All language subtitles for Kolchak.The.Night.Stalker.S01E09.The.Spanish.Moss.Murders.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H.264-squalor_track3_eng

♪♪ [ Whistling ]

[ Kolchak On Tape ]
Maybe you have to
brush with death...

before you can really
reflect on life--

on the people and times
that really meant
something to you.

Like childhood.
Dreams of sailing on silver
seas and wooden shoes,

visions of
sugarplums dancing.

Silver seas, sugarplums.

The visions, the nightmares,
of a child...

are perhaps
the most frightening
and horrifying...

of any the human animal
can conjure.

Some people who were in Chicago
during the first stifling-hot
weeks of July...

would say that was so...

if they were still alive.

[ Monitor Beeping ]

[ Snorting, Gasping ]

[ Kolchak Narrating ]
Michele Kelly, age 25,
was one of those people.

A psychology graduate student and a lab assistant,

she was hurrying at 10:45 p.m., the night of July 3,

to get off her job early in order to catch the last plane to suburban New Jersey.

Good-bye.

[ Guttural Growling ]

[ Growling Continues ]

[ Growling Continues ]

[ Growling Intensifies ]

[ Kolchak Narrating ]
Michele was rushing because
she was anxious to spend...

the long 4th of July
weekend with her family.

The family did gather,
not for a barbecue,

but for a funeral.

- [ Growling ]
- [ Screams ]

Cause of death:
chest cavity crushed.

Official police statement:
hit-and-run auto.

There's nothing under the sun that I fear as much as I fear dentist appointments.

I was on my way to one, envisioning the agony to come,

when the police radio
delivered me from that
cruel and inhuman fate.

[ Woman Over Scanner ] Roger. Ambulance unit requested at Chez Voltaire restaurant.

Answer a 1040.
Address: 99717
Lincoln Boulevard.

[ Kolchak Narrating ] Chez Voltaire was the Frenchiest of Chicago's French restaurants,

which meant that people
paid exorbitant funds to
be abused by the waiters...

and eat minuscule portions.

The total value
of Chez Voltaire's
wine cellar...

exceeded
the gross national product
of Paraguay,

and their chef
was put on a level
with Debussy and Gauguin.

But now he'd been murdered, and he looked just as dead...

as any short-order cook
in any greasy spoon.

[ Man ]
What do you mean, you don't
have a night watchman?

Big restaurant like this, and you don't have a night watchman? That's the silliest thing--

I don't understand.
I don't--

- Kolchak!
- You know you're not
supposed to be here.

Johnson? Johnson? Every man
must make a living, right?

- You know
the procedure, Carl.
- What?

You know. Don't touch anything,
and don't get in anybody's way.

- All right?
- Well, yes, sir,
Captain Siska, sir.

Piaget was always
the last one to leave.

When I left last night,
he was preparing the venison,
marinating it.

When I come in this morning,
I find him like this.

- It had to be that scum!
He always hated Piaget!
- Who was that?

Carl, you'll find out
soon enough.

Now just let the boys
go and do their thing,
all right?

Yes, of course, sir.
But you have a suspect.
What's his name?

- I--
- I'll tell you.

The man'll be
arraigned very soon.
A few hours.

Then you go down
to headquarters,
and I'll give you his name.

- I mean, the man's entitled
to his rights, isn't he?
- Oh, yes, of course.

You gonna give me a statement,
or is it gonna be the usual,
dumb "No comment"?

Look, Carl,
Honore Piaget was murdered.

So far, we feel the motive
was revenge, right?

Now as soon
as we have the suspect
down to headquarters,

then we will
release important,
pertinent information.

Uh-huh.
Well, that's terrific.

What was this green stuff
on him down here?
Are these leaves?

Oh, it's probably salad.
This is a restaurant.

Well, yes, of course.
But what are your men doing
taking specimens of salad?

Oh, don't tell me. They're
gonna put it in doggie bags,
take it home and eat it.

[ Laughs ]
Now, come on, Carl. You know
that's the procedure.

- Why don't you just
back up a little?
- Well--

- Siska,
what's happened to you?
- Hmm?

We used to
call you "Mad Dog."

- Where'd all the sweetness
and light come from?
- Oh, yeah, yeah.

Well, I--
[ Clears Throat ]

I was becoming
a little too wrapped up
in my job, Carl.

I was-- It was warping me.

- Getting ulcers,
a possible coronary, you know.
- Yeah.

We were headed
toward divorce.

And then my wife convinced me
that I should become part
of group therapy.

