The Twilight Zone

[Opening narration - season 4 & 5]

Narrator:
You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension - a dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind. You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. You've just crossed over into the Twilight Zone.

[Opening narration (season 1)]

Narrator:
There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.

[Opening narration - season 3]

Narrator:
You are traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land of imagination. Next stop, the Twilight Zone!

[Opening narration - season 2]

Narrator:
You're traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. That's the signpost up ahead - your next stop, the Twilight Zone!

[Opening narration-Season 1 alternate]

Narrator:
You are about to enter another dimension. A dimension not only of sight and sound, but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land of imagination. Next stop, the Twilight Zone!

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Jesse Cardiff, pool shark. The best on Randolph Street, who will soon learn that trying to be the best at anything carries its own special risks in or out - of The Twilight Zone.

[last lines]

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Mr. Jesse Cardiff, who became a legend by beating one, but who has found out, after his funeral, that being the best of anything carries with it a special obligation to keep on proving it. Mr. Fats Brown, on the other hand, having relinquished the champion's mantle - has gone fishing. These are the ground rules - in The Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
The year is 1847, the place is the territory of New Mexico, the people are a tiny handful of men and women with a dream. Eleven months ago, they started out from Ohio and headed west. Someone told them about a place called California, about a warm sun and a blue sky, about rich land and fresh air, and at this moment, almost a year later, they've seen nothing but cold, heat, exhaustion, hunger, and sickness. This man's name is Christian Horn. He has a dying eight-year old son and a heartsick wife, and he's the only one remaining who has even a fragment of the dream left. Mr. Chris Horn, who's going over the top of a rim to look for water and sustenance and in a moment will move into the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Mr. Christian Horn, one of the hardy breed of men who headed west during a time when there were no concrete highways or the solace of civilization. Mr. Christian Horn, and family and party, heading west, after a brief detour to The Twilight Zone.

McNulty:
Say, uh, you wouldn't be interested in having dinner, would ya?

Secretary:
If I were starving to death and you were the last man on Earth and it meant my survival, I might be. But I'm not, you're not, and it doesn't, so drift, McNulty.

McNulty:
Mr. Cooper? [enters his office where he is frozen, kissing his secretary, backs out] Excuse me.

McNulty:
Wouldn't you think that after one year of putting ideas in that suggestion box, after one whole year, that I'd get noticed?

Joe:
Let me tell you something, MacNulty. Getting noticed and getting liked are two different things.

McNulty:
Dah, what do you know?

Joe:
Nothing, McNulty. Not a thing.

Daniel:
[leaving] Good night, Joe.

Joe:
Daniel, wait!... All I know is that every night, of every week, of every month, except Election Day, you come in here and drive everybody out of their skulls walking on your lower lip. Now you think about that now, will ya? Would you do that? Will you think about that?

Joe:
You're the one guy that makes me wish they never repealed prohibition.

Joe:
Give me a heart-attack sometime, will ya, McNulty? Leave a tip.

McNulty:
Joe, insult me!

McNulty:
Cutchie-cutchie-Cooper!

Secretary:
What's the suggestion this time, McNulty? If you haven't got one, I've got one for you. Why don't you, jump off, a bridge.

Narrator:
[opening narration] Submitted for your approval or at least your analysis: one Patrick Thomas McNulty, who, at age forty-one, is the biggest bore on Earth. He holds a ten-year record for the most meaningless words spewed out during a coffee break. And it's very likely that, as of this moment, he would have gone through life in precisely this manner, a dull, argumentative bigmouth who sets back the art of conversation a thousand years. I say he very likely would have except for something that will soon happen to him, something that will considerably alter his existence - and ours. Now you think about that now, because this is The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Mr. Patrick Thomas McNulty, who had a gift of time. He used it and he misused it, and now he's just been handed the bill. Tonight's tale of motion and McNulty - in the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] A hotel suite that, in this instance, serves as a den of crime, the aftermath of a rather minor event to be noted on a police blotter, an insurance claim, perhaps a three-inch box on page twelve of the evening paper. Small addenda to be added to the list of the loot: a camera, a most unimposing addition to the flotsam and jetsam that it came with, hardly worth mentioning really, because cameras are cameras, some expensive, some purchasable at five-and-dime stores. But this camera, this one's unusual because in just a moment we'll watch it inject itself into the destinies of three people. It happens to be a fact that the pictures that it takes can only be developed in The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Object known as a camera, vintage uncertain, origin unknown. But for the greedy, the avaricious, the fleet of foot, who can run a four-minute mile so long as they're chasing a fast buck, it makes believe that it's an ally, but it isn't at all. It's a beckoning come-on for a quick walk around the block - in The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[opening narration] Portrait of a man at work, the only work he's ever done, the only work he knows. His name is Henry Francis Valentine, but he calls himself "Rocky", because that's the way his life has been - rocky and perilous and uphill at a dead run all the way. He's tired now, tired of running or wanting, of waiting for the breaks that come to others but never to him, never to Rocky Valentine. A scared, angry little man. He thinks it's all over now but he's wrong. For Rocky Valentine, it's just the beginning.

Henry Francis 'Rocky' Valentine:
If I gotta stay here another day, I'm gonna go nuts! Look, look. I don't belong in heaven - see? I wanna go to the other place.

Mr. Pip:
Heaven? Whatever gave you the idea you were in Heaven, Mr. Valentine? This *is* the other place!

[laughs malevolently as Valentine tries to get out of the room, to no avail]

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] A scared, angry little man who never got a break. Now he has everything he's ever wanted - and he's going to have to live with it for eternity - in The Twilight Zone.

Henry Francis 'Rocky' Valentine:
Everything I ever got out of this world I had to drag out of it.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Joey Crown, musician with an odd, intense face, whose life is a quest for impossible things like flowers in concrete or like trying to pluck a note of music out of the air and put it under glass to treasure.

Narrator:
[continued narration subsequent to extensive character dialogue] Joey Crown, musician with an odd, intense face, who, in a moment, will try to leave the Earth and discover the middle ground - the place we call The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Joey Crown, who makes music, and who discovered something about life; that it can be rich and rewarding and full of beauty, just like the music he played, if a person would only pause to look and to listen. Joey Crown, who got his clue in the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Mr. Hector B. Poole, resident of the Twilight Zone. Flip a coin and keep flipping it. What are the odds? Half the time it will come up heads, half the time tails. But in one freakish chance in a million, it'll land on its edge. Mr. Hector B. Poole, a bright human coin - on his way to the bank.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
One time in a million, a coin will land on its edge, but all it takes to knock it over is a vagrant breeze, a vibration, or a slight blow. Hector B. Poole, a human coin, on edge for a brief time - in the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Mr. Fitzgerald Fortune, theater critic and cynic at large, on his way to a birthday party. If he knew what is in store for him, he probably wouldn't go, because before this evening is over, that cranky old piano is going to play 'Those Piano Roll Blues' - with some effects that could happen only in the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Mr. Fitzgerald Fortune, a man who went searching for concealed persons and found himself - in the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
It's August 1945, the last grimy pages of a dirty, torn book of war. The place is the Philippine Islands. The men are what's left of a platoon of American Infantry, whose dulled and tired eyes set deep in dulled and tired faces can now look toward a miracle, that moment when the nightmare appears to be coming to an end. But they've got one more battle to fight, and in a moment, we'll observe that battle. August 1945, Philippine Islands - but in reality, it's high noon - in The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
'The quality of mercy is not strained, it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.' Shakespeare, the Merchant of Venice, but applicable to any moment in time, to any group of soldiery, to any nation on the face of the Earth - or, as in this case, to The Twilight Zone.

Dr. Raymond Gordon:
I wonder if she has any idea what she's done, even one slight, little suspicion. But I promise you, that if you don't survive or if you're damaged in any way, I'm gonna take it out of her skin, piece by piece. She's gonna donate a pint of blood for every pint that she's bled out of you. That's not a medical hypthesis, that's a promise.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Picture of an aging man who leads his life, as Thoreau said, 'in quiet desperation.' Because Harmon Gordon is enslaved by a love affair with a wife forty years his junior. Because of this, he runs when he should walk. He surrenders when simple pride dictates a stand. He pines away for the lost morning of his life when he should be enjoying the evening. In short, Mr. Harmon Gordon seeks a fountain of youth, and who's to say he won't find it? This happens to be The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] It happens to be a fact: as one gets older, one does get wiser. If you don't believe it, ask Flora. Ask her any day of the ensuing weeks of her life, as she takes notes during the coming years and realizes that the worm has turned - youth has taken over. It's simply the way the calendar crumbles - in The Twilight Zone.

Misrell:
We have now been here thirty-four minutes, Mr. Williams.

Gart Williams:
This is a communication from Jake Ross.

Misrell:
Would you be so kind as to share its contents with us?

Gart Williams:
I can give you the sense of it very quickly, Mr. Misrell. This is Jake Ross's resignation. He's moving over to another agency.

Misrell:
And...?

Gart Williams:
And he's taking the automobile account with him.

Misrell:
That account represented a gross billing of something in the neighborhood of three million dollars a year! And how many times have you promised it to me?

Gart Williams:
This is as much a shock to me as it is to you, Mr. Misrell.

Misrell:
Don't sit down! And don't con me, Williams. It was your pet project. Your pet project! Then it was your idea to give it to that little college greenie. Now, get with it, Williams! Get with it, boy! So what's left, Williams? Not only has your pet project backfired, but it's sprouted wings and left the premises. I'll tell you what's left to us in my view. A deep and abiding concern about your judgment in men. This is a push business, Williams. A push push push business. Push and drive! But personally, you don't delegate responsibilities to little boys. You should know it better than anyone else. A push push push business, Williams. It's push push push, all the way, all the time! It's push push push, all the way, all the time, right on down the line!

Gart Williams:
Fat boy, why don't you shut your mouth!

Janie Williams:
And just where would you be if it weren't for my appetite?

Gart Williams:
I know where I'd like to be.

Janie Williams:
Where's that?

Gart Williams:
A place called Willoughby, a little town I manufactured in a dream.

Janie Williams:
Tell me about your dream, Gart.

Gart Williams:
It was an odd dream. Very odd dream. Willoughby. It was summer, very warm. Kids were barefooted. One of them had a fishing pole. It all looked like a Currier and Ives painting. Bandstand, bicycles, wagons. I've never seen such serenity. It was the way people must have lived a hundred years ago. Crazy dream.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] This is Gart Williams, age thirty-eight, a man protected by a suit of armor, all held together by one bolt. Just a moment ago, someone removed the bolt, and Mr. Williams' protection fell away from him and left him a naked target. He's been cannonaded this afternoon by all the enemies of his life. His insecurity has shelled him, his sensitivity has straddled him with humiliation, his deep-rooted disquiet about his own worth has zeroed in on him, landed on target, and blown him apart. Mr. Gart Williams, ad agency exec, who, in just a moment, will move into the Twilight Zone - in a desperate search for survival.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Willoughby? Maybe it's wishful thinking nestled in a hidden part of a man's mind, or maybe it's the last stop in the vast design of things - or perhaps, for a man like Mr. Gart Williams, who climbed on a world that went by too fast, it's a place around the bend where he could jump off. Willoughby? Whatever it is, it comes with sunlight and serenity, and is a part of The Twilight Zone.

Edith:
Mr. Finchley, in this conspiracy you speak of, this mortal combat between you and the appliances, I hope you lose.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] This is Mr. Bartlett Finchley, age forty-eight, a practicing sophisticate who writes very special and very precious things for gourmet magzines and the like. He's a bachelor and a recluse with few friends, only devotees and adherents to the cause of tart sophistry. He has no interests save whatever current annoyances he can put his mind to. He has no purpose to his life except the formulation of day-to-day opportunities to vent his wrath on mechanical contrivances of an age he abhors. In short, Mr. Bartlett Finchley is a malcontent, born either too late ot too early in the century, and who, in just a moment, will enter a realm where muscles and the will to fight back are not limited to human beings. Next stop for Mr. Bartlett Finchley - The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Yes, it could just be. It could just be that Mr. Bartlett Finchley succumbed from a heart attack and a set of delusions. It could just be that he was tormented by an imagination as sharp as his wit and as pointed as his dislikes. But as perceived by those attending, this is one explanation that has left the premises with the deceased. Look for it filed under 'M' for Machines - in The Twilight Zone.

[first lines]

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] You're looking at a tableau of reality, things of substance, of physical material: a desk, a window, a light. These things exist and have dimension. Now this is Arthur Curtis, age thirty-six, who also is real. He has flesh and blood, muscle and mind. But in just a moment we will see how thin a line separates that which we assume to be real with that manufactured inside of a mind.

[last lines]

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] The modus operandi for the departure from life is usually a pine box of such and such dimensions, and this is the ultimate in reality. But there are other ways for a man to exit from life. Take the case of Arthur Curtis, age thirty-six. His departure was along a highway with an exit sign that reads, 'This Way To Escape.' Arthur Curtis, en route to the Twilight Zone.

Marty:
Hey, remember me, Gerry? Marty Fisher, your friendly neighborhood movie director.

Arthur Curtis:
[Picks up the phone and dials the operator] May I have information please. Would you get me the telephone number of Arthur Curtis, 22437 Ventner Road in Woodland Hills, please. Ventner. V-E-N-T-N-E-R.

Arthur Curtis:
What? Oh, no no, you're mistaken. Of course there's a phone there.

Arthur Curtis:
No, listen, it's my own home. I'm Arthur Curtis. I...

Arthur Curtis:
Well I can't seem to remember it at the moment. Will you...

Arthur Curtis:
No no, it's not an unlisted number. I... I don't think. Will you please try again, operator. I know there's a phone there.

Arthur Curtis:
You're wrong, operator. Please connect me with your supervisor.

[character first lines]

Mary:
[mixing Gregory a martini] You really should be working, you know.

Gregory West:
You're nagging me.

Mary:
I'm only thinking of posterity.

Gregory West:
[tenderly] Think of me, instead.

Mary:
[smiles] Don't I always?

[They look at each other lovingly. Mary takes a sip from the glass]

Gregory West:
Yes, you do. Dry enough?

Mary:
We'll let the master decide.

[offers him the glass]

Gregory West:
[takes sip] Perfect. As always.

Mary:
[smiles] Are you describing yourself, Mr. West?

Gregory West:
Let the mistress decide.

Mary:
She's decided.

[she sits down next to him and he holds her in his arms]

[opening narration continues]

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] The home of Mr. Gregory West, one of America's most noted playwrights. The office of Mr. Gregory West. Mr. Gregory West - shy, quiet, and at the moment, very happy. Mary - warm, affectionate. [narration continues subsequent to character first lines] And the final ingredient - Mrs. Gregory West.

Rod Serling:
We hope you enjoyed tonight's romantic story on The Twilight Zone. At the same time, we want you to realize that it was, of course, purely fictional. In real life, such ridiculous nonsense could never...

Gregory West:
Rod, you shouldn't! [Gregory interrupts Rod Sterling. He walks over to his safe and pulls out a tape marked Rod Serling]

Gregory West:
I mean, you shouldn't say such things as "nonsense" and "ridiculous!" [Gregory continues as he throws the tape into the fire]

Rod Serling:
Well, that's the way it goes. [in a resigned tone as he fades away]

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Leaving Mr. Gregory West, still shy, quiet, very happy - and apparently in complete control of the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Tonight a presentation so special and unique that, for the first time in the five years we've been presenting The Twilight Zone, we're offering a film shot in France by others. Winner of the Cannes Film Festival of 1962, as well as other international awards, here is a haunting study of the incredible, from the past master of the incredible, Ambrose Bierce. Here is the French production of 'An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge.'

[closing narration]

Narrator:
An occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge - in two forms, as it was dreamed, and as it was lived and died. This is the stuff of fantasy, the thread of imagination... the ingredients of the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Her name: X-20. Her type: an experimental interceptor. Recent history: a crash landing in the Mojave Desert after a thirty-one hour flight nine hundred miles into space. Incidental data: the ship, with the men who flew her, disappeared from the radar screen for twenty-four hours.

Narrator:
[continuing narration, subsequent to character dialogue] But the shrouds that cover mysteries are not always made out of a tarpaulin, as this man will soon find out on the other side of a hospital door.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Once upon a time, there was a man named Harrington, a man named Forbes, a man named Gart. They used to exist, but don't any longer. Someone - or something- took them somewhere. At least they are no longer a part of the memory of man. And as to the X-20 supposed to be housed here in this hangar, this, too, does not exist. And if any of you have any questions concerning an aircraft and three men who flew her, speak softly of them - and only in - The Twilight Zone.

Colonel Ed Harrington:
[Feeling that he will disappear] It's all part of this feeling.

Colonel Ed Harrington:
This feeling I shouldn't be here, that none of us should be here!

Colonel Ed Harrington:
It's as if maybe that we shouldn't have come back from that flight at all.

Colonel Ed Harrington:
Maybe somebody, something made a mistake.

Colonel Ed Harrington:
It let us get through when we shouldn't have.

Major William Gart:
[after Forbes explained the story to Gart] Clegg?

Major William Gart:
I don't know Ed Harrington.

Major William Gart:
I've never heard of him before.

Major William Gart:
I think he must be an illusion or something.

Lieutenant Colonel Clegg Forbes:
[eerily calm] Oh, I know he's not an illusion.

Lieutenant Colonel Clegg Forbes:
I know.

Lieutenant Colonel Clegg Forbes:
He's been yanked out of here.

Lieutenant Colonel Clegg Forbes:
He's been taken away.

Lieutenant Colonel Clegg Forbes:
He told me, remember?

Lieutenant Colonel Clegg Forbes:
He told me maybe someone or something made a mistake.

Lieutenant Colonel Clegg Forbes:
Let us get through when we shouldn't have gotten through.

Lieutenant Colonel Clegg Forbes:
It's gotta come back to get *us*, somebody up there.

Lieutenant Colonel Clegg Forbes:
[Overcome by the same feeling Harrington has] Oh, Bill this is weird.

Lieutenant Colonel Clegg Forbes:
It's just plain weird; like I just don't belong.

Lieutenant Colonel Clegg Forbes:
Just like I... I don't belong.

Lieutenant Colonel Clegg Forbes:
[sees he no longer has a reflection in a mirror, horrified] Oh, no!

Lieutenant Colonel Clegg Forbes:
OH, NO!

Lieutenant Colonel Clegg Forbes:
I DON'T WANT THIS TO HAPPEN!

Lieutenant Colonel Clegg Forbes:
BILL, I DON'T WANT IT TO HAPPEN!

Lieutenant Colonel Clegg Forbes:
I DON'T WANT IT TO HAPPEN!

Lieutenant Colonel Clegg Forbes:
[runs out of room] I DON'T WANT IT TO HAPPEN!

Major William Gart:
[Running after Forbes] CLEGG!

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Witness a theoretical argument, Washington, D.C., the present. Four intelligent men talking about an improbable thing like going back in time. A friendly debate revolving around a simple issue: could a human being change what has happened before? Interesting and theoretical, because who ever heard of a man going back in time? Before tonight, that is, because this is - The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Mr. Peter Corrigan, lately returned from a place 'back there,' a journey into time with highly questionable results, proving on one hand that the threads of history are woven tightly, and the skein of events cannot be undone, but on the other hand, there are small fragments of tapestry that can be altered. Tonight's thesis to be taken, as you will - in The Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Three strangers arrive in a small town, three men in black leather jackets in an empty rented house. We'll call them Steve, Scott, and Fred, but their names are not important; their mission, as three men on motorcycles, lead us in the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Portrait of an American family on the eve of invasion from outer space. Of course, we know it's merely fiction - and yet , think twice when you drink your next glass of water. Find out if it's from your local reservoir, or possibly it came direct to you... from the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Jonathan West, ventriloquist, a master of voice manipulation. A man late of Ireland, with a talent for putting words into other's people's mouths. In this case, the other person is a dummy, aptly named Caesar, a small splinter with large ideas, a wooden tyrant with a mind and a voice of his own, who is about to talk Jonathan West into the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Little girl and a wooden doll, a lethal dummy in the shape of a man. But everybody knows dummies can't talk - unless, of course, they learn their vocabulary in the Twilight Zone.

Field Rep:
Actually, Cavender, there seems to be considerable question about the damage you can do with just arms and legs, not to mention your mouth.

Agnes Grep:
What's the signal for "I'm sorry"?

Bus Driver:
When the supervisor comes to claim the bus, tell him I've resigned.

[jumps out the window]

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Small message of reassurance to that horizontal young lady: don't despair, help is en route. It's coming in an odd form from a very distant place, but it's, nonetheless, coming.

Narrator:
[continuing narration, subsequent to extensive character dialogue] Submitted for your approval, the case of one Miss Agnes Grep, put on Earth with two left feet, an overabundance of thumbs, and a propensity for falling down manholes. In a moment, she will be up to her jaw in miracles, wrought by apprentice angel Harmon Cavender, intent on winning his wings. And, though it's a fact that both of them should have stood in bed, they will tempt all the fates by moving into the cold, gray dawn - of The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
A word to the wise now to any and all who might suddenly feel the presence of a cigar-smoking helpmate who takes bankbooks out of thin air. If you're suddenly aware of any such celestial aids, it means that you're under the beneficent care of one Harmon Cavender, guardian angel. And this message from the Twilight Zone: lotsa luck!

Mary Rachel:
You can't ever see me again. I'm bespoke.

Floyd Burney:
Bespoke? What is that supposed to mean, bespoke? You're bespoke, I'm Floyd Burney. So what?

Floyd Burney:
Honey, anything can be bought. It's a buyer's market with a price tag on everything. All you got to know is just how to find the tag.

Floyd Burney:
Aint no way, baby. Forget it. Not for old Floyd Burney, man. I come too far too fast to get buried out here in Sticksville.

Floyd Burney:
So you're one of the Rayford brothers, huh?

Billy Rayford:
I know you. You're the singing man, aint ya?

Floyd Burney:
Yeah. Yeah, that's me, Floyd Burney. Yeah, I sing a little.

Billy Rayford:
Hear you the one that's been taking out after Mary Rachel.

Floyd Burney:
Mary Rachel? [acting confused]

Billy Rayford:
Don't lie. I seen you. Folks heard you sugar talking about taking her to Norfolk.

Floyd Burney:
Norfolk? What do I wanna take anybody to Norfolk for?

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Mr. Floyd Burney, a gentleman songster in search of song, is about to answer the age-old question of whether a man can be in two places at the same time. As far as his folk song is concerned, we can assure Mr. Burney he'll find everything he's looking for, although the lyrics may not be all to his liking. But that's sometimes the case - when the words and music are recorded in the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
In retrospect, it may be said of Mr. Floyd Burney that he achieved that final dream of the performer: eternal top-name billing, not in the fleeting billboards of the entertainment world, but forever recorded among the folk songs of the Twilight Zone.

Chips:
[after finding Nathan with the dead man's shoes] Oh, my dear Nathan, you really *are* smashed, aren't you?

Narrator:
[opening narration] Nathan Edward Bledsoe, of the Bowery Bledsoes, - a man once, a spectre now. One of those myriad modern-day ghosts that haunt the reeking nights of the city in search of a flop, a handout, a glass of forgetfulness. Nate doesn't know it, but his search is about to end, because those shiny new shoes are going to carry him right into the capital - of The Twilight Zone.

Wilma:
Well, what'll it be?

Nathan 'Nate' Bledsoe:
What'll it be? What do I always have?

Wilma:
I don't know what you always have, mister, I really don't.

Nathan 'Nate' Bledsoe:
Try tequila - with a cube of sugar.

Wilma:
You know, Dane's coming back, and if you knew what was good for you...

Nathan 'Nate' Bledsoe:
Oh, I know what's good for me. You.

Maitre d':
Yes, sir, what will it be?

Nathan 'Nate' Bledsoe:
Tequila with a cube of sugar.

Maitre d':
[believes he's staring at Dagget's girlfriend] You like to live dangerously, do you?

Nathan 'Nate' Bledsoe:
Am I?

Maitre d':
If you keep on staring at this woman.

Nathan 'Nate' Bledsoe:
[staring at Dagget] It's not the woman I'm staring at.

Dagget:
What's your name?

Nathan 'Nate' Bledsoe:
[being sarcastic and, thus, disrespectful] Kilroy.

Jimmy:
[angrily] Look, buddy, when Mr. Dagget as...

Dagget:
[silences Jimmy by raising his hand] What's your business, Mr. Kilroy?

