Original subtitles

(OMINOUS MUSIC PLAYING)

SERLING: Tonight's stars:

Laurence Harvey,

William Windom,

Joanna Pettet,

Ed Nelson,

and John Williams.

Good evening.

I'm your little old curator

in this museum which we call the Night Gallery.

There are horror stories and horror stories.

Elements of terror that take myriad forms.

But this item has a built-in terror

which can refrigerate even the most dispassionate amongst us.

It has to do with a little beastie know as an earwig.

A small bug that crawls into the human ear,

and while inside, it doesn't whisper sweet nothings.

It performs quite another function.

Offered to you now on Night Gallery,

a brand new nightmare which we call The Caterpillar.

(CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYING ON GRAMOPHONE)

Does it never stop raining?

RHONA: Sometime in March.

WARWICK: You'll get used to it, old chap.

Really, after a while you ignore it.

I can assure you, I won't get used to it,

and I won't ignore it.

A few more days of this, and I'll go stark, staring, raving mad

and you can ship me back to England trussed up like an old guinea hen.

Well, the unfortunate thing is, lad, you really don't have much choice.

I don't know how you can stand it. I really don't.

And I don't know how poor Mrs. Warwick stands it either.

Poor Mrs. Warwick stands it very well, thank you.

I count myself a lucky man, Macy.

Not only is Rhona young and beautiful,

but very patient with an old colonial like myself.

You can have it. Both of you.

Borneo, the China and Java Seas and the whole ruddy Malay archipelago.

Take it all with my blessings!

Well, the first few weeks are the hardest.

I think I'll go out and check the north sheds.

See if they plugged up that leak.

Wet tobacco leaves are not easily pushed in the market.

Put your coat on, John. Bundle up.

My darling, I'm not 16, I'm 66.

I'll be back in quarter of an hour.

You are a moody one, Mr. Macy.

You go from outrage to silence as if it were a quick tram ride.

This place is conducive to moods.

And the scratchings of that miserable gramophone don't help either of them.

How can you stand it?

What? The music?

You make it sound rather like medicine.

I don't stand it, I enjoy it.

I take comfort from it.

How incredibly easy you are to please.

And that means what?

That means that you're under 28 years of age,

you're an absolute knockout

and you waste away here in a Borneo jungle,

5,000 miles from everything you know,

with a husband who's old enough to be your...

No more of that, please.

We judge things very differently, Mr. Macy.

Please call me Stephen.

I'll call you Mr. Macy.

And if ever again you mention my husband or me,

or the discrepancy in our ages

I shall call you something else, Mr. Macy.

As you pass through the door with your suitcase,

you'll hear what it is.

I beg your forgiveness.

You have my forgiveness, Mr. Macy.

But I do suggest you take each day as it comes.

Stop counting time.

In a year, suddenly, it'll all be over.

And then you can return to England

and the rains of Borneo will be but a small, insignificant,

historical footnote to your entire life.

Is that the way you do it?

Hardly.

John and I shall remain here for all our days.

Our life is here.

Well, thank heaven, mine isn't.

People like us don't belong here.

We become like jungle vegetation.

We mildew and rot and grow soggy.

Our brains and our insides are...

I would not force a wife of mine to stay.

If you had a wife who loved you, Mr. Macy

force wouldn't enter into it.

Marriage is love, not capitulation.

I'm here by choice.

And by love.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to prepare dinner.

Mrs. Warwick,

I meant nothing personal.

I signed a contract for a year and I shall honor it.

If I were to lose your friendship, Mrs. Warwick,

that would destroy the only pleasure I have in this place.

We are friends, aren't we?

Yes, of course we are, Mr. Macy.

(COUGHING)

Well now, didn't mean to barge in.

Really I didn't.

But I've got a load of kindling outside in the cart, Mrs. Warwick.

What with the wet weather and all,

I thought you and Mr. Warwick might be needing some.

We've got quite enough kindling, thank you, Mr. Robinson.

Oh, you don't know what your needs are going to be a few months from now.

Then ask my husband.

And, Mr. Robinson, we don't observe many of the social graces here

but knocking before entering a room is still considered de rigueur.

Oh, I don't doubt that, Mrs. Warwick.

I don't doubt that at all.

I don't believe we've met.

Tommy Robinson's the name and kindling's the trade.

Odd jobs, personal service,

almost anything in the way of aid to me fellow man.

I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Robinson,

as one of your fellow men.

You're that new bloke who just arrived a week ago, right?

Saw your baggage down on the docks, I did.

How you finding it?

Wet, buggy, humid and hot.

