The Ray Bradbury Theater (1985–1992): Season 6, Episode 12 - The Handler - full transcript
A small town mortician takes a perverse delight in exacting postmortem revenge against his enemies, until his day of reckoning arrives.
[eerie music playing]
RAY BRADBURY
(NARRATING): People ask,
where do you get your ideas?
Right here.
All of this is my
magician's toyshop.
I'm Ray Bradbury, and this is--
[church bell ringing]
[organ music playing]
11, 12, 13?
There, take that.
If anyone's listening.
Baker's dozen, 13.
I wonder what they think out
there, if they think at all.
I live just over there.
Heard your bell,
it rang 13 times.
That's just to remind us that
the day of reckoning is near,
that we all got to
lay down and pay up.
Is that funeral place yours?
Yes, it is.
Is it a church too?
Well, it holds my
kind of services now.
Are the tombstones yours?
Well, I'm the proprietor.
You might say I'm
in real estate.
Who owns the bodies?
You're such a sweet child.
There's one who'll
ask no questions.
[organ music playing]
Right this way, gentlemen.
Dear, dear Mr. Merriwell Blythe.
What a good life he had.
And now he's gone.
What an unfortunate week it has
been for our little community,
gentlemen.
First of all, respected
Mrs.Shellmund.
Then, forthright Mr. Wren.
Man Then young and
virile Mr. Worth.
And now, nice Mr. Blythe.
Dear me, dear me.
Well, thank you.
You can go.
You too.
Gentlemen, lady, you mind if
I turn up the refrigeration?
I feel a hot spell
coming on, and I wouldn't
want you guys to catch cold.
[laughter]
[organ music playing]
Red light.
Statues.
I shall return.
Too-da-loo.
Bye.
[laughter]
Check out the suit.
Good to see you, Benny.
Ooh, that's a cold shake
you got there, Benny.
You just finished embalming
a frigid woman, huh?
Hey, that's not bad.
You get it, huh?
You get it Benny?
A frigid woman?
[laughter]
[laughter]
[laughter] Did you
hear what I said?
Yeah.
Funny.
[fake laughter]
I would like--
Speak up.
Ink.
Can't hear you down there.
Black ink, the biggest
bottle you've got.
Well, why didn't you say so?
[laughter]
What's so funny?
Nothing, so sorry.
That big enough?
Yes, glorious.
I'll take two.
OK.
Decorations,
various, pastry tube,
white sugar frost, two pounds,
whipped cream, two pints.
Something extra to put in
your refrigerator, huh?
Very funny, Mr. Flinger.
[laughter]
Do you have your own cake?
I got a piece of cake, Mr.
Flinger, a piece of cake.
[laughter]
You smile, I'll remember.
You laugh, I've got it noted.
You nudge and grin,
it's on the record.
[organ music playing]
Never fear, it is I.
[applause]
Thank you. enough.
To work.
[eerie music playing]
Let us be thankful for what
we are about to receive.
Dear Mrs. Shellmund,
how glorious
you look with that wig pasted
on your head and your teeth
glued together, without
a trace of a smile.
There never was.
Remember, remember?
I remember how you
snubbed me, disdained me
while stuffing
yourself with cream
tarts and chocolate eclairs.
And here you are, lying still.
You know, my dear lady, you
have a serious sebaceous
condition of you pores.
That's been your
problem your whole life.
Bad diet, too many parfaits, too
many sundaes, too many cakes.
Speaking of cakes,
I'm going to back
you the best cake ever baked.
[music playing]
[whistling]
There, funeral cake lady.
All curlicued and decorated.
A little smile for eternity?
Aren't you cute.
There.
All shut up for
a thousand years,
and nobody will be the wiser.
Bye.
Mr. Wren, most beloved of
all the racists of the world.
So proud of your skin, how
you prided your paleness.
Pure, superior, you said
you hated all minorities.
Well, I'm a minority, a
minority of inferiors.
Mice.
Why so pale, Mr. Wren?
Your face looks like
the fresh-driven snow.
Should we try a little blush?
Or should we go for the
darker side of the moon?
Well, there goes
the neighborhood.