Nathan 'Nate' Bledsoe:
Well, you might say, uh, I'm kind of a messenger. I got a message for you, Bernie.

Dagget:
Well, let's have it.

Nathan 'Nate' Bledsoe:
Nah, I, uh, was given instructions to deliver this message privately. Well, it's a touchy matter. You know how it is.

Dagget:
Oh. Who's it from?

Nathan 'Nate' Bledsoe:
Afraid I can't say.

Dagget:
The fella that gave you this message, what did he look like?

Nathan 'Nate' Bledsoe:
Now, Bernie, my business is forgetting. Not remembering.

Ben:
[finds a gun in Nathan's jacket] Happy Easter.

Dagget:
You still got a message for me?

Nathan 'Nate' Bledsoe:
Oh yes, but tell the Easter Bunny here, I'd like my gun back afterwards.

Nathan 'Nate' Bledsoe:
I'll be back, Bernie. And I'll keep coming back. Again and again. And I'll get you. So help me, I'll get you.

Narrator:
[closing narration] There's an old saying that goes, 'If the shoe fits, wear it.' But be careful. If you happen to find a pair of size nine black and gray loafers, made to order in the old country, be very careful. You might walk right into - The Twilight Zone.

Nathan 'Nate' Bledsoe:
[looking at the carpet] How'd you get it clean so fast, Bernie?

Dagget:
What?

Nathan 'Nate' Bledsoe:
The rug. I understand blood's very hard to get out, isn't it?

Dagget:
I don't know what you're talking about.

Nathan 'Nate' Bledsoe:
Well, I'll tell you what I'll do, Bernie. I'll tell you what I'm talking about. I'm talking about a guy who had a pretty nice thing going for him; plenty of dough, plenty of action. Only he wasn't happy - because he had a partner. That meant he couldn't be number one, and being number one was very important to him. So he offered to buy the partner out, and when the partner refused to sell, - he killed him.

[looking at the carpet]

Nathan 'Nate' Bledsoe:
Right there. You know, you'd never know. It was a slick job.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Picture of the spaceship E-89, cruising above the thirteenth planet in star system fifty-one, the year 1997. In a little while, supposedly, the ship will be landed and specimens taken, vegetable, mineral and, if any, animal. These will be brought back to overpopulated Earth, where technicians will evaluate them and, if everything is satisfactory, stamp their findings with the word 'inhabitable' and open up yet another planet for colonization. These are the things that are supposed to happen.

Narrator:
[continuing narration, subsequent to extensive character dialogue] Picture of the crew of the spaceship E-89: Captain Ross, Lieutenant Mason, Lieutenant Carter. Three men who have just reached a place which is as far from home as they will ever be. Three men who, in a matter of minutes, will be plunged into the darkest nightmare reaches of The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Picture of a man who will not see anything he does not choose to see - including his own death. A man of such indomitable will that even the two men beneath his command are not allowed to see the truth; which truth is, that they are no longer among the living, that the movements they make and the words they speak have all been made and spoken countless times before - and will be made and spoken countless times again, perhaps even unto eternity. Picture of a latter-day Flying Dutchman, sailing into The Twilight Zone.

[first lines]

Innkeeper:
Yes, sir?

SS Captain Gunther Lutze:
I've just arrived in town. Do you have accommodations here?

Innkeeper:
I can give you a lovely front room overlooking the square. Would you care to see it?

SS Captain Gunther Lutze:
I'm sure it will be satisfactory.

[signs in; the innkeeper looks at his face with a frightened look, he looks up]

SS Captain Gunther Lutze:
Yes? Anything wrong?

Innkeeper:
No, sir.

[looks at what Lutze signed]

Innkeeper:
Mr. Schmidt.

SS Captain Gunther Lutze:
That's what I've written.

Innkeeper:
Of course, sir.

SS Captain Gunther Lutze:
Of course, what?

Innkeeper:
[nervously] I just meant, uh - I just wondered - it's just that...

SS Captain Gunther Lutze:
What? You just wondered what?

Innkeeper:
It's just that - you remind me of someone.

SS Captain Gunther Lutze:
Oh?

Innkeeper:
During the war.

SS Captain Gunther Lutze:
Go on.

Innkeeper:
There were - there were SS stationed here. They used to come to the inn very often.

SS Captain Gunther Lutze:
I spent the war years on the Russian Front. The panzer division.

Innkeeper:
Of course, sir.

SS Captain Gunther Lutze:
Was it a prison or something you had here?

Innkeeper:
Something of the sort, sir.

SS Captain Gunther Lutze:
[raises his voice] Was it a prison?

Innkeeper:
A camp, sir.

SS Captain Gunther Lutze:
How's that?

Innkeeper:
A camp, Mr. Schmidt! A - concentration camp!

SS Captain Gunther Lutze:
[smiling] A concentration camp? Really? Now that's odd.

[lights his cigarette]

SS Captain Gunther Lutze:
For the life of me, I can't seem to recall the name of this town.

Innkeeper:
Sir?

SS Captain Gunther Lutze:
The name of this town!

[turns to innkeeper]

SS Captain Gunther Lutze:
What is the name of this town?

Innkeeper:
Dachau, sir.

[painfully]

Innkeeper:
Dachau.

SS Captain Gunther Lutze:
Dachau. Of course. Dachau.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Mr. Schmidt, recently arrived in a small Bavarian village, which lies eight miles northwest of Munich, a picturesque, delightful little spot one time known for its scenery but more recently related to other events having to do with some of the less positive pursuits of man: human slaughter, torture, misery, and anguish. Mr. Schmidt, as we will soon perceive, has a vested interest in the ruins of a concentration camp - for once, some seventeen years ago, his name was Gunther Lutze. He held the rank of a captain in the S.S. He was a black-uniformed strutting animal, whose function in life was to give pain, and like his colleagues of the time, he shared the one affliction most common amongst that breed known as Nazis: he walked the Earth without a heart. And now former S.S. Captain Lutze will revisit his old haunts, satisfied perhaps that all that is awaiting him in the ruins on the hill is an element of nostalgia. What he does not know, of course, is that a place like Dachau cannot exist only in Bavaria. By its nature, by its *very* nature, it must be one of the populated areas of The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
There is an answer to the doctor's question. All the Dachaus must remain standing. The Dachaus, the Belsens, the Buckenwalds, the Auschwitzes - all of them. They must remain standing because they are a monument to a moment in time when some men decided to turn the Earth into a graveyard. Into it they shoveled all of their reason, their logic, their knowledge, but worse of all, their conscience. And the moment we forget this, the moment we cease to be haunted by its remembrance, then we become the gravediggers. Something to dwell on and to remember, not only in The Twilight Zone but wherever men walk God's Earth.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
There was a village, built of crumbling clay and rotting wood, and it squatted ugly under a broiling sun like a sick and mangy animal wanting to die. This village had a virus shared by its people. It was the germ of squalor, of hopelessness, of a loss of faith. For the faithless, the hopeless, the misery-laden, there is time, ample time, to engage in one of the other pursuits of men. They begin to destroy themselves.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
It was a very small, misery-laden village on the day of a hanging, and of little historical consequence. And if there's any moral to it at all, let's say that in any quest for magic, in any search for sorcery, witchery, legerdemain, first check the human heart. For inside this deep place, there's a wizardry that costs far more than a few pieces of gold. Tonight's case in point - in the Twilight Zone.

Meyers:
[Wickwire has poisoned their drinks] But why? Why us?

Wickwire:
Because you are here, and you are men. And while there are men, there can be no peace.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] The time is the day after tomorrow. The place: a far corner of the universe. The cast of characters: three men, lost amongst the stars, three men sharing the common urgency of all men lost - they're looking for home. And in a moment, they'll find home, not a home that is a place to be seen but a strange, unexplainable experience to be felt.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Kirby, Webber, and Meyers, three men lost. They shared a common wish, a simple one, really - they wanted to be aboard their ship, headed for home. And Fate, a laughing Fate, a practical jokester with a smile that stretched across the stars, saw to it that they got their wish, with just one reservation: the wish came true, but only in the Twilight Zone.

Walter Bedeker:
Who are you?

Cadwallader:
Cadwallader's my name. At least, it's the name I'm using this month. It has a nice feeling on the tongue. "Cad-wall-ah-der."

Walter Bedeker:
[checks to see if the bedroom window is locked] How'd you get in here?

Cadwallader:
I've never been gone. I've been here for some time.

Walter Bedeker:
I swear, he's cheated me. Immortality. What's the good of it, if there isn't any kicks, any excitement?

Ethel Bedeker:
Walter, please come back to the apartment. I'll make you potato pancakes. Remember, you always used to love potato pancakes.

Walter Bedeker:
Ethel, *you* are a potato pancake. You're as tasteless as a potato pancake.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] You're about to meet a hypochondriac. Witness, Mr. Walter Bedeker, age forty-four, afraid of the following: death, disease, other people, germs, draft, and everything else. He has one interest in life, and that's Walter Bedeker. One preoccupation: the life and well-being of Walter Bedeker. One abiding concern about society: that if Walter Bedeker should die, how will it survive without him?

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] There's a saying, 'Every man is put on Earth condemned to die, time and method of execution unknown.' Perhaps, this is as it should be. Case in point: Walter Bedeker, lately deceased, a little man with such a yen to live. Beaten by the Devil, by his own boredom - and by the scheme of things in this, The Twilight Zone.

Joe Caswell:
Mister, you're just talkin' words! Justice, right and wrong. They sound good in this nice warm room and a nice full stomach, just a few feet away from a soft bed. They sound nice, and they go down easy! But you just try 'em on an ice cold mesa, where another man's bread or another man's jacket stands between you and stayin' alive. You get in this machine of yours, and you go back to where I was, and you talk about your law and your order and your justice. They're gonna sound different! Mister, I know your kind. Your clean face, your Johnny-come-lately dandies. You come out in your warm trains rollin' over the graves of men like me! I just hate your kind!

Old Man:
Now, if that's all you got to say, I've got this to add. I'd like it to take awhile. I'd like you to feel it, Caswell. The more you kick, the more justice I figure there is in the world.

Joe Caswell:
Well, I'll do a jig for you, pappy, just like a puppet.

Prof. Manion:
[speaking into a Dictaphone] At 8:15 the subject appeared desperately tired, so I put him to bed. After two hours, I've discovered the following: His name is Joseph Caswell. He tells me he was a trail boss on a cattle ranch in the territory of Montana. His last moment of recollection was November 14th, 1880. He says he was riding herd when suddenly he blacked out. He awoke to find himself on the cot of my laboratory. He felt no sensations, and only in the last few moments did he seem to have any grasp of what has occurred. There's one disturbing point. There are the marks of a rope etched deeply into his neck. He has no explanation for this. And I have one other observation, hardly scientific. I don't like his looks. I don't like the eyes, or the face, or the expression. I get a feeling of disquiet. I - I get a feeling that I've taken a 19th-century primitive and placed him in a 20th-century jungle. And heaven help whoever gets in his way.

Prof. Manion:
But some things don't change - ideas, concepts, things like right and wrong.

Joe Caswell:
I know all about right and wrong. Once, there was a deputy sheriff in Dodge City, tried to beat the difference between them into my back with a wet rope. I know all about right and wrong.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Commonplace - if somewhat grim - unsocial event known as a necktie party, the guest of dishonor a cowboy named Joe Caswell, just a moment away from a rope, a short dance several feet off the ground, and then the dark eternity of all evil men. Mr. Joe Caswell, who, when the good Lord passed out a conscience, a heart, a feeling for fellow men, must have been out for a beer and missed out. Mr. Joe Caswell, in the last, quiet moment of a violent life.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] This is November 1880, the aftermath of a necktie party. The victim's name - Paul Johnson, a minor-league criminal and the taker of another human life. No comment on his death save this: justice can span years. Retribution is not subject to a calendar. Tonight's case in point in The Twilight Zone.

Janet Tyler:
Mr. Smith?

Walter Smith:
Yes?

Janet Tyler:
Why do we have to look like this?

Walter Smith:
I don't know, Miss Tyler, I really don't know. But you know something? it doesn't matter. There's an old saying, a very, very old saying: "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder". When we leave here, when we go to the village, try to think of that, Miss Tyler. Say it over and over to yourself. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder".

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Suspended in time and space for a moment, your introduction to Miss Janet Tyler, who lives in a very private world of darkness, a universe whose dimensions are the size, thickness, length of a swath of bandages that cover her face. In a moment, we'll go back into this room, and also in a moment, we'll look under those bandages, keeping in mind, of course, that we're not to be surprised by what we see, because this isn't just a hospital, and this patient 307 is not just a woman. This happens to be The Twilight Zone, and Miss Janet Tyler, with you, is about to enter it.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Now there're questions that come to mind. Where is this place, and when is it? What kind of world where ugliness is the norm and beauty the deviation from that norm? You want an answer? The answer is, it doesn't make any difference. Because the old saying happens to be true. Beauty *is* in the eye of the beholder, in this year or a hundred years hence. On this planet or wherever there is human life, perhaps out amongst the stars. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Lesson to be learned - in The Twilight Zone.

The Clown:
[of the Major] Very active chap. Quite a function. Compulsive worker.

The Major:
[still tapping the wall] You a big-time psychologist, huh?

The Clown:
I'm a clown. Which is neither here, there, nor anyplace. I could be a certified public accountant, a financier, a left-handed pitcher who throws only curves. What difference does it make?

[singing to the tune of "Auld Lang Syne" while the Major pounds the wall]

The Clown:
We're here, because we're here, because we're here...

[breaks off as the Major turns to stare at him, then brokenly starts up again as he resumes hammering]

The Clown:
Because - we're - here.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Clown, hobo, ballet dancer, bagpiper, and an Army major - a collection of question marks. Five improbable entities stuck together into a pit of darkness. No logic, no reason, no explanation; just a prolonged nightmare in which fear, loneliness, and the unexplainable walk hand in hand through the shadows. In a moment, we'll start collecting clues as to the whys, the whats, and the wheres. We will not end the nightmare, we'll only explain it - because this is the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Just a barrel, a dark depository where are kept the counterfeit, make-believe pieces of plaster and cloth, wrought in a distorted image of human life. But this added, hopeful note: perhaps they are unloved only for the moment. In the arms of children, there can be nothing but love. A clown, a tramp, a bagpipe player, a ballet dancer, and a major. Tonight's cast of players on the odd stage - known as - The Twilight Zone.

The Major:
Who are we?

The Ballerina:
None of us knows Major. We don't know who we are, we don't know where we are. Each of us woke up one moment and here we were in the darkness.

The Major:
How can that happen?

The Ballerina:
That's the question we asked ourselves Major, a question with no answer. We're nameless things with no memory, no knowledge of what went before. No understanding of what is now, no knowledge of what will be.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
That's Oliver Crangle, a dealer in petulance and poison. He's rather arbitrarily chosen four o'clock as his personal Gotterdammerung, and we are about to watch the metamorphosis of a twisted fanatic, poisoned by the gangrene of prejudice, to the status of avenging angel, upright and omniscient, dedicated and fearsome. Whatever your clocks say, it's four o'clock - and wherever you are, it happens to be the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
At four o'clock, an evil man made his bed and lay in it, a pot called a kettle black, a stone-thrower broke the windows of his glass house. You look for this one under 'F' for fanatic and 'J' for justice - in The Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
James Elwood, master programmer, in charge of Mark 502-741, commonly known as 'Agnes,' the world's most advanced electronic computer. Machines are made by men for man's benefit and progress, but when man ceases to control the products of his ingenuity and imagination, he not only risks losing the benefit, but he takes a long and unpredictable step into - the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Advice to all future male scientists: be sure you understand the opposite sex, especially if you intend being a computer expert. Otherwise, you may find yourself, like poor Elwood, defeated by a jealous machine, a most dangerous sort of female, whose victims are forever banished - to the Twilight Zone.

Adolf Hitler:
In the past, I have given you suggestions. Now, I give orders!

Adolf Hitler:
We sent them into the ovens, but always there was a handful left to point a finger.

Peter Vollmer:
You picked me. You picked me!

Adolf Hitler:
I did not pick you, Mr. Vollmer. You picked me!

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Portrait of a bush-league fuehrer named Peter Vollmer, a sparse little man who feeds off his self-delusions and finds himself perpetually hungry for want of greatness in his diet. And like some goose-stepping predecessors, he searches for something to explain his hunger, and to rationalize why a world passes him by without saluting. The something he looks for and finds is in a sewer. In his own twisted and distorted lexicon, he calls it faith, strength, truth. But in just a moment, Peter Vollmer will ply his trade on another kind of corner, a strange intersection in a shadowland called The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Where will he go next? This phantom from another time, this resurrected ghost of a previous nightmare. Chicago? Los Angeles? Miami, Florida? Vincennes, Indiana? Syracuse, New York? Anyplace, everyplace, where there's hate, where there's prejudice, where there's bigotry. He's alive. He's alive so long as these evils exist. Remember that when he comes to your town. Remember it when you hear his voice speaking out through others. Remember it when you hear a name called, a minority attacked, any blind, unreasoning assault on a people or any human being. He's alive because, through these things, we keep him alive.

Peter Vollmer:
[demanding to know who the benefactor is] You, WHAT ARE YOU? You direct traffic from the darkness! YOU PLAN THE BATTLES BUT YOU'RE NEVER THERE WHEN THEY'RE FOUGHT! Why don't you come out into the light? Why don't you come up here alongside of me? Why don't you give me a name, and a face and a reason WHY?

Adolf Hitler:
[In the shadows] Mr. Vollmer! I was making speeches before you could read them. I was fighting battles when your only struggle was to climb out of a womb! I was taking over the world when your universe was a crib! As for being in darkness, Mr. Vollmer, I *INVENTED* DARKNESS! [Steps out of the light to reveal that he is Adolf Hitler]

[opening narration]

Narrator:
The reluctant gentleman with the sizeable mouth is Mr. Frisby. He has all the drive of a broken camshaft and the aggressive vinegar of a corpse. As you've no doubt gathered, his big stock in trade is the tall tale. Now, what he doesn't know is that the visitors out front are a very special breed, destined to change his life beyond anything even his fertile imagination could manufacture. The place is Pitchville Flats, the time is the present. But Mr. Frisby's on the first leg of a rather fanciful journey into the place we call the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Mr. Somset Frisby, who might have profited by reading an Aesop fable about a boy who cried wolf. Tonight's tall tale from the timberlands - of the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[opening narration] Meet Mr. George P. Hanley, a man life treats without deference, honor, or success. Waiters serve his soup cold. Elevator operators close doors in his face. Mothers never bother to wait up for the daughters he dates. George is a creature of humble habits and tame dreams. He's an ordinary man, Mr. Hanley, but at this moment the accidental possessor of a very special gift, the kind of gift that measures men against their dreams, the kind of gift most of us might ask for first and possibly regret to the last, if we, like Mr. George P. Hanley, were about to plunge head-first and unaware into our own personal Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[closing narration] Mr. George P. Hanley. Former vocation: jerk. Present vocation: genie. George P. Hanley, a most ordinary man, whom life treated without deference, honor, or success, but a man wise enough to decide on a most extraordinary wish that makes him the contented, permanent master of his own altruistic Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Her name is the Arrow One. She represents four and a half years of planning, preparation, and training, and a thousand years of science and mathematics, and the projected dreams and hopes of not only a nation but a world. She is the first manned aircraft into space. And this is the countdown, the last five seconds before man shot an arrow into the air.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Practical joke perpetrated by Mother Nature and a combination of improbable events. Practical joke wearing the trappings of nightmare, of terror, of desperation. Small human drama played out in a desert ninety-seven miles from Reno, Nevada, U.S.A., continent of North America, the Earth, and, of course - the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
They make a fairly convincing pitch here. It doesn't seem possible, though, to find a woman who must be ten times better than Mother, in order to seem half as good - except, of course, in The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
A fable? Most assuredly. But who's to say at some distant moment there might be an assembly line producing a gentle product in the form of a grandmother, whose stock in trade is love? Fable, sure - but who's to say?

Jagger:
It's important to get with the majority, isn't it? That's... that's a big thing nowadays, isn't it Reverend?

Reverend Anderson:
That's all there is is the majority. The minority must have died on the cross two thousand years ago.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Sheriff Charlie Koch on the morning of an execution. As a matter of fact, it's seven-thirty in the morning. Logic and natural laws dictate that at this hour there should be daylight. It is a simple rule of physical science that the sun should rise at a certain moment and supersede the darkness. But at this given moment, Sheriff Charlie Koch, a deputy named Pierce, a condemned man named Jagger, and a small, inconsequential village will shortly find out that there are causes and effects that have no precedent. Such is usually the case - in the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
A sickness known as hate; not a virus, not a microbe, not a germ - but a sickness nonetheless, highly contagious, deadly in its effects. Don't look for it in the Twilight Zone - look for it in a mirror. Look for it before the light goes out altogether.

Sherriff Charlie Koch:
Here we are, gentlemen, treading water in a sewer.

Deputy Pierce:
You seen the light, Reverend. You really seen the light.

Reverend Anderson:
Have you?

Reverend Anderson:
[turns to crowd] Have any of you?

Reverend Anderson:
In all this darkness, is there anybody who can make out the truth? He hated and he killed and now he dies. And you hated, you killed, and now there's not one of you... Not one of you who isn't doomed. Do you know why it's dark? Do you know why it is night all around us? Do you know what the blackness is? It's the hate he felt, that hate you felt, the hate all of us feel, and there's too much of it. There's just too much. And so we had to vomit it out. And now it's coming up all around us and choking us. So much hate, so much miserable hate.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
What you have just witnessed could be the end of a particularly terrifying nightmare. It isn't - it's the beginning. Although Alan Talbot doesn't know it, he's about to enter a strange new world, too incredible to be real, too real to be a dream. It's called The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
In a way, it can be said that Walter Ryder succeeded in his life's ambition, even though the man he created was, after all, himself. There may be easier ways to self-improvement, but sometimes it happens that the shortest distance between to points is a crooked line - through the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Submitted for your approval, one Max Phillips, a slightly-the-worse-for wear maker of book, whose life has been as drab and undistinguished as a bundle of dirty clothes. And, though it's very late in his day, he has an errant wish that the rest of his life might be sent out to a laundry to come back shiny and clean, this to be a gift of love to a son named Pip. Mr. Max Phillips, Homo sapiens, who is soon to discover that man is not as wise as he thinks - said lesson to be learned in the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Very little comment here, save for this small aside: that the ties of flesh are deep and strong, that the capacity to love is a vital, rich and all-consuming function of the human animal, and that you can find nobility and sacrifice and love wherever you may seek it out: down the block, in the heart, or in the Twilight Zone.

Aunt Amy:
I kinda liked it a little bit better when we had cities outside, and we could get *real* television, things like that.

[first lines]

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Tonight's story on The Twilight Zone is somewhat unique and calls for a different kind of introduction. This, as you may recognize, is a map of the United States, and there's a little town there called Peaksville. On a given morning not too long ago, the rest of the world disappeared and Peaksville was left all alone. Its inhabitants were never sure whether the world was destroyed and only Peaksville left untouched or whether the village had somehow been taken away. They were, on the other hand, sure of one thing: the cause. A monster had arrived in the village. Just by using his mind, he took away the automobiles, the electricity, the machines - because they displeased him - and he moved an entire community back into the dark ages - just by using his mind. Now I'd like to introduce you to some of the people in Peaksville, Ohio. This is Mr. Fremont. It's in his farmhouse that the monster resides. This is Mrs. Fremont. And this is Aunt Amy, who probably had more control over the monster in the beginning than almost anyone. But one day she forgot. She began to sing aloud. Now, the monster doesn't like singing, so his mind snapped at her, turned her into the smiling, vacant thing you're looking at now. She sings no more. And you'll note that the people in Peaksville, Ohio, have to smile. They have to think happy thoughts and say happy things because once displeased, the monster can wish them into a cornfield or change them into a grotesque, walking horror. This particular monster can read minds, you see. He knows every thought, he can feel every emotion. Oh yes, I did forget something, didn't I? I forgot to introduce you to the monster. This is the monster. His name is Anthony Fremont. He's six years old, with a cute little-boy face and blue, guileless eyes. But when those eyes look at you, you'd better start thinking happy thoughts, because the mind behind them is absolutely in charge. This is the Twilight Zone.

