Part 53 "The Black Tower"
A violent awakening, an unforgiven fate, a dark world...
In the Season 6 premier the Dark World has finally come for Arthur & John. Nothing is known for certain, death and danger is everywhere... nothing can be trusted.
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PART FIFTY-THREE: THE BLACK TOWER
Transcripts made and edited by Jack
CWs: buried alive/claustrophobia, murder, dismemberment, bludgeoning, sounds of blood/gore, ripping flesh, spitting, vomiting, corpses, hanging, mass death, insects/arachnids, decay/human decomposition, fingernail trauma, acid attacks, body horror, rodents, impalement, war/war casualties, serious burns, gun violence/gunshot sounds, knife violence
(BEGIN Part 53.)
(Intermittent falling silt and wood creaking. Occasional muted sounds of impact. Arthur wakes with a gasp.)
ARTHUR: What? What is…?
JOHN: Arthur.
ARTHUR: Where?
JOHN: I don’t know. I can’t see anything.
ARTHUR: I can’t move. Where are we?
JOHN (irate): I just told you I can’t fucking see!
ARTHUR: Get me out of here. (Sounds of shifting.)
JOHN: I don’t know where here is. (Arthur grunts in exertion. A closer impact.)
ARTHUR: Get me out of here!
JOHN: Shut up. Listen. (A short pause.)
ARTHUR: Dirt.
JOHN: Shovelled.
ARTHUR (whispering): Buried.
JOHN: A coffin. We need to get out. Now! (Another impact.)
ARTHUR: Let me out!
JOHN: Push, Arthur! (Arthur growls.) Before there’s too much dirt on top to ever get out!
ARTHUR: Let me out of here, you fucking animals!
JOHN: Push, Arthur! (More impacts.) Break the fucking wood if you have to. I am not dying here.
ARTHUR (yelling): Let me out! (He growls in determination.)
JOHN: Arthur, if you don’t get us out of here – (More impacts.)
ARTHUR: I will tear your fucking heart out!
JOHN: Push, god damn it! (Splintering wood. Arthur strains himself.) It’s broken, the wood… break it more! (Arthur yells. More splintering.) Break the fucking lid, Arthur! Yes. The dirt is loose, falling inward but the wood is breaking! (More impacts.) Fuck your bloody knuckles… I don’t care if you break your fist! Get us out of here! (Wood cracking.) There! Get up! Get up! (Something groans nearby. It wheezes persistently.) Him.
ARTHUR: Where is he?
JOHN: There’s a man before us. He’s holding a shovel.
ARTHUR: You motherfu –
JOHN: He buried us alive!
ARTHUR: You…
JOHN: Grab the shovel. You have it! (The creature wheezes.)
ARTHUR: You sick… fucking… (A thudding impact.)
JOHN: Yes, Arthur!
ARTHUR: Fuck you! (He starts to scream in exhilaration. Continued impacts and sounds of gore.)
JOHN: Beat him, Arthur! Beat him to death! (The creature wheezes.) The head. (A final, bloody squish. Gore drips.) His blood is all over your arms, your chest… and face.
(Arthur spits. A metal clang.)
ARTHUR (out of breath): No one buries me. Where the fuck are we?
JOHN: I don’t know.
ARTHUR: You better fucking know. This is your domain.
JOHN: Then you better watch your fucking mouth… (Voice distorts.) Before I show you what that truly means.
ARTHUR: I will fucking destroy you, John. (Outraged.) Don’t you dare speak to me like that again!
JOHN: I’ll speak to you… (Voice distorts.) However the fuck I wish to. Now pull out the lighter so I can see where we are.
ARTHUR: I don’t have a fucking lighter. Do you see anything? Anything? (Footsteps.) I don’t even have clothes and I’m the one that’s blind.
JOHN (condescending): Check the coffin. (Arthur grunts in exertion. Dirt shifting.) There! In the dirt. Light it! (The lighter flicks.) There. There. (Coming out of a daze.) Ugh. I-I…
ARTHUR: I… (Softer.) John.
JOHN: Arthur.
ARTHUR (starting to panic): John… Je…
JOHN: Arthur, I…
ARTHUR: Jesus… Jesus C-Christ, John. What…
JOHN: Oh, god.
ARTHUR: What did I do? Oh fuck.
JOHN (stunned): I’m… I’m sorry.
ARTHUR: Oh fuck. Oh fuck.
JOHN: I’m so… I don’t…
ARTHUR: Is he…
JOHN (disturbed): Oh… his head, Arthur, you… we… we severed his head. From the jaw upward.
ARTHUR: Oh… Oh, god. Oh my… (He vomits.) What is… what is happening? What just…?
JOHN: The Dark World, Arthur. We’re here.
ARTHUR: Oh –
JOHN: It’s like I said… this isn’t just a place for evil. (Gently.) This is a place of evil. I-It affects you, it affects… us.
ARTHUR (raggedly): I… I-I… I didn’t even think! I… I killed him… without… without any…
JOHN: We both did. (Arthur sobs.) We can’t fall. Not now, not yet. We’ve only just begun, Arthur.
ARTHUR: O-Oh, God…
JOHN: This won’t be the last innocent death here.
ARTHUR (pulling himself together): Right. Right. Right. Okay. Okay.
JOHN: This place is… (Dirt shifting.) We won’t survive it without serious strength.
ARTHUR: Right.
JOHN: This place will test us beyond anything before.
ARTHUR: Ah, this… this lighter, its… its light… will… will it… will it last?
JOHN: Snuff it a-and see. (The lighter flicks. A short pause.) I still feel okay.
ARTHUR: Same. Same. (The lighter flicks. A flame burns.) Okay. You’re right. This isn’t our world anymore. This isn’t even the Dreamlands. We’re on something else’s playing field.
JOHN: Yes. Push the darkest thoughts from your mind. That includes what we’ve just done.
ARTHUR: Agreed. Agreed. Alright. We have no clothes. Did he…?
JOHN: No.
ARTHUR: Alright. The blood, it’s… it’s on me.
JOHN: Yes. Speckled your body and… (Dirt shifting.)
ARTHUR: What?
JOHN: Your left arm has… something on it.
ARTHUR: What?
JOHN: It’s a long… scar. It’s white. It runs the length of your arm.
ARTHUR: A scar on my arm, I-I don’t remember… I can feel it. Oh, God, my hands! They’re… ugh.
JOHN: Bloody, a-and… I’m sorry, I-I… (Arthur makes noises of pain.)
ARTHUR: I don’t remember… do we still have our other scars?
JOHN: Yes.
ARTHUR: And you’re still here.
JOHN: I am.
ARTHUR: Why?
JOHN: The Manager said we’d appear as we are now.
ARTHUR: I-I guess, but… when you were here before, you… you appeared as the King, right?
JOHN: I did. (‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.)
ARTHUR: I guess I just… I don’t understand…
JOHN: Look, trying to understand this place is like trying to understand… Kayne’s reasoning. It’s just not built around the same logic as the real world.
ARTHUR (vindictively): Kayne. The Manager said… we can stop him.
JOHN: We have the means… the ability…
ARTHUR: We just have to let go.
JOHN: Of what?
ARTHUR: I don’t know. But standing here isn’t going to reveal that.
JOHN: Agreed. (Arthur grunts in exertion. Footsteps.)
ARTHUR: I don’t know what kind of timeline we have, but. It seems like The Manager had a way to slow Kayne, maybe. But if we don’t stop him… everything is at stake now.
JOHN: I know.
