Latest / The Price of Fear Collection / The Price of Fear - Come As You Are
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- The Price of Fear, brought to you by Vincent Price. My little story for this week. I want to call come as you are. You know that a meaningless concession that gets added on the invitations to a party. You see, it's because the endless business of dressing up is such an integral part of my professional life that among my friends my very positive reluctance to attend any kind of fancy dress party or costume ball is not only established but understandingly accepted. On a recent trip to London, I was genuinely delighted to find an invitation from my old friend Charles Vaine awaiting my arrival. It wasn't until I'd reached that key and to me ominous phrase fancy dress will be worn that my heart sank. The fact that my would be host had crossed it through and substituted the words come as you are afforded little by way of consolation, there can be few experiences so desoltry as to find oneself sober suited in the midst of a determined company of let's pretend Casanova's, ponche Tarzan's and moth eaten king Kongs. As I put Charles's invitation back in its envelope. I had already instinctively decided to decline, But even as I mailed my politely phrased refuse to his kind invitation, I had the distinct feeling that I was not to be let off the hook. So likely the two am phone call confirmed my misgivings. Oh hello, Vincent, it's damn well not good enough to you hear what? Oh? I'm sorry? Who is that? It's not only not good enough, I'm damn We're not going to take no for an answer, Charles, Oh, Charles, is that you surprise? Surprise? Of course, it's Charles mohammed one. Go to the mountain. The mountain needs must anyway, Who the hell else did you expect it to be? Well? Believe it or not? Old thing? There are alternatives, parents, relatives, friends, acquaintances. Oh, you'd be surprised. Oh what, I well, I just hope you're not in the habit of treating them in the same Charles, delighted as I am to hear from you. You know, it is the middle of the night, wrong again, Vincent, the early hours of the more. But what's that got to do with anything? Nothing, nothing at all, except that we mere mortals do rather count on a certain quota of sleep mill mortals bore me. Oh, yes, it slipped my mind. Please forgive the lapse. I'm forgiving you. Damn all, are you still there? Still here? It's on account of that damn stupid fancy dress bit, isn't it. So why do you think I changed it to come as you are in the first place? Out of the question. The intimacies of my sleeping attire must remain a closely guarded secret. Don't beiscittish in a way. All I hope is you had sufficient sense to keep the damn thing. Damn the invitation, Yes, of course, the invitation is what you're keeping me from my beauty. Sleep about I am keeping you. Yes, well, On the back you'll find a simple set of directions for getting here. Child of five could manage it. I'm marked the priory with a damply cross on the top right hand corner. The priory the house my house. You will love it. Oh, yes, I'm sure I would, Charles. But it's a matter of fact. I have another appointment a scriptwriter. I shall expectuate. But Charles, I honestly don't see how you let me get some sleep damn you, Charles. Are you there, Charles, Charles? Oh last put to the test. Charles's simple set of directions might well have been comprehensible to a five year old child, but not having one of them with me in the passenger seat, I spent hours exploring the same piece of countryside in ever decreasing circles. I was just on the point of returning to London when I spotted the entrance to his drive, and within minutes I was standing in the hall of one of the most remarkably beautiful houses it has ever been my pleasure to enter. The party was obviously in full swing. Oh there you are, Let the festivities come in. Vin sent your late damn it. Oh, how good to see you. I've been ringing that ridiculous hotel of you to the best part of the evening. I thought you'd gone and funked out of the last minute. Oh I am sorry about that. Your directions weren't as explicit as you cracked them up to be. As a matter of fact, it's a cartographer. Your talent seemed to be singularly lacking nonsense. You Columbus had had me aboard. You have found the New world in one hell of a lot sooner than he did. Anyway, seeing as how you finally made it. Come along into the library, all right, we'll fort of ourselves to the brandy or see you before I introduce you to the somewhat dubious delights of the snake pit. There you go, then bye, Oh I am sorry, thank you, you're miles away. Yes, I'm just taking it all in. Impressive, isn't it? Beautiful? Charles past me a pretty packet, I can tell you, really beautiful, point taken. Yeah, you're quite right. Of course, the Heathen financier and me always been under the impression they amounted to much the same thing. Anyway, here's to it, and to your health and to your house. Tell me about it. The priory, Well, don't expect me to go into the full historic bit, but for all that mentioned in the Doomsday, one of the gems of early English monastic architecture, you know, the kind of thing, Well, I'm more than prepared to believe it. The domestic conversions came later, but it's still pretty exceptional anyway. I first fell in love