MUSIC:	OPENING THEME.
ANNOUNCER:	You can run, but you can’t hide. It’s far too late for that. Welcome to the dark side, where the night Never ends – as Fangoria presents … Dreadtime Stories with your host, Malcolm McDowell.
MUSIC:	UP AND UNDER:
NARRATOR:	Have you ever had a premonition? You know, that uncomfortable feeling warning you of a future event? The phenomenon is often characterized by sensations such as anxiety, uneasiness, vague feelings of disquiet suggesting impending disaster, and visual or auditory hallucinations. Premonition is sometimes referred to as a “gut-level” feeling. The sensation tends to occur prior to disasters, accidents, deaths and other traumatic and emotionally charged events. Some people even attribute them to the presence of supernatural or paranormal abilities. Abraham Lincoln had a prophetic dream of his death and funeral, which he related to both his bodyguard and his wife, mere hours before his assassination. In the dream he saw people crying in the East Wing of the White House. As he went to investigate, he was told the weeping was for the President who had been assassinated. His wife and bodyguard made light of the dream and days later he was shot in the head by assassin John Wilkes Booth in the Ford Theatre. His body was later held in the East Wing of the White House so that people could pay their respects. The sinking of the Titanic on its maiden voyage is one of the most talked about events in history. Did you know that there are more than 20 verified incidents of premonitions and precognitions by would-be passengers who cancelled their reservations after dreaming of the ship’s doom? Have you ever had a premonition? I warn you, they’re not to be taken lightly.
MUSIC:	UP AND OUT.
SOUND:	PENCIL SCRATCHES AT PAPER UNDER NEMEROFF.
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATES, READS ALOUD AS HE WRITES, SO NOT VERY FLUID AT FIRST): Today’s date .. is August 20th, 2012, shortly .. before midnight on what .. I am sure is the hottest .. day of .. the year. I am writing .. this at a shaky table before an open window. I’m not sure where this house is, but it must be a few miles from my apartment in Chicago, Illinois. I have had what I believe to be the most remarkable day of my life, and I’m attempting to put the details down on paper as clearly as possible while they are still fresh in my mind.(FADES)
MUSIC:	A BRIDGE - STATELY - IN AND UNDER.
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATES) Let me say at the beginning that my name is James Franklyn Nemeroff. You must remember that in order to feel the full effect of my story. James Franklyn Nemeroff. I’m 45 years old, in perfect health, hardly been sick a day in my life. By profession I’m an artist. Not a very successful one, I must confess...
SOUND:	FADE SCRIBBLING THRU TO SOBERIN POUNDING ON NEMEROFF’S DOOR. FAINT TRAFFIC SOUNDS FROM OUTSIDE.
SOBERIN:	(OUTSIDE) Nemeroff! Nemeroff!
NEMEROFF:	(SIGHS)
SOUND:	HE TAKES A FEW STEPS TO THE DOOR AND OPENS IT.
SOBERIN:	So, Mr Artist...
NEMEROFF:	(WEARILY) Mr. Soberin.
SOBERIN:	You got my rent?
NEMEROFF:	Rent?
SOBERIN:	Rent. The payment you make to me on a monthly basis, in return for which I allow you a room in this building.
NEMEROFF:	I know what rent is, Mr Soberin, it’s just that-
SOBERIN:	It’s just that you owe it, and I want it. Don’t get me wrong, Nemeroff, if we lived in a society less reliant on money, you could stay here as long as you liked, sketching your little sketches from sunup ’til sundown. But when I checked the news this morning, we weren’t living in such a Utopia. No, Mr. Nemeroff, we live in a-
NEMEROFF:	(ANTICIPATING SOBERIN – THEY’VE HAD THIS CONVERSATION BEFORE) Capitalist society.
SOBERIN:	(WITH NEMEROFF) That’s right, a Capitalist society, and I need my capital. Now, do you have it, or do I change the lock on your apartment door, and start selling your possessions on e-bay?
NEMEROFF:	Wait a second – today’s the 20th.
SOBERIN:	Today is the 20th, hottest day of the year so far, and, incidentally, my granddaughter Elizabeth’s eleventh birthday. She lives in San Diego with her mother, and she never calls.
NEMEROFF:	What I mean is, the rent is due on the last day of the month, or have you forgotten that?
SOBERIN:	I have forgotten many things in my life, Mr. Nemeroff; I’ve forgotten my age, my telephone number, my zip code, I’ve even started forgetting my beloved Lillian’s face (may she rest in peace), but I have never once forgotten on what date the rent is due.
NEMEROFF:	So, I’ve still got eleven days.
SOBERIN:	No, you have minus twenty days. You still owe me for last month, or have you forgotten?
NEMEROFF:	No, I haven’t forgotten – but I was, sort of hoping you might have.
SOBERIN:	And what are the chances of that, Nemeroff?
NEMEROFF:	Slim, Mr. Soberin.
SOBERIN:	Slim – which is what I’ll be, if I don’t get money for food. Look at me, the weight is falling off me in this heat! And you want to hear the craziest thing? -- the local market insists that I make payment before they let me take groceries out of the store. You know why? Because we live in a- say it with me...
SOBERIN & NEMEROFF:	Capitalist society.
SOBERIN:	See, you can be taught. So how about it?
NEMEROFF:	Will you take a check?
SOBERIN:	Do you have a checkbook?
NEMEROFF:	No.
SOBERIN:	Then that was a dumb question.
NEMEROFF:	OK, look. Tomorrow. You’ll have the money tomorrow. I swear.
SOBERIN:	I’m a nice guy, you know that Nemeroff? Everybody says so.
NEMEROFF:	I bet they do.
SOBERIN:	But I have my limits. And to continue like this, it’s not fair to either of us. How old are you?
NEMEROFF:	Forty-five.
SOBERIN:	Forty-five. And you still don’t know what to do with your life.
NEMEROFF:	I’m an artist.
SOBERIN:	You’re an artist who hardly ever makes any art! Don’t get me wrong, I admire creative people, I do – maybe that’s why I go so easy on you. But you gotta have direction. You don’t have that, you’re not any kind of artist – you’re not any kind of anything.
NEMEROFF:	I get it.
SOBERIN:	Do you, James? Do you?
