Part 54 "The Living Wake"
A blighted land, an empty world, a moment to reflect...
In Part 54, we find ourselves walking the blighted, hollow lands of the Dark World. What is uncovered will change the fabric of their very being...
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PART FIFTY-FOUR: THE LIVING WAKE
Transcript made and edited by jack
CWs: animal harm/death, illness/plague, corpses, discussions of gore, discussions of child harm/death, death, needles, insectoid/arthropods, spiders, body horror, corpse desecration
(BEGIN Part 54.)
(Rumbling thunder. Slow footsteps. Arthur’s muffled breathing. A sad melody begins.)
JOHN: I can’t recall my dream. I know I had one. Back in England. But I cannot recall it. Like a faded photograph, it slowly but surely disappears from memory. But I do recall the feeling it gave me. Not of joy, exactly, nor… fear. It was a feeling of… disconnect. As if I were watching myself, though I had no form. A layer of glass between me… and what I witnessed. It was a separation of self. I’m reminded of that, now.
ARTHUR (muffled): Why?
JOHN: Because this… blight… it coats my view of the Dark World in a film. Obscuring what I see, tainting it ever so slightly. It is not as it appears. It is… infected.
ARTHUR: I see.
JOHN: Be glad you don’t. We walk through a dark, averdant haze. The same we’ve been in since leaving No Man’s Land. And while we’ve encountered many a mist, fogs that cling to the still swamp water… clouds that hang from trees… this is not the same. It is not of the clouds. It is… the air. No breeze will ever move it. No gust of wind will ever shift it from this place. It’s stuck here, as if a being itself.
(Arthur grunts. Something glass-like cracks.)
It’s been far too quiet since we left the fields and I can see only a few feet in front of us. What I do see… what lay beneath our feet… is a black webbing of… rot. Like Frederick wore on his chest. A disease undoubtedly caught from his encounter with whatever escaped the mist.
ARTHUR: He said he killed things from the blight. But was it… things or people? I can’t recall. What did he say?
JOHN: He called them men. Hollow husks of men.
ARTHUR: The bell will guide us. We’ll move on sound. I’ve done it well enough. For long enough.
JOHN: Odd as it sounds… the mist isn’t impeding us, though. Instead, it’s almost… guiding us.
ARTHUR: Look, between hordes of naked rat-filled bodies or lantern creatures burning my skin off, I’ll take the silence of this blight. So long as this mask holds.
JOHN: Agreed.
(A small pause.)
ARTHUR: John, what we spoke about previous. About you telling me everything.
JOHN: Yes, I… (A delicate melody begins.) Look. In a moment. I-I… I do need to focus, I…
ARTHUR: You’re avoiding. It –
JOHN (overlapping): No, no. I’m not. I’m not. (He sighs.) I… need time to explain.
ARTHUR: Explain what?
JOHN: Just… (Quieter.) Look, once we have a moment. A-A safe moment. One we’re guaranteed to have a few minutes of respite, at least. I promise. I’ll be the one coming to you to speak. I want to be able to… to actually talk. Not have anything… jump up and interrupt us. Okay?
ARTHUR: Okay. Yes.
JOHN: Until then, I promise if anything important or pertinent comes up, I will tell you.
ARTHUR: That’s all I need to know. (A short pause.) Does this Dollmaker ring any bells for you?
JOHN: No. But this realm, Arthur, has billions of entities. I’m not surprised I haven’t heard of it. I’m glad we were given a heads-up… (Distracted.) B-By…
(Blowing wind.)
ARTHUR: Frederick.
JOHN: Yes. Yes, there’s something overhead.
ARTHUR: Over… head?
JOHN: The mist, i-it opens. Not dissipating, b-but parts, in a way. As if… frozen. I-It hangs in the air. And I can see the sky.
ARTHUR: The sky!
JOHN: The clouds high above form a pointed cyclone. Almost like an arrow. In the direction we head.
ARTHUR (hopeful): A sign?
JOHN: Not for us, no. I don’t know what it means. Oh. But the mist stops before us. As if entering the eye of a storm. The cloud wall lingers beyond, and we exit into a… clearing.
ARTHUR: Oh.
(The wind stops. Soft footsteps.)
JOHN: The blight is still very much present. And this… eye of the storm, if that’s what it is, goes on for… miles. But I can see the wall of cloud bending off to our right and left. Heading forward. As if this spot… is hidden from the remainder of the Dark World.
ARTHUR: Quarantined through cloud.
JOHN: Almost, yes!
ARTHUR: God, I hope that isn’t the case.
JOHN: It’s a… farm. On the outskirts of some… village in the distance.
ARTHUR: A farm?
JOHN: To our left is a large field. (He exhales.) The far left corner of it touches the cloud wall, but… beyond that, it sits firmly within this… blighted zone, and… blighted it is. The ground here is entirely covered with the black webbing we’ve been walking upon, but it’s extended to the rocks, barren bushes and fence enclosing the field. It even seems to encroach upon the barn up ahead.
ARTHUR: There’s a barn, too?
JOHN: Yes. B-But this field is barren, save about a dozen… severed cow heads… each of them sporting large black crooked horns. The bodies of which are… nowhere to be found.
ARTHUR: If Frederick is right, and this is an infection, often you’d have to kill the cattle, too.
JOHN: Some of them are… still bleeding.
ARTHUR: Recently killed.
JOHN: Their eyes… follow us.
ARTHUR: Let’s move. Which way?
JOHN (mystified): How are they…?
ARTHUR (urgently): Which way, John?
JOHN: Straight ahead. Sorry. The eyes… I-I’ve… never seen them like that. (At a loss.) The animals had… they were… staring, a-and…
ARTHUR: Shake it off. Focus on what’s ahead.
JOHN: Right, right.
ARTHUR: And help me with the path. It’s difficult. (John exhales.) Is this just… the webbing?
JOHN: No. Beneath the black webbing, the road is almost constructed in… waves.
ARTHUR: Waves?
JOHN: Yes. Imagine thick ropes, the diameter of your closed fists, running alongside one another in a waving pattern. Only the waves are alternating. While one rope is up, the other down…
ARTHUR: Yes, I understand. Why, though?
JOHN: I have no idea, Arthur. It looks organic, just like the tower. I told you, buildings here… they’re not man-made. But… birthed from the black rock beneath whatever counts as soil here.
ARTHUR: No, I know.
JOHN: Even the barn looks like a crude attempt at recreating one from a child’s memory. It’s imperfect. And the red walls look more like stone dipped in blood than painted wood.
ARTHUR: Is there anything in the barn?
JOHN: Only one way to find out.
ARTHUR: Alright.
JOHN (thoughtfully): Mm.
ARTHUR: What?
