Yellow - Part 4
Short Story Series: Every month Girl In Trouble presents short fiction for your troublemaking pleasure.
There are a gazillion adaptations of The Yellow Wallpaper out there - films, stage plays, and even an opera! One particular gem, however, is this radio play episode of Suspense from 1948, read by Agnes Moorehead, adapted by Sylvia Richards, and directed and produced by William N. Robson.
Suspense - The Yellow Wallpaper as read by Agnes Moorehead
Previous Installments
YELLOW
By Anna Siri
Based on “The Yellow Wallpaper” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman
Part 4 of 4
November… I think.
Dearestly dear Kikikikiki…
The third floor. For the past week, I’ve gone to bed and woken up at three-seventeen exactly in the main hallway of the third floor, staring at a particularly ugly section of wallpaper, lumpy and almost cancerous as it bulges over no-doubt rotting plywood beneath. The first time, I went back to bed, but when it happened again, I wondered what it was trying to tell me, so I sat there and stared at it until Conrad came looking for me in the morning and asked what the fuck I was doing.
He thinks I should see a therapist.
I think he should leave me the hell alone.
He wanted me to focus on the house, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. We haven’t had sex in weeks, and honestly, K, I think he’s fucking that woman who calls herself his assistant. Conrad insists he’s not, but we both know what’s going on. Wifey in the country house and piece of corporate ass in the city. Bastard. He slapped me when I suggested it, Kiki, actually slapped me. But don’t worry, I have a plan to deal with him, after I take care of the wallpaper.
My nemesis.
The Hole in the Ground (2019)
The third time I woke up in the hallway, I noticed something. It’s so astounding, Kiki, I can’t stand it. A corner of the wallpaper was peeling away. This tiny little shred of paper just begging me to rip it up!
I was so excited, I was practically trembling, and when I reached for it, it separated from the wall with a luxurious, sticky squelch that had everything in me shivering in delight. The paper peeled off in a long ribbon from the baseboard to the ceiling, leaving just enough to start tearing the next strip, and the next. By morning, the hallway was alive with strips of wallpaper, like it had crawled off the walls in tentacles and decided to take up residence on the floor and on me, sticking like garish and chartreuse and black tattoos against my skin. And under the paper, wood mottled with rot, swelling and discolored like a zit gone bad, or the bruise on my shoulder.
And I could hear her, Kiki. The woman behind the wall, whispering to me to let her out.
The Red Door (2018)
So, I trudged out to the old junk shed and dug around until I found a sledgehammer, ribbons of wallpaper clinging like a mockery of tattered haute couture on a godforsaken runway in the middle of nowhere. I’m surprised Conrad didn’t wake as I dragged that fucking sledgehammer up the stairs – it made an awful racket. But not a fucking peep from my beloved fucking husband.
And so, with the first bloody rays of the sun cracking through the window and painting the wall red, I slammed the sledgehammer into the wall again and again, gleeful when I smashed pieces of the remaining wallpaper that had eluded my tearing rampage. And then, the most satisfying CRUNCH as the sledgehammer broke through at last, and I couldn’t wait, pulling the pieces away until my hands bled red smears on the wood.
I guess he heard that, because then there were heavy footsteps on the stairs and Conrad was there, furious, demanding to know if I’d gone crazy, but I didn’t care, because the dust had cleared and with the sun spilling in through the dusty windows to the hidden and desperately sad little bedroom beyond with it’s rusting bed and barbaric shackles -
I saw her.
Sleepy Hollow (2000)
Crumpled on the floor, her withered frame sunken in that rotten black Victorian gown, not much more than a skeleton with wisps of long dark hair. And everywhere, ribbons of wallpaper, ripped from the walls with claws, stuck to the furniture, to the windows, and to her, tattered haute couture on a different runway from more than a century ago. Just like me.
You did this to her, I told Conrad, because I could see in his eyes that it was true.
She deserved it, he said.
And he shook me like a ragdoll until my teeth chattered and flung me away to crash into my twin on the floor. Then he shook his head, pressing his hands to his temples as the past and the present merged.
You brought it on yourself, Charlotte. Francie.
He shook his head, impatient, dazed.
I looked away from Conrad’s reddened eyes and into the sockets that I’m sure were once eyes of the softest brown, and felt the truth settle in the pit of my stomach, in the ache in my shoulder, in the cut so carefully covered with make-up, in the thousand small hurts of neglect and insinuation and pain.
It doesn’t matter. Francie or Charlotte. We’re the same.
But Charlotte never made it out.
The 355 (2022)
***
I never knew swinging a sledgehammer could be so satisfying, but ugh, Kiki, there was a lot of blood. So, I showered and put on that cute sweater dress you gave me for Christmas last year and packed for a weekend away. I left his ring on the bedside table. Then it was easy enough to blow out the pilot light and leave the stove on with a candle burning nearby.
The Scent of Green Papaya (1993)
Conrad never let me drive his car, and I can see why – I wouldn’t let anyone else drive this baby, either. The BOOM in the rearview mirror was so satisfying.
A quick stop to mail this letter, and if I don’t run into traffic, I’ll be in the city in a few hours. We can go to that great Moroccan place in the Village, and you can catch me up on all the goss. Of course, you won’t get this for a couple of days, but I can’t resist sending it by mail. There’s something so romantic about a handwritten letter.
OMFG, I can’t wait to squeeze you to pieces!
Your Bestie,
Francie.
P.S. I kept a scrap of the wallpaper with me. It’s odd, but I think it’s growing on me. Who would have thought?
Troublemaking Media
We’re very excited to share an audio reading of Yellow performed by the oh-so-talented Amber Gainey Meade.
Amber Gainey Meade
Amber Gainey Meade (AEA/SAG-AFTRA) is an actress and voiceover artist based in Los Angeles. She’s best known for her work in Disney’s motion capture feature films: “A Christmas Carol,” where she sang carols directly into Jim Carrey’s frowning face, and “Mars Needs Moms,” where she spoke Martian and led a military uprising against an alien dictator. You can also find Amber in scary short films such as “Caution Sign” and “Alex’s Halloween.” She studied acting at Northwestern University, where she encountered an incredible world of talented artists/writers including the fabulous Anna Siri, who never fails to write terrifying stories that give Amber nightmares but are so fun to read!
BONUS POST: Later this week, we’ll wrap up this month highlighting The Yellow Wallpaper with a post all about Charlotte Perkins Gilman, who was troubled and trouble herself in good and not-so-good ways.
Meanwhile, you can read the original story here - archived at the National Library of Medicine. The illustrations are particularly great!
Love this story and love the audio version!!