[last lines]

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] No comment here, no comment at all. We only wanted to introduce you to one of our very special citizens, little Anthony Fremont, age 6, who lives in a village called Peaksville in a place that used to be Ohio. And if by some strange chance you should run across him, you had best think only good thoughts. Anything less than that is handled at your own risk, because if you do meet Anthony, you can be sure of one thing: you have entered The Twilight Zone.

Anthony Fremont:
No kids came over to play with me today, not a single one, and I wanted someone to play with!

Mr. Fremont:
Well, Anthony, you remember the last time some kids came over to play. The little Fredricks boy and his sister.

Anthony Fremont:
I had a real good time.

Mr. Fremont:
Oh, sure you did, you had a real good time, and it's good that you had a good time, it's real good. It's, uh, just that...

Anthony Fremont:
Just that what?

Mr. Fremont:
Well, Anthony, you, uh, you wished them away into the cornfield. Their mommy and daddy were real upset.

Mr. Fremont:
It's snowing outside! Anthony, are you making it snow?

Anthony Fremont:
Yes, I'm making it snow.

Mr. Fremont:
Why, that'll ruin half the crops! You know that, don't you, half the crops! That's what that...

Mrs. Fremont:
[runs to her husband's side, hoping to calm him] Dan!

Mr. Fremont:
[coming to his senses] But it's good that you're making it snow, Anthony, - it's real good. And tomorrow - tomorrow's going to be a real good day!

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] The Twilight Zone has existed in many lands, in many times. It has its roots in history, in something that happened long, long ago and got told about and handed down from one generation of folk to the other. In the telling, the story gets added to and embroidered on, so that what might have happened in the time of the Druids is told as if it took place yesterday, in the Blue Ridge mountains. Such stories are best told by an elderly grandfather on a cold winter's night by the fireside - in the southern hills of The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[opening narration] Her name is the S.S. Queen of Glasgow. Her registry: British. Gross tonnage: Five thousand. Age: Indeterminate. At this moment, she's one day out of Liverpool, her destination: New York. Duly recorded on this ship's log is the sailing time, course to destination, weather conditions, temperature, longitude and latitude. But what is never recorded in a log is the fear that washes over a deck like fog and ocean spray. Fear like the throbbing strokes of engine pistons, each like a heartbeat, parceling out every hour into breathless minutes of watching, waiting and dreading. For the year is 1942, and this particular ship has lost its convoy. It travels alone like an aged blind thing groping through the unfriendly dark, stalked by unseen periscopes of steel killers. Yes, the Queen of Glasgow is a frightened ship, and she carries with her a premonition of - death.

Lt. Mueller:
I just, I just found it difficult to...

Carl Lanser:
To do what?

Lt. Mueller:
To reconcile the killing of men and women without any warning. Makes me wonder if we're not damned now.

Carl Lanser:
In the eyes of the British admiralty, we most certainly are.

Lt. Mueller:
I mean, sir, in the eyes of God.

Carl Lanser:
Oh, you're not only a fool, Leutnant, but also a religious fool, and perhaps a mystic at that. Suppose we are damned. What will happen then?

Lt. Mueller:
I've had dreams about it. Perhaps there is a special kind of hell for people like us. Perhaps to be damned is to have a fate like the people on that ship, to suffer as they suffer and to die as they die.

Carl Lanser:
You are a mystic, Leutnant.

Lt. Mueller:
We'll ride the ghost of that ship every night. Every night, Der Kapit?n, for eternity. They could die only once, just once, but we could die a hundred million times. We could ride the ghost of that ship every night. Every night for eternity.

Narrator:
[closing narration] The S.S. Queen of Glasgow, heading for New York, and the time is 1942. For one man, it is always 1942, and this man will ride the ghost of that ship every night for eternity. This is what is meant by paying the fiddler. This is the comeuppance awaiting every man when the ledger of his life is opened and examined, the tally made, and then the reward or the penalty paid. And in the case of Carl Lanser, former Kapit?n Leutnant, Navy of the Third Reich, this is the penalty. This is the justice meted out. This is judgment night - in The Twilight Zone.

Captain Wilbur:
Are you all right, Mr. Lanser? I mean, is there anything - well, anything that you want to tell us?

Carl Lanser:
There is very little that I can tell you, as I don't remember anything. I don't really know how I got on this ship. I don't recall anything about it. I seem to remember only odd disjointed things. I know, for example, that my name is Carl Lanser. I know that I was born in Frankfurt.

Captain Wilbur:
Go on, Mr. Lanser.

Carl Lanser:
Go on? Go on how? It seems to be all that I know.

Barbara Stanley:
Mr. Lanser, are you all right?

Carl Lanser:
Yes, yes, I'm all right. It's just that I have these crazy feelings.

Barbara Stanley:
What?

Carl Lanser:
A feeling of doing things, saying things.

Barbara Stanley:
The feeling that you've done them before?

[Lanser nods]

Barbara Stanley:
I know that feeling. I've had it occasionally. Being in a room somewhere and being able to swear that you've been there before. Even the conversation will seem identical to another time.

Carl Lanser:
And the people?

Barbara Stanley:
Yes, and the people, too.

Carl Lanser:
How odd. I don't seem to recall. I don't seem to recall getting on this ship or anything else, for that matter. It's suddenly as if I woke up and found myself standing on deck and hearing your voices coming from the salon.

Barbara Stanley:
Like amnesia.

Carl Lanser:
No, not really. I know who I am. I'm Carl Lanser. I am Carl Lanser. I was born in Frankurt, Germany. I'm in the...

[goes blank]

Charles Whitley:
Maybe, the fountain of youth isn't a fountain at all. Maybe, it's a way of looking at things - a way of thinking.

Charles Whitley:
[referring to their childhood] You believed in magic then.

Ben Conroy:
Me? Magic!

Charles Whitley:
Yes, you did! When we walked on different sides of a street lamp you'd say 'bread and butter'. And when your baby teeth came out, you put 'em under the pillow for the tooth fairy. Yeah, you believed in magic.

Charles Whitley:
[addressing his fellow senior housemates] Are you the same ones that used to skip rope - and hunt for polliwogs? Huh? And run through sprinklers - huh?

[sees the lawn sprinkler running]

Charles Whitley:
Run through sprinklers.

Charles Whitley:
What a choice - to keep an attendant from pawing at my pulse all day, I have to sit like a vegetable on that porch.

Mr. Cox:
I'll bet Whitley's taken them all down to the orchard. Come on!

Ben Conroy:
Look all you want, Mr. Cox, you won't find them.

Charles Whitley:
Well, maybe you gotta be a little crazy to make the magic work!

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Sunnyvale Rest, a home for the aged - a dying place and a common children's game called kick-the-can, that will shortly become a refuge for a man who knows he will die in this world, if he doesn't escape into - The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Sunnyvale Rest, a dying place for ancient people, who have forgotten the fragile magic of youth. A dying place for those who have forgotten that childhood, maturity, and old age are curiously intertwined and not separate. A dying place for those who have grown too stiff in their thinking - to visit - The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] This is Africa, 1943. War spits out its violence overhead, and the sandy graveyard swallows it up. Her name is King Nine, B-25, medium bomber, Twelfth Air Force. On a hot, still morning, she took off from Tunisia to bomb the southern tip of Italy. An errant piece of flak tore a hole in the wing tank and, like a wounded bird, this is where she landed, not to return on this day, or any other day.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Enigma buried in the sand, a question mark with broken wings that lies in silent grace as a marker in a desert shrine. Odd how the real consorts with the shadows, how the present fuses with the past. How does it happen? The question is on file in the silent desert, and the answer? The answer is waiting for us - in the Twilight Zone.

Chris Miller:
What is it?

Bill:
The opening.

Ruth Miller:
To what?

Bill:
I think - to another dimension.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Missing: one frightened little girl. Name: Bettina Miller. Description: six years of age, average height and build, light brown hair, quite pretty. Last seen being tucked in bed by her mother a few hours ago. Last heard - "Ay, there's the rub", as Hamlet put it. For Bettina Miller can be heard quite clearly, despite the rather curious fact that she can't be seen, at all. Present location? Let's say for the moment - in The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
The other half - where? The fourth dimension? The fifth? Perhaps. They never found the answer. Despite a battery of research physicists equipped with every device known to man, electronic and otherwise, no result was ever achieved, except perhaps, a little more respect for, and uncertainty about, the mechanisms - of The Twilight Zone.

Talky Tina:
My Name is Talky Tina, and I am going to kill you.

Talky Tina:
My Name is Talky Tina, and you'd better be nice to me.

Narrator:
[opening narration] Talky Tina, the doll that does everything, a lifelike creation of plastic and springs and painted smile. To Erich Streator, she is a most unwelcome addition to his household - but without her, he'd never enter The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Of course, we all know dolls can't really talk, and they certainly can't commit murder. But to a child caught in the middle of turmoil and conflict, a doll can become many things: friend, defender, guardian. Especially a doll like Talky Tina, who did talk and did commit murder - in the misty region of the Twilight Zone.

Talky Tina:
[winds doll and she moves back and forth] My name is Talky Tina, and I think I could even hate you. [Erich looks at the doll and then flings her across the room; Tina lands on her back and Erich looks at the doll from where he stands. Tina then opens her eyes] My name is Talky Tina, and you'll be sorry.

Annabelle Streator:
[Erich looks from the doll to Annabelle, who comes down the stairs and her eyes shift to Tina, obviously thrown on the floor. She backs up a bit, holding onto the stair rail] Why, Erich?

Erich Streator:
I don't like what it says.

Annabelle Streator:
You didn't have to throw it. [she picks up the doll and Erich begins to walk over]

Erich Streator:
It has quite the vocabulary. [he takes the doll from Annabelle] Here, listen. [he manipulates the doll to make her speak]

Talky Tina:
My name is Talky Tina, and I love you very much. [Erich stares at the doll]

Erich Streator:
Yeah, well, that's not what it said a minute ago. [he throws the doll back into Annabelle's arms and puts his hands on his hips]

Annabelle Streator:
[walks away from Erich, clutching Tina] I don't know how much more of this I can take.

Erich Streator:
Exactly what is it you're taking, Annabelle? [she turns to him]

Annabelle Streator:
Your anger toward Christie. I know you're having a difficult time adjusting to her, but I can't let you treat her this way. She's my daughter, Erich. I love her.

Erich Streator:
[mockingly] "I love her." But I don't love her. I'm only her stepfather and I'm incapable of loving children because we can't have any of our own. [face and voice show a small degree of amusement] Isn't that what you are saying, Annabelle?

Annabelle Streator:
[slowly shaking her head] Oh, no, Erich, believe me, it's not. You could love Christie; I *know* you could. If you'd only give yourself half a chance.

Erich Streator:
Good. [goes to sit down and she follows him] I'm glad I'm not cold, cruel ogre that mommy and daughter think I am; I appreciate all the *faith* you have in me! [looks down from his seated position]

Annabelle Streator:
Erich, please give us a chance. Christie and me. I know you got more than you bargained for when you married me. Two for the price of one, wasn't it. But we'll do anything to make you happy - both of us.

Christie Streator:
[offscreen] Daddy? [Erich's eyes shift to Christie and she bounces down the stairs and comes over to him] I'm sorry, Daddy, if I made you mad.

Erich Streator:
It's alright, Christie. [he cusps her chin in his hand and rubs it] It's all Daddy's fault, okay?

Christie Streator:
[smiles] Sure, Daddy.

Annabelle Streator:
Here, dear. [hands Christie the doll, who hugs the doll to her shoulder and turns to go back upstairs with Tina and winds the key to hear her speak]

Talky Tina:
My name is Talky Tina and I love you very much. [Erich turns his head from Christie to look stony-faced into the distance]

Christie Streator:
[Christie is feeding Tina food and the camera pans to show Erich and Annabelle eating across from each other, on each side of Christie] Be a good girl, Tina, and eat your supper.

Erich Streator:
Eat your own supper, Christie. [Tina is shown with food on her mouth and she opens an eye to Erich, and then closes it]

Erich Streator:
[subdued] Oh, I didn't know your doll could wink.

Christie Streator:
Tina can't wink, Daddy.

Erich Streator:
Really? I thought... never mind. Where'd you buy her? [drinks from a teacup]

Annabelle Streator:
[with a smile] Mason's. Should be a good playmate for Christie.

Erich Streator:
Mmmhmm. Lacking a brother or sister; is that what you mean? [mood and tone changes]

Annabelle Streator:
I didn't say that.

Erich Streator:
But that's why you bought the doll, isn't it? Sort of a reminder? [drinks from teacup again]

Annabelle Streator:
It hadn't occurred to me, but if that's what you want to think... [she stands and the doorbell immediately rings and she goes to the door. As Christie is busy with Tina, Annabelle speaks again] It's Linda. [Christie immediately turns back] Are you through with your dinner?

Christie Streator:
Yes, Mommy. May I take Tina?

Annabelle Streator:
Not outside. You can show her to Linda later. [as Tina gets up and goes out and Annabelle is busy cleaning, Tina is moving on her own]

Talky Tina:
My name is Talky Tina, and I'm beginning to hate you. [Erich stares at her and wipes his mouth, then slowly goes to sit in Christie's chair and uses a napkin to wipe Tina's mouth]

Erich Streator:
[mock kindness] My name is Erich Streator and I'm gonna get rid of you.

Talky Tina:
[moving] You wouldn't dare!

Erich Streator:
Oh? Wouldn't I? [takes Tina and sits her in front of him on the table]

Talky Tina:
Annabelle would hate you, Christie would hate you, and I would hate you. [Erich chuckles, takes out a cigarette and Annabelle enters the room]

Erich Streator:
[cigarette in his mouth] Just seeing how it works. [takes out matches and lights one and flicks it at the doll]

Talky Tina:
Ow! [Erich chuckles a bit and lights his cigarette]

Erich Streator:
So, you have feelings.

Talky Tina:
Doesn't everything?

Erich Streator:
Then I can hurt you.

Talky Tina:
Not really, but I could hurt *you*.

Erich Streator:
[laughs] Threats from a doll. [Annabelle comes back in]

Annabelle Streator:
Who're you talking to?

[opening narration]

Narrator:
As must be obvious, this is a house hovered over by Mr. Death, an omnipresent player to the third and final act of every life. And it's been said, and probably rightfully so, that what follows this life is one of the unfathomable mysteries, an area of darkness which we, the living, reserve for the dead - or so it is said. For in a moment, a child will try to cross that bridge which separates light and shadow, and, of course, he must take the only known route, that indistinct highway through the region we call The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
A toy telephone, an act of faith, a set of improbable circumstances, all combine to probe a mystery, to fathom a depth, to send a facet of light into a dark after-region, to be believed or disbelieved, depending on your frame of reference. A fact or a fantasy, a substance or a shadow - but all of it very much a part of The Twilight Zone.

Professor Sam Kittridge:
I thought if a man lived forever, he'd grow wiser. But that isn't true, is it?

Prof. Walter Jameson:
You just go on living, that's all.

Prof. Walter Jameson:
It's death that gives this world its point. We love a rose because we know it'll soon be gone. Whoever loved a stone?

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] You're looking at Act One, Scene One, of a nightmare, one not restricted to witching hours of dark, rainswept nights. Professor Walter Jameson, popular beyond words, who talks of the past as if it were the present, who conjures up the dead as if they were alive.

Narrator:
[continued opening narration after character dialogue] In the view of this man, Professor Samuel Kittridge, Walter Jameson has access to knowledge that couldn't come out of a volume of history, but rather from a book on black magic, which is to say that this nightmare begins at noon.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Last stop on a long journey, as yet another human being returns to the vast nothingness that is the beginning and into the dust that is always the end.

Prof. Walter Jameson:
We love a rose because we know it will soon be gone. Who ever loved a stone?

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] To the average person, a museum is a place of knowledge, a place of beauty and truth and wonder. Some people come to study, others to contemplate, others to look for the sheer joy of looking. Charley Parkes has his own reasons. He comes to the museum to get away from the world. It isn't really the sixty-cent cafeteria meal that has drawn him here every day, it's the fact that here in these strange, cool halls, he can be alone for a little while, really and truly alone. Anyway, that's how it was before he got lost and wandered into - The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] They never found Charley Parkes, because the guard didn't tell them what he saw in the glass case. He knew what they'd say, and he knew they'd be right, too, because seeing is not always believing - especially if what you see happens to be an odd corner - of The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Millicent Barnes, age twenty-five, young woman waiting for a bus on a rainy November night. Not a very imaginative type is Miss Barnes, not given to undue anxiety or fears, or, for that matter, even the most temporal flights of fancy. Like most career women, she has a generic classification as a, quote, girl with a head on her shoulders, end of quote. All of which is mentioned now because, in just a moment, the head on Miss Barnes' shoulders will be put to a test. Circumstances will assault her sense of reality and a chain of nightmares will put her sanity on a block. Millicent Barnes, who, in one minute, will wonder if she's going mad.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Obscure metaphysical explanation to cover a phenomenon, reasons dredged out of the shadows to explain away that which cannot be explained. Call it parallel planes or just insanity. Whatever it is, you find it in the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] In the parlance of the twentieth century, this is an oddball. His name is James B. W. Bevis, and his tastes lean toward stuffed animals, zither music, professional football, Charles Dickens, moose heads, carnivals, dogs, children, and young ladies. Mr. Bevis is accident prone, a little vague, a little discombobulated, with a life that possesses all the security of a floating crap game. But this can be said of our Mr. Bevis: without him, without his warmth, without his kindness, the world would be a considerably poorer place, albeit perhaps a little saner.

Narrator:
[continued narration subsequent to extensive character dialogue] Should it not be obvious by now, James B. W. Bevis is a fixture in his own private, optimistic, hopeful little world, a world which has long ceased being surprised by him. James B. W. Bevis, on whom Dame Fortune will shortly turn her back, but not before she gives him a paste in the mouth. Mr. James B. W. Bevis, just one block away from The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Mr. James B. W. Bevis, who believes in a magic all his own. The magic of a child's smile, the magic of liking and being liked, the strange and wondrous mysticism that is the simple act of living. Mr. James B. W. Bevis, species of twentieth-century male, who has his own private and special Twilight Zone.

Al Denton:
I was good. I was real good. I was so good that once a day, someone would ride into town to make me prove it. And every morning, I'd start my drinkin' a few minutes earlier. Until one morning, the guy who asked me to prove it turned out to be sixteen years old. I left him there on his face. Right there in front of the saloon. I left him there bleedin' to death with my bullet in him. I guess it'll start all over again, now. Every fast and fancy man who owns a gun will come riding in down that street. Only this time it'll be me face down, bleedin' to death. I think I'll go in and get a shave. I wanna look proper on the day I die.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Portrait of a town drunk named Al Denton. This is a man who's begun his dying early - a long, agonizing route through a maze of bottles. Al Denton, who would probably give an arm or a leg or a part of his soul to have another chance, to be able to rise up and shake the dirt from his body and the bad dreams that infest his consciousness.

[Shot of Henry J. Fate]

Narrator:
[Narration continues] In the parlance of the times, this is a peddler, a rather fanciful-looking little man in a black, frock coat.

[a six-gun materializes beside Denton]

Narrator:
[Narration continues] And this is the third principal character of our story. Its function: perhaps to give Mr. Al Denton his second chance.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Mr. Henry Fate, dealer in utensils and pots and pans, liniments and potions. A fanciful little man in a black, frock coat, who can help a man climbing out of a pit - or another man from falling into one. Because, you see, Fate can work that way - in The Twilight Zone.

Reporter:
[sarcastically after Dingle's superstrength disappears] So long, Hercules.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Uniquely American institution known as the neighborhood bar. Reading left to right are Mr. Anthony O'Toole, proprietor, who waters his drinks like geraniums but who stands foursquare for peace and quiet and for booths for ladies. This is Mr. Joseph J. Callahan, an unregistered bookie, whose entire life is any sporting event with two sides and a set of odds. His idea of a meeting at the summit is any dialogue between a catcher and a pitcher with more than one man on base. And this animated citizen is every anonymous bettor who ever dropped rent money on a horse race, a prize fight, or a floating crap game, and who took out his frustrations and his insolvency on any vulnerable fellow barstool companion within arm's and fist's reach. And this is Mr. Luther Dingle, a vacuum cleaner salesman whose volume of business is roughly that of a valet at a hobo convention. He's a consummate failure in almost everything but is a good listener and has a prominent jaw.

Narrator:
[continued narration, subsequent to extensive character dialogue] And these two unseen gentlemen are visitors from outer space. They are about to alter the destiny of Luther Dingle by leaving him a legacy, the kind you can't hardly find no more. In just a moment, a sad-faced perennial punching bag, who missed even the caboose of life's gravy train, will take a short constitutional into that most unpredicable region that we refer to as The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Exit Mr. Luther Dingle, formerly vacuum cleaner salesman, strongest man on Earth, and now mental giant. These latter powers will very likely be eliminated before too long, but Mr. Dingle has an appeal to extraterrestrial notetakers, as well as to frustrated and insolvent bet losers. Offhand, I'd say that he was in for a great deal of extremely odd periods, simply because there are so many inhabited planets who send down observers, and also because, of course, Mr. Dingle lives his life with one foot in his mouth - and the other in The Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Introducing Mr. Jared Garrity, a gentleman of commerce, who in the latter half of the nineteenth century plied his trade in the wild and wooly hinterlands of the American West. And Mr. Garrity, if one can believe him, is a resurrecter of the dead - which, on the face of it, certainly sounds like the bull is off the nickel. But to the scoffers amongst you, and you ladies and gentlemen from Missouri, don't laugh this one off entirely, at least until you've seen a sample of Mr. Garrity's wares, and an example of his services. The place is Happiness, Arizona, the time around 1890. And you and I have just entered a saloon where the bar whiskey is brewed, bottled and delivered from the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Exit Mr. Garrity, a would-be charlatan, a make-believe con man and a sad misjudger of his own talents. Respectfully submitted from an empty cemetery on a dark hillside that is one of the slopes leading to the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] What you're witnessing is the curtain-raiser to a most extraordinary play; to wit, the signing of a pact, the commencement of a project. The play itself will be performed almost entirely offstage. The final scenes are to be enacted a decade hence and with a different cast. The main character of these final scenes is Ilse, the daughter of Professor and Mrs. Nielsen, age two. At the moment she lies sleeping in her crib, unaware of the singular drama in which she is to be involved. Ten years from this moment, Isle Nielsen is to know the desolating terror of living simultaneously in the world - and in The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] It has been noted in a book of proven wisdom that perfect love casteth out fear. While it's unlikely that this observation was meant to include that specific fear which follows the loss of extrasensory perception, the principle remains, as always, beautifully intact. Case in point, that of Isle Nielsen, former resident of The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] This is Mr. Jackie Rhoades, age thirty-four, and where some men leave a mark of their lives as a record of their fragmentary existence on Earth, this man leaves a blot, a dirty, discolored blemish to document a cheap and undistinguished sojourn amongst his betters. What you're about to watch in this room is a strange and mortal combat between a man and himself, for in just a moment, Mr. Jackie Rhoades, whose life has been given over to fighting adversaries, will find his most formidable opponent in a cheap hotel room that is in reality the outskirts of The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Exit Mr. John Rhoades, formerly a reflection in a mirror, a fragment of someone else's conscience, a wishful thinker made out of glass, but now made out of flesh and on his way to join the company of men. Mr. John Rhoades, with one foot through the door and one foot out - of The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] The hand belongs to Mr. Don S. Carter, male member of a honeymoon team on route across the Ohio countryside to New York City. In one moment, they will be subjected to a gift most humans never receive in a lifetime. For one penny, they will be able to look into the future. The time is now, the place is a little diner in Ridgeview, Ohio, and what this young couple doesn't realize is that this town happens to lie on the outskirts of the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Counterbalance in the little town of Ridgeview, Ohio. Two people permanently enslaved by the tyranny of fear and superstitution, facing the future with a kind of helpless dread. Two others facing the future with confidence - having escaped one of the darker places of the Twilight Zone.

[Don has been obsessing over the devil-headed fortune telling machine]

Pat Carter:
Don, it's just a napkin holder in a little cafe in Ridgeview, Ohio.

Don Carter:
Don't treat me like I'm a retarded child!

