All language subtitles for Night Gallery S02E10 The Dark Boy.DVDRip.NonHI.en.UNVSL

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.