46xxxx (038) Death Is No End

It was made of iron. The spindle didn't reach it. What's that? What did you say? It's alive.

It's hard to get you here. It is hard. It's still beating. Midnight. The witching hour. When the night is dark. Our fears are the strongest. And our strength. And it's lowest end. Midnight. When the grave. Gave open. And death strikes.

How? You'll learn the answer in just a moment then. Death is no end. And now, murder at midnight. Tales of mystery and terror by Radio's masters of the Macabre. Our story by A.S. Guinness is...

Death is no end. Check, May 31st, next. May 31st deposits $9,840.74. 9842.74. Withdraw $6,302.16. Mitchell. One moment there. 632.16.

Check. Let's not stop though. It's almost midnight now. We still June the tally. Let's plow right ahead, isn't it? Yes. June 1st deposits $15,972.38. They stood there in the skin deserted bank. Ooh middle aged clerk, checking other people's money.

Behind us loomed the wire cages, two of them with their doors flung open. Mitchell and Phyllis baggaids, acceptable employees. Mitchell's badly kind of animal can find their cages by day and let out at night.

Perhaps all women take stock when they reach 40? Perhaps they all experience the thing I'm going through at this moment. A kind of clear, cold reality. Mitchell must have sensed the sudden surge of bitter hate.

Tell us, dear. What is it? One of your headaches? Nothing, kitchen. Let's plow right ahead. Oh, you just wait here. But we leave the bank tomorrow evening and hop into our little car. Two whole weeks in the Wisconsin woods alone together.

Was that wonderful? Yes, Mrs. Now, June 15th. Yes, yes, yes. Let's plow right ahead. Like obedient oxen, or June 15th. Deposit 7,000. What was that? I don't know. Hey, he put that box in my way.