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Miss Elva Keene lives alone on the outskirts of London Flats, a tiny rural community in Maine. Up until now, the pattern of Miss Keene's existence has been that of lying in her bed or sitting in her wheelchair, reading books, listening to a radio, eating, napping, taking medication - and waiting for something different to happen. Miss Keene doesn't know it yet, but her period of waiting has just ended, for something different is about to happen to her, has in fact already begun to happen, via two most unaccountable telephone calls in the middle of a stormy night, telephone calls routed directly through - the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
According to the Bible, God created the heavens and the Earth. It is man's prerogative - and woman's - to create their own particular and private hell. Case in point, Miss Elva Keene, who in every sense has made her own bed and now must lie in it, sadder, but wiser, by dint of a rather painful lesson in responsibility, transmitted from the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Month of November, hot chocolate, and a small cameo of a child's face, imperfect only in its solemnity. And these are the improbable ingredients to a human emotion, an emotion, say, like - fear. But in a moment this woman, Helen Foley, will realize fear. She will understand what are the properties of terror. A little girl will lead her by the hand and walk with her into a nightmare.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Miss Helen Foley, who has lived in night and who will wake up to morning. Miss Helen Foley, who took a dark spot from the tapestry of her life and rubbed it clean - then stepped back a few paces and got a good look at the Twilight Zone.

[last lines]

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] The flight of Mr. Robert Wilson has ended now, a flight not only from point A to point B, but also from the fear of recurring mental breakdown. Mr. Wilson has that fear no longer, though, for the moment, he is, as he has said, alone in this assurance. Happily, his conviction will not remain isolated too much longer, for happily, tangible manifestation is very often left as evidence of trespass, even from so intangible a quarter as The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[opening Narration] Portrait of a frightened man: Mr. Robert Wilson, thirty-seven, husband, father, and salesman on sick leave. Mr. Wilson has just been discharged from a sanitarium where he spent the last six months recovering from a nervous breakdown, the onset of which took place on an evening not dissimilar to this one, on an airliner very much like the one in which Mr. Wilson is about to be flown home - the difference being that, on that evening half a year ago, Mr. Wilson's flight was terminated by the onslaught of his mental breakdown. Tonight, he's travelling all the way to his appointed destination, which, contrary to Mr. Wilson's plan, happens to be in the darkest corner of the Twilight Zone.

Bob Wilson:
There's a man out there.

Bob Wilson:
I realize what this sounds like. Do I look insane?

Julia Wilson:
No, darling, no.

Bob Wilson:
I know I had a mental breakdown. I know I had it in an airplane. I know it looks to you as if the same thing is happening again, but it isn't. I'm sure, it isn't.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Each man measures his time; some with hope, some with joy, some with fear. But Sam Forstmann measures his allotted time with a grandfather's clock, a unique mechanism whose pendulum swings between life and death, a very special clock that keeps a special kind of time - in the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Clocks are made by men, God creates time. No man can prolong his allotted hours, he can only live them to the fullest - in this world or in the Twilight Zone.

Hanford:
[at dinner]... So what are your world views, Driscoll?

Paul Driscoll:
...I don't have any, Mr. Hanford.

Hanford:
Of course you do, man. We ALL do! Like all this nonsense about giving the Indians land. What we need are twenty General Custers and a hundred thousand men! What we should have done is swept across the prairie, destroying every redskin that stood before us. After that, we should have planted the American flag deep, high and proud!

Abigail Sloan:
I think the country is tired of fighting, Mr. Hanford. I think we were bled dry by the Indian Wars. I think anything we can accomplish peacefully, with treaties, we should accomplish that way.

Hanford:
Now, I trust this isn't the path you spoon-feed your students. Treaties, indeed! Peace, indeed! Why, the virility of a nation is in direct proportion to its military prowess. I LIVE for the day when this country SWEEPS AWAY... [notices Driscoll's disapproving look]... You some kind of a pacifist, Driscoll?

Paul Driscoll:
No, just some sick idiot who's seen too many boys die because of too many men who fight their battles at dining room tables... and who probably wouldn't last forty-five seconds in a REAL skirmish if they WERE thrust into it.

Paul Driscoll:
...I take offense at that remark, Mr. Driscoll!

Paul Driscoll:
And I take offense at "armchair warriors," who don't know what a shrapnel, or a bullet, or a saber wound feels like... who've never smelled death after three days on an empty battlefield... who've never seen the look on a man's face when he realizes he's lost a limb or two, and his blood is seeping out. Mr. Hanford, you have a great affinity for "planting the flag deep." But you don't have a nodding acquaintance of what it's like for families to bury their sons in the same soil!

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Exit one Paul Driscoll, a creature of the twentieth century. He puts to a test a complicated theorem of space-time continuum, but he goes a step further - or tries to. Shortly, he will seek out three moments of the past in a desperate attempt to alter the present - one of the odd and fanciful functions in a shadowland known as the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Incident on a July afternoon, 1881. A man named Driscoll who came and went and, in the process, learned a simple lesson, perhaps best said by a poet named Lathbury, who wrote, "Children of yesterday, heirs of tomorrow, what are you weaving? Labor and sorrow? Look to your looms again, faster and faster fly the great shuttles prepared by the Master. Life's in the loom, room for it - room!" Tonight's tale of clocks and calendars - in The Twilight Zone.

Paul Driscoll:
We live in a cesspool, a septic tank, a gigantic sewage complex in which runs the dregs, the filth, the misery-laden slop of the race of men: his hatred, prejudices, passions, and violence. And the keeper of this sewer: man. He is a scientifically advanced monkey who walks upright, with eyes wide open into an abyss of his own making. His bombs, fallout, poisons, radioactivity everything he designs as an art for dying is his excuse for living. We live in an exquisite bedlam an insanity. Maybe all the more grotesque by the fact that we don't recognize it as insanity.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
An old woman living in a nightmare, an old woman, who has fought a thousand battles with death and always won. Now she's faced with a grim decision - whether or not to open a door. And in some strange and frightening way, she knows that this seemingly ordinary door leads to the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
There was an old woman who lived in a room and, like all of us, was frightened of the dark, but who discovered in a minute last fragment of her life, that there was nothing in the dark that wasn't there when the lights were on. Object lesson for the more frightened amongst us - in or out - of The Twilight Zone.

Marilyn Cuberle:
I want to stay ugly.

Marilyn Cuberle:
I'm not ugly. I'm not pretty but I'm not ugly.

Dr. Rex:
[laughs] But to other people, you are!

Marilyn Cuberle:
Being like everybody is the same as being nobody.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Given the chance, what young girl wouldn't happily exchange a plain face for a lovely one? What girl could refuse the opportunity to be beautiful? For want of a better estimate, let's call it the year 2000. At any rate, imagine a time in the future where science has developed a means of giving everyone the face and body he dreams of. It may not happen tomorrow, but it happens now in the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Portrait of a young lady in love, with herself. Improbable? Perhaps. But in an age of plastic surgery, body building and an infinity of cosmetics, let us hesitate to say impossible. These and other strange blessings may be waiting in the future, which after all, is the Twilight Zone.

Dr. Rex:
You know what you need? A nice hot cup of Instant-Smile!

Marilyn Cuberle:
I HAD a cup of Instant-Smile, I don't FEEL like smiling! Sometimes I wanna cry or frown!

Dr. Rex:
...You're a very sick girl, Marilyn.

Marilyn Cuberle:
Am I very homely now, Mother?

Lana Cuberle:
Not to me... but afterwards, you'll be beautiful!

Lana Cuberle:
I can't decide 8 or 12. I think 12 might suit you better. What do you think, Marilyn...?... You're not even listening.

Marilyn Cuberle:
I'm sorry, mother.

Lana Cuberle:
I don't understand you, darling! Most girls are THRILLED when it's time to pick a pattern! You haven't even looked at the ones the bureau sent over.

Marilyn Cuberle:
Oh, I looked at 'em.

Lana Cuberle:
[dreamily] I remember how excited I was before I was done, I couldn't sleep for nights... I finally chose #12. I guess that's everybody's favorite.

Marilyn Cuberle:
And the nicest part of all Val, I look just like you!

Dr. Rex:
Well, it's as i told you... occasionally, a person has difficulty adjusting to the idea, but we've improved methods since the old days and now it always turns out well. Never fails. It's complete.

Dr. Rex:
The introduction of smut into this interview will not help your case young lady, not at all.

Marilyn Cuberle:
Oh mother, they don't care if you're pretty or not, they just want everyone to be the same!

Marilyn Cuberle:
Did you know that Dostoyevsky was an epileptic? He was ugly, he was deformed, but he wrote about beauty, about real beauty! These men wrote about life and about the dignity of the individual human spirit and about love...

Dr. Rex:
THIS IS ENOUGH!

Marilyn Cuberle:
I'm not pretty, but I'm not ugly!

Dr. Rex:
You see, the transformation must be performed when the body and the tissue are at the proper state.

Marilyn Cuberle:
No, I'll never change my mind.

Valerie:
I've been thinking about what you said... I mean about what your father said and well, i don't see why you're so concerned about him. He's dead! I mean, surely you've had other fathers. My mother's been married 11 times and personally I've liked the stepfathers better.

Marilyn Cuberle:
Valerie, please don't.

Valerie:
Look, i know you've had nine fathers since the first one, everybody marries everybody these days.

Marilyn Cuberle:
Valerie, stop!

Valerie:
I just don't see how anybody can stay married to the same husband for a hundred years! Besides, I've heard that your father was pretty dull...

Marilyn Cuberle:
Valerie, stop it! Stop talking about my father! Can't any of you understand? I loved him, I cared about him! He was good and he was kind and he cared about me; not what I wore, not the way I looked but what I thought, what I felt! He cared about himself and his dignity as a human being! Valerie, he didn't die in the Ganymede Incident, my father KILLED HIMSELF! Because when they took away his identity he had no reason to go on living!

Valerie:
[shocked] I just don't understand you, Marilyn!

Marilyn Cuberle:
...Valerie... can't you feel ANYTHING...?

Valerie:
Well of course, silly! Why I... well I feel good! I always feel good! Life is pretty, life is fun, I am all and all is one.

Marilyn Cuberle:
[half-laughing, half-crying hysterically] You can't understand, can you?... THEY CAN'T UNDERSTAND, THEY CAN'T UNDERSTAND!

Deidrich:
Indeed, there were samples taken of the soil at that time, too, and there was never any doubt that the land had oil under it. Six thousand feet under it, Mr. Feathersmith, which means that it might just as well be on the moon.

Feathersmith:
I remember vividly one afternoon when you called me into your office, and you said, "Bill Feathersmith, I like your style, boy. I want you in with me." You remember that afternoon, Mr. Deidrich?

Deidrich:
I shall never forget it, Mr. Feathersmith. I have given it a good deal of thought in the ensuing years, and I shall never cease to regret it.

Feathersmith:
You never did like me.

Deidrich:
I wouldn't say that, Mr. Feathersmith. I wouldn't say that I - never did like you. I have disliked and detested you with great cordiality. I have found you to be, from the moment you came into my office, a predatory, grasping, conniving, acquisitive animal of a man. Without heart, without conscience, without compassion, and without even a subtle hint of the common decencies. Shall we go on from there?

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Witness a murder. The killer is Mr. William Feathersmith, a robber baron whose body composition is made up of a refrigeration plant covered by thick skin. In a moment, Mr. Feathersmith will proceed on his daily course of conquest and calumny with yet another business dealing. But this one will be one of those bizarre transactions that take place in an odd marketplace known as the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Mr. William J. Feathersmith, tycoon, who tried the track one more time and found it muddier than he remembered - proving with at least a degree of conclusiveness that nice guys don't always finish last, and some people should quit when they're ahead. Tonight's tale of iron men and irony, delivered f.o.b. from the Twilight Zone.

William Feathersmith:
[Over the hilarious montage tracing his efforts to "invent" the self-starter, and other modern conveniences, well before their time; he succeeds only in making a laughingstock of himself]... I wanna talk to you about something that'll turn your two-bit toolshed into a factory... What do you mean, enlarge on it? It's a gizmo you press with your foot that starts an engine with an electric motor... What is it used for? It's used to make twelve hundred jillion smackers, that's what it's used for... Listen, are you all there? It's a storage battery; it's a motor; it's a do-hickey that starts the motor! I've given you the principle, now all you have to do is build it... Look, I am not a crummy draftsman or a cheap blueprint boy; I am a promoter, a financier. I'm gonna give you the backing; I've already given you the principle; now all you have to do is *build it*... There's everything under the sun, and you sit around fixing tricycle pedals! All it takes is a little imagination, a little brains... *You foggy-headed carriage builders, we could make ourselves eleventy-zillion dollars!*

Feathersmith:
Now, as to the price.

Miss Devlin:
Yes, Mr. Feathersmith, as to price.

Feathersmith:
Well, I suppose the standard payment is, um, well, I guess you'd call it the soul.

Miss Devlin:
On occasion, Mr. Feathersmith that is part of the transaction. But in your case, we got a hold of your soul some time ago, I believe.

Feathersmith:
You, uh, you don't have another daughter?

Hecate:
That delightful little thing is my one and only. Sings beautifully, doesn't she?

Feathersmith:
Oh, yes, like a bird.

Feathersmith:
[then to himself] A ruptured rooster.

Miss Devlin:
You, Mr. Feathersmith, are a wheeler and a dealer. A financier, a pusher, a brain, a manipulator, a raider. Because you are a taker instead of a builder. A conniver instead of a designer. A user instead of a bringer.

Al:
Isn't living tough enough here we shouldn't have to go by the book? Isn't it hot enough and miserable enough there shouldn't be rules? We shouldn't have to suffer by the numbers? Will somebody please make the simple comment there's more happiness going into that grave? More peace of mind than all the mourners put together. Nothing but anguish here. Captain Benteen, let us live with it our own way. Or let us die from it - in our own way!

Captain Benteen:
[addressing the crowd] Young Mr. Baines would have us lie down in the sun. Young Mr. Baines would have us give in to death, while there is still life. He'd end the rules. Throw away the regulations. No more standing in line for water. We'll let the strong take away from the weak. And no more food rationing. Let the young steal from the old. And when that ship does arrive, it won't find a society. Just a pack. Not one human being left alive. Only animals.

Captain Benteen:
Now listen to me. I want to tell you some things about the Earth that you haven't heard before. Things that are ugly. Things that are wrong. Things - that cannot be lived with. There is violence on Earth. There are hatreds! And jealousy! Now listen to me, listen to me and listen carefully. The Earth is a place we do not know. The Earth is a place we have never lived in. It is a society we do not belong in. If we leave here, we will die. We will *die*! We'll be committing suicide, if we go back to Earth. We will die of a misery we have never experienced before. Loneliness. Loneliness like animals in a zoo. We do not belong there.

[points to Col. Sloane]

Captain Benteen:
We do not belong to his kind. We do not belong *there*. We do not belong *there*.

Col. Sloane:
Captain Benteen! Why don't you let your "children" vote on it?

Captain Benteen:
Only if they know what's waiting for them! Only if they know that the Earth is not a garden. Never was a garden! And it never will be a garden!

Col. Sloane:
[Stepping forward] Fair enough! Fair enough! Then I'll tell you what Earth is. It's a race of men - struggling for survival. Just as you have survived. And Captain Benteen is quite right when he tells you it isn't a place of all beauty. We may yet have wars. And there still remains prejudice. And I suppose as long as men walk, there'll be angry men, jealous men, unforgiving men. But it has one thing that you don't have. One thing. It lets every man be his own master. There won't be any Captain Benteens down there for you. There won't be anybody to tell you when to eat, and when to sleep, and when to meet. There won't be anyone to tell you when to dance or what to sing or how to play. And instead of the thirst, you may feel hunger. Instead of heat, you may feel cold! But you'll be men and women. You won't be sheep. You won't be a kindergarten. And when you pray to God, his name won't be "Benteen"!

Captain Benteen:
[addressing colonists who are no longer there] Well, my friends - any business to transact today? No business?

[fondly]

Captain Benteen:
Jo-Jo. Jo-Jo. Nothing from you today? Don't you want me to tell you about the Earth, Jo-Jo? Don't you want to hear about the rivers and the seas, the blue skies in the night? The stars and the moon? Don't you want to hear about all those things today?

[outside, the Galaxy 6 begins blasting off]

Captain Benteen:
There's color on the Earth, Jo-Jo. The change of the seasons. The wind. The wind brings with it the - the smell of the ground. The plants, the seeds, the roots, the flower petals, the sap from the trees. The wind brings with it the smell of the weather. The rain, the mist, the - park...

[Benteen turns and dashes outside. He looks up as the departing spaceship rises into the sky]

Captain Benteen:
And the Earth is green, Jo-Jo. Green. The color green.

[smiles]

Captain Benteen:
The feeling green. There's something so fresh about it. So alive about it. So living about it.

[his lip trembles]

Captain Benteen:
It's the Earth - the...

[shouts]

Captain Benteen:
Don't leave me here!

[rushes forward, arms outstretched]

Captain Benteen:
Don't leave me behind. Don't leave me here! Please. Please I - I want to go home.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] This is William Benteen, who officiates on a disintegrating outpost in space. The people are a remnant society who left the Earth looking for a Millennium, a place without war, without jeopardy, without fear - and what they found was a lonely, barren place whose only industry was survival. And this is what they've done for three decades: survive; until the memory of the Earth they came from has become an indistinct and shadowed recollection of another time and another place. One month ago a signal from Earth announced that a ship would be coming to pick them up and take them home. In just a moment, we'll hear more of that ship, more of that home, and what it takes out of mind and body to reach it. This is the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] William Benteen, who had prerogatives: he could lead, he could direct, dictate, judge, legislate. It became a habit, then a pattern, and finally a necessity. William Benteen, once a god - now a population of one.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Mr. Mulligan, a rather dour critic of his times, is shortly to discover the import of that old phrase, 'Out of the frying pan, into the fire' - said fire burning brightly at all times - in The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
'To each his own' - so goes another old phrase to which Mr. Woodrow Mulligan would heartily subscribe, for he has learned - definitely the hard way - that there's much wisdom in a third old phrase, which goes as follows: 'Stay in your own backyard.' To which it might be added, 'and, if possible, assist others to stay in their's' - via, of course, The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[opening narration] What you have just looked at takes place three hundred feet underground, beneath the basement of a New York City skyscraper. It's owned and lived in by one Paul Radin. Mr. Radin is rich, eccentric and single-minded. How rich we can already perceive; how eccentric and single-minded we shall see in a moment, because all of you have just entered the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[closing narration] Mr. Paul Radin, a dealer in fantasy, who sits in the rubble of his own making and imagines that he's the last man on Earth, doomed to a perdition of unutterable loneliness because a practical joke has turned into a nightmare. Mr. Paul Radin, pallbearer at a funeral that he manufactured himself in the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Street scene: Summer. The present. Man on a sidewalk named Lew Bookman, age sixtyish. Occupation: pitchman. Lew Bookman, a fixture of the summer, a rather minor component to a hot July, a nondescript, commonplace little man whose life is a treadmill built out of sidewalks. And in just a moment, Lew Bookman will have to concern himself with survival - because as of three o'clock this hot July afternoon, he'll be stalked by Mr. Death.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Lewis J. Bookman, age sixtyish. Occupation: pitchman. Formerly a fixture of the summer, formerly a rather minor component to a hot July. But, throughout his life, a man beloved by the children, and therefore, a most important man. Couldn't happen, you say? Probably not in most places - but it did happen in the Twilight Zone.

Millie McKenzie:
Love has its own particular point of view. It sees everything larger than life. Nothing is too ornate, too fanciful, too dramatic. Love demands the theatrical, and then transfigures it. It turns the grotesque into the lovely, as a child does. With it, we can see what we wish to see in other people. Without it, we can't see anything at all. We can search forever, and never find.

Narrator:
[opening narration] Portrait of a honeymoon couple getting ready for a journey - with a difference. These newlyweds have been married for six years, and they're not taking this honeymoon to start their life but rather to save it, or so Eileen Ransome thinks. She doesn't know why she insisted on a ship for this voyage, except that it would give them some time, and she'd never been on one before - certainly never one like the Lady Anne. The tickets read 'New York to Southampton', but this old liner is going somewhere else. It's destination - The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[closing narration] The Lady Anne never reached port. After they were picked up by a cutter a few hours later, as Captain Proheroe had promised, the Ransomes searched the newspapers for news - but there wasn't any news. The Lady Anne with all her crew and all her passengers vanished without a trace. But the Ransomes knew what had happened, they knew that the ship had sailed off to a better port - a place called The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] You're looking at a species of flimsy little two-legged animal with extremely small heads, whose name is Man. Warren Marcusson, age thirty-five. Samuel A. Conrad, age thirty-one.

Narrator:
[continued opening narration subsequent to character dialogue] They're taking a highway into space, Man unshackling himself and sending his tiny, groping fingers up into the unknown. Their destination is Mars, and in just a moment we'll land there with them.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Species of animal brought back alive. Interesting similarity in physical characteristics to human beings in head, trunk, arms, legs, hands, feet. Very tiny undeveloped brain. Comes from primitive planet named Earth. Calls himself Samuel Conrad. And he will remain here in his cage with the running water and the electricity and the central heat as long as he lives. Samuel Conrad has found The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[opening narration] Twelve o'clock noon. An ordinary scene, an ordinary city. Lunchtime for thousands of ordinary people. To most of them, this hour will be a rest, a pleasant break in a day's routine. To most, but not all. To Edward Hall, time is an enemy, and the hour to come is a matter of life and death.

[Hall gets up from the couch]

Dr. Rathmann:
I thought you said you were tired?

Edward Hall:
I am. I'm the tiredest man in the world. You wanna know how many hours I've been awake? Eighty-seven hours. Almost four days and nights.

Dr. Rathmann:
And you can't go to sleep, is that it?

Edward Hall:
No, Doctor, not can't, I mustn't. I mustn't go to sleep because if I do I'll never wake up.

Edward Hall:
You mind if I walk around a bit? It's the only way I can stay awake.

Dr. Rathmann:
Stand on your head, if you think it'll help.

[Hall laughs]

Dr. Rathmann:
What's funny?

Edward Hall:
You are. Are you sure you're a psychiatrist?

Dr. Rathmann:
Why do you ask?

Edward Hall:
I don't know. I guess I expected something different.

Dr. Rathmann:
Like an old man with a white beard and a German accent?

Edward Hall:
Maybe.

Dr. Rathmann:
I know. It's what everybody expects, and they're always disappointed.

Edward Hall:
[opens the window] Can I open this? [looks down] Quite a drop.

Dr. Rathmann:
Mr. Hall, I'll ah... I'll have to close the window. [closes it]

Edward Hall:
I only wanted some air.

Dr. Rathmann:
Well I'll ah... I'll turn the conditioner up. It works best with the windows closed.

Edward Hall:
Did you think I'd jump?

Dr. Rathmann:
You might have.

Edward Hall:
Not a chance. I want to live. That's my problem.

Dr. Rathmann:
All right, Mr. Hall, suppose you tell me all about it. Everything. Start anywhere.

Edward Hall:
Okay, but I'm warning you. You're gonna think I lost my marbles.

Dr. Rathmann:
No, marbles can be found, Mr. Hall. Go on.

Edward Hall:
[stares at picture on the wall] Did you ever look at this picture, I mean really look at it?

Dr. Rathmann:
I think so, why?

Edward Hall:
Has it ever moved?

Dr. Rathmann:
No, not to my knowledge, anyway.

Edward Hall:
I can make it move.

Dr. Rathmann:
Can you?

Edward Hall:
Yes. But not really. When I was a kid, we had a picture like this in our house. Not the same thing, exactly, but pretty close. A boat. My mother used to tell me to look at it. She said if I looked at it long enough, it would move. All I had to do was keep looking at it. I didn't believe her, but the idea fascinated me. One night I spent a whole hour just staring at that silly boat.

Dr. Rathmann:
And did it move?

Edward Hall:
[slow response] Yes.

Dr. Rathmann:
Now you understand there's nothing strange about that, it was an optical illusion.

Edward Hall:
Yeah, I know. Except that after awhile I couldn't control it. Every time I looked at that boat, the sails would fill and it would begin to dip. I just couldn't stop it.

Dr. Rathmann:
Imagination is strong in a growing boy.

Edward Hall:
Yeah, I realize that. I realized it even then. But the point is I got just as scared as if it were really happening. The mind is everything. If you think you've got a pain in your arm and there's no physical reason for it, it hurts just the same, doesn't it?

Dr. Rathmann:
Granted.

Maya:
We've been expecting you, Mr. Hall.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] They say a dream takes only a second or so, and yet in that second a man can live a lifetime. He can suffer and die, and who's to say which is the greater reality: the one we know or the one in dreams, between heaven, the sky, the earth - in the Twilight Zone.

