Tales from the Darkside

Man lives in the sunlit world

of what he believes to be reality.

But... there is,

unseen by most, an underworld.

A place that is just as real

but not as brightly lit.

A dark side.

MAN (in distance): Good God! How much further?

Algernon? Algernon?

Algie, where are...? Algie!

What are you doing all the way up here on the third floor?

: Harry.

l brought a new present for your collection.

lt's a housewarming present.

Now, where is that drink you promised me?

Ah.

So, this is it, huh?

This is the infamous Jackson Townhouse.

This is it.

After all these years, it's mine.

Algernon Colesbury,

photographer of spirits and apparitions,

is now the proud owner

of New Haven's most celebrated haunted house.

What'd it set you back?

What do you think?

Well, there can't have been too many takers

for a house with the hellish history this one's had, right?

: Exactly.

But don't tell me you believe any of those legends, Harry.

Not the ghost stories, no.

But the things that went on here

while old Henry Jackson was still alive

were certainly peculiar.

Orgies...

torture...

suicide.

Maybe you shouldn't have bought this place, Algie.

You can almost... smell the evil.

lt's perfect for what l have in mind.

Mm. Those are my best, l think.

The ones even you, the supreme rationalist,

haven't managed to completely debunk.

Algie, l've said it before and l'll say it again--

whatever these images are that you've collected

over the last 20 years,

they are not photographic evidence of ghosts!

For the thousandth time, Harry,

''spirits'' or ''entities''

or ''manifestations of ectoplasmic being,''

but not ''ghosts.''

l've spent my life in pursuit of them.

Oh, l know what you think, Harry.

You've told me over and over again.

You've even said it in newspaper articles.

You know l'd love to believe that, after we die,

we continue on!

But why is it that whenever any of you fellas

takes a picture of a ghost-- a spirit--

or a UFO or a sea serpent, for that matter,

this is what we get?

Grainy shadow images,

indistinct outlines, blobs of light.

They could be anything, for heaven's sake.

Never a clear, definitive, irrefutable image.

Never any proof.

You've got a point, Harry.

l've never denied it.

You know l've struggled with that problem my whole life,

but now, old friend...

l think l've finally found the answer.

ln the history of photography,

there's never been anything like it.

You see, Harry, the energy level of the average spirit

is extremely low, so low that most

aren't even visible to the naked eye,

let alone the camera.

l have also discovered

that the camera, for some reason,

places an additional drain on the spirit's energies.

Uh, being photographed is unpleasant for them,

even painful.

l quite share the feeling.

l invariably find it humiliating to be photographed.

lt may even be lethal.

That's why any photography

in a place where spirit activity has been recorded

often causes a halt in the phenomenon altogether.

The spirit, or spirits, flee,

their energies drained... and dispersed.

Get to the point!

This...

is the point, Harry.

Very impressive.

What is it?

l call it... a spirit attractor.

lt's going to help me to take the world's first

technically perfect photograph of a spirit entity,

and capture the clear, definitive,

irrefutable image you speak of.

Aren't you gonna ask me how it works?

l don't have to ask,

because you're going to tell me anyway.

lt's simple, Harry.

Beautifully simple.

This machine generates an energy field

conducive to spirits.

lt actually nourishes them.

Then with the attractor counteracting

the camera's drain

on the spirit, the spirit can be photographed.

This really is too much, Algie.

Even for you.

l thought you'd congratulate me.

Congratulate you?!

l think l'm only seeing you clearly

for the first time in all the years l've known you.

This obsession has dangerously eroded

your sense of reality.

That's what the skeptics said about Galileo.

l should have encouraged you to get married, Algie.

A good woman would've kept you more in touch with reality.

This is my reality, damn it. lt's my life!

All right, all right.

Listen, Theresa and l are going out for dinner.

Why don't you join us?

You don't believe me.

How about it?

Over a leisurely dinner, we could catch up.

Theresa's missed you.

You don't believe me.

No, l do. l do, really.

Put this stuff aside, just for tonight.

Come and have dinner with us, Algie, come on.

Not tonight, Harry, thanks.

l've got to get started.

Yes, l suppose you do.

Thanks for dropping by to see me, Harry.

Good-bye, Algie.

Time: 4:00 a.m.

lt is now 12 hours since l switched on the attractor.

So far, l've observed no unusual phenomena,

but l believe l can expect some activity at any time.

The original owner of Jackson Townhouse,

Emmerich Jackson, took his own life here in 1933.

Since that time, there have been numerous reports

of an apparition in the house.

This apparition is...

invariably described as a veiled woman in white.

This is the spirit l hope to photograph,

and, if possible, to identify.

l believe her to be the same spirit

Emmerich Jackson mentions in his last will and testament.

''Furthermore, l swear on my immortal soul,

''damned though it is, that l was compelled

''to the obscene and sinful acts committed in this house

''by the devious and malevolent spirit of a woman

''who possessed me, coerced me and seduced me

''into all that l have done.

''With death

''as my only means of escape from her evil,

''l hereby take my own life.

l pray that God, and man, will forgive me.''

(spirit attractor continues whirring quietly)

l'm now going to attempt to contact

the soul of Emmerich Jackson,

using my own slight gifts as a medium

with the aid of a Ouija board.

l call upon the soul

of Emmerich Jackson in the name of scientific truth.

Are you there...

Emmerich Jackson?

Yes.

Time: 4:06.

Contact with the soul of Emmerich Jackson established.

Will you materialize?

No?

Emmerich Jackson...

can you tell me anything about the malevolent female spirit

said to walk the halls of this house to this very day,

the one you say possessed you?

: Yes.

l knew it.

Can you tell me... her name?

L...

E...

N...

O...

R...

E.

Lenore.

Her name's Lenore.

B...

E...

W...

A...

R...

E.

: Beware.

Oh, l am in no danger, Mr. Jackson.