(LAUGHS) Don't doubt it.

Don't doubt it at all, young gentleman.

I've been here 20 years, meself.

Twenty years?

Yeah, I had me a choice.

It was either a London jail or a Borneo jungle.

Of course, that's no choice at all.

What about you?

What are you trying to escape from?

From dullness and convention, I thought.

God, how wrong I was.

Well then,

you have to come down to the village sometime

and have a snifter or two with me and a chat.

There's not too many Europeans in these parts, you know.

Sometimes it's good for a bloke to be with his own.

It's a pity, you know,

I can't offer you something of your own.

Say like that, what just left the room.

Yes, that is a pity.

There are ways and means and methods.

I'm afraid that eludes me.

Then we'll talk about it again, Mr. Macy. Yes.

We'll talk about it again, young gentleman.

WARWICK: What are you doing here?

TOMMY: I was just passing by, Mr. Warwick.

I had some kindling to sell.

Well, sell it somewhere else.

Stay away from here, I told you that before.

On your own way, Robinson.

Yes, sir.

Well, I see you've met our village entrepreneur.

Robinson?

Yes, the only known rodent in captivity with a Christian name.

What does he do around here, besides peddling kindling wood?

Scurries back and forth, selling contraband to the sailors.

Occasionally panders. Frequently steals.

And when he's out of whisky, he turns up here with a cartload of kindling.

Stay away from him, Macy. He'll do you absolutely no good at all.

Hello, darling. Darling.

Dinner in half an hour, darling.

Good, I'm famished.

What about you, Macy? An appetite?

Slowly growing.

Excellent! I know. Let's put some candles on the table tonight,

make it a bit festive.

I'll go and wash up.

Mr. Macy,

I think, perhaps, I do you an injustice.

Perhaps you do.

Then I'd like to offer my apologies in advance.

But I'm not a child.

I do know what loneliness can do to a man.

Loneliness and...

Abstinence.

Please, go on.

I have a suggestion.

A friendly suggestion.

Yes?

Take a cold bath, Mr. Macy.

TOMMY: Over here, Mr. Macy.

Over here, young gentleman.

Now then, what can I offer you, sir?

Nothing, thank you.

If not a whisky, then what?

What had you in mind, Mr. Robinson?

What have I in mind?

I rather thought you had something.

You did send this, didn't you?

"Should like to talk to you at your earliest convenience. Stephen Macy."

I rather thought that you had something definite in mind to discuss.

I don't have anything specific. It's...

It's just that I'm so bloody bored over there that I...

You sought out a bit of companionship this evening.

Understandable, young gentleman.

Understandable.

A man shouldn't be by himself all the time.

That's not healthy. It's not wholesome.

It isn't just being by myself, it's...

It's being close to her.

Close enough to touch.

Close enough to fondle.

And a beautiful thing she is, too.

And married to that old man.

(CLICKING TONGUE)

It's criminal, is what it is.

And night after night

we just sit

and talk about the tobacco crop

and the amount of rainfall

and the payroll.

And as the hours go by...

As the hours go by, I find it very difficult to...

TOMMY: I quite understand, young gentleman.

I quite understand.

Now then, what's to do?

I haven't an earthly...

I think you have, young gentleman.

I think you have a very good idea.

You bloody fool!

I'm not soliciting an assassination.

Assassination?

Oh, come new, young gentleman! Assassination?

I shudder at the very word.

The thought of a killing palpitates me, is what it does.

It sends shivers up and down my body.

Oh, no, Mr. Macy. No.

Nothing as bloody and violent as all of that.

What I had in mind was...

Well, it was more of an act of destiny.

Let me tell you something about Borneo.

We have here a kind of earwig.

A what?

An earwig. A kind of caterpillar.

A thing almost as fine as a spider's web.

It lives on wax.

Feeds on the innards of flowers.

And it has a decided liking for the human ear.

The natives hereabout, they have a distinct terror of it, they do.

You see, it moves and it rests so lightly on a human being

that one is practically unconscious of it.

Now, if you were to place one of these earwigs in a man's hair,

just above his ear,

well, once in the ear,

it's a thousand-to-one chance of it ever coming out the same way again.

You see, Mr. Macy,

it can't turn round.

Backing out is impossible.

So it continues to feed as it goes.

And it crawls right inside of the head.

The result that...

Dear God, no.

Think of it, Mr. Macy. Think of it.

Ultimately, it reaches the brain.

With the result that...

It's the end of it.

The complete end of it.

But while it's happening...

Oh, while it's happening,

well, it's a living torment, is what it is.