Edmund Worth, Ready Eddie.
I bet you this body's
seen a lot of action, sir.
But you messed around just
once too often, Eddie.
Someone was bound to
rat on you in the end.
Hello, yes?
Mr. McNamara, it's
about your wife.
[screams]
[gunshot]
You know, Edmund, most men
can paint their houses,
buy cars, make money.
But the one thing most men
can't do is change their bodies.
Now I've never had
the kind of body
that a woman would come up
and tickle me on the chin
or kiss me on the mouth.
So Edmund, my boy,
I'm going to fit
you up for a special coffin.
[saw buzzing]
40 bricks, Edmund.
Makes up for 200 pounds of
pectorals, biceps, and triceps.
When I die, Mr. Worth, I hope I
have an understanding assistant
who will attach my
head to your body,
because if I can't have a body
like yours in life, at least
I can have one in death.
Thank you.
Hang in there.
Dear old Merriwell Blythe.
You alone in this town have
never ridiculed or insulted me.
You alone, Mr. Blythe, did
not have to wait for death
to become polite.
At first, I thought of
putting milk in you.
You know, like the
milk of human kindness?
To run through your veins
through all eternity.
But then, I recalled
you had died
on us several times before with
your comas and your spells.
Well, it looks like you really
had it this time, Mr. Blythe.
But just in case you do wake
up when you're six feet under,
I think you might like
something to read.
So I'm going to give
you my little book,
Benedict's Benedictions, and it
comes with a little flashlight.
It's all in here.
A lot of laughs to while
away those dull hours
in the graveyard.
The three old gossips
jammed into the one casket.
Rich Mr. Bellard,
buried stark naked,
poor [inaudible] gold
coins on each eyelid.
Lawyer [inaudible],,
not buried at all,
burned and put a dead
polecat in the coffin.
And Miss Trimble, with
parts of the Rev. Brown.
Oh dear me.
That was naughty, wasn't it?
[gasping]
Ah!
Fiend.
Monster!
You're alive!
[coughing]
Defiler, Satanist.
No.
Oh, the things I've heard.
Wait till I tell on you.
Please, no.
You pervert!
Please, no.
I'll tell the
mayor, the sheriff,
the council, the people!
Please!
You dreadful man--
I'm sorry.
To think, these things have
been going on in our town
all these years--
I didn't--
--and we never knew the things
that you were doing to people.
Oh, you monstrous monster!
I'm sorry.
Mutilation, ruination
of-- god, it's so awful.
I'm sorry.
People have got to know.
Help
Oh dear, what a pity.
Help!
You!
You out there.
You-- Look what he's done.
He'll do it to all of us!
Hear me!
Help!
Help, hear me!
Ah!
Don't take it!
Don't stand for it.
Stop him!
Do something!
They can't do nothing
to me, they can't.
They can't hear you.
Help me, please.
You're a foolish man.
You're a foolish and dying man.
So now, die quickly, huh?
Somebody, please help.
I wish you'd stop talking, I
can't stand to hear you talk.
You horrible man.
They'll get you.
This time, you're
going to stay dead.
[thunder rumbling]
Huh?
Huh?
Huh.
[church bell ringing]
Who's tolling my bell?
[moaning]
[screeching]
Who's out there?
Go away!
You can't come in, you can't!
Go away, you can't!
[moaning]
[wailing]
You can't!
[saw buzzing]
[birds chirping]
LOCAL MAN: He's
not in the church.
He's just not there.
LOCAL WOMAN: He's not there,
he's not in [inaudible]..
Hey!
What, what?
LOCAL MAN: Just what kind of
storm was that last night?
The heavens are bleeding?
Where could he be?
Who knows?
Hey, look at this?
Oh!
And this!
LOCAL MAN: And here!
LOCAL WOMAN: Oh!
LOCAL MAN: And over here, look!
LOCAL WOMAN: Oh look!
LOCAL MAN: Over here!
LOCAL WOMAN: Oh, and this!
LOCAL MAN: And this!
LOCAL MAN: Over here!
LOCAL WOMAN: Oh, here!
LOCAL MAN: And this!
