43-04-27_Diary_Of_Saphronia_Winters.txt

Suspense. This is the man in black, here again to introduce Columbia's program, Suspense. Our stars tonight are Miss Agnes Moorhead and Mr. Ray Collins. You have seen these two experts. Expert and resourceful players in Citizen Kane, The Magnificent Amberson, in which Miss Morehead's performance won her the 1942 Film Critics Award. Mr. Collins will soon be seen in the Metro Golden Mayor Technicolor film Salute to the Marines. Miss Morehead and Mr. Collins return this evening to their first love, the CBS Microphone, to appear in a study in terror by Lucille Fletcher called The Diary of Sophronia Winters. The story told by this diary is tonight's tale of. Suspense. If you've been with us on these Tuesday nights, you will know that suspense is compounded of mystery and suspicion, dangerous adventure. In this series are tales calculated to entreat you, to stir your nerves, to offer you a precarious situation, and then withhold a solution until the last possible moment. And so it is with the diary of Sophronia Winters and the performances of Agnes Moorhead and Ray Collins. We again hope to keep you in suspense. February 1st, St. Petersburg, Florida. I, Sophronia Winters, have hereby begun this diary because on this date I feel for the first time that I've begun to live. Diaries are no good unless one has thrilling experiences. For 40 years I've never had what could really be called a thrilling experience. But Papa's death has changed everything. Here I am in beautiful St. Petersburg with everything to start life anew money in my purse, two suitcases full of new clothes, and a gorgeous new permanent wave. And Florida is really the land of romance. It doesn't matter whether you're 17 or 70, there are parties and dances and bingo games and flirtations for all. My landlady, in fact, tells me that people often become engaged and even married to perfect strangers overnight. I'm still shy, of course, but just the same, it's such fun and so thrilling to think one's fate may be just around the corner. February 3rd. Oh, diary, it is beginning. This morning, when I came out of my lodging house to go down to the beach, I noticed a man, a thrilling looking man, sitting across the street on a bench. It was just as though he were waiting for me, because when I came out, he sort of started up as though he knew me. Of course, I didn't speak first, but I knew the minute I started down the street that he was following me. Well, I got to the beach and sat down with my magazines, and suddenly there he was, strolling toward me with a broad smile. Well, sitting out here all by your lonesome? Yes, yes, I am. Didn't I see you last night over at the Starfish Tea Room? The Starfish Tea Room? Mm hmm. Oh, yes, yes. I was there yesterday. But it was so crowded, I'm afraid I don't recall. Quite a nice cuisine they've got over there. Mind if I sit down beside you? Not at all. Oh, just a minute. Sit on this magazine. The beach is so sandy. Oh, sand doesn't bother me. I'm from Maine, you know. We get plenty of sand up there. Do you? You've been down here at St. Pete Long? Oh, just three days. Three days? That's a long time. It's a wonder I didn't spot you before. Oh, Mr. Pitt. Johnson's the name. Hiram Johnson. Oh. I come from Green Harbor, Maine. Run a big hotel up there, Summers. Well, that's my whole history in a nutshell. My name's Sophronia. Sophronia Winters. Sophronia? Uh huh. Well, you know, that's quite a coincidence. My sister-in-law's name was Sophronia. Oh? Sophronia Johnson. You ever heard of her? She looked quite a bit like you, too. Sophronia Johnson? No, I'm afraid I haven't. Who was she? Someone very famous? I'm so ignorant about these things. Oh, that's all right. Say, look at that sun, will you? I'd say it was pretty nearly time for luck. And, Diary, darling, he is wonderful strong and kind, warm hearted, so generous. I don't want to be like the other silly women in this town, but Hiram is different. There's something almost poetic about him, something sad and deep. You know, Sophronia, it's kind of mysterious us finding that nine point starfish on the beach together. My sister in law, Sophronia, used to collect nine point starfishes. And to think your name's Sophronia, and you find a nine point starfish with me. Well, it kind of draws us together, eh? Huh? What do you think? I love him completely. As though I'd known him all my life. My landlady says it's foolish. But look at Romeo and Juliet. Weren't they foolish? What's the good of waiting, Sophronia? I've got to be back at the hotel in a week. We may never see each other again. Oh, Hiram, don't say that. I couldn't bear it. Then let's do it right away. Tomorrow, there's a parson out on Coral Avenue who'll do the job for us. We can take a nice moonlight drive out to the alligator farm afterward, have a nice shore dinner, then climb on board the Orange Blossom tomorrow night for