Original subtitles

SERLING: Tonight's stars:

Elizabeth Hartman,

Alex Cord,

Joanna Pettet,

and Gale Sondergaard.

Good evening and welcome to Night Gallery.

A potpourri of paintings slightly tilted left of center,

as is the case with our first selection.

This picturesque background is rural America.

Its central figure, a young schoolteacher.

But this is where the commonplace ends.

You're about to join a roster of students

in a learning experience quite without precedent.

The painting is called Dark Boy.

And this particular repository is called the Night Gallery.

You can put her things in the front parlor, Ernie.

We got you fixed up on the ground floor.

Give you more liberty to come and go.

It won't keep us awake going up the stairs,

if you come in late.

I'm Miss Abigail Moore.

This is my sister, Lettie.

Miss Abigail is on the Board of Education,

and seeing as we're so near the schoolhouse,

we had the other teacher here, too.

May I ask something?

Why did the other teacher leave so suddenly?

You can go right in.

April's been so cold and rainy,

we haven't got our peas in yet.

Good morning. Good morning.

Good morning.

Is this your doll?

Okay.

Don't come.

Well, Mrs. Timm, how did your first day go?

Oh, the children were darling. Only they seemed so nervous.

The teacher before you, I don't think she liked children.

She was nervous as a cat with kittens.

That's why she left.

Of course, she was younger than you, though.

Have you any children of your own, Mrs. Timm?

No. I never did.

My husband died not long after we were married.

Well, 17 children, that should keep me busy.

You had 17?

Yes. I counted them.

You had 16.

There are only 16 children in this school district.

I had 17.

I noticed, because I had 16, all blonds,

and this one brunette, a little dark boy.

He was in the fourth grade, I think.

He seemed so lonely.

I couldn't help it, I just wanted to hold him.

Sixteen. My sister's on the school board. She knows.

Anyhow, half the time there aren't even 16.

Some of them have to help their fathers in the fields.

Well, I must've miscounted.

How do you like a one-room schoolhouse?

Oh, I like it.

It's much better than having all the children regimented.

This way, they can move along at their own speed.

We don't have any fancy equipment.

Folks around here are poor.

Well, it's good for the older children to help the younger ones.

I was thinking I'd go back tonight.

You're going back to the schoolhouse tonight?

Yes, to get my records organized.

You oughtn't to go at night.

Why not?

Miss Mason went at night.

That's what started it. Lettie.

Anyway, why should you work so hard?

I like to work.

It keeps my mind off other things.

Why did you have to open your mouth?

I opened my mouth because it wouldn't be Christianly not to open my mouth.

Come in.

We waited up because we thought you might like a cup of tea.

Oh, how nice.

And a cookie. Thank you.

Oh, it's delicious.

How did your work go?

Oh, I just got the class lists together, checked the old records.

As long as you weren't disturbed,

I suppose you made good progress.

Well, actually, I was disturbed.

One of the boys looked in the window, but he wouldn't come in.

Which one?

That dark boy. I've forgotten his name.

It takes a while, you know, to get used to pupils in a new school.

It must be lonesome working in the school at night.

I don't expect you'll do much more night work, will you?

The morning I left, I got a note from someone.

It was just two words.

It said "Don't come."

Would you possibly know who might have written that?

I wouldn't possibly know. Would you possibly know?

No, I wouldn't possibly know.

You know, I was thinking last night

how long we go without laughing.

And that's too bad.

Some people, they live all their lives and they don't laugh.

Of course, I suppose some people don't have much to laugh about.

But, even so, it would help a little.

Oh, my!

What a wonderful horse!

I mean, he has six legs.

Think how fast he can go!

And I love the field of flowers.

Turnips! They're yellow turnips.

You the new teacher?

Yes, I'm Mrs. Timm.

I'm Tom Robb. Brought my boy over, Edward.

I don't care much about his coming to school,

but the law says he has to come,

so here he is.

Hello, Edward. Hello.

He won't be regular because I need him some days.

Yes, I know.

And I don't want him on any ladders. Understand?

Well, I'm sure we won't have to put Edward on any ladders.

Would you like to stay and visit school, Mr. Robb?

No, thank you, ma'am.

Well, perhaps your wife would like to come and visit sometime.

She died three years ago.

Oh, I'm sorry.

That's all right, ma'am. You wouldn't know.

Won't you come in?

I've been looking back in the school records,

and I guess your name is Joel, isn't it?

You've been in the fourth grade for two years.

Don't you want to learn faster?

How did you hurt yourself?

You fell off a ladder, didn't you? Here in school?

Come closer, Joel.

Are you afraid of me? I'm not afraid of you.

