Part 38 "The Tear"

PART 38: THE TEAR

Transcripts made by jack & K.M. 

CWs: insect noises, insect attack, falling, sounds of gore

(BEGIN Part 38.)

 

(The sound of rain, dripping water, and faint creaks. A piano note is slowly played, over and over.)

 

JOHN: Arthur. (More insistently.) Arthur. 

 

(A sad piano melody begins in earnest.)

 

ARTHUR: I’m thinking.

 

JOHN: We need a plan.

 

ARTHUR: Thus the thinking, John. How is Oscar? 

 

JOHN: He’s… not looking too good. His arm has been severed. The towel you wrapped in, the tourniquet he’s fashioned prior to you…

 

ARTHUR: Yes, yes.

 

JOHN: Chopping it off…

 

ARTHUR (snapping): I said yes. 

 

JOHN: It’s stopped a lot of the bleeding, but for how long? 

 

ARTHUR (worried): I-I… I don’t know. A few hours. 

 

JOHN: Hours?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t know. I think so. (He sighs.) I don’t know, we – we may need to stop the… we may need to close the wound.

 

JOHN: Close it?

 

ARTHUR: Cauterize it, w-with… heat.

 

JOHN (chiding): I think you’re missing the bigger picture here. 

 

ARTHUR: They’re still at the door.

 

JOHN: Trying to find a way in. 

 

ARTHUR: So. What is the bigger picture?

 

JOHN: You’ve been up for a long time, Arthur. I can feel how tired you are.

 

ARTHUR (annoyed): No shit. 

 

JOHN: Do you realize we woke up this morning at Marie’s? (A slow piano melody begins.) That’s right. Marie’s… to Oscar’s… to Daniel’s… the Butcher, the hospital. And now here. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes, it’s been quite the day.

 

JOHN: That’s putting it lightly. (Concerned.) Arthur. 

 

ARTHUR (wary): John?

 

JOHN: Look at you. You’re ragged. More ragged than you’ve been in a long time.

 

ARTHUR: I don’t think – 

 

(A faint creaking, from far away.)

 

JOHN (gently): Covered in Oscar’s blood, your shoes in mud… soaked through with snow… your cheeks already covered in stubble and your hair a mess. Remember how the barber styled it? Like that actor you like. 

 

ARTHUR: Clark Gable.

 

JOHN (eagerly): Clark Gable! Yes. Now you’ve lost the pomade… your suit is a mess, everything we set out to have… everything we set out to do. Our fresh start in New York. It’s all falling ap –

 

ARTHUR (accusatory): You wanted us to come here.

 

JOHN: To this house? In these woods? With him? 

 

ARTHUR (sighing in exhaustion): I’m… tired. 

 

JOHN: Of course you are. And you deserve to sleep. Arthur, you’ve… you’ve earned it. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes. Yes. Soon. We can’t… we can’t –

 

JOHN: Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: You’ve been quiet for a bit, now.

 

ARTHUR: Yes. Thinking, as I –

 

JOHN: I think you’ve come to the same realization I have. 

 

ARTHUR: Which is?

 

JOHN: This room is a safe haven, of sorts. The barricade was moved and re-moved multiple times. 

 

ARTHUR: So?

 

JOHN: Whomever hid in here… did for some time. Perhaps to sleep. Perhaps to work. 

 

ARTHUR: And?

 

JOHN: You know exactly what I’m getting at. (Arthur sighs.) These creatures will eventually leave. Eventually. But you have no way of knowing how long that will take.

 

ARTHUR: They may just settle back down.

 

JOHN: Or they may not leave again until the light of day. 

 

ARTHUR: Maybe. So what.

 

JOHN: So it’s time to look at some hard truths. (A melancholy piano melody begins.) Oscar is done for. I know you can’t see him, but his face… it’s drained of all color, devoid of the hope he may have once had. He’s resigned, Arthur. 

 

ARTHUR: You can’t see all that, you…

 

JOHN: We always knew this was a possibility, but more is needed to make it clear, Arthur. 

 

ARTHUR (softly): Oscar…

 

JOHN: Place the stone in his pocket. (Gently.) Allow yourself to rest. 

 

ARTHUR (sighing): He never should have come.

 

JOHN: No, no, he shouldn’t have, but he did. And here we are.

 

ARTHUR: Scratch –

 

JOHN: Scratch will be pleased, Hattie will be free, and we will have one more ally in the world.

 

ARTHUR: And one less.

 

JOHN: Yes, but Scratch is… powerful, Arthur, there’s no denying it. And Oscar… Oscar is… well. He’s served his purpose. 

 

ARTHUR: I suppose. He did serve his purp…(He doesn’t finish.)

 

JOHN: The pocket on his left pant leg is open, and the mattress… though used, will at least be a comfortable place to rest your head. (Arthur grunts, stands. Encouragingly.) Yes, yes! Straight across the room, Arthur. N-No, that’s the door. (Insect chittering is audible, though muffled.) Yes, they’re still on the other side of it. Still waiting to get in. And they won’t leave…

 

ARTHUR (rambling): Oscar was in the… stove in the other room, he was… he was looking in there… that stove…

 

JOHN: Arthur, Oscar isn’t… (A quick piano melody begins.) What are you doing?

 

ARTHUR: The roof.

 

JOHN: Yes.

 

ARTHUR: The chimney in the other room fell over. I-It… put a hole in it.

 

JOHN: Yes, and?

 

ARTHUR: It’s barely holding together, that – that stack must’ve been very tall, and yet!

 

JOHN: Arthur, what does this have to do with –

 

ARTHUR (quietly): Fell right through.

 

JOHN: You need to rest.

 

ARTHUR: Stop. (Louder.) Stop it!

 

JOHN: What?

ARTHUR (angrily): I’m not putting the stone on Oscar, John.

 

JOHN: Why. Not. You said that you –

 

ARTHUR: I said we would if we had no other options.

 

JOHN: What other options are there, Arthur!? For fuck’s sake, there are hundreds of things out there in the hallway, just waiting to get in here. Hundreds. What happened to Oscar’s arm was when just one of those things got him. We are trapped in this room.

 

ARTHUR: No.

 

JOHN: Without – (Clanking of metal.)

 

ARTHUR: Not true.  (More clanking. Arthur’s grunts of exertion, creaking of wood.)

 

JOHN: You’re moving the barricade!?

 

ARTHUR: No! I’m climbing it. (He starts to climb, the furniture squeaking and creaking below him.)

 

JOHN: Jesus! The ceiling isn’t broken here, Arthur, what are you –

 

(Objects clatter to the floor.)

 

ARTHUR: It’s barely holding together, John. I’m sure of it. The roof collapsed in the other room, I’m wagering… this much snow and water, it’s not going to take much to –

 

JOHN (flabbergasted): And then what!? Stop! (Shouting.) Stop!

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN (fed up): Jesus fucking Christ, Arthur. Fine. You break out of the house and get onto the roof, then what? What if you can’t get down from the roof? What if you can’t get back inside? What are you going to do then? 

 

ARTHUR: I will find a way to stop them.

 

JOHN: Fuck.

 

ARTHUR (to himself, continuing to climb): Here. Here.

 

JOHN: Careful.

 

ARTHUR (sighing, breathing hard): The roof is sagging, i-it’s…

 

JOHN: What are you…?

