You walk into this room at your own risk, because it leads to the future, not a future that will be but one that might be. This is not a new world, it is simply an extension of what began in the old one. It has patterned itself after every dictator who has even planted the
ripping imprint of a boot on the pages of…

You walk into this room at your own risk, because it leads to the future, not a future that will be but one that might be. This is not a new world, it is simply an extension of what began in the old one. It has patterned itself after every dictator who has even planted the
ripping imprint of a boot on the pages of…

Incident on a small island, to be believed or disbelieved. However, if a sour-faced dandy named Ross or a big, good-natured counterman who handles a spatula as if he's been born with one in his mouth, if either of these two entities walk onto your premises, you'd better hold their hands - all three of them - or check…

Wintry February night, the present. Order of events: a phone call from a frightened woman notating the arrival of an unidentified flying object, and the check-out you've just witnessed with two state troopers verifying the event, but with nothing more enlightening to add beyond evidence of some tracks leading across…

Mr. Archibald Beechcroft, a child of the twentieth century, who has found out through trial and error - and mostly error - that with all its faults, it may well be that this is the best of all possible worlds. People notwithstanding, it has much to offer. Tonight's case in point - in the Twilight Zone.

A brief if frenetic introduction to Mr. Archibald Beechcroft, a child of the twentieth century, a product of the population explosion, and one of the inheritors of the legacy of progress . . .

We know that a dream can be real, but who ever thought that reality
could be a dream? We exist, of course, but how, in what way? As we
believe, as flesh-and-blood human beings, or are we simply parts of
someone's feverish, complicated nightmare? Think about it and then ask
yourself, do you live here, in this country,…

Adam Grant, a nondescript kind of man found guilty of murder and sentenced to the electric chair. Like every other criminal caught in the wheels of justice he's scared, right down to the marrow of his bones. But it isn't prison that scares him, the long, silent nights of waiting, the slow walk to the little room, or…

Mr. Jamie Tennyson, who almost won a bet, but who discovered somewhat
belatedly that gambling can be a most unproductive pursuit, even with
loaded dice, marked cards, or, as in his case, some severed vocal cords.
For somewhere beyond him a wheel was turned and his number came up black
thirteen. If you don't believe…

The note that this man is carrying across a club room is in the form of a
proposed wager, but it's the kind of wager that comes without
precedent. It stands alone in the annals of bet-making as the strangest
game of chance ever offered by one man to another. In just a moment,
we'll see the terms of the wager and what…

The last of four Rip Van Winkles who all died precisely the way they lived, chasing an idol across the sand, to wind up bleached dry in the hot sun as so much desert flotsam, worthless as the gold bullion they built a shrine to. Tonight's lesson . . . in the Twilight Zone.

The time is now and the place is a mountain cave in Death Valley, U.S.A. In just a moment, these four men will utilize the services of a truck placed in cosmoline, loaded with a hot heist cooled off by a century of sleep, and then take a drive into the Twilight Zone.

Mr. Christian Horn, one of the hardy breed of men who headed west during a time when there were no concrete highways or the solace of civilization. Mr. Christian Horn, family and party, heading west, after a brief detour through the Twilight Zone.

The year is 1847, the place is the Territory of New Mexico, the people are a tiny handful of men and women with a dream.

A toy telephone, an act of faith, a set of improbable circumstances, all combine to probe a mystery, to fathom a depth, to send a facet of light into a dark after-region, to be believed or disbelieved depending on your frame of reference. A fact or a fantasy, a substance or a shadow - but all of it very much a part of…

As must be obvious, this is a house hovered over by Mr. Death, that omnipresent player to the third and final act of every life. And it's been said, and probably rightfully so, that what follows this life is one of the unfathomable mysteries, an area of darkness which we, the living, reserve for the dead - or so it is…

Some people possess talent, others are possessed by it. When that happens, a talent becomes a curse. Jimbo Cobb knew, right from the beginning. But before Ace Larsen learned that simple truth, he had to take a short trip through the Twilight Zone.

Portrait of a man who thinks and thereby gets things done. Mr. Jimbo Cobb might be called a prime mover, a talent which has to be seen to be believed. In just a moment, he'll show his friend and you how he keeps both feet on the ground - and his head in the Twilight Zone.

Around and around she goes, and where she stops nobody knows. All Ed Lindsay knows is that he desperately wanted a second chance and he finally got it, through a strange and wonderful time machine called a radio - in the Twilight Zone.

No-one ever saw one quite like that, because that's a very special sort of radio. In its day, circa 1935, its type was one of the most elegant consoles on the market. Now, with its fabric-covered speakers, its peculiar yellow dial, its serrated knobs, it looks quaint and a little strange. Mr. Ed Lindsay is going to…