ARTHUR: So. Where are we?
JOHN: A basement of some sort. Dirt walls, three graves.
ARTHUR: Three?
JOHN: Yes. Ours was in the middle. The other two are empty, although ours has a headstone.
ARTHUR: Does it say our name, or…? (Footsteps. A soft scratching noise.)
JOHN: No. It’s… tarnished, but it doesn’t look like the words ‘Arthur Lester’.
ARTHUR (moving on): A way out.
JOHN: A circular stairwell leading up.
ARTHUR: Alright.
JOHN: Should we take the shovel?
ARTHUR (quickly): No, let’s just… leave. (Footsteps.)
JOHN: It looks like there’s light ahead.
ARTHUR: Okay. (The lighter flicks. John reacts in disgust.)
JOHN: Ahead, the stairway continues, but… there are bodies.
ARTHUR: Bodies.
JOHN: Hung from the ceiling as the stairwell continues to turn upward. A winding circular staircase. And dozens of bodies are hung from the rafters all the way up. Their naked, dirt-covered skin is… ashy. Like the man in the basement. Their feet hang roughly… at the height of our shoulders. You’ll need to move through them. (The occasional noises of wood creaking.)
ARTHUR: Right. (Footsteps. Arthur spits. In disgust.) Ah, fuck. (The noise of sharp impact. Arthur reacts in pain.) Oh, fuck.
JOHN: The walls, careful!
ARTHUR: The wall cut me! What –
JOHN: I didn’t notice through the corpses, but the walls are studded with sharp iron… hooks to either side of the staircase. Hunks of rotted flesh appear sporadically caught within the hooks.
ARTHUR: We’re still heading up. These stairs, they’re… uneven, and the walls… this isn’t man-made, it’s…
JOHN: The walls are stone, but… not of any design you’d recognize. (A howling wind. It soon quiets.) These bricks weren’t laid by hand. The stone is almost one piece.
ARTHUR: One piece?
JOHN: Yes. There are windows up ahead. H-Here. Stop. (A blowing wind.) Here. Eh, push one of them… y-y-yes, there, there, push that body aside. (Arthur grunts in exertion.) Let me look out the window. Watch the hooks!
ARTHUR: There, there.
JOHN: We’re high up, I-I can’t see much… there are thorny black roots covering the window, but we’re high up.
ARTHUR: A tower?
JOHN: Of sorts.
ARTHUR: W-Wait, wait, wait. I touched a body. But you didn’t… you didn’t get a vision.
JOHN: No. I’m dead.
ARTHUR: Let’s reach the top of this tower. (He grunts in exertion.) You… must remember some things here. Have you been… here before?
JOHN (sighing): I do, but… the Dark World is not a landscape that is navigable. Or if it is… it is so vast… that it is not something one could map. I’ve never seen a black tower as this appears to be. And I was here for a long time.
ARTHUR: But you’ve seen buildings! They’re not –
JOHN: The Dark World was not… built, but birthed, maybe. The geometry of buildings, the landscape itself, it’s not man-made. It’s as if it were… grown. This tower has undoubtedly spouted up from the ground and will be kept up by the sheer… density of the rock. Not by any… architectural designs.
ARTHUR: You know that.
JOHN: That’s how all of the Dark World is.
ARTHUR: The walls do appear to be leaning quite substantially. It’s becoming difficult… to avoid these hooks.
JOHN: Steady. I think we’re near the top. (Arthur groans.) There are no hanged men ahead. The light comes from above. We’re almost there. Here, here! Careful. The final steps, to the top of the tower – stop, here!
ARTHUR: Oh, Jesus! Is this the top?
JOHN: Yes.
ARTHUR (breathing heavily): It’s sloped!
JOHN: And falls directly off the ledge. There are five thin pillars holding up a stone roof. Grab one of them to steady yourself. I need to look around.
ARTHUR: Okay. Okay.
JOHN: Here, here. Here. (Arthur strains himself.) A little further. There, there! Alright.
ARTHUR: What do you see?
JOHN: I cannot see what’s below the tower directly… but I do see that we are circled in a mountainous range. Past, there is a gray haze that I cannot see beyond.
ARTHUR: The mountains… snow–peaked o-or are they…
JOHN: No, Arthur. I don’t think you understand. (‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.) There is no snow here. No vegetation. There’s no color. The mountains that surround us are like that of the hardened skin… of some prodigious beast. Corpulent and studded with massive stony thorns. Black, like all that is black here. An ashy, pallid black. The tower is bent and crooked, like the rocky protrusions that dot the landscape that surrounds. Atop the mountains… are thousands of carcasses with large, standing wooden stakes driven through them. Like scarecrows.
There is no light here. There is no sun. No moon. There is only the ever-present gray… dusk. Always. In every direction. This world… it’s not Hell. It’s not designed for torture, nor punishment. This land is death. Incarnate.
ARTHUR: I understand now why you fear this place… so greatly. Now. Did you see a way down?
JOHN: The tower itself is covered in thick black roots. There are thorns all over, but… from what I saw through the window below, they are far enough apart that we could avoid them. We can climb down from here.
ARTHUR: Right.
JOHN: It would be dangerous.
ARTHUR: Well, there must have been some way the man entered. Maybe we missed a door on the stairs, or –
JOHN: It’s possible, but I wouldn’t count on any of the logical conclusions that served us so well previous here. It is entirely possible that this tower has no door whatsoever.
ARTHUR: Then how did he get us here?
JOHN: We may have always been here. He as well.
ARTHUR: Right. Right. In… In that case, I… I don’t want to risk being stuck in this tower.
JOHN: Then…
ARTHUR: Then down. Then the outside.
JOHN: It slopes. We’ll have to…
ARTHUR: Well, let’s climb down the side that’s leaning away from us, rather than –
JOHN: Right. Right. Okay, well. Then… turn around and… (Arthur grunts.)
ARTHUR: This…
JOHN: Yeah. Yes.
ARTHUR: Okay. (Wind howls continuously.)
JOHN: We’ll need to get back up. It’ll be a steep edge. You’ll need to climb up almost on your stomach and… until the edge of the tower, then…
ARTHUR: Turn around?
JOHN: Yes, turn around and hang your feet over. Until the –
ARTHUR: You know, let’s get to the edge, and then you can look down and see.
JOHN: Yes, yeah, yeah.
ARTHUR: Oh, the lighter. I…
JOHN (uncertainly): I…
ARTHUR: I’ll need my hands, so…
JOHN: Maybe your mouth?
ARTHUR: Yeah. Okay. (Metal clicking.)
JOHN: Okay. The top is sloped. We want to head up to the edge of the tower, rather than down the, uh…
ARTHUR (muffled): Yeah. (Fabric shifting, pebbles falling.)
JOHN: Yes. Yes. That way. There’s not much to grab onto, here. Nor at the edge we plan to go over, but… but the vines are peeking over the lip of the tower. (Arthur grunts and shifts.) You’ll need to… yes. Yeah. There. There. (More shifting.) You’re almost at the edge. The black rock is covered in an ashy dust. It makes it easy to slide across. There, there, there! Okay. We’re at the edge. P-Pull yourself up! And let me look over the edge, down the tower. (Shifting.)
ARTHUR: Ow! Fuck.
JOHN: The vines here are much… sharper. Smaller than the vines I saw at the window below. Jesus. It’s quite a ways down! But… we’ll be fine. Okay, the vines grow thicker the farther down they go. Thorny, black, like… tendrils, they cling to the side of the tower. Reach over. Give them a test. (Plants shifting.) Pull! They don’t seem to move. Alright.