 

ARTHUR: It’s soft. It’s wet. (Exerting himself.) It’s soaked through. (He strikes the roof.) And… barely… holding…! Come on. (He breaks through. Outside, rain falls heavily.) I knew it! Okay. Okay.

 

JOHN: What now, Arthur?

 

ARTHUR (panting): I’m going to climb through, get to the roof! Circle back around, find a way to draw them, and get Oscar to the car, and…

 

JOHN: What are you even talking about!? 

 

ARTHUR: I’m not giving up, John! I’m not dooming Oscar, not like this. (Brief suspenseful music.) Not like this, and…

 

JOHN (yelling): God damn it, Arthur! (He pants in anger.) Fine. Listen to me. At least leave the stone with Oscar. In case something should happen, you get knocked unconscious or we can’t make it back in here! Look. Look. You want to try to get out of here, you want to carve your way through this room… I won’t stop you.

 

But at least leave the stone with Oscar. Just in case. It is the smart call and you know it.

 

ARTHUR (echoing slightly): No! No. The stone stays with us.

 

(An ominous sting.) 

 

JOHN: Arthur, are you kidding me!? (Metal clangs. Arthur grunts in exertion.) Arthur! (Wood creaks.)  I understand you’re used to ignoring me, but this is idiotic! This is an unnecessary risk!

 

ARTHUR: I can’t give up on Oscar. (He strains himself, panting in exhaustion. Thunder booms.)

 

JOHN: What the fuck are you doing out here? This roof is slick with ice and snow! You can’t even –

 

ARTHUR: We need to find a way down! (He walks.)

 

JOHN: If you’d stop moving for one moment, I could help –

 

ARTHUR: I can get to the eavesdrop –

 

JOHN: Arthur! For fuck’s sake. Listen to me! Before you… (Suspenseful music rises.)

 

ARTHUR: Wha – (Arthur makes a noise of alarm. His shoes squeak. He falls, strains… the music abruptly cuts out, and then he hits the ground with a thud. John groans. Arthur makes noises of pain.)

 

JOHN (annoyed): Arthur.

 

ARTHUR (in pain): Ah, fuck. (John grunts.) Okay. I’m okay. 

 

JOHN (fed up): I am so sick of being treated like I don’t exist! (Arthur grunts.) Why are you not listening to me? 

 

ARTHUR: The backdoor.

 

JOHN: Are you kidding me? (Arthur walks.) Am I so fucking incidental to you? Ever since Oscar joined us… even before, you’ve ignored me! Belittled me, doubted me! Why? You have made me feel useless. Answer me, god damn it!

 

ARTHUR (blurting): I don’t want to! 

 

JOHN: What? Why?

 

ARTHUR: Because… Because of what you may say. Because… Because of what I’ll… I’ll learn.

 

JOHN: What? What are you even talking about?

 

ARTHUR: I can’t have you… be… (He stops, sighs.) I can’t bear the thought that you’ve… tricked me.

 

JOHN: What do you mean, ‘tricked’ you?

 

ARTHUR: I-I don’t want to talk about this, I-I don’t –

 

JOHN (roaring): God damn it, Arthur!

 

ARTHUR (giving it back): Fine! (Normally.) That moment… a few days ago. (A gentle piano melody begins.) In Larson’s house. When I was at my lowest. When you told me you wouldn’t let me drown. 

 

JOHN: Yes.

 

ARTHUR: I needed that. And I… I can’t… I can’t bear the thought… of learning that it was empty. 

 

JOHN: Who on Earth said it was empty?

 

ARTHUR: I moved the axe, John. I moved it from where you said to hit. 

 

JOHN (quietly): So?

 

ARTHUR: You aimed it too high. You wanted me to kill him. You want Oscar dead. Don’t you?

 

(A slow piano melody begins.)

 

JOHN: How can you say that? After everything we’ve worked for, our time in the pit… me pulling you back from the brink of –

 

ARTHUR (as if to himself): This is why I can’t talk to you. I, I know –

 

JOHN: Then don’t! Then don’t.

 

ARTHUR (insistent): I know you feel like you’ve changed, I-I know that. But losing the keys… missing the turn-off… i-ignoring the basement… and now, trying to get me to sleep? You’ve been wasting time.

 

JOHN: I told you, I couldn’t –

 

ARTHUR: I believed you. For some of them. And I – And I do believe that… that something beyond your control is making you miss things, making you not see the full picture at times, but… but I also fear that you’re using it as an excuse. You’ve been doing it since before leaving New York. Knowing… that if you kill enough time… I’d leave the stone with Oscar. 

 

JOHN: How can you say that –

 

ARTHUR: By talking about this. Realizing this out loud. (Hurt.) It’s painful, John, I… I have to believe you’ve changed, because…

 

JOHN: Arthur. Listen to me. I did change, I have changed. This is nonsense. You’re making things up to suit whatever –

 

(A chilling horror sting.)

 

ARTHUR (fiery): Don’t you fucking do that! 

 

JOHN: Don’t what?

 

ARTHUR: Don’t fucking try to convince me I’m wrong when I fucking know it’s true! Don’t you dare do that.

 

JOHN: I –

 

ARTHUR: Tell me. Right now. (Commanding.) Tell me. Did you see those keys before I found them?

 

JOHN: I told you –

 

ARTHUR: Tell me right – (He pauses. Emphatically.) Tell me right fucking now, John. And this one matters.

 

(A long pause. Only rain.)

 

JOHN: Yes. I saw them. 

 

ARTHUR: I couldn’t figure out why, at first. I didn’t understand. O-Or at least, I didn’t want to. And I figured you… maybe wanted to talk.

 

JOHN: You think I want to kill Oscar? I was the one who mentioned his story was wrong. About Father McKenna. You seemed open to the prospect of taking a life! Not me. 

 

ARTHUR (flatly): Did I.

 

JOHN (self-righteously): You made it seem like the killing was justified. How dare you throw this back in my face. Do you not remember the mines? You wanted to leave those people there. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes. And this is why my mind has been circling. You wanted to change when you first came back. In the mines, I was… hell-bent on survival. You hadn’t been there, Larson was… a monster, and Faroe brought you back. 

 

(Faroe’s Lullaby begins to play.)

 

JOHN: Yes.

 

ARTHUR: I wanted to survive. I wanted to press forward. I needed to get out of the mines, and I –

 

JOHN: And I was the voice of reason.

 

ARTHUR: Yes. You were disappointed that I didn’t seem to care, but… was that what upset you? (Thoughtfully.) Or… was it that I was your beacon of morality? And since you had latched onto me… and if I faltered… then what does that make you?

 

JOHN: That’s not fair.

 

ARTHUR: You were so defensive of Yellow. But was that because he deserved the benefit of the doubt, or because he was you, unchanged? And the more I said, was negative about him… the more it said about you. I even confronted you about Eddie.

 

JOHN: I killed him because he attacked us.

 

ARTHUR: And you admitted to lavishing taking his life!

 

JOHN: Recognizing it was wrong!

 

ARTHUR: And you wanted me to know you changed. 

 

JOHN (taken aback): You think I haven’t…

 

ARTHUR: I think… I… I… I think I’ve… made many mistakes. I think it’s easy to be altruistic and level-headed when you have nothing you desire, nothing you’re battling against at stake. I believe now… being tested, you’ve… forgotten what it means to fight against that darkness. (More uncertain.) And I… I think I… I’m realizing that… that’s exactly how I’ve been failing you. 

 

JOHN (shocked): What?