with the place about five years back, when I was a guest here at a party. Oh a rather bizarre junkyard given by the wife of the then owner. Oh I see well, I think she realized I rather coveted the place from the word go. And last season we met up again in the south of France. She told me her lifestyle had changed somewhat since our last meeting, and judging where the bevy of young apollos she had in tow, I was more than prepared to believe it. Well. I eventually got round to the house and she said that providing the figure was right, the police was mine for the asking, and it obviously was. Then let's just say the contract was concluded to the mutual satisfaction of both parties. You're the same, old child. So here we are nine months later and it's house swarming night on the old Kraal. Thank you? Are you thinking of settling here? Nothing? Sure? You look skeptical. Oh yes, I'm sorry my eye. Well, you do have something of a reputation to live down you now, Well, you must give me five marks for effort at the very least. I've already got so far as settling into the place. Even quite a genuine English butler and a stable of splendid hunters. Every reason to be proud of my new country. Gentlemen image. Don't you think all you need now is in genuine English rose to complete the picture? Hmm, I'm working on it. You being serious? I am? The question is she? Oh am I to meet her tonight? Oh, my dear fellow here tonight. Her blue blooded parents would have forty blue blooded fits. Then this is something of a last fling. It's just settled for the last but one shall we? All right? Do you prefer imst? Certainly? Do right. Let's be having you then, my lord's ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the snake fit. My original misgivings about accepting Charles's invitation proved well justified, along with the disguises i'd anticipated. In a matter of minutes, I'd been introduced to a somewhat bibulous archbishop, an emaciated theda Bara on the decline, and the oldest bunny girl in the business. Charles's come as you are concession proved a somewhat dubious advantage. My conventional business suit seemed to generate the same degree of cool hostility as if I had elected to wear it at a convention of nudists. It was with a very positive feeling of relief that I eventually escaped the throng and sought out some corner strategically removed from the general merrymaking. The minstrel's gallery seemed perfect suitably fortified with a private bottle of Charles's excellent dom clico, I climbed to my remote perch as eagerly as any canary, in its gilded cage, a positive refuge where I could ponder the idiot antics of my fellow man, and consider myself well out of it. And so you are, old fellow, so you are well out of it. In the gloom of the gallery, I had almost stumbled over the man. I managed to rather startled apology. But even when my eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, the details of his physical appearpeerance remained extremely vague. The quality of his voice, the spare, angular outline of the silhouette he presented suggested someone of middle age, but then he could just as well have been a great deal older. Only for the briefest of instants was I positively aware of his pale, watery eyes opaque behind the glint of his old fashioned pastns. I hope I didn't startle you somewhat. I must confess I didn't realize I was intruding a temporary refuge from the madding crowding. Yes, I know it must seem ungracious, so to some it might. For my own part, Well, given the option, i'd have been a bed and a sleep hours ago. Why do'to you take a seat? Oh? Thank you so much? Allow me to introduce these occasions. Formal introductions always strike me as superfluous. On top of which I can't offer my hand a somewhat unfortunate accident. Oh I'm sorry to hear that if I were to fetch another glass, it doesn't agree with me. But why don't you? Thank you? I'm glad to observe that one of us at least had the courage to refuse being bullied into dressing the part fancy dress, because in some ways it might have been easier to apply the proverbial sautha. In my own case, Well, there was little option. Oh my wife, you know she positively revels in this kind of revel that possibly have already observed her titania in all her glory. Yes, yes, yes, as a matter of fact, I have. It would be difficult, not to extremely effective, ridiculously pathetic. I can think a few sights so ludic, crisly tragic as a middle age siren aping the appearance and manners of a young girl half her age? Do I embarrass? Oh, you must forgive me. But her panchan for youth is so notorious. I now feel a little reluctance to talk about it. Her companion this evening, for instance. Oh, you mean the young man in the costume? You have it, though the appertinences of a jiggolow might have been more appropriate, Oh, her darling boy of the moment, Luigi del Potrello. The name means nothing to you Portrello. No, oh yes it does sound for me. In most circles it has a certain notoriety. The Pottrellos are Italian merchants. Oh yes, extremely wealthy, hideously famboyant, and totally without any distinction, taste or breeding. Right from the outset, my home seemed in a perpetual state of siege Bill Dou's by every posts, secret assignations, ridiculously extravagant floral arrangements, and then the ultimate indignity of having the