ARTHUR: How far?
JOHN: Too far! We’ll just take it one step at a time.
ARTHUR: Do you see the base now?
JOHN: Yes. It looks as though there are brambles, a-a sea of thick leafless bushes surrounding the base. Beyond that, the ring of mountains… okay. Let’s turn around, throw your feet over, and we can feel for the vines.
ARTHUR: Yeah, how… hard are the thorns? (Plants shifting. Arthur starts to move.)
JOHN: Yes.
ARTHUR: Ow.
JOHN: The ones below are thick… and sharp.
ARTHUR: Yeah.
JOHN: But that means they’ll hold your weight. As long as we move slowly over the… small ones on top. They’re…
ARTHUR: Like barbed wire?
JOHN (grimly): Like barbed wire.
ARTHUR: Yeah. (More moving. Plants shifting.)
JOHN: Oh. There’s a metal… nail here. A spike, between the vines, as if…
ARTHUR: A metal nail?
JOHN: Iron, yes! (Surprised.) Oh… it hangs down quite an impressive distance. It might be a rope.
ARTHUR: A rope?
JOHN: Yes, I think!
ARTHUR: Someone else scaled down.
JOHN: Maybe. Once, long ago. It’s… to the left of your hand.
ARTHUR: Here? Here? (Tapping. Fibers shifting.)
JOHN: Yes, yes, there! Pull that.
ARTHUR: It’s… oh… oh, th –
JOHN: That’s attached to an iron stake in the stone.
ARTHUR: It feels… greasy.
JOHN: Oh.
ARTHUR: Hair.
JOHN: Human hair.
ARTHUR: Yeah, but… it’ll hold me.
JOHN: It might save you from some of the thorns.
ARTHUR: Alright. (Metal clicking.)
JOHN: Just bite down on the lighter. If… when… the thorns bite. Alright, Arthur. Turn around. (Arthur grunts in exertion.) Throw your legs over the side, and… brace yourself. (Arthur starts to move, muffledly yelling in pain. Occasional drips of blood.) Okay! Okay. Okay. You’ve done it, you’re over. Just… shimmy down over the vines. (Arthur screams.) Yes. Push through the pain. (Arthur screams.) Snagged onto… oh, Jesus. Yes, okay, you’ll need to… a thorn is preventing you from… it’s caught on y… there! There. There. Sorry. Okay, over the side.
Just… there’s nothing to do about it. (Arthur pants rapidly. More shifting.) But the vines here… are just covered in thorns, they are… further apart below, just. Grin it and bear it. (Arthur yells in pain.) Yes, Arthur! Push through. There, there. The hair, you can grab it now. Okay! Okay, that’s better. Use your feet. Push yourself off the wall. Repel! Good. Good. Slowly. You can feel for the spots with less thorns with your feet. Better than I can see them. Take your time.
We’ve all the time… we need. The brambles far below are… maze-like. A sea of dead brush is in dry dirt, arid and dusty. It’ll be difficult to navigate through them, but… we’ll find a way. We always find a way to – (Arthur abruptly shouts in alarm.) Arthur!
ARTHUR (clearly): No!
JOHN: Oh, the hair!
ARTHUR: The lighter!
JOHN: It’s at its end! Arthur, hold on, Jesus! Grab the vines!
ARTHUR: The lighter, I dropped it!
JOHN: It’s fine, it’s below, somewhere in the brush!
ARTHUR (furious): We need that lighter!
JOHN: Arthur, it’s okay!
ARTHUR: What the fuck happened?
JOHN: I didn’t notice the hair had ended, I-I’m sorry!
ARTHUR: Well, you’re my fucking eyes!
JOHN: I’m sorry!
ARTHUR: What…
JOHN: It ends in a… scalp.
ARTHUR: Fuck.
JOHN: As if… the hair was cut off of someone’s head. We’ll just… climb down the rest of the way.
ARTHUR: Yeah. Yeah, we’ll climb.
JOHN: And then we’ll get the lighter.
ARTHUR: No matter how long it takes.
JOHN: We’ll find it. The vine’s thicker, almost like a ladder. (A soft ringing.) It’ll be –
ARTHUR: What was that?
JOHN: What? (A mysterious melody begins.)
ARTHUR: Did you hear that?
JOHN: No.
ARTHUR: On the wind. Listen. (A long pause. A bell rings.)
JOHN: A bell?
ARTHUR: Why?
JOHN: I don’t know.
ARTHUR: It’s gone.
JOHN: It sounded like it came from the mountains. (Arthur starts to move.) Move carefully and slowly.
ARTHUR: They’re farther apart now, like you said. Thankfully.
JOHN: How are your feet?
ARTHUR: Look at my hands.
JOHN: Your hands…?
ARTHUR: They’re covered in the blood that my feet are leaving on the… vines. (John exhales.) See? See? Between the coffin and the thorns –
JOHN (urgently): The vines.
ARTHUR: They’re not doing too –
JOHN: They’re moving.
ARTHUR: What? (Persistent insect noises. Arthur screams in pain.)
JOHN: Jesus Christ, Arthur! Hold on! (He pants.)
ARTHUR: Fucking – ! Fuck!
JOHN: A creature, Arthur!
ARTHUR: What was –
JOHN: Seamlessly moving beneath the vines! (Arthur breathes heavily.) It bit you! And… and you’ve thrown it below, but… I… I see others moving. Other vines! Stretching…
ARTHUR: They’re not all vines! (Growing insect noises.)
JOHN: Thousands of spindly legs and a black carapace, like that of an arachnid or… or…
ARTHUR: Centipede!
JOHN: They wind their way through the maze of vines toward us. They must smell the blood.
ARTHUR: They bit my fucking hand!
JOHN: Move, Arthur!
ARTHUR: Fuck! (He starts to move. Insects noises.)
JOHN: Climb! (Arthur exerts himself.) Faster. There. There. Almost… Arthur, that’s its body! (Arthur screams. Sounds of gore, a brief pause, and several thumps.)
ARTHUR: Fuck. (He makes noises of pain.) Fuck.
JOHN: We’ve fallen. Into the dirt. It’s almost sand-like. We’ve avoided the bushes.
ARTHUR: Are they coming?
JOHN: Yes. Still. Move! (Dirt shifting. Approaching insect noises.)
ARTHUR: The lighter! We need the lighter.
JOHN: We will, just move! Here, here, here. (Rapid footsteps and plants snapping. Insect noises recede.) They… they’re… they’re not entering the dry brambles. They’re… retreating. Back up the tower.
ARTHUR: Why did… (Repeated lighter flicks. Both gasp.)
JOHN: The lighter.
ARTHUR (whispering): Where?
JOHN (whispering): Someone.
ARTHUR (whispering): Behind us.
JOHN: Quietly. (Soft footsteps. Plants shifting.) The bush makes it difficult to see. But there’s movement on the other side. We can move around, toward them. To the right. Just stay silent. There! There. A figure. He’s hunched over… curled up into a ball. Clothless, hairless… ashy white skin, like the wheezing man who buried us. His legs are tucked up towards his chest, as he opens the lighter and closes it… again… and again. Stay quiet. (Footsteps.) Here, here. Alright. When I say… lunge forward and wrestle it from him.
Three… (The lighter flicks.) Two… one! (The lighter flicks. Dirt shifts and branches rustle.) Wait, wait, wait!
ARTHUR: What?
(An unknown person wheezes.)