 

(A gentle piano melody plays.) 

 

ARTHUR: What you said, in Larson’s house… it was genuine and real, I-I know that. You couldn’t… see me go down a dark path, but… but it takes more than a few months to shed untold years of violence, oppression, and terror as the King in Yellow… and in that way, you’re still so… young. And I forget that. I treat your moments of compassion as if you’re… reaching a turning point in the road, rather than… a boy, shaping his personality. 

 

JOHN: What the fuck does that mean?

 

ARTHUR: It means you have no idea how to handle things like… shame and boredom, contempt. Satisfaction. And jealousy, and… and I’ve unfairly expected you to handle them as if you were an adult. You’re not inconsistent. You’re just a child. 

 

JOHN: I…

 

ARTHUR: I know you’re capable of hurting Oscar. I guessed you’d want him gone. I underestimated how far you’d go to be rid of him.

 

JOHN: Arthur. I didn’t –

 

ARTHUR: Listen to me. I’m realizing… what is wrong here. And it’s… me. I-I forget that I’m responsible for you, like I was for Yellow. I failed at showing Yellow what it means to be human, and… in a number of hours, he went from an empty vessel to becoming the King in Yellow incarnate. And I’ve been failing you lately, as well. I’m… I’m seeing that. Is that why you’ve been slipping away? Is that why you can’t see certain things? With Yellow, I was so… poor at shaping him, I was… I was so angry with him. I made him… feel small. Is it me that’s causing you to fail? Is it my lack of trust?

 

JOHN: Arthur. (Arthur gasps in surprise.) I don’t know what to say.

 

ARTHUR: Just… tell me the truth. 

 

JOHN: The truth? I don’t care about this. Any of this. (A brief horror sting of music.) Oscar, the farm, Scratch…

 

ARTHUR: The deal with Scratch…

 

JOHN: Was a deal you took. I told you not to –

 

ARTHUR: So what do you care about, then!?

 

JOHN: You! And getting to the Order of the Fallen Star. 

 

ARTHUR: The fuck… (Shouting.) The fucking Order!? (John tries to speak and stops himself.) Who cares, John? Why is that more important to you than Scratch? (At a loss.) I, I don’t get you! 

 

JOHN: Be – (He cuts himself off and speaks quietly.) You don’t have to get me.

 

ARTHUR: Apparently, I do! (Angry.) Because I’m your fucking keeper, and if I don’t placate your emotions, you’ll have me kill someone who’s getting between us!

 

JOHN: Yes, I want Oscar gone! Is that what you wanted to hear?

 

ARTHUR: Yes. 

 

JOHN: Well, I want him gone.

 

ARTHUR: Okay. Okay. Well. (He sighs.) I’m not going to kill Oscar, or condemn him to Scratch’s fate. But when this is over… we’ll… we’ll leave him be. (He stutters.) What else is there? (Conciliatory.) So he’ll be gone. Okay? 

 

JOHN: Now listen to me. (Earnestly.) I recognize… now, I see… how wrong my approach to… to getting back to just you and I has been, but. Understand… I have no… out, Arthur. I don’t have the luxury of talking to new people. Interacting with new friends. No one but you can hear me, for fuck’s sake. Does that justify what I’ve been doing, of course not. But I… you have no idea how it feels to be so isolated. 

 

ARTHUR: I can’t not talk to people, John. It’s not… it’s not fair to have me forced to talk to only you, either.

 

JOHN: Yes, but at least you have the choice. 

 

ARTHUR (at a loss): So what do I do? What… h-how do I fix this? 

 

JOHN: I don’t know. But we don’t exactly have time to figure it out right now.

 

ARTHUR: Fine. Work with me to end Scratch. And we’ll… leave Oscar behind, in the end. Okay?

 

JOHN: Fine. 

 

ARTHUR: Alright. (He grunts, sighs, and walks.) Alright, we need to head to the basement.

 

JOHN: Where all those creatures were?

 

ARTHUR: Were. They’ve been drawn upstairs, and if they’re all still there…

 

JOHN: Then the basement will be empty.

 

ARTHUR: Emptier, at least.

 

JOHN: Fine. We should go get the book from the car, first.

 

ARTHUR: Why?

 

JOHN: Because if Oscar doesn’t wake up, we’ll need to know what he learned about Scratch. About these Forgotten Ones.

 

ARTHUR: We’ve already wasted time –

 

JOHN (insistent): Please, Arthur. Look. I’m not who I want to be… yet. Clearly, the King still lingers, only surface-deep… in times, I feel… jealous, or angry… but that doesn’t mean I’m not still making efforts. You’re right, okay? I may not want Oscar as our friend, but I… I made a mistake. I want to work to keep him alive. Whatever’s in that book can help. I’m sure of it.

 

(Arthur sighs.)

 

ARTHUR: Okay, okay. Alright. 

 

JOHN: Thank you.

 

ARTHUR: Look, I can’t guarantee we’ll have time to read it. Once those… things know we’re in the basement, I…

 

JOHN: They didn’t know we were in the house. Not for a fair amount of time, at least. Maybe they –

 

ARTHUR (considering): That’s… true. That’s true. 

 

JOHN: Left.

 

ARTHUR (softly): Oh. (Normal volume.) Why didn’t they know we were there, at first? Or rather… what caused them to…?

 

JOHN: Oscar.

 

ARTHUR: Oscar?

 

JOHN: He was looking in the stove.

 

ARTHUR: The stove, right. While you were looking at the painting.

 

JOHN (quizzical): Painting?

 

ARTHUR: Yes, don’t you remember? There was –

 

JOHN: Car. Here.

 

ARTHUR: Oh. 

 

JOHN: Left.  (The car door squeaks open.) It’s on the seat before you.

 

ARTHUR: Alright. (He begins to search.) Was it Oscar looking at the stove that caused the creatures to come?

 

JOHN: What do you mean?

 

ARTHUR: Before. He bumped into the barricade, remember?

 

JOHN: Yes.

 

ARTHUR: That caused a loud disturbance. Maybe they heard the crashing.

 

JOHN: Heard?

 

ARTHUR: Or… felt the vibrations. (At a loss.) I don’t, I don’t know.

 

JOHN: Would they not have heard… or felt, you moving up the stairs? Or even falling?

 

ARTHUR: Maybe. Maybe it wasn’t even loud enough. Maybe you’re right about the stove. Metal would be a much better conductor for sound and vibrations. Perhaps it drew them straight to us.

 

JOHN: Oscar mentioned something about the stove connecting to downstairs. If it connects to the basement instead… maybe it explains how they traveled up so quickly.

 

ARTHUR: They came from everywhere, right?

 

JOHN: Yes, pouring up from around the stairs, mainly.

 

ARTHUR: And out of the stove.

 

JOHN: While we were in that room, yes.

 

ARTHUR: Did you see where they came from on the main floor?

 

JOHN: I think the den area.

 

ARTHUR: Which also had a stove. If they’re all connected to the basement –

 

JOHN: We know they came from the basement. Why does that –

 

ARTHUR: Because if we could draw them back down, close the grates on all the other stoves, plug the holes… we could trap them down there.

 

JOHN (not into it): Arthur.

 

(A sad melody plays.)

 

ARTHUR: Look, look. We’re going to need to get Oscar out of that room eventually, which means we need to draw them away. (Determinedly.) We’re not leaving him.

 

JOHN: I know.