- Group therapy? You?
- Yes. Yes.

I mean, what's the sense
of yelling,you know?

[ Louder ] I mean,
all that hysteria, huh?

I've learned how
to control my rage.

[ Breathing Heavily ]

So today, when I
tell people something,

I just say,

"I'm okay, you're okay."

- Well, great.
Congratulations,
- Thank you.

- Mad--
- Take care, old boy.

[ Kolchak Narrating ] A patron saint to the gourmet set had been killed.

It would be a good story,
and I'd been there first.

The object now is to be there first when the suspect was arraigned.

Fat chance.

[ Voices Overlapping ]

Captain Siska,
what's his name?

- What's the story?
- Well, what-what--

His name is Roman Clementi,
formerly a pastry chef
at Chez Voltaire.

- Has he confessed, Captain?
- Not as yet.

But the motive
will be sufficient.

After all, he can't remember
where he was last night.

He says he became insensate
from the consumption
of too much alcohol.

Well, what was
his motive, Captain?

Well, you see, Clementi and
Piaget were bitter enemies.

And three days ago,
Piaget fired him.

So he immediately tried to
attack him with a meat cleaver.

- Uh-huh.
- And, of course,
he was stopped.

And people overheard him say
that he would try again.

- Really?
- Mm-hmm.

Captain, what was
the cause of death?

Well, the preliminary report
said suffocation...

due to massive
chest contusions.

Chest contusions?
Come on, now, Siska.
I saw that cook there.

His chest looked like
it had been massaged
by a bulldozer.

You mean to tell me that
Roman whatever-his-name-is
did that to his chest?

Now, uh, Mr. Kolchak
is exaggerating the wounds,
of course.

We don't know what kind
of a weapon Mr. Clementi used
to inflict those blows.

What wounds? What blows?
There was no blood there.

What about that salad all over
him? What was it, vinaigrette
or green goddess, Captain?

What salad? Hey, what
are you talking about?

Thank you,
ladies and gentlemen.
That'll be all for now.

- Captain Siska, just--
- Hey, Kolchak, what are you
talking about-- salad?

I don't know anything
about a salad. Some lettuce
hanging around, that's all.

- I'm a meat
and potatoes man myself.
- You're holding out on us.

- No, not me.
- We know you know.

No, not a thing.

- Paco?
- Forget it, Kolchak.
You, I don't need.

Paco, is that any way to treat
a friend who's really trying
to do you a favor?

That is your green convertible
out in the parking lot,
isn't it?

- Yeah.
- Well, I was on my way home.

I saw a bunch of kids
were on your car.

So I tried
to chase 'em away,
but before I could,

they'd let all the air
out of your tires.

Well, I tried!

Maybe they'll come back.

Not even a "Thank you,"
Paco?

[ Kolchak Narrating ]
Chef Honore Piaget
hadn't just been murdered.

The last course
that fate had served him...

had been nothing short
of a gruesome horror.

And the green salad
that Captain Siska had
seemed so touchy about?

The name they were calling it I couldn't even pronounce,

but I had a strong feeling
that it wasn't any salad...

I or anyone else
had ever heard of.

[ Door Opens ]

Piaget's file
referred the reader
to another, earlier, case,

that of someone named
Kelly, Michele Louise.

I was too rushed to get
any vital statistics
on Miss Kelly,

but I did notice that
she wasn't a murder victim
like Piaget.

Just a simple hit-and-run,

if such things
are ever simple.

[ Tires Screeching ]

The dictionary doesn't list
plants by the Latin names.
Strike one.

Strike two:
The Chicago phone book...

listed at least 2,000 Kellys, 18 of them named Michele.

There'd be a lot
of footwork the next day.

All I could do for the night was write up a story on the murder of a chef.

But the big strikeout
that night was made
by Bobby Ray Solange.

Age: 22. Occupation:
Would-be superstar.

But at 11:00
the night of July 6,

Solange had finished
a very hard day...

of playing street guitar
to less-than-enthusiastic
audiences,

and he figured he owed it
to himself to relax...

with his version
of the evening martini.

He picked the basement of
the old Samuel de Champlain
Apartments...

as the place to be alone.

[ Rattling ]

[ Growling ]

[ Kolchak Narrating ]
I trudged through nine...

of the phone book's
18 Michele Kellys...

before I found
the one I wanted--
the dead one.

Her landlady, who didn't
know Michele at all,

told me I should talk
with her former employer.

[ Monitor Beeping ]

Whoops!
I beg your pardon.

Quiet! That soundproof glass
can do only so much.