Torture.

But the net result, Mr. Macy.

(EXCLAIMS)

There's the beauty of it.

The net result is what it is we're looking for.

I want no part of it.

TOMMY: Mr. Macy!

Don't you want to know how we'd get the little earwig into Mr. Warwick's ear?

How?

Well, I have some friends, I have.

Stealthy chaps, you might say.

They walks on cat's feet, they do.

I could send one of them over there in the dead of night.

And I could tell him what was needed.

And in the morning...

Well, young gentleman,

in the morning Mr. Warwick would wake up

with a little visitor inside his head.

But the pain?

Oh, it's horrible, horrible! There's no doubt about it.

For how long?

Some say two weeks, sometimes.

Sometimes three.

The longest three weeks a man could ever spend.

And the cost?

Oh, well, I'm not a man to haggle, Mr. Macy.

It's against my nature, it is.

The cost!

Hundred pounds.

Done. When?

This very night, if that's your pleasure.

None of this is my pleasure.

Call it call it my...

Call it call it my ultimate desperation.

Then that's what we will call it,

if it's just a question of words.

And as to what you're paying for,

well, we won't call that assassination.

No, now what we'll call it is

prodding fate.

Yes, that's what we'll call it, prodding fate.

Call it what you damn well please.

When this is over,

I never want to see you again, you understand?

Mr. Macy.

You know, with your fine airs

and your London drawing room manner,

and your Mayfair proper talk,

down deep inside, you're a treacherous, murderous animal,

just like all the rest of us.

The only difference is

that you disdain a bit of blood on your hands.

You like to keep a clean shop, you do.

So, as to our seeing each another again...

Darling, tea?

MACY: Good morning. WARWICK: Good morning.

Sit down, old chap.

How did you sleep?

Fine, thank you. And you?

Oh, first rate.

Spot of breakfast?

Oh, just some tea please.

You know, it may be my imagination,

but I'd say the rain let up a bit during the night.

Oh, you'd be the better judge of that.

It all sounds the same to me.

Oh, thank you.

What's the matter, Mr. Macy?

Your ear bleeding? Must be some sort of bug bite.

It's in my ear.

The damn thing is in my ear!

What's in your ear?

Dear God, not an earwig.

RHONA: It's not possible.

We'd better get you to bed immediately. Come on, lad. To bed.

They put it in my ear!

Oh, my dear God, they put it in my ear!

(SHOUTING)

What in heaven's name is he talking about?

I'm afraid to guess.

(MACY SCREAMING)

TOMMY: Doc?

Doc?

What do you want, Robinson?

I thought Mr. Warwick told you to stay off his property.

I heard about their misfortune.

The young gentleman with the earwig.

Well, you can't help him.

No one can.

Bollocks! It's been two weeks now.

Yes. Two weeks of hell.

Oh, I don't doubt it.

Don't doubt it at all.

The thought of that thing crawling into your brain...

I don't require your analysis, Mr. Robinson.

I'm quite aware of what's happening to that poor soul.

Lying there with his hands bound

to keep him from tearing his own face apart.

But I think it's almost over now.

Might he have a visitor?

You? What for? The man is half insane now.

As you, or I, or anyone else would be with that monstrous thing in his head.

Mr. Macy! Mr. Macy!

I came to offer up apologies, sir.

Can you hear me?

Can you understand?

The native bloke which I sent over here that night

obviously got into the wrong room.

(GROANING)

I want

to die.

Oh, yes.

Well, you'll die all right, young gentleman.

Have no fear of that.

You will die.

It's just that I regret what happened.

The mistake, I mean.

I distinctly told that native bloke which room it was.

But there is this language difficulty, you know.

Mistakes will happen, you know.

Nobody's fault, really.

But I'm truly sorry for what happened, if that does any good.

Truly sorry.

Well, I've got to be off now.

But I did want to pay my respects.

And you might comfort yourself, young gentleman.

It won't last too much longer. Really it won't.

Not much longer at all.

Bye-bye.

(GROANING)

I still don't understand, Doctor.

It's quite simple, really.

The earwig traveled through the ear

and through the brain and...

Oh, forgive me, Mrs. Warwick.

Continue, please.

It came out the other ear.

And the damage?

(DOOR OPENS)

To the brain, we can only conjecture.

Perhaps little. We don't know.

There's no need to stop on my account.

Please continue.

Do you realize, Macy,

that you have been the recipient of a miracle?

And an undeserved one, at that.

In all my experience, I know of no man

who has survived what you have survived.

Or suffered the way I've suffered.

As you would have had this gentleman suffer.