 

ARTHUR: Anyway. I suppose, let’s just take this one step at a time. (The bag rustles.)

 

JOHN: Agreed.

 

ARTHUR: Okay. 

 

(The car door shuts. They walk off.)

 

JOHN: Regardless of whether they can sense sound or vibrations, you should limit the amount you say inside. At least until we’re ready to draw them to us.

 

ARTHUR: Alright.

 

JOHN: The back door is to your left. (Arthur grunts and opens the door. The rain quiets. Arthur walks forward, steps echoing.) I can still hear the insects upstairs. They still seem to be… around Oscar’s door. They don’t hear us. For the moment. The hatch is just before us, at the back of the stairs. The wisps of violet smoke still linger from its edges… (The hatch budges. Arthur groans.) Quietly! (Arthur strains himself. The hatch opens. A low echo emanates within.) There are a set of thin steps leading down into the darkness, toward the earthen floor of the cellar.

 

(Arthur starts to walk. The stairs creak below him. Slowly, the hatch shuts. Arthur sighs. At a distance, some sediment falls.)

 

JOHN: Arthur… the cellar is… it looks as though it was a root cellar. A small room to store jarred goods and produce, but… a tunnel has been carved out of the earthen wall. It’s far too dark in here. (The bag rustles.) You’ll need something to – (Arthur flicks his lighter. John breathes audibly.) It opens up wider down the trench-like passage before us. Wooden slats hold back the loose earth on either side. The haze seems everywhere. 

 

(Arthur walks forward on soft earth.)

 

ARTHUR (whispering): This was made by hand? Carved out after the house was built?

 

JOHN: If the stove connects to down here, then… I suppose it’s part of the house. (Arthur sighs.) Though it may be something the Allan family added themselves, though it does look well-traveled. Be careful. The muddy floor is frozen but strips of wood have been set down to form… a pathway. If this was made after the house was built… why? Ahead of us, it opens into a large area. (In amazement.) Jesus, Arthur.

 

This room is carved from the earth, it… looks as though it’s been excavated with shovel and pick. The floor sinks down ahead, but it’s too dark to see past the small hill, the walls are… muddy. Work was done here, lots of work. There’s a lantern here.

 

ARTHUR (whispering): Lantern! Where’s the lantern?

 

JOHN: On the wall, to your right, but… (In alarm.) Arthur. This space… it’s like… the barn. Fused with another world. Be careful. (The lantern squeaks.) The floor drops down a few feet. A gradual hill. Frozen mud. A wooden partition is erected, splitting the room. I imagine to keep the floor above from collapsing. They were digging something up! 

 

Careful! (Arthur grunts. Some sediment falls.) It drops down here. Thick ropes of what look like mucus are running from the top of the slope… to the ground, which is lower here. The ground itself is harder, like packed clay or stone. Why would they dig here?

 

It’s… (Shocked.) Oh. 

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN (amazed): It’s covered in carvings. Images I can’t make sense of, covered in dirt and mud. The words are… alien. Bizarre, even to me. 

 

ARTHUR (realizing): This was here long before. 

 

JOHN: Arthur… at the lowest point of the floor here… where they’ve uncovered the stonework… there is a vault. A stone vault. And it’s been… opened. 

 

(Slow suspenseful music plays briefly.)

 

ARTHUR: They dug something up.

 

JOHN: Yes. Careful. It, too, is covered with those strange markings.

 

ARTHUR: How large?

 

JOHN: Large enough to hold any number of objects, including that book we found, destroyed in the hidden room at Marie’s.

 

ARTHUR: My God.

 

JOHN: There’s also a small writing desk in the corner here. They must’ve dragged it down the cellar hatch, or assembled it here. It has paper strewn about. A crate sits next to it on the floor, with bottles –

 

ARTHUR: What brought them here? What possessed them to…

 

JOHN: Do you think they bought this land, this house, because of… what was underneath it?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t know. Maybe. It seems odd. 

 

JOHN: What does?

 

ARTHUR: Why build a house and then… after, excavate beneath, if you knew what was already down here?

 

JOHN: Isn’t it stranger to think they just happened upon this?

 

ARTHUR: Yeah, I-I don’t know. Look, whatever was in there clearly set this family on a path toward whatever brought Scratch into being.

 

JOHN: There’s another tunnel leading out of here. It seems… darker, down there.

 

ARTHUR: We need to check the desk first.

 

JOHN: Right.

 

(Arthur moves, grunting softly.)

 

ARTHUR: It doesn’t smell down here. Like I thought it would, like… Oscar said.

 

JOHN: The decay? No. 

 

ARTHUR: Did we miss something?

 

JOHN: Oh! There’s another stove here. The one that must connect to the rest of the house. 

 

ARTHUR: They brought a stove down here? To what, thaw the ground? Make it easier to dig?

 

JOHN: Would it?

 

ARTHUR: I-I have no idea, possibly. (A small pause.) But-But wait!

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR: You said the stove has a metal chimney, right?

 

JOHN: Yes, it runs up to the one in the den and then to the one in the collapsed room.

 

ARTHUR: Well, isn’t… well, it was a brick chimney that fell through the roof upstairs, on the top floor.

 

JOHN (what’s it matter): So?

 

ARTHUR: So where’s the fireplace? Or-Or the stove attached to the chimney, that this house was built with?

 

JOHN (not understanding): These… stoves…

 

ARTHUR: Are recent additions, no? Was there a fireplace in the den?

 

JOHN: Not that I could see. Look, this isn’t really important right now, is it?

 

ARTHUR: No, I-I suppose not.

 

JOHN: One thing at a time.

 

ARTHUR: Right, the desk. 

 

JOHN: Here. 

 

ARTHUR: Okay, look. (The lantern clangs.) This is the only place we haven’t looked. There has to be answers here. About what happened, about Scratch… about these Forgotten Ones… maybe even Hypnos. 

 

JOHN (sighing, annoyed): There are a lot of pages here, Arthur. What am I looking for?

 

ARTHUR: Whatever stands out.

 

JOHN: It could take hours to read all of this.

 

ARTHUR: Well, we don’t have hours, we –

 

JOHN: I know. That’s why I’m asking, what word should I be scanning for?

 

ARTHUR: Right, right. Okay. I… (Pages shuffle. Arthur sighs.) I-I suppose –

 

JOHN: This… (Pages continue to turn.) This looks like a page from a journal. From Edward William Allan, he wrote of his time here.

ARTHUR: Does it?

JOHN: Yes… I-I think… Where does it start? 

ARTHUR: Okay… read it and then… and then look for something with ‘time dilation’, I think.

(Somber tune begins to play.)

JOHN: You’re sure?

ARTHUR: Yes, look, Oscar mentioned Hypnos but half of the things Hypnos does…. or-or did… well, they don’t seem to apply. It would be a gamble at best. And Forgotten Ones, which may very well be what Scratch is… well. it wouldn’t be something created… purposefully. At least not here, at the farm.

JOHN: Right.

ARTHUR: Scratch may very well be worth searching but… time dilation seems like something new… something specific to –

JOHN (cutting him off): Maybe… Yes. The page to your left.

ARTHUR: Oh! Right. (He turns the pages.)

JOHN: There! 

ARTHUR: To-To being a big piece of whatever Scratch is – (JOHN (distracted): Yes.) So, yeah.

JOHN: I think I found where it starts o-or at least… close enough to the beginning.

