You unlock this door with the key of imagination.
Beyond it is another dimension.
A dimension of sound.
A dimension of sight. A dimension of mind.
You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas.
You've just crossed over into the twilight zone.
Uncle Simon?
Uncle Simon, do you want your hot chocolate upstairs?
Uncle Simon, do you hear me?
Do you want your hot chocolate upstairs?
Uncle Simon?
Garbage-head!
I'm right behind you. There's no need to yell.
Well, my wilting blossom, what's on your mind?
Your hot chocolate is ready.
You told me you were going to take a nap.
Sometime try extending yourself, uncle, just sufficiently to let me know where you are on occasion.
Well, now, Barbara, my love, I think I can narrow that down for you.
If I'm not upstairs in my bedroom or in the study, then I'm downstairs in my laboratory.
In any case, wherever I am, you can bring the hot chocolate.
And if I'm not, it means I've dropped dead en route, and you can bring me a bottle of formaldehyde and a rose.
You're such a humorist, uncle.
You should have gone into burlesque.
Well, I dare say I'd have been more comfortable there than you.
You ever dance, Barbara?
I'm very busy, uncle Simon.
You ever cut loose and dance a fast Charleston?
No, most unlikely, most unlikely.
You know, you're the only woman I know who looks as if underneath her clothes, she wore clothes.
You have all the grace and femininity of a high-button shoe.
And you, uncle Simon...
Go on. Let's see if you can compensate for the fact that you're a passionless vegetable by speaking your mind.
If I'ma passionless vegetable, it's because my gardener is an ancient relic made out of dry skin and ice water.
Not bad, not bad, not bad.
You know, if I prod you hard enough, you can scramble up to the occasion, or at least part way.
Well, my angular turnip, what else is new with you?
You say you made some hot chocolate today, hm?
Any other soul-stirring projects that you applied yourself to?
I see that you tried to open the drapes in the bedroom and in the hall.
I see that you closed them.
You asked me what I had done today, and I'm telling you.
I cleaned up after you.
I tried to clear away some of the debris you always leave behind.
And what is this contraption, hm?
A room-straightener, perhaps?
Tell me, uncle scientist, where does this belong?
Put it back where it was.
You've been told a thousand times not to disturb things.
I could've put it away when I swept out the cellar, but as usual, your laboratory door was securely bolted.
Some day I would like to find out what it is you putter around with down there.
Yeah, I'll bet you would, and someday you shall.
Someday you will be owner of this decaying barn, and then you can do as you please.
Until then, keep your spindle-shanked carcass out of my laboratory, and your long thin probing nose out of my business.
Now, go and get me some hot chocolate, and use the English bone china cup.
If it's not hot enough, I'll throw it on the floor.
Barbara.
Question.
Go on.
Why do you stay here?
I was under the impression that I was needed.
You are. That explains why I keep you here.
But it doesn't even remotely suggest why you stay.
You would like me to be quite honest, I presume?
Indeed. You may be short on beauty, but a lack of candor has never been one of your deficiencies.
I stay.
I live for the moment when I can see you buried.
When I come back from your funeral, I'm going to open a bottle of wine.
I want to be compensated, uncle Simon, for 25 years of being shrieked at, insulted, berated, humiliated and stepped on like an old rug.
Is that sufficiently honest for you?
Well, I wish you well, my good and faithful Barbara.
But unasked, I offer you this observation:
If you had an ounce of gristle or an inch of intestines, you'd have m*rder*d me years ago.
And as for your 25 years of abject misery and unspeakable indignation, you deserve it, kid.
Now go and get me some chocolate.
Dramatis personae: Mr. Simon Polk, a gentleman who has lived out his life in a gleeful rage.
And the young lady who's just b*at the hasty retreat is Mr. Polk's niece, Barbara.
She has lived her life as if during each ensuing hour she had a dentist's appointment.
There's a third member soon to be seen.
He now resides in the laboratory, and he is the kind of character to be found only in the twilight zone.
Well... what have we here?