- He's REMing.
- Really?

- What's REMing?
- REM-- rapid eye movement.

The stage of sleeping
where dreaming occurs.

- Oh!
- I'm sorry, Hillary.

I just can't help it.
Mom?

Mom?

- He had a good REM, didn't he?
- What's your problem?
Who are you?

My name is Carl Kolchak,
Independent News Service.

See, if you're Dr. Pollack,
I'd like very much
to talk to you.

Oh. It's about time somebody
wrote something about my work.

I may be an M.D., but I do
know the value of P.R.

Oh, I just bet you do,
and I'm sure your work
is terribly interesting.

But I'm really here
to talk about Michele Kelly.

Oh. That name
means nothing to me.

Michele is the one
who was hit by the car,
Aaron.

[ Man Groaning ]

Is he sick?

He's a test subject.

Sleep, uh,
is a new frontier.

It consumes about a third
of our life, and yet we know
almost nothing about it.

Is he sick?

Yes, he is suffering from
what we call narcolepsy.

For reasons we don't
understand, he may fall asleep
during any activity--

during working,
playing cards, sex.

Perhaps it's his partner.
Well, that is fascinating
though.

Oh, everything
about sleep research
is fascinating.

We-We touch on dreams,
on insomnia,

yoga, hallucinations,

the causal roots
of schizophrenia.

It's all wrapped up
in sleep.

But then, you're just
interested in a run-of-the-mill
automobile accident.

Well, I'm not so sure
that it's run-of-the-mill,
Doctor.

I really think
Michele Kelly's
been murdered.

No! No, please!

I do not think that anyone
could have killed Kelly.

She had no enemies,
no jealous boyfriends
that I know of.

- She was a schlub.
- A schlub?

How do you spell that, Doctor,
S-C-H-L-U-B or S-H-L-U-B?

I can't be sure. Oh!

She was eager, bright,
but unbearably clumsy.

No, I don't think that anyone
killed her intentionally.

Why-Why would you
think that?

Because if anyone could blunder
out in front of a fast-moving
automobile, it was her.

Ah.

She was always pulling
the knobs off of expensive
equipment, spilling bedpans.

She even bumped
into an oscilloscope...

and almost awakened
a sleeping subject.

It almost ruined
an entire study for us.

If she was
such a schlub, Doctor,
why did you keep her on?

I try to be a nice guy.

How's it working out, Doc?

- I don't know.
- Mom?

Mom?

[ Kolchak Narrating ]
I'd lived in the city
a long time,

but I'd never been to the Chicago Botanical Gardens.

Maybe it was my hay fever or maybe a premonition of boredom that kept me away.

Whatever it was, the subject of plant life...

was now beginning
to take on a strong
and macabre interest.

Oh, hi, there.
I'm Carl Kolchak of the
Independent News Service.

Could I have
a few minutes of your time?

You picked a bad time,
Mr. Kolchak.

The pipe ruptured last night,
and our Podocarpus
went without water,

and it looks pretty sick.

That's-That's a shame.
Well, maybe I should
come back later.

An hour from now,
I have the entire Ladies
Garden Club of Evanston.

And they're always
a big problem,
and your problem is...

you're standing in some
of our best horse manure.

Oh. Well, uh,

what I really wanted
to find out was,

what is
a Tillandsia usneoi--

Usneoides.It's right
straight ahead of you,

and it'll tell you
everything you wanna know.

Uh-huh. Yeah.

Uh-huh. Tillandsia--
[ Muttering ]

Mm-hmm. Spanish moss.

They say it's found
in the bayou country
in Louisiana.

Is, uh-- Is there
any other place in Chicago
where it'd grow?

Oh, no. It'd be
much too expensive...

to create the hot, wet
growing conditions.

Your tax dollars have bought
the only Spanish moss...

within a radius of...
a thousand miles.

Yeah. Yeah.

Well, nobody would be, uh,

clipping it off on you,
would they?

No, I check it
every morning,
and it's all there.

Look, Mr. Kolchak,
you can take the tour
anytime you like.

- Yeah.
- But right now,
I am really rather busy.

Uh, what's the matter?
Is that your sick Podocarpus?

No.

This inflation is killing me,
and these are my tomatoes.

[ Chuckles ]
Oh! Terrific.

[ Kolchak Narrating ] I blew most of the day trying to track down some connection...

between the two victims--
Kelly and Chef Piaget.

There was absolutely none
that I could discern,
and that baffled me.

When I called into the office, Vincenzo told me I'd received an important call.