JOHN: A large figure has emerged from the bushes on the opposite side! (Arthur makes a noise of surprise. Thudding footsteps.) The man, wearing an elongated mask, with a pointed nose… dressed in black, wields a large… metal… pole! His expression is hidden behind the reflective eyes of the mask, and on his back is a large… iron canister! The man with our lighter stares at him, frozen! Almost… confused.
(Repeated impacts. Sounds of squishing gore.)
The large figure is beating him to death with the pole, Arthur! (John gasps.) Our lighter! It’s fallen! Grab it! Further… further! (Arthur groans in exertion.) There, there! You have it. We have it. We… (The lighter flicks.) He turns to us. The naked man is dead. His carcass… flattened. And the large figure stands, staring at us. As the blood dripping from his pole… pools quietly in the sand. He… only stares. (Dirt shifting.) He… he’s lifting his weapon, Arthur! Move! Move!
ARTHUR: What is that…?
(Arthur makes noises of surprise. The sound of multiple people panting for breath.)
JOHN: Jesus! Dozens more men, Arthur! Naked and… like the one that held our lighter! They’ve emerged from the brambles to our left, scurrying through this small clearing as if running from… (An impact. Sounds of blood.) The large figure swipes at them, hitting some! (Multiple impacts.) As if hunting! Arthur… we’re among them! Move!
ARTHUR: Where?
JOHN: They run on all fours, scurrying like animals!
ARTHUR (demanding): Where, John!?
JOHN: They’re heading right! Follow! Through the brush! (Arthur pants for breath as he runs. The others pant in effort.) You’re running alongside them. They move as if part of a pack! The masked man continues to kill them in the clearing behind us, savagely beating them as we leave!
ARTHUR: Is he still f –
JOHN: Following? Yes. He’s hunting them, but… run!
ARTHUR: Which way are we – still – where are – ?
JOHN: We’re breaking off. Some heading away from the tower’s base, others continuing through the brushes. Just run! The naked humans scurry every which way. There’s no… they’re thinning out, Arthur! But the large hunter still pursues!
ARTHUR: Fuck. Fuck!
JOHN: There’s a drop ahead of us. Slide down it! Quickly! (Shifting dirt. Arthur makes noises of pain. Both pant. Whispering.) Wait, wait, wait. Fuck. We’re practically alone.
ARTHUR: Is he…?
JOHN: I don’t know. Listen.
(Heavy footsteps at a distance.)
ARTHUR: He’s still following.
JOHN: There’s one other man down here with us. (The man breathes rapidly. Shifting dirt.) He’s moved to the right, towards the base of the tower, scurrying behind some bushes. Follow him! (Arthur grunts in effort. Footsteps.) It’s the base of the tower. A small grouping of bushes and… a den of sorts behind them! (Shifting foliage.) Carved from the dry earth, o-or perhaps natural, i-it’s hollow! Large enough to enter and stand in and… well-hidden! Follow him!
ARTHUR (rasping): Hello?
JOHN: I don’t see him.
ARTHUR: Hello?
JOHN: It’s not that deep either, i-it’s just –
ARTHUR: Hello? (Shifting dirt.)
JOHN: There, there! Clambering up the back wall in fear! His face toward the dirt… he paws at it like an animal.
ARTHUR: I’m not your enemy. I just need a place to hide. I’m one of you, I…
JOHN: He doesn’t turn around. I can’t see his face. (Sound of scratching.) He claws at the wall as if… unaware it won’t move. H-He’s naked, skin covered in… sores, and… scabs, as if… rotting. The nails on both of his hands have been… ripped off ages ago, and are open wounds, leaving black, rotten pieces of flesh on the dirt walls as he… continues to tear at the earth. Jesus!
ARTHUR (in disgust): Oh, fuck…
JOHN: Oh, the smell is…
(Distant footsteps. Arthur shushes.)
ARTHUR: Quiet. Outside, outside, listen!
JOHN: He’s followed us down the drop. Into the ditch.
ARTHUR: Fuck. (More scratching. Arthur shushes.) Quiet. Quiet.
JOHN: The man quiets. H-He’s not… unaware.
ARTHUR: Where do we go… where do we…?
JOHN: There’s no way out of here. It’s only a small recess, barely large enough for… five men. If he finds us, I… (Whispering.) If he enters… we run. (The footsteps grow closer.) He’s entering. Jesus Christ, Arthur, he’s coming!
ARTHUR: Where?
JOHN (stressed): Move, Arthur! Quickly! Move to –-
ARTHUR: Where, god damn it!
JOHN (stuttering): We can’t! He’s blocked the entire entry. There’s no –
ARTHUR: Fuck. Fuck.
JOHN: There’s no way past.
ARTHUR: What do we do?
JOHN: Arthur, to the back.
ARTHUR: What do we –
JOHN: Beside the man. (The masked man wheezes heavily.) H-He enters, crouching through the opening, which… must be seven feet tall! He stands… back-lit by the outside gray light. His face… hidden behind the glass lenses of the mask. (Arthur makes noises of fear.) A-Arthur, I… I…
ARTHUR: What do we do?
JOHN: I-I don’t…
ARTHUR (terrified): What… What do we do?
JOHN: He extends his pole… moving it forward, as if… pointing at us with it! A-And… (Sound of rushing liquid. Sizzling. Arthur splutters for breath.) It’s… spraying us, Arthur! With a dark brown… foul-smelling liquid! (Liquid drips. Arthur continues to splutter.)
ARTHUR: What is…? (He groans. The smaller man makes noises of agony.) It’s… wretched! What is…? What is that? Tastes like… tar and ammonia and…
JOHN: Arthur! The man next to you –
ARTHUR: What?
JOHN: Move! He’s… burning!
ARTHUR: What?
JOHN: Move away, quickly!
ARTHUR (panicked): Fuck. Fuck! (John makes a noise of disgust.)
JOHN: The liquid that large masked man sprayed upon you and the naked man seems to be… affecting him! (Sizzling.) His skin… burns and… sizzles… the liquid eating large holes into his body… as the man screams!
ARTHUR: Jesus!
JOHN: It’s not affecting us at all! The large man just… watches the other burn.
ARTHUR (overwhelmed): Jesus Christ!
JOHN: His… body… (A wet thump.) It slumps forward onto its knees, and… as if… praying. The liquid… Jesus, Arthur, it’s… it’s eating away at his face! (Cracking noises.) His yellow bones exposed and…
ARTHUR: Fuck!
JOHN: Falling out!
ARTHUR: Fuck.
JOHN: His jaw hangs for a moment by a stringy piece of flesh before… (A crack.) Falling from his face. (John makes noises of disgust. A hollow thump.) He’s fallen over, into a wet pile of skin and bones. Flesh… and wet innards. The masked man doesn’t… look away, his attention still firmly fixed on the dead man.
ARTHUR (panicked): Can we… leave through…?
JOHN: Squeeze past, yes! (Shifting dirt.) To the exit. I think so, I-I think –
ARTHUR: Alright, alright. We run. W-We…
JOHN: Wait. (A wet, ripping noise.)
ARTHUR: What?
JOHN: The dead man! The pile of gore, it… it moves. (A swelling noise. Dripping gore.) A bulge rises from the back. I-It moves through the body… beneath it, like a… a creature hiding beneath a rug! It moves to the… head of the dead man. The man’s head moves and… (A wet, fleshy noise.) From the open wound that was once the man’s mouth… emerges a… a fur-covered creature! (Rodent squeaking. Arthur panics and gags.) Like a rat, but with… multiple eyes, and… six limbs! It looks around, and sees the masked man! (Skittering noises.) A-And runs! Toward us, Arthur! I-It – (A thump, a wet squish, and anguished rodent noises.) The masked man… stomps it… t-to death.