[repeated line]

David Andrew Gurney:
I'm David Gurney!

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Cameo of a man who has just lost his most valuable possession. He doesn't know about the loss, yet. In fact, he doesn't even know about the possession. Because, like most people, David Gurney has never really thought about the matter of his identity. But he's going to be thinking a great deal about it from now on, because that is what he's lost. And his search for it is going to take him into the darkest corners - of The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
A case of mistaken identity or a nightmare turned inside out? A simple loss of memory or the end of the world? David Gurney may never find the answer, but you can be sure he's looking for it - in the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Take away a man's dream, fill him with whiskey and despair, send him to a lonely bridge, let him stand there all by himself looking down as the black water, and try to imagine the thoughts that are in his mind. You can't, I can't. But there's someone who can - and that someone is seated next to Douglas Winter right now. The car is headed back toward town, but its real destination is the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Exit the infernal machine, and with it his satanic majesty, Lucifer, prince of darkness - otherwise known as Mr. Smith. He's gone, but not for good; that wouldn't be like him - he's gone for bad. And he might be back, with another ticket = to The Twilight Zone.

Adam Cook:
Probe 7 is no longer probing, General, unless it's the few subterranean feet where I landed.

General Larrabee:
Not that it will provide vast solace to you, but at 9 o'clock this morning, Cook, we went to war.

Adam Cook:
And?

General Larrabee:
Our entire seacoast went. Took twelve minutes. Exactly twelve minutes.

Adam Cook:
We... we retaliated?

General Larrabee:
Oh, indeed. With alacrity, and great effectiveness. And we still are. Our world is doing a little wholesale dying now.

General Larrabee:
Probe 7, this is Base. This is our last contact, Cook. Just a few minutes ago we got ours. 500% increase in the radioactivity around us. From what we can gather, the enemy had it just as bad as we did. We wiped them out. They wiped us out. Just one last forlorn wish for you, Son. Whoever you'll meet there, however you'll meet them, I hope it can come without fear. I hope it can come without anger. I hope your new world will be different. I hope you'll find no words such as Hate. I hope there'll be...

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] One Colonel Cook, a traveler in space. He's landed on a remote planet several million miles from his point of departure. He can make an inventory of his plight by just one 360-degree movement of head and eyes. Colonel Cook has been set adrift in an ocean of space in a metal lifeboat that has been scorched and destroyed and will never fly again. He survived the crash but his ordeal is yet to begin. Now he must give battle to loneliness. Now Colonel Cook must meet the unknown. It's a small planet set deep in space, but for Colonel Cook, it's the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Do you know these people? Names familiar, are they? They lived a long time ago. Perhaps they're part fable, perhaps they're part fantasy. And perhaps the place they're walking to now is not really called 'Eden.' We offer it only as a presumption. This has been the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Jordan Herrick, syndicated columnist, whose work appears in more than a hundred newspapers. By nature a cynic, a disbeliever, caught for the moment by a lovely vision. He knows the vision he's seen is no dream; she is Pamela Morris, renowned movie star, whose name is a household word and whose face is known to millions. What Mr. Herrick does not know is that he has also just looked into the face - of the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Everybody knows Pamela Morris, the beautiful and eternally young movie star. Or does she have another name, even more famous, an Egyptian name from centuries past? It's best not to be too curious, lest you wind up like Jordan Herrick, a pile of dust and old clothing, discarded in the endless eternity of the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Meet Bunny Blake. Occupation: film actress. Residence: Hollywood, California, or anywhere in the world that cameras happen to be grinding. Bunny Blake is a public figure; what she wears, eats, thinks, says is news. But underneath the glamor, the makeup, the publicity, the build-up, the costuming, is a flesh-and-blood person, a beautiful girl about to take a long and bizarre journey into the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
We are all travelers. The trip starts in a place called birth - and ends in that lonely town called death. And that's the end of the journey, unless you happen to exist a few hours, like Bunny Blake, in the misty regions of the Twilight Zone.

Adam Grant:
Well, Jiggs, don't you think that all of this is just a little bit too much the way it should be?

Jiggs:
I don't get you.

Adam Grant:
Well, I mean it's so pat. I got tried and sentenced the same day. It doesn't work like that! But you see, that's the way that I saw it in my mind, and so that's the way it is! Or you take this place here, you and Coley and his harmonica, or Phillips and his mother.

[laughs]

Adam Grant:
It's like a movie. Real death houses aren't like that, but you see I've never been in a real death house, so that's - that's my impression of it!

Jiggs:
Oh, man, you're really clipped. I don't know what you're talking about.

Carol Ritchie:
[in the Ritchies' home] Well, the Brothers Grimm, as I live.

Henry Ritchie:
What're you doing up?

Carol Ritchie:
I'm not up. I'm down. Just like you and your funny friend here. Have they...?

Paul Carson:
Fifteen more minutes. That's another thing. Why does this always happen around midnight?

Henry Ritchie:
Because that's when it happens!

Paul Carson:
Yeah, but why?

Henry Ritchie:
You tell me why!

Paul Carson:
According to Grant, he doesn't know anything about these matters except what he sees in the movies, and in the movies it always happens at midnight.

Henry Ritchie:
Because movies are technically accurate.

Paul Carson:
Yeah, that's strange, too, when you come to think of it.

Judge:
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?

Jury Foreman:
We have, your Honor.

Judge:
And what is the verdict?

Jury Foreman:
Your Honor, we find the defendant, Adam Grant, guilty of murder in the first degree.

Judge:
The defendant will rise. [Adam remains seated] The defendant will rise!

Attorney:
[putting his hand on his shoulder] Adam

Judge:
[Adam rises] Adam Grant, you have been tried by a jury of your peers and found guilty. Do you have anything you wish to say before sentence is passed?

Judge:
[Adam remains silent] Very well. It is the sentence of this court, that for the brutal and despicable crime of murder in the first degree, you shall be put to death by means of electrocution.

Adam Grant:
[starts to laugh hysterically]

Adam Grant:
[slamming his hand on the table] NO! Not again! I won't die again! [lunging at the judge] You can't make me die again!

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Adam Grant, a nondescript kind of man, found guilty of murder and sentenced to the electric chair. Like every other criminal caught in the wheels of justice, he's scared, right down to the marrow of his bones. But it isn't prison that scares him, the long, silent nights of waiting, the slow walk to the little room, or even death itself. It's something else that holds Adam Grant in the hot, sweaty grip of fear, something worse than any punishment this world has to offer, something found only in - The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
We know that a dream can be real, but who ever thought that reality could be a dream? We exist, of course, but how, in what way? As we believe, as flesh-and-blood human beings, or are we simply parts of someone's feverish, complicated nightmare? Think about it, and then ask yourself, do you live here, in this country, in this world, or do you live, instead, - in The Twilight Zone?

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Some one-hundred-odd years ago, a motley collection of tough moustaches galloped across the West and left behind a raft of legends and legerdemains, and it seems a reasonable conjecture that if there are any television sets up in cowboy heaven, and anyone of these rough-and-wooly nail-eaters could see with what careless abandon their names and exploits are bandied about, they're very likely turning over in their graves - or worse, getting out of them. Which gives you a clue as to the proceedings that'll begin in just a moment, when one Mr. Rance McGrew, a three-thousand-buck-a-week phony-baloney discovers that this week's current edition of make-believe is being shot on location - and that location is The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
The evolution of the so-called 'adult' western, and the metamorphosis of one Randy McGrew, formerly phony-baloney, now upright citizen with a preoccupation with all things involving tradition, truth, and cowpoke predecessors. It's the way the cookie crumbles and the six-gun shoots - in The Twilight Zone.

Jesse James:
[Mocking Rance McGrew] Just like I figured. This guy couldn't outdraw a crayon.

Jesse James:
We may be stiffs up there, but we're sensitive.

Jesse James:
I've been looking over next week's script where you knock the gun out of Billy the Kid's hand from 4 stories up, half a block away, with a lamp.

Rance McGrew:
No good, huh?

Rance McGrew:
Last year we had a script where one of the Dalton boys got away.

Jesse James:
I know, he TOLD me.

Rance McGrew:
Oh.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
This is Roswell G. Flemington, two hundred and seventeen pounds of gristle, lung tissue and sound decibels. He is, as you have perceived, a noisy man, one of a breed who substitutes volume for substance, sound for significance, and shouting to cover up the readily apparent phenomenon that he is nothing more than an overweight and aging perennial Sea Scout whose noise-making is in inverse ratio to his competence and his character. But soon our would-be admiral of the fleet will embark on another voyage. This one is an uncharted and twisting stream that heads for a distant port called... the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
When last heard from, Mr. Roswell G. Flemington was in a sanitarium pleading with the medical staff to make some noise. They, of course, believe the case to be a rather tragic aberration - a man's mind becoming unhinged. And for this, they'll give him pills, therapy, and rest. Little do they realize that all Mr. Flemington is suffering from is a case of poetic justice. Tonight's tale of sounds and silences from... the Twilight Zone.

Robert Blake:
[after David leaves] I almost feel sorry for him.

Mr. Henderson:
But not quite? [They both smile]

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] This is the face of terror: Anne Marie Henderson, eighteen years of age, her young existence suddenly marred by a savage and wholly unanticipated pursuit by a strange, nightmarish figure of a woman in black, who has appeared as if from nowhere and now at driving gallop chases the terrified girl across the countryside, as if she means to ride her down and kill her - and then suddenly and inexplicably stops, to watch in malignant silence as her prey takes flight. Miss Henderson has no idea whatever as to the motive for this pursuit; worse, not the vaguest notion regarding the identity of her pursuer. Soon enough, she will be given the solution to this twofold mystery, but in a manner far beyond her present capacity to understand, a manner enigmatically bizarre in terms of time and space - which is to say, an answer from the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
This is the face of terror: Anne Marie Mitchell, forty-three years of age, her desolate existence once more afflicted by the hope of altering her past mistake - a hope which is, unfortunately, doomed to disappointment. For warnings from the future to the past must be taken in the past; today may change tomorrow but once today is gone, tomorrow can only look back in sorrow that the warning was ignored. Said warning as of now stamped 'not accepted' and stored away in the dead file in the recording office of the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
No one's ever saw one quite like that, because that's a very special sort of radio. In its day, circa 1935, its type was one of the most elegant consoles on the market. Now, with its fabric-covered speakers, its peculiar yellow dial, its serrated knobs, it looks quaint and a little strange. Mr. Ed Lindsay is going to find out how strange very soon - when he tunes in to The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Around and around she goes, and where she stops, nobody knows. All Ed Lindsay knows is that he desperately wanted a second chance, and he finally got it - through a strange and wonderful time machine called a radio - in The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[opening narration] Sports item, circa 1974: Battling Maxo, B2, heavyweight, accompanied by his manager and handler, arrives in Maynard, Kansas, for a scheduled six-round bout. Battling Maxo is a robot, or, to be exact, an android, definition: an automaton resembling a human being. Only these automatons have been permitted in the ring since prizefighting was legally abolished in 1968. This is the story of that scheduled six-round bout, more specifically the story of two men shortly to face that remorseless truth: that no law can be passed which will abolish cruelty or desperate need - nor, for that matter, blind animal courage. Location for the facing of said truth, a small, smoke-filled arena just this side of The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Portrait of a losing side, proof positive that you can't outpunch machinery. Proof also of something else: that no matter what the future brings, man's capacity to rise to the occasion will remain unaltered. His potential for tenacity and optimism continues, as always, to outfight, outpoint, and outlive any and all changes by his society, for which three cheers and a unanimous decision rendered from the Twilight Zone.

Old Man:
Hypnotism? This is conjure stuff!

Old Man:
That's who we'll have fightin' on our side, the devil!

Paradine:
If this cause is to be buried, let it be put in hallowed ground.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
The time is 1863. The place: the state of Virginia. The event is a mass blood-letting known as the Civil War, a tragic moment in time when a nation was split into two fragments, each fragment deeming itself a nation.

Narrator:
[continuing narration subsequent to extensive character dialogue] This is Joseph Paradine, Confederate cavalry, as he heads down toward a small town in the middle of a valley. But very shortly, Joseph Paradine will make contact with the enemy. He will also make contact with an outpost not found on a military map - an outpost called - The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
On the following morning, Sergeant Paradine and the rest of these men were moved up north to a little town in Pennsylvania, an obscure little place where a battle was brewing, a town called Gettysburg - and this one was fought without the help of the Devil. Small historical note not to be found in any known books, but part of the records - in The Twilight Zone.

Paradine:
I know that, but maybe it's time we called muster on the devil.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Bob and Millie Frazier, average young New Yorkers who attended a party in the country last night and on the way home took a detour. Most of us on waking in the morning know exactly where we are; the rooster or the alarm clock brings us out of sleep into the familiar sights, sounds, aromas of home and the comfort of a routine day ahead. Not so with our young friends. This will be a day like none they've ever spent - and they'll spend it in the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
The moral of what you've just seen is clear. If you drink, don't drive. And if your wife has had a couple, she shouldn't drive either. You might both just wake up with a whale of a headache in a deserted village in the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] June twenty-fifth 1964 - or, if you prefer, June twenty-fifth 1876. The cast of characters in order of their appearance: a patrol of General Custer's cavalry and a patrol of National Guardsmen on a maneuver. Past and present are about to collide head-on, as they are wont to do in a very special bivouac area known as... the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Sergeant William Connors, Trooper Michael McCluskey, and Trooper Richard Langsford, who, on a hot afternoon in June, made a charge over a hill - and never returned. Look for this one under 'P' for phantom, is a historical ledger located in a reading room known as the Twilight Zone.

Marsha White:
[to the Saleswoman] I mean, I don't want to make a big thing out of this, but what kind of a place is this?

Male Mannequin:
Maaarsha? Who do you think you're fooling, Marsha?

Female Mannequin:
Come on, dear. Climb off it.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Express elevator to the ninth floor of a department store, carrying Miss Marsha White on a most prosiac, ordinary, run-of-the-mill errand.

Elevator Man:
Ninth floor!

Marsha White:
[exits elevator] There must be some mistake. There's nothing here.

[the Elevator Man closes the door in her face]

Narrator:
[continued narration] Miss Marsha White on the ninth floor, specialties department, looking for a gold thimble. The odds are that she'll find it - but there are even better odds that she'll find something else, because this isn't just a department store. This happens to be The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Marsha White in her normal and natural state: a wooden lady with a painted face, who, one month out of the year, takes on the characteristics of someone as normal and as flesh and blood as you and I. But it makes you wonder, doesn't it? Just how normal are we? Just who are the people we nod our hellos to as we pass on the street? A rather good question to ask - particularly in The Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
This object, should any of you have lived underground for the better parts of your lives and never had occasion to look toward the sky, is an airplane. Its official designation: a DC-3. We offer this rather obvious comment because this particular airplane, the one you're looking at, is a freak. Now, most airplanes take off and land as per scheduled. On rare occasions, they crash. But all airplanes can be counted on doing one or the other. Now, yesterday morning this particular airplane ceased to be just a commercial carrier. As of its arrival, it became an enigma, a seven-ton puzzle made out of aluminum, steel, wire, and a few thousand other component parts, none of which add up to the right thing. In just a moment, we're going to show you the tail end of its history. We're going to give you ninety percent of the jigsaw pieces, and you and Mr. Sheckly, here of the Federal Aviation Agency, will assume the problem of putting them together, along with finding the missing pieces. This we offer as the evening's hobby, a little extracurricular diversion which is really the national pastime - in The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Picture of a man with an Achilles' heel, a mystery that landed in his life and then turned into a heavy weight dragged across the years to ultimately take the form of an illusion. Now, that's the clinical answer that they put on the tag as they take him away. But if you choose to think that the explanation has to do with an airborne Flying Dutchman, a ghost ship on a fog-enshrouded night on a flight that never ends, then you're doing your business in an old stand - in The Twilight Zone.

William Shakespeare:
[In response to Julius Moomer being at a loss for words after discovering Williams Shakespeare has appeared] He speaks yet he says nothing. Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 2. [Trumpets sound, this is a paraphrase as Romeo was the original speaker and used she instead of he]

Julius Moomer:
I got me an idea Will. You don't mind if I call you Will, do you?

William Shakespeare:
What's in a name? That which we call a rose. By any other name would smell as sweet; [Trumpets sound, also from Romeo & Juliet Act 2, Scene 2, by Juliet, but not mentioned by Shakespeare]

Julius Moomer:
You never heard of Ingrid Bergman? [laughs] Where ya been pal?... Never mind, don't tell me.

William Shakespeare:
A comely woman I take it. One fairer than my love. The all seeing sun ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. [Trumpets sound, from Romeo & Juliet, Act 1, Scene 2, by Romeo-not mentioned by Shakespeare]

Julius Moomer:
[Julius Moomer has just finished doing the jig of joy] Smatter Will? You don't look so good?

William Shakespeare:
Like a strutting player whose conceit lies in his hamstring. [Trumpets sound] That's from Troilus and Cressida, Act 1, Scene 3 [by Ulysses]

William Shakespeare:
I think I will take a walk now. I am that merry wanderer of the night. [Trumpets sound] A Midsummer's Night Dream, Act 2, Scene 1 [by Puck]

William Shakespeare:
To be or not to be Mr. Moomer, that... [Trumpets begin to sound, but are cut short, as he appears to forget his line. He shrugs his shoulders and exits through the door. From Hamlet Act 3, Scene 1 by Hamlet-not mentioned by Shakespeare]

William Shakespeare:
But she has the most definitive line of the play. In the epilogue, I took it from Twelfth Night.

[trumpets play during the following quote]

William Shakespeare:
If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken and so die.

[Act 1, Scene 1 by Duke Orsino-not mentioned by Shakespeare]

William Shakespeare:
[after knocking out Rocky Rhodes] Blow, blow thou winter wind. Thou art not so unkind as man's ingratitude. [Trumpets sound] . That's from As You Like It, Act 2, Scene 7 [by Amiens]

Julius Moomer:
Hey Will, Will. Will. Hey wait a minute, Will. Wait a minute. What you doing? You're gonna louse up the whole deal. What am I going to say to them in there? What am I gonna tell them?

William Shakespeare:
Tell them simply that foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun. It shines everywhere. [Trumpets sound] Act 3, Scene 1, Twelfth Night. [by Feste]

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] You've just witnessed opportunity, if not knocking, at least scratching plaintively on a closed door. Mr. Julius Moomer, a would-be writer who, if talent came twenty-five cents a pound, would be worth less than car fare. But, in a moment, Mr. Moomer, through the offices of some black magic, is about to embark on a brand-new career. And although he may never get a writing credit on the Twilight Zone, he's to become an integral character in it.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Mr. Julius Moomer, a streetcar conductor with delusions of authorship. And if the tale just told seems a little tall, remember a thing called poetic license - and another thing called the Twilight Zone.

Sadie:
This book and I have never been introduced. We're total strangers.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
A swimming pool not unlike any other pool, a structure built of tile and cement and money, a backyard toy for the affluent, wet entertainment for the well-to-do. But to Jeb and Sport Sharewood, this pool holds mysteries not dreamed of by the building contractor, not guaranteed in any sales brochure. For this pool has a secret exit that leads to a never-neverland, a place designed for junior citizens who need a long voyage away from reality, into the bottomless regions of the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
A brief epilogue for concerned parents. Of course, there isn't any such place as the gingerbread house of Aunt T, and we grownups know there's no door at the bottom of a swimming pool that leads to a secret place. But who can say how real the fantasy world of lonely children can become? For Jeb and Sport Sharewood, the need for love turned fantasy into reality; they found a secret place - in the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[opening narration] In this corner of the universe, a prizefighter named Bolie Jackson, one-hundred and eighty-three pounds and an hour and a half away from a comeback at St. Nick's Arena. Mr. Bolie Jackson, who, by the standards of his profession is an aging, over-the-hill relic of what was, and who now sees a reflection of a man who has left too many pieces of his youth in too many stadiums for too many years before too many screaming people. Mr. Bolie Jackson, who might do well to look for some gentle magic in the hard-surfaced glass that stares back at him.

Bolie Jackson:
Little boys. Little boys with their heads full up with dreams. When do they find out, Frances? When do they suddenly find out that there ain't any magic? When does somebody push their face down on the sidewalk and say to them, "Hey, little boy, it's concrete. That's what the world is made out of, concrete." When do they find out that you can wish your life away?

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Mr. Bolie Jackson, a hundred and eighty-three pounds, who left a second chance lying in a heap on a rosin-spattered canvas at St. Nick's Arena. Mr. Bolie Jackson, who shares the most common ailment of all men, the strange and perverse disinclination to believe in a miracle, the kind of miracle to come from the mind of a little boy, perhaps only to be found in the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
These are the players, with or without a scorecard: in one corner, a machine; in the other, one Wallace V. Whipple, man. And the game? It happens to be the historical battle between flesh and steel, between the brain of man and the product of man's brain. We don't make book on this one, and predict no winner, but we can tell you that, for this particular contest, there is standing room only - in the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
There are many bromides applicable here - too much of a good thing, tiger by the tail, as you sow, shall ye reap. The point is that too often, man becomes clever instead of becoming wise, he becomes inventive but not thoughtful - and sometimes, as in the case of Mr. Whipple, he can create himself right out of existence. Tonight's tale of oddness and obsolescence from the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Professor Ellis Fowler, a gentle, bookish guide to the young, who is about to discover that life still has certain surprises, and that the campus of the Rock Springs School for Boys lies on a direct path to another institution, commonly referred to as the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Professor Ellis Fowler, teacher, who discovered rather belatedly something of his own value. A very small scholastic lesson from the campus of - The Twilight Zone.

Roger Shackleforth:
Listen, darling, I have to see you.

Leila:
Roger, it's impossible.

Roger Shackleforth:
I must see you, darling, must! Furiously, fiercely must! I love you.

Leila:
Roger, you've got to stop this. You're acting like a baby. I can't see you now, and that's that.

Roger Shackleforth:
Well then, talk to me. Say something! Say anything!

Leila:
Say something? Alright Roger, I'll say something. Why don't you take a flying jump at the moon?

Professor A. Daemon:
You want what I've got.

Roger Shackleforth:
But I don't know what you've got.

Professor A. Daemon:
Ointments, salves, powders, sovereign remedies, nectars, lotus blossoms, toxins, tonics, anti-toxins, decoctions, concoctions, and potions. All guaranteed.

Roger Shackleforth:
...Oh.

Professor A. Daemon:
You're ambitious, is that it? You want success, money and mileage, the world at your feet.

Roger Shackleforth:
No, that's not it at all.

Professor A. Daemon:
Power! You want power.

Roger Shackleforth:
No, you don't understand. All I want is Leila.

Professor A. Daemon:
...Leila?

Roger Shackleforth:
Yeah. If I have Leila, I can do all the rest myself.

Professor A. Daemon:
...Leila. I might have known. [the Professor begins to talk to himself] All he wants is Leila. I offer him practically anything, and all he wants is Leila.

Roger Shackleforth:
I'm in love with somebody named Leila, but she's not in love with me, and... I don't know why I'm telling you this.

Professor A. Daemon:
I do. I can arrange it so she'll love you.

Roger Shackleforth:
How?

Professor A. Daemon:
I promise you she'll never leave your side. When she isn't telling you she loves you, she'll be gazing at you lovingly. She won't even eat before you do, and nothing will be too much for you to ask of her. She'll worship you. She'll beg for kisses, and weep for joy at your touch. And if in passing time you should perhaps look at another girl, or, even do a little more than look, she'll feel hurt. But she'll forgive you, and love you just the same. Frankly, you'd get the same shake from a cocker spaniel.

Roger Shackleforth:
But that's wonderful! That's all in the world I want: my Leila's love!

Professor A. Daemon:
[Talking to himself] His Leila's love. If it isn't his Leila's love, it's his Dorothy's love, his Rea's love, or his Gwen's love.

Roger Shackleforth:
I don't think you're making any sense at all.

Professor A. Daemon:
My boy, that's all I make. Which is why I'm such a lonely man.

Professor A. Daemon:
Love potions are my cheapest item. And they're over-priced at that.

Roger Shackleforth:
It won't hurt her?

Professor A. Daemon:
If anybody gets hurt, it'll be you, but I don't expect you to believe me.

Roger Shackleforth:
Professor, I am going out of my ever-loving mind. I can't stand it anymore!