There's a 20 in it, right?

Right. I said yes last night
if the chest is caved in.

Any chest wounds
or does it have to
be caved in?

Let's not go
into the fine points.
Just tell me what you got.

No. I'll tell you.
You'll say it's not what you
want, and it really is.

- Then you won't pay off.
- I'm like Las Vegas.
I always pay off.

- [ Sighs ]
- Now tell me.

- The meat wagon over at St.
Vincent's picked up a D.O.A.
- Yeah.

The chest was messed up
pretty bad.

- Where'd they find the body?
- The old Champlain Apartments
on Deerborn in the cellar.

- Uh-huh. Uh-huh.
- Guy's name is
Bobby Ray Solange.

Yeah. Bobby Ray Solange.
Does he, uh--

Did he have any, uh,
Spanish moss on him?

No. It was garnished
with parsley.

Sheesh!

Hey!
What's the big idea?

- The landlord wants
this room closed for keeps.
- Yeah? Why?

Why? Because we got all
kinds of kids coming down here
neckin', smokin' cocaine.

Last Thanksgiving, we had a guy stab his girlfriend down here.

Here?

Last night, a hippie
was crushed to death.

Three locks
we put on this year.

Enough is enough.
Who are you?

Kolchak, Health Department.
Are you aware that
there is a law...

that requires an open basement
in every apartment building
with free access?

- Why?
- What do you mean, "Why"?

What, are you
getting technical
on me here?

It's a breeding place
for rodents down here.
Look at this.

You close the thing off to pedestrian traffic, gets all hot and steamy down here.

Before you can say "cheese,"
it's rat city.

And look at this.
Fire hazards down here.

People get trapped in here,
the whole place would burn up.

Listen, we've had a complaint
on this place already today.

- Let me see that I.D.
- What's your name? Just
what is your name, huh?

- What happened here?
- What happened?

That's what happened.
Two hundred dollars
worth of door ruined.

- Ruined?
- Yeah. That mahogany
comes from Brazil.

In the '30s,
this used to be somethin'.

Uh-huh.
Did you see it happen?

Nah. I'd have hollered
"Cop," wouldn't I?

Must've been
a gang attacked this kid.

You should've seen
what they done to him.

The whole world's
gone crazy.

And then they dragged in
some kind of vegetables...

and threw dirty water
all over the floor.

What kind of vegetables?

Green glop.

The cops took it with 'em,
and they're welcome to it.

Green glop, huh?
What about the victim?
You know anything about him?

He was a hippie.
Dirty hair, filthy jeans.

- Yeah, yeah.
- Carried a rotten sandwich
in his guitar sack.

That's the--
That's the kind, all--
Guitar sack?

A broken-up,
crummy old thing.

And all around the body on
the floor, there was nickels
and dimes and quarters.

Hey, you don't suppose
he was one of them street
singers, do you?

♪♪ [ Fiddle ]

[ Kolchak Narrating ]
Every large city has
its street musicians.

I suppose it says something
about us urbanites
that we hardly notice them.

I know I never did.
Always too busy.

But when I had to mix among them, I began to realize how many there were.

I heard more plinking and twanging the night of July 9 than I ever wanted to.

Fortunately,
some of it was good.

And in one case, it put me
on the right trail.

[ Applause ]

Merci. Merci.

- What's the take, Pepe?
- Très bien. Trs bien!

Real good. Ten more bucks,
and I can get another
half an hour's studio time.

Okay, here's
10 bucks right here,
right now for anybody...

who can tell me about
Bobby Ray Solange, huh?

- I know Bobby.
- You do?

- Comes from a parish near mine.
- Parish? What do you mean?
He's religious, right?

Wrong. Not that
kind of parish, man.
A county in Louisiana.

A county in Louisiana?
That's Spanish moss country,
isn't it?

I mean, Spanish moss grows
down there. Did you know
that Bobby Ray's dead?

Listen, man,
I gotta cut a demo.
Take it slow.

Yeah, but is that all--
Is that all I get for my 10 bu--

M'sieur,I know Bobby Ray.

- You know Bobby Ray?
- Oui.

Uh-huh.

- [ Chuckles ] That's
all the money I got.
- Merci.

All right, now,
what's your name?
Pepe? Start talkin'.

Pepe schmeppy.
My name is Morris Shapiro...

from 160th Street
and Jerome Avenue
in the Bronx.

[ Chuckling ]
Morris!

When you're my size and
in my line of work, you gotta
do the Pepe La Rue routine.

- Uh-huh.
- The public expects it.