NEMEROFF:	(LOSING HIS PATIENCE) Yes, I said I GET IT!
SOBERIN:	Then what are you gonna do? What are you gonna do to help me and help yourself?
NEMEROFF:	I’ll... uh... I’ll start making calls. You have to appreciate, it’s not easy, selling a sketch isn’t like selling... I dunno, a cellphone.
SOBERIN:	You do sketches, right?
NEMEROFF:	You know I do, Mr. Soberin.
SOBERIN:	Then why don’t you draw for the comic books?
NEMEROFF:	(GROANS)
SOBERIN:	Have you been to the movies lately?
NEMEROFF:	I couldn’t afford to, even if I wanted to.
SOBERIN:	Just about every movie is a superhero movie. I’m telling you for your own good, there’s money in the comic book business. Plus, you get to draw. Sounds to me like a win-win situation.
NEMEROFF:	I’d sooner die.
SOBERIN:	Then do it outside. I don’t want the smell of your “rotting-corpse” in the carpet when I rent the apartment out again.
SOUND:	SOBERIN SLAMS THE DOOR.
NEMEROFF:	(AFTER A BEAT) What carpet? What am I gonna do, what-am-i-gonna-do..? Music. I need music. Inspiration!
SOUND:	NEMEROFF TURNS ON THE RADIO.
SOUND:	HEAVY METAL MUSIC.
SOUND:	NEMEROFF CHANGES THE FREQUENCY.
NEMEROFF:	Pass.
DJ:	-hot! Damn hot! Hot and sticky! I swear, when I leave this studio today, I’m jumping into Lake Michigan! So remember, if your phone rings in the next half-hour, make sure you pick it up and shout: “I Stay Cool listening to W-
SOUND:	NEMEROFF SWITCHES THE RADIO OFF AGAIN.
NEMEROFF:	Forget it.
SOUND:	HE FORCES OPEN THE WINDOW...
NEMEROFF:	(...WITH A GRUNT)
SOUND:	TRAFFIC NOISE INCREASES.
NEMEROFF:	(A LONG, WEARY SIGH) Let’s see...
SOUND:	NEMEROFF UNROLLS A SHEET OF PAPER AND SLOWLY BEGINS TO DRAW. FADE OUT UNDER NARRATION.
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATES) I sell most of my drawings to newspapers and magazines to accompany the article. I’m not married and my only close relative, my sister, died 5 years ago -- so really, there’s no one in particular to whom I address this manuscript. Only you, who might happen to read it someday. For, because of the odd circumstances you are about to learn, I have the strongest premonition that I will never live to tell anyone about it --
MUSIC:	- FILLS A PAUSE - THEN UNDER.
NARRATOR:	The time is present day, the place is the windy city of Chicago, only on this stifling hot summer day, there is no wind. You’ve just encountered James Franklyn Nemeroff. Age 45, profession: Artist. Up until today, Nemeroff’s life could be filed neatly under the heading of “average.” But something very strange, very unusual and worthy of telling is about to happen to Mr. Nemeroff -- all because of a premonition. A premonition of brooding terror, of unseen forces in the summer’s heat. So, if you’re inclined, let’s look more closely at James Franklyn Nemeroff – the protagonist in another of our… DREADTIME STORIES.
MUSIC:	THEME.
FADE DOWN.
ANNOUNCER:	We’ll continue with our story from “FANGORIA’S DREADTIME STORIES” in a moment.
COMMERCIAL BREAK
ANNOUNCER:	And now back to “FANGORIA’S DREADTIME STORIES” and... “A Heated Premonition” starring (----------).
MUSIC:	THEME.
THRU TO:
SOUND:	NEMEROFF CRUMPLES UP A SHEET OF PAPER.
NEMEROFF:	Dammit! What’s the matter with me? I can’t think, can’t draw – what is wrong with me anyway!?
SOUND:	HE THROWS THE PAPER AWAY.
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATES) You don’t know me -- and If I’m right, I’ll soon be dead, and you never will -- but take my word for it, this was a pretty average day for me. I glanced through the paper, poured myself a glass of lemonade and proceeded to let my mind wander – in the hope that I might happen upon some subject for my pencil etchings. Even with the window open, my room was oppressively hot, and I’d just made up my mind that the coolest and most comfortable place in the neighborhood would be the deep end of a swimming pool, when –
MUSIC:	… DARKENS … UNDER.
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATES) – Without warning, I was suddenly shaken by a strong feeling that swept over me in such a way as I had never experienced before. It was a swirling, overpowering sensation. I attempted to rise to my feet, but it seemed as though I’d somehow become glued to my chair. I didn’t know what was the matter with me. At first I thought it might be heatstroke, or maybe a seizure. I reached out to try and brace myself. And then, before I knew what I was doing, my pencil was in my hand –
SOUND:	PENCIL SCRATCHES AT PAPER.
NEMEROFF:	What the hell?
SOUND:	PENCIL CONTINUES TO DRAW, IN A MORE FLUID MOVEMENT. CONTINUE UNDER NARRATION.
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATES) -- and suddenly I began to draw. It was as though someone had taken hold of my hand and was moving it across the paper – swiftly, feverishly. And then after what seemed like a few minutes time “I” seemed to take over. My hand, under its own power now, began to draw. I soon forgot about the stifling August heat. Everything was forgotten in my overwhelming and frantic desire to finish the sketch as soon as possible.
SOUND:	THE PENCIL IS MOVING EVEN FASTER NOW, SCRIBBLING FURIOUSLY.
MUSIC:	REACHES FEVER PITCH, THEN CUTS OUT AS...
SOUND:	THE PENCIL STOPS. DROPS TO THE FLOOR & ROLLS.
NEMEROFF:	(GASPS, AS THOUGH COMING UP FOR AIR). Damn! How long have I been drawing? What have I been drawing? The time, what’s the time? Four o’clock! And I started just after breakfast! What happened to me? Maybe... maybe this is what real creativity feels like, like Michaelangelo when he painted the- What am I talking about? I’m putting myself up among the giants and I don’t even know what I’ve been doing half the day! Could be just some childish scribble, could be-
SOUND:	HE PICKS UP THE PAPER.