scoundrel pay court under my very roof, to be made constantly aware of their asinine snickerings, their barely concealed whisperings, their grotesque fondlings, the middle aged lovebird and her twittering young chick. But it wasn't until he started implanting his obscene influence on the house itself that my anger and frustration reached full spate. How obscene obscene? Isn't it extraordinary how something as seemingly insignificant as a mirror can underline the absolute bethos of one situation, underline it with far greater emphasis than any of the indignities and infidelities that have gone before. I'm not sure that I understand you did say, a mirror one of his many gifts to her, a hideously ornate creation in the fashionable flodentine manner, you know, the kind of thing all guilt cupids, intricately entwined finely. I'm afraid I exactly, my dear fellow, needless to say, quite out of keeping with the sober antiquity of my own furnishings, but a token of regard from her own, darling boy, don't you see, and as such, to be blatantly hung in a place of honor. It seemed suddenly as if he were trying to destroy the very fabric of our lives. Would it be impertinent of me to inquire what happened? Yes? But why not? It's probably common knowledge. The inevitable scene is the phrase that most readily springs to mind, but somehow more significant than anything that had gone before. Oh, you're exaggerating as usual. I honestly don't think you'd realize the gravity of the situation. Oh, come on, darling, say it. You can always be relied upon to trot out the obvious on these tedious occasions, can't you? My petty occasion as you choose to call it, might be a good deal graver than you think. Oh, now you're beginning to sound much more like the old dodderer. You really are. Well, come on, darling, don't stop now. It's the well known visit to the headmaster you had in mind, isn't it. If so, you are achieving it to perfection. The darling boy really has excelled himself this time. Hasn't he such an appropriate gift? A direct invitation to see yourself as you really are? So why the hell don't you tell your darling boy, he can take his bloody miller right back where it came from. We'll have to see, won't we, my pet? And was the mirror taken back? I presumed it must have been. I certainly don't recall seeing the damn thing again, But then quite suddenly I that's to say, we both had more important things on our minds. I'd spent the day at the British Museum doing some research. I got home to find my wife had been taken seriously ill, in effect a minor heart attack. I could only conclude it was a direct result of trying to keep up with her dissolute gadfly. The doctor advised that complete rest was absolutely essential. He also emphasized that there must be no undue excitement or shock. Yes, he particularly stressed the last bit or shock. Even as he said it, it sounded strangely significant. Why significant? Well, as it turned out, I I had stayed up reading very late one night. I must have dozed off because I was suddenly startled awake by a noise. It came from the head of the stairs. What kind of a noise It was difficult to describe, but a sort of bump, I suppose a slight trip, perhaps the certaint of retired hours before, there was only my wife, at least I believed that to be the case until and two I heard their voices coming from my wife's bedroom. I recognized Luigi's laughter immediately. Then after a while there was only silence. I think that silence was the most difficult thing to bear of all. For the first time, I admitted to myself that I had lost my wife to Luigi forever. And your reaction, how come I describe resignation, love, jealousy, hate, all at the same time. I wanted her dead. I needed her dead, but had no notion how I could achieve it. I'm not a courageous man, not even an artful man. I returned to the study, and there I saw something that seemed to suggest the perfect solution. Yes, go on. Shortly before her illness, I drawn my wife's attention to a book dealing with the medieval history of the house. Needless to say, she discarded it halfway through. But there was one particular section that not only claimed her interest but held it in a state of shocked disbelief I'd never witnessed before. It concerned a ghost. A ghost most historic homes seemed to lay claim to one. Knowing my wife's somewhat nervous disposition, I had previously kept ours something of a closely guarded secret, but now no undue excitement or shock was what the doctor had said there. And then I determined my ghostly inhabitant should serve his term. Well, what kind of a ghost, the ghost of a Franciscan friar. The costume wasn't too difficult to improvise. A bunous one of those Arab night dress affairs, complete with hood, served my purpose to perfection. I put it on, lit a candle, left my study, I crossed the hall. The stairs creaked as I began to climb. I didn't mind. It only added to the theatricality of the scene I was about to enact. I could already imagine slowly opening the door of my wife's bedroom, hear her call out, who's there? See the expression on her face as she watched in terror The specter of the Franciscan friar loomed towards her, perhaps one brief terrified scream. And then I just reached the top of the stairs, was about to cross the landing when I saw it. The actual specter there confronting