modern marriage.

The best kind.

More staying power to them, you know.

Yes. Ours has lasted a long time.

A very long time.

When can I meet the kid?

Actually, I was just getting him ready for bed.

You like a fire?

Sure, but I can get him ready for bed.

You're probably anxious to get started.

I am, I am.

But no, it's better if I prepare him.

He can be rather difficult with strangers.

Once he's warmed up to you, though...

I know what. I'll read him a bedtime story.

That's a great way to break the ice.

Good idea.

You'll find his favorites

over there on the first shelf of the bookcase.

Make yourself comfortable.

If you should become hungry,

you'll find that we have an unusually well-stocked larder

including some rather hard-to-get items

you might find interesting.

What time to you expect to be back?

Dawn.

We're always back before sunup. Always.

Yes, Sonny, Daddy's here.

Miss Lovecraft didn't mention anything about a dog.

Guess what, Sonny?

Daddy has a marvelous surprise in store for you.

You're just going to eat her alive!

"Vampyricon."

"Satan's Invisible World Discovered."

"The Book of the Dead." "Men Into Wolf"?

Now, let's put on your slippers, shall we?

Don't want to catch cold.

Give me your foot. There's a good boy.

Now the other foot. That's right.

And now the other one.

What was that crash? Did I hear something?

Oh, shut up!

The concept of medical transplants is exciting, indeed.

But the story behind this painting takes the concept a step further,

or, if you will, a step over,

into a different kind of world,

one in which a gentleman named Lacland

finds a hand that is not his own.

And he finds it at the end of his wrist.

Our painting, The Hand of Borgus Weems.

Excuse me, would you mind repeating that?

I said, Dr. Ravadon, I want you to cut off my hand.

Peter Lacland?

Yes.

The card doesn't say who referred you.

Nobody referred me. I live down the block.

I see your brass plate every time I go for the bus.

I see.

May I see the hand?

The other, please?

They seem perfectly normal to me, both hands.

Nevertheless, Doctor, the right hand must be removed.

If not by you,

then by somebody else.

Would you mind telling me why?

I have no desire to be laughed at.

Neither do I, young man.

What do you think is wrong with the hand?

There, look. See for yourself, Doctor.

What did I write?

I'm sorry, except for prescription purposes,

I don't read Latin.

I don't write it.

And that's not my handwriting. This is no longer my hand.

It belongs to somebody else. That's why it must be cut off.

Whose hand do you consider it to be?

I don't know. It has taken over my hand.

It makes it do things I don't want my hand to do.

What sort of things?

It makes it murder.

You've committed a murder?

I've attempted it three times.

This hand has.

Each time I've been able to prevent it,

each time it's become harder to do.

The last time has been the hardest, almost beyond me.

The next time I know I will fail.

That's why it must be cut off.

Otherwise, someone will be murdered.

Mr. Lacland, I am writing the name of an associate of mine.

You're referring me to a psychiatrist.

As a matter of fact, yes, I am.

Doctor, I didn't come here to be told I'm mad.

I want you to cut off my hand.

Now why won't you do it?

Because, young man, there's nothing wrong with your hand.

It is not diseased, it is not morbid,

it is not tumescent.

And it's against professional ethics for me...

Cut it off!

Impossible.

Is it?

Is it impossible?

You see, Doctor, it wasn't impossible.

You made it mandatory.

I really didn't have a choice.

The company had sent me up here to manage the new office.

I'd been here a couple of weeks, found an apartment,

got to know my way around,

and was just organizing the new operation.

I had an appointment one evening with a prospective client

at his apartment.

Something distracted me for a second.

And then I pushed the wrong button.

I didn't know why until later, a lot later.

Almost too much later.

Yes, what is it?

At first, I thought it was an accident,

the way I met Susan.

I have a appointment with a Franklin M. Heller.

Oh, well, you have the wrong apartment.

No.

I would've had the wrong apartment had I rung the right bell.

Well...

It was three days later when I finally got to see Mr. Franklin Heller.

By that time, Susan and I were engaged.

Have you told your fiancée about your surgery?

I made her go away, to keep from killing her.

You were contemplating...

I wasn't.

It was. And it would've done it, too.

This surgery, it saved her life.

When did it first occur to you that you were no longer

the proprietor of your right hand?