Professor A. Daemon:
Naturally.

Roger Shackleforth:
Is there such a thing as being loved too much? Isn't there some way we can just quiet it down a little?

Professor A. Daemon:
No.

Roger Shackleforth:
Well, isn't there some potion that will transfer a little of this love to someone else? Like a nice cocker spaniel?

Professor A. Daemon:
Not a chance. She's yours.

Roger Shackleforth:
But she's so nice to me! She's so very good!

Professor A. Daemon:
I know. 'The glove cleaner' is the only way.

Roger Shackleforth:
Professor, you don't know what it's like. All the time: love, love, love!

Professor A. Daemon:
I do know what it's like. How do you think I came to invent 'the glove cleaner?'

Professor A. Daemon:
Always the same way. First the stimulant... then the chaser.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Mr. Roger Shackelforth. Age: youthful twenties. Occupation: being in love. Not just in love, but madly, passionately, illogically, miserably, all-consumingly in love - with a young woman named Leila, who has a vague recollection of his face and even less than a passing interest. In a moment, you'll see a switch, because Mr. Roger Shackelforth, the young gentleman so much in love, will take a short but very meaningful journey into The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Mr. Roger Shackelforth, who has discovered at this late date that love can be as sticky as a vat of molasses, as unpalatable as a hunk of spoiled yeast, and as all-consuming as a six-alarm fire in a bamboo and canvas tent. Case history of a lover boy, who should never have entered The Twilight Zone.

Professor A. Daemon:
What is it you want?

Roger Shackleforth:
Oh, nothing.

Professor A. Daemon:
Nothing I don't supply. Something is my specialty. Anything is what you get here.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
You're watching a ventriloquist named Jerry Etherson, a voice-thrower par excellence. His alter ego, sitting atop his lap, is a brash stick of kindling with the sobriquet 'Willy.' In a moment, Mr. Etherson and his knotty-pine partner will be booked in one of the out-of-the-way bistros, that small, dark, intimate place known as the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
What's known in the parlance of the times as the old switcheroo, from boss to blockhead in a few uneasy lessons. And if you're given to nightclubbing on occasion, check this act. It's called Willy and Jerry, and they generally are booked into some of the clubs along the 'Gray Night Way' - known as The Twilight Zone.

Jerry Etherson:
Sweet dreams, Willie. Your next booking is in a fireplace.

Fenton:
[Taro, intending to go, tries to open the back door of the house, but cannot] I guess you're not supposed to leave yet.

[last lines]

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Two men in an attic, locked in mortal embrace, their common bond and their common enemy: Guilt. A disease all-too prevalent amongst men both in and out of the Twilight Zone.

Taro:
I grew up in Honolulu. I was at Pearl Harbor when it was bombed.

Fenton:
Were you one of the pilots?

Taro:
Banzai!

Fenton:
[drapes his old Army dress green over his chest, chuckles] Can you believe I used to be able to squeeze into this?

Taro:
[half-heartedly] Yeah, sure. Why not?

Fenton:
[wistfully] You're just being polite. No, I'm a rancid tub of lard now.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Two men alone in an attic; a young Japanese-American and a seasoned veteran of yesterday's war. It's twenty-odd years since Pearl Harbor, but two ancient opponents are moving into position for a battle in an attic crammed with skeletons - souvenirs, old uniforms, and rusted medals - ghosts from the dim reaches of the past that will lead us into... the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
The major ingredient for any recipe for fear is the unknown. And there are two characters about to partake of the meal: Miss Charlotte Scott, a fashion editor, and Mr. Robert Franklin, a state trooper. And the third member of the party: the unknown, that has just landed a few hundred yards away. This person or thing is soon to be met. This is a mountain cabin, but it is also a clearing in the shadows known as the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Fear, of course, is extremely relative. It depends on who can look down and who must look up. It depends on other vagaries, like the time, the mood, the darkness. But it's been said before, with great validity, that the worst thing there is to fear is fear itself. Tonight's tale of terror and tiny people on the Twilight Zone.

Franklin Gibbs:
[after maniacally playing a slot machine for nearly 24 hours, it "deliberately" breaks down on him]... Give me back my dollar, you miserable dirty... That's my last dollar! [He attacks the machine and pushes it over; it crashes to the floor] Franklin Gibbs: GIVE ME BACK MY DOLLAR! [he is dragged out of the casino by security guards]

Narrator:
[opening narration] Mr. and Mrs. Franklin Gibbs - three days and two nights, all expenses paid, at a Las Vegas hotel, won by virtue of Mrs. Gibbs' knack with a phrase. But unbeknownst to either Mr. or Mrs. Gibbs is the fact that there's a prize in their package neither expected nor bargained for. In just a moment, one of them will succumb to an illness worse than any virus can produce, a most inoperative, deadly, life-shattering affliction known as The Fever.

Flora Gibbs:
Franklin, that's the third time you've cashed a check.

Franklin Gibbs:
I know that.

Flora Gibbs:
Well, you've spent a great deal of money.

Franklin Gibbs:
I know that too.

Flora Gibbs:
Don't you think you ought to stop now?

Franklin Gibbs:
How can I stop? I lost a great deal of money. You said it yourself. I've got to win it back.

Flora Gibbs:
But what if you don't? What if you don't win it back, Franklin? You've been standing here nearly 3 hours.

Franklin Gibbs:
Yes, I know that too.

Flora Gibbs:
Franklin, dear, you know how awful you feel in the morning after you've been up too late at night.

Franklin Gibbs:
Flora, will you kindly shut your mouth! I hate a shrew, Flora! I hate a woman who stands in back of you and sees to it that you have miserable luck! And that's what you're doing to me now, Flora! You're giving me miserable luck! Now please go away and leave me alone!

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Mr. Franklin Gibbs, visitor to Las Vegas, who lost his money, his reason, and finally his life to an inanimate metal machine variously described as a one-armed bandit, a slot machine, or, in Mr. Franklin Gibbs' words, a monster with a will all its own. For our purposes, we'll stick with the latter definition - because we're in the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[opening narration] His name is Arch Hammer, he's 36 years old. He's been a salesman, a dispatcher, a truck driver, a con man, a bookie, and a part-time bartender. This is a cheap man, a nickel-and-dime man, with a cheapness that goes past the suit and the shirt; a cheapness of mind, a cheapness of taste, a tawdry little shine on the seat of his conscience, and a dark-room squint at a world whose sunlight has never gotten through to him. But Mr. Hammer has a talent, discovered at a very early age. This much he does have. He can make his face change. He can twitch a muscle, move a jaw, concentrate on the cast of his eyes, and he can change his face. He can change it into anything he wants. Mr. Archie Hammer, jack-of-all-trades, has just checked in at three-eighty a night, with two bags, some newspaper clippings, a most odd talent, and a master plan to destroy some lives.

Penell:
Virge, this is the happiest day of my life!

Virge Sterig:
[laughs] This is the happiest day of your life, how come you look like somebody just stuck lemon juice in your beer, huh?

[laughs]

Virge Sterig:
No, Mr. Penell, you're not so happy. You got no reason to be happy. Believe me, Mr. Penell, I know. You got no reason to be happy. No reason at all. Now if you could've kept me in the river, a cold clammy little item without a voice,

[poking Penell]

Virge Sterig:
*Then* you could've been happy. But this is one double-cross, Mr Penell, that came back to bite you.

Penell:
[nervous] Virge, you got me wrong, Virge.

Virge Sterig:
I held up my end of the bargain and instead of the payoff, all I got was the river. And that river was cold, Mr. Penell. Far too cold for this time of the year. Lousy swimming, Mr. Penell! Especially when you're almost out of blood.

Andy Marshak:
How do I know you?

Pop Marshak:
How do you know me? A son should know his father. What kind of game are you playing, Andy?

Andy Marshak:
I'm your son?

Pop Marshak:
You were. You were before you ran out. You were before you broke your mother's heart. Before you did dirt to a sweet decent little girl who would've cut off an arm for you. But now you ain't my son. Now you ain't nothin' to me. You're nothin'. I hate your guts. Do you hear me? I hate your guts.

Narrator:
[closing narration] He was Arch Hammer, a cheap little man who just checked in. He was Johnny Foster, who played a trumpet and was loved beyond words. He was Virgil Sterig, with money in his pocket. He was Andy Marshak, who got some of his agony back on a sidewalk in front of a cheap hotel. Hammer, Foster, Sterig, Marshak-and all four of them were dying.

Ramon:
[answers the door] Excuse me, sir, Mr. Penell is not at home this evening.

[Sterig pushes Ramon out of the way]

Penell:
Who is it, Ramon?

Virge Sterig:
It's *me*, Mr. Penell.

[Penell, in shock, drops his beer and smashes the television]

Virge Sterig:
Picture tubes are expensive, but you can always get yourself another beer. Imported, isn't it? I always liked your taste, Mr. Penell.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
It's been said that science fiction and fantasy are two different things: science fiction, the improbable made possible; fantasy, the impossible made probable. What would you have if you put these two different things together? Well, you'd have an old man named Ben who knows a lot of tricks most people don't know and a little girl named Jenny who loves him - and a journey into the heart of the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Mrs. Gann will be in for a big surprise when she finds this

[photo of a handsome young man]

Narrator:
under Jenny's pillow, because Mrs. Gann has more temper than imagination. She'll never dream that this is a picture of Old Ben, as he really looks, and it will never occur to her that eventually her niece will grow up to be an honest-to-goodness queen - somewhere in The Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
The place is Mexico, just across the Texas border, a mountain village held back in time by its remoteness and suddenly intruded upon by the twentieth century. And this is Pedro, nine years old, a lonely, rootless little boy, who will soon make the acquaintance of a traveler from a distant place. We are at present forty miles from the Rio Grande, but any place and all places can be - the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Madeiro, Mexico, the present. The subject: fear. The cure: a little more faith. An RX off a shelf - in the Twilight Zone.

Officer:
What was it, doctor?

Man:
Black magic? Something from Satan?

Man:
Read it.

Doctor:
[Reads aloud] "Greetings to the people of Earth. We come as friends and in peace. We bring you this gift. The following chemical formula is a vaccine. It's a vaccine against all forms of cancer." [sighs] That's all there is; the rest has been burned. [the onlookers are deeply shocked] So we have not just killed a man, we have killed a dream.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Normally, the old man would be correct: this would be the end of the story. We've had the traditional shoot-out on the street and the badman will soon be dead. But some men of legend and folk tale have been known to continue having their way even after death. The outlaw and killer Pinto Sykes was such a person, and shortly we'll see how he introduces the town, and a man named Conny Miller in particular, to the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Final comment: you take this with a grain of salt or a shovelful of earth, as shadow or substance, we leave it up to you. And for any further research, check under 'G' for 'ghost' in the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[opening narration] Her name is Nan Adams. She's twenty-seven years old. Her occupation: buyer at a New York department store. At present on vacation, driving cross-country to Los Angeles, California from Manhattan.

Narrator:
[continued narration, subsequent to character dialogue] Minor incident on Highway 11 in Pennsylvania. Perhaps, to be filed away under "accidents you walk away from." But from this moment on, Nan Adams' companion on a trip to California will be terror. Her route: fear. Her destination: quite unknown.

The Hitch-Hiker:
Heading west?

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Nan Adams, age twenty-seven. She was driving to California; to Los Angeles. She didn't make it. There was a detour... through the Twilight Zone.

The Hitch-Hiker:
I believe you're going... my way.

David Ellington:
Honest men make unconvincing liars.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] The prostrate form of Mr. David Ellington, scholar, seeker of truth and, regretably, finder of truth. A man who will shortly arise from his exhaustion to confront a problem that has tormented mankind since the beginning of time. A man who knocked on a door seeking sanctuary and found, instead, the outer edges of The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Ancient folk saying: 'You can catch the Devil, but you can't hold him long.' Ask Brother Jerome. Ask David Ellington. They know, and they'll go on knowing to the end of their days and beyond - in the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
An old man and a hound dog named Rip, off for an evening's pleasure in quest of raccoon. Usually, these evenings end with one tired old man, one battle-scarred hound dog, and one or more extremely dead raccoons, but as you may suspect, that will not be the case tonight. These hunters won't be coming home from the hill. They're headed for the backwoods - of The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Travelers to unknown regions would be well-advised to take along the family dog. He could just save you from entering the wrong gate. At least, it happened that way once - in a mountainous area of the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[opening narration] Mr. Horace Ford, who has a preoccupation with another time, a time of childhood, a time of growing up, a time of street games, stickball and hide-'n-go-seek. He has a reluctance to go check out a mirror and see the nature of his image: proof positive that the time he dwells in has already passed him by. But in a moment or two, he'll discover that mechanical toys and memoires and daydreaming and wishful thinking and all manner of odd and special events can lead one into a special province, uncharted and unmapped, - a country of both shadow and substance known as The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Exit Mr. and Mrs. Horace Ford, who have lived through a bizarre moment not to be calibrated on normal clocks or watches. Time has passed, to be sure, but it's the special time in the special place known as - the Twilight Zone.

[last lines]

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] These are the invaders: the tiny beings from the tiny place called Earth, who would take the giant step across the sky to the question marks that sparkle and beckon from the vastness of the universe only to be imagined. The invaders, who found out that a one-way ticket to the stars beyond has the ultimate price tag, and we have just seen it entered in a ledger that covers all the transactions in the universe - a bill stamped "Paid in Full" and to be found on file - in The Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
This is one of the out-of-the-way places, the unvisited places, bleak, wasted, dying. This is a farmhouse, handmade, crude, a house without electricity or gas, a house untouched by progress. This is the woman who lives in the house, a woman who's been alone for many years, a strong, simple woman whose only problem up until this moment has been that of acquiring enough food to eat, a woman about to face terror, which is even now coming at her from - The Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
the cast of characters: a cat and a mouse. This is the latter, the intended victim who may or may not know that he is to die, be it by butchery or ballet. His name is Major Ivan Kuchenko. He has, if events go according to certain plans, perhaps three or four more hours of living. But an ignorance shared by both himself and his executioner is the fact that both of them have taken a first step into the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Major Ivan Kuchenko, on his way west, on his way to freedom, a freedom bought and paid for by a most stunning ingenuity. And exit one Commissar Vassiloff, who forgot that there are two sides to an argument - and two parties on the line. This has been the Twilight Zone.

Alan Richards:
[thinking of the animal on his doorstep] If you wanted to get hold of a dead goat on an hour's notice, where would you go?

Chad:
To a psychiatrist.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
The carcass of a goat, a dead finger, a few bits of broken glass and stone, and Mr. Alan Richards, a modern man of a modern age, hating with all his heart something in which he cannot believe and preparing - although he doesn't know it - to take the longest walk of his life, right down to the center - of The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Some superstitions, kept alive by the long night of ignorance, have their own special power. You'll hear of it through a jungle grapevine in a remote corner of the Twilight Zone.

Alan Richards:
I'll be back tonight.

Doris Richards:
You'll never be back. [he goes to the door] Don't open that door. [he looks back, opens the door, finds a dead goat outside]

Doris Richards:
Remember what that Shaman said when we were drilling in Africa? He said that we were hurting the land, that we were making it bleed, that the land would make us pay.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Dialog from a play, Hamlet to Horatio: There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Dialog from a play written long before men took to the sky: There are more things in heaven and earth and in the sky than perhaps can be dreamt of. And somewhere in between heaven, the sky, and the earth, lies The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Witness Flight Lieutenant William Terrance Decker, Royal Flying Corps, returning from a patrol somewhere over France. The year is 1917. The problem is that the Lieutenant is hopelessly lost. Lieutenant Decker will soon discover that a man can be lost not only in terms of maps and miles, but also in time - and time in this case can be measured in eternities.

Narrator:
[opening narration] The name is Grady, five feet short in stockings and boots, a slightly distorted offshoot of a good breed of humans who race horses. He happens to be one of the rotten apples, bruised and yellowed by dealing in dirt, a short man with a short memory who's forgotten that he's worked for the sport of kings and helped turn it into a cesspool, used and misused by the two-legged animals who've hung around sporting events since the days of the Colosseum. So this is Grady, on his last night as a jockey. Behind him are Hialeah, Hollywood Park and Saratoga. Rounding the far turn and coming up fast on the rail - is The Twilight Zone.

[first lines]

Grady:
[answers the phone] Yeah. This is Grady. Who? What paper? Oh yeah, yeah. Yeah, so you're the creep that... I said creep! Yeah, I know who you are! I know who you are! Sure, I read your column. Every time I read it, it makes me sick, I wanna use a stomach pump. Don't try and nuzzle up to me with that Mr. Grady stuff. Three years ago you stuck in the shiv! Listen to me, I had nothing to do with horse doping. NOTHING, you understand that?

[conversation continues]

Grady:
Ah, oh sure, a couple of taps on the typewriter and I get a 60-day suspension!

Grady:
[listens] Yeah, go ahead, you could talk pretty safe now, you're 50 blocks away. If you were here in this room now, I'd scrape you off the wall and put you in a cup. How does that grab you? This is a statement to the press! Grady to the press, you fink, ya hyenas down there! Listen, and don't forget to spell the name correct! Grady! G-R-A-D-Y!

Narrator:
[closing narration] The name is Grady, ten feet tall, a slightly distorted offshoot of a good breed of humans who race horses. Unfortunately for Mr. Grady, he learned too late that you don't measure size with a ruler, you don't figure height with a yardstick, and you never judge a man by how tall he looks in a mirror. The giant is as he does. You can make a pari-mutuel bet on this, win, place, or show, in or out of The Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Time: the mid-twenties. Place: the Midwest - the southernmost section of the Midwest. We were just witnessing a funeral, a funeral that didn't come off exactly as planned, due to a slight fallout - from The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Jeff and Comfort are still alive today, and their only son is a United States Senator. He's noted as an uncommonly shrewd politician, and some believe he must have gotten his education - in The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] The residence of Dr. William Loren, which is in reality a menagerie for machines. We're about to discover that sometimes the product of man's talent and genius can walk amongst us untouched by the normal ravages of time. These are Dr. Loren's robots, built to function, as well as artistic perfection. But in a moment, Dr. William Loren, wife, and daughter will discover that perfection is relative, that even robots have to be paid for, and very shortly will be shown exactly what is the bill.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Let this be the postscript, should you be worn out by the rigors of competing in a very competive world, if you're distraught from having to share your existence with the noises and neurosises of the twentieth century, if you crave serenity but want it full time and with no string attached, get yourself a workroom in a basement, and then drop a note to Dr. and Mrs. William Loren. They're a childless couple who made comfort a life's work, and maybe there are a few do-it-yourself pamphlets still available - in The Twilight Zone.

Peter Craig:
All right, my little friends, comes now the new age, the age of - the age of Peter Craig... Let us begin to build the statue, again. Let us commence to begin.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
The time is the space age, the place is a barren landscape of a rock-walled canyon that lies millions of miles from the planet Earth. The cast of characters? You've met them: William Fletcher, commander of the spaceship; his co-pilot, Peter Craig. The other characters who inhabit this place you may never see, but they're there, as these two gentlemen will soon find out. Because they're about to partake in a little exploration into that gray, shaded area in space and time that's known as The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
The case of navigator Peter Craig, a victim of a delusion. In this case, the dream dies a little harder than the man. A small exercise in space psychology that you can try on for size - in the Twilight Zone.

James A. Corry:
There's no more problems. There's no more problems on heaven or earth.

Narrator:
[opening narration] Witness if you will, a dungeon, made out of mountains, salt flats, and sand that stretch to infinity. The dungeon has an inmate: James A. Corry. And this is his residence: a metal shack. An old touring car that squats in the sun and goes nowhere - for there is nowhere to go. For the record, let it be known that James A. Corry is a convicted criminal placed in solitary confinement. Confinement in this case stretches as far as the eye can see, because this particular dungeon is on an asteroid nine-million miles from the Earth. Now witness, if you will, a man's mind and body shriveling in the sun, a man dying of loneliness.

Captain Allenby:
Brought you some paperback books.

James A. Corry:
Thanks.

Captain Allenby:
And, Corry, I brought you something else, too. It'll mean my job, if they ever suspect. It'd be my neck, if they found out for sure.

James A. Corry:
Look, Allenby. I don't want any gifts. I don't want tidbits. Makes me feel like an animal in a cage with an old lady out there who wants to throw peanuts at me. A pardon, Allenby. That's the only gift I want. I'm not a murderer. I killed in self-defense. There are still a lot of people who believe me, and it happens to be the truth. I killed in self-defense!

Captain Allenby:
I know. I know all about it. And I doubt if this'll be any consolation to you, but this isn't an easy assignment to handle; stopping here four times a year and having to look at a man's agony.

James A. Corry:
You're right, Allenby. It's very little consolation.

Captain Allenby:
Well, I can't bring you freedom. All I can do is try to bring you things to help keep your sanity. Something to, uh, well anything, so you can just fight loneliness.

James A. Corry:
Have a good trip back. Give my regards to Broadway.

James A. Corry:
Allenby, I don't much care what's in it [the crate]. But for the thought, for the decency, thank you.

Captain Allenby:
Quite welcome, Corry.

Alicia:
My name's Alicia. What's your name?

James A. Corry:
Get out of here. Get out of here! I don't need a machine. Go on, get out of here!

Alicia:
My name's Alicia. What's your name?

Alicia:
I brought you some water.

James A. Corry:
Put it over there.

Alicia:
It'll get warm just sitting there.

James A. Corry:
[snickers] How would you know?

Alicia:
I can feel thirst.

James A. Corry:
Yeah? What else can you feel?

Alicia:
I don't understand.

James A. Corry:
Can you feel heat?

Alicia:
Yes.

James A. Corry:
And cold?

Alicia:
Yes.

James A. Corry:
And hunger?

Alicia:
[Alicia nods]

James A. Corry:
How bout pain? Can you feel pain?

Alicia:
That, too.

James A. Corry:
How? You're a machine, aren't you?

Alicia:
Yes.

James A. Corry:
Why would... Why didn't they build you to look like a machine? Why didn't they build you out of metal with bolts and wires and electrodes and things like that? Why'd they turn you into a lie, cover you with something that looks like flesh, give you a face?

James A. Corry:
[turns to face Alicia] A face, that if I... if I look at long enough, makes me think, makes me believe that...

[Alicia caresses Corry's cheek]

James A. Corry:
[grabs her hand and throws it away] It's a lie!

James A. Corry:
You mock me, you know that? When you look at me, when you talk to me, I'm being mocked.

Alicia:
I'm sorry.

[rubbing her hand]

Alicia:
You hurt me, Corry.

James A. Corry:
Hurt you? How can I hurt you?

[grabs her arm]

James A. Corry:
This isn't real flesh. There aren't any nerves under there, there aren't any muscles or tendons.

[throws her to the ground]

James A. Corry:
[pointing to his car] You're just like this heap. A hunk of metal with arms and legs, instead of wheels. But this heap doesn't mock me the way you do. It doesn't look at me with make believe eyes or talk to me with a make believe voice. Well, I'm sick of being mocked by the memory of women. And that's all you are. A reminder to me that I'm so lonely I'm about to lose my mind.

[Corry sees that Alicia is crying and dries a tear from her eye]

Alicia:
I can feel loneliness, too.

James A. Corry:
Alicia and I'll climb into that ship of yours, and we'll - we'll look out the port, and we'll give it all a big kiss goodbye.

Adams:
Who, Corry?

Captain Allenby:
Oh, my dear God, I forgot her.

Adams:
He's out of his mind. Who's Alicia?

Captain Allenby:
A robot.

James A. Corry:
She's a woman.

Captain Allenby:
Corry, she's a robot.