Mr. Macy, did you believe that once a widow,

I'd turn to you?

And for that, you were willing to commit murder?

Or two, or three.

If you're expecting contrition, Mrs. Warwick,

you may cease your expectations.

What I did,

I did for love.

Dear God. Love?

Have you any remote idea as to the meaning of the word?

Whether I do or don't,

I've spent two weeks in hell, and paid the price, haven't I?

Well...

What happens now?

Am I to be placed under arrest?

Not at all, Macy. You won't be arrested.

Really?

Of course.

The scandal. Quite.

Good show.

Then I presume I am free to leave?

Any time.

There's a boat tomorrow afternoon.

I'll be on it.

For your professional interest, Doctor,

since I am the first person who has survived,

I'll tell you what it's like.

It's an agonizing, driving,

itching pain.

Anything would have been preferable.

To be flayed alive.

To be burned at the stake.

To be put on a rack.

To be hanged, even,

would've be an act of mercy.

I've told you, Macy, you're free to go.

You've told me,

but there's obviously something you haven't told me.

When I step off the boat in England,

that's when you mean to have me arrested.

Damn it all!

Somebody speak!

Somebody say something!

No, Mr. Macy, we have no intention of having you arrested,

either here nor in England.

We will not bring you to trial.

We will not see you flayed alive or burned at the stake or hanged.

Although any one of these might be an act of mercy.

Considering...

Considering what?

Sit down, Macy.

There's no need.

I think there is. Sit down.

I took a look at the earwig that came out.

I killed it, as a matter of fact.

I squeezed it.

And?

Rhona, I think you better leave.

It was a female, that earwig.

A female.

And a female

lays eggs.

(MACY SCREAMING)

Our next painting on Night Gallery

tells the story of an illusion.

An invisible specter, which guides and motivates and drives.

And though you'll never see her, this childish wraith,

you'll know she's there.

And we venture to suggest that you'll be chilled by the knowledge.

Our painting is called Little Girl Lost.

When did this happen?

HAWES: Six months ago.

BURKE: How?

A hit and run driver.

The police never did find out who.

And the mother?

Died in childbirth.

What's the little girl's name?

Ginny.

What's your reaction?

Why me?

You cleared security.

And I loathe to mention it, but our Professor Putman

has a natural sympathy for the afflicted.

It's important that he like you.

He certainly doesn't like any of us here.

I can't do anything if you don't tell me why I'm doing it.

It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say

that the future of this country depends on the Professor.

He was working on something when his little girl was killed.

It destroyed him.

He only began working again after he established his delusion.

Now he refuses to work here

and we can't keep him here except as, well, as you saw him.

Now, we want his genius,

and in order to get it, we have to play the game his way.

Then let him work when he wants, where he wants.

Exactly, and he needs protection.

But you're not only his bodyguard,

you're his friend.

Pass over his findings to us.

And above all keep him happy.

Well, does he give any reason for wanting to leave here?

HAWES: He says it's not the right place to bring up a young girl.

Ginny.

Very pretty.

This is taken on her eighth birthday?

Well, Ginny was... Ginny is very pretty.

Good morning, Mr. Burke.

Good morning, Professor.

Well, good morning, Ginny. Did you have a good breakfast?

I'm afraid not. The weather, I think.

But a trip to the seaside will be the antidote for that.

Some sunshine will do her a world of good.

She is a bit pale.

But what about your work?

Oh, that won't interfere.

You see, we will each have our own rooms.

Well, my darling, when would you like to leave?

(LAUGHS)

Right away?

Well, that will be fine with me. I'll pack.

And, Ginny, I won't forget your favorite red dress.

(EXCLAIMS) Now, I might have forgotten that.

(PEOPLE CHEERING)

PUTMAN: Come in.

Mr. Burke.

Ginny tells me you two had a wonderful time today.

Yes, she really has some appetite for cotton candy.

(LAUGHS) You found out about that, huh?

And her swimming!

You didn't let her go out too far, did you?

Oh, no. No, sir.

And I didn't trust her to the lifeguards either.

You kept her in sight the whole time?

Absolutely, sir.

Good, Burke.

Incompetence, you know, that's another thing.

Oh, it's easy to deal with deliberate evil,

but think of what the incompetence...

And, sir, if you remember she really doesn't need anyone to watch over her.

That's right. Half fish.

I'd say.

Here, sir, let me do that.

You? Yes.

Ginny, you don't mind if I brush your hair, do you?

No, I won't hurt you.

As a matter of fact, I brush my own hair every day.