Maine. Just think of Maine the big dark pine woods, the sand, the bay, the two of us alone together. The two of us alone together. February 7th, on board the Orange Blossom. I was married in a wedding dress of Alice blue moire with a frill of white orkandy at the collar and wrists and a rhinestone belt buckle. Hiram sent me talisman roses. I'm pressing one precious flower between the pages of this diary for luck. He'll be on this bend in a couple of minutes. Are the bags heavy? No, not particularly, dearest. Oh, I can't get over that taxi manifestation. Imagine his insolence saying he couldn't drive us over. Maybe he didn't have any gas. It happens sometimes around here. Well, anyway, I'm glad the weather's so mild. Can you imagine what it would be like in a blizzard? There's the place. Oh, wait a minute, wait a minute. I don't want to look here until I put down these bags. Now, where? There. Through those big pine trees. Oh. Oh, it is big, isn't it? 125 rooms. So many fire escapes and balconies and porches and towers. I stayed in a hotel like that once, years ago, with Papa. It was very fashionable there. My grandfather built that place 50 years ago. Hasn't been changed much since. No? Well, of course, you've put in modern plumbing. Not yet. Here we are. Walk in. Oh, what's that? Just a foghorn out in the bay. Fog? We get it almost every night in this kind of weather. What are you locking the gate for? Why not? There's nobody coming in after us. Or going out again for a while. But I thought you said the hotel. The hotel's empty. Hiram. What is it now? Hiram, darling, I know it sounds silly, but let's not go in there tonight. Let's wait until morning. Why? Oh, just. Because it's so dark and empty, there's not a light in the whole place, and no one's expecting us. What do we eat? Where do we sleep? Let's stay in the village just for tonight. I've got things to eat and a place to sleep. Come on. Oh, my arm. Hiram! Hiram! Do you remember my telling you down in Florida about my sister-in-law, Sophronia? Well, that's her over there on the wall. Take a look at her. Hiram, you hurt me. Oh, those glasses are very dusty. She must have died many years ago. But her face is sweet, very sweet. And her eyes, there's something very sad and wistful about her eyes. She was a murderess. She was hanged in Portland 25 years ago for the murder of my brother Ephraim here in the lobby of this hotel. She murdered him in cold blood with an axe, that fire axe hanging over there on the wall. It was a summer day. There were guests sitting out on the front porch in the rockers. It was just after lunch. My brother Ethan was sitting at the desk counting his loose change. My mother was crocheting in that old wicker rocking chair. Sophronia came downstairs humming a hymn. Oh, don't, Hiram. Please, please, don't tell me anymore. Why not? Well, it makes me nervous to hear it like this in this big shadowy lobby. And your eyes, Hiram. Your eyes. Hiram, you're acting so strange. Hiram, what's the matter with you, dear? I know it was a terrible tragedy, but it happened 25 years ago. Don't touch me, Sophronia. Don't touch you. Do you. Remember what I said to you in Florida? What did you say? Well, you said a million sweet and wonderful things to me, Hyra. I said you resembled my dead sister-in-law. Look at her again. Look at her closely. Sophronia. But why? Oh, no, no, I can't. It's too horrible. I can't look at her face with any pleasure now knowing she was a murderess. You're afraid to look at that, if you. No, no, I'm not afraid. Hyra! Please, my eyes. Oh, very well. Hello. Now, stand there quietly, like that. Take off your glasses. That's all I wanted to see. That's all I wanted. February 13th, Green Harbor Hotel, Maine. I can't understand it. I try to fad a bit, but my head aches and my heart is heavy. The hotel is deserted. It has been for 25 years. Everything is covered with spiders and cobwebs. The great dining room with its oak woodwork is alive with rats. And a row of broken rocking chairs on the front porch faces emptily out to sea. Does he mean this to be my home? He's downstairs in the shabby parlor. Off the lobby playing the harmonium. You're done here. Yes. Yes, Hiram. Sleeping? No, dear. Why is your door locked? Come out. I want a showing around the place. It's all right, dear. I've seen it. I've seen just about everything. No, you haven't. You haven't seen the grounds at all. The grounds? But, Hiram, it's after midnight. I want to show you where my sister-in-law, Sophronia, is buried. Well, not tonight, dear, please. It's so late and I have a headache. Open the door, Sophronia. I want you to come now. No, no, I shan't. No, go away. Let me alone. I won't. I won't. I won't. No use carrying on like that. You see, I have pass keys to all the doors. Beyond, where those four birches are standing, is where my sister-in-law Sophronia was laid away 25 years ago. It was the biggest