there is a fifth dimension
beyond that which is known to man.
it is a dimension as vast as space
and as timeless as infinity.
it is the middle ground between light and shadow,
between science and superstition,
and it lies between the pit of man's fears
and the summit of his knowledge.
this is the dimension of imagination.
it is an area which we call the twilight zone.
her name is nan adams.
she's 27 years old.
her occupation, buyer at a new york department store.
at present on vacation, driving cross-country
to los angeles, california, from manhattan.
how fast were you going, miss?
oh, 60, 65. something like that.
blow out, skid marks, shou lders like pu dding
and going 65 miles an hour.
lady, you're on the side of the angels,
by rights, you shouldn't have called for a mechanic.
somebody should have called for a hearse.
just follow me into town, miss.
i'll see if i can fix you up with a new tire.
thank you.
minor incident on highway 1 1 in pennsylvania.
perhaps to be filed away
under "accidents you'd walk away from."
but from this moment on,
nan adams' companion on a trip to california will be terror.
her route, fear.
her destination, quite unknown.
that's five bucks for the call,
$22.10 for the tire. the tax, $2.60.
whole thing comes to $29.70.
it's cheaper than a funeral, isn't it?
you can say that again.
Here you are, miss.
change from your two 20s.
checked the other tires for you. they look okay.
anything wrong?
no.
no, nothing's wrong.
i was just looking at that, uh,
that hitch hiker.
what hitchhiker?
he's gone now.
guess he got picked up.
probably.
it's funny, though. i saw him a little while ago
while you were changing the tire.
yeah, he probably got a lift right after we passed him.
probably.
thank you very much for all your h elp.
it's okay, miss.
have a nice, safe tri p.
thank you.
(adams, off) i saw him again 50 miles further on,
and then again on the long, straight stretch through virginia.
just standing there. not menacing, really.
if anything, drab, a little mousy.
just a shabby, silly-looking, scarecrow man.
i shouldn't even think about him at all, but,
it's the coincidence of the thing.
the fact that wherever i go, there he is.
wherever i stop, i see him.
no matter how far i travel or how fast i go,
he's ahead of me.
i'm on a turnpike now.
i don't know why it is, but i'm frightened.
a fear just about as vague as its object.
maybe it isn't really a fear.
it's more just a sense of disquiet,
a feeling that things are a little wrong.
it's vague because that's what that hitchhiker is.
he's vague.
i wonder why it is he's always there.
i wonder why i can't shake him.
do you get many hitch hikers around here?
hitch hikers, here? ooh!
rare, huh?
it couldn't be no rare.
the guy would be a fool h itching a ride on a turnpike.
look at it. miles and miles straight away,
and practically no speed limit.
now, what car is gonna stop and pick up a guy under those conditions?
would you?
no. i wou dln't.
now a guy might get a ride before the turn pike starts.
you know, maybe by the toll house or something.
but even then it would be a mighty long ride.
most cars wouldn't wanna pick up a guy for that long a ride.
and then, you know,it's kind of lonely country around here.
flat land, hills, that sort of thing.
you didn't see anyone hitching, did you?
no! no, i didn't see anyone like that
i was just wondering, that's all.
is something wrong, miss?
i don't know, i--
i was-- i was just thinking--
i was just thinking...
how good it's gonna be to be able to stop driving.
it's getting so--
i hate that car.
you'll have to wait a minute, miss.
construction ahead.
all right.
h eading west?
no!
no, i'm not h eading west, i'm sorry.
i'm not h eading west, i'm just going up the road a little way!
miss, where are you going?
(adams, off) now the fear is no longer vague.
the terror isn't formless.
it has a form.
he was beckoning me.
that thin, gray man in the cheap, shabby suit.
he was beckoning me.
he wanted me to start to cross.
he wanted me to die.
i know that now.
i don't know what to do now.
i don't know if i should turn around and go back to new york
or go on ahead.
stabbing little thoughts gouge my brain.
ugly, frightened thoughts.
projections of tomorrow and the next day
driving through plains, driving through the desert,
unspeakably, nightmarishly alone.
and i know i'll see him.
i'll see him at detours, at railroad crossings.
he'll be looking at me at stoplights.
i don't know what to do now.
i don't know what to do.
i just don't know what to do.
(adams, off) three days and three nights now of driving
past tennessee into arkansas.
three days and three nights.
stop for food and then drive.
stop for food and then drive, stop for food--
and the routine goes on.
towns go by without names, landscapes without form.
now it isn't even a trip, it's flight.
route 80 isn't a highway anymore, it's an escape route.
so i keep going, conscious of only one thing,
i've got to get where i'm going
and i can't let that hitchhiker close in on me.
(adams, off) on the fourth day, halfway across new mexico
i took a side road, hoping to lose the hitchhiker.
at 11:00 at night, the engine stopped,
and i sit there in the front seat
refrigerated by fear, out of gas!
please, somebody!
please, somebody help me!
yeah?
what is it?
what do you want?
i'm out of gas.
my car's down the road
just a quarter of a mile or so.
well, come back in the morning, and we'll fix you up.
please! i can't stay here all night.
i have to have some gas.
lady, it must be past midnight.
it's only a little bit after 1 1 :00.
well, we close up here at 9:00.
please!
i've got to have a can of gas.
i just can't stay there by myself.
there's a very suspicious-looking man there.
what about this man?
what was he doing?
well,
oh, nothing, i--
i--
he-- he just stands there
and i've,
i've been seeing this man all the time.
but he just stands there,
and he doesn't do anything.
that's nothing to wake a man up
in the middle of his sleep about.
well, i think he's trying to rob me, i--
well, if he does, then you come back here
and i'll call the sheriff.