If you can't come to school in the daytime, I could teach you at night.

Why don't you come inside?

Joel? Joel!

Come in.

You shouldn't have waited up.

Not at all. We wanted to make sure.

You make me feel guilty keeping you up.

Well, we have our responsibilities.

It's a quiet, peaceful night, isn't it?

Mmm, beautiful. Full moon.

And you weren't disturbed?

Who would've disturbed me?

Except, of course, for that fourth-grade boy.

What boy?

That dark boy.

He looks like Tom Robb. Must be his son, or his brother's son.

I told you, Abbie, you'll have to move the schoolhouse

or else build a new one somewhere else.

Go on, Mrs. Timm.

At least tonight I managed to talk to him a little.

He seemed so pathetic, so eager for affection.

But he's shy. I suppose he misses his mother.

What did I say?

Did you happen to know the teacher that taught here before you? Miss Mason?

No. No, but I think she sent me this note.

I'm sure she did.

Poor woman. I'm afraid we did her a great injustice.

What injustice? And why should she warn me?

Miss Abigail, you're hiding something.

That is not right of you.

Easy, now, Dolly.

Whoa!

Edward, pick up that nest.

Dolly, you son of a gun, you stop that!

Don't lay your ears back at me, old girl.

You want a good hiding, Dolly?

Easy now. Whoa!

Dolly, whoa! Get around now!

Hello, Edward. Good morning, Mr. Robb.

Are you getting your spring crops in?

I need Ed today, he can't come.

I didn't come about Edward, I came about Joel.

Who? Your other boy, Joel.

The one with the scar on his forehead.

Why are you tormenting me? Why can't people leave us alone?

I'm sorry if I said anything.

Didn't they tell you?

Don't you know my boy Joel fell off your ladder in the schoolhouse

and cracked open his head?

No. No one told me anything.

He died two years ago.

But I've seen him.

I saw his face outside the window.

I talked with him. I saw the scar.

It was Joel, wasn't it?

Yes, it was. I see him, too.

But he never speaks, he never comes close.

He just haunts me.

You're afraid of him.

Maybe that's why he came to me.

I'm not afraid of him.

Why didn't you tell me the schoolhouse was haunted?

Who says it's haunted?

I've never been through anything like this in my life.

I don't even believe in these things.

Well, then don't! Then it isn't haunted.

But it is. That's why Miss Mason left.

She must have seen Joel Robb.

Melons need strong fertilizer.

The stronger the fertilizer, the sweeter the melons.

The least you could've done was warn me.

Why didn't you tell me that the schoolhouse was haunted?

We didn't really know.

Miss Mason said she saw him.

But we thought she was crazy. So we got rid of her.

We knew that you saw the boy the first day you got here.

Because the children all ran home and told their parents

that you had spoken to an empty seat.

I suppose now you'll want to leave.

I don't know.

We've done you a wrong.

But we didn't tell you because we need you.

The children need a teacher.

There's a stagecoach for Missoula

tonight.

I think I'll see Joel once more,

then I'll decide.

Two years of it.

They all said I was crazy.

They ran Miss Mason out. They'll run you out too.

I'd better go now.

No, don't go.

If you could just get used to not being afraid of him.

He's lonesome, that's all. And so are you.

And so am I.

I can't let you walk home alone.

If you don't mind, I'd like to walk you home.

I don't mind.

Hello, Joel.

Did you come to learn?

Shall we read a story tonight?

Well.

This is about a small boy lost in a giant forest.

You see how small he is against the trees?

It's called The Distant Light.

"Jamie could not remember how long he had been lost.

"It seemed he had been walking forever,

"and going deeper and deeper into the forest,

"until day no longer distinguished itself from night.

"He was not afraid.

"Perhaps in the very beginning, but not any longer.

"Nor did he feel alone,

"for there were many animals to keep him company.

"And it wasn't long before he learned to speak to them.

"The chipmunks chattered endlessly and usually about nothing.

"The wolves were serious, indeed,

"while the warthogs always seemed to be complaining.

"If the darkness would only go away,

"how perfect everything would be.

"And then one day,

"perhaps it was night,

"Jamie noticed a pinpoint of light

"shining between the trunks of two great trees.

"A light that grew bigger as Jamie began to run towards it,

"run with a swiftness he had never known,

"until the light was brighter than any...

"he had ever seen.

"A light untouched by darkness."

Your father's come to take you home, Joel.

Joel.

Remember how,

when you were out in the woods,

I'd whistle to you like a whippoorwill?

And you'd whistle back?

Why don't you do it now, Joel?

Every night I'd whistle to you from the back porch.

Won't you come home with us, Joel?