And look, if I catch a snag,

then I promise I'll tell you a bedtime story, huh?

Oh, honey, I'm sorry.

Well, I promised you if I hit a snag I'd tell you a bedtime story.

Which one?

Well, she told me today that her favorite was The Three Bears.

You're right, she adores that one.

There you are. Now, we're all done.

Kiss your daddy good night,

and then I'll take you and tuck you in bed, huh?

Oh, come on now.

There we go.

Once upon a time, there were these three bears.

The papa bear, mama bear, and the little baby bear.

And they lived in the forest,

in a pretty little cottage.

One day, the three bears

went out to look for food.

(SOBBING) And while they were gone

a little girl came to the forest,

and she saw the cottage,

and she thought it was pretty.

And she went inside

and...

Good, he's working.

Yeah, he's working,

but I don't like it.

Neither do I.

I'm a doctor of the mind, my job is to heal.

What would you think of a doctor

who deliberately encouraged cancer in a man

because it increased his IQ?

Well, I think that would depend on what he does with that IQ?

Well, I can't tell you what he's working on.

I will say I feel he'd be much better off dead.

A stranger, some incident, any number of a thousand things

could make our professor realize that he's been living in a dream.

If you can't live with something, you escape it.

He's escaping by forgetting, and the trouble is he can't forget enough.

So, he keeps on trying.

Dementia praecox isn't very nice.

Yeah, I know, but with proper therapy...

Oh, proper therapy, man.

Damn it, they won't allow us time for that!

So, they give him his dream

until he's done his dirty work, and then...

And then what? Forget him? Let him go mad?

Why not?

What better way to safeguard the knowledge,

by allowing his mind to lapse into total insanity?

Well, Ginny, I imagine that after two weeks of cotton candy and sweets,

I wouldn't be hungry either.

She does looks wonderful, though.

Nothing like sea air.

I'm sorry, sir, this seat's taken.

MAN: Oh, it is, huh? Then where's the plate?

Look, I said...

Now, listen you, there's not another chair in the place, and I'm hungry!

(SPEAKING SPANISH)

There is a larger table just over here.

Please.

I'm sorry, sir.

Oh, that's all right.

Tom, the world is full of bad people.

Oh, that guy? Forget him.

How's the work?

Oh, it's finished. You can have the results tonight.

That's what you wanted, isn't it?

The final set of equations so they can begin testing.

Look...

Tests on controlled fission of non-radioactive materials.

Bigger and better bombs at a fraction of the cost!

Oh, the demented fools!

What don't we get out of here, huh?

Why don't we take Ginny for a walk? Why don't we buy her dolls?

Such eagerness.

A General himself fetching the papers.

Enjoying the ride, honey?

Well, good. Oh, we'll stop for lunch soon.

Murdering fools.

Sir, that kind of talk, I'm afraid, is scaring Ginny.

Sir! Sir! Ginny!

(TIRES SCREECHING)

(SHOUTS)

You could've killed both of us.

I know.

I'm sorry.

Okay, I'll drive.

Yes, you drive.

Wherever.

And what then?

I took the wheel.

Well, anything else? Did you do something, say anything?

I said...

He could've killed us both and he...

Both of you!

Oh, dear God!

You stopped him just in time from committing suicide.

But why should he want to kill himself?

I don't know.

The papers have arrived by now.

And they're hard at work on the tests.

I want to see the Professor.

PUTMAN: Oh, Ginny. Ginny.

We'll all be with you soon.

Me and Mommy, Tom.

You like Tom, don't you?

The world is rotten, darling.

Bad men, all bad.

Better dead.

All the same, all together.

No matter. He can't hear us now.

What do you mean, Doctor?

You can't fool the subconscious.

He knows she's dead!

I didn't mean to...

It's not your fault, Burke.

It's us. All of us.

Can a man remain a genius when his mind is clouded by delusion?

No!

But by your pretending that Ginny was still alive,

you took over his delusion.

He could be objective and finish his work.

But he was talking as if he was going to see her.

Yes, and the only way to do that is to die.

And he can't commit conscious suicide.

You see, that's the conflict.

The conflict that leads to insanity

and the desperate need to escape from opposing problems.

And that is the man

who worked out the means to create fission

with non-radioactive materials!

What are you saying, Doctor?

Do I have to explain?

But, look, it's madness to give them the wrong formula.

Madness, or perhaps the perfect solution?

Is it too late?

I'm afraid it is!

When our world goes up in flames,

he'll be revenged on the murder of his little girl.

And, at the same time,

he'll be with her in the only way he can.

(BOMB EXPLODING)