I was looking f-for...
Looking for what?
I... Thought perhaps you might show me what you were building.
Indeed. You'd like to know, wouldn't you?
That's the only character trait you share with normal women: Curiosity.
Ineffable curiosity.
Well, one day you'll know what I'm building, but until then, you night-crawling imitation of the female gender, if I catch you sneaking around outside my door, I'll break your head.
Now, go on upstairs and engage yourself in a nerve-wracking game of dominoes.
Tell me, uncle Simon, why do beasts like you stay alive so long?
What's that again?
You heard me. Why do decent men die and animals like yourself keep living on?
Because in most cases, mine in particular, we have something to live for.
I have you to live for, you crooked-seamed grubber.
That's why I keep this decrepit old heart b*ating and these over-the-hill lungs breathing because I know how deeply dedicated you are to seeing me die.
Who came here 25 years ago when you were crippled and sick and couldn't move?
Who came here and nursed you and kept you alive?
You did!
You did, you scrounging female ape.
Now, let's get down to cases. Why did you come?
Was it out of love, Barbara?
Was it out of a palpitating compassion or a flagpole-stiff loyalty?
I'll tell you why you came.
You stayed on month after month, year after year, 'cause every prayer that came out of your mouth was a supplication that I'd die before the next morning.
So don't go mouthing your sweetnesses at me, you thin-lipped, toothpick-legged conniver.
Everything you did for me, you did for greed.
Greed!
Greed so big, so thick, so heavy that it blotted out even the hatred inside you.
But let me tell you something, you money-sick crone.
You'll get paid off in due course, but before that pay off, you'll pay through every bone in your body.
You'll pay, you ugly harpy, you, you...
Barbara.
Help me.
Barbara.
Why won't you help me?
Why don't you help me, Barbara?
What's that?
What's that, uncle? I didn't quite hear you.
Speak a little louder, would you?
Tell me what it is that you wanted.
I think my back is broken.
You say you want some hot chocolate?
Do you want it in the English bone china cup?
What is your pleasure, uncle?
You say you want me to close the drapes and shut the windows?
Barbara. Barbara!
Barbara?
You want Barbara?
She's right here, love, standing right above you. Can't you see her?
Can't you hear her, you ancient albatross with a dirty mouth?
Uncle Simon?
Uncle Simon?
Please, don't die quite this moment.
If you can hold on, try, try just for a second.
I want to tell you something.
I want to make an announcement.
As of this second, as of this very second, I have quit suffering because of you.
I am no longer sowing, uncle Simon.
As of right now, I am going to reap!
Hey, world, I'm back!
I'm really back!
If you give me the sense of it, then I'll know how dispose of some things.
That, my dear, is the sense of it.
The will very explicitly requires that you throw away nothing.
You keep everything intact.
I see.
The house, its furnishings, everything goes to you in perpetuity.
The proviso is, of course, that you remain here.
Where would I go? This is my home.
Of course, of course.
But, uh, the document is quite clear in its intent.
Everything will remain in your name so long as you are on the premises.
The same thing applies to the various securities and the cash, which is quite sizable. It's been set up in trust for you.
You're to draw the interest accruing so long as you remain in the house.
Where could anybody find a man with a heart as big as his?
Uh, now this, this is a codicil your uncle had delivered to my office.
His instructions were to include it in the will.
"add this codicil. Additional stipulation."
Uh. Hm.
The sense of this, Miss Polk, is that to qualify for the other legacies, there is one additional stipulation:
That you're to care for all of your uncle's experiments.
"care for?" that's odd.
I don't understand, mr. Schwimmer.
Just exactly what experiments did he mean?
I have no idea. But, uh, it reads as follows:
"My beloved niece, Barbara, "will be responsible for the well-being of my latest experiment.
"she will care for it, look after it and see to its wants and needs.
"a member of the law firm
"of schwimmer, schwimmer, king, bathrick, pepperin, and schwimmer, "will visit once each week to see this stipulation is adhered to.