NEMEROFF:	(STUNNED) Wow.
SOUND:	TRANSITION FADE THRU TO SOBERIN’S APARTMENT.
MUSIC:	SOBERIN IS LISTENING TO AN OLD SCRATCHY RECORD.
SOBERIN:	(HUMMING TO THE MUSIC)
SOUND:	A FRANTIC KNOCKING ON THE DOOR.
SOBERIN:	Who is it?
NEMEROFF:	(BEHIND THE DOOR) Mr. Soberin, it’s me.
SOBERIN:	I know a lot of “me”s. Which “me” are you?
NEMEROFF:	(BEHIND THE DOOR) It’s James Nemeroff.
SOBERIN:	James Nemeroff. If you have my money, you can come in. If you don’t have it, I respectfully request you go to hell. And if you’re here to complain about the air conditioning, there’s nothing I can do for you. You are not technically a resident in this building.
NEMEROFF:	(BEHIND THE DOOR, CAGEY) I have something to show you.
SOBERIN:	Unless it’s a check for last month’s rent, I’m not interested.
NEMEROFF:	(BEHIND THE DOOR) Mr. Soberin, please!
SOBERIN:	(WEARY) All right, all right.
SOUND:	HE UNLOCKS HIS DOOR.
SOBERIN:	(AS HE UNLOCKS) Don’t be standing behind this door with a gun or anything, my faith in human nature is already at a pretty low ebb, I promise you.
SOUND:	HE OPENS THE DOOR.
SOBERIN:	OK, Nemeroff, so what’ve you got to show me?
SOUND:	NEMEROFF PRODUCES THE PICTURE.
NEMEROFF:	I drew this.
SOBERIN:	Is this supposed to be in lieu of cash? Cause if it is, you can stick it up your -
NEMEROFF:	(CUTTING HIM OFF) Look at it.
SOBERIN:	I’m not gonna buy it, I got nowhere to put it.
NEMEROFF:	(URGENT) I need you to look at it, Mr. Soberin.
SOBERIN:	So I’m looking.
SOUND:	HE TAKES THE PICTURE.
NEMEROFF:	Well?
SOBERIN:	It’s pretty good.
NEMEROFF:	Best thing I’ve ever drawn.
SOBERIN:	I’m happy we both think so, but you made a mistake.
NEMEROFF:	What?
SOBERIN:	Courtroom sketches like this, you hardly ever see them any more. You ever watch Court TV? No one needs these now.
NEMEROFF:	That’s not why I drew it.
SOBERIN:	So why did you draw it?
NEMEROFF:	I don’t know. I couldn’t stop myself... couldn’t help myself.
SOBERIN:	(Not enthused) That so.
NEMEROFF:	I need someone to look at it – to help me understand it.
SOBERIN:	So why are you asking me? Why not ask a friend?
NEMEROFF:	(RELUCTANTLY) I don’t really know many people. You’re the closest thing I have to a friend, Mr. Soberin.
SOBERIN:	Boy, that’s depressing.
NEMEROFF:	So what about the drawing? What can you tell me about it?
SOBERIN:	(CONTEMPLATING) The drawing, the drawing... OK, like I said, it’s a courtroom... Uh... I guess the judge is pronouncing sentence.
NEMEROFF:	He just pronounced it.
SOBERIN:	How do you know?
NEMEROFF:	I just know.
SOBERIN:	Then what do you need me for?
NEMEROFF:	Please. What about the criminal?
SOBERIN:	I think he would be called “the defendant”.
NEMEROFF:	Please Mr. Soberin – I need to know what you see.
SOBERIN:	Well, he’s, uh... Well, he’s a big, fat guy. Really fat. A man gets that big, it puts a strain on the heart. You know why people end up like this? They don’t like to exercise. They don’t want to go outside, because they’re afraid of being mugged, or worse. It’s television, it makes people afraid to leave their homes.
NEMEROFF:	(IMPATIENT) Mr. Soberin!
SOBERIN:	Okay. So, he’s fat. He’s got big rolls of flesh under his chin. He’s clean-shaven – well, maybe not quite. Maybe a few days before, he was clean-shaven – and he’s almost bald, for which he has my sympathy. He’s standing in front of the judge, holding the rail with his left hand, looking straight in front of him.
NEMEROFF:	What about his expression? That’s not horror on his face, so what is it?
SOBERIN:	You drew it, don’t you know?
NEMEROFF:	Can you please just go on?
SOBERIN:	It looks to me like exhaustion – like absolute fatigue. Like there’s nothing strong enough in him to sustain that mountain of flesh.
NEMEROFF:	Anything else?
SOBERIN:	Yeah, it’s not finished.
NEMEROFF:	What do you mean it’s not finished, of course it’s finished!
SOBERIN:	No, it’s not. Look here.
SOUND:	SOBERIN TAPS THE PAPER.
SOBERIN:	See, he’s holding onto the rail with his left hand... but what’s going on with his right? He’s holding something. An instrument, or a weapon, maybe. It’s hard to tell. You know, if this were a real courtroom, they wouldn’t let him bring anything in.
NEMEROFF:	(STUNNED) There is something there! Why didn’t I notice that before?
SOBERIN:	Nemeroff -- I’d say get help, but help costs money, and you have more urgent bills to pay. Let me guess. You have no idea what you were planning to put in his hand?
NEMEROFF:	No idea at all.
SOBERIN:	Well then -- go finish it.
SOUND:	SOBERIN GIVES HIM BACK THE PAPER.
MUSIC:	FADES OUT AS WE...
SOUND:	...FADE THRU TO NEMEROFF, SLOWLY MOUNTING THE STAIRS.
NARRATOR:	“Go finish it”, Soberin says. Nemeroff doesn’t even know how he started it, or if he was capable of finishing it. He made the sketch and yet had no recollection of what he intended the man to hold in his right hand. Even now, as he makes his way back to his apartment, down the long hallway, the thought of picking up his pencil again turns his fingers to lead. Once again, he is conscious of the intense heat. It feels like the fires of Hell. He is sweating profusely. And he knows right then and there, that he wouldn’t finish the sketch anytime soon. He turns out to be right, but not for the reason he imagined.
SOUND:	NEMEROFF MAKING HIS WAY BACK TO HIS APPARTMENT.