funeral in the neighborhood. Folks crowded outside the gate for the dozens trying to get a look, but we wouldn't let them. Buried her ourselves without a service out here by herself on the grounds. Ephraim's buried in town, but not Sophronia. I had a feeling I'd have to keep an eye on her even then. Keep an eye on her? I knew she was one of those restless sleepers who wouldn't stay quiet in her own grave. I knew before the year was out she'd find some way to start roaming around hunting for mischief again. She was a young she-devil to the core, Sophronia. They could hang her till doomsday. Wouldn't do any good. You mean. You mean the. You think she haunts this hotel? No, no, not this hotel. She never had any use for it, alive or dead. No. She makes for the warmer climates. She was always a cold-blooded little fish, freezing and shivering all the time. It's places like California and Texas and Florida she makes for. Florida? Yes, that's one of her favorite haunts, particularly around St. Pete. She likes the flowers and the sun and the romance. Hiram, I feel cold. And you mind if I go inside now? Just a minute, just a minute. I haven't explained everything. You think I'm crazy, I guess. Crazy. But I'm a lot smarter than some people give me credit for. Because, you see, I have found her now. Three times. You see that grove of birches over there? Under every one of them's a grave. I've found her wandering the earth in disguise three times. And I've killed her three times. That still doesn't do any good. She's still restless. You. you mean you've. You killed three different women? So now I keep another open grave to remind her. It's waiting now. Would you like to see it, Sophronia? No, Hiram. No, no, please, I. Are you afraid to see it, Sophronia? No, I. Hiram, you don't mean to say that you think just because my name happens to be Sophronia and that I look a little like. Think what? Sophronia. It's nothing. February 14th. My mind is made up. I've made a terrible mistake, and I must get away from this place. I must get away from Hiram as quickly as I can. It should be easy. There's no fog today. If I can only escape from the hotel, I can run and hide in the pine woods. No. No. I shall wait for dusk when he generally sits down in the parlor and. Place the harmonium. I can hide a little earlier in one of the deserted rooms, and then when his back is toward the lobby, slip out the front door. Sophronia. Sophronia. Sophronia! Oh, there you are. What's the matter? Anything wrong? No, Hiram. You didn't want anything outside, did you? Because if you do, you'll have to ask me to get it for you. You see, I always keep the front door locked. Yes, Hiram? Yes, the back door, too. And all the doors leading out into the porches and fire escapes. And a good many of the windows. It makes one feel safe from thieves and peeping toms. Oh, you've got a cold. That's too bad. Yes. I must have caught it last night. Outdoors. The damp. You ought to be in bed. A good bed. The only good bed in the house is in my sister-in-law, Sophronia's old room. No, no, Hiram. I'm all right. Is this a little head cold? Oh, little head colds often develop into pneumonia. Why, it's too bad I didn't think of that before. You might have slept in it from the beginning. Here, up these stairs. What's the matter? Are you so weak? No. No. No, I'm all right. This room is the cleanest in the hotel, too. I've always had a sort of suspicion about it. You see, I've kept everything as it was. What's the matter? Nothing. Nothing. It's just. It seems kind of familiar. No, no, no. It's just that seeing it so clean, seeing it as though someone were living here, as though they'd only just stepped out for a moment. It's as she left it that afternoon when she walked down to murder my brother. You see her needlework on the table with the needle sticking in it? And her hymn book still open? She was very fond of singing hymns, Sophronia was. Had a nice voice, too. I used to accompany her. I'll turn down the bed for you. Then you can get undressed while I go and make you some hot tea. No, I don't want any. Here's the closet. You can put on one of Sophronia's dressing gowns. Diary, I'm beside myself. I shall go mad. I shall go mad. Two hours have passed since they've locked the door upon me. Night's fallen, and I'm alone. Alone in this horrible room with its hideous little mementos of death. I'm sitting here at her little wicker table trying to become, trying to write this. Somehow, when one writes about a thing, it doesn't appear so real. My hand is just brushed against her needlework. Her hymn book. Where they still lie. Waiting. I can bear having them near me no longer. I must get them out of sight. Anywhere. In that closet. A bureau door. Ready for your tea? No. Yes, Hiram. Why aren't you in bed? You take worse colds, you know. I'll get in bed in a minute. First. Oh! Brushing up on your needlework again? My needlework? You've