ARTHUR (breathless): What? What the fuck?
JOHN: He… he turns to us.
ARTHUR: P-Please, please, please! I don’t, I don’t – I’m not, I’m not, I’m not…
MASKED MAN: What are you then, if not a rat?
ARTHUR: That was no rat.
JOHN: He stares at us, unmoving.
ARTHUR: Please, I-I… I only wish to leave this place.
MASKED MAN: Then leave.
JOHN: He… He turns. (Shifting dirt.) And leaves the cave. (Footsteps.)
ARTHUR: What?
JOHN: A-Arthur, I… follow him!
ARTHUR (gathering himself): Right. Right. Right. (Footsteps.)
JOHN: He, He’s outside.
ARTHUR: Wait!
JOHN: In the ditch already.
ARTHUR: Wait.
JOHN: Oh. He stops, and turns. (Shifting foliage.)
ARTHUR: What… who are you?
MASKED MAN: A ratcatcher.
ARTHUR: A rat… catcher? And that man in there…? Was…?
RATCATCHER (plainly): A rat.
(Footsteps.)
JOHN: H-He’s leaving again!
ARTHUR: Look, please. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to since…
JOHN: He cocks his head to the side slightly.
ARTHUR: I just… I need to know where to go. The tower was…
JOHN: He turns his head up toward the tower.
RATCATCHER: You came from tower?
ARTHUR: I did, yes.
RATCATCHER: The wheezing men had you.
ARTHUR: They did. They… I escaped.
RATCATCHER: Why?
ARTHUR: Why? Why… I’m no prisoner! I…
RATCATCHER: They wanted to keep you there.
ARTHUR: Yes, but I-I can’t…
RATCATCHER: Keep you safe.
ARTHUR: Safe?
RATCATCHER: Keep you… dead.
ARTHUR: I‘m not dead.
RATCATCHER (emphatically): We’re all dead. (Footsteps.)
JOHN: H-He walks away.
ARTHUR: Wait, please! Stop.
JOHN: H-He’s stopping!
ARTHUR: Look, just – why would they want to keep me dead?
RATCATCHER: Ask them. (Footsteps.)
ARTHUR: And where… look, look! Tell me how to leave this… area, this… tower.
RATCATCHER: Why?
ARTHUR: Why? Why not? (A bell rings.) Why w –
JOHN: He cocks his head again. He hears… the bell. (A sad melody begins.)
ARTHUR: You hear that, too?
JOHN: He doesn’t react. H-He turns and begins walking up the hill. (Footsteps.)
ARTHUR: What does it mean? What does the bell mean?
RATCATCHER: I hear no bell.
ARTHUR (exasperated): You heard it, y-you heard the bell, you – !
RATCATCHER: It is not bell for me.
ARTHUR: Well, I heard a bell.
RATCATCHER: Then you should follow. (Footsteps.)
ARTHUR: Why?
RATCATCHER: Something wants your attention.
ARTHUR: Well, then where, which direction?
JOHN: H-He stops. And… points.
ARTHUR: That way?
JOHN: H-He doesn’t react. He simply turns around again… (Footsteps.) And walks through the bushes.
ARTHUR: So long… (Shifting foliage.) Ratcatcher.
JOHN: He’s gone. Disappeared into the bushes.
ARTHUR: The bell…
JOHN: I-I don’t know! But whatever that thing was inside the man, i-it wasn’t… it lunged for us, Arthur. It wanted you. And there are many of those around here. We need to move.
ARTHUR: Okay, okay. But… (A bell rings.) There. The bell, listen. What’s its direction? The right, right?
JOHN: Yes, the right.
ARTHUR: The ratcatcher.
JOHN: Pointed the opposite.
ARTHUR (under his breath): Fuck. (Normally.) Was he… responding to us, though? I…
JOHN: I don’t know.
ARTHUR: Look, the tower could be bouncing the sound of the bell off, too. I-I mean, we’re… we were up in the tower… where did you hear it from when we were climbing the tower?
JOHN (flustered): I, I-I don’t know. I’m all turned around, I-I have no idea.
ARTHUR: Okay, okay. Fair, fair.
JOHN: Well. Do you want to follow the direction the ratcatcher pointed, or the way it sounds like the bell is ringing from?
ARTHUR (exhale): The ratcatcher. He’s… He was responding to us. Even if it’s not the bell’s direction, i-it’s surely the way forward.
JOHN: Very well. There’s no time to waste.
ARTHUR: Yes, let’s move. (Footsteps. Shifting dirt.)
JOHN: I’ll have to… navigate you carefully.
ARTHUR: I-I’ll use my hand as well, I can feel… (Dirt shifting.) Here. See?
JOHN: Yes. Right, now. (Arthur’s noises of exertion.) Left. (More movement.) Left, still. I-I think. (He sighs.)
ARTHUR: Ow. (To himself.) Some cannot be saved. Some don’t want to be saved.
JOHN: Right. Right here. The Manager said… only those who want help. (The lighter flicks.)
ARTHUR: This lighter, i-it… it cleared our head. Even when we weren’t near it.
JOHN: I too felt the fog lifted in the tower basement. And it’s… yet to return. (Shifting movement. Arthur shushes him.) It’s nothing. Keep moving. (Footsteps. More movement, at a distance.) Left. Here.
ARTHUR (whispering): Others belong here… the ratcatcher.
JOHN: May very well. (Shifting dirt and foliage.) Straight ahead. We’re approaching the mountain range.
ARTHUR: I have so many questions. So many thoughts rattling around my mind, but… but to what end?
JOHN: What do you mean?
ARTHUR: We can’t afford to be distracted now. I can’t afford to be thinking about… (‘Faroe’s Lullaby’ begins.) What else may be here.
JOHN: Or who else.
ARTHUR: Exactly. Just… we need to stay focused. As you said before.
JOHN: As I said. I think… yes. A-Arthur, there’s a break in the mountain that surrounds us. A small covered path through to what lay beyond. That must be where we need to go.
ARTHUR (exhale): Very well. We’re sure it’s not a cave…?
JOHN: I can see the dim gray light of the sky beyond. (Arthur makes noises of exertion.) Here… here. Careful. The passage is large… the stones that support the roof of this natural covered… canyon jut out like thin teeth, needle-like and hollow. And pointing straight down. If one of those stones were to fall as we passed… we’d be skewered to the earth.
ARTHUR (slightly echoing): Perhaps that’s what those bodies were skewered with. The one you saw atop the mountain from the tower. Though I don’t know who would put them there.
JOHN: Perhaps… the mountain itself feeds on them. Luring unsuspecting bodies into its domain and… driving spikes up through the ground as they walk.
ARTHUR: And these spikes now… are right above us.
JOHN: And about ten feet long. This mountain looks as if it were… once alive. And there’s no certainty to say… that it isn’t still.
ARTHUR: Or if it isn’t the spine emerging from some… buried beast in slumber.
JOHN: Precisely. (Shifting dirt.)
ARTHUR: Well, then. Let’s be sure not to wake it. (Tumbling rocks.)
JOHN: Oh! (Taken aback.) Jesus, Arthur. We’ve passed through the rock archway. The land lay before… and below us.
ARTHUR: What do you see?