NARRATOR:	In the hallway, Nemeroff stands in front of his apartment and attempts to open the door.
SOUND:	NEMEROFF TRIES THE DOOR OF HIS APARTMENT. IT’S LOCKED.
NEMEROFF:	What the hell?
SOUND:	HE TRIES TO DOOR, MORE FORCEFULLY THIS TIME.
NEMEROFF:	Oh, come on! I’m locked out!
SOUND:	FADE THRU TO NEMEROFF OUTSIDE SOBERIN’S APARTMENT. ESTABLISH SAME OLD VINYL RECORD, WHICH CAN BE HEARD ONLY FAINTLY. THEN NEMEROFF BANGS ON THE DOOR.
NEMEROFF:	Soberin! Open up!
SOBERIN:	(BEHIND THE DOOR) I don’t think that would be a good idea, Mr. Nemeroff!
NEMEROFF:	You changed the lock on my damn apartment door!
SOBERIN:	(BEHIND THE DOOR) I told you I would. Can’t say you weren’t warned. I know this kid, he’s a genius with locks. He’s been waiting all day for you to come out of your apartment.
NEMEROFF:	I thought we understood each another!
SOBERIN:	(BEHIND THE DOOR) Sadly, we do.
NEMEROFF:	I thought you were my friend!
SOBERIN:	(BEHIND THE DOOR) No, you thought I was the closest thing you had to a friend – there’s a difference. And alas, how many times have friendships been destroyed over money?
NEMEROFF:	So what the hell am I supposed to do now?
SOUND:	SOBERIN OPENS THE DOOR SLIGHTLY WITH THE CHAIN STILL ON.
SOBERIN:	You want to be a starving artist? Go starve someplace else.
SOUND:	HE SHUTS THE DOOR AGAIN.
MUSIC:	FADE IN EPISODE SCORE.
THRU TO:
THEME.
FADE DOWN.
ANNOUNCER:	And now back to “A Heated Premonition” on... “FANGORIA’S DREADTIME STORIES.”
MUSIC:	THEME.
THRU TO:
NEMEROFF WALKS THE BUSY STREETS.
NARRATOR:	Inspiration – that’s what every artist needs. And Nemeroff needs a lot of it, and not just for his sketches. He is out of work, and he no longer has a place to lay his head. All he has are the pencils in his pocket... and a sketch he has no clear recollection of drawing. Good as it is, nobody would want it, he knows that. But the other side was blank... All he needs is the right subject, that’s all anybody really needs. Nemeroff sets out with the idea of walking along Halsted Street and turning right along Fremont where the men are at work repairing some train tracks. He thinks about sketching the workers, but he just isn’t motivated to, so he keeps walking, but the damned heat...
SOUND:	FOOTSTEPS STOP. A BUS PULLS UP, THE DOORS OPEN.
BUS DRIVER:	Are you getting on?
NEMEROFF:	Ah, I guess so.
BUS DRIVER:	Which stop?
NEMEROFF:	(DAZED) Uh... Where do you go?
BUS DRIVER:	Where do I go? I go to the station.
NEMEROFF:	No, I... I don’t want to go to the station.
BUS DRIVER:	(IMPATIENT) I don’t have all day Mister, are you getting on or not?
SOUND:	IN BG, THE PASSENGERS ARE GETTING RESTLESS AS NEMEROFF GETS ON.
NEMEROFF:	OK. Just... take me as far as you go. BUS
DRIVER:	You got exact change?
NEMEROFF:	Change? I... Sorry, I don’t think I have any money.
PASSENGER:	(IN BG) Get off the damn bus!
BUS DRIVER:	You heard ’em. Get off the bus, pal.
NEMEROFF:	Couldn’t you-
BUS DRIVER:	Nope. Beat it, I got a schedule.
NEMEROFF:	(WEARILY) Fine.
SOUND:	NEMEROFF GETS OFF THE BUS. THE DOOR CLOSES, CUTTING OUT INERIOR BUS NOISES.
BUS DRIVER:	(Dialog fading as door bus door closes) Sorry about that, folks. The heat brings out all the crazy people.
SOUND:	THE BUS SETS OFF AGAIN. FADE THRU TO STREET BG AGAIN.
NARRATOR:	From there forward, Nemeroff has only a vague recollection of where he walked. He strolls through parks, along crowded streets, always conscious of the awful heat that comes up from the pavement in a suffocating wave. And he remembers too, the hollow sound of his footsteps as he moves along. Although he is walking aimlessly, he knows that somehow there is a place for him to be, a someone or something to which he is being drawn. Is he being controlled by the same force that caused him to produce that sketch of a courtroom he’d never seen, and a man he’d never met? Nemeroff only knows he has to keep going forward. There is nothing left for him the way he’d come. Whatever he finds, whenever he finally stops – it will be meant for him.
MUSIC:	AN ACCENT UNDER DIALOG.
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATING) I hoped for some cloud cover to shield me from the burning sun as I walked, but none came. My only salvation was that the sun was starting to set, so I figured the blistering heat should let up a little. I felt as though I was under the grip of a powerful force, that’d made me draw the picture I had in my pocket, and that had set me walking on this path... but a path to where? When would I be finished, and would I even know it? I needed to get a hold of myself.
NEMEROFF:	(CALLS OUT) Listen to me, whoever or whatever you are!
SOUND:	IN THE DISTANCE, A DOG BARKS.
NEMEROFF:	(CALLS OUT) I’m tired of being your puppet! Whatever game this is, I don’t want to play a part in it! I’m going home, you hear me? I’m going home! Find somebody else to take my place, OK? (GRUNTS. THEN THE GRUNT BECOMES AN EXCLAMATION OF PAIN. THROUGH GRITTED TEETH, TO HIMSELF:) Turn yourself around, dammit! Walk the other way! You can do this, James! It’s just one foot in front of the other... You’ve been doing it all your life. There’s not a single thing you can’t walk away from, so walk away from this! Do whatever you have to do, beg old man Soberin for your apartment back, I don’t know! Just turn yourself around! (MORE PAINFUL GRUNTS)
SOUND:	A FOOT SLAMS DOWN ON CONCRETE.