James A. Corry:
She's a woman! She's gentle and kind. Allenby, she kept me alive. Why, if it wasn't for her, I'd have been finished. I'd have given up.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] On a microscopic piece of sand that floats through space is a fragment of a man's life. Left to rust is the place he lived in and the machines he used. Without use, they will disintegrate from the wind and the sand and the years that act upon them. All of Mr. Corry's machines, including the one made in his image, kept alive by love, but now obsolete - in The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] It may be said with a degree of assurance that not everything that meets the eye is as it appears. Case in point: the scene you're watching. This is not a hospital, not a morgue, not a mausoleum, not an undertaker's parlor of the future. What it is is the belly of a spaceship. It is en route to another planetary system an incredible distance from the Earth. This is the crux of our story, a flight into space. It is also the story of the things that might happen to human beings who take a step beyond, unable to anticipate everything that might await them out there. Commander Douglas Stansfield, astronaut, a man about to embark on one of history's longest journeys - forty years out into endless space and hopefully back again. This is the beginning, the first step toward man's longest leap into the unknown. Science has solved the mechanical details, and now it's up to one human being to breathe life into the blueprints and computers, to prove once and for all that men can live a lifetime in the total void of outer space, forty years alone in the unknown. This is Earth. Ahead lies a planetary system. The vast region in between is the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Commander Douglas Stansfield, one of the forgotten pioneers of the space age. He's been pushed aside by the flow of progress and the passage of years - and the ferocious travesty of fate. Tonight's tale of the ionosphere and irony, delivered from - the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Castle, gentle and infinitely patient people, whose lives have been a hope chest with a rusty lock and a lost set of keys. But in just a moment that hope chest will be opened, and an improbable phantom will try to bedeck the drabness of these two people's failure-laden lives with the gold and precious stones of fulfillment. Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Castle, standing on the outskirts and about to enter the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] A word to the wise, now, to the garbage collectors of the world, to the curio seekers, to the antique buffs, to everyone who would try to coax out a miracle from unlikely places. Check that bottle you're taking back for a two-cent deposit. The genie you save might be your own. Case in point, Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Castle, fresh from the briefest of trips into The Twilight Zone.

Arthur Castle:
It isn't just an antique shop where you pick up the pitiful remnants of other people's failures, it's a shrine to failure itself! That's what it is.

Emily Harper:
[of the Mardi Gras masks he's presented them with] Father, you don't mean - we have to WEAR these ugly things...?

Jason Foster:
Only for a few hours. Only 'til the unmasking at midnight.

Paula Harper:
Well, I won't wear mine.

Wilfred Harper, Jr.:
Me neither; it's stupid.

Wilfred Harper:
Well, Father, it seems we're somewhat at odds here.

Jason Foster:
Not really, Wilfred. You all came here for one purpose: to watch me go and cry "Bon voyage". To put coins on my closed eyes and with your free hands start grabbing things from my shelves.

Emily Harper:
Father, that's cruel.

Jason Foster:
That's truth. You've come to reap everything I've sown, to collect everything I've built. Well, I shall not disappoint you. Everything is yours. Everything is prepared, the will isi made; the four of you inherit everything I own. Everything... money, house, property holding, stocks, bonds, everything.

Wilfred Harper:
Father, you're breaking our *hearts*.

Jason Foster:
Well, that's the most touching thing you ever dredged up by way of conversation, Wilfred... But, I must include this adenda, this small proviso: you shall wear your masks until midnight. If any one of you should take them off, from my estate you shall each receive train-fare back to Boston and *that's it*!

Wilfred Harper:
Well, we won't be spoilsports. If this is your pleasure, Father, we'll indulge you!

[slowly, they all don the masks]

Jason Foster:
[dying]... It's what you've all been waiting for, I believe. Now you can dig deep in the treasury.

Emily Harper:
Are you feeling - weaker, Father?

Jason Foster:
At last... a note of hope in your voice, Emily?

Emily Harper:
Father, why must you always say such miserable, cruel things to me?

Wilfred Harper:
I quite agree, Father!

Jason Foster:
Why indeed, Emily, because you're cruel and miserable people! Because none of you *respond* to love. Emily responds only to what her petty hungers dictate. Wilfred responds only to things that have weight and bulk and value! He FEELS books, he doesn't read them! He APPRAISES paintings, he doesn't seek out their truth or their beauty! And Paula there lives in a mirror; the world is nothing more to her than a reflection of herself. And her brother... Humanity to him is a small animal, caught in a trap, to be tormented! His pleasure is the giving of pain, and from this he receives the same sense of fulfillment most human beings get from a kiss or an embrace! You're CARICATURES, ALL of you! Without your masks, you're CARICATURES!

Jason Foster:
You know, Wilfred, I think the only book you ever read was a ledger. If somebody opened you up they'd probably find a cash register.

Paula Harper:
All of New Orleans is dancing the night away while we sit here on a death watch for a crazy old man!

Emily Harper:
I don't like being ill, Father, if that's what you mean.

Jason Foster:
I find that hard to believe, Emily considering that you've been at death's door so many times in the past twenty-five years it's a wonder you haven't worn a hole in the mat!

Paula Harper:
[doing her makeup in the mirror] Delighted to see you, Grandfather.

Jason Foster:
That's very nice of you to say, Paula, considering you haven't seen me yet. All you've seen is your mirror-image.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Mr. Jason Foster, a tired ancient who on this particular Mardi Gras evening will leave the Earth. But before departing, he has some things to do, some services to perform, some debts to pay - and some justice to mete out. This is New Orleans, Mardi Gras time. It is also the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Mardi Gras incident, the dramatis personae being four people who came to celebrate and in a sense let themselves go. This they did with a vengeance. They now wear the faces of all that was inside them - and they'll wear them for the rest of their lives, said lives now to be spent in the shadow. Tonight's tale of men, the macabre and masks - on the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
The word that Mrs. Bronson is unable to put into the hot, still, sodden air is 'doomed,' because the people you've just seen have been handed a death sentence. One month ago, the Earth suddenly changed its elliptical orbit and in doing so began to follow a path which gradually, moment by moment, day by day, took it closer to the sun. And all of man's little devices to stir up the air are now no longer luxuries - they happen to be pitiful and panicky keys to survival. The time is five minutes to twelve, midnight. There is no more darkness. The place is New York City, and this is the eve of the end, because even at midnight, it's high noon, the hottest day in history, and you're about to spend it - in The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
The poles of fear, the extremes of how the Earth might conceivably be doomed. Minor exercise in the care and feeding of a nightmare, respectfully submitted by all the thermometer-watchers - in The Twilight Zone.

Radio Announcer:
[Feeling a moment of morbid honesty while reporting the current worldwide situation] Ladies and gentlemen, tomorrow you can fry eggs on sidewalks, heat up soup in the ocean and get help from wandering maniacs, if you choose.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] What you're looking at is a ghost, once alive but now deceased. Once upon a time, it was a baseball stadium that housed a major league ball club known as the Hoboken Zephyrs. Now it houses nothing but memories and a wind that stirs in the high grass of what was once an outfield, a wind that sometimes bears a faint, ghostly resemblance to the roar of a crowd that once sat here. We're back in time now, when the Hoboken Zephyrs were still a part of the National League, and this mausoleum of memories was an honest-to-Pete stadium. But since this is strictly a story of make believe, it has to start this way: once upon a time, in Hoboken, New Jersey, it was tryout day. And though he's not yet on the field, you're about to meet a most unusal fella, a left-handed pitcher named Casey.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Once upon a time, there was a major league baseball team called the Hoboken Zephyrs, who, during the last year of their existence, wound up in last place and shortly thererafter wound up in oblivion. There's a rumor, unsubstantiated, of course, that a manager named McGarry took them to the West Coast and wound up with several pennants and a couple of world championships. This team had a pitching staff that made history. Of course, none of them smiled very much, but it happens to be a fact that they pitched like nothing human. And if you're interested as to where these gentlemen came from, you might check under 'B' for Baseball - in The Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
A brief, if frenetic, introduction to Mr. Archibald Beechcroft, a child of the twentieth century, a product of the population explosion, and one of the inheritors of the legacy of progress. Mr. Beechcroft, again. This time, act two of his daily battle for survival. And in just a moment, our hero will begin his personal one-man rebellion against the mechanics of his age, and to do so he will enlist certain aids available only - in The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Mr. Archibald Beechcroft, a child of the twentieth century, who has found out through trial and error - and mostly error - that with all its faults, it may well be that this is the best of all possible worlds. People notwithstanding, it has much to offer. Tonight's case in point - in the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
This is the face of Ramos Clemente, a year ago a beardless, nameless worker of the dirt, who plodded behind a mule furrowing someone else's land. And he looked up at a hot Central American sun, and he pledged the impossible. He made a vow that he would lead an avenging army against the tyranny that put the ache in his back and the anguish in his eyes. And now one year later, the dream of the impossible has become a fact. In just a moment, we will look deep into this mirror and see the aftermath of a rebellion - in The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Ramos Clemente, a would-be god in dungarees, strangled by an illusion, that will-o'-the-wisp mirage that dangles from the sky in front of the eyes of all ambitious men, all tyrants - and any resemblance to tyrants living or dead is hardly coincidental, whether it be here or in the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] The tools of conquest do not necessarily come with bombs and explosions and fallout. There are weapons that are simply thoughts, attitudes, prejudices to be found only in the minds of men. For the record, prejudices can kill, and suspicion can destroy, and a thoughtless frightened search for a scapegoat has a fallout all of its own for the children, and the children yet unborn. And the pity of it is that these things cannot be confined to the Twilight Zone.

Charlie:
[after inadvertantly shooting who turned out to be s neighbor and presumed to be the invader] No! No, it's nothing of the sort! I didn't blow the lights out; I swear I didn't! Someone's pulling a gag or something!

Steve Brand:
A gag? A *gag*? Charlie, there's a man lying dead in the street, and you killed him; does that look like a gag to you?

Charlie:
Look! Look, I swear it isn't me! I swear it isn't! But I know who it is! I know who the monster is! I know who it is that doesn't belong among us! I swear I know who it is!

Don:
Alright, Charlie, let's hear it!

Charlie:
It's... it's...

Les Goodman:
What are you waiting for!

Don:
Well, come on Charlie, come on!

Man:
Who is it, Charlie? Tell us!

Charlie:
It's the kid! It's Tommy! He's the one!

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Maple Street, U.S.A. Late summer. A tree-lined little world of front porch gliders, barbecues, the laughter of children, and the bell of an ice cream vendor. At the sound of the roar and the flash of light, it will be precisely 6:43 P.M. on Maple Street.

Narrator:
[Continued Opening Narration subsequent to character dialogue] This is Maple Street on a late Saturday afternoon. Maple Street in the last calm and reflective moment - before the monsters came.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Martin Lombard Senescu, a gentle man, the dedicated curator of murderers' row in Ferguson's Wax Museum. He ponders the reasons why ordinary men are driven to commit mass murder. What Mr. Senescu does not known is that the groundwork has already been laid for his own special kind of madness and torment - found only in the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] The new exhibit became very popular at Marchand's, but of all the figures, none was every regarded with more dread than that of Martin Lombard Senescu. It was something about the eyes, people said. It's the look that one often gets after taking a quick walk through the Twilight Zone.

Martin Lombard Senescu:
They need me!

Emma Senescu:
Martin, they aren't alive. They don't need anybody!

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] This is Mr. Henry Corwin, normally unemployed, who once a year takes the lead role in the uniquely popular American institution, that of a department store Santa Claus in a road company version of 'The Night Before Christmas.' But in just a moment, Mr. Henry Corwin, ersatz Santa Claus, will enter a strange kind of North Pole, which is one part the wondrous spirit of Christmas and one part the magic that can only be found in - The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] A word to the wise to all the children of the twentieth century, whether their concern be pediatrics or geriatrics, whether they crawl on hands and knees and wear diapers or walk with a cane and comb their beards. There's a wondrous magic to Christmas, and there's a special power reserved for little people. In short, there's nothing mightier than the meek, and a merry Christmas to each and all.

[an insolent eight-year-old boy stands before Henry Corwin, who is working as a department store Santa Claus]

Henry Corwin:
What's your name, little boy?

Kid with Santa:
Percival Smithers.

Henry Corwin:
What do you want for Christmas, Percival?

Kid with Santa:
A new front name.

Romney Wordsworth:
No man is obsolete!

Narrator:
[closing narration] The chancellor, the late chancellor, was only partly correct. He *was* obsolete. But so is the State, the entity he worshiped. Any state, any entity, any ideology that fails to recognize the worth, the dignity, the rights of Man, that state is obsolete. A case to be filed under "M" for Mankind - in The Twilight Zone.

Romney Wordsworth:
You cannot erase God with an edict!

Romney Wordsworth:
Chancellor.

Chancellor:
[turning back from the door] Make it brief, Mr. Wordsworth.

Romney Wordsworth:
You have plenty of time. You're not going anywhere.

Chancellor:
How's that?

Romney Wordsworth:
I'm afraid I haven't been very fair with you. I invited you here for a very special reason. Would you like to know the method that I've chosen for my - liquidation? Well, in a very few moments, here in this room, a bomb is going off.

Chancellor:
How thoughtful, Mr. Wordsworth, a relatively quick and painless death.

Romney Wordsworth:
Yes, isn't it? However, knowing that you're going to be blown to smithereens in a few moments, isn't the happiest thought in the world, is it? *Is* it?

Chancellor:
That depends on the individual, Mr. Wordsworth.

Romney Wordsworth:
Indeed, it does.

Chancellor:
[turns to the door, finds it locked] What kind of idiocy is this, Mr. Wordsworth? You've locked the door!

Romney Wordsworth:
Oh yes, yes, I've locked the door.

[turns to face the camera]

Romney Wordsworth:
Now, question: how does a man react to the knowledge that he's going to be blown to bits in a half an hour? Answer: that depends on the individual.

Chancellor:
You have no function, Mr. Wordsworth, you're an anachronism, like a ghost from another time.

Romney Wordsworth:
I am nothing more than a reminder to you that you cannot destroy truth by burning pages!

Subaltern:
Stand where you are. No further. You have been removed from office. The Field Investigators have declared you "Obsolete".

Chancellor:
Obsolete?

Subaltern:
[robotic monotone] You have disgraced the State, you have proven yourself a coward; you have, therefore, no function. You are Obsolete!

Chancellor:
But I'm not. I'm not obsolete!

Subaltern:
YOU ARE OBSOLETE!

Jurors:
Obsolete! Obsolete!

Subaltern:
YOU ARE OBSOLETE!

Chancellor:
[hysterical] You're making a terrible mistake, a tragic mistake! I'm not obsolete! I *work* for the State, I *believe* in the state! I help give the State its strength! How can you call me obsolete, HOW CAN YOU?

[the Chancellor raises his hand to snap his fingers]

Chancellor:
Please, I'm not obsolete...

[makes to run but finds one side of the crowd rising against him, he goes in the opposite direcrtion and the same happens, he looks desperately around]

Chancellor:
Please... please, I'm not obsolete; I have a function, I have a purpose. Please. I want to *serve* the State. Please... please, no... I'm not obsolete! No, no! Please! I'm not obsolete. No! I want to serve the state; please, please, no! I'm not obsolete! I, I - please, no, I'm not obsolete, no! I want to *serve* the State... Please, please! NO! I want to SERVE the State!

[the growling jurors close in on the ex-Chancellor, who breaks away with a yell and is chased across the room to the new Subalturn's seat where he is grabbed, pulled down the length of the table, and dragged off to be killed]

Chancellor:
Since there are no more books, Mr. Wordsworth, there are no more libraries. And of course it follows that there is very little call for the services of a librarian. Case in point: A minister. A minister would tell us that his function is that of preaching the word of God. And, of course, it follows that since the State has proven that there is no God, that would make the function of a minister somewhat academic, as well.

Romney Wordsworth:
There *is* a God!

Chancellor:
[shocked silence] You are in error, Mr. Wordsworth; there is no God! The state has proven that there is no God!

Romney Wordsworth:
You cannot erase God with an edict!

[opening narration]

Narrator:
You walk into this room at your own risk, because it leads to the future, not a future that will be but one that might be. This is not a new world, it is simply an extension of what began in the old one. It has patterned itself after every dictator who has ever planted the ripping imprint of a boot on the pages of history since the beginning of time. It has refinements, technological advances, and a more sophisticated approach to the destruction of human freedom. But like every one of the super-states that preceded it, it has one iron rule: logic is an enemy and truth is a menace. - This is Mr. Romney Wordsworth, in his last forty-eight hours on Earth. He's a citizen of the State but will soon have to be eliminated, because he's built out of flesh and because he has a mind. Mr. Romney Wordsworth, who will draw his last breaths - in The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] A Global jet airliner, en route from London to New York on an uneventful afternoon in the year 1961, but now reported overdue and missing, and by now, searched for on land, sea, and air by anguished human beings, fearful of what they'll find. But you and I know where she is. You and I know what's happened. So if some moment, any moment, you hear the sound of jet engines flying atop the overcast - engines that sound searching and lost - engines that sound desperate - shoot up a flare or do something. That would be Global 33 trying to get home - from The Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
You're riding on a jet airliner en route from London to New York. You're at 35,000 feet atop an overcast and roughly fifty-five minutes from Idlewild Airport. But what you've seen occur inside the cockpit of this plane is no reflection on the aircraft or the crew. It's a safe, well-engineered, perfectly designed machine. And the men you've just met are a trained, cool, highly efficient team. The problem is simply that the plane is going too fast, and there is nothing within the realm of knowledge or at least logic to explain it. Unbeknownst to passenger and crew, this airplane is heading into an uncharted region well off the beaten track of commercial travelers - it's moving into The Twilight Zone. What you're about to see we call 'The Odyssey of Flight 33.'

Capt. 'Skipper' Farver:
[speaking to his crew, while in flight] We're in trouble. I don't know what kind of trouble.

Major French:
Mr. Goldsmith. The following is unofficial. Now, we'd like you to make your transition here as easy as possible. Now, under certain circumstances we might even allow you to remain in nominal control. Assuming that you don't give us any trouble. Now, that's unofficial. The following is official. [slaps him to the ground] Now let me fill you in on the situation here, Mr. Goldsmith. Between Buffalo, New York and Atlanta, Georgia, there are probably around five hundred people alive. You know why. Well, because there's no authority, there's no discipline. Now we're here to give you a little of both. And if you give us any trouble, any trouble at all, I'm gonna hang you. From that balcony right over there.

Major French:
Where is this old man that keeps you on a diet? When does he come out?

Goldsmith:
He never comes out. He stays in the cave.

Major French:
Well, I'm not surprised, Mr Goldsmith. I'm not surprised at all. You see, off Lake Erie we've got a pack of wierdies up there that bay at the moon once a week. And then around what used to be Chicago, man, we've got a real swinging cult goin' there. They've built themselves a statue made out of fissionable lead. This is their "diety". What do we have here? We have an invisible old man in a cave.

Major French:
Friends, Romans, Farm Animals! We are now going up to the cave and check your favorite recluse. We're gonna bring him out in the sunshine and get a good look at him. And then we're gonna decide whether he's worthwile keeping alive.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] What you're looking at is a legacy that man left to himself. A decade previous, he pushed his buttons and, a nightmarish moment later, woke up to find that he had set the clock back a thousand years. His engines, his medicines, his science were buried in a mass tomb, covered over by the biggest gravedigger of them all: a Bomb. And this is the Earth ten years later, a fragment of what was once a whole, a remnant of what was once a race. The year is 1974, and this is the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Mr. Goldsmith, survivor, an eye witness to man's imperfection, an observer of the very human trait of greed, and a chronicler of the last chapter - the one reading 'suicide.' Not a prediction of what is to be, just a projection of what could be. This has been the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] In the vernacular of space, this is T minus one hour, sixty minutes before a human being named Major Robert Gaines is lifted off from the Mother Earth and rocketed into the sky, farther and longer than any man ahead of him. Call this one of the first faltering steps of man to sever the umbilical cord of gravity and stretch out a fingertip toward an unknown. In a moment, we'll join this astronaut named Gaines and embark on an adventure, because the environs overhead - the stars, the sky, the infinitive space - are all part of a vast question mark known as the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Major Robert Gaines, a latter-day voyager just returned from an adventure. Submitted to you without any recommendation as to belief or disbelief. You can accept or reject; you pays your money and you takes your choice. But credulous or incredulous, don't bother to ask anyone for proof that it could happen. The obligation is a reverse challenge: prove that it couldn't. This happens to be... the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
This road is the afterwards of the Civil War. It began at Fort Sumter, South Carolina, and ended at a place called Appomattox. It's littered with the residue of broken battles and shattered dreams.

[a Confederate soldier passing by a plantation house stops and has a conversation with the recently widowed owner sitting on the front porch]

Narrator:
[narration continues] In just a moment, you will enter a strange province that knows neither North nor South, a place we call - The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Incident on a dirt road during the month of April, the year 1865. As we've already pointed out, it's a road that won't be found on a map, but it's one of many that lead in and out of the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Portrait of a man who thinks and thereby gets things done. Mr. Jimbo Cobb might be called a prime mover, a talent which has to be seen to be believed. In just a moment, he'll show his friends and you how he keeps both feet on the ground - and his head in The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Some people possess talent, others are possessed by it. When that happens, the talent becomes a curse. Jimbo Cobb knew, right from the beginning. But before Ace Larsen learned that simple truth, he had to take a short trip - through The Twilight Zone.

Lt. Fitzgerald:
I'm five for five captain. How many coincidences add up to a fact?

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Infantry platoon, U.S. Army, Phillipine Islands, 1945. These are the faces of the young men who fight, as if some omniscient painter had mixed a tube of oils that were at one time earth brown, dust gray, blood red, beard black, and fear - yellow white, and these men were the models. For this is the province of combat, and these are the faces of war.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] From William Shakespeare, Richard the Third, a small excerpt. The line reads, 'He has come to open the purple testament of bleeding war.' And for Lieutenant William Fitzgerald, A Company, First Platoon, the testament is closed. Lieutenant Fitzgerald has found the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Introducing, four experts in the questionable art of crime: Mr. Farwell, expert on noxious gases, former professor, with a doctorate in both chemistry and physics; Mr. Erbie, expert in mechanical engineering; Mr. Brooks, expert in the use of firearms and other weaponry; and Mr. De Cruz, expert in demolition and various forms of destruction. The time is now, and the place is a mountain cave in Death Valley, U.S.A. In just a moment, these four men will utilize the services of a truck placed in cosmoline, loaded with a hot heist cooled off by a century of sleep, and then take a drive into The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
The last of four Rip Van Winkles, who all died precisely the way they lived, chasing an idol across the sand to wind up bleached dry in the hot sun as to much desert flotsam, worthless as the gold bullion they built a shrine to. Tonight's lesson - in The Twilight Zone.

Salvadore Ross:
Well, are you happy now that you've convinced her she's too much for a *bum* like Salvadore Ross, hmm?

Mr. Maitland:
I'll admit, I wouldn't choose you for my daughter. But it's not my decision, it's hers. Besides, I may be wrong about you. She obviously sees you differently than I do.

Leah Maitland:
No I don't. [turns to Sal] Not anymore. [Leah goes in with her father and closes the door]

Salvadore Ross:
Why can't I want something in my life and get it? [punches the door]

Salvadore Ross:
Just once.

Leah Maitland:
We can't keep seeing each other. I should never have let it gotten so that it was this way.

Salvadore Ross:
Sure. As long as you're the saintly social worker and I'm one of the crumbs, everything's all right. But as soon as we get too close, why then you notice I got dirt on my hands.

Leah Maitland:
That has nothing to do with it.

Salvadore Ross:
And that I don't talk like your old man.

Leah Maitland:
Sal, we're just two people who are never going to understand each other.

Salvadore Ross:
Baby, with your education, you can come up with a better Dear John than that.

Salvadore Ross:
[grabs Leah] Listen, I ain't always gonna have dirt on my hands. And I don't need no books to show me which way is up. I got the map and I'll get there.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Confidential personnel file on Salvadore Ross. Personality: a volatile mixture of fury and frustration. Distinguishing physical characteristic: a badly-broken hand which will require emergency treatment at the nearest hospital. Ambition: shows great determination toward self-improvement. Estimate of potential success: a sure bet for a listing in Who's Who - in the Twilight Zone.

Old Man:
[lying in the next hospital bed] You do something to your hand?

Salvadore Ross:
No. I came here for a good night's sleep. The Waldorf was gettin' on my nerves.

Old Man:
I bet it hurts.

Salvadore Ross:
Yeah, it hurts.

Old Man:
You're still lucky though.

Salvadore Ross:
My luck wins prizes.

Old Man:
[coughing] No, I mean, I've got this awful congestion in my chest.

Salvadore Ross:
Are you grippin' about a cold?

Old Man:
At your age, it just might be a cold. But at mine, it could easily turn into pneumonia. You know young man, you could break both legs and an elbow and you'd still be swimming inside of a month.

Salvadore Ross:
Yeah, well if you think this is so great, well let's swap. You take my busted hand and I'll take your lousy cold.

Old Man:
[laughs and then begins to cough again] It's a deal.

Mr. Halpert:
Well, where is it?

Salvadore Ross:
What?