got it in your hand. Have I? Oh, yes. Yes, so I. But I wasn't working on it, Hiram. I swear I wasn't. I've never done a stitch of needlework in my whole life. I don't know one embroidery stitch for another. Let me show you. Look, I don't even know how to hold the needle. Get into bed, Sophronia. You're feverish. Before we go on, Hiram, before you go on thinking, we've got to have an understanding. You've got to let me explain. I was born in 1892 in Kalamazoo, Michigan. My name is Sophronia, that's true, but they name lots of people Sophronia. I was named for my grandmother. She had just. Died. No, no, no, you've got to listen to me. I've lived in Kalamazoo all my life. If you'd only just write a letter or send a wire, why, I've never heard of Green Harbor in my whole life. I never went anywhere. For almost ten years, I stayed home day in and day out nursing Papa. He had a stroke. I wasn't out of the house. It was the red brick house and the green shutters. February 15th. Now I live only from moment to moment, listening to each creak upon stairs. I've been in bed all day. It's night now. The foghorn has begun to blow again. February 19th. I woke up early this morning after a wretched night, and the date was burning in letters of fire in my brain. If he's planning to kill me, it'll be today. But the hours have been crawling on. It's almost midnight. Oh, why, if he's going to kill me, doesn't he do it at once? Why does he torture me like this? I'd rather be dead than sit here in this room one moment longer. I can't bear it. If he doesn't come in five minutes, I shall force him to come. I shall beat on the door. No. No. Rather let me sit quiet, praying that he doesn't come. Oh, I want to live. I want to live. Sophronia, it's come. Sophronia, come downstairs. I want you to sing me a hymn. Sing? He. He never asked me to sing for him before. But she sang. I. I can't sing, dear. I. I told you that long ago. Did you? Well, I'd forgotten. And besides, how can I come downstairs when my door is locked? It's unlocked. Try it. Unlocked? Oh, no. How could it be? Oh. Oh, it is, it is, and I never know it. I never know it. Coming? He unlocked it. Sometime while I was just sitting. Oh, why didn't I try a few more times? Why did I just sit there as soon? No. No, he'd have caught me anyway. He'd have known. But I might. Oh, now it's too late. He's going to kill me. Sophronia. Yes, Hiram. I'm coming. Hiram, where are you? In here. In the parlor. What are you doing there, Hiram? Waiting to hear you sing. You're at the harmonium? Yes. All right. I'll sing. I haven't sung in years, but I might as well. I'll sing for you out here in the hall. My voice will carry better. It always did carry better in the hall, didn't it, Sophronia? So you remember that, too. Of course, you know both the front and back doors are locked. Play a few bars, Hiram, dear, to warm me up. Shall I sing, too, Sophronia? Would you like me to sing along with you? If it pleases you, Hiram. Work for the night is coming. Work in the morning time. Work for the night is coming. When man's work is done. Work while the daylight darken. Work in the summer sun. Work while the night is coming. When man's birth is There is only one more page. Shall I read it to you? Yes, yes, go ahead. March twenty second. I've been sick, I think, for a very long time. The pages of my diary are blank, but I shall take you out again, poor diary, today and start you over again. No. No, I shall never look back at the other pages. I shall only write on and on about this beautiful place so that no one reading this diary will ever know that I did it. But I did do it, Dari. I was smarter than he. When I opened that door at the head of the stairs and heard the music, when I saw the fire axe still hanging on the wall. I was so cautious, so terribly cautious. I tiptoed like a little mouse, even as I sang the hymn into that room where he was playing. But I was clever, so much cleverer than he. I kept on singing. And now I'm Free. Free as a bird. I'm free and he shall never catch me now. Not this time or ever again because. because he's dead. Isn't he, nurse? Nurse, isn't my dear brother in law, Hiram, really dead? Yes, miss, he's dead. And now I'll thank you to hand me that diary. The doctor doesn't approve of the patients writing anything. And so closes the diary of Sophronia Winter, starring Agnes Moorhead and Ray Collins, tonight's tale of suspense. This is your narrator, the man in black, who conveys to you Columbia's invitation to spend this half hour in suspense with us again next Tuesday when Richard Dixon. Gail Page and Montague Love star in Death Flies Blind. The producer of these broadcasts is William Spear, who, with Ted Bliss, the director, Ludd Gluskin, the musical director, Lucian Mahowick, the composer, and Lucille Fletcher, the author, collaborated on tonight's Suspense. This is the Columbia Broadcasting. Broadcasting system.