But that's impossible.
He couldn't be buried under
all these gravestones.
Couldn't he?
[organ music playing]
RAY BRADBURY
(NARRATING): People ask,
where do you get your ideas?
Right here.
All of this is my
magician's toyshop.
I'm Ray Bradbury, and this is--
[church bell ringing]
[organ music playing]
11, 12, 13?
There, take that.
If anyone's listening.
Baker's dozen, 13.
I wonder what they think out
there, if they think at all.
I live just over there.
Heard your bell,
it rang 13 times.
That's just to remind us that
the day of reckoning is near,
that we all got to
lay down and pay up.
Is that funeral place yours?
Yes, it is.
Is it a church too?
Well, it holds my
kind of services now.
Are the tombstones yours?
Well, I'm the proprietor.
You might say I'm
in real estate.
Who owns the bodies?
You're such a sweet child.
There's one who'll
ask no questions.
[organ music playing]
Right this way, gentlemen.
Dear, dear Mr. Merriwell Blythe.
What a good life he had.
And now he's gone.
What an unfortunate week it has
been for our little community,
gentlemen.
First of all, respected
Mrs.Shellmund.
Then, forthright Mr. Wren.
Man Then young and
virile Mr. Worth.
And now, nice Mr. Blythe.
Dear me, dear me.
Well, thank you.
You can go.
You too.
Gentlemen, lady, you mind if
I turn up the refrigeration?
I feel a hot spell
coming on, and I wouldn't
want you guys to catch cold.
[laughter]
[organ music playing]
Red light.
Statues.
I shall return.
Too-da-loo.
Bye.
[laughter]
Check out the suit.
Good to see you, Benny.
Ooh, that's a cold shake
you got there, Benny.
You just finished embalming
a frigid woman, huh?
Hey, that's not bad.
You get it, huh?
You get it Benny?
A frigid woman?
[laughter]
[laughter]
[laughter] Did you
hear what I said?
Yeah.
Funny.
[fake laughter]
I would like--
Speak up.
Ink.
Can't hear you down there.
Black ink, the biggest
bottle you've got.
Well, why didn't you say so?
[laughter]
What's so funny?
Nothing, so sorry.
That big enough?
Yes, glorious.
I'll take two.
OK.
Decorations,
various, pastry tube,
white sugar frost, two pounds,
whipped cream, two pints.
Something extra to put in
your refrigerator, huh?
Very funny, Mr. Flinger.
[laughter]
Do you have your own cake?
I got a piece of cake, Mr.
Flinger, a piece of cake.
[laughter]
You smile, I'll remember.
You laugh, I've got it noted.
You nudge and grin,
it's on the record.
[organ music playing]
Never fear, it is I.
[applause]
Thank you. enough.
To work.
[eerie music playing]
Let us be thankful for what
we are about to receive.
Dear Mrs. Shellmund,
how glorious
you look with that wig pasted
on your head and your teeth
glued together, without
a trace of a smile.
There never was.
Remember, remember?
I remember how you
snubbed me, disdained me
while stuffing
yourself with cream
tarts and chocolate eclairs.
And here you are, lying still.
You know, my dear lady, you
have a serious sebaceous
condition of you pores.
That's been your
problem your whole life.
Bad diet, too many parfaits, too
many sundaes, too many cakes.
Speaking of cakes,
I'm going to back
you the best cake ever baked.
[music playing]
[whistling]
There, funeral cake lady.
All curlicued and decorated.
A little smile for eternity?
Aren't you cute.
There.
All shut up for
a thousand years,
and nobody will be the wiser.
Bye.
Mr. Wren, most beloved of
all the racists of the world.
So proud of your skin, how
you prided your paleness.
Pure, superior, you said
you hated all minorities.
Well, I'm a minority, a
minority of inferiors.
Mice.
Why so pale, Mr. Wren?
Your face looks like
the fresh-driven snow.
Should we try a little blush?
Or should we go for the
darker side of the moon?
Well, there goes
the neighborhood.
Edmund Worth, Ready Eddie.
I bet you this body's
seen a lot of action, sir.