ARTHUR: Okay. Well. (The pages crinkle.)

JOHN (reading): ‘I believe I have found the location of the vault. As it had claimed to foresee, a family unknowingly live above it. They too are haunted by nightmares, though they know not the source. The Allan family: a wife, husband, and two grown children. I spoke with the man, under the guise of a young parishioner. The son is approximately my age. I shall acquire this boy’s identity just as I will usurp his house and land to unearth what lay beneath the soil.’ 

ARTHUR (surprised): Usurp? Wait.

JOHN: There’s more. Further down the page. A few days later, perhaps.

(Reading.) ‘I was cautioned not to bury the bodies in the earthen soil of the farm. My dream-visitor led me here and warned of the creatures that may come from my fissure. They can perform a great number of feats including the reanimation of dead flesh. As I have been led this far by my nightmare-dwelling companion, of whom I do not trust completely, it felt pertinent to heed its warning. I bricked the remains of the family up within the chimney and have purchased metal stoves to provide warmth during this winter. I’ve already begun to use the boy’s name. Not an eyebrow was raised.’ 

ARTHUR: Edward William Allan isn’t…

JOHN (surprised): No. 

ARTHUR (disturbed): Who is this? 

JOHN: I have no idea… but this wasn’t the real Edward William Allan.

ARTHUR: Is there more?

JOHN (eager): Yes! (Reading.) ‘My attempts thus far have seemingly been worthwhile. The exact position of the plane I seek is difficult to narrow down and my dream-visitor seems to have ideas of their own as to where I should be looking. I know not their true intentions and, despite their help in finding the vault and tome within, I do not intend to serve their goals. 

My mission is my own. To open and sustain a gateway. A passage to the realm of the outer gods. This book, as my nightmare-dweller had assured, does in fact contain the necessary invocations to pierce the fabric of our world and establish a gateway… however, much like the longitude and latitude of a map’s coordinates require their correlated numbers, so do the prose of this text demand a calculated and measured tongue. (Page flip.) 

To put it plainly, extending a vowel or elongating the phonetic pronunciation of a word within the incantation greatly affects the position of the gateway on the other side. It is for this reason I have opened, and subsequently closed, a great number of gateways within the barn and it is for this reason I now fight against the alien infestation that occupies a small portion of the farm. It matters not. I shall endure. Nothing will prevent my objective.’

Beneath it, he’s written out a number of words with… lines, like a musical notation, denoting how long each word should be held for.

ARTHUR: Is this… (Pages flip.) This is a passage to open a gateway?

JOHN (growing more certain): I think… so, yes!

ARTHUR: To where? 

JOHN (in awe): I don’t know!

ARTHUR: Could it be the Dreamlands?

JOHN: There are far greater worlds out there, far more sinister and powerful domains.

(Slow footsteps.) 

ARTHUR: The being that brought him here, you don't think… the dream-visitor was…?

JOHN: Scratch?

ARTHUR: Yes.

JOHN: It’s possible. But why a gateway? And how were they different goals? He said he did not ‘intend to serve their goal.’

ARTHUR: Why did Scratch not exist here, then? What connects all of this to Marie’s home? (Pages flip.)

JOHN (focusing): Yes. This looks like the last page – of the journal, at least. He’s written something below this passage as well, similar to the incantation to open the gateway. It too has lines to denote how long to hold each word. 

ARTHUR: Another incantation? A different… gateway, to another location, maybe?

JOHN: I don’t know, there are still many pages here, I’m going to scan for time dilation after this, but… well, here’s what the last page says.

(Reading.) ‘Much has finally become clear. I am soon to leave this place for the city as my days of experimenting are behind me. I feel certain I have deciphered through trial and error the correct passage that will relocate the gateway so it may finally touch the domain I so desperately seek and relocating it is, after all, what I am doing. It seems my understanding of these passages, as they pertain to the openings I’ve been making, was far too simple – or at least, this is what my dream companion would have me believe. 

I unknowingly chose the most apt of words previous when I spoke of piercing the fabric of our world, as it seems much like the piercing of flesh with a knife. Once the knife is withdrawn, the wound still exists… gaping, the skin stretched and torn. Dripping blood, until such a time as it clots, or perhaps bleeds the man dry. 

Upon creating my first doorway, the web of our world was fractured in a way that does not allow me to open and close passages to the outer dimensions but rather that pathway is now and always will be opened as if I were to have my proverbial ‘foot in the door’. Instead of creating a new pathway each time, I simply move the door to where I want it next. 

(Growing more excited.) Of course, closing the gateway, repairing this tear permanently is possible, and as a precaution, I have transcribed the method below. I say precaution for two notable and somewhat growing concerns: the first being these alien visitors. They’ve become quite the nuisance. They seem drawn to heat. Whether they come from a plane of extreme warmth or our casual climate is far too chilly, they tend to hide themselves in the long grass and generally dwell above ground while the July sun shows itself and so I have taken to the darker, colder corners of the basement, moving my desk and studies down here near the vault and ceremonial plinth. 

However, seeing as my experiments in locating the god-realm had required space… I, in a matter of weeks, tunneled through to the barn from the cellar, allowing me to avoid them altogether and continue my work. All in all, their presence is no longer a disruption. However, I do believe repairing the tear will eliminate them entirely and so I have the passage written below. 

(Faroe’s Song starts to play.)

Beyond them, and perhaps the true reason I hold close the idea of severing the connection between this world and the next, lay mainly in my second concern: my dream visitor. They have become increasingly… impatient. It was they who helped me find the exact coordinates I have been seeking and while I have my doubts about them, I do believe our goals are aligned in locating the realm of the gods. I believe their goal is to enter our world, and so, should something happen to me, should they attempt to enter this world or myself… I will be drawing a fail-safe sigil on the floor of the final gateway. 

Its purpose to be that if I should step from it, by my own volition, the gateway will be closed and they will remain trapped – perhaps where they currently reside and in a state between our two worlds. Of course, the tear will remain but save for a few creatures in this house on Boulder Road, no one should be bothered.’ 

(Pages flip.) This is the last bit.

(Reading.) ‘Regardless, this will be my last journal entry. I have everything I need in the tome. I shall leave these pages here for now and will come collect them in the future. Should something happen, undoubtedly other followers will come and perhaps, they too will seek the eye of the gods. In that case, I hope these words will help you, my brother.

Good luck on your quest to meet their gaze. 

I can only hope that I have witnessed them first.’

ARTHUR (whispering): God…

JOHN (baffled): What does this mean… what does –

ARTHUR: So… this gateway… or rather the fabric between this alien world and ours… is still torn. It’s still open. That’s why Scratch is here. He’s trapped between this world and his own. Unable to leave either. 

JOHN: If we close the gateway, seal the tear that this man made twenty years ago, then –

ARTHUR: You read it. He said that repairing the tear would eliminate them. He wrote the passage to do so as a failsafe. There’s no reason it wouldn’t work on eliminating Scratch as well. 

(A pause. A high-pitched noise at a distance.)

JOHN: So… this tunnel to our left…

ARTHUR: Leads to the barn. To where I imagine the lingering effects of the fracture still emanate from. 

(A pause.)

JOHN: It can’t be that simple.

ARTHUR: Why not? (Hopeful music begins.) With all we’ve been through, with everything we’ve faced and accomplished, why can’t – for once, it be a simple recitation to end all this. 

