Boris
Karloff
Presents
More Tales Of The Frightened
Text By Robert Lory
HEARTTHROB
The story of Duane Winsome
I so detest pushy people, don't you? I mean the
kind of people who just won't let you be alone, but who insist on
forcing themselves upon you. Duane Winsome was such a person, but he
learned his lesson. In any event, I think he did… he certainly should have... In the Los Angeles office building where Duane
Winsome worked, he knew almost all of the young ladies by name, the
pretty ones at least. He had dated most of them, not that they had
willingly gone out with him. It was just that, well, he was that type
of man. He simply wouldn't take no for an answer. He was a
good-looking young man and intelligent too, but he did have one
serious blind spot in his makeup. He simply could not comprehend that
there was any woman on this earth, let alone Los Angeles, who would
not want to spend an evening with one Duane Winsome.
So it was with his usual arrogance that he carried his tray to a
particular table in the building's ground-floor cafeteria and sat
down uninvited across from the raven-haired young woman who seemed to
be toying with her cup of black coffee. He was, of course, quick to
introduce himself, and just as quick to observe aloud that he'd not
seen her here before. She on her part merely said that she didn't
work in the building. She just thought she'd try out the food here.
Her eyes, however, communicated the fact that she wished Duane
Winsome would take his tray and himself to some other table. Or they
would have communicated that fact — to anyone other than Duane
Winsome. On his part, he was eager for a date with this lovely —
which she really was. It was only when she refused to accompany him
that evening to, in order of mention, a movie, a stage show, a
friend's party, a walk about town, and an evening at home — his —
that he thought to ask the young lady why. Did she already have an
engagement? Perhaps tomorrow night would be better?
No, she told him. She had no engagement tonight, but — no —
tomorrow night would be no better. It was her mother. Her voice
tinkled like notes from a dainty silver bell as she told him: "I
can go out with no one until Mother gives her approval, and for the
tune being she has had her fill of my men friends."
"But she has not met me!" Duane
insisted, satisfying himself that it would be not much of a chore to
set the girl's mother at ease. No doubt the old woman's interest was
right in terms of some of the riff - raff who probably pushed
themselves at her lovely daughter's feet. But he, after all, was
Duane Winsome. The mother, as well as the daughter, would recognize
his intrinsic qualities. Yet the girl seemed unsure. Nonetheless, he
advanced his argument forcefully — with the fullness of his force,
that is — and finally the girl could do little except stare
open-mouthed at his power. He knew the moment when it came, knew that
he'd be accompanying her home this evening. And after that... well,
he would see about that.
Indeed he would.
When the taxi dropped them in front of the old wooden building in an
ancient neighborhood which Duane never had ventured into before, he
was surprised. "Privacy," the girl said softly. "Mother
and I like privacy." Well, he thought to himself, this certainly
was the place to get it. The buildings, all of them including the
one, which they were now approaching, should have been condemned a
long time ago. As she unlocked and opened the door, he noted that
there seemed to be very little light in the interior. And the dust —
"Ararg!"
he said, startled as he stepped into the foyer and into the mass of
cobwebs. The girl looked back at him, but said nothing. He shrugged,
resigned to the filthy state of the housekeeping, and stepped after
her. He did so for exactly six paces. Then he found he couldn't move.
His legs and arms were so entwined by the gray-spun cobwebs that he
could
Karloff
Presents
More Tales Of The Frightened
Text By Robert Lory
HEARTTHROB
The story of Duane Winsome
I so detest pushy people, don't you? I mean the
kind of people who just won't let you be alone, but who insist on
forcing themselves upon you. Duane Winsome was such a person, but he
learned his lesson. In any event, I think he did… he certainly should have... In the Los Angeles office building where Duane
Winsome worked, he knew almost all of the young ladies by name, the
pretty ones at least. He had dated most of them, not that they had
willingly gone out with him. It was just that, well, he was that type
of man. He simply wouldn't take no for an answer. He was a
good-looking young man and intelligent too, but he did have one
serious blind spot in his makeup. He simply could not comprehend that
there was any woman on this earth, let alone Los Angeles, who would
not want to spend an evening with one Duane Winsome.
So it was with his usual arrogance that he carried his tray to a
particular table in the building's ground-floor cafeteria and sat
down uninvited across from the raven-haired young woman who seemed to
be toying with her cup of black coffee. He was, of course, quick to
introduce himself, and just as quick to observe aloud that he'd not
seen her here before. She on her part merely said that she didn't
work in the building. She just thought she'd try out the food here.
Her eyes, however, communicated the fact that she wished Duane
Winsome would take his tray and himself to some other table. Or they
would have communicated that fact — to anyone other than Duane
Winsome. On his part, he was eager for a date with this lovely —
which she really was. It was only when she refused to accompany him
that evening to, in order of mention, a movie, a stage show, a
friend's party, a walk about town, and an evening at home — his —
that he thought to ask the young lady why. Did she already have an
engagement? Perhaps tomorrow night would be better?
No, she told him. She had no engagement tonight, but — no —
tomorrow night would be no better. It was her mother. Her voice
tinkled like notes from a dainty silver bell as she told him: "I
can go out with no one until Mother gives her approval, and for the
tune being she has had her fill of my men friends."
"But she has not met me!" Duane
insisted, satisfying himself that it would be not much of a chore to
set the girl's mother at ease. No doubt the old woman's interest was
right in terms of some of the riff - raff who probably pushed
themselves at her lovely daughter's feet. But he, after all, was
Duane Winsome. The mother, as well as the daughter, would recognize
his intrinsic qualities. Yet the girl seemed unsure. Nonetheless, he
advanced his argument forcefully — with the fullness of his force,
that is — and finally the girl could do little except stare
open-mouthed at his power. He knew the moment when it came, knew that
he'd be accompanying her home this evening. And after that... well,
he would see about that.
Indeed he would.
When the taxi dropped them in front of the old wooden building in an
ancient neighborhood which Duane never had ventured into before, he
was surprised. "Privacy," the girl said softly. "Mother
and I like privacy." Well, he thought to himself, this certainly
was the place to get it. The buildings, all of them including the
one, which they were now approaching, should have been condemned a
long time ago. As she unlocked and opened the door, he noted that
there seemed to be very little light in the interior. And the dust —
"Ararg!"
he said, startled as he stepped into the foyer and into the mass of
cobwebs. The girl looked back at him, but said nothing. He shrugged,
resigned to the filthy state of the housekeeping, and stepped after
her. He did so for exactly six paces. Then he found he couldn't move.
His legs and arms were so entwined by the gray-spun cobwebs that he
could
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