I wanted to telephone one of our suppliers.

I was home.

I'd left the office early

and I didn't have my telephone book with me,

so I decided to try to look up his name in the phone directory.

I was leafing through it,

running my finger down the column,

when suddenly, it stopped.

I mean, it stopped.

I didn't stop it.

Then it called the number.

It really called it.

I had absolutely nothing to do with it.

It was almost as though I weren't there,

only my hand.

Hello? Hello?

Ramsey speaking. Who's this?

Hello? Is anyone there?

Look, I hear someone breathing. Now who is this?

Hello! Who is this?

I don't know why I said it.

This is Borgus Weems speaking.

What? What? What did you...

Not a single one of those actions

was performed by me of my own free will.

Not a single one of them.

It was my hand that made me do them.

And you think me insane.

I've no doubt that what you're telling me

you believe to be the absolute truth.

But you think me insane.

I'm a surgeon, Mr. Lacland,

and I have no qualifications in the field of medicine

which deals with what you've been telling me.

However, if I can persuade you

to recapitulate what you've told me,

and then to continue on with your story in the presence of a...

Psychiatrist.

Precisely.

Well, since the peril no longer exists,

I'm really indifferent to how large a group

considers me mad.

Bring your friend in.

And these were not familiar names to you, Mr. Lacland?

This Brock Ramsey and Borgus Weems?

I'd never heard of either of them until that moment.

However, later that same evening,

one of them paid me a visit.

Lacland? Is that you?

That was the name on the mailbox downstairs.

Yes, I'm Peter Lacland.

Ramsey, Brock Ramsey.

Oh?

Come in.

You lived here long?

Are you from the police?

No.

No, I used to know someone who lived here a while back.

Five, six years ago.

This was his desk.

I rented this place furnished.

Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Ramsey?

I don't know.

I got a funny phone call this afternoon

and I wondered if...

I was going to kill the man.

I knew I was going to kill him.

You know, I got reason to believe that you made that phone call.

If you did, is something the matter...

No! Please don't! Stop! You don't understand!

Get out of here!

Hello? Oh, Susan.

Yes.

Yes, my darling. What?

I sound funny?

I was... I was just taking a nap.

Yes. Yes, everything is fine.

Shall we... Shall we have dinner?

Fine.

Some days later I had to visit a client in Beardsley.

I rented a car for the occasion.

About two blocks before the access drive up onto the speedway,

the hand took control again.

I felt the now quite horrible familiar pulsing, the heat,

the unmistakable impression

that another force was causing the hand to function,

unrelated to any desire on my part.

I meant to turn the wheel to the left, but...

I couldn't.

And then I realized something else was happening.

My foot was beginning to cooperate with that right hand.

I felt helpless, hopeless,

utterly out of my depth.

And then it happened.

I was going to run over him.

I was deliberately going to run over him.

I was like a spectator outside of myself

watching myself about to commit murder.

The next morning I read in the paper

that a rented car driven by a Mr. Peter Lacland

had gone out of control and almost struck and killed

a Mr. Everett Winterreich, attorney at law.

But that wasn't altogether true, was it?

Mr. Peter Lacland was

sitting behind the wheel of that rented car,

but he most certainly was not driving it.

Mr. Lacland, did it not occur to you at about this point

that you might possibly be suffering from a condition

that ought to be examined professionally?

It did, Dr. Innokenti, it most certainly did.

But I also realized the fact that I would

either be totally disbelieved or that

I would be hustled off to some institution

and put behind locked doors.

So instead of consulting a physician, you did what?

I embarked on the preparations

to murder my fiancée.

I first accompanied my right hand to a shop

where I bought a gun.

You cannot buy a firearm in this state

without first acquiring a police permit.

My right hand evidently knew of a place where such formalities

could be dispensed with for a small sum

added onto the price of the weapon.

Did you know you were calling on her in order to kill her?

No, such a horrible thought never entered my head.

I love her deeply and dearly.

But you'd just bought a gun.

Didn't you suspect your purpose?

My brain must've been starting to cooperate with my hand.

It was concealing my own thoughts from me.

No!

Peter, what are you doing?

I'm gonna kill you.

I'm gonna kill you, and I don't know why.

I'm trying not to, but I can't try any longer.