But you messed around just
once too often, Eddie.
Someone was bound to
rat on you in the end.
Hello, yes?
Mr. McNamara, it's
about your wife.
[screams]
[gunshot]
You know, Edmund, most men
can paint their houses,
buy cars, make money.
But the one thing most men
can't do is change their bodies.
Now I've never had
the kind of body
that a woman would come up
and tickle me on the chin
or kiss me on the mouth.
So Edmund, my boy,
I'm going to fit
you up for a special coffin.
[saw buzzing]
40 bricks, Edmund.
Makes up for 200 pounds of
pectorals, biceps, and triceps.
When I die, Mr. Worth, I hope I
have an understanding assistant
who will attach my
head to your body,
because if I can't have a body
like yours in life, at least
I can have one in death.
Thank you.
Hang in there.
Dear old Merriwell Blythe.
You alone in this town have
never ridiculed or insulted me.
You alone, Mr. Blythe, did
not have to wait for death
to become polite.
At first, I thought of
putting milk in you.
You know, like the
milk of human kindness?
To run through your veins
through all eternity.
But then, I recalled
you had died
on us several times before with
your comas and your spells.
Well, it looks like you really
had it this time, Mr. Blythe.
But just in case you do wake
up when you're six feet under,
I think you might like
something to read.
So I'm going to give
you my little book,
Benedict's Benedictions, and it
comes with a little flashlight.
It's all in here.
A lot of laughs to while
away those dull hours
in the graveyard.
The three old gossips
jammed into the one casket.
Rich Mr. Bellard,
buried stark naked,
poor [inaudible] gold
coins on each eyelid.
Lawyer [inaudible],,
not buried at all,
burned and put a dead
polecat in the coffin.
And Miss Trimble, with
parts of the Rev. Brown.
Oh dear me.
That was naughty, wasn't it?
[gasping]
Ah!
Fiend.
Monster!
You're alive!
[coughing]
Defiler, Satanist.
No.
Oh, the things I've heard.
Wait till I tell on you.
Please, no.
You pervert!
Please, no.
I'll tell the
mayor, the sheriff,
the council, the people!
Please!
You dreadful man--
I'm sorry.
To think, these things have
been going on in our town
all these years--
I didn't--
--and we never knew the things
that you were doing to people.
Oh, you monstrous monster!
I'm sorry.
Mutilation, ruination
of-- god, it's so awful.
I'm sorry.
People have got to know.
Help
Oh dear, what a pity.
Help!
You!
You out there.
You-- Look what he's done.
He'll do it to all of us!
Hear me!
Help!
Help, hear me!
Ah!
Don't take it!
Don't stand for it.
Stop him!
Do something!
They can't do nothing
to me, they can't.
They can't hear you.
Help me, please.
You're a foolish man.
You're a foolish and dying man.
So now, die quickly, huh?
Somebody, please help.
I wish you'd stop talking, I
can't stand to hear you talk.
You horrible man.
They'll get you.
This time, you're
going to stay dead.
[thunder rumbling]
Huh?
Huh?
Huh.
[church bell ringing]
Who's tolling my bell?
[moaning]
[screeching]
Who's out there?
Go away!
You can't come in, you can't!
Go away, you can't!
[moaning]
[wailing]
You can't!
[saw buzzing]
[birds chirping]
LOCAL MAN: He's
not in the church.
He's just not there.
LOCAL WOMAN: He's not there,
he's not in [inaudible]..
Hey!
What, what?
LOCAL MAN: Just what kind of
storm was that last night?
The heavens are bleeding?
Where could he be?
Who knows?
Hey, look at this?
Oh!
And this!
LOCAL MAN: And here!
LOCAL WOMAN: Oh!
LOCAL MAN: And over here, look!
LOCAL WOMAN: Oh look!
LOCAL MAN: Over here!
LOCAL WOMAN: Oh, and this!
LOCAL MAN: And this!
LOCAL MAN: Over here!
LOCAL WOMAN: Oh, here!
LOCAL MAN: And this!
But that's impossible.
He couldn't be buried under
all these gravestones.
Couldn't he?
[organ music playing]