NEMEROFF:	No! That’s the wrong way!
SOUND:	ANOTHER STEP.
NEMEROFF:	No, no, no!
SOUND:	THE FOOTSTEPS CONTINUE, SLOWLY AND PAINFULLY AT FIRST, THEN AT A RUN, THE PACE INCREASING.
NEMEROFF:	(BREATHES HARD AS HE RUNS. THEN:) OK, OK, no more running! I’ll go wherever you want! You win, you hear me?
SOUND:	THE RUN GOES BACK TO A BRISK WALK.
NEMEROFF:	(LOW) You win...
NARRATOR:	Thankfully, his journey doesn’t last too much longer. Within a half-hour, Nemeroff finds himself standing before a gate that leads into a yard – that he at first thinks is a junkyard. It has a tiny brick house toward the back. The yard has scattered patches of flowers with bees droning over them. He stands there, looking down at the flowers and the bees for a moment, and then, he looks up. Over the entrance to the yard, there is a board attached to the gate. The inscription: “Charles Atkinson, Monumental Mason / Worker in Imported Marble.”
MUSIC:	AN ACCENT - THEN FADES OUT.
ATKINSON:	(WHISTLING)
SOUND:	CHISEL BANGS AGAINST MARBLE
NARRATOR:	From the yard itself comes a cheery whistle, the noise of hammer blows and the cold sound of steel striking stone. A sudden impulse makes Nemeroff enter and he heads in the direction of the noise.
MUSIC:	IN AND UNDER.
NARRATOR:	Sitting on a low stool, is a large man, with his back towards Nemeroff. The man is busy at work on a slab of curiously veined marble. As Nemeroff approaches him from behind, the man stops working suddenly without turning around.
SOUND:	THE BANGING STOPS.
ATKINSON:	(STOPS WHISTLING) I know you’re there. If you’re after money, you came to the wrong place. I’m not a rich man. I just get by.
NEMEROFF:	I’m not here to rob you.
ATKINSON:	That’s good to know. (Grunts as he turns around to to face Nemeroff) So you’re here on business.
NEMEROFF:	Well, that’s the peculiar thing, Mr. - Atkinson, is it?
ATKINSON:	That’s right.
NEMEROFF:	You see, I’m not- (GASPS)
ATKINSON:	What’s the matter?
NEMEROFF:	(TERRIFIED) The- The matter?
ATKINSON:	You know when they say in the movies: “You look like you’ve seen a ghost”. Well, I never knew what that meant ’til now. But that’s what you look like.
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATES) I was sure he was right, but I couldn’t tell him why – couldn’t come out with it right then. But when Charles Atkinson, Monumental Mason and Worker in Imported Marble, turned to face me, I knew him, even though I’d never seen him before – he was the man from my drawing.
MUSIC:	AN ACCENT - THEN FADE IN EPISODE SCORE.
THRU TO:
THEME.
FADE DOWN.
ANNOUNCER:	More from “FANGORIA’S DREADTIME STORIES”... after these brief messages.
COMMERCIAL BREAK
ANNOUNCER:	And now back to “A Heated Premonition” on... “FANGORIA’S DREADTIME STORIES.”
MUSIC:	THEME.
THRU TO:
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATES) Yes, it was definitely him. His face was on the sketch in my pocket, but I didn’t feel like referring to it just yet. Now wasn’t the right time. But when would be the right time to say: “Excuse me, sir, we’ve never met, but the same inexplicable force that led me here today also caused me to draw you on trial for your life”? He just sat there, a huge rotund body, the sweat pouring from his scalp, not speaking. Then he took a red silk handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.
ATKINSON:	Whew.
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATES) Although this face that looked up at me was the same as in my sketch, the expression was absolutely different – it was one of puzzlement. Suddenly, the puzzlement was replaced by cheeriness, and he got up and took my hand as if we were old friends.
ATKINSON:	Welcome to you, sir.
NEMEROFF:	(WARY) Thank...you. Look, I’m sorry to just walk up on you like this. I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything.
ATKINSON:	Not at all, not at all.
NEMEROFF:	It’s just that I was out for a walk and I just sort of ended up here. I hope you don’t mind.
ATKINSON:	(CHUCKLES) No, I don’t mind. I like company. Whew, it’s hot. Take a load off. Have a seat.
NEMEROFF:	There’s nowhere to sit.
ATKINSON:	Sit on the gravestone; I’m almost done with it.
NEMEROFF:	Gravestone. OK...
ATKINSON:	Nice and cool, huh?
NEMEROFF:	(AWKWARDLY) Uh, yeah.
SOUND:	ATKINSON STARTS CHIPPING AWAY AT THE MARBLE AGAIN.
ATKINSON:	It’s about the only thing that is cool today. Man, I can’t remember it ever being so hot. Can you remember it ever being so hot?
NEMEROFF:	I can’t. I really can’t. This is a beautiful piece of stone you’ve got here.
ATKINSON:	In a way it truly is.
NEMEROFF:	“In a way”?
ATKINSON:	Oh, the surface here is as fine as anything you could wish for, but unfortunately there’s a big flaw on the back, though I don’t expect you’d notice it right off.
NEMEROFF:	Oh, I doubt I would. I’m not really what you’d call a marble expert.
ATKINSON:	In the summer, a flaw in the marble is no problem, but wait until the winter comes.
NEMEROFF:	Winter?
ATKINSON:	Oh, yeah. Believe me, there’s nothing quite like frost to find the weak points in stone.
NEMEROFF:	Really? So what’ll you tell your customer?
ATKINSON:	What customer?
NEMEROFF:	The, uh, the relative of whoever this gravestone is for.
ATKINSON:	Oh, it’s not for a customer.
NEMEROFF:	Then, if you’ll excuse me for asking...
ATKINSON:	I’ll excuse you.
NEMEROFF:	What’s the point? Why carve a gravestone for- well, for nobody?
ATKINSON:	It’s for a trade show.
NEMEROFF:	A trade show.
ATKINSON:	That’s right. Death is big business. Morticians, casket builders, headstone makers, we all attend and present our wares.
NEMEROFF:	I had no idea there was such a thing. Not to be rude but a headstone’s a headstone, isn’t it?