JOHN: I’m starting to notice some distinct objects beneath the black webbing.
ARTHUR: Such as?
JOHN: Skulls. Many. Many of them.
ARTHUR: Right.
JOHN: In fact, a few skeletal remains are plastered against the wall of the barn. It seems this blight strips the flesh from whatever it kills.
ARTHUR: The last time we were near a barn…
JOHN: Lillith. Well, she’s dead now.
ARTHUR: Killed by her own father.
JOHN: Huh. This barn, I-I don’t… I don’t see a way it opens, but… (He sighs.) To the left. Oh! Oh, the side is open. There are no doors.
ARTHUR: You’re sure there’s no one around?
JOHN: No one that I see.
ARTHUR: Well, let’s be quick. (John sighs. Footsteps on wood.)
JOHN: The barn interior is… just like the outside. Crudely made and… riddled with… errors.
ARTHUR: Errors? (A mysterious melody begins.)
JOHN: The beams don’t support anything. The roof isn’t properly connected. I’m no carpenter, but this is… obvious.
ARTHUR: A facsimile of a barn. Of a farm. And a poor one. Why bother?
JOHN: I don’t think anyone bothered, Arthur. This place, the Dark World… it’s a distillation of what we create in the real world, but… only in dregs. If the worst parts of ourselves end up here… then perhaps, too, do the worst parts of what we’ve created. The tower… No Man’s Land… they’re twisted and distorted stories that… once were everything their creators admired.
ARTHUR: Now it sounds like you’re speaking from experience.
JOHN: I am. I know what it feels like to have your view distorted and changed in this place.
ARTHUR: Right. I think I’m finally getting it.
JOHN: Me too, in a way. With that lighter… with my head about me… viewing the Dark World in this way, it’s… it’s entirely different than what it was like the first time.
ARTHUR: How so?
JOHN: I can’t… it’s like… being filled with rage beyond measure. When you get into that… a moment like that, when you… can’t control your anger… or fear, or… you can’t stop crying…
ARTHUR: Yes.
JOHN: When your emotions are at their zenith, it’s impossible to think clearly.
ARTHUR: Right.
JOHN: The Dark World, without the lighter, is like that. It brings all negative emotions to that point and keeps them there.
ARTHUR: That sounds… exhausting.
JOHN: It is. It is. T-Though I… I don’t… I don’t think that’s the case with everyone. (‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.)
ARTHUR: What do you mean?
JOHN: There are… I met… some… who had the opposite effect. Almost… drained of life.
Almost devoid of emotion. Muted, in a way. As if their lives could never have a moment of joy, or… anger, o-or fear. As if nothing… ever would matter again.
ARTHUR: Oh.
JOHN: I wonder now. Which is worse? (He sighs.) Anyway, there are a few crates in the barn. To the left.
ARTHUR: Here?
JOHN: Yeah, yeah. (Wooden shifting. Clattering.)
ARTHUR: What’s…
JOHN: They look like… root vegetables. Of some sort. Roots at the bottom of them twist and turn, they look like… fingers. Hands, almost.
ARTHUR: Hands?
JOHN: Yes. Small, like that of a child.
ARTHUR: Roots can sometimes look like that.
JOHN: Though roots don’t have… nails. (Arthur makes a noise of disgust. A thump.) Sorry!
ARTHUR: Just as well. I’m not hungry.
JOHN: I don’t see anything else in this barn.
ARTHUR: No, it was worth a shot though. (Footsteps.)
JOHN: Yeah. Yeah. The right is further in the direction we were heading.
ARTHUR: I haven’t heard the bell in some time.
JOHN: No, but this was the direction, I believe. Here, here. (Footsteps on dirt.) The path is here again. Heading further into the farming village. The blight covers everything. (A creature calls. Distant footsteps.) Oh. There’s a figure up ahead.
ARTHUR: A figure? What – ?
JOHN: I-I-It approaches, but it seems uninterested in us. At least, for now. (The creature calls.) Keep… Keep moving.
ARTHUR: Alright.
JOHN: It’s a h-hunched figure, I-I can’t see if it’s a man or a woman or… something else entirely, but it’s… it’s bending over and picking at the black webbing, t-t-the blight. As if… collecting it.
ARTHUR: Collecting? Are there… is it fungus, or –
JOHN: N-No, nothing like that, just… keep walking. Be ready to run if we need to. (Crackling and grinding noises.)
ARTHUR: What is that?
JOHN: I don’t know, it’s… putting something into its backpack, maybe, I…
ARTHUR: Oh. (The creature calls, closer. Occasional grinding noises.)
JOHN: Just… keep going. The creature is small compared to the large sack on its back. Its face is slight and round. Sharp features give it an… angular appearance, but it’s devoid of any mouth, or… ears and… only two large carved sockets with pinpricks of yellow light that flicker like flames denote eyes. The sack on its back looks… huge, large enough to hold hundreds of pounds.
ARTHUR: What is it… doing?
JOHN: Long, slender arms reach down and… elongated fingers delicately… (Webbing shifts and snaps. Creature calls.) Pierce through the tarry web to the dirt beneath and retrieve… skulls… that have long since been stripped of flesh.
ARTHUR: Oh.
JOHN: The arm, then, stretches towards its back, towards the sack and… oh! (Frantic shifting noises.) A small black hand reaches out of the bag on its back and snatches the skull from the creature on the front! Quickly a-and greedily.
(Grinding noises.)
ARTHUR: Oh!
JOHN: I can’t see within the bag, but. It sounds like… grinding from within. Of some sort, a-and… and as the creature passes us, it’s… it’s leaving a white dusty trail of… ground bone on the path behind it. (Arthur makes a disgusted noise.) It pays us no mind whatsoever.
ARTHUR: Perhaps we should…
JOHN (shocked): Speak to it? (He grunts.) I-I don’t know, Arthur. Maybe best not to draw any attention to ourselves. In any way.
ARTHUR: Maybe.
JOHN: Leave it be, Arthur. Please.
ARTHUR (exhaling): Right. You’re right.
JOHN: Let’s keep going. (Footsteps.)
ARTHUR: Frederick helped, you know. (The creature noises fade.) Speaking to people may –
JOHN: Speaking to people may help, yes. But it may also hinder greatly. Whomever this… Dollmaker is… they’re clearly someone to avoid and who knows what kinds of creatures are associated with them? For all we know –
ARTHUR: Yes. (John exhales.) Right. I… I hear you.
JOHN: We couldn’t avoid Frederick. He came after us. Same with the Ratcatcher. But when we have the choice…
ARTHUR: We should lay low. Focus on getting out of here.
JOHN: Right.
ARTHUR (hesitantly): Do you… think… that we can?
(A thoughtful melody begins.)
