Twilight Zone The Movie

You’re travelling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound, but of mind; a journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. Next-stop

• where demonic tyrants of the past live again to terrorize a man who carries the seeds of their hate into the present.

• where evil perches on a plane wing taunting the psychic who dare not believe his eyes—and still hold on to his mind.

• where the power to control the world rests in the fantasy-fraught imagination of a lonely child.

• where the joys of eternal youth are offered to those who remember childhood and are not too old to dream.

For those who remember . . .

THE TWILIGHT ZONE

was a television series that ran originally on CBS from 1959 to 1964. Close to eight million people accepted the invitation of its master of ceremonies, Rod Serling, to travel beyond the realm of reality into this rarefied Zone where the improbable sprang into being before their eyes and challenged them to new understanding. “The Twilight Zone” was a cultural phenomenon, entertainment with both magic and message. In syndication, the show has reached millions more with the same impact.

For those who have never seen

THE TWILIGHT ZONE

a new world is about to be opened where the suspension of disbelief leads through bizarre experience into basic truth. As an act of homage four film directors, Steven Spielberg, Joe Dante, George Miller, and John Landis, brought you the Warner Bros. movie. Now Robert Bloch translates its dramatic impact into print for you.

Books by
R
OBERT
B
LOCH

Psycho
Psycho II
Twilight Zone: The Movie

Published by
W
ARNER
B
OOKS

WARNER BOOKS EDITION

Copyright
©
1983
by Warner Bros. Inc.
All rights reserved.

Warner Books, Inc.,
666 Fifth Avenue,
New York, N.Y. 10103

ISBN: 0-446-30840-4

A Warner Communications Company

Printed in the United States of America

First Warner Books Printing:
September, 1983

S E G M E N T

1

Written by
J
OHN
L
ANDIS

Bill Conner fought his way through the early-evening traffic with more than his usual quota of curses as he maneuvered the Ford into the right-hand lane and prepared to make his turn.

Sure enough, just as he slid into position, the light changed!

Story of my life, he told himself. Every time I think I’m getting someplace, there it goes again—they stop me cold.

His fingers drummed impatiently against the steering wheel as he scowled into the headlight glare of the bumper-to-bumper traffic reflected in his rearview mirror. Even before the signal turned green again, his foot hit the gas pedal and he started to swing around the corner.

Through the windshield, his eyes caught a blur of movement, and the sound of a sudden shout mingled with the squeal of brakes as his car halted, barely missing the stream of pedestrians directly in its path along the crosswalk.

Bill leaned out of the window to get a better glimpse of their frightened faces as they scurried by. Black faces, of course.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” he shouted.

The crosswalk cleared and he completed his turn, sliding into the comparative safety of the side street.

With an effort he forced himself to relax his pressure on the gas pedal. Better slow down, try to take it easy. The last thing he needed now was an accident. Some black steps in front of your car and the next thing you know there’s a Jewish lawyer coming at you with a million-dollar damage suit.

Bill leaned forward and switched on the radio. A little music to soothe his nerves, that’s what he needed.
Just a song at twilight—

A blast of raucous sound assailed his ears and a high-pitched female voice screamed in song.

Bill cut off the voice, wishing that he could cut her throat instead. Darn blacks. Bad enough they’d taken over the streets—now they’d taken over the air, too. Getting so they didn’t even leave a white man room enough to take a decent breath anymore.

What was happening to this country anyway? Things were different when he was a kid. You didn’t hear all this stuff about civil rights; those people did their jobs and kept their places. Now the whole world was turning into one big welfare state, nothing but taxes and more taxes, and for what? Nobody had the guts to stop it, nobody even dared to speak out against it anymore. All these newspaper stories about robberies, muggings and murders, crime in the streets—crazy, that’s what it was. Just crazy.

Too bad they didn’t have someone like himself running things; he could clean up the whole mess in a hurry. Take the crime situation, for example—first thing to do is kill off eighty percent of the lawyers, ninety percent of the psychiatrists, and a hundred percent of the blacks.

Bill shook his head. No sense letting himself go overboard. The way things were going, decent hardworking citizens like himself didn’t stand a prayer. All he could hope for was a little rest and relaxation, something to take his mind off his troubles—particularly after a day like the one he’d just had. At least they couldn’t take that away from him—not yet, anyway.

The bright lights of a bar flashed ahead on his left. Bill slowed the car, seeking a parking spot alongside the right-hand curb. He finally found one, half a block ahead. Cutting his headlights and turning off the engine, he stepped out into the street, making sure that he’d locked the door behind him. The old neighborhood wasn’t safe anymore; leave your car unlocked for a minute and kiss it good-bye forever. That’s progress for you.

Bill shrugged, shaking off the thought, then squared his shoulders as he crossed the street and moved in the direction of the entrance beneath the neon light. It was Happy Hour time. No sense walking in with a frown on his face.
Remember, you’re a salesman, and the first job of a good salesman is to sell himself.

The place was crowded with customers, homeward-bound like he was, who’d stopped off en route to unwind for a moment after a long hard day.

Bill turned and scanned the far edges of the crowd, then caught sight of the familiar figures seated in the far corner booth.

The two men were almost mirror images of himself; Ray was perhaps a few years older and Larry a trifle younger, but both wore similar outfits—double-knit suits, white shirts, the kind of conservative necktie calculated to inspire confidence in a potential customer. Two good salesmen, two good buddies.

Now they looked up at him and returned his wave of greeting. Ray moved around to the center of the booth as Bill slid into the seat behind him.

“What took you so long?” he said.

“Heavy traffic. Getting so a guy could make better time walking.” Bill glanced down at his watch. “Hey, look, you guys—I can only stay a couple of minutes. The old lady’s got some cousins from Florida coming over for dinner.”

Larry eyed him across the table. “Then, you better hurry and catch up.” He turned and signaled to a waitress as she passed the booth. “Hey, girl! Another beer over here. Better make it two.”

Obviously, Larry was feeling no pain. Ray seemed to be the more sober of the two; as Bill spoke, he was conscious of Ray’s stare.

“Something biting you?” Ray asked. “What’s wrong?”

“The whole world, that’s what’s wrong.”

Across the table Larry met his scowling gaze with a grimace of mock dismay. “Oh-oh!”

Ignoring him, Bill turned to Ray. “Remember that guy Goldman?”

“So that’s it. You didn’t get promoted.” Ray nodded. “What happened?”

“They passed me up for that Jew.”

The waitress set two glasses of beer on the tabletop in front of Bill and he turned, his scowl vanishing at the sight of her. Reaching out, he made a grab for her arm. “How’d you like to cheer up an old man?” he murmured.

The waitress pulled away with a deftness born of long practice. “Just drink your beer and you’ll feel better.”