Tales From The Crypt Page #2

I have a purpose.

- What sort of game are you playing?

- Game?

You're trying to

frighten us in some way.

What do you want?

To show you something.

Something in your own mind.

Something you are capable

of doing.

I don't wanna know.

Oh, but you must know.

You must.

[Children Chattering, Laughing]

[Chattering, Laughter Continue]

Thank you.

- We knew it was you.

- You knew it was me?

Dear old Punch though,

he's very nice, isn't he?

Ah, I know some of you

have to get home rather soon.

So there's your little present,

my dear. There.

- Thank you, Mr. Grimsdyke.

- That's all right.

Now shall I tell you something?

My wife's name was Helen. Mary Helen Grimsdyke.

I always called her Helen.

It's a nice name, isn't it? Yeah.

- Bye-bye then.

- Come on, Mark. Come on, Julie.

Come and sit here.

Bye-bye, Mark. Bye-bye, Julie.

- [Barking]

- Bye.

Bye.

Two little dickey birds

sitting on a wall.

One named Peter.

One named Paul.

Fly away, Peter.

Fly away, Paul.

Come back, Peter.

Come back, Paul.

That's it. [Laughs]

You think you could do that?

[Chattering]

What are you looking at?

Grimsdyke, of course.

His usual shell out

to the kids.

He does it every year

on his birthday.

- I don't know how you stand it.

- Stand what?

Living across the road

from that man.

He's a rubbish collector.

A dustman.

His place is an eyesore.

The toys he give those kids he finds

in the rubbish heap and repairs.

- Why doesn't he sell out?

- I've made him offers.

He's- He's sentimental

about that old dump.

Says he and his wife lived there

for their whole married life.

And now he wants to die there,

just as she did.

Well, it ruins the neighborhood

and depreciates the value of our property.

The inside must be like a pigsty.

He owns the place

free and clear.

Nothing we can do about it.

- Bye-bye. See you tomorrow. Shut the gate.

- [Barking]

Bye-bye.

Isn't there?

[Footsteps In Distance]

What on earth

have you been doing?

Somebody's just made an awful mess

of Mr. Baker's garden.

Poor Grimsdyke's neighbor.

He was so proud of his prize roses.

[Man]

My prize roses.

Years ofhard work.

It's Grimsdyke's dogs for sure.

This is too much. I'd like to make

an official complaint.

- [Whimpers]

- But you mustn't take them away.

They're my friends.

Sergeant, please.

It's a court order,

and they don't have licenses.

- I couldn't afford licenses.

- I'm sorry, Mr. Grimsdyke.

Sergeant, please.

- [Dogs Whimpering]

- [Door Closing]

[Van Departs]

Darling. Darling?

Are you there, darling?

Are you there, darling?

Can you hear me?

Can you hear me?

Is there any- anything

you wish to tell me?

Ah!

[Shudders]

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