JOHN: I suppose if the damage had already been done and we’re simply cleaning up –

ARTHUR (firmly): The damage absolutely has been done. Oscar has lost his arm from these creatures, Marie has lost her sister, her husband. This stone, John… (Suspenseful music briefly plays. His bag rustles.) It’s just another way to keep this creature anchored in this world… when it needs to be sent back to whatever hell it came from. 

JOHN (giving in): Very well.

ARTHUR: Okay, well. Let’s head to the barn and…

JOHN: Wait! Time dilation. 

ARTHUR: Right, yes! Yes… scan quickly, if… if anything is mentioned – (Pages flip.)

JOHN: I-I did and it seems like he did find something.

ARTHUR: Oh.

JOHN (reading): ‘…set my watch and when I returned, despite having been nearly an hour tentatively exploring the bizarre alien forest on the other side, my watch only displayed less than a minute. This time dilation speaks volumes to the dream visitor… and brings about a question that lingers in the back of my mind. It speaks as though it desires to aid me in finding the gods, yet tends to challenge my every step. 

When it first appeared to me, a year ago, its silver eyes and violet skin appeared blurred and unfocused, like clumps of black hair. But as I grow closer to my goal, I feel it come into focus. Its coat – is it a guise? A deception, like its name? Is it merely wearing this facade and if so, what are its true intentions? We’ve spoken at length in nightmares. It speaks of fear and the taste of evil, yet I feel a prickling at the back of my mind as if it wants more, as if this… is merely a character it’s playing. A demonic sheet with holes cut for eyes. What entity puppets this dream visitor and what about it fills me with… awe? Is it from another plane… or a prison? I shall dream of it tonight, I find its words… almost seductive.’ (Pages flip.)

ARTHUR: Scratch… is a guise?

JOHN (demanding): How?

ARTHUR (uncertain): I don’t know. I don’t think so. That’s not the impression I got from him. Even if he were… Why?

JOHN (worried): I don’t know.

ARTHUR: If Oscar was right about him being a Forgotten One, and if Allan, or whomever this person was,  did in fact die after opening the gateway down in New York, then… it's possible Scratch was trapped in our world when it closed.

JOHN: Why would the gateway close?

ARTHUR: Well, he said something to that effect. (Recalling.) He’d made a sigil and if, uh, the being tried to escape or possess him he would step off it and would…

JOHN (remembering): Right, right.

ARTHUR: So… (He trails off.)

JOHN: So.

(Some footsteps.)

JOHN: What if Scratch doesn’t remember what he was? Or whom. 

ARTHUR: What do you mean? 

JOHN: It’s clear that Allan –

ARTHUR: Not Allan.

JOHN: (Annoyed.) Well, whomever. It’s clear they thought that Scratch was manipulating him, wearing the demonic guise as a façade.

ARTHUR (following): Yes. 

JOHN: If whatever was pretending to be Scratch became trapped, a Forgotten One, it’s possible they forgot their true form as well. 

ARTHUR: Is it? 

JOHN: I mean, look at me! Yellow, as well. Both of us, when fractured…

ARTHUR: Completely forgot who you were.

JOHN: If remnants of Scratch still lingered after being severed, after being trapped in a closed gateway…

ARTHUR: It’s possible Scratch just assumed that’s what he was? If so… what are we sending back? What entity is being thrown back to its home? 

JOHN: I think the question is more… will closing the gateway trap Scratch here permanently?

ARTHUR (confused): What? What are you talking about? 

JOHN: You’ve assumed that closing the gateway would eliminate Scratch, the way this man has explained the insect creatures being eliminated. 

ARTHUR: Right.

JOHN: But Scratch is bound here by that stone, what if closing the tear only means you unbind Scratch? Release him fully from his shackles to haunt the dreams of whomever he so chooses. 

ARTHUR (cautiously): John…

JOHN: Think about it. If that stone has the power to tie him to a soul, who's to say it doesn’t have the power to keep him here. (A quick paced piano melody begins.) Fully. 

ARTHUR: So, what are you suggesting?

JOHN: If we open the gateway first…

ARTHUR (you can’t be serious): John.

JOHN: Listen to me! If we open it first… we can throw the stone in before we close it again. 

ARTHUR: And give the entity that may or may not have been posing as Scratch an opportunity to reassemble itself and remember – (He cuts himself off in frustration.) How is that – !?

JOHN (cutting him off): If we close the gateway while he and whatever power that stone possesses are still on this plane… it’s almost certainly going to keep Scratch here. (Arthur sighs heavily.) It’s exactly what happened to me, Arthur. 

ARTHUR: I don't know.

JOHN: We open it for a split second, throw in the stone, and then close it. 

ARTHUR (wearily): I don’t know, John. I-I don’t know. This… this is a heavy gamble. 

JOHN: It absolutely is. We have both incantations here, though. It’s entirely possible to do both. 

ARTHUR (sighing): Fuck.

JOHN: Arthur, listen to me. I’m sure of this. (A high piano melody begins.) Getting rid of the stone is the only way to get rid of Scratch.

 

ARTHUR: No, I-I know. I know. (Resigned.) You’re right. You know far more about this… especially this, than I do. 

 

JOHN (uncertain): You’re…

 

ARTHUR: I’m going to open the tear, and throw in the stone before closing it again.

 

JOHN (surprised): Thank you, Arthur. (Arthur sighs. Nervously.) I-It won’t guarantee success! I mean, it will be dangerous, no matter what –

 

ARTHUR (reassuring): Look, I know! I’m not going to blame you. This is a decision I’m agreeing with.  (John sighs.)  I’m not making it against my will. We’ll deal with… whatever happens. Together. (Pages flip.) Is this the page?

 

JOHN: With the opening, yes. The one with the closing passage… the one to seal the tear is… (More pages flip.) Yes, that one. 

 

ARTHUR: Okay, well. (A short pause.) Here goes on. (Arthur grunts in exertion, begins to walk.)

 

JOHN: They may not be happy about this. 

 

ARTHUR: About what?

 

JOHN: Closing their world.

 

ARTHUR: You think the creatures are intelligent? The bugs?

 

(A slow echoing hum begins.) 

 

JOHN: I think a great number of beings that you perceive in this world as simple-minded are surprisingly clever, in many other worlds.

 

ARTHUR: Well, that’s fair. Alright. You think we should prepare?

 

JOHN: I think if they plan to throw everything at us, we should be ready for it.

 

ARTHUR: We seal the barn, cover this passageway behind us.

 

JOHN: Hunker down and be prepared to fight.

 

ARTHUR: I always am.

 

JOHN (wryly): Sometimes to your detriment.

 

ARTHUR (teasing): Hey! I’ve kept us alive so far.

 

JOHN (giving it back): I’d say I have equal claim to that title.

 

ARTHUR: I think working together has saved us.

 

JOHN: Agreed. 

 

ARTHUR: Well, then let’s make this one count.

 

JOHN (determined): Lock step.

 

ARTHUR: No room for mistakes. 

 

JOHN: Once more, with feeling. (A large, metal hatch creaks. Rain falls a little louder.)  The barn is as we left it. Quiet. The rafters hang heavy with shadows that darken the beams and paint the ceiling as if it were a night sky. (Arthur grunts. The metal hatch creaks again.) The barn doors are still shut. 

 

ARTHUR: Can we barricade them from this side?

 

JOHN: I think so.

 

ARTHUR: And what of the hatch?