JOHN: Beyond this stone mountain pass is a large… flat field. Clouds of gray move across it, as if… walking the field.
ARTHUR: Clouds?
JOHN: Similar, but… no… and not mist, either. The clouds are too small, too…
ARTHUR: Smoke.
JOHN: Yes. I think so. But… we stand higher than the field, atop a small ridge that slopes down into what looks like a large, long… horizontal ditch that runs the length of the field. A… trench.
ARTHUR: A trench.
JOHN: The field is filled with…. barbed wire and… metal obstacles, as if to prevent us from…
ARTHUR: No Man’s Land.
JOHN: A No Man’s Land.
ARTHUR: I-I’ve heard stories, from those w-who… (A bell rings.) The bell!
JOHN: Yes! I hear it, too. (Footsteps.)
ARTHUR: It comes from across the field, doesn’t it?
JOHN: It does.
ARTHUR: Well, I suppose we slide down…
JOHN: A-Arthur, wait! That’s… That’s not all. (Distant, monstrously thudding footsteps and far-off groans.)
ARTHUR: What?
JOHN: Walking the fields… between the clouds of gray smoke are these… beings. They must be… fifteen or twenty feet tall! Their bodies, bony and thin. But they are… not human.
ARTHUR: What?
JOHN: They move across the No Man’s Land… armless… with multiple, spindly legs. Not like an arachnid, but… more akin to a large crustacean, though the legs are very thin. Upon their heads… instead of their heads… is a large, directional lantern. It scans No Man’s Land as they move through it, as if… a spotlight. Searching.
ARTHUR: How… How many of these… are there?
JOHN: The smoke makes it difficult to get a representation of how far these fields stretch, but… I see at least four of these creatures.
ARTHUR: And the smoke, w-wh… how far does –
JOHN: It continues on for a long time.
ARTHUR: Alright. (A bell rings.) Well. The bell is our only hope right now. How close are the lanterns?
JOHN: Far enough for now. In fact, the closest seems to be in a field… past the one before us.
ARTHUR: Well, then. Let’s take this one step at a time. (Shifting dirt.)
JOHN: Alright. Slide down. Carefully. (Arthur makes noises of exertion. Shifting dirt, a loud thud, and splashing water.) There, there! We’ve made it into the trench.
ARTHUR (disgusted): Oh, it’s wet!
JOHN: Yes, the bottom few inches are filled with… water… blood, I-I…
ARTHUR (quickly): I-I don’t want to know. Is there a way through? To another trench? Hopefully… on the far side of No Man’s Land…
JOHN: None that I can see. (Arthur sighs.) This trench goes on… forever. I don’t see a way around.
ARTHUR: Alright.
JOHN: Are you sure about this?
ARTHUR: Do you see another way forward?
JOHN: It’s the only path I see.
ARTHUR: Well, then what choice do we have? (Shifting dirt. Splashing water.) Up and over.
JOHN: Up and over. (Splashing.) Here, here! Grab the … there, there! (Arthur grunts in exertion.) There’s a piece of wood by your right hand. Right… there.
ARTHUR: Here?
JOHN: Further… there, there!
ARTHUR: Right.
JOHN: You can use it to hoist yourself up and over. (Strained.) There! And up… Jesus… (John and Arthur make noises of exertion. In horror.) Oh, Jesus.
ARTHUR: What? What?
JOHN: This No Man’s Land is a minefield of… detritus. (Arthur pants for breath.) Spotted by abandoned machines and… metal razor wire as tall as us. But the land! The earth, the… mud beneath our feet… is filled with… faces. (Arthur reacts in panic and disgust.) Faces of the fallen.
ARTHUR: How…?
JOHN: We stand upon them. They are… grim. Unmoving.
ARTHUR (shocked): Oh!
JOHN: The death masks of a thousand dead. There’s no way to avoid them. It’s as if the earth had swallowed them up, burying them alive. All but their upward bent faces.
ARTHUR: Oh, fuck.
JOHN: Let’s… move. (Footsteps. Someone whispers at a distance.)
ARTHUR: What was – ?
JOHN: I don’t know! (A short pause. Shifting dirt.) Keep moving. (Footsteps. Another distant voice.)
ARTHUR: John, tell me that is –
JOHN: I hear it, too. I don’t see anyone. (A flurry of voices in the background, all overlapping: whispering, weeping, screaming, talking, begging.) The faces!
ARTHUR: Oh, fuck.
JOHN: Below!
ARTHUR: Jesus.
JOHN: The sea of faces, they… speak! Some in whispers, others… muttering as if to themselves! (Arthur groans.) A cacophony of quiet noise… of regrets… of unwritten missives… of disregarded orders…
ARTHUR: God…
JOHN: Unfulfilled dreams. The faces, they… they speak to no one.
ARTHUR: The lantern creatures are…
JOHN: Still far enough away. I-In fact, it seems like there’s another trench up ahead separating this field from the one the lantern creature currently searches within.
ARTHUR: Then, we… we keep moving, I-I-I-I guess.
JOHN: Wait, wait. Do you hear that?
ARTHUR: Yes, I hear all of them, John, and I’m trying not –
JOHN: No, listen.
(At a distance, someone softly sings ‘Plastic Jesus’.)
ARTHUR: Is that…?
JOHN: It’s coming from our left. One of the faces.
ARTHUR: Oh, God. (Footsteps.)
JOHN: Here.
ARTHUR: Here.
JOHN: Here, here, here! By our, by our feet. (He gasps.)
KELLIN (singing): ‘...I’ll go far.’
ARTHUR: Oh, God. Kellin? (A slow melody begins.)
KELLIN: Who are you?
ARTHUR: I-It’s me. A-Arthur. I…
KELLIN (weakly): Who?
JOHN: He, He isn’t wearing a mask.
KELLIN: Get away from me.
ARTHUR: Kellin, no…
KELLIN (angrier): Get away from me!
ARTHUR: Kellin, just…
JOHN: His face is covered in mud, barely above the surface. Dirt fills his nostrils… and all that I can see is the muddy frame of his face.
ARTHUR: Fine… fine. (Shifting dirt.)
KELLIN: Wait. Wait. It’s you.
ARTHUR (whispering): What?
KELLIN: Why did she choose you?
ARTHUR: Why? (Stressed.) I… I, I don’t know. Kellin, I –
KELLIN: All my life I wanted to matter. I wanted to be special.
ARTHUR (emotional): Kellin… I…
KELLIN: I wanted what she had. So much, I tried to take it. (He inhales shakily.) I wanted her gift to come to me. But it didn’t. And I killed her. (Shifting dirt and pebbles.)
ARTHUR: I’m sorry, I-I don’t know…
JOHN: Arthur, h-he sinks further…
ARTHUR: No no no! Come back.
JOHN: The lanterns continue their search. A-Arthur… one approaches… this side of No Man’s Land, and…
KELLIN: No, no. Don’t be sorry. You gave me a gift that day.
ARTHUR: I… I did?
(Distant, loud footsteps.)
JOHN (anxious): Arthur, the lantern-headed creature! It begins to stalk this way! As if on patrol to –
KELLIN: You picked me… you picked my car… (The lantern creature groans. Thudding footsteps grow closer.) You made me feel… wanted. For the first time in my life.
ARTHUR: You’re not angry with me?
KELLIN: What is there to be angry at? You’re dead now. (Shifting dirt and pebbles.)
JOHN: His eyes go under, only his mouth remains, but! Arthur… we should move, we… we…
(The creature grows louder.)
