Dark fantasy. I am the master of the headless dead. I say, Goyard, just call me Swiss, sir. Spelled with an E at the end. Yes, yes, yes, of course. You remind me before. What were you about to say, sir? I was about to observe that this Tower of London is quite a historic place. That it is, sir. Historic indeed. And haunted, I have heard tell. Oh, have you now, sir? Oh, yes. Don't tell me you haven't heard stories about the tower's ghost. Perhaps I have. Perhaps not. Of course, I don't believe that sort of rubbish, you know. Rubbish? Certainly rubbish. Don't tell me, Mr. Swift, with an E, don't tell me you believe in such things as ghosts and haunts. What I believe, sir, I believe. Certainly not the legend of the gambling spook of Wycothor. The ghost invariably appears whenever a gambling game is in progress in Wycothor or here in the tower. It always wins the stakes. Yes. Don't tell me you believe such a fantastic yarn as that. Or such an unbelievable story as the one about the pig faced specter of the rectory. I imagine Brother Randolph would tell you there's nothing fantastic about the story at all. Brother Randolph? Yes, sir. He's the overseer of the rectory. He's seen the specter many times. Well, he's probably just superstitious too. Brother Randolph says the thing is always dressed in a long black cloak. As the body of a human, but the face is that of some grotesque and repulsive animal. It sounds like an old wives' tale. Mind you, sir, I'm not trying to convince you about such things. That's the entrance to the choir loft, the chapel over there. Chapel? Didn't know there was one in here. It's a chapel of St. Peter at Wynkera. Is it possible for me to go in there? Picking your body, sir. That's what the climb up the stairs was for. We always like to show visitors the choir loft, the chapel. Well, then let's have a gander at the place, shall we? Yes, it is, sir. Here, the key. Always keep this locked. No, I have it in anything else. Nobody ever climbs those steps unless they're shown them through the tower. Here they are, sir. Yeah, I say. It's dark in there. How about a light, my man? Oh, no, blimey. I completely forgot to turn the lights on the fuse box down below. If you don't mind waiting, sir. Oh, no, no, no. Wait. I wouldn't ask anyone to climb those steps again. There's enough light coming through the stained glass panes. I say, would you lead the way? Yes, yes, yes, of course. Watch your step, sir. Step up here. There you are, sir. Look at him, sir, the chapel below, sir. Yes. Deserted looking, isn't it? It isn't as deserted as you might think, sir. Hm? What was that? You see only as far as you permit yourself to see, sir. I don't believe I understand. If you look for emptiness, sir, you see emptiness. But it is empty down there. Is it, sir? I suppose you're trying to tell me this chapel is haunted, too. As it ought to be, sir. Right. Yes, indeed. You see, sir, it's the buried place of the headless dead. It's another of those idiotic legends. Hardly a legend. You see those flagstones down there, front of the altar? Faintly, yes. Those stones form more than just the sanctuary floor, sir. They're also tombstones. You tell me such a thing as that, Mr. Swift. Cause is truth. You mean people are buried beneath those flagstones? Including, I might add, two of England's queens. Not actually. Oh, yes. Actually. I've never heard that before. Few people have, sir. Then that's why you say the place down there isn't deserted. In a manner of speaking, that's what I mean. Yes. Have you observed the huge pipe auger here in the loft, sir? Hmm? Oh, yes, yes, yes, sir. I noticed when we came in. But getting back to what you were talking about. It's quite a famous instrument, I must say. Been played by dozens of famous people. Oh, it has? Could I play it? Well, it's against regulations, sir. But, well, if you play softly, sir. Well, now, I say that's mighty good of you. I do have somewhat of a reputation for playing the organ. Hmm. You play well, sir. Quite well. Thank you. A rather old instrument, isn't it? Hmm. Beautiful tone, though. Beautiful. And you will see in the beginning. What's that? And you will see in the beginning. After the burn. Keep playing, sir. Keep playing. What? Quickly, quickly, sir. Before it's too late. Play. That voice. What is it? No one knows. He always speaks like that in Latin. Where a stranger plays his organ for the first time. Can you see who it is? No one has ever seen who it is. He has lost it on the way. Is he gone? Yes. You'll hear no more of him today. But what's the explanation? Who is it? Why does he do that? There is no explanation. I must admit, sir, I've often heard of the ghost of St. Peter's Chapel. But this is the first time I've