ATKINSON:	Oh, you’d be surprised. There are many different kinds of marbles, some of ’em better suited to withstanding wind and rain, some are easier to work with than others. And fashions and tastes change from year to year – try taking a walk through a cemetery some time.
NEMEROFF:	Ah, no thanks.
ATKINSON:	(CHUCKLES) Squeamish, huh?
NEMEROFF:	I guess so, I never really thought about it before. I mean, I lost both my parents, but my sister took care of all the arrangements. When she died, I had her cremated.
ATKINSON:	We don’t use the C-word ’round here.
NEMEROFF:	Sorry.
ATKINSON:	Oh, it’s a valid choice, but a man’s livelihood is always kind of a sore point, don’t you agree?
NEMEROFF:	I don’t know; I’ve never been successful enough at anything to feel that way.
ATKINSON:	No shame in showing pride, it’s not like it’s a sin. (A BEAT) Oh, wait, actually, it is a sin.
NEMEROFF:	One of the seven big ones.
ATKINSON:	Still, it’s impossible not to feel satisfaction over something you’ve made with your own two hands. Take that bird-feeder, for instance.
NEMEROFF:	It’s nice.
ATKINSON:	It’s nothing ornate, like a gravestone, but- Whew!
SOUND:	ATKINSON STOPS BANGING.
NEMEROFF:	The heat, huh?
ATKINSON:	Bad today – real bad. A man’s not responsible for what he does in this kinda heat. So, you feel like telling me yet?
NEMEROFF:	Telling you what?
ATKINSON:	What it was that turned you pale when I first saw you. You still look a little queasy.
NEMEROFF:	I bet I do.
ATKINSON:	So?
NEMEROFF:	Well, it’s- I guess you could say I’m having a touch of deja-vu.
ATKINSON:	How so?
SOUND:	ATKINSON STARTS TAPPING GENTLY AT THE MARBLE.
NEMEROFF:	Well, somehow, I get the feeling I’ve experienced all this before – the fragrance of the flowers, our conversation about the marble, the heat– especially the heat.
ATKINSON:	All before, huh?
NEMEROFF:	That’s right. And yet I’ve never, ever been in this section of town before, let alone at this yard.
ATKINSON:	And we’ve never met before?
NEMEROFF:	Well... maybe. Your face is... sort of familiar.
ATKINSON:	Is it?
NEMEROFF:	It’s kind of hard to explain. Maybe I saw you once before somewhere. Maybe your face found a place in some out-of-the-way corner of my memory.
ATKINSON:	Possible.
SOUND:	ATKINSON FINISHES TAPPING AND DROPS HIS TOOLS.
ATKINSON:	(SIGHS WITH SATISFACTION) There! I’m finally finished. Well, what do you think of it?
NEMEROFF:	(UNCERTAIN) Uh... I can’t really read upside-down.
ATKINSON:	It says: (READING SLOWLY) “In the midst of life we are in death. Born, January 16th, 1967.”
NEMEROFF:	(LOW, SHOCKED) January 16th?
MUSIC:	AN ACCENT - THEN UNDER.
ATKINSON:	Something wrong?
NEMEROFF:	What else does it say?
ATKINSON:	(READS) “He passed away very suddenly on August 20th, 2012.”
NEMEROFF:	(AFTER A BEAT) That’s today.
ATKINSON:	Yeah, well, we often use a present date on these exhibition stones.
NEMEROFF:	(HESITANT) Do you... do you... usually put a name on them, too?
ATKINSON:	Of course.
NEMEROFF:	Where is it?
ATKINSON:	You’re sitting on it. You have to get up to read it.
NEMEROFF:	Oh. OK, let’s see... (READS, SLOWLY AND WITH MOUNTING BUT CONTAINED HORROR) “Sacred to the memory of... James Franklyn Nemeroff.”
MUSIC:	A STATELY, SOMBER ACCENT - THEN FADES OUT.
SOUND:	BIRDS WHISTLE, CRICKETS CHIRP.
NARRATOR:	A cold shudder sweeps over Nemeroff – and he sits there in silence.
ATKINSON:	Whew. Hot. Hot. Even with the sun almost set, it’s still so damn hot. Got to get a new handkerchief – this one’s all wet from my sweat. Watch this.
SOUND:	DROPLETS OF WATER HIT THE GROUND AS HE WRINGS OUT THE HANDKERCHIEF.
ATKINSON:	See that? That’s a pint of me, right there.
NEMEROFF:	(UNEASY, TO ATKINSON) The name – James Franklyn Nemeroff. Uh, where – where did you – see that name?
ATKINSON:	Hm? Oh, I didn’t see it anywhere. I wanted some name, and I put down the first one that popped in my head. Better to have something a little unusual – you know, you see a thousand Smiths and Joneses.
NEMEROFF:	It’s really a very strange coincidence but – the name happens to be mine.
MUSIC:	IN AND UNDER.
ATKINSON:	Huh? Oh, yeah, right – joke. I get it.
NEMEROFF:	I’m not joking, Mr. Atkinson. I’m really not.
ATKINSON:	That’s– that’s your name? You’re, er, James, er, Franklyn, er..?
NEMEROFF:	Nemeroff. Yes.
ATKINSON:	Well! (WHISTLES IN SURPRISE) And, uh, the dates?
NEMEROFF:	I can only account for the birth date. It’s correct.
ATKINSON:	Oh. That sure is spooky (NERVOUS GIGGLE).
NEMEROFF:	There’s something spookier.
ATKINSON:	Oh? What’s that?
NEMEROFF:	Well, I’m a sketch artist. I use pencil and paper. And this morning, I made a sketch. Of you.
ATKINSON:	A sketch of me?
NEMEROFF:	That’s right.
ATKINSON:	But you said you’ve never seen me before.
NEMEROFF:	That’s right.
ATKINSON:	Oh – (THE SIGNIFICANCE DAWNS ON HIM) oh.
SOUND:	SKETCH UNROLLED
NEMROFF:	Here. Take a look.
ATKINSON:	(EMITS A SOUND OF UTTER SERIOUSNESS AS HE PERUSES THE PICTURE. THEN, AN UNEXPECTED CHUCKLE) And to think - it was only the other day that I told Martha there were no such things as ghosts!