KELLIN: Soon. He’ll put you in the ground, too.
ARTHUR: Who…?
KELLIN: I can’t hear you no more.
ARTHUR: Who?
KELLIN: But he’ll find you!
JOHN: Arthur!
ARTHUR: Kellin, who?
KELLIN: He found all of our – (He is cut off, only mumbles audible.)
ARTHUR: Who, Kellin?
JOHN: Arthur, he’s gone, but – Arthur, the lantern creature, it – Arthur, stop! (Arthur breathes shakily. The creature bellows.) The lantern creature… its massive spotlight is on… us. We’re bathed… in yellow light. Don’t… move an inch. We’re bathed in the amber light of the being as it looks down on us. God. Jesus, it’s… up close, this entity is made of… (The creature growls.) Twisted metal. Like rusted wires spun around meaty flesh. Though I can’t see it fully beneath its… skin. The multiple legs stretch out, spread wide as if… ready to pounce, but… it doesn’t seem to be reacting any further.
(The creature growls.) I… I don’t know if it can see us while we remain still, but… (Dirt shifts. Arthur breathes quickly.) Arthur! Stop! Be silent. (The creature groans.) It cranes its neck down… bringing the light closer. It’s near-impossible to see into, but… within, it looks like… an impossible brightness. A light composed of… wisps! (An eerie melody begins.) Strings, almost, and… and… and beyond… contorted and stretched… faces. Elongated and… melding together… faces screaming in agony and terror! (An amalgam of distant, terrified noises.) I… I can’t stop… looking… it’s… beautiful! Arthur… A-Arthur!
(Burning noises. Arthur hisses in pain.)
Jesus! Oh, God, Arthur, your skin! The light is causing pieces to crisp and… peel away! The light, it’s… it’s burning your skin, just… just hold on! (The creature growls. A bell rings. Monstrous footsteps.) A little… the creature… it turns away! In the direction of the bell! Its back is to us, move! (Arthur gasps. He starts to run.) Move, quickly! Toward the farther trench!
ARTHUR (sobbing as he runs): Fuck! Fuck!
JOHN: Arthur, I… I’m so sorry, I…
ARTHUR: Oh, God!
JOHN: The light within, it was… was…
ARTHUR (breathless): Is it… does it seem to…
JOHN: No! It moves on, as if uninterested completely. I-I… I couldn’t look away, Arthur. Within the lantern, it was… as if looking into a million souls. (A sad melody begins.) All crying in fear and pain and… it was… beautiful.
ARTHUR (in pain): Oh, my skin is… fuck. Fuck. (Cracking noises.)
JOHN: Jesus, A-Arthur, you’re… your left shoulder is… charred black. H-How did you…? (Arthur groans in pain.) Wire… wire… move around it, to the left. Wait, no. No. The right.
ARTHUR: God damn it.
JOHN: Just... Just keep moving. (Dirt shifting.)
ARTHUR (emotionally): This place… this hell… this…
JOHN: I’m sorry, I… oh, Arthur, the trench! (Arthur’s noise of surprise, falling dirt, and a thump. Arthur breathes heavily. Splashing water.) Arthur?
ARTHUR: I… uh. Oh, fu… I can’t. I can’t.
JOHN: You can.
ARTHUR: I can’t… (He grunts.)
JOHN: You can. You… you…
ARTHUR: I can’t… let… this place… win. (A sad melody begins. Arthur sniffs.)
JOHN: Yes. I-It’s… so easy to let it. Believe me, I-I know.
ARTHUR: You still don’t recognize anything?
JOHN: No. Nothing yet.
ARTHUR: No familiar feelings?
JOHN: Not since the lighter. (Water splashes. The lighter flicks.)
ARTHUR: Not since the lighter. (He sighs.) A citadel of bones.
JOHN: That’s… right.
ARTHUR (sighing): I-I forgave you. I still forgive you, for whatever you had to do here.
JOHN: Right.
ARTHUR: But it may be pertinent to tell me now. And now that we’re stuck here.
JOHN: I-I… (He sighs.)
ARTHUR: Tell everything. You know, you held this secret close for a long time. Hunting, murdering.
JOHN: Yes.
ARTHUR: I don’t mean to downplay it, John. These are awful things, but. I guess I’m… I’m a little surprised at how stoutly you kept that secret from me. If that’s all it was. (Water splashes.) I mean, Oscar. Eddie. Faust. We’ve both done some truly terrible things.
JOHN (cautiously): We have.
ARTHUR: And I’m… I guess I’m having trouble understanding why this was so important to keep secret.
JOHN: It wasn’t… only… these things I did here, Arthur. (Seriously.) I want to explain something to you. I don’t know… how, but. I… (A gunshot. Arthur gasps.) Arthur! A man down the trench!
ARTHUR (shocked): Jesus!
JOHN: A soldier! He aims again! (Arthur makes noises of fear.) Move!
(Arthur runs, making panicked noises. A gunshot.)
ARTHUR: Fuck!
JOHN: Run, Arthur! Down the trench! (A gunshot.) The trench is higher here, impossibly high to climb! Keep moving! (Two gunshots.) The soldier was wearing a gas mask and a cloak, but a black webbing covered him! And his eyes behind the mask… his eyes shone red, Arthur! (A gunshot.)
ARTHUR: Fucking –
JOHN: Wait wait wait. Here, here! Left!
ARTHUR (desperate): Where!?
JOHN: Left! Again! Again, here! Here! There’s an opening into a… a bunker! Yes! (A door creaks open. Something clatters.) A bunker, yes. Wooden slats run vertical along the walls… supporting wood beams that hold back the compacted dirt above! Melted pools of wax reveal long burnt candles, it’s… as you move in, it grows darker. I can’t… (The lighter flicks.) Yes. Straight ahead. (Footsteps.) The hallways here are maze-like… and labyrinthine. If we stay quiet… we may not draw – (Two gunshots, the last shattering glass. John gasps.)
ARTHUR: Fuck!
JOHN: To the right! He’s coming. Run! (Arthur runs.) Keep your left hand on the wall, Arthur! Run!
ARTHUR: Is this… Kellin said a man would –
JOHN: This must be! He’s hunting us. (A hollow impact.) A door! We’re in a small room. Bunk beds line the walls!
ARTHUR: A way out.
JOHN: I don’t…
ARTHUR (yelling): A way out! (Something topples over.)
JOHN: I don’t see one!
ARTHUR: Fuck. Fuck!
JOHN: To the right of the door! Move! (Arthur breathes quickly.) When he enters… when he enters, just… grab his gun. And… And… wrestle him to the floor. (Distant footsteps.) We can… we can take him, if we… wait, wait, wait. Here! Here. Here he comes. Get ready. Get ready! Now! (Arthur grunts in exertion. An altercation. The gun goes off. The masked man breathes rapidly.) The lighter, Arthur! Yes, Arthur! (Shattering glass.) You have him on the ground! He still has his gun, but…
ARTHUR: Don’t you fucking… you…
JOHN: His mask, Arthur! Grab it! (Sticky noises. John and Arthur gasp.) Arthur, his face is covered in the black webbing his body is! His cheeks are covered in sticky patches of rotten flesh! The lighter is off to our right. (A clatter.) I can barely make out… oh, Arthur! His knife! (Urgently.) His knife! He has a trench knife in his belt! (Arthur grunts in exertion. A clattering.) Yes! He holds you back, but you can reach it! He gnashes his teeth, his eyes are red with blood, and… and… and… (The scrape of metal.) Wait! Wait! Wait, A-Arthur… forget the knife! (Arthur makes an interrogative noise.) Grab the lighter!