JOHN: I… I don’t know, Arthur. (Frankly.) I think… you know… each time I wound up here, I-I thought it was the end for me. And yet both times, I found myself leaving the Dark World, so… so what do I know.
ARTHUR: Kayne brought you out of here. I’m sure the Manager can do the same for us –
JOHN: Not without a body.
ARTHUR: Right. Right. Even so, there must be a gateway, or a portal. You said that once, right?
JOHN (uncertainly): Yes, I did, but… only to explain to you how I came back from it. It…
ARTHUR: Oh.
JOHN: In a way to make it… to make it make sense. To you.
ARTHUR: Right.
JOHN: That doesn’t mean there isn’t one. (Frustrated.) And regardless, that doesn’t matter! We’re eating the elephant. One step in front of the other.
ARTHUR: Of course. (A pause.) So how did you escape the first time?
JOHN: Hm?
ARTHUR: Well, Kayne took you out the second time, right? You… You made a deal, a-a bargain. ‘Get me to New York, and…’
JOHN: Right, right.
ARTHUR: But the first time. You were in the Dark World while trapped in the book, which was back in Arkham.
JOHN: Yes. I was… bound to the book here, I… I think a sort of death happened when I was fractured originally, trapped in that book back in Arkham, and… because of the nature of it, I was… only a fragment. Here.
ARTHUR: So when Emily found the book…
JOHN: I could… feel it. Like a pull, from this world, like… invisible strings falling from the skies. Tugging at me, tugging at the veins and the sinew of my cloak, I…
ARTHUR: She opened the book –
JOHN: And when she did… I was granted an opportunity to come back.
ARTHUR: An opportunity?
JOHN: I… required her to read a phrase. An incantation within that book that… well, I suppose Antoine had… that would… bind us together. Allow me to… control her. A phrase that –
ARTHUR: Only I was dumb enough to read from it when you asked. Right. (John sighs.)
JOHN: I’m sorry, Arthur. You have to realize… y-you must understand…
ARTHUR: So you do remember.
JOHN: Only pieces. Honestly. Being in the Waylay definitely… jogged some of that memory. Speaking to you, I do recall… I did recall…
ARTHUR: You played me from the start.
JOHN: I didn’t! I… (A long pause.) I did. In some regards.
ARTHUR: Well. You had me. Hook, line, and sinker. (Footsteps.)
JOHN: We’re reaching the edge of the fog again, the clearing behind us.
ARTHUR: There was nothing else of note?
JOHN: I don’t think so. A few buildings, but –
ARTHUR: Yeah. Well, I’m happy to leave them, then.
JOHN: Right. Well, then.
ARTHUR: Into the mist.
JOHN: Straight ahead. (A bell rings. John makes a noise of surprise.)
ARTHUR: At least we know we’re heading in the right direction. (The bell rings again.)
JOHN: It seems closer, doesn’t it?
ARTHUR: I honestly can’t tell.
JOHN: Tread carefully and slowly. The webbed ground here… the holes seem larger. Easier to trip over.
ARTHUR: I’ll move slowly. (Footsteps.) So. This… first time. The fractured time.
JOHN: The longest time.
ARTHUR: Was it?
JOHN: Indescribably.
ARTHUR: You were… what? Yourself? You had a body, like me?
JOHN: The first time… no, I… I can’t explain, exactly, what I was. It… (He sighs.) It feels like a dream I’ve long forgotten. I don’t know if that’s just because of the time, or… or perhaps because I’ve now entered this world three times… perhaps experiences write over their previous ones, I…
ARTHUR: You think?
JOHN: I-I have no idea, I… I may be the first to have ever come back here. Perhaps I’ve set a precedent. But I… do know it lasted countless lifetimes.
ARTHUR: Are other… gods here?
JOHN: I… don’t know. I don’t think so. I believe… maybe that’s part of the reason I arrived here. Because I was… incomplete. Perhaps… Perhaps people become gods here.
ARTHUR: Do you think there are other versions of me here?
JOHN (quickly): What?
ARTHUR: I mean, with Kayne’s revelation. His band… his orchestra… he must have pulled them from somewhere.
JOHN: I… I-I think we need –
ARTHUR: I mean, hell! Even you said it when we first met. It all seems so obvious, now.
JOHN (flustered): It’s –
ARTHUR: That there are many different worlds, all changing based on choices we make and they all empty out here –
JOHN: Arthur, I –
ARTHUR: So it would stand to reason that –
JOHN: Let’s just –
ARTHUR: What?
JOHN: There’s… (Pulling himself together.) There’s movement up ahead.
ARTHUR: Oh.
JOHN: Stay quiet, for a moment. (Occasional quick footsteps and eerie, ghost-like howls.) Oh. Figures. They pass quickly in the same direction we head. I didn’t get a good look at two that just passed by on either side, but. (Quick footsteps.) A-Another! It’s… a figure! Wearing a… black dress, but… it almost looks like an oil slick, hanging from the frame of their body. I-I-I didn’t get a good enough look. But it walked with its hands held patiently, cusped together at its waist. I hear movement ahead in the fog. (Quick footsteps.) A-Another passes! And another! They were wearing… hats. Large brimmed hats with a slick netting over the front. As if… wait, wait. The fog! I-I-It remains, but… becomes more… transparent, almost. The figures are standing just ahead. Silently. Still. In… rows. Their backs to us. All facing the direction we’re heading in, as if… as if… we’re… (Arthur breathes quickly.) We’re… at a funeral.
(A sad melody begins.)
A dozen or so of these figures… stand here, a-all looking the same. Unmoving. Silent, in this thin mist. It clings to the floor and above us, as if to mimic being inside... though the gray light from the sky still illuminates the area. The figures stand in rows… to either side, their… faces are eyeless, their skin like… gray clay. Smooth, but… imperfect. Only their mouths share an expression of… woe. Utter sadness. Grief-stricken. Their mouths rimmed with blood-red lipstick, hastily applied… they make no movement.
Beneath their wide-brimmed hats, I can see… the backs of their heads are like… pin cushions. Large bulbous needles stick out of their heads like… metal strands of thinning hair. The upper part of their necks swollen and sagging, like… a bullfrog’s vocal sac, I-I… they all stare forward. We stand between them. Move forward. (Footsteps.) It’s almost… like an aisle that leads toward… a large stone slab. A coffin.
The mist, it moves! I-It parts… revealing what lay beyond the stone coffin, i-it’s… it’s a sea of upright concrete columns! Rectangular and all varying in height. Some are ten feet, some… six! Some barely taller than us. They appear… with the same distance between all. Wide enough to move through, like… like a concrete forest.
ARTHUR: Jesus.
JOHN: The people seem… unmoving. Uninterested.