 

JOHN: There’s a large crate to the left of the hatch. I imagine you can drag it on top. (Arthur strains. Wood scrapes against the floor.) I’ll have to read the passages using the same inflection that Allan… whomever he was, denoted here. 

 

ARTHUR (straining to move box): Right. 

 

JOHN: Which means you’ll have to copy me exactly.

 

ARTHUR: Understood. (He continues.)

 

JOHN: There! That should keep anything from following us. 

 

ARTHUR: The doors.

 

JOHN: Right. After the tear has been opened, once the gateway appears, we won’t have long to put the stone back before closing it once and for all.

 

ARTHUR: I want you to start reading from the incantation to close it right away.

 

JOHN: You’re sure? 

 

ARTHUR: Of course. Look, we don’t know what, if anything, may come through if we leave it open any longer than it needs to be.

 

JOHN: If something had been using Scratch as an avatar for these years, it’s… possible. Here. (Wooden taps.) There’s a large piece of wood you can slide into the door to… yes, here. (Arthur strains. Wood scrapes against the door.) It’s possible that they may try and stop us as well. 

 

ARTHUR: Just… have to make sure we don’t stop. No matter what.

 

JOHN: The sigil on the floor…

 

ARTHUR: Here?

 

JOHN: Here.

 

ARTHUR: The walls, are they still…?

 

JOHN: The influence of the alien world is still here, though the hexagonal cocoons look empty and abandoned. 

 

ARTHUR: Perhaps it was a home for the insects.

 

JOHN: Maybe.

 

ARTHUR (thoughtful): Huh.

 

JOHN: The floor is scattered with refuse. A rodent skull, perhaps that of a racoon or a fox…

 

ARTHUR: Right. There was one back at the house, too.

 

JOHN (surprised): That’s right.

 

ARTHUR: Well. Let’s hope if it’s important to the ritual, that it’s still… useful. 

 

JOHN: Yes. (With finality.) Well?

 

ARTHUR: Well. Let’s not stand on ceremony. Start reading.

 

JOHN: Okay. 

 

ARTHUR: I’ll repeat everything you say. Exactly as you say it.

 

JOHN: Good luck, Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: You, too. John. 

 

(Noises gradually start to grow as they recite – metal clashing, sounds of battle, low echoes.)

 

JOHN (reading): ‘Sed obscuratus… nox… quaeso mundenetis… impertum… meter… amicum allundem num… depli mon faenis de tua quae frenae, amoris usal, utum mundus mundium ofret in hac nocte... Mon sanem!’

 

ARTHUR (overlapping): Sed obscuratus… nox… quaeso mundeneris… impertum… meter… amicum allundem num… depli mon faenis de tua quae frenae, amoris usal, utum mundus mundium ofret in hace nocte… manelae… sanem!

 

(A final blast. Everything temporarily falls silent. A wind hisses by.) 

 

JOHN: It opened, Arthur! It… it opened. 

 

ARTHUR: Alright!

 

JOHN: The other side is… black. An abyssal nothingness, devoid of light and substance.

 

ARTHUR (echoing): This is the realm of the gods!

 

JOHN: The barn, Arthur… it’s alive. The dormant hanging strands of viscous web… thrum with a violet light. The bulbs now pulse a soft blue glow. 

 

ARTHUR: My god…

 

JOHN: Throw the stone! (Arthur grunts and tosses it. It lands with a splash.) It’s in, Arthur! The stone is back through the gateway!

 

ARTHUR: Alright! Okay! Read the passages to close the tear!

 

JOHN (reading): ‘Dis… exteriorum. Han lacriman. Ob signo regnus et crohex ex ravangan des expella jus et juris in nos mundo. Habet un –’

 

ARTHUR (overlapping): ‘Dis… exterioribus. Han lacriman. Ob signo regnus et cro hex ex ravangan des expella jus et juros in nos mundo. Habet un –’

 

(The wind starts to grow louder. Both are cut off with a grunt of pain.) 

 

JOHN: No! 

 

ARTHUR: What? (Pages ruffle wildly.) 

 

JOHN: The pages, god damn it!

 

ARTHUR: Fuck, no!

 

JOHN: Arthur, the pages have scattered! (ARTHUR: Fuck!) Behind us!

 

(Arthur grunts and moves.) 

 

ARTHUR: Where –

 

JOHN: To your right! Wedged beneath a barrel.

 

ARTHUR: What was that? What caused the –

 

JOHN: I don’t know! Something within the gateway erupted, like a –

 

(Both grunt in pain, followed by an electrical zap.)

 

MR SCRATCH: Betrayer.

 

(Mr. Scratch’s skin crinkles. Arthur begins to pant in fear.)

 

JOHN: Arthur… it’s Scratch. He’s appeared within the portal.

 

MR SCRATCH: We made an agreement.

 

JOHN: The page, Arthur! (Arthur grunts.) Here!

 

MR SCRATCH: You agreed to our terms…

 

JOHN: He must have been pulled in from Hattie.

 

ARTHUR: Here! (Rapid page flipping.) Read it! Read it!

 

JOHN: It’s not the right page!

 

ARTHUR (you’re kidding me): What?

 

JOHN: They scattered! (Arthur grunts in frustration.) There’s another by the ladder to your left. And it… (Something cracks. Insects buzz.) Oh. Oh. Oh, fuck. 

 

ARTHUR (in horror): What?

 

JOHN: The nests, Arthur… the ones in the walls… 

 

ARTHUR: That were dormant.

 

JOHN: They aren’t anymore. 

 

ARTHUR: Fuck. 

 

(Insects fly by with increasing speed.)

 

JOHN: Down, Arthur!

 

(Arthur dives with a groan.)

 

ARTHUR (breathing hard): Fucking hell!

 

JOHN: Arthur! By your right leg, against the wall! A pitchfork! (Metal clangs.) Duck! (Both groan in pain. Arthur pants.) Get up, Arthur!

 

(Suspenseful music starts. Scratch growls faraway.) 

 

ARTHUR: Scratch! What is Scratch doing?

 

JOHN: He’s trapped! Within the gateway! It doesn’t look like he can escape, though he’s trying! It’s coming at us, Arthur. Wait for it… wait… ready the pitchfork. Wait! Wait! Now! (With a groan, Arthur spears the insect.) Well done, Arthur! 

 

ARTHUR: Fuck you!

 

JOHN (congratulatory): Well done, Arthur! The others are retreating to the rafters. (The pitchfork falls.) 

 

ARTHUR: Keep an eye on them.

 

JOHN: I will! Now, get the god damn pages! (The music ends as something crashes.) It’s Scratch. Ignore him and find –

 

ARTHUR: I know what happened, Scratch. (John gasps.) I know what you did. 

 

MR SCRATCH: What I did?

 

ARTHUR (out of breath): You tried to manipulate this man, this… this man who posed as Edward William Allan, this… unknown devotee of… some…

 

MR SCRATCH: I did not…

 

ARTHUR: You guided him here! You showed him the book! Where to find it, in-in the vault, and –

 

JOHN: Scratch is staring at you, like… a lost child. (A sad piano melody begins.) Confused. 

 

ARTHUR (growing more uncertain): You did. You… you did, you… you…

 

JOHN: Arthur, leave it. The page, it’s behind you, wedged between the wooden slats of the floor. (Wood creaks. A page rips.) Here! Yes. Yes. This is it. 

 

MR SCRATCH (insistent): But… Arthur… you… are… my… favorite.