me, the face shrouded in its hood, the candle flickering in its hand, the eyes deeply socketed, stared accusingly into mine. For a long moment, there was only disbelief at what I saw, and then panic. I tried to move, but couldn't. I tried to scream out, but no voice came. Then, with a new found volition of its own, my arm lashed out with the heavy brass candlestick I was holding, lashed out at the ghastliness of that grizzled face. God, in the name of cry, somebody help me for God's sake. Oh, my God, Charles Chance, what could ever you mean by slinking offriker? I'm sorry. Well, I turned towards my distraught story teller, but he was gone, probably realizing he was in imminent danger of being forced back into the swinging multitude below. Oh come along, man, don't just hang around in the gloom. There's somebody special I want you to meet. From the far end of the library, Titania herself confronted me. She sat there, enthroned in one of Charles's splendid high back chairs. Captain of our fairy band Mortals darling s close at hand, as she misquoted from the bard Titania made very short work of a very large brandy. In view of my so recent conversation with her husband, I I must have looked somewhat taken aback. She was not slow to notice the fact something worrying Darling. Well, Charles, Charles Biard, dear to Tania's running low nectar. Well, Darling, you were saying, like I do. Apologize. It's pure coincidence, of course, but I've had the pleasure of making your husband's acquaintance my husband. Yes, you did say, my husband. Oh damn you, Charles. You haven't gone and told every tom di can harry my little secret. You know, I particularly asked you to keep it strictly entrenew Luigi would be fewer Ouigi. But that isn't your husband. Oh what a damn fool I am. Now I've gone and let the cat out of the bag. It must have been referring to that dreadful old dodder. I was in Basila enough to spend the best years of my life with no Darling. We mustn't speak ill of the dead. The dead, thank God. The best part of two years isn't it, Charles, Even at the very end the old dodder approved as parsimonious and mean minded as he'd been all along. Still he paid for it. One of the few comforting things in life is that one can always dependent on getting exactly what one deserves for deserving exactly what one gets. Charles Darling, you are being cynical anyway, I must away, Luigia's gone missing, don't you know? It isn't that I don't trust the darling boy, Darling, It's simply that I don't. Goodbye, mister Charles Darling. It's seem bliss that Tdagia Darlings must away to live and fight another day? What the hell was all that about, Charles? Tell me about him? Her late husband, Edward? Was that his name? Well? I only met the old stick once, and then very briefly on my first visit to the place. This place, well, of course this was his house. He died here. Where where exactly did he die? You know, you look really picky answered the question. For God's sake, please, Charles, what, as a matter of fact, at the head of the stairs, stairs leading to the minstrels gallery. Yes, and the circumstances, oh, bit unusual. Really, It was Helen who found him. Apparently, the old fool was on his way to bed, all got up in this ridiculous dressing gown thing of his when he spots this mirror, the mirror at the head of the stairs. It was Luigi's mirror, wasn't it? Oh? Was darling boy been telling you all about that? Wasn't it? Yes? A gift to Helen. The old boy raised such a stink about it, she locked it away the back of a cupboard. Anyway, one night, after a somewhat torried meeting with her, darling boy, Luigi raises cane and insists on hanging it out in the open, directly at the top of the stairs, so that any one coming up them would be bound to see his own reflection, wouldn't he, Which is exactly what happened. Edward spots it, loses his temperance, smashes the thing to smithereens eh, it was that that caused the heart attack, of course, Not to mention his hand, what about his hand severed? Quite severed? Extraordinar The violence that can be generated through a fit of jealousy, isn't it. I wish you'd have another brandy, will you tell me what he looked like? Charles? Oh? Edwould oh do even better? Charles handed me a snap shot. It was faded, but I spotted him immediately, one face among many. But I'd have recognized it anywhere, not because of any particular feature, but because they're staring out at me. Were the same, pale, watery eyes opaque behind the glint of his old fashioned pass nez. I handed the photograph bag. Thanks, that might as well get rid of it. Hope, not much point dwelling on the dead, is there? No? Not much? Charles invited me to stay the night. I automatically refused. Some weeks later he suggested we meet up again before he left on a business trip to the continent. The priory was again suggested as a rendezvous, but in view of what had gone before, at the very last minute, I switched it to my hotel dining room instead. The decorps hideously modern, the food bad, the waiters rude, the place positively bulging with people. I wouldn't have had it any other way. A that was vincent Price, bringing you the price of fear co starring in Come as you are was Maurice Perry with Betty Huntley Wright and Peter Williams. Come As You Are was first recounted and dramatized by Bill Ingram and produced by John Das