ARTHUR: Okay. Well.
JOHN: The coffin is just ahead. We can pass around it. And head beyond, through the concrete. In the direction of the bell.
ARTHUR: Yes. Let’s.
JOHN: The large stone coffin is just before us. Head around t-to…
ARTHUR: The left, o-or?
JOHN: There’s a name on the coffin.
(‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.)
ARTHUR: Who?
JOHN: It’s…
ARTHUR: Who, John?
JOHN: My name. It says… It says ‘John Doe’.
ARTHUR: Are you going to… open it?
JOHN: Do you think that’s… me, in there?
ARTHUR: There’s only one way to find out.
JOHN: I suppose so. (Arthur sighs. Shifting.)
ARTHUR: Deja vu.
JOHN: Deja vu? What do you…?
ARTHUR (overlapping): Don’t, don’t… it’s nothing.
JOHN: Sure. (Arthur sighs.)
ARTHUR: No, i-it’s not nothing. You know… before we do this… who knows what’s in there, who’s in there? But if it is you… if this is for you… I think you should say something.
JOHN: Say something?
ARTHUR: Like a eulogy.
JOHN (staggered): W-What… what do you mean, a e-eulogy, I-I…?
ARTHUR: Please. I, uh. I’ve let my… ego, my self-hatred… take this chance away from me before.
JOHN: When…?
ARTHUR (quickly): I-I-It doesn’t… matter. Just don’t... don’t let it do the same for you.
JOHN: A eulogy.
ARTHUR: For John Doe. (John sighs.)
JOHN (frustrated): What do I even say? This is –
ARTHUR: Just… speak from the heart.
JOHN: I don’t have a heart.
(Arthur huffs.)
ARTHUR: Of course you do! You –
JOHN: No, I know I have compassion. Empathy. Love. Even if I… struggle with it at times, I know I can feel those emotions, but I… I don’t have a heart. I don’t have lungs, or a stomach, or the ability to taste. I don’t own a body. And even when I did, I… I don’t know if I had those things. My existence wasn’t… born the way you were, Arthur. It wasn’t… birthed or carried. Or loved. It wasn’t nurtured the way you were. I didn’t have a mother. I didn’t have experiences to shape my character, to teach me right from wrong, and I didn’t… want that. I didn’t need that.
I was created complete. I entered this world as the King in Yellow. But I died as John Doe. John Doe, a name not even given to me! As that witch pointed out, one given to you! Not for any symbolic reason, not for any implied persona, but because they needed a name to call you when checking your medication! When assigning work, when trading patients! It wasn’t anything more than a label, and yet I took it! Why?
Why this name? The first… and I… so readily accepted it. Was I just happy to find anything to call myself? Was I…? (He exhales.)
(Calmer.) No. No, I wasn’t. You once told a story, Arthur. About a man lost in the wilderness, searching through the snow-covered trees for salvation, and being turned away by a friend. Only to have this… woman find him. Comfort him. Save him.
ARTHUR: Yes.
JOHN: I didn’t take the name ‘John’ because it felt right. I took it because she gave it to me. (A gentle melody begins.) Lilly. When I met… (He exhales shakily.) When I first… s-saw… (He exhales. Emotionally.) I… I can’t, I-I, this is…
ARTHUR: Try it like a eulogy. (John sighs.)
JOHN: Like a eulogy. (A short pause.) John Doe was born in hospital, like many others. His mother… Lilly… was a nurse there. She had bright blue eyes… and she named him ‘John’. And in that moment, he found… he felt what he would later describe… as… ‘love’ for the first time. It took him many, many months to understand exactly what that moment meant to him. A sort of… rebirth, as it were.
And even now, he struggles to understand the implications. But he knows he was born that day. Before that moment, John Doe was only a fragment of something else, something… evil. But over the course of his short life, he had changed so much that he no longer fit into that frame. He no longer fit that title. He suffered from… guilt… guilt over who he was before that day. Guilt over the man he wanted to be and the fragment that still lingered within. He didn’t want to… project, or… use his powers, because… because if he did, then he wasn’t John. H-He feared… that he was that, that thing again. (The music turns darker.) That… monster, a-a monster he was… afraid of. A monster that still reared its ugly head like, in the Dark World.
(Panicked.) A-Arthur, I…
ARTHUR: It’s okay.
JOHN: In the Dark World, I…!
ARTHUR: I-It’s okay. Hey. This isn’t about me. Just keep going. (John sighs.)
JOHN: John Doe didn’t have a body of his own. (A gentle melody begins.) He shared his life with his friend, Arthur. And while he didn’t want to live only for him… he also didn’t want to live without him. John had taken something terrible from Arthur: his sight. But he couldn’t fathom a world where the two of them weren’t one. Because of this… this gift that John had taken from Arthur, he was… defensive. And… angry, and… he lashed out often. Especially as he… began to come into his own. And… try to become his own… version of what he was to be. (He sniffs.)
He was angry at Arthur and others. But this anger only fueled his guilt. In imagining what his mother would think. (He sniffs.) It took John Doe a great deal of time to begin to understand what he was and what he wanted to be. And even up until his death, he still struggled. The image of himself he saw was always out of focus, always just beyond reach. But that’s what made John Doe human.
His flaws were not because of who he was before being born. They were there because of who he aimed to become. Someone that strived to be better, someone who often failed, someone who wasn’t done growing. We don’t end our lives with completed stories, we don’t cease to exist having answered every question, understood every answer. We die incomplete, half through dinner, an unfinished conversation, mid-bite. We aren’t granted an answer for our life’s pursuits.
But I can no longer plan to die as a complete version of myself. I can only adjust what version of myself I see as complete. (John sniffs.) John Doe died in the presence of his best friend and partner, having hopefully let him know… how much he meant to John.
ARTHUR (teary): That was beautiful, John. (He exhales shakily.)
JOHN: Well. Shall we open this?
ARTHUR: Alright. (Arthur grunts in exertion. Stone shifting. He pants.)
JOHN: It isn’t me. (A gentle melody begins.)
ARTHUR: It is. Even if that body isn’t yours. This moment is.
JOHN: I suppose so.
ARTHUR: Okay. Let’s keep moving.
JOHN: Yes. (He inhales.) Behind us. To the right. (Footsteps.) The concrete forest, here. It… It stands high above us.
ARTHUR: And the, uh, people at the funeral?
JOHN: They remain. None of them reacted in the slightest. To anything.
ARTHUR: Right. Yeah, let’s, um.
(John sighs.)
JOHN: Thank you for that. I think I needed to say that.
ARTHUR: No, thank you. I think I needed to hear that. (A low creaking.)
JOHN: The concrete pillars seem taller from where we are. Walking between them, like barren trees. Though the lines on them make them look as if they’ve been cut by hand. Dried lines of once-dripping liquid reveal how exposed to the elements they are. And looking up, the angular geometric shapes reveal dents from where something has hit them.
ARTHUR: If they’re in lines, you must be able to see what lay beyond.
JOHN: They go on for quite a while. But even so, I… this area is so tight. I’m having a difficult time seeing through the mask. I can’t look up above us, o-or side to side. If something came from any direction other than straight ahead…
ARTHUR: Surely we must nearly be through the blight.
JOHN: Actually… the black webbed floor is gone. I do wonder…
ARTHUR: Should we take off the mask?
JOHN: It would make it much easier to navigate here. And potentially safer.
ARTHUR (muffled): Let’s just… take it off. I feel what I can see more than what’s here.
JOHN: Fair enough. We can always put it back on.
ARTHUR: Exactly. (Shifting. Arthur sighs in relief.) Oh, that’s better. Mm. (He sighs.) Alright. (Stone grinding. John reacts in shock.) What was that?
JOHN: One of the pillars dead ahead. It… shifted.
ARTHUR: Shifted how?
JOHN: Slightly to the right, as if… moving. (Grinding stone.) There, there! It moves again.
ARTHUR: How?
JOHN: I-I don’t know, just… keep moving. Just… (Grinding stone.) There!
ARTHUR: There what!?
JOHN: A small pillar, maybe only three feet tall, just moved. It… lifted off the ground a few inches and… slid forward.
ARTHUR: This concrete forest is shifting and moving.
JOHN: It is.
ARTHUR: We could become lost.
JOHN: Then keep going forward.
ARTHUR: Right, right, right. (Grinding stone. A thudding impact, Arthur’s noise of pain. Crumbling rock.)
JOHN: Jesus, Arthur! That one… That was right by our head!
ARTHUR: I know!
JOHN: It pressed up against another concrete pillar like a… closing door!
(Multiple shifting stone noises.)
ARTHUR: They’re all starting to shift.
JOHN: Move! (Rapid footsteps.) Here, here! A small clearing. (Shifting sand.) Wait, wait. Wait. I… I see what’s… moving them.
ARTHUR: And!?
JOHN: It lifts off the ground, only a small distance. Allowing… (Insectoid noises.) Spindly spider-like legs to stretch out from beneath the pillar. (Grinding stone.)
ARTHUR: Oh.
JOHN: They slowly crawl forward, moving the pillars a short distance. As if these are carried on their backs. (Thudding impact and crumbling stone.) You’ll need to climb up and over, quickly! (Arthur pants in exertion.) Quickly! I see the exit of the forest. Keep moving! (Hollow impacts.) Almost there! (A closer impact.) Another falls. Climb over! There, there! (Arthur groans.) There. We’re here. W-We’re out. And… And… (Calmer.) The mist, i-it’s… it’s gone.
ARTHUR: Oh.
(A slow melody begins.)
JOHN: The air… I can… I can feel it upon our skin.
ARTHUR: Me too. (He breathes heavily.)
JOHN: Jesus, this… view.
ARTHUR: What? Where are we?
JOHN: We… We stand high upon a cliff. The edge of a world, in a way. But I can see this place now, farther than ever before. The clouds are gone. What lay before us is… I…
ARTHUR: Tell me.
JOHN: The sheer precipice before us… is like that of the mountains we left behind, black, broken stone, but… the cliff’s edge doesn’t slope down. Rather, it looks as though it were broken, long ago. A haggard, toothy break… revealing the innards of the mountain beneath us. Lean forward. (Slow footsteps.) Just a bit! Within… wooden boards stick out from the rockface. Our way down. The only way down. As if the wooden boards were hidden in the mountain like some… morbid prize. This entire area as far as I can see is an overhang and far below… an endless, stagnant ocean. As far as the eye can see.
ARTHUR: An ocean?
JOHN: Yes. The water… if it is water… it could be ice, i-it doesn’t move with the wind. With anything. Its gray waters are motionless, lifeless. A deathly quiet painting of what should be a vibrant and stirring scene… one even I’ve seen a dozen times. A seaside view that feels… imitated. Without life… like all things here. All of our time together… in Arkham, Addison… images would float into my brain, things I felt I’d seen before. They’re all from here. Landscapes that aren’t quite right.
ARTHUR: Is there… a beach, or…
JOHN: Yes, but… Arthur, that… that doesn’t even begin to describe what I see… above us.
ARTHUR: Above us?
JOHN: On the beach are… massive anchors with enormous chains running from them. To the sky above the stagnant ocean… these anchors and chains dot the landscape in the distance. I count… four in total. All running to what seem to hang in the airspace above the waters. A massive… structure.
(Quiet chanting starts in the background.)
JOHN: The more I look at it, the less it tends to make sense, but. It looks like a gargantuan… arthropod. Like a horseshoe crab, or a trilobite, only… it’s upended. Its heavy chitinous shell pointed down toward the waters. Its legs… vertical, and stretch toward the gray sky. There are… growths on its back, barnacles, and –
ARTHUR: Wait, what are you even saying? What is – ?
JOHN: I am trying my best, I-I think –
ARTHUR: A creature is suspended? O-Or not, it’s being tied down to the Dark World? To keep it from… what, from floating away? But –
JOHN: Arthur, I think… it’s a city.
ARTHUR: A city?
JOHN: I can’t articulate exactly how large this is, how imposing against the gray sky it reveals itself to be, but… this thing, it’s… monstrous.
(The chanting stops.)
ARTHUR: This place is monstrous. All of these structures we’ve seen are…
JOHN: They’re not like this. This is different. (Footsteps.)
ARTHUR: Surely there’s a way around.
JOHN: Of course… we do need to descend. But once we do, the beach will provide a way around the floating island. Then on the far side, it does seem to present a way up… to what looks to be a-a field of sorts.
ARTHUR: Perfect. Well, the – (A bell rings.)
JOHN: Sh, sh! Quiet. Arthur. (A bell rings again.)
ARTHUR (whispering): Don’t say it.
JOHN: But it is. (Arthur sighs.) It came from above. It came from that city.
ARTHUR: Jesus Christ.
JOHN: A-Arthur…
ARTHUR (frustrated): What are we supposed to do? God, this is – this is –
JOHN: Arthur… (Arthur sighs.) We don’t have to follow it.
ARTHUR: No?
JOHN: No. We don’t have to do anything we don’t want to. Not here. Not anymore.
ARTHUR: What do you mean?
JOHN: We don’t have to… do anything.
ARTHUR: You… You want to give up.
JOHN: No! No. I’m just saying…
ARTHUR: What are you saying? (John sighs.) Fine. We climb down. We head to the bell.
JOHN: Okay.
ARTHUR: Where is the edge?
JOHN: Here, here, here! (Shifting dirt and pebbles.) Careful.
ARTHUR: Okay.
JOHN: It’s a long way down.
ARTHUR: Well. (He grunts in exertion.)
JOHN: The first wooden board is – is just below you.
ARTHUR: Are these… steps, or –
JOHN: I-I don’t know. They could be hammered into the rock wall for all I know, it… it doesn’t make any sense to me. Nothing here does.
ARTHUR: Alright. Where’s the…?
JOHN: To the right.
ARTHUR: I’ll lower myself down, off the side, then.
JOHN: Wait, wait. (Arthur makes noises of exertion.) These aren’t just planks. They’re… longer. There’s wood hanging off of them, as if they’re… like a wooden box.
ARTHUR: Boxes? Well – we can stand on them.
JOHN: Yes, yes. To your right. Lower. (A hollow impact. Arthur sighs.) Yes, there. Wait. Lean out from the wall. A-Around this one. The one you just climbed down.
ARTHUR: Lean around?
JOHN: I mean… see if you can look at the face of it. It’s a box of something, I… (Shifting sand. Arthur grunts.)
ARTHUR: Can you…?
JOHN (grimly realizing): Oh.
ARTHUR: What?
JOHN: They’re coffins.
ARTHUR: Coffins?
JOHN: Wooden coffins, buried vertically.
ARTHUR (sarcastically): Wonderful. (Footsteps.)
JOHN: When the ground split away and sloughed off into the ocean, they must’ve been… revealed. This cliff-face is… is filled with coffins. They’re all below us. Our way down.
ARTHUR: A staircase of the dead.
JOHN: Yes. (A bell rings.) Keep moving.
ARTHUR: Right. (He grunts in effort. Shifting sand.)
JOHN: It’s fairly clear from here on out. There are a lot of them, you should be able to –
ARTHUR: Yes, I-I feel it. I can feel my way down. (He grunts in exertion and continues. Wood occasionally creaks.)
JOHN: Earlier, I-I only meant that… well, there’s a chance that… (A hollow impact.) These are our… last days. That we’ve already lost.
ARTHUR: We’re not thinking that way.
JOHN (hesitant): No, I mean to say… perhaps… and I say this not as a defeatist, but someone who just… performed their own eulogy… that perhaps… we should spend our last days… living. (Quieter.) You know?
ARTHUR: In a dead world.
JOHN: You know what I mean. We’ve been on this journey together. Forever, it feels like. We’ve rarely taken a moment to just… enjoy this life. I haven’t taken a moment to…
ARTHUR: We got a haircut, remember? A train ride.
JOHN: Yes, that was the last time, Arthur. A lifetime ago.
ARTHUR: You’re saying we give up.
JOHN: I’m saying… there must be something in enjoying these moments. No? There must be a point to this drudgery. In enjoying what time we have left, not pursuing this bell, but perhaps just… each other’s company.
ARTHUR: You want to enjoy each other’s company.
JOHN: I’m saying… I understand your desire to never give up. To never give in, I… feel it too. But is there no merit in taking stock in what we do have? In choosing that, instead? At least, sometimes?
ARTHUR (whispering): I can’t stop, John. I can’t. I can’t. I won’t.
JOHN: Even if you had her back?
(Arthur stops.)
ARTHUR: What?
JOHN: Would you stop then? If you were with her, here? If you could hold her in your arms again? Would you stop then? Enjoy what time you had left with someone you loved.
ARTHUR: What kind of question is that?
JOHN: I-It’s the… kind of question… I think the Manager wanted you to answer. Can you let go?
(Arthur continues to climb. Shifting sand.)
ARTHUR: This is stupid, John. He also told us to stop Kayne. What good is this –
JOHN: What good is this, this life, Arthur? All life? And maybe John Doe’s funeral was just some… random, o-or maybe it was more. Maybe these things we’ve encountered are here to guide us. To show us what he meant. To show us the way to beat Kayne. (A soft impact.) We’re… on the beach.
ARTHUR: Look. I get what you’re asking. I get you’re trying to figure out the latest cryptic bullshit, in a long endless line of cryptic bullshit. But do me a favor. Math it out by yourself for a while. All it’s doing is distracting me from keeping us alive.
JOHN: Fair enough. (Arthur sighs.) But consider this: if Kayne’s plan results in the end of all existence… doesn’t that mean the Dark World disappears as well? (Intensely.) Perhaps it’s trying to aid us.
ARTHUR: Maybe. (John sighs.) Maybe. If so, this bell is its call. And we need to answer.
JOHN: You’re right.
ARTHUR: Look, I’m sorry, I just –
JOHN: No, you’re right. I shouldn’t be throwing in hypotheticals this close to the end.
ARTHUR: It’s fine. Now. Where is this… anchor? And chain?
JOHN: Down the beach, to our left. (Footsteps.) Here, here. (John makes a noise of surprise. Shifting sand.)
ARTHUR: It feels… Jesus, is that one rung of it?
JOHN: It’s huge. Large enough to… walk up.
ARTHUR: And hopefully not too steep.
JOHN: No. I-It looks as though you can take it all the way up to the top.
ARTHUR: Of this… city.
JOHN: Yes.
ARTHUR: Well, alright, then.
JOHN: Are you going to –
ARTHUR: If we are… throwing around hypotheticals.
JOHN: Yes?
ARTHUR: Do you think she’s here? Faroe?
JOHN (anxiously): I swear to you, Arthur, in all my time here, I-I didn’t meet her, or see her, I swear that –
ARTHUR: I know. I know. And I believe you. I-I do. But do you think… she’s here? (John exhales.)
JOHN: No. (‘Faroe’s Lullaby’ begins.) I don’t think she is.
ARTHUR: Well. Fair enough. (He continues climbing.)
JOHN: Are you…
ARTHUR: I-I… I just wanted to know. I’m okay. Believe me, I’ve… (A short pause.) I’m okay.
JOHN: Alright. (Arthur sighs.) Y-You… You have this. I-It’s, it…
ARTHUR: Yeah! I have this. It’s like… a giant staircase. (John huffs a laugh. In exertion.) It reminds me of a children’s story, actually. ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’.
JOHN: Does it?
ARTHUR (chuckling): A story that colored a lot of childhoods, I’m sure, including our friend The Butcher.
(A string version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ plays.)
JOHN: The Butcher?
ARTHUR: Yeah. ‘Fee, fi, fo fum. I smell the blood of an Englishman.’
JOHN: Right, right.
ARTHUR: ‘Be he alive, or be he dead, I’ll have his bones to grind my bread.’ (Arthur groans in exertion. A long pause. A sad melody begins.) For the record, I… I wouldn’t stop.
JOHN: What?
ARTHUR: I wouldn’t stop. Even if she were here.
JOHN: You wouldn’t?
ARTHUR: No. Because it wouldn’t be enough.
JOHN: Enough?
ARTHUR: It wouldn’t be enough to just… be with her again. I need to… I would need to… to give her more. (More desperately.) To give her a world to go back to. To take her from this place. To give her a life, a home.
JOHN: What if she didn’t… need all that? I…
ARTHUR: What do you mean?
JOHN: What if all she needed… all she wanted… was her father, again?
ARTHUR: No. No. It’s still not enough. She deserves… everything. A life, complete. (Breathing heavily.) She deserves… (A short pause.) I couldn’t stop, knowing that I was the reason… that I was going to take all of this from her again.
JOHN: You aren’t taking anything.
ARTHUR: My inaction would. My… inability to stop Kayne. To stop him from bringing an end to all this. I would be the reason. Again.
JOHN: That’s why you can’t stop.
ARTHUR: That’s why I won’t stop. I’m through pushing the ball down the road. It’s been there all my life. Incapable of telling Bella the truth, instead just hoping for an out. Incapable of being honest with Daniel, with myself. Parker saw it in me. He called me on it. But he never pushed, h-he… he’d say just enough to let me know it. ‘To fire a shot across my bow’, as he put it. To let me know he saw me. I’m too… apathetic.
JOHN: You’re not, though. I’ve never known you to be.
ARTHUR: Not anymore. Not now. She deserves the best version of me. (Metal creaking.)
JOHN (alarmed): Oh! Arthur, slow down.
ARTHUR: Right.
JOHN: We’re getting rather high up here.
ARTHUR: Sorry, sorry.
JOHN: Careful, patient maneuvers. (Arthur grunts.) It’s a very… very long way down.
ARTHUR: Right. (Fabric shifting.) Anyway.
JOHN (quietly): ‘Fee, fi, fo, fum.’
ARTHUR: Do you suppose a giant is at the top?
JOHN: Yes. (Arthur chuckles.)
ARTHUR (sarcastically): Wonderful.
JOHN: We’re nearing the top, Arthur. This is it.
ARTHUR: I know. I know. (Arthur grunts in exertion.)
JOHN: The upturned lip of the enormous crustacean’s chitinous shell is just ahead. The chain is… bolted into it. But there’s a gap. You’ll need to jump across it.
ARTHUR (sarcastically): Wonderful.
JOHN: Here. Here. Here. Slow.
ARTHUR: Okay, okay.
JOHN: You can stand.
ARTHUR: Trying to.
JOHN: Alright. The jump is straight ahead. Maybe… two steps in distance.
ARTHUR: Two steps. That’s not bad.
JOHN: Two… large steps. (Arthur sighs.) Just… jump as far as you can!
ARTHUR: Alright. Alright.
JOHN: Ready? Now! (Rapid footsteps, Arthur’s grunt, a soft impact. Calmly.) You did it.
ARTHUR (playfully): That’s it?
JOHN: You don’t get applause for every jump.
ARTHUR: Where’s the ‘fuck yeah, we did it’!?
JOHN: When you’ve earned it. (Arthur and John laugh.)
ARTHUR: Yeah. Alright. Alright, alright.
JOHN (in awe): God.
ARTHUR: Alright, I-I know what this place looked like from the outside. But from the inside?
JOHN: It is… some… alien being. Its massive legs stretch up like… skyscrapers amongst us. The floor of this city is… comprised of the underside of this creature, a… riveted exoskeleton with… hill-like mounds that run vertical across the ground here.
ARTHUR: Is it a city?
JOHN: I don’t know. I don’t know. So much of this place is… a version of what we know. I’d be lying if it didn’t feel like the barn or the tower. A terrible interpretation of… of walking the streets of New York City, but… there are no people. No… beings, no movement. Just the varying heights of this… creature’s limbs. (A bell rings. Arthur and John flinch.)
ARTHUR: Straight ahead.
JOHN: It’s closer than ever, now. (Soft footsteps.) Moving beneath these still, creaking limbs reminds me of the forest. Beneath Castle Kerringford.
ARTHUR: Does it?
JOHN: The giant, dark trees, the… facsimile of a forest there, only to house and hide the horrors taken from the Goatswood. It… It served a purpose, and… I suppose this place does, too.
ARTHUR: What purpose is that?
JOHN: I don’t… (A bell rings more loudly.) Closer, still.
ARTHUR (thoughtfully): Who waits for us down this path? Who beckons us forward? We’re always simply… those who fell into the spider’s trap. (A bell rings louder yet.)
JOHN: There! Straight ahead. Here. Stop, stop. It’s… It’s a bell. It’s… centered i-in a… a web.
ARTHUR: A web.
JOHN: Yes, though not… made by a spider. Its pattern is… fractal, complex. Changing as the web grows larger, it… Oh. I-It’s attached all the way to the top of the legs of the towers here. Or… are they antenna?
ARTHUR: The bell…?
JOHN: Is a bell. Mundane. It seems amplified by the way this web is stretched.
(A soft noise of exertion. A bell rings, as if shaken.)
ARTHUR: This bell?
JOHN: That’s it. There’s nothing on it. No engraving, or words. Noth – (Metal creaking.)
ARTHUR: What is that?
JOHN: I don’t know. (More metal creaking. The sound of rock crumbling.) I-I… oh! Arthur. The ground! T-The chest of this creature, i-it… it’s opening! Before us!
ARTHUR: What?
(Repetitive chanting starts, unintelligible.)
JOHN: Like the yawning of a mouth, it opens wide and… out is drawn a long, slender… tongue! It climbs from the pit of this city’s stomach and… slowly winds its way across the ground toward us! (Arthur breathes quickly. A solid impact.) Arthur! Get up!
ARTHUR: The ground is shaking!
JOHN: The creature is alive! It’s moving, and… the tongue… it approaches! Arthur! It’s inches from our face, and – and… and stops!
ARTHUR: What are you!? What do you want?
JOHN: The end of this tongue, is… is the thickness of a… a-a fire extinguisher, its body is… snake-like and attached to the pit from… from which… this emerged! A-A… (Wet, slimy noises.) Mouth. (John makes a disgusted noise.) It’s… It’s unfolding itself. (Purposeful bubbling noises, like an attempt at speech.) Opening a slime-covered slit on its front to reveal… a smaller… mouth. It has teeth.
UNKNOWN VOICE (heavily distorted): Master… (Harsh, muffled clacking. Then, the voice of Yorick.) Master!
ARTHUR: What?
YORICK: Do you prefer this voice?
ARTHUR (thrilled): Yorick!?