(A hopeful melody begins.)
ARTHUR (confused): The lighter!?
JOHN: Yes! Yes, grab it! (The clang of metal.) Shine it in his eyes!
ARTHUR: Where?
JOHN: To the right, to the right! (Arthur groans in exertion.) Now! Get off him. (The sound of flame.) Quick!
ARTHUR: What?
(Scurrying noises. The masked man breathes quickly.)
JOHN: He… He scurried back, pushing his back against the room’s wooden pillar.
UNKNOWN MAN: The light! The light!
ARTHUR: What? What?
UNKNOWN MAN: The… the light. The light.
JOHN: The light.
UNKNOWN MAN (confused): What?
JOHN: Some… Some can be saved.
ARTHUR: Saved?
JOHN: The red from his eyes… departs, Arthur. The bloodlust… sated. He sees, he sees clearly.
UNKNOWN MAN: Why?
ARTHUR (breathless): Clearly? How? How did you know? How did you know he… he could be… saved?
JOHN (surprised): I didn’t. I didn’t.
UNKNOWN MAN: The light, the light.
JOHN: But we had to try.
ARTHUR: Had to try? On him? Now? Wh… Why w-would –
JOHN: Because I recognize him.
UNKNOWN MAN: The, the light…
ARTHUR: What?
JOHN: Frederick.
ARTHUR: Frederick? (A wistful melody begins.) Who… Who is…
JOHN: Marie’s… son.
ARTHUR: Marie? (Frederick breathes shakily.)
JOHN: I saw his portrait in the locket she gave us. H-His face was like hers, but… I remembered his eyes.
FREDERICK: Why? Why? Mother… do you… what… (Shifting.) What is this… what’s happened, what… what’s…?
ARTHUR: You… this place… this is… a Dark World, it… it corrupts us, it –
FREDERICK: Stop.
JOHN: His face makes a pained expression. One sewn in with realization. Of what he’s done. Of what he’s become.
FREDERICK: Who are you?
ARTHUR: My name is Arthur Lester, I… I knew your mother. I knew her for a brief time. But I knew her well. She spoke… lovingly of you.
JOHN: The man’s face remains stern, but… he fights against reacting.
ARTHUR: I, I can’t explain everything, but…
FREDERICK: I never came back… did I?
ARTHUR: No. (Shifting.) You died. In the Great War.
FREDERICK: I did.
ARTHUR: I-I’m sure you have questions, I-I mean there’s… there’s so much…
FREDERICK: Is she okay? Did she… once she found out I… is she okay?
ARTHUR: She is. She’s… strong. (Flustered.) I… was going to write her, I-I…
(Distant heavy footsteps. Falling silt.)
FREDERICK: These bunkers are not safe.
ARTHUR: Then we need to move! I-I have… I have to leave this place.
FREDERICK (surprised): The fields?
ARTHUR: No. Well, yes, but… the Dark World.
FREDERICK: You can’t leave Hell, boy.
ARTHUR: I must. I-I’ve… I’m being guided by a… a bell.
FREDERICK: I heard no bell.
ARTHUR: Well then, can you show me the way out? A way past the war?
JOHN: He looks sternly at himself, the black webbing still thick on his uniform.
ARTHUR: You can come with me. You can leave this place –
FREDERICK: There’s no leaving this place. This is the only thing I remember.
ARTHUR: That’s not true! Y-You remember your mother, you remember –
FREDERICK: I will never leave the war. The war will never leave me.
ARTHUR: Okay. Well, then. Please just show me the way.
JOHN: He nods quietly.
FREDERICK: This way. (Footsteps.)
JOHN: He passes us and heads down the hallway. Follow!
ARTHUR (surprised): Oh. (Footsteps.)
FREDERICK: I have not been beyond the war, but… I have killed men who have come from that direction.
ARTHUR: And?
FREDERICK: And they are rotten. Infested. A blight covers that land. Here, here. (Fabric shifting.)
JOHN: Without turning around, he hands you his gas mask.
FREDERICK: Take a jumper from one of the hooks up ahead.
ARTHUR: T-Thank you.
JOHN: He moves through, nervously watching the corners as he enters each subsequent room.
ARTHUR: What do you mean, a blight?
FREDERICK: A rot. A sickness that grows on the skin. I know not how it affects them, but the ones I’ve killed were… hollow. Husks of men.
JOHN: We’ve entered a small room with… (Surprised.) Clothes! Boots and dust-covered jackets. A-Arthur!
ARTHUR (in relief): Oh, thank God! (Wooden creaking.)
JOHN: He stops for you to get dressed.
ARTHUR: Thank you.
FREDERICK: Here, here.
ARTHUR: Thank you, Frederick. (Fabric shifting.)
FREDERICK: What is that?
ARTHUR: What? (Zipping and fabric shifting.)
JOHN: He looks to our arm. The light... scratch on our left forearm. I, I didn’t notice with the muck and blood, but…
ARTHUR: Oh.
JOHN: The white of it looks… like it almost glows in the darkness… against the flame of our lighter.
ARTHUR: I… I don’t know. A scratch.
JOHN: His eyes tighten slightly.
FREDERICK: I know little about the lands beyond. But I have heard one name. The Dollmaker.
ARTHUR: The Dollmaker?
FREDERICK: They are said to harvest hair in fields and eyes from trees. I know nothing but stories, save one fact. They seek out the unique… and interesting.
JOHN: His eyes fall to our arm.
FREDERICK: That is both. I suggest you keep it hidden.
ARTHUR: Happily. (Zipping. John grunts.)
JOHN: The jumpsuit is tight, but… it should keep out the mud, and… protect us. (Distant footsteps. The groan of a lantern creature.)
FREDERICK: Let’s go. The exit is not far. (Footsteps.)
JOHN: He leads us again through the hallways.
FREDERICK: Wherever this bell leads you, be cautious and careful. (A sad melody begins.) Nothing in this place wants to help. Although… the light is certainly special.
ARTHUR: It is.
JOHN (excited): I see light up ahead! The dim gray of the outside again. We never would’ve found this without him.
ARTHUR: Frederick… thank you.
FREDERICK: Do not thank me. The blight is death. I have no belief that mask will work against it, but it’s your best shot… in… leaving this place.
JOHN: He says the last part with a heavy doubt in his voice.
ARTHUR: I have to try, Frederick. Everything depends on me. Your mother, as well.
FREDERICK: In that case, I wish you all the luck in the world.
ARTHUR: You’re… sure you don’t want to come? (Shifting.)
JOHN: He looks back, the direction we came.
FREDERICK: No. I need to go back and help my men. I was… I was just following orders.
ARTHUR: Thank you, Frederick.
FREDERICK: Thank you, Arthur. (Dirt shifting. Footsteps.)
JOHN: He goes to leave. Put on the mask, I suppose.
ARTHUR: Right. (Clanking. Arthur breathes heavily through the mask.)
JOHN: O-Oh! H-He’s stopped.
FREDERICK: Arthur.
ARTHUR: Yes?
FREDERICK: If you do manage to escape this place… would you tell my mother… tell her that I… love her. And that I owe her everything. Will you tell her that?
ARTHUR: Of course.
FREDERICK: And, um… make sure you write to her.
ARTHUR: I promise. I will.
FREDERICK: Godspeed, Arthur. Godspeed. (Quieter.) You will need it.
(A click, followed by static.)
(END Part 53.)