 

ARTHUR: Not anymore. 

 

(Noises gradually start to grow as they recite – creatures growling, low whispers, growing echoes.)

 

JOHN (reading): ‘Dis exteribus, han lacriman, ob signo regnus, et qua hac imman tes expella, qua creaturas in nostra mundo, habent una velmont et modicum –’ 

 

ARTHUR (overlapping): ‘Dis exteribus, han lacriman, ob signo regnus, et qua hac imman tes expella, qua creaturas in nostra mundo, habent una velmont et modicum –’ 

 

(A final blast. The creaking of wood, a faint whooshing of air, followed by a woman laughing hysterically.) 

 

JOHN: What? (A loud crash. Arthur grunts in pain.) What? (Arthur coughs. Dazed.) What, who…

 

ARTHUR (out of it): What? What, what happened? Whose voice was that? Where did…

 

JOHN: It was… I-I don’t know. It was…

 

ARTHUR: Hold on! Are the bugs, are the flying…

 

JOHN: Yes, they’re gone.

 

ARTHUR (relieved): Good, good.

 

JOHN: They’re all gone. The barn is… as I imagine it was, though rather decayed. 

 

(Arthur grunts in pain.) 

 

ARTHUR: Oscar must be…

 

(A slow piano melody begins.) 

 

JOHN: Arthur. Someone was there, with… Scratch. I think it was his… 

 

ARTHUR: The puppeteer? 

 

JOHN: Arthur. It was… a woman. 

 

ARTHUR (confused): What?

 

JOHN: With… black hair, alabaster skin, and silver eyes. 

 

ARTHUR: Like the painting?

 

JOHN (not understanding): What painting?

 

ARTHUR: The painting, in the room, where Oscar… look, it doesn’t matter. What, what are you saying? That… That she was the one being Scratch?

 

JOHN: She approached Scratch from behind and… they merged together. Scratch and she became… one. As if… whole. 

 

ARTHUR: Who is she? What is she? (He begins to walk.)

 

JOHN: I have no idea. 

 

ARTHUR: W-Well, it doesn’t matter. She’s trapped, now, back in the realm of the gods or wherever that portal led, right? (A long pause. More seriously.) Right?

 

JOHN: I don’t know. It didn’t look like she was returning to that… prison, Arthur.

 

ARTHUR (quietly): What do you mean?

 

JOHN: It looked like… she was free. 

 

ARTHUR: You mean… You mean. Did we…? 

 

JOHN (seriously): I believe we completed what this puppeteer attempted to manipulate Allan into doing twenty years ago. Set her free.

 

ARTHUR: We can’t. We need to go.

 

JOHN: Right.

 

ARTHUR: We need to get out of here.

 

JOHN: Right. The wood, it’s –

 

ARTHUR: I know. (He strains. The wood scrapes. They exit outside. Rain falls loudly. Thunder booms.) 

 

JOHN: The back door is to your right. Here. 

 

(The door squeaks open. Arthur walks in.)

 

ARTHUR: Any…

 

JOHN: The house is quiet.

 

ARTHUR: Right. Okay, okay. (The wood creaks under his feet.) 

 

JOHN (sudden): Watch the hole!

 

(Something clatters to the floor.) 

 

ARTHUR: Right, right.

 

JOHN: Easy. Step wide to our left. Here! N – Yes. Here! (Arthur takes a large step. The wood creaks under him.) Well done, Arthur!

 

ARTHUR: Thank you. 

 

JOHN: The door – (An impact, followed by Arthur’s grunt of frustration. John sighs.)

 

ARTHUR (give me a break): Oh, for fuck’s sake. 

 

(Multiple impacts on the door, along with faint shouting.) 

 

JOHN: What? It’s moving. 

 

ARTHUR (more hopeful): Oscar? Oscar? 

 

(The door slams open.)

 

JOHN: Oscar? 

 

ARTHUR (relieved): Oscar!

 

OSCAR (woozy): Arthur?

 

JOHN: He’s barely standing, Arthur!

 

(A happy piano melody begins to play.)

 

ARTHUR (in joy): God damn it!

 

JOHN: How the hell did he move that – ?

 

ARTHUR: How did you – ?

 

JOHN: He’s pale, exhausted.

 

ARTHUR (warmly): Come, come! Lean on me. Lean!

 

JOHN: But I’m impressed. (Arthur laughs fondly.) He’s a fighter.

 

OSCAR: What did you…?

 

ARTHUR: It’s done. It’s done.

 

OSCAR: How did you…?

 

(They walk, both grunting in exertion.)

 

ARTHUR: Come on. Scratch is… she’s no more. Oscar, come on. Come on. Come on.

 

OSCAR: I heard it – a great noise –

 

JOHN: Watch the –

 

ARTHUR: Yes, watch the hole, here. 

 

OSCAR: A noise. Outside, it woke me, I… 

 

(Both Arthur and John chuckle.) 

 

ARTHUR (gentle): It’s, it’s alright. Ssh, it’s alright. I’ll tell you what happened on the way back. Stairs. Here. (They grunt and go down.) Oscar, I… I can’t say how much I appreciate everything you did. Everything you… (Oscar groans.) You’ve done for me.

 

JOHN (worried): Arthur…

 

ARTHUR: But… but when we get back, I, um. After I drop you off at the hospital, when this is done… t-this is done. I-I-I can’t… our partnership is over.

 

OSCAR (weakly): Arthur… you’re my…

 

ARTHUR: No, no, Oscar, no. I’m-I’m not…

 

JOHN: The door, right before us.

 

ARTHUR: I’m not… no.

 

OSCAR: Arthur.

 

(They grunt and head outside. The rain continues to fall.) 

 

ARTHUR: I-I know you feel that, but it’s not true. It can’t be true. I’m sorry. But I can’t help you anymore. 

 

OSCAR: Alright. Okay. 

 

JOHN: The car is…

 

ARTHUR: I know, I can hear it.

 

OSCAR: Hear what?

 

ARTHUR: No, no, I-I hear… 

 

OSCAR: Hear…?

 

ARTHUR: Rest, Oscar. Here. (The car door opens. Arthur helps Oscar in.) 

 

OSCAR: Aye. Thank you. (The car door shuts.)

 

JOHN (gentle): I’m sorry, Arthur. I know you don’t want to do this, but… 

 

(Arthur gets in the car.)

 

OSCAR: Arthur. (Pages ruffle.) Here. Here. 

 

ARTHUR: What’s this?

 

OSCAR (weakly): Where Daniel’s Freemasons meet. Here. You told me to… find out. I did. Forgot to tell you. Or… rather. Thought we’d end up looking together. 

 

ARTHUR: Thank you, Oscar. Thank you. (Earnest.) Thank you.

 

OSCAR: Of course.

 

ARTHUR (firmly): Sit tight. Get some rest. I’ll drop you off at hospital. And this can all feel like… like a bad dream. 

 

OSCAR: Okay. (Arthur starts the car.) Arthur?

 

ARTHUR: Yeah?

 

OSCAR: Who’s… John? 

 

ARTHUR (a soft sigh): No one. No one you’ll ever meet. Goodbye, Oscar. (Thunder rolls.) 

 

JOHN (carefully): This is for the best, Arthur. Trust me. You’ll see. This is the best for us. I’m sure of it. I’m sure of it. 

 

(A final click, followed by static.)

 

(END Part 38.)