This is Nelson Olmsted.

Sleep no more.

Sleep no more.

Turn down the lights.

Sink back in your chair and don't look into the shadows.

In the shadows, there may be moving things.

Tonight, it may be, you will sleep no more.

Good evening.

This is Ben Grower introducing tonight's tale of terror,

told by Nelson Armstead on the National Broadcasting Company's presentation of Sleep No More.

The story of terror can be as simple as a sheeted ghost rattling chains.

It can be a complex and hidden world of horror, lurking in such unholy dimensions as only the dead and the moon struck and glimpse.

Or it can be those terrible, fathomless shadows, which lie buried deep in the primitive mind of civilized man.

And for this evening, well, Nelson Armstead, tell us about this evening story.

Once in a while in my reading, I come across a short story so different, so powerful, so well written, that I can't forget it. Our first story tonight is a case in point, written by

one of England's masters of the short story art, A. M. Burrage. It's about a man who went out of his way

to scare himself to the absolute limit.

Listen while I tell you about

the wax work.

While the uniformed attendants of Maramor's waxworks were ushering the last stragglers through the great class panel double doors, the manager sat in his office interviewing

Raymond Husson, a journalist. The manager was speaking.

Yes, Mr. Husson. It used to be said years ago that Madam Tussauds would give a man a hundred pounds for sleeping alone in the Chamber of Horrors.

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