Well, that's very intriguing,
Pepe, but do you know who killed
Bobby Ray Solange?

- Did I come to Chicago in '38
to dance on the street?
- [ Mutters ]

No. I came to get into
organized crime.

- Were you successful?
- No, I didn't make
the height requirement.

[ Chuckles ]
But I learned some things
from those guys,

like, uh, don't give
information to somebody...

who might really have
dark blue underwear
and a badge.

Well, I'm not gonna show
you my underwear, Morris,
but here is my I.D.

- I.N.S. Press, see?
- Mm-hmm.

- Okay?
- Oui.

Now, Solange is a nice kid,
but his friend Langois,
you can keep.

Come on. I'll show you
where him and Bobby lived.

You think that Langois
killed Bobby Ray Solange?

Paul Langois
has a real bad temper.

Bad and stupid.
Whew!

- And his fiddle playing--
- Yeah?

A dying pig and a kazoo
sounds better.

Come on. Let's go.

- [ Can Clattering ]
- So?

Solange and Langois
had a big fight a couple
of months ago...

about some broad
back in Louisiana.

- Solange creamed him.
- Yeah?

- Yeah.
Langois hates me too.
- Why?

Ah, the same reason.
He feels threatened by me.

I'm always stealing chicks
away from him.

- Well,
I can understand that.
- Yeah, sure.

Where is this
Paul Langois now?

He disappeared about
a couple of months ago.

Probably got fired... again.

What's the matter,
he can't keep a job?

He couldn't hold
his pants up, this bum.

- They're both Louisianans, huh?
- Mm-hmm.

Yeah, a lot of
these poor Southerners
migrated to Chicago.

They were always talkin' about
the bayous and the filé gumbo
and the Peremalfait--

- What? The para-what?
- Yeah.

Am I a Cajun?

Some kind of meshugenahlegend.
They were always
laughin' about it,

sayin',
"Watch out for Peremalfait!

Peremalfait's
gonna get you!"

That's their idea of a joke.
Hicks. Bumpkins.

- Yeah. Listen,
I've gotta, uh--
- [ Can Clattering ]

Pepe?

Come on, Morris.
Stop playing jokes.

Pepe? Morris!

[ Guttural Growling ]

Morris?

- [ Growling Continues ]
- Morris?

[ Growling Continues ]

[ Vincenzo ] "The Constitution of the United States guarantees to the American people...

"a free
and unfettered press.

"From colonial times,
we have enjoyed just that.

An unfettered press
is one thing. However"--

-Carl, let me ask you something.
-Whatever it is, can it wait?

I'm on my way
down to headquarters.
It's very important.

Well, this is
very important too.

The Press Club wants me
to deliver this address, and
I'd like to get your comments.

Oh, yeah, sure.
Go ahead, Tony. Shoot.

"An unfettered press
is one thing.

- However, there
never has been"--
- Where's that cup and cap?

Shh!

Don't restrict yourself to
talking. Why don't you bang
some pots and pans around?

Why don't you play
a trombone solo?

Oh, uh, no. "An unfettered
press is one thing."

Go ahead, Tony.
It's very good.
I like it. I like it.

[ Clearing Throat ]

"However, there
never has been room
in our society...

for yellow journalism,
sensational ballyhoo
or inflammatory gimmickry."

- Here's your little beret.
Where'd you get that?
- There it is!

- There's what I'm looking for.
- Come on, if it's so important.

- No, you go on ahead, Tony.
- No, no. Come on.

Tell us about that little
miniature hat you've got there.

We all wanna
hear about it, Carl.
Come on. Tell us about it.

Well, uh,

this morning at 6:00 a.m.,
the police department,

very quietly,

released their prime suspect
in the Piaget murder.

Did you know that?

I went to Chez Voltaire
last night. Even the pâté
seemed lackluster.

Do you know why...

they released the suspect
with so little fanfare?

Because the police
were completely stumped
for another suspect?

Right! But not me.
Look. Look.

What is it, Salvador Dali's
bar mitzvah picture?

Well, I admit that it isn't
really very clear,

but I think it's
a picture of Paul Langois,
a Cajun up from Louisiana.

See, this little man
was telling me--

giving me the entire scam
about Langois,

when suddenly,
he disappeared right
in front of my very eyes.

I think he was murdered,
Tony, to silence him.

- A little man disappeared?
- Yeah, but that's not all.

I wonder if I can go on with
my speech. I-I wonder if I
should go on with my speech.

Oh, yeah, of course
you should, Tony.
Go ahead. I'm sorry.