actually heard him. He always does that? Whenever a stranger plays his organ for the first time. Will he return if I play again? No. He always speaks just once. And he's never heard again. Until another organist plays for the first time. Amazing. Absolutely incredible. I say, sir, it's about closing time. Do you mind if I leave you now? I know, I know. Of course not. You recall your way out of the tower, I trust. Look around a while longer if you wish. I'll return later to lock this call-off. But I don't know whether I want to remain here. Don't worry, sir. You're quite all right. Besides, you don't believe in such rubbish as ghosts. Yes, but I... I'm happy to have shown you the answer. By the way, what did you say your name is? Holman. Frederick J. Holman. Then I'm very happy to have known you, Mr. Holman. Who knows? Perhaps your visage will make you a changed man. Hmm. Now, whatever did he mean by that? I say, what's come over me? I feel so sleepy. Yes, sleepy. Oh, I'd best sit here, here in this pew. Hmm. Strange. Never felt like this before. I'll sleep here a while, then go home. Huh? What's that? Oh. Oh. I went to sleep. Oh, I remember now. I slept here in this chapel pew. I say, the door's closed now. Mr. Swift accidentally returned and locked me in. That's strange. Why didn't he awaken me? What's that? No. No. It can't be. There's stones at the foot of the altar. They're being pushed up by someone underneath. Hands. And arms. Long bony arms. Pushing up the flagstones. And over to the right, two ghostly figures rising out of the tombs in the floor. No. No, it's not possible. It can't be. Figures. Dozens of them now. Leaving their tombs. Forming a procession down the middle aisle of the chapel. And each of them is headless and carrying his head before him in his hands. Look at them. Marching. In a slow procession down the center aisle. Marching. Marching. Marching. Marching. On soundless feet. That man in front. The one in ancient armor. He seems to be the leader of those fantastic creatures. Oh, is this a dream? Is this a nightmare? No. It is not a dream. Ah. How did you get up here? Just a moment ago, you were down below leading the procession. It is not our custom to hold our eyes while an intruder is present. But I was locked in here. I didn't intend to be here. Now that you are here, you must make the most of it. What? What do you mean? You are now as one of us. It... It was you who prayed when I played the organ earlier today. Yes. I always pray when a stranger sits at the console. You see, it was I who first played this organ when it was installed. Don't you think I play well? But why do you return when others play? Because no one could ever play it as well as I. Therefore, I pray for them. You... you're dead. And yet, you're playing the instrument now. Yes. I always provide the music for our nightly meetings. I don't understand all this. Those others down there, they're ghastly creatures. Headless? Yes. They were less fortunate than I. You see, I managed to keep my head. They were executed? How else would they have come to be headless? You see, we would become quite uncomfortable lying in our graves beneath the flagstone floor if we didn't arise occasionally and stretch ourselves. Good heavens. Look, you... down below there. Will it amaze you for me to tell you that in that possession are some of history's most famous people? Surely this isn't happening. Indeed. Believe me, you're quite mistaken. Didn't you know that here in the chapel of St. Peter and Ventrilo are buried such famous people as Sir Thomas More, Henry VIII's queens, Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard? I do remember that, but I... As well as Lady Jane Grey and Dudley, her husband, and Sir Walter Raleigh and the Duke of Monmouth. But they have all been dead for hundreds of years. How true. How very true. Grick Holman, you will join us. What? I said you will join in the procession with us. No, not I. It must be so. No one can look upon the possession of the headless dead unless he joined them to save himself. Save myself? What do you mean? You will discover what I mean if you refuse to take part in the ceremony. But not now. Not tonight. Perhaps later. Yes, some other time. It will be more satisfactory for you to join us tonight. I can't tonight. Can't we make it some other night? Honestly, I fell asleep here. It's later than I thought. It's exactly midnight. I must return home. My family will be frantic. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll return to join you tomorrow at midnight. What? Tomorrow at midnight. You will return to join in the procession. Yes. Yes, that's fine. You can count on it. Raise your right hand. My right hand? Yes, raise it. Now repeat after me. I solemnly swear... I solemnly swear... By the souls of the sacred dead... By the souls of the sacred dead... To return to this chapel tomorrow at midnight. To return to this chapel tomorrow at midnight. So help me, Heaven. So help me, Heaven. Now, you may go. Yes, but the door to the choir loft is locked. It is locked. But you will have no trouble going out through it. And remember, Frederick Holman... Tomorrow night at midnight. Just you wait. Frederick dear... You're worried about something. It was one o'clock when you came home last night. You've never done that before. No, I know, Laura, my dear, I know. You acted so strangely when you did get home. What's more, you didn't sleep. You tossed all night long. Laura, I must tell you something. Well, I certainly think I have some explanation coming. Yes. Yes, you have. I... I don't know how you're going to accept this, but... Well, here goes. I went to visit the Tower of London yesterday. I saw the prison cells... and the execution and torture chambers. Finally, the guard took me to the little chapel of St. Peter of Inca. So I promised to return to the chapel tonight at midnight. They permitted me to leave the chapel. Frederick, surely you were dreaming. No, I'm sure it was no dream. It was all too realistic. I saw those people and heard them. But things like that don't happen. I'm very positive this happened, Laura. Oh, nonsense. You were just affected by those ghost stories that guide told you about the tower. Oh dear, you're wrong. I've never believed in such things before. Now? Well... Surely you don't intend to go back there tonight. Do you? I don't know, Laura. I don't know. Hello. Hello, Laura. I say, Laura, are you there? Laura. Oh, I'm sorry, dear. I thought for a moment we'd been disconnected. Yes, I can hear you now. What I call a ghost story is a story of a man who was killed in a car accident. I'm sorry, dear. I'm sorry, dear. I'm sorry, dear. I'm sorry, dear. I'm sorry, dear. I can hear you now. What I call for, dear, was to say I'm dining at the club tonight. Yes, old Simon Joster is off to the Orient. We're having a dinner for him. Yes, I'll be home early. Huh? What's that? No, Laura. I've decided not to go to the tower tonight. I think you're probably right. It all must have been a dream. Good evening, Mr. Holman. Your car, sir. Thank you, Henry. Shall I drive you to the tower, sir? Tower? Of course not, Henry. Drive me straight home. Whatever made you think I'd want to go to the tower at this time of night? I don't rightly know, sir. Begging your pardon, Mr. Holman, I don't know what to do. I don't know what made me ask you that. Really, I don't. Drive me home, Henry. Yes, sir. By the way, what time do you have, Henry? It's just a minute or two before midnight, sir. Very well. Take me home at once. Did you say something, sir? Did you hear something, Henry? Hear something, sir? Yes, that voice. Voice, Mr. Holman. Don't you hear that voice? No, sir. I don't hear nothing, sir. Listen, it's him. Listen to him. You must be tired, sir. There's nobody. That voice. Really, sir? Don't tell me you haven't heard the gambling spook of why it goes on. No, no, it can't be. Our brother Randolph's big face specter of the rectory. No one could ever play the organ as well as I. That's what he said. The man in armor. You see, only as far as you permit yourself to see, sir. You see, I manage to keep my head. If you look for emptiness, sir, you see emptiness. Then it wasn't a dream. The flagstones of the sanctuary floor are also tombstones. It's true. It wasn't a dream. You must join our procession. Henry. The atlas dead. Join our procession. The atlas dead. Join our procession. The atlas dead. Henry, in the name of heaven, man, look where you're driving. I can't stop, sir. Look out, you're going to hit that truck. Mr. Holman. Henry, look out. Mr. Holman. Mr. Holman, are you all right, sir? We hit that truck and... Mr. Holman, we hit that truck broadside and... Mr. Holman, look out, it's so hard. Greetings, Frederick Holman, and welcome. I am pleased that you have kept your appointment with us. You have heard the atlas dead. Tonight's original tale of dark fantasy by Scott Bishop. Ben Morris played Frederick Holman. Eleanor Nalocorn was Mrs. Holman. Fred Wayne was Swift. Garland Moss was the leader of the atlas dead. And Murillo Schofield was heard as the chauffeur. Next Friday night at the same time, we'll bring you a strange and weird tale of the unusual. Death is a savage deity based upon Scott Bishop's novel of the same name. Listen for this breathtaking tale of witchcraft and black magic. Dark fantasy originates each Friday night in the studios of WKY, Oklahoma City. This is the National Broadcasting Company.