“in the event my beloved niece Barbara fails to comply
"with the provisions hereof, I hereby give and bequeath all my property, both real and personal, to the state university."
Uh, now, the sense of that, Miss Polk...
Just what is the sense of that, mr. Schwimmer?
I gather it depends very much on the nature of your uncle's experiment.
He refers to it as "it." You have no idea what "it" Is?
No idea at all, except that whatever it is, it must be in the laboratory.
Well, nothing in here of any consequence.
How do you do?
I'm a mechanical man built by your late uncle Simon Polk.
Your opening the door has activated all of my operating relays.
Be patient with me, because according to plan, according to plan, according to plan, according to...
It will be several days before I can function at maximum capacity.
I bid you greetings.
Hello, Barbara.
Bar-bara!
Bar-bara!
I'm going out, Frankenstein.
If you need anything, like a can of lubricant, get it yourself.
You must not leave.
Mr. Schwimmer is coming tonight.
A week has gone by.
Isn't Mr. Schwimmer coming?
Yes, Mr. Schwimmer is coming.
He'll be here at 8:00.
Good.
Good? Good for what?
He will see that I am functioning properly.
You see, I am like an infant.
I am maturing gradually.
Soon, I will have all my faculties.
I will be able to perform all my functions.
I will be a whole being.
How nice.
How perfectly grand. How exciting.
You'll be a whole being. Then what will happen?
I will take on human attributes, those which your uncle Simon saw fit to give me.
My uncle Simon, hm?
There was a prince of a man.
A-a brilliant man.
This is interesting.
This is very interesting.
It's coming through now.
What is?
A-a craving. A new craving.
Hot chocolate.
I would love a cup of hot chocolate.
Miss Polk.
Well, you look lovely, Miss Polk.
And how is, how is young master Polk, hm?
You took those keys off the desk. Give them back to me.
Oh, no, I must keep the laboratory door locked.
You must not come down.
It is my room. It belongs to me.
Barbara, won't you bring me some hot chocolate?
After you bring me my hot chocolate, would you please close all the windows and pull the drapes?
I don't like the light.
I don't like the draft.
What is the matter, Barbara?
Tell me, please, what is the matter?
What is the matter?
What is the matter, you peanut-headed sample of nature's carelessness?
Barbara.
Barbara.
Help me. Help me.
Ah, how are you this evening, Miss Polk?
He, uh, it Is rather quiet these days.
Doesn't seem to say much.
He makes his wants known.
Pity about his-his leg, but he manages to get around, doesn't he?
Indeed, he does. Indeed, he does.
Well, I'll see you next week, Miss Polk.
Take care of yourself, my dear. No need to show me out.
Barbara.
Barbara?
Barbara, my dear, if you could prevail upon that raggedy ann carcass of yours to exert itself, I'd like a cup of hot chocolate.
I would like it in the English bone china cup, and if it's not hot, I'll throw it on the floor.
All right, I'll make some.
Speak up, you lint-headed clod. I couldn't hear you.
I'll make some hot chocolate.
Move, you torpid lotus-eater.
Be sure that it's hot.
Do you hear me?
Make sure that it's hot.
What does it take to make you move, you bovine crab?
I'll fix it for you now.
You'll fix it for me now, what?
I'll fix it for you now, uncle.
Dramatis personae: A metal man who'll go by the name of Simon, whose life as well as his body has been stamped on for him.
And the woman who tends to him, the lady Barbara, who's discovered belatedly that all bad things don't come to an end, and that once a bed is made, it's quite necessary that you sleep in it.
Tonight's uncomfortable little exercise in avarice and automatons from the twilight zone.
And now, Mr. Serling.
Next on twilight zone, an eminent performer of stage and screen, mr. Richard basehart, in an odd-ball excursion that we call probe seven, over and out.
On occasion, we'll come up with a wild and woolly denouement, but this particular opus has an unpredictable ending that we doubt if even the most seasoned fans will be able to pick up before it happens on your screen.
Next on twilight zone, probe seven, over and out.