[ Clearing Throat ]

"There has never been
any room in our society
for yellow journalism,

sensational ballyhoo
or inflammatory gimmickry!"

Terrific!

"How many times have we seen
our very own colleagues--

"our very own colleagues
opt for a whimsical,
brass band approach...

"rather than lay the groundwork for reasoned treatise,

"dealing with real, gut-level issues of our day?

"Politics, economics,
responsible journalism--

We can never be remiss in our duties to the people...

who count on what
we tell 'em to believe."

So, why are you laughing
at my photograph here?

So it's a little blurry,
huh?

That shot shows a murder
taking place. Why don't you
pick up this guy Langois?

I'd like to pick you up
and drop you right down
an elevator shaft!

Oh, and that was beautiful
what you did to poor old Paco!

Some kid let the air out
of his tires, that's all.
Why blame me?

- You let the air
out of the tires!
- Me?

- Yes, you!
- Whatever happened to
"I'm okay, you're okay"?

Well, to tell you the truth,
you're not okay!

The people in group therapy
didn't tell me...

I was ever gonna meet anybody
as un-okay as you are.

Carl, single-handedly,
you have that
strange ability...

to take a year and a half
of group therapy and send it
right down the drain.

As for your little man-- yeah-- well, he's something for
the missing persons bureau.

And Paul Langois--
Well, we're way ahead
of you on that too.

We tracked him down
through Bobby Ray Solange.

Well, that's terrific.
You got him. Now, what,
are you gonna question him?

Oh, well, uh, you see--

I can't wake him up
to do that.

- He's asleep.
- Asleep?

Has the heat
wilted your brainpan?
Wake him up!

He's got
an ironclad alibi.

He's being monitored
24 hours a day by people
and those electric gizmos.

He has been asleep
for over six weeks.

He is a volunteer subject
for a sleep study
at the university.

He's asleep?

You'll never guess what Dr. Davis did in the surgeon's lounge today.

So I went back
to my bureau chief. I told
him about your place here,

and he agreed with you
completely that there really is
a story in your work over here.

- So I said to him, "Tony, I'm
beginning to see your point."
- Oh!

Yeah. So I went down
to the Timesand went
into the file room...

to look up what they had written
about your place here.

Well, all I could find
was just...

a little,
infinitesimal blurb on your
narcosynthesis program here.

So I've decided to do
a whole feature series
of articles on you.

I mean,
if it's okay with you.

Well, you can take
your feature series
and rotate on it.

Do you take me for
some sort of woolly headed,
absentminded intellectual?

I know the score.
The police were
already here...

and told me
all about Paul Langois
and the murders.

- And?
- I dusted them off quick,

and I'll dust you off
even quicker.

Paul Langois has been
asleep for six weeks.

- Is there any more
to be said?
- Yes!

A good number of his friends
have been put to sleep for good.
Now doesn't that interest you?

I have never been interested
in the crime genre,
in movies or books,

and in real life,
it leaves me even colder.

The only thing
that interests me now
is this experiment.

You have kept Paul Langois
asleep for six weeks...

and not allowed him
to dream.

- Why?
- To find out what's happened.
That is science.

- [ Alarm Sounding ]
- [ Rapid Beeping ]

Is he-- Is he,
uh, dreaming or REMing
or whatever you call it?

Natalie, my pet, will you
go get Danforth, please?

I told you. He's not
being allowed to dream.

That's why I hate
talking to laymen.
Look at the E.E.G. Steady delta.

Well, then why are
all the buzzers going off
like a racetrack tote board?

We don't really know.
It just happens occasionally.

- We'll find out at the
conclusion of the experiment.
- [ Door Opens ]

- Ah, Danforth.
- [ Door Closes ]

Well, I thought Danforth
was a doctor.

[ Kolchak Narrating ] About the time I was getting bounced out on my ear,

Patrolman Warren Lunt, assigned to a beat in the South Side's hillbilly ghetto,

was making his nightly sweep along Dalstrom Avenue in search of undesirables.

He found a most
undesirable way to die.

[ Roaring ]

[ Man Over Scanner ]
Ambulance unit requested
immediately.

Officer down on the corner
of Dalstrom and Ravannel.

[ Woman Over Scanner ]
Roger. Captain Siska,

Unit Bravo Niner requests
Forensics unit, corner
of Dalstrom and Ravannel.

[ Kolchak Narrating ] Dalstrom Avenue was only two blocks away from where Morris Shapiro,

alias "Pepe,"
had been snatched from
in front of my very eyes.