Joel? Joel?

Joel?

Joel!

I presume that most of you, in moments of weakness or in spasms of compassion,

have picked up a hitchhiker.

The story behind this item here

has to do with a man who stops his car and invites a stranger in.

And such a stranger,

the kind that makes you wish you'd taken the bus or stayed in bed.

It's titled Keep in Touch- We'll Think of Something.

No, lady. I promise you,

there is no kangaroo outside your window.

I don't have to send a patrol car. I guarantee it.

There is no kangaroo on any rooftop in San Francisco.

Wait a minute.

How old are you?

You have a deep voice for 10, you know that?

It's probably just a funny shadow.

It did what?

The kangaroo just went meow.

About my car, Detective?

What about it?

She can't have gotten far. It's a little sports car.

Green, yellow fog lights.

There can't be many of them on the streets at 3:00 in the morning.

You drive around a lot at this time?

Hardly. I'm usually up at 5:00.

I just couldn't sleep tonight.

Right.

And why do you usually get up at 5:00, Mr. Sutton?

I'm a pianist, Detective.

I get up at 5:00, practice for two hours. It's just a habit.

Picking up lady hitchhikers, is that a habit, too?

No, I've never done it before.

You told the officer you stopped at a liquor store.

When you came out she was gone, and the car with her.

Right.

Liquor stores aren't open at 2:00 a.m.

Uh, it wasn't for liquor, it was for a paper.

There was a newspaper vending machine in front of the store.

Okay, Mr. Sutton.

We find your car, we'll have a man call you.

What about the girl?

Aren't there mug shots I'm supposed to look through?

She beat you up or something?

Well, let's just worry about the car, all right?

You're not going to look for her?

For a car heist?

What kind of police work is that?

Normal, realistic, run-of-the-mill, understaffed police work.

Now, if you heard this woman talking about using your car for a bank job,

or if she attacked you or pistol-whipped you,

why, we'd go for an APB.

But she didn't. So let's just go for the car, all right?

And this way Mrs. Sutton won't have to worry about you

picking up strange ladies in the middle of the night.

Okay. Your car turned up three days ago in Oakland.

Tonight you can't sleep again and you go for another cruise.

You park above the Bay, go for a stroll.

When I returned to my car she was waiting for me.

Hiding.

The same broad who swiped your car last week follows you,

hits you over the head with a pistol and cops the car again.

That's a weird story, Mr. Sutton.

She could've gotten my name and address from the registration.

She could have, what do you call it, staked out my house.

Why? I don't know.

But I certainly don't like it.

Maybe your wife saw her. Are you going to tell her about this?

My wife and I have been separating for some time, Detective.

I'm going away on tour in a few weeks, and she's already moved out.

Got herself a little place in Sausalito.

And this lady that's after you,

she's got nothing to do with it?

Nothing.

Show him the pictures.

Well, how many did we come up with, Mr. Sutton?

Not one. Not even close.

Well, we'll dust your car for prints

the next time it turns up, okay?

No. That's not good enough.

Just because you haven't got her in your books

doesn't mean she's not in San Francisco.

What do you expect me to do, just take it easy?

Cool my heels, stop worrying about her stepping out of the shadows?

What if she decides to pull the trigger next time

instead of just busting me over the head?

Okay, you be me.

What do I do now?

Get me an artist.

No.

No, her bottom lip is fuller, is fuller.

That's it. That's it.

No, no.

The corners, they go down too much.

That's too hard.

She steals your car, she pistol-whips you,

and you're afraid she's gonna kill you next.

And you're telling Wally he's got the corners of her mouth too hard?

On the other hand, Mr. Sutton, I can see why you gave her a lift.

But why in the world were you getting a newspaper?

Will this be good enough?

To pick her up? Sure.

It's good enough to hang in the Louvre, ain't it, Wally?

What's wrong, Alfred?

He can wait for you, lady, but he can't wait two hours.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Foster.

Don't be silly, Alfred. That's all right.

Excuse me, lady,

but I'm gonna have to ask you to come down to the station with me.

Where is she?

Talking to her lawyer. One of the best.

Her name's Foster. Claire Foster.

Her husband's in construction.

Doesn't make any sense to me at all.

But she fits the description?

Perfectly, or I wouldn't stick my neck out.

Both nights she says she was with her husband.

Problem is he left for Venezuela this morning.

So I booked her. I can't hold her more than a couple of hours.

Ruthy? Okay, bring them in.

All right. When I call your number,

step forward into the light, please.

Number one.

Back, please.

Number two.

Back, please.

Number three.

Back, please.

Number four.

Back, please.

Number five.

So let's make it official.

Back, please.

