46xxxx (019) Death Tolls a Requiem

Do you hear them? Do you hear the bells? Bells? I don't hear any bells, Missy. Well, I tell you they're ringing! Well, Mr. The Heat's got you. Well, you're in the middle of the desert right now.

There ain't any bells within a hundred miles of here. But there must be, there has to be! Mr. No! No! No! No! Midnight. No witching hour when the night is dark as dark as dark as the strongest.

The dark strength that it's lowest in. Midnight, when the graves gave open and the death strikes. How? You learn the answer in just a minute in. Death tolls a requiem. And now, murder at midnight.

Tales of mystery and terror by radio's masters of the macabre. Our story by Max Ehrlich is Death tolls a requiem. I came into the room and quietly closed the door behind me. It was a room ready and waiting for death.

The curtains were drawn, bloodied out the bright afternoon sunlight. The air was heartened stifling. The silence had pressed it unearthly. I stared down at the face of the old man in the bed. The old man I hated.

His eyes were closed, two sunken shadows against the white wiggle skin. His wax and hands hung lintly over the cupboard. The three days he'd lingered while I'd waited for him to die. Now for a moment I thought, but now his tail is moved.

How are you feeling, Father? I must go myself, not long. It's only the bells that keep me alive. The bells? Yes. Over there in the tower. I lie here and wait till you. They seem to rally me.

I live for the sound of them, aren't they? Yes, Father. What? What time is... Till the clock. Till the clock. People must be there now. There in the tower. Pulling on the ropes, starting them swinging, the bed with bells are heard.