The House That Dripped Blood

Sergeant Martin?

Yes.

Detective Inspector Holloway.

Oh, good afternoon, sir.

It's quite an honor to have

you come all this way down

from Scotland Yard.

You think so?

I've got more important things on my plate

than chasing temperamental film stars.

Would you like a cup of tea, sir?

I haven't come here for tea either.

I sent my report in as

quickly as I could, sir

Yes, I know, I read it.

You must realize, sir,

this sort of thing's

not really in my line.

Your report makes that very clear.

Well, there is something

I didn't mention in my report, sir.

About Paul Henderson?

No, sir.

About the house.

This is not the first time

that something has happened

to the tenants of that house.

Other disappearances?

No, not exactly disappearances, sir.

Well, what then?

Well, I have a file here, sir,

you ought to have a look at.

There's something that happened

about two years ago, sir.

The house was empty for some time

then the estate agent had an inquiry

from a young couple in London.

Hillier, the name was,

Charles and Alice Hillier.

- Good morning, Mrs. Hillier.

- Good Morning, Mr. Stoker.

Good Morning.

- Good Morning.

- Glad you could make it.

Thank you.

Well, shall we go in?

Why not?

Who was your last tenant?

Queen Victoria?

No, but the house has

been empty for some time.

Perhaps you'd like to see the kitchen.

I hope there's a refrigerator.

Oh, yes.

Not the most modern of course

but definitely a refrigerator.

I realize the house isn't

modern, Mrs. Hillier.

But it does have some

virtues, don't you think?

I can't say I've seen them, Mr. Stoker.

This collection is fantastic.

Somebody who lived here

had literary tastes

after my own heart.

It's perfect isn't it?

You're not serious.

No, I mean it.

It's ideal for me.

Oh, darling.

Now look, I promise

we'll move back to London

as soon as I finish the book.

I haven't been able to write a

line in weeks, you know that.

Do you really

want us to take it?

Hmm.

I suppose I could bear

it for a month or two.

Good.

I know I'll be able to work here.

What sort of work, may I ask?

My husbands a writer, Mr. Stoker.

Oh, what sort of writing does he do?

Horror stories.

He specializes in murder.

In the most gruesome ways imaginable.

Hello darling, you're back early.

It's past eight.

So it is.

I must have worked right through.

So I see.

Can I read it?

No.

Let me show you.

Show me?

Here.

They say one pictures better

than a thousand words.

That's Dominick.

He's the villain in my story.

He's a strangler who's

escaped from an asylum

for the criminally insane.

He roams the countryside at night,

searching for fresh victims.

Laughing maniacally as he kills them.

Sometimes, I wonder

where you get your ideas.

Looking through the window.

That's where I first

saw him, this morning.

Just after you left.

You saw him?

Only in my minds eye.

From now on, Dominick's

my partner in crime.

He's gonna make us a lot of money.

Well, here's to Dominick.

Darling, have you seen the car keys?

Huh?

Yes, there.

How's it going?

Splendidly.

I'm almost halfway through.

Oh good.

You can thank my strangler for that.

Dominick.

You know, he's really taking over.

I've come to know his mind.

Almost the way he feels.

That's what makes him so very real.

And so very frightening.

Hello, darling.

What's wrong?

I didn't know.

I didn't know it was you, I...

Who else did you think it was?

You silly.

Oh, I'm exhausted.

I'll make some coffee.

Do you want some?

Oh darling, what's the matter?

It's Dominick.

I saw him.

You mean you imagined him?

No, I mean,

I saw him, last night,

just before you came

back from the theater.

And again, just now.

But he's just a character

in your novel.

- I know.

You can't...

I know but I saw him.

Darling, you've been

working much too hard.

Your imagination's

playing tricks with you.

Why don't you take the day off

and come up to London with me?

No, no not till I've finished my book.

Charles?

What is it?

It's Dominick.

He's in there!

Oh, Charles!

No, no, please!

He's over there.

He's sitting in the chair.

There's nobody here.

Didn't you see him move?

He's over there.

Didn't you hear that?

He laughed.

Oh darling, please.

Toast, darling?

No, thank you.

Charles, you really must see a doctor.

But I've got a deadline, I can't.

When the book's finished...

No, now.

How much longer do you think

we can go on like this?

Alright.

So that's the story, doctor.

What do you think?

What I think doesn't matter.

It's what you think that's important.

What more can I tell you?

A good deal, Mr. Hillier.

I don't understand.

Exactly.

The point of psychiatry is

to help you to understand.

And, that takes time.

I should like to see you regularly.

At least, once a week.

Perhaps you'd have a

word with my receptionist

and make an appointment.

You do think that you can help me?

I'll try.

There's nobody here.

How's it going?

It isn't.

I think there's a storm brewing.

A storm.

Andrews keeps talking

about a storm inside me.

Everything comes from

the inside, apparently.

A projection of my own imagination.

Do you know what he actually

told me at our last session?

He said that when an

author creates a character,

it's like an actor playing a role.

And sometimes, the role takes over.

I shan't do any more work tonight.

You just relax, darling.

I'll make you a nice hot drink.

Better?

Yes, thank you, darling.

Don't touch me!

Keep away from me!

I saw him, it was Dominick.

It wasn't Dominick.

It was you.

Me?

Yes, you came up behind me.

And tried to strangle me.

Oh my God!

Oh, Charles!

Darling, what are we going to do?

I'm gonna call Dr. Andrews.

He must see you tonight.

As I've told you before, Charles.

An authors characters are an extension

of his own personality.

Sometimes, a part of it that he normally

tries to conceal from himself.

Please, try to relax.

Close your eyes.

Listen to me.

You think of yourself as

a kind and decent man.

You love your wife but you

also have hostility toward her.

Instead of expressing that hostility,

you create a character

to express it for you.

But that character is only a

creature of your imagination.

It is not real.

As I have said before,

you're like an actor who

loses himself in his role.

You've lived with this

character day after day.

You visualized his appearance,

dramatized his acts.

Thought his thoughts.

So much so that you've come to believe

that he really exists.

But he doesn't.

But I've been writing

about murderers for years.

And I've never wanted to become one.

I mean, why should I

suddenly want to do so now?

Even in my subconscious.

Well, how did it go?

Everything's taken care of.

Darling, I knew the plan would work.

Now we can go away together.

They said that I

wasn't a very good actor.

We don't have to worry

about getting work.

We'll have plenty of money now

with all the royalties on Charles's books.

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