no, please h elp me, please.
lady?
yes.
that's what i am.
i'm a lady.
what are you doing out so late?
you work here? this your place?
no.
i ran out of gas.
i'm just a little bit ways down the road,
but he won't give me any gas.
i saw your car.
you know, you left your keys in it.
do you live around here?
no, no, i'm on my way back from leave.
where you headed?
back to my ship.
san diego, that's where she is.
that's where i'm heading. san diego.
do you want a ride?
are you kidding me?
no, i'm not kidding, i mean it.
i'll take you all the way to san diego.
will you drive with me?
lady, you don't have to ask twice.
you got yourself a rider, honest.
i don't have any gas, though.
we'll fix that up.
you try the people here?
the man's in bed.
let's get him out of bed.
hey, pop, you got some custom ers out here!
say, do you mind if i take off my shoes?
my feet feel like two hot bricks.
no, go right ahead.
thanks.
you know, i keep thinking
i'll wake up or something.
middle of the night, no cars, no nothing.
who do i meet?
lady who looks like a movie star.
when i tell the guys on the sh i p,
do you know what the odds are for even one guy beli eving me?
i said, "do you know what the odds are for one guy to believe me?"
i'll write an affidavit.
we can get a notary to sign it.
you hitch hike much?
well, back and forth on leave mostly.
it's kind of tough in this open country.
trucks are all right, they'll pick you up.
but you have trouble with cars.
you know, most people in cars
won't pick up hitch hikers at night.
oh, i suppose not.
i bet if you got a,
good pickup and a fast car
you could go places faster than,
than, say, anoth er person in another car.
i suppose.
well, take me, for instance.
suppose i'm driving across the country
at a nice steady clip
of about, oh, 45 miles an hour.
couldn't a fellow like you
standing beside the road waiting for a lift
beat me to town after town,
provided he got picked up every time
in a car going about 65 to 70 miles an hour?
couldn't he?
well, i suppose.
maybe he could, and maybe he couldn't.
what difference does it make?
no difference, really, i,
just a silly kind of idea i had here
sitting in the car.
yeah.
i guess it's a good way to spend your time, though, huh?
what's going on? what's the matter?
did you see that man?
who?
you must have seen him.
the one standing beside the road.
honey, i didn't see anybody. there was nothing there.
you trying to run us off the road or something?
the thin, kind of g ray-looking man?
i didn't see anybody.
lady, you must be overtired or something.
i didn't see nobody-- nothing.
i saw him.
look, lady, maybe you'd better let me drive, huh?
you must have seen him that time.
uh-uh, i didn't see anybody.
what were you trying to do?
i was trying to h it him.
what?
that's right, i was trying to hit him.
i thought maybe if i could kill him, i could make him stop.
where you going?
no place in particular. just out of sight.
i'm going to go anyplace that puts distance
between me and this automobile.
please don't go, i just--
i don't know what came over me--
don't go.
look, baby, i'd like to get back to my ship in one piece.
and driving with you-- that is a lousy guarantee i'll ever make it.
please don't go. i promise i'll drive more carefully now. i promise.
i'm sorry, lady, i'm sorry. but you'll have to excuse me.
you can't go, you understand that? you just can't go.
i'll take you all the way into san diego.
i'll drive you right to the docks, i promise.
thanks,
but no thanks.
look, i like you.
i really like you very much, as a matter of fact
that's why i picked you up-- because i liked you.
i thought that we could be friends,
and i'd kind of like for you to take me out.
really.
please?
i'm sorry, ma'am.
no, please. please! look, i know you think i'm out of my mind,
but i've been seeing this man.
he's been following me all the way across the country.
h elp me and just stay with me till i reach the coast.
please don't go!
please?
just give me my shoes.
now, you listen, honey.
what you need is a good night's sleep.
you don't need a boyfriend, just a good night's sleep.
i'll see you around.
no!
don't go!
don't go...
(adams, off) now i'm outside of a diner near tucson.
there's a pay phone outside, and i'm going to call home,
back to new york.
put in a call to my mother,
so i can speak to someone familiar, someone i love,
someone to bring back reality to me.
just a voice
a warm, familiar voice so i won't lose my mind.
operator, i'd like to make a call to my home in new york city.
my name is nan adams.
the telephone number is trafalgar 4 1098.
hello, mother?
(woman) this is mrs. adams' residence,
whom do you wish to speak to, please?
who's this?
this is mrs. whitney.
mrs. whitney? i don't know any mrs. whitney.
is this trafalgar 41098?
yes, it is.
where's my mother? where's mrs. adams?
she's still in the hospital. a nervous breakdown.
a nervous breakdown? but there's nothing the matter with my mother.
what do you mean, a n ervous breakdown?
well, it's all taken place since the death of her daughter.
the death of her daughter?
what do you-- what do you mean, the death of her daughter?
who's this?
what number is this?
it's all been very sudden.
nan was killed just six days ago
in an automobile accident in pennsylvania.
a tire blew out and her car turned over.
(adams, off) very odd.
the fear has left me now.
i'm numb, i have no feeling.
it's as if someone had pulled out some kind of a plug in me
and everything, emotion, feeling, fear, has drained out.
and now i'm a cold shell.
i'm conscious of things around me now--
the vast night of arizona,
the stars that look down from the darkness.
ahead of me stretch a thousand miles of empty mesa--
mountains, prairies, desert.
somewhere among them, he's waiting for me.
somewhere i'll find out who he is.
i'll find out.
i'll find out what he wants.
but just now, for the first time
looking out at the night
i think i know.
i believe you're going
my way?
(male narrator) nan adams, age 27.
she was driving to california, to los angeles.
there was a detour
through the twilight zone.