It was definitely clear what was happening at the Dalstrom Avenue intersection.

The good captain
was presiding over
another murder,

while the prime suspect
slumbered in the arms
of the university.

And from what I had seen
at the sleep lab,

he was not
slumbering peacefully.

[ Morris On Tape ]
Yeah, a lot of these poor
Southerners migrated to Chicago.

They were always talkin' about
the bayous and the filé gumbo
and the Peremalfait--

[ Kolchak ]
What? The para-what?

[ Morris ]
Am I a Cajun? Some kind
of meshugenahlegend.

They were always laughin'
about it, sayin',

"Watch out for Peremalfait!
Peremalfait's gonna get you!"

[ Shuts Off Recorder ]

♪♪ [ Cajun ]

Better. But that last riff
still doesn't do it for me.

- We'll take it again.
- Uh, uh, uh, uh--

And, Gene, a guy named
Kolchak here to see you.

- You wanna rap with him?
- Kolchak.

Pedal steel player
from Mussel Shoals?

- Uh, no, I'm, uh--
How do you push--
- Here.

No, I'm the reporter
who gave you 10 bucks
the other night...

for a one-liner
on Bobby Ray Solange.

I'm here to pick up the rest
of my dollars' worth.

- Not when studio time
costs 60 bucks an hour.
- That's what I told him.

Yeah, well,
what is Peremalfait?

I give up.
What is Peremalfait?

Can you believe this?
Here I am bustin' my chops
tryin' to cut a bullet,

and this guy wants me
to tell him bedtime stories.

What do you mean, bed--
What do you mean,
bedtime stories?

Peremalfait's the bogeyman.

That creature's lived
in them swamps since before
us Cajuns got there, they say.

Uh, bogeyman--
Uh, does he have--
I can't work this.

A bullet is a tune
that goes right to the top.
It's a hit.

[ Microphone Feeding Back ]

- Does this Peremalfait have
Spanish moss all over him?
- Yeah, yeah.

Look, I'm gonna beat the drums
in here all day for you,
but you're gonna talk to me.

Now, just why do you call
this Peremalfait a bogeyman?

- Peremalfait's supposed to come
from the upper bayou regions.
- Yeah.

He's wet,
he's covered with rot
and Spanish moss.

When I used to
get out of line
when I was a kid,

my mama'd bring me
back around by telling me
Peremalfait would get me.

What do you mean, get you?

She said Peremalfait
would squeeze the life
right out of me.

And how do you get him?

You have to stick him
with a stick from bayou gum.

Well, thank you very much.

Why don't you and your bogeyman just boogie on out of here?

And a one, two, three.

[ Beeping ]

[ Dr. Pollack ]
And I want you to put it
on the record, Captain,

that I consented to this
under duress.

- Natalie, you're my witness.
- Doc, I want you to give him
a second injection.

- I want this man awake!
- Oh!

Well, a dead cop's a lot
scarier than a university's
legal department, huh?

Too bad for that
motorcycle cop you didn't
make up your mind earlier.

Isn't this debasing enough
without having this ass
braying around here?

You know, I'd tend
to agree with you, Doctor,

if I saw my Nobel Prize
going down the shredder.

For the fact remains that your guinea pig here dreamed five people to death.

I don't have to listen
to this poppycock.

Well, you'd better!

You sent him to a mental
level that no human being
has ever been to before.

And somehow, his dreams,
his nightmares...

have created a creature,
a legend from his childhood,
named Peremalfait.

I told you.
He has not been dreaming.
He wasn't dreaming.

How do you know
he wasn't dreaming?

You yourself told me in there
you didn't understand
what was happening.

He was in steady delta.
Get the E.E.G.

No, no, I'll get it.

Steady delta.

No REM, no dream.

[ Kolchak ]
Terrific.

Listen, what time did
that motorcycle cop die, huh?

8:30. I suppose that's
got something to do with
this little fantasy of yours.

Yeah, as a matter of fact,
it has. Yeah.

I happened to be right here
in this joint at 8:30 tonight
when his vital signs went crazy.

Let's see.
June-- June--

June 5. June 5.

2:00 a.m. Aha! Yeah.

And July 6-- July 6...

at 11:00 p.m.

Right here.
What about yesterday?

Yesterday.
There we go, at 10:00 p.m.

It was on those times
that Honore Piaget,
Bobby Ray Solange...

and a little guy
named Morris Shapiro
were probably killed.

-Are you gonna bring that little
man of yours in here again?
-Yeah!