Well?

She's not up there.

Sutton!

Mrs. Foster?

I'm sorry to put you through this,

but you can see why you were picked up.

Oh, it's me.

I don't understand.

Neither do I, but evidently it's not you.

Sergeant, we found Sutton's car.

His prints were the only ones on the wheel.

He just walked out of here. He can't be far. Get him back now.

I don't understand. Why has he done this?

That's what I want to know.

If he's filed a false report,

you've got a civil action against him.

Now, if you want me to see your lawyer about this...

No. No.

I'd like to talk to him first.

Do you know me from somewhere, Mr. Sutton?

From somewhere?

Yes.

But I've never had the pleasure of meeting you in person.

In person?

Miss Foster, please,

I can't tell you how sorry I am about this whole thing.

I want to apologize to you and your husband.

And if that has to be in the courts,

well, then, that's the way it is.

But it's not all that terrible.

You just had me confused with someone else.

Oh, no.

I couldn't confuse you with anyone.

Martini?

Yes, please.

No, you're the one, all right.

You're the one I've been looking for ever since I was in college.

I'd know that face anywhere.

The smile,

the way your hair falls across your eyes.

Your lips...

It's funny, but we never touched. Not physically.

We just communicated with looks.

A kind of projected understanding.

At parties, across the room, passing on the street...

Where has all this happened, Mr. Sutton?

In my dreams.

I didn't understand what you were talking about.

So you dreamed I stole your car?

No. No, not at all.

My dreams of you are always beautiful, always extraordinary.

When you look at me in those dreams, even though you say nothing,

I feel such love and understanding from you,

that I'm sublimely happy and capable of anything.

Well, if I look like that woman, Mr. Sutton,

it's certainly just a coincidence.

Coincidence? No. No. I doubt that.

I always used to think that you were just somebody I'd made up in my head.

But in the last few months,

I've been going through such torment in my personal life,

with only you in my dreams pulling me through,

that I thought maybe you really did exist.

That you were sending me messages,

that you'd been trying to get in touch with me for years.

So I drew up a description of you

and went to a private detective agency and asked them to find you.

They laughed, said it would take a fortune to even begin.

So I got this brainstorm. I decided to let the police find you.

And even that wasn't as easy as I'd hoped.

I finally had to bash myself over the head

before Detective Brice would make any real effort to look for you.

You mean that nobody stole your car?

You did all this just on the chance you might find me?

"Find me"?

Why did you say "Find me"?

What?

Why didn't you say, "Find the girl in your dreams"?

You said, "Find me."

Claire?

Mr. Sutton.

Please.

Erik.

All right. Erik.

Now, I appreciate the intensity of your dream.

I'd like to say I had a matching one, but the truth is I haven't.

Actually I've been married quite contentedly these last three years.

Contentedly or happily?

Stop it.

Stop picking away at me.

Trying to manufacture things that don't exist.

I'm sorry. Really.

I am too.

Forgive me.

I certainly don't want to press any charges, Erik.

I'm sure my husband won't either.

He's rather a compulsive dreamer himself.

Not as pleasurably as you, I'm sorry to say.

That would be interesting for you too.

See a psychiatrist, and find out what your dream means.

Walter never had the faintest idea what the strangling signified.

What strangling?

That's what his nightmare is.

That some man slips into our bedroom in the middle of the night

and strangles him.

It's not very pleasant.

He wakes up sometimes choking,

grabbing at the hands around his neck.

The doctor says he's trying to work out some sort of guilt complex.

Guilt about what?

I don't know.

We don't talk these things over quite as much as we used to.

In his dream, he never sees the man's face.

But there's a scar.

A long scar across the back of his hand.

Nothing.

You were hoping, weren't you?

Hoping?

No. For what?

For this. For it all to come true.

No.

Yes. He's guilty because he can't make you happy.

I have to go.

You're afraid of him.

He won't let you go and you don't know how to get out of it.

I haven't been perfect.

He knows it.

There'll be a long fight, ugly and scandalous.

Oh, he'll see to it that I get nothing. Nothing.

What difference does that make?

Come with me. I'm going on tour tomorrow.

Australia, New Zealand, halfway around the world.

But he'll be back next week.

Who knows what he'll do?

Stay here with me.

I can't. Oh, don't go.

I've got commitments, but you'll be with me.

No, I can't.

Can't what? Can't believe in a dream?

Can't see that some things are just destined to happen?

Oh, Claire, my sweet Claire.

Don't you see?

You and I, we're destiny's children.

We're meant to be together.

Don't worry, darling.

We can go on tour later.

You can stay at my place till the stitches come out.

Everything's gonna work out just perfectly.