46xxxx (001) The Dead Hand

Wait, come back here. Wait, nothing. I said you were not crazy. And, well, hold on. I'm sorry, Huk. Very sorry. But I had to have it. I'm going to have it.

And once you're dead, you will never miss it. Midnight, the witching hour when the night is darkness, our fears the strongest, and our strength at its lowest end. night when the graves gate open and death strikes. How? You'll learn the answer in just a minute in the dead hand.

Midnight, tales of terror and retribution by one of radio's best known mystery writers, Robert Newman, its title, the Dead Hand, a small studio cottage on Dr. Martin Trent's estate, seated at the piano, alone in the gathering darkness, is Roger Blaine, a famous pianist, and playing as only he can play.

Piamilona, austeremy, you must come calling to you in a way you could never resist. You'll my music, but be fast. Your breath come quicker. Corner. Am I disturbing you? Always, Lana.

Martin's out at the hospital and I heard you playing. That's not why you came, Lana. You came because I called you, because you promised you'd come and give me your answer. What do we talked about last night by going away with you?

Roger, I must have been mad. I don't know what got into me. Don't you, Lana? This is what got into you. My music, telling you things I never could tell you in words. Roger, stop! I can't think when you play like that.

I can't believe him. He's my husband. I love him, respect him. Can you love a surgical instrument? Can you compare what you feel towards him? We want you to feel... now, this minute. No, it is different. Roger, how can we?