NEMEROFF:	Ghosts?
ATKINSON:	You know what I mean. Your expression earlier, my face in your sketch, your name on my gra-
NEMEROFF:	(CUTTING HIM OFF) Yes, yes, I understand. My, er, my name... (REACHING) I guess you probably heard it someplace.
ATKINSON:	(EAGER TO AGREE) Yes, yes, that’s it. And you must have seen me somewhere and then forgotten it!
NEMEROFF:	Yes (NOT CONVINCING). I must have, yes.
ATKINSON:	Were you at, er, uh, at the boat show at Navy Pier, um, last, er July?
NEMEROFF:	No. No, I’ve never been to the boat show in my life.
ATKINSON:	Oh. But you must’ve seen me somewhere.
NEMEROFF:	Sure. Must have.
MUSIC:	IN AND UNDER.
NARRATOR:	(Narration at first over the two of them talking and then an abrupt stop of their conversation) They offer each other suggestions where they might have met before – but they can’t connect the dots. Not surprising, really, because there are no dots to be connected. And so there they are - silent for some time. And they stand there looking at each other, and at the two dates on the gravestone - “Born, January 16th, 1967, passed away August 20th” - today.
MUSIC:	EPISODE SCORE.
THRU TO THEME.
FADE DOWN.
ANNOUNCER:	“FANGORIA’S DREADTIME STORIES” returns... after these words.
COMMERCIAL BREAK.
ANNOUNCER:	Now back to “FANGORIA’S DREADTIME STORIES” and the dramatic conclusion of... “A Heated Premonition.”
MUSIC:	THEME.
THRU TO:
MUSIC:	UNDER NARRATION.
NARRATOR:	Nemeroff has reached a point where he can think of nothing more to say to Mr. Charles Atkinson. Once he’d told him that he’d drawn a sketch of him on trial, without ever seeing him before in his life, small-talk seemed... well, smaller than ever. Nemeroff isn’t sure how sincere Atkinson means to be when he invites him inside his home for something to eat, but it is at least an attempt to break the tension, so he accepts.
SOUND:	NEMEROFF AND THE ATKINSONS EAT.
ATKINSON:	Martha, did you have to cook a hot meal in this weather? Couldn’t you have made -- a salad?
MARTHA:	When have you ever eaten a salad, Charles?
ATKINSON:	(CHUCKLES) You have a point. It’s just... this heat.
NEMEROFF:	Don’t you feel the heat, Mrs. Atkinson?
MARTHA:	I feel nothing at all, Mr. Nemeroff. Is the food to your liking?
ATKINSON:	(HIS MOUTH FULL) It’s delicious. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed a real home-cooked meal. Years.
MARTHA:	Years? My goodness.
ATKINSON:	It’s the pace of modern life, my dear. We’re lucky, you and I.
SOUND:	FADE OUT MEAL SOUNDS.
MUSIC:	IN AND UNDER.
NARRATOR:	Mrs. Atkinson is a strange little woman, pale as can be. She looks as though she’s lived her entire life indoors. Nemeroff thinks to himself that her face is quite interesting - not beautiful, but not unattractive either. In a different set of circumstances he would very much like to sketch her. She must suffer from poor circulation or some other affliction, because she is wearing layers of clothes in the God-awful heat. After the meal, Atkinson goes outside to smoke, and she and Nemeroff are left alone. From the small kitchen window Nemeroff can see Atkinson sitting outside on his stool, smoking, and he is quite sure Atkinson can see them both as they talk at the kitchen table.
MUSIC:	OUT.
MARTHA:	You’re my husband’s friend, Mr. Nemeroff?
NEMEROFF:	(CAGEY) That’s... right.
MARTHA:	You’re an artist?
NEMEROFF:	A sketch artist, yes. I like to use pencils.
MARTHA:	You’re very welcome in my home. I’m only sorry Charles hasn’t brought you here before.
NEMEROFF:	Why, thank-you Mrs. Atkinson, you’re kind to say so.
MARTHA:	You have a lovely voice, Mr. Nemeroff. Has anyone ever told you that?
NEMEROFF:	Why no, ma’am. No-one’s ever told me that.
MARTHA:	The cupboard behind you. You see that thin black book?
NEMEROFF:	Uh-huh.
MARTHA:	Could you get it out for me, please?
NEMEROFF:	Of course.
SOUND:	NEMEROFF GETS UP AND WITHDRAWS THE BOOK.
NEMEROFF:	Here you are.
MARTHA:	I would very much like to hear you read aloud from it.
NEMEROFF:	Me?
MARTHA:	You have such a lovely voice.
NEMEROFF:	(UNCERTAINLY) OK, if you... insist.
MARTHA:	Are you familiar with the book?
NEMEROFF:	(READS) “The Prophet,” by Khalil Gibran. No. Never heard of it.
MARTHA:	Please read.
NEMEROFF:	From anywhere?
MARTHA:	Yes.
SOUND:	HE FLIPS THRU A FEW PAGES.
MUSIC:	IN AND UNDER.
NEMEROFF:	Ahh... (CLEARS HIS THROAT. THEN READS) Then Almitra spoke, saying “We would ask now of Death.” And he said: You would know the secret of death. But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life? The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light. If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life. For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one. In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond; and like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring. Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate of eternity. Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the kind whose hand is to be laid upon him in honor. Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, then he shall wear the mark of the king? Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling? For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered? Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. And when you have reached the mountaintop, then you shall begin to climb. And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.
MUSIC:	RISE GRANDLY -- A BRIGE – THEN OUT.
NEMEROFF:	Was that... was that all right?
MARTHA:	You read so beautifully Mr. Nemeroff. (DEEPLY, KNOWNINGLY) Thank you.
NEMEROFF:	I think I’ll, uh, check on your husband. He’s, uh-
MARTHA:	Outside, yes.
SOUND:	BRING UP OUTDOORS. IT’S EVENING NOW. NEMEROFF APPROACHES.
ATKINSON:	(SLIGHTLY OFF-MIC, GROWING LOUDER AS NEMEROFF GETS CLOSER) Sun’s gone down, but it’s no cooler. Man’s not responsible for what he might do in this heat.
NEMEROFF:	So you said.