It's getting too strong, too much.

Help me, help me!

What did I do?

All I can think about is killing.

First the man on the telephone,

then the man with the beard, now you.

Maybe I can stop it

by doing this.

No, don't. No, don't, please. Peter, stop it!

Get it away. Take it away.

Don't let my hand get near it.

Oh, Peter, wait.

Susan, if you love me, go somewhere.

Go somewhere far away, far away from here. Why?

So I can't kill you.

Why would you kill me?

I wouldn't, but this would.

It won't rest until it's killed you.

I know it. I sense it. And it's gonna keep trying

again, and again, until it does it.

Unless...

Unless...

I cut it off.

That's a very fascinating story, Mr. Lacland.

Of which you don't believe a word.

I'm a psychiatrist. I believe in only one thing,

listening.

And I would be very happy to listen to anything

you might care to say to me.

Dr. Ravadon will tell you where you can reach me.

Good day.

Doctor.

And now you will step into the corridor,

consult with your friend

and agree, very quietly,

that I'm crazy.

Mr. Lacland, I have more than one friend.

And as soon as your arm is healed,

I'd like to persuade you to see another of my friends.

Another psychiatrist?

No, this one's a policeman.

Yes. Yes, this was his place, all right.

Whose?

Borgus Weems.

I knew that rang a bell when you mentioned it.

But I wasn't sure.

But who is Borgus Weems?

He was a strange man, Mr. Lacland.

A scholar, a traveler, a man of many parts, countless languages.

Thought to be rich.

Dabbled in the occult, too, it was said.

It was from that window he was pushed to his death four years ago.

You said pushed?

Yeah. And not without a struggle.

Who knows with what tenacity he clung on to this ledge?

All I can tell you is those fingernails of his were found dug

almost an inch into the wood of the sill.

Wait a minute.

If he was pushed to his death,

then how could his fingernails...

His right hand remained here in the room when he fell.

Someone had lopped it off at the wrist.

His... His right hand? In this room?

Who did it?

There was never a conviction.

He had a niece, she had a boyfriend.

We thought they'd done it, so we arrested them.

They got a lawyer, he got them acquitted.

What were their names?

Hers was Douglas. Susan, I believe.

Boyfriend's name I don't remember offhand.

And the lawyer's?

That name I'll never forget.

Mr. Everett Winterreich.

It's my beautiful Susan. She did it with this...

Brock Ramsey!

That can't be proven, not in court.

Don't you see? He knew.

Borgus Weems! He knew.

He lived here in these rooms.

He knew and he used me as his instrument of revenge.

My beautiful Susan, I was to love her and kill her.

If it's true,

if they did murder him and they got free,

then how is he ever to rest?

Mr. Lacland, you're becoming agitated.

Much too agitated for your recent trauma.

I'm going to prescribe for you a slight tranquilizer which...

Good Lord.

What is it? What's the matter?

What's the matter, Doctor? You almost sound as though...

That's Virgil.

"Arise, my avenger, out of my bones."

That's what you're prescribing for Mr. Lacland,

a dose of Virgil?

Good Lord.

Struggle all you want, my pretty.

Scream your lovely lungs out. It will avail you naught.

You think that I, who have confounded the French Surete,

am to be thwarted by a mere slip of a girl?

You are mine, do you hear? Mine.

Now and forever.

Who are you?

Who am I?

Can you not guess?

I am the scourge of Paris.

I am The Phantom of the Opera.

And you, my beauty, are my helpless captive.

Do not torment yourself needlessly

with fraudulent thoughts of rescue and escape.

This is an impenetrable fortress.

So, my sweet angel, relax.

Resign yourself to the inevitable.

With time, you'll see

that frozen heart of yours will thaw,

responsive to my devoted ardor.

I shall serenade you,

woo and win you,

kindling in your breast with impassioned music

that love you now deny me.

For now,

I lay but one unyielding injunction upon you.

Never, never,

upon pain of punishment most awful,

ever seek to discover

the face that finds sanctuary behind this mask of mine.

I can forgive all else.

Not that.

When you have restored yourself, exquisite lady,

perhaps you will contribute

that enchanting soprano voice of yours to the recital.

Together, we are a duet...

Foolish, impetuous girl.

Did I not warn you?

You have sealed your doom!