Mr. Halpert:
This wonderful item that I'm supposed to purchase.

Salvadore Ross:
Well you're lookin' at it.

Mr. Halpert:
I'm looking at it?

Salvadore Ross:
Yeah, it's... it's youth. That's what I wanna sell you.

Mr. Halpert:
Youth that comes in bottles? [pushing him out] Come on, get out of here.

Salvadore Ross:
Wait a minute, wait a minute. Look, I read in the paper that you're 72 years old, right? I'm 26. Now what would you give to be 26 years old again, hmm?

Mr. Halpert:
I think you're the kookiest kid they ever turned loose on the street.

Salvadore Ross:
How much would you give to be 26 years old again? How much?

[Halpert just looks at him]

Salvadore Ross:
Well come on, how much? A million bucks?

Mr. Halpert:
[a little amused] All right, let's say a million dollars.

Salvadore Ross:
What about this pad? Do you own it?

Mr. Halpert:
Yes, I own it.

Salvadore Ross:
Do you throw that in as part of the deal?

Mr. Halpert:
How do you propose to deliver these years you rave about?

Salvadore Ross:
I'm gonna sell you *my* years.

Mr. Halpert:
[laughs out loud] All right, I'll tell you what you do. You wrap the years up and mail them to me, uh.

[shows Sal to the door]

Salvadore Ross:
But now wait a minute, what about the pad? Is that gonna be part of the deal?

Mr. Halpert:
Yes, I'll make it part of the deal. I wouldn't think of taking your years for anything less than they're worth.

Salvadore Ross:
[excited] Oh man, a million bucks and this pad. You just bought yourself 46 years, Mr. Halpert.

Mr. Halpert:
I'm sure I did, boy.

Salvadore Ross:
No, you're not sure. But you got a big surprise in store.

Mr. Halpert:
[laughing out loud] Get out of here.

[pushes him out the door]

Mr. Maitland:
I've thought a lot about it. Though I realize that you are what you are and it's not my place to judge you...

Salvadore Ross:
Oh look, I don't care what you think about me.

Mr. Maitland:
Please, please. [continues] I can not let you ruin her life by marrying her.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
The Salvadore Ross program for self-improvement. The all-time, sure-fire success course that lets you lick the bully, learn the language, dance the tango, and anything else you want to do- or think you want to do. Money-back guarantee. Offer limited to... the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
What you are about to watch is a nightmare. It is not meant to be prophetic, it need not happen, it's the fervent and urgent prayer of all men of good will that it never shall happen. But in this place, in this moment, it does happen. This is the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
No moral, no message, no prophetic tract, just a simple statement of fact: for civilization to survive, the human race has to remain civilized. Tonight's very small exercise in logic from the Twilight Zone.

Dr. Bill Stockton:
[Grace drops a jug of water] Take it easy, take it easy, now make believe it's perfume, and it costs $100 an ounce, and in a few hours it'll probably be worth more.

Dr. Bill Stockton:
You better get on home and get into your shelter... eh, your basement, and I'd board up the windows if I were you.

Jerry Harlowe:
Bill, we don't have any cellar, remember? The advantages of modern architecture, we have the only modern house on the block. We get everything at your beck and call, everything at your fingertips, even got an electric launderer right off the back room. All the wonders of modern science taken into account except that thing that's heading here right now.

Marty Weiss:
Bill, it's Marty, please let us in.

Dr. Bill Stockton:
Marty, I would if I could, do you understand? I swear to you I would.

Marty Weiss:
Bill, please, it's Marty.

Dr. Bill Stockton:
Marty I can't, don't stand there asking me. I can't, I can't and I won't.

Marty Weiss:
I feel sorry for you, Bill, I really do, you probably will survive but you'll have blood on your hands. [pounds on the shelter door] YOU'RE A DOCTOR! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO HELP PEOPLE! Help! Help! Help!

Dr. Bill Stockton:
[to his wife and son] That was a million years ago...

Man:
Why don't we get some kind of battering ram?

Frank Henderson:
Yeah, we could go over to Bennett Avenue, Phil Cline has some heavy pipe in his basement, I've seen it.

Man:
No, no, that would bring him into the act too, and who cares about saving him? No, if we do that, we'll let all those people know we have a shelter on our street. We'll have a whole mob to contend with, with a whole bunch of strangers.

Mrs. Henderson:
Sure, and what right have they got to come over here? This isn't their street, this isn't *their* shelter.

Jerry Harlowe:
Ohhhh, this is *our* shelter, and on the next street that's another country. Patronize home industries, you idiots, you fools, you're insane, all of you.

Jerry Harlowe:
Hey that's a great idea, block party, anything to get back to normal, huh?

Dr. Bill Stockton:
Normal? I don't know. I don't know what normal is. I thought I did once. I don't anymore.

Jerry Harlowe:
I told you we'd pay for the damages, Bill.

Dr. Bill Stockton:
Damages? I wonder. I wonder if anyone of us has any idea what those damages really are. Maybe one of them is finding out what we're really like when we're normal; the kind of people we are just underneath the skin. I mean all of us: a bunch of naked wild animals, who put such a price on staying alive that they'd claw their neighbors to death just for the privilege. We were spared a bomb tonight, but I wonder if we weren't destroyed even without it.

Himself - Host:
[Opening Narration] The note that this man is carrying across a club room is in the form of a proposed wager, but it's the kind of wager that comes without precedent. It stands alone in the annals of bet-making as the strangest game of chance ever offered by one man to another. In just a moment, we'll see the terms of the wager and what young Mr. Tennyson does about it. And in the process, we'll witness all parties spin a wheel of chance in a very bizarre casino called the Twilight Zone.

Himself - Host:
[Closing Narration] Mr. Jamie Tennyson, who almost won a bet, but who discovered somewhat belatedly that gambling can be a most unproductive pursuit, even with loaded dice, marked cards, or, as in his case, some severed vocal chords. For somewhere beyond him, a wheel was turned, and his number came up black thirteen. If you don't believe it, ask the croupier, the very special one who handles roulette - in The Twilight Zone.

Danny Weiss:
Barbie, it's no good, honey. None of this is any good.

Barbara Trenton:
Look, if you won't fix yourself a drink, sit down and be quiet - will you? You know something, Daniel, you have a habit of looking poised, ready to spring.

Danny Weiss:
What was the picture?

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Picture of a woman looking at a picture. Movie great of another time, once-brilliant star in a firmament no longer a part of the sky, eclipsed by the movement of earth and time. Barbara Jean Trenton, whose world is a projection room, whose dreams are made out of celluloid. Barbara Jean Trenton, struck down by hit-and-run years and lying on the unhappy pavement, trying desperately to get the license number of fleeting fame.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] To the wishes that come true, to the strange, mystic strength of the human animal, who can take a wishful dream and give it a dimension of its own. To Barbara Jean Trenton, movie queen of another era, who has changed the blank tomb of an empty projection screen into a private world. It can happen - in the Twilight Zone.

[repeated line]

Chief Bell:
They're calling muster on me!

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Incident one hundred miles off the coast of Guadalcanal. Time: the present. The United States naval destroyer on what has been a most uneventful cruise. In a moment, they're going to send a man down thirty fathoms and check on a noisemaker - someone or something tapping on metal. You may or may not read the results in a naval report, because Captain Beecham and his crew have just set a course that will lead this ship and everyone on it - into The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Small naval engagement, the month of April 1963. Not to be found in any historical annals. Look for this one filed under 'H' for haunting - in the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Mr. and Mrs. John Holt, aging people who slowly and with trembling fingers turn the last pages of a book of life and hope against logic and the preordained that some magic printing press will add to this book another limited edition. But these two senior citizens happen to live in a time of the future when nothing is impossible, even the trading of old bodies for new. Mr. and Mrs. John Holt, in their twilight years - who are about to find that there happens to be a zone with the same name.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
From Khalil Gibran's The Prophet: 'Love gives not but itself and takes not from itself, love possesses not nor would it be possessed, for love is sufficient unto love.' Not a lesson, just a reminder, from all the sentimentalists - in The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Pleased to present for your consideration, Mr. Booth Tempelton, serious and successful star of over thirty Broadway plays, who is not quite all right today. Yesterday and its memories is what he wants, and yesterday is what he'll get. Soon his years and his troubles will descend on him in an avalanche. In order not to be crushed, Mr. Booth Templeton will escape from his theater and his world and make his debut on another stage in another world - that we call The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Mr. Booth Templeton, who shared with most human beings the hunger to recapture the past moments, the ones that soften with the years. But in his case, the characters of his past blocked him out and sent him back to his own time, which is where we find him now. Mr. Booth Templeton, who had a round-trip ticket - into The Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
This, as the banner already has proclaimed, is Mr. Harvey Hunnicut, an expert on commerce and con jobs, a brash, bright, and larceny-loaded wheeler and dealer who, when the good Lord passed out a conscience, must have gone for a beer and missed out. And these are a couple of other characters in our story: a little old man and a Model A car - but not just any old man and not just any Model A. There's something very special about the both of them. As a matter of fact, in just a few moments, they'll give Harvey Hunnicut something that he's never experienced before. Through the good offices of a little magic, they will unload on Mr. Hunnicut the absolute necessity to tell the truth. Exactly where they come from is conjecture, but as to where they're heading for, this we know, because all of them - and you - are on the threshold of the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Couldn't happen, you say? Far-fetched? Way-out? Tilt-of-center? Possible. But the next time you buy an automobile, if it happens to look as if it had just gone through the Battle of the Marne, and the seller is ready to throw into the bargain one of his arms, be particularly careful in explaining to the boss about your grandmother's funeral, when you are actually at Chavez Ravine watching the Dodgers. It'll be a fact that you are the proud possessor of an instrument of truth - manufactured and distribued by an exclusive dealer - in The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[opening narration] Quitting time at the plant. Time for supper now. Time for families. Time for a cool drink on a porch. Time for the quiet rustle of leaf-laden trees that screen out the moon, and underneath it all, behind the eyes of the men, hanging invisible over the summer night, is a horror without words. For this is the stillness before storm. This is the eve of the end.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Behind a tiny ship heading into space is a doomed planet on the verge of suicide. Ahead lies a place called Earth, the third planet from the sun. And for William Sturka and the men and women with him, it's the eve of the beginning - in the Twilight Zone.

[SPOILER]

Henry Bemis:
And the best thing, the very best thing of all, is there's time now... there's all the time I need and all the time I want. Time, time, time. There's time enough at last. [goes to pick up a book, but in doing so his glasses fall off and break. He slowly raises his glasses to his face, seeing they are completely broken] That's not fair. That's not fair at all. There was time now. There was, was all the time I needed...

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Witness Mr. Henry Bemis, a charter member in the fraternity of dreamers. A bookish little man whose passion is the printed page but who is conspired against by a bank president and a wife and a world full of tongue-cluckers and the unrelenting hands of a clock. But in just a moment, Mr. Bemis will enter a world without bank presidents or wives or clocks or anything else. He'll have a world all to himself - without anyone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] The best-laid plans of mice and men - and Henry Bemis, the small man in the glasses who wanted nothing but time. Henry Bemis, now just a part of a smashed landscape, just a piece of the rubble, just a fragment of what man has deeded to himself. Mr. Henry Bemis - in the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Middle narration - While Bemis wanders through the ruins of the destroyed city] Seconds, minutes, hours, they crawl by on hands and knees for Mr. Henry Bemis, who looks for a spark in the ashes of a dead world. A telephone connected to nothingness, a neighborhood bar, a movie, a baseball diamond, a hardware store, the mailbox that was once his house and now is rubble; they lie at his feet as battered monuments to what was but is no more.

Henry Bemis:
Helen! Helen! Where are you!

Narrator:
Mr. Henry Bemis, on an eight hour tour of a graveyard.

Patty:
[SPOILER] Mr. Chambers! Don't get on that ship! The rest of the book, "To Serve Man", it's - it's a cookbook!

Michael Chambers:
[narrating] This is the way nightmares begin - or, perhaps, end. Very simple, direct, unadorned. Incredible, and yet so terribly real, that even while they're happening we live with them, and digest them, and assimilate them. And if it's twelve o'clock noon, that's what you preoccupy yourself with. You don't think about twelve o'clock noon on the next day or the day after that. But that's what we should have been thinking about - tomorrow and the day after tomorrow. We were preoccupied with hands on a clock - when we should have been checking off a calendar.

Narrator:
[closing narration] The recollections of one Michael Chambers with appropriate flashbacks and soliloquy. Or more simply stated, the evolution of man. The cycle of going from dust to dessert. The metamorphosis from being the ruler of a planet to an ingredient in someone's soup. It's tonight's bill of fare from The Twilight Zone.

Michael Chambers:
[to the audience] How about you? You still on Earth, or on the ship, with me? Well, it doesn't make very much difference because sooner or later we'll, all of us, be on the menu. All of us.

Kanamit:
Please, Mr. Chambers, eat. We wouldn't want you to lose weight.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Respectfully submitted for your perusal - a Kanamit. Height: a little over nine feet. Weight: in the neighborhood of three hundred and fifty pounds. Origin: unknown. Motives? Therein hangs the tale, for in just a moment, we're going to ask you to shake hands, figuratively, with a Christopher Columbus from another galaxy and another time. This is the Twilight Zone.

Michael Chambers:
What time is it?

Kanamit:
There is no time in space. This is to say there is no chronology that can be calibrated.

Michael Chambers:
I said what time is it, what time is it on earth? Can you tell me that without an exercise in euclidean geometry? Now, just tell me what time it is on earth.

Kanamit:
On earth it would be 12:00 noon.

Michael Chambers:
Well, that makes the cheese a little more binding, wouldn't you say, Colonel?

[repeated line]

Nurse in Morgue:
Room for one more, honey!

[opening narration]

Narrator:
This is Miss Liz Powell. She's a professional dancer, and she's in the hospital, as a result of overwork and nervous fatigue. And at this moment, we have just finished walking with her in a nightmare. In a moment, she'll wake up, and we'll remain at her side. The problem here is that both Miss Powell and you will reach a point where it might be difficult to decide which is reality and which is nightmare. A problem uncommon, perhaps, but rather peculiar - to The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Miss Elizabeth Powell, professional dancer. Hospital diagnosis: acute anxiety brought on by overwork and fatigue. Prognosis: with rest and care, she'll probably recover. But the cure to some nightmares is not to be found in known medical journals. You look for it under 'potions for bad dreams' - to be found in the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
This is a jungle, a monument built by nature honoring disuse, commemorating a few years of nature being left to its own devices. But it's another kind of jungle, the kind that comes in the aftermath of man's battles against himself. Hardly an important battle, not a Gettysburg or a Marne or an Iwo Jima. More like one insignificant corner patch in the crazy quilt of combat. But it was enough to end the existence of this little city. It's been five years since a human being walked these streets. This is the first day of the sixth year - as man used to measure time. The time: perhaps a hundred years from now - or sooner. Or perhaps it's already happened two-million years ago. The place: The signposts are in English so that we may read them more easily, but the place - is The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
This has been a love story - about two lonely people, who found each other - in The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Dramatis personae: Mr. Simon Polk, a gentlemen who has lived out his life in a gleeful rage; and the young lady who's just beat the hasty retreat is Mr. Polk's niece, Barbara. She's lived her life as if during each ensuing hour, she had a dentist appointment. There's yet a third member of the company soon to be seen. He now resides in the laboratory and he is the kind of character to be found only in the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Dramatis personae: a metal man, who will go by the name of Simon, whose life as well as his body has been stamped out for him; and the woman who tends to him, the lady Barbara, who's discovered belatedly that all bad things don't come to an end, and that once a bed is made, it quite necessary that you sleep in it. Tonight's uncomfortable little exercise in avarice and automatons - from the Twilight Zone.

Barbara Polk:
I am no longer sowing, Uncle Simon. As of this moment, I am going to REAP!

[opening narration]

Narrator:
You've seen them. Little towns, tucked away far from the main roads. You've seen them, but have you thought about them? What do the people in these places do? Why do they stay? Philip Redfield never thought about them. If his dog hadn't gone after the cat, he would have driven through Peaceful Valley and put it out of his mind forever. But he can't do that now, because whether he knows it or not, his friend's shortcut has led him right into the capital of the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
You've seen them. Little towns, tucked away far from the main roads. You've seen them, but have you thought about them? Have you wondered what the people do in such places, why they stay? Philip Redfield thinks about them now, and he wonders, but only very late at night, when he's between wakefulness and sleep - in The Twilight Zone.

Robert Sloan:
Martin.

Martin Sloan:
Yes, Pop.

Robert Sloan:
You have to leave here. There's no room, there's no place. Do you understand that?

Martin Sloan:
I see that now, but I don't understand. Why not?

Robert Sloan:
I guess because we only get one chance. Maybe there's only one summer to every customer. That little boy, the one I know - the one who belongs here - this is *his* summer, just as it was yours once. Don't make him share it.

Martin Sloan:
Alright.

Robert Sloan:
Martin, is it so bad where you're from?

Martin Sloan:
I thought so, Pop. I've been living on a dead run, and I was tired. And one day I knew I had to come back here. I had to come back and get on the merry-go-round, and eat cotton candy, and listen to a band concert. I had to stop and breathe, and close my eyes and smell, and listen.

Robert Sloan:
I guess we all want that. Maybe when you go back, Martin, you'll find that there are merry-go-rounds and band concerts where you are. Maybe you haven't been looking in the right place. You've been looking behind you, Martin. Try looking ahead.

Martin Sloan:
[to his younger self] Martin, I only wanted to tell you that this is a wonderful time of life for you. Don't let any of it go by without enjoying it. There won't be any more merry-go-rounds, no more cotton candy, no more band concerts. I only wanted to tell you that this is a wonderful time for you. Now. Here. That's all, Martin. That's all I wanted to tell you. God help me. That's all I wanted to tell you.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] Martin Sloan, age thirty-six. Occupation: vice-president, ad agency, in charge of media. This is not just a Sunday drive for Martin Sloan. He perhaps doesn't know it at the time - but it's an exodus. Somewhere up the road, he's looking for sanity. And somewhere up the road, he'll find something else.

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Martin Sloan, age thirty-six, vice-president in charge of media. Successful in most things, but not in the one effort that all men try at some time in their lives - trying to go home again. And also like all men, perhaps there'll be an occasion - maybe a summer night sometime - when he'll look up from what he's doing and listen to the distant music of a calliope, and hear the voices and the laughter of the people and the places of his past. And perhaps across his mind, there'll flit a little errant wish, that a man might not have to become old, never outgrow the parks and the merry-go-rounds of his youth. And he'll smile then, too, because he'll know that it is just an errant wish, some wisp of memory, not too important really, some laughing ghosts that would cross a man's mind - that are a part of The Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[Opening Narration] You're looking at Mr. Fred Renard, who carries on his shoulder a chip the size of the national debt. This is a sour man, a friendless man, a lonely man, a grasping, compulsive, nervous man. This is a man who has lived thirty-six undistinguished, meaningless, pointless, failure-laden years and who at this moment looks for an escape - any escape, any way, anything, anybody - to get out of the rut. And this little old man is just what Mr. Renard is waiting for.

[first lines]

Bartender:
You ready for another?

Fred Renard:
I'm fine.

Bartender:
You've been fine for an hour. We sell booze here, mister. We don't just rent space.

Fred Renard:
Is that a fact?

Bartender:
That's a fact, buddy.

Fred Renard:
How would you like to take a flying jump at the moon?

Narrator:
[Closing Narration] Street scene, night. Traffic accident. Victim named Fred Renard, gentleman with a sour face to whom contentment came with difficulty. Fred Renard, who took all that was needed - in The Twilight Zone.

Joe Britt:
Love is flowers and music in the moonlight, marriage is a floor mop and two pounds o' hamburger.

Woman:
Oh, I don't mind hamburger... with onions!

Joe Britt:
I don't know what I ever saw in her. She ain't got no understanding. She wouldn't know sympathy if it hopped up and bit her on the backside.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Portrait of a TV fan. Name: Joe Britt. Occupation: cab driver. Tonight, Mr. Britt is going to watch 'a really big show,' something special for the cabbie who's seen everything. Joe Britt doesn't know it, but his flag is down and his meter's running and he's in high gear - on his way to the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
The next time your TV set is on the blink, when you're in the need of a first-rate repairman, may we suggest our own specialist? Factory-trained, prompt, honest, twenty-four hour service. You won't find him in the phone book, but his office is conveniently located - in the Twilight Zone.

Narrator:
[opening narration] The place is here, the time is now, and the journey into the shadows that we're about to watch could be our journey.

Narrator:
[closing narration] Up there, up there in the vastness of space, in the void that is sky, up there is an enemy known as isolation. It sits there in the stars waiting, waiting with the patience of eons, forever waiting... in the Twilight Zone.

Mike Ferris:
[to his reflection] I'm sorry, old buddy; I don't recollect the name. The face is vaguely familiar but the name escapes me.

Air Force General:
You see, we can feed the stomach with concentrates. We can supply microfilm for reading, recreation - even movies of a sort. We can pump oxygen in and waste material out. But there's one thing we can't simulate that's a very basic need. Man's hunger for companionship. The barrier of loneliness - that's one thing we haven't licked yet.

Avery:
She's just like a science fiction, that's what she is! A reg'lar Ray Bradbury! Six humans and one monster from outer space. You wouldn't happen to have an eye in the back of your head, would you?

Avery:
Didn't figure us Martians would know nothin' about the great American pastime, did ya?

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Wintry February night, the present. Order of events: a phone call from a frightened woman notating the arrival of an unidentified flying object, then the checkout you've just witnessed, with two state troopers verifying the event - but with nothing more enlightening to add beyond evidence of some tracks leading across the highway to a diner. You've heard of trying to find a needle in a haystack? Well, stay with us now, and you'll be part of an investigating team whose mission is not to find that proverbial needle, no, their task is even harder. They've got to find a Martian in a diner, and in just a moment you'll search with them, because you've just landed - in The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Incident on a small island, to be believed or disbelieved. However, if a sour-faced dandy named Ross or a big, good-natured counterman who handles a spatula as if he'd been born with one in his mouth, - if either of these two entities walk onto your premises, you'd better hold their hands - all three of them - or check the color of their eyes - all three of them. The gentlemen in question might try to pull you into - The Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
Portrait of a nervous man: Oliver Pope by name, office manager by profession. A man beset by life's problems: his job, his salary, the competition to get ahead. Obviously, Mr. Pope's mind is not on his driving... Oliver Pope, businessman-turned killer, on a rain-soaked street in the early evening of just another day during just another drive home from the office. The victim, a kid on a bicycle, lying injured, near death. But Mr. Pope hasn't time for the victim, his only concern is for himself. Oliver Pope, hit-and-run driver, just arrived at a crossroad in his life, and he's chosen the wrong turn. The hit occurred in the world he knows, but the run will lead him straight into - the Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
All persons attempting to conceal criminal acts involving their cars are hereby warned: check first to see that underneath that chrome there does not lie a conscience, especially if you're driving along a rain-soaked highway in the Twilight Zone.

[opening narration]

Narrator:
You're looking at the house of the late Mrs. Henrietta Walker. This is Mrs. Walker, herself, as she appeared twenty-five years ago. And this, except for isolated objects, is the living room of Mrs. Walker's house, as it appeared in that same year. The other rooms, upstairs and down, are much the same. The time, however, is not twenty-five years ago - but now. The house of the late Mrs. Henrietta Walker is, you see, a house which belongs almost entirely to the past, a house which, like Mrs. Walker's clock here, has ceased to recognize the passage of time. Only one element is missing now, one remaining item in the estate of the late Mrs. Walker: her son, Alex, thirty-four years of age and, up 'til twenty minutes ago, the so-called 'perennial bachelor.' With him is his bride, the former Miss Virginia Lane. They're returning from the city hall in order to get Mr. Walker's clothes packed, make final arrangements for the sale of the house, lock it up, and depart on their honeymoon. Not a complicated set of tasks, it would appear, and yet the newlywed Mrs. Walker is about to discover that the old adage 'You can't go home again' has little meaning - in The Twilight Zone.

[closing narration]

Narrator:
Exit Miss Virginia Lane, formerly and most briefly Mrs. Alex Walker. She has just given up a battle and in a strange way retreated, but this has been a retreat back to reality. Her opponent, Alex Walker, will now and forever hold a line that exists in the past. He has put a claim on a moment in time and is not about to relinquish it. Such things do happen - in the Twilight Zone.