Isn't it enough to have you
come in through that door,
frothing at the mouth...

and screaming
about swamp monsters and
dreaming people to death?

I gotta tell you something.
Ever since you've been
on this thing with me,

you've been bugging me,
bugging me good!

I want you to know,
you're gratin' on my nerves,
Kolchak!

Captain, must we have
this emotional outburst?

- Relax.
- There is something
decidedly odd here.

He should be awake.

Paul?

Paul?

Something is very wrong.

I gave him
twice the usual dosage
of methamphetamine.

He should be out of it.

Well, if you don't
wake him up, Doc,

then somebody better
start whittling a spear
out of bayou gumwood,

because according to legend,
that's the only thing...

- that's going to
kill Peremalfait.
- [ Gasping ]

- Will you shut up
about that? Now! Right now!
- Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

- [ Beeping Rapidly ]
- Do you hear that?

He heard me. No.

No, not he-- it.
It heard me.

It doesn't wanna die.
Listen, is this the subject that
Michele Kelly almost woke up?

- Yes, it is.
- What time did she die?

Come on, Siska.
What time did she die?
About 11:00 on July 3?

- 11:00.
- Uh-huh. That's right.

Well, it killed her
because she was clumsy,
and she almost woke him up.

And that'syour answer!

He isn't dying,
is he, Doc?

That assumption's
a bit premature,

but I'll tell you
one thing.

I can't wake him up.

[ Sustained Beep ]

Well...

all of his dreams...

and his nightmares are over.

I hope.

- Evening, Bruno.
- How you doing, Carl?

- Gettin' any?
- Gettin' any. [ Chuckles ]

- What happened?
- Leakin' from the roof.

- Uh-huh.
- Plumber will be out
tomorrow.

Yeah?
Wanna bet it's next week?

[ Chuckles ]

- Oh, boy.
- [ Boisterous Chattering ]

Oh, boy.

Carl. Fellas, why don't you
step into my office?

You'll find some drinks
on the tray in there.

Carl, I'm more than
a little hurt not seeing you
at the Press Club banquet...

when you knew I was
the featured speaker.

Tony, I'm sorry.
I'm really very, very sorry.

But I was working on a story
that's really-- Oh, boy.
Listen, how did your speech go?

Oh! Like calamine lotion
in a poison ivy ward.

I got a standing ovation.

- You cut it short, right?
- Right. I was a little relieved
to get it over with.

- Oh, then we closed down
the Press Club bar.
- No.

- And we closed down
Little Dublin.
- Oh, don't--

I'm still celebratin'.
Come on. Why don't you come in?

- No, no, no. Later, later.
Let me finish this.
- Okay.

Ron? Good night.

[ Sighs ] Well,
let's get to work here.

God! Yuck!

What do they got up there
anyway, Bruno?

[ Groans ]

[ Screams ]

What's the matter, Carl?
What is it?

That ceiling isn't leaking.

He's been here looking for me.
Peremalfait's been
looking for me.

Peremal-what?
What are you talkin' about?
What-What is that slop there?

Listen, he's not dead.

He's existing independently
of Paul Langois.
He's still alive!

He heard me talk about
that swamp gum tree spear,

and he's come looking
for me!

Well, Carl, look.
Stay here. Have a drink.
Relax.

What, are you crazy?
Stay here and get killed?
Are you out of your mind?

Listen, he killed
Paul Langois because
we were waking him up.

Listen, where in Chicago would
you look for a swamp creature?
Where would he live?

He's been workin' too hard.

Ahh!

[ Groans ]

[ Squealing ]

[ Squealing ]

[ Guttural Growling ]

[ Growling ]

- Hey!
- [ Pounding Manhole Cover ]

- [ Pounding Continues ]
- [ Panting ]

- [ Growling ]
- [ Screams ]

[ Growling ]

[ Groaning, Growling ]

[ Kolchak On Tape ]
The supportive evidence for
my theory was washed away...

through the Chicago
sanitary canal.

But why call it a theory?
It was really a fact.

How could it
possibly happen?

Well, they say
that the mystics of India,
while in a trance,

can grow back severed fingers
and move boulders with
the power of their minds.

It's documented.

Somehow, Paul Langois,
in his special dream state,

did even more than that.

He created
a palpable horror.

When I contacted
the sleep lab,

they told me Dr. Pollack
had lost his taste
for pure research.

He'd shaved off his beard
and gone back to Long Island...

to work in the family
shoe business.

And what about
Paul Langois,

the innocent test subject
of that pure research?

Well, he's just plain dead.

[ Sneezes ]