Strange Passenger

Inner Sanctum Mysteries. Good evening, friend. This is your host to welcome you through the creaking door into the Inner Sanctum. Come here. How about joining our shriek of the month, Clav? We're offering free a shroud-bound copy of Die Alone and Like It.

It's about an unsuccessful authorate who dies of marital illness. Yes, her husband got sick of her. However, he was thoughtful enough to bury his novelist wife in the basement. And now at last she's in the best cellar class.

An outfit and I've grew some little items. Oh, well, you better not disturb that fellow in the corner. He's our ghost of honor tonight. Poor guy. He died last night for lack of sleep. Now he's in for a way.

Mitt John Thompson. It's 29 driving a blue coupe across the George Washington Bridge, heading west. It's kind of a close night. Keep lightning and standing up in the sky when I come down off the bridge in the jersey.

Running a mobile gas station isn't bad when things are breaking right. But the way things are, I figure I'll do better out of the way. I hit the highway and let her out of it.

I spot her a few miles past the bridge. She's standing there by the side of the road, out in the middle of nothing. I don't know exactly why, but I stop. Want a lift? Thanks.

Hop in. Going far? Not very. Well, yeah, when you want me to leave yours, huh? My name's Tophant. John Tophant. Hello, Johnny. Yeah. Hello. What's your name? Anne. Anne. We're in particularly heading for. I don't know.

But... I know when we get there. Yeah, sure. Look, this ain't the old routine, but... You look like I kind of know you from someplace. Do I? I don't remember from where or when, but your face.