When I was a boy in Hollywood, in the palmy days of the mid-Sixties, my father (in addition to his grocery-and-rent-paying engineering job) wrote screenplays. None of these were ever sold, alas. But while I watched Batman and the Green Hornet, and stood bemused at the antic of the hippies, Dad’s fertile imagination ground out tale after tale. One of these, written in 1967, has chilled my marrow ever since, and never more than now.

Read the Whole Article at its Original Source