ATKINSON:	Martha never asked me to read aloud for her.
NEMEROFF:	She said she liked my voice. I didn’t mean to-
ATKINSON:	Forget it, forget it. Doesn’t matter. Smoke?
NEMEROFF:	No, no thanks. I quit.
ATKINSON:	You’re wise beyond your years. These things’ll kill you. But I like to smoke when I think. Or think when I smoke, I’m not sure which. You still have that sketch?
NEMEROFF:	Of course.
ATKINSON:	Let me see it again.
SOUND:	NEMEROFF PRODUCES THE SKETCH AND UNFOLDS IT.
ATKINSON:	Hmm. (Pauses as he looks it over) I wondered if maybe we were mistaken – maybe the heat was playing tricks with our minds, but- Nope. No doubt it’s me. And on trial.
NEMEROFF:	Er, you– I hope you don’t mind my asking, Mr. Atkinson, but – uh, do you know of anything you’ve done that you could be put on trial for?
ATKINSON:	No. I’ve done nothing. Hmph! (WITH A CHUCKLE) Not yet.
NEMEROFF:	Not yet?
ATKINSON:	That watering can full?
NEMEROFF:	Watering..?
ATKINSON:	At your feet.
SOUND:	NEMEROFF LIFTS THE CAN, THE WATER SPLASHES AROUND INSIDE.
NEMEROFF:	About half-full.
ATKINSON:	Half-full, eh? Wouldn’t have pegged you for an optimist, Mr. Nemeroff. Mind if I have it?
NEMEROFF:	Sure.
ATKINSON:	Thanks.
SOUND:	HE WATERS THE FLOWERS AS HE TALKS.
ATKINSON:	I water these babies twice a day in the hot weather, and the heat still gets the better of the delicate ones. And ferns, good Lord! They could never stand it. So, where do you live?
NEMEROFF:	Umm... Thataway... I think. I’ve been walking a while.
SOUND:	HE SETS DOWN THE CAN.
ATKINSON:	Look, it’s like this. We need to look at the matter straight. If you go back home tonight, you’re taking a chance.
NEMEROFF:	A chance?
ATKINSON:	This isn’t the best part of town. A car could run you over in the dark, you could fall in a pothole and break your neck. I think the best thing is for you to stay here till the morning or at least till midnight.
NEMEROFF:	Midnight? Won’t it be more dangerous to leave then?
ATKINSON:	What’s the headstone say? Date of death – today. But by midnight, it’ll be tomorrow – get it?
NEMEROFF:	Okay -- yeah.
ATKINSON:	So... what do you say?
NEMEROFF:	Umm... fine. Yes. Good idea.
ATKINSON:	Let’s go back inside. We’ll go in the basement, it might be cooler.
MUSIC:	AN ACCENT – A BRIDGE THEN OUT.
SOUNDS:	(TOOLS SHARPENED)
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATES) I am sitting in a long, low room beneath the first floor that serves as Atkinson’s workroom. Atkinson has sent his wife to bed and he’s busy sharpening some tools at a little workbench, and smoking another cigarette. I’ve tried to make small talk with him but he’s too intent on his work to answer.
MUSIC:	IN AND UNDER.
SOUND:	NEMEROFF UNFOLDS THE SKETCH.
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATES) I take out the sketch from my pocket and unfold it. As I look at the sketch, I focus my attention on the fuzzy outline of what the man in the picture is holding in his right hand.
SOUND:	WITH A FEW STROKES, HE COMPLETES THE SKETCH.
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATES) Using my pencil, I make a few short strokes and complete the sketch. In doing so, what the man is holding suddenly becomes clear. It is... a chisel.
MUSIC:	FADES OUT.
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATES) And it is stained – with dark liquid.
SOUND:	DISTANT THUNDER ROLLS OMINOUSLY.
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATES) The sketch is now complete. (PAUSE) The air seems charged with thunder. And I can hear it – in the distance. It is ominous but – but it carries the hope of rain.
MUSIC:	IN AND UNDER.
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATES) And perhaps the God-awful heat will break soon. And the day will be over. It is close to twelve. Midnight. It’s almost -- tomorrow.
SOUND:	THUNDER SUBSIDES. CHISEL SHARPENED GROWS LOUDER.
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATES) I am writing this at a– at a shaky table before the open window. The leg is cracked, and Atkinson, who seems to be a handy man with his tools, will no doubt mend it as soon as he’s finished putting an edge on his – chisel.
MUSIC:	OUT.
SOUND:	CLOCK STARTS TO CHIME TWELVE – CHISEL SHARPENED STEADILY – UNDER.
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATES) There it is - twelve. The day is over. And I’ll be going home. But the heat. The heat – is stifling.
ATKINSON:	(SIGHS, GROANS, GRUNTS)
SOUND:	CLOCK CONTINUES TO CHIME – ATKINSON STOPS SHARPENING – RISE, FOOTSTEPS UNDER.
NEMEROFF:	(NARRATES) This heat – is enough to... drive a man -- mad.
ATKINSON:	(GRUNTS)
MUSIC:	SOMBER – TO COMMIT MURDER BY – BLENDS WITH CLOCK CHIMES – BUILDS TO A CONCLUSION – THEN OUT.
NARRATOR:	I warned you, premonitions are not to be taken lightly. For James Franklyn Nemeroff, a premonition mixed with the oppressive August heat proved deadly. Fact: In the United States, statistics show that more murders are committed at 92 degrees Fahrenheit than at any other temperature. Even though Charles Atkinson swears he has no memory of the crime, the jury had little trouble convicting him. For at the murder scene were three very incriminating pieces of evidence: the blood-stained mason chisel, Nemeroff’s sketch of Atkinson and Nemeroff’s manuscript – which, if it is to be believed, came to an abrupt conclusion as the clock began to strike Midnight. By the way, Nemeroff’s sketch of Atkinson ended up accompanying several newspaper articles on the murder – ironic? Some may think so, but then again irony is only one small ingredient in these – DREADTIME STORIES.
ANNOUNCER:	“A Heated Premonition” was written for radio by Carl Amari and M.J. Elliott, based on the story “August Heat” by W. F. Harvey. Heard in the cast were: