Dead of Night

- Walter Craig. - How do you do?

- You're Eliot Foley. - That's right.

So glad you were able to come. Let's have your bag.

And put the car away afterwards.

It struck me, after I'd telephoned you, rather cheek on my part,

asking a busy architect like yourself

to come down and spend the weekend with a set of complete strangers.

Not a bit.

We're pretty cramped for space here. We need at least two more bedrooms.

- And with only one living room. - Yes only one, living room.

However, we'll go into all that in the morning shall we?

- Know this part of the world at all? - No.

I've never been here before.

- No, not actually. - Well, let me take your things.

Fancy you spotting that.

Trained professional eye?

Yes, of course.

Well, we've got several other guests, so I put you in the barn.

But don't get worried. It has central heating and every modern convenience.

The very words I was going to use.

- This way. I expect they've started tea. - Yes.

Yes, they have.

Mother, this is Mr. Craig.

I'm so glad you're here.

How do you do?

Well, come along in.

Let me introduce you to the others.

- Mrs. Cortland. - How do you do?

- Dr. Van Straaten. - How do you do?

I'm very pleased to meet you.

- And Mr. Grainger. - How do you do?

And this is Sally O'Hara.

How do you do?

You must be tired after your drive. Come and sit over here by the fire.

I can't tell you how delighted I am you were able to accept my son's invitation.

You see, we're both such admirers of your work.

You'd like some tea, wouldn't you?

Do you take milk and sugar?

Milk and sugar, Mr. Craig?

Milk and sugar, Mr. Craig?

You're still there.

- So it isn't a dream this time. - I beg your pardon?

Yes, it isn't a dream this time. I must be going out of my mind.

Really.

Of course. Dr. Van Straaten.

You're a psychiatrist.

You always treat me.

You'll treat me now, won't you?

You must forgive me. I don't quite understand the joke.

It isn't a joke. I only wish it were.

I've seen you in my dreams.

Sounds like a sentimental song, doesn't it?

I've dreamt about you over and over again, Doctor.

That hardly turns you into a mental case.

After all, recurring dreams are quite common.

But how did I come to dream about you?

I've never set eyes on you in my life.

It's very likely you've seen my photograph in the papers.

That's why my face seems familiar to you.

I don't think so.

And even if it were, is that any reason why I should keep on dreaming about you?

- No. - After all, you don't mean anything to me.

Well, maybe an association of ideas.

I may be linked with something that means a great deal to you.

Such as?

I should have to psychoanalyze you to find that out.

But it doesn't end there.

You see, everybody in this room is part of my dream.

- Everybody. - Gosh.

- Good lord, really? - Very extraordinary.

- You're kidding? - Not all of us?

I can only tell you that when I came into this room,

I recognized you all instantly.

Having seen all our photographs in the newspaper,

if I take it, Dr. Van Straaten.

Of course, you may have seen me on the sports page. Motor racing's my line.

And there was one of me once, in the Kentish Mercury,

when I was a bridesmaid at my sister's wedding.

You remember.

Oh, but I shouldn't think you'd come across that.

- Well, I've never had my photograph taken. - Oh, yes, you did, dear, once.

You know the one. Naked on a white fur rug.

You were six months old.

Good lord, that's right.

I don't think he'd recognize me. I was much fatter.

Surely, Mr. Craig, you might have seen any of us sometime or another.

- In the street or anywhere. - Yes.

But why should I always dream about meeting you all together,

here, in this room,

that I've never been in in my life until today?

Mr. Craig, can you describe what happens in your dream?

Well, not in detail.

But it always starts exactly the same as when I arrived just now.

I turn off the main road into the lane.

At the bend in the lane, the house comes into view,

and I stop as I recognize it.

Then I drive on again.

And Foley meets me at the front door.

I recognize him too.

And then, when I'm taking off my coat,

I have the most extraordinary feeling.

I nearly turn and run for it...

because I know I'm going to come face-to-face with the six of you.

Well, you've only come face-to-face with five of us so far,

not counting Eliot.

That's right, five of you.

There is a sixth person who comes in later.

Can you describe this late arrival?

It's an attractive girl with dark hair.

Is that all you can tell us about her?

She comes in, quite unexpectedly,

and says something about not having any money.

A penniless brunette, eh?

How romantic. Do you fall madly in love with her, Mr. Craig?

Have you ever told anyone about your dream?

No, I don't think so. Not even my wife.

Now I come to think of it,

after I wake it never stays in my memory for more than a few seconds.

And none of it ever comes back to me until the next time it starts.

In fact, there's no evidence that you ever dreamed this dream at all, is there?

None whatever. I haven't a scrap of proof.

Personally, I don't need any. I believe what you say, Mr. Craig.

I believe you really have dreamt about us all.

So do I.

- And so do I. - Me too.

I think I do too.

I don't question that you have been subject to a recurring dream,

and no doubt it has a background vaguely similar to this.

That would be quite enough to account for your feeling

that you have been here before.

It's quite a common experience.

- And that's all there is to it? - That's all there is to it.

Well, I must say it's very disappointing

not to be one of the leading characters in a sort of supernatural drama after all.

- Cigarette, anyone? - You never know.

Perhaps it's like the Red King's dream in Alice Through the Looking Glass.

None of us exist at all.

We're nothing but characters in Mr. Craig's dream.

That's right. And when he wakes up, we shall all vanish into thin air.

Dear me, what a morbid notion.

Let's get this straight, Doctor.

You won't for a moment admit the possibility of foreseeing the future?

Not for a moment.

Well, you'd say I was a pretty ordinary,

down-to-earth sort of person, wouldn't you?

I refuse to commit myself. Why?

Well, when it comes to foreseeing the future,

something once happened to me that knocks your theories into a cocked hat.

Something I'll not forget to my dying day.

As a matter of fact, it very nearly was my dying day.

Now's my chance.

I can't make it.

I can't make it.

Yes, I can.

This is it.

How long is it since the crash, Nurse? Six days?

No, seven, Doctor.

There's no injury to the brain. I'm certain of that.

His mind cleared completely this morning.

He asked about the other driver. I told him he was unhurt.

He slept quite peacefully for the next two hours.

It's the temperature that worries me.

Let me know at once if it goes up again. I shall be in number 18.

You're here, Peggy?

All the way from Scotland?

All the way from Scotland.

But you're not Peggy, are you?

No, I'm awfully sorry. You've been calling me Peggy for days.

My name's Joyce.

Something's sort of soothing about you.

You'll not go away and leave me, will you?

- I won't. - Promise?

Yes. If you'll promise to try and go quietly to sleep.

I'll do anything you say.

From then on, my temperature began to slide back to normal.

It was a grand job of nursing on Joyce's part.

Tell me frankly, darling, am I out of the wood yet?

Well, you've stopped being delirious.

At least I think so. It's hard to tell. You talk such nonsense.

I still have awful bad nightmares.

Nightmares? I thought you said you always dreamt about me.

So I do. I dream you turn me down to get married to Dr. Albury instead.

You needn't worry. He has a wife and three children.

Oh, good for him.

It's a lovely night.

Quarter to ten. Long past your bedtime.

Listen, darling, I'll put it to you.

There's only one way to cure me permanently and that's to marry me.

- It's your professional duty. - You've got a hope.

- Good night. - Good night, darling.

You

Why do you pass me by?

How can you treat me so

When you know

All that you mean to me?

You said in days gone by

Just room for one inside, sir.

My dreams

Like all your promises, are broken

But not a single word was spoken