JOHN: Yorick!
YORICK: Master! John.
(John and Arthur make noises of shocked delight.)
ARTHUR: What – What –
JOHN: Yorick, you fucking…!
YORICK: This is me, master! My true form.
JOHN: This…
ARTHUR: All of this! This body, this… (John laughs.) This creature is…
YORICK: Yes, Master. You are standing on me, now.
ARTHUR (breathless): I… I can’t believe it! You’re… Yorick! Oh, God. (He laughs, drawn out and light.)
JOHN: Yor – Yorick, you… agh, I can’t believe it! You’ve been leading us this… whole time, to… to you!
YORICK: Of course! Why are you crying, Master?
ARTHUR (joyful): I never — I never thought we’d speak to you again! I-I’m sorry… about what happened, I…
YORICK: It is alright, Master. The skull may have been destroyed, but my true form, as you can see, is still very much intact. Though I have not used this mouth in quite a few… millennia.
ARTHUR: All of this is you! But… But you’re chained. A prisoner, a…
YORICK: Yes. We Vanguards are prisoners of a Dark World, forced to serve the whims of those who command us. Though we have little need for this physical body, we see through many eyes.
ARTHUR: We must free you, s-surely there’s…
YORICK (intently): You have freed me. Master.
JOHN: Yorick, I… it’s nice to see you. Truly… see you.
YORICK: The feeling… is mutual. (Slimy noises. Arthur laughs.) But! There is not much time.
ARTHUR: Not much time for what?
YORICK: I knew Kayne would destroy you, Master, and so I planned to summon you here. We must… get you back. (A mysterious melody begins.)
JOHN: Back?
YORICK: Back… to your world. To stop him.
ARTHUR: Yorick…
YORICK: If Kayne should use those stones and kill Azathoth…
ARTHUR: Yes, we know. It would end all things, but… Yorick, we can’t get back. And e-even if we could, I-I-I don’t have a body anymore, I…
YORICK: Ah. Kayne destroyed you completely then.
JOHN: Not a piece left, I’m sure.
YORICK: I had considered that. Follow me. (Squishy noises. A quick melody begins.)
ARTHUR: What? Where?
JOHN: He’s… the mouth is moving. Stretching! Further out from the pit it came from. And… leaving? Arthur, follow! (Arthur grunts in exertion.)
ARTHUR: You can get us back?
YORICK: Of course. But in order to truly leave, you require bodies.
ARTHUR: Right.
ARTHUR (excitedly): Of course! Y-You say it like it’s a given! Have people left this place before?
YORICK: Most certainly. You’ve met one.
ARTHUR: I suppose, but John wasn’t truly here the first time, a-and Kayne w –
YORICK: Not him. Malam.
ARTHUR: Malam? Malam escaped the Dark World?
YORICK: Yes. Could you not tell from his eyes?
ARTHUR: N-N-No, h-hold on! You knew that, yet you didn’t…
JOHN: If there was any doubt this was Yorick… (Arthur chuckles.)
YORICK: Come, come.
JOHN: He continues moving.
YORICK: Malam left this world, but without a body, became a revenant. Trapped wandering the in-between realm, known as… the Hollow.
ARTHUR: The Hollow?
YORICK: A quiet veil of those who cheated the Dark World, but remain bodiless revenants. You do not want to become one, Arthur Lester. And furthermore, my means of egress for you two would not allow for such a fate.
ARTHUR: Your means of egress? Meaning, leaving this place?
YORICK: Depends on you two having bodies. Without that, you would not become a revenant. You would simply… cease to exist. Death for the dead. And you could not stop Kayne. This… is unacceptable.
JOHN: Okay! But Arthur has no body. So where are you taking us?
YORICK: To yours.
JOHN: To… (‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.)
ARTHUR: His? (Flustered.) W-Wait. Wait, wait. I-I don’t understand, I… don’t understand. I-I…
YORICK: When the King in Yellow banished John to the Dark World, he arrived here fully formed. In a body he claimed as his own.
JOHN (realizing): I… did.
YORICK: You cannot both inhabit it, but it will serve John well when leaving this place.
ARTHUR (louder): H-H-Hold on! Hold on. When we leave… we’ll be separated?
YORICK: Yes.
JOHN: Okay.
ARTHUR: Alright. S-Sure, sure. B-But… where are you taking us?
YORICK: The Bone Citadel.
ARTHUR: The Bone… Citadel.
JOHN (nervously): The one that Kayne showed you. A-Arthur, I-I…
YORICK: It was very far away, but I have brought it here.
ARTHUR: You…
JOHN: Arthur, we… we should talk. We need to –
YORICK: Soon!
JOHN (frustrated): Yorick! I’m not…
ARTHUR: Wait! Wait. Okay, okay. S-S-So you can get us out of here? You can do that? And unless we both have bodies… we’ll die. So, so bodies… check, a-and John has a body. Here. It was left when he was pulled out of here and put back inside me, b-but… but I still don’t have a body, Yorick. And I definitely don’t want to die when you try to get us out of here.
YORICK: You will enlist the help… of the Dollmaker.
ARTHUR: The Dollmaker?
YORICK: It will not be easy, but their workshop is nearby, and you will need to convince them.
ARTHUR: The Dollmaker will make… me a body.
YORICK: Do not misunderstand. This is not an easy task. There is no guaranteed success. But it is the only option we have.
ARTHUR: Okay, okay. Let’s keep going, then.
YORICK: We are here.
ARTHUR: Oh. John?
JOHN: Arthur. Arthur, I need to speak with you.
YORICK: Within that Bone Citadel lay your body, John. I shall keep it safe here. You two must head west, down the chain, in the direction you face, and reach the Dollmaker. There is little time.
JOHN (furious, distorted): YORICK! (He growls.)
YORICK: Very well. I shall be here when you return.
ARTHUR: John, what’s wrong?
JOHN (somberly): This is it. The cathedral I built. Of bones.
ARTHUR: Well, then. (Footsteps.) Shall we head inside? (Wooden door squeaking.) Is it… as you remember it?
JOHN: It is.
ARTHUR: Describe it to me.
JOHN: Arthur, I…
ARTHUR: Describe it.
JOHN: What is there to describe? It’s a cathedral built in pain and misery, in… anger, and resentment, and hate. Every… bone, every chandelier… every seat crafted… with agony. Such… immeasurable hurt… that it emanates torment. (A gentle melody begins.) And upon the royal seat at the top of the stairs before us… lay my body. Draped across the arms of my throne. Its… yellow cloth hanging, torn… and lifeless. Like the body itself. The body of Hastur. (Suddenly.) S-Stop, stop… walking. I don’t wish to get any closer.
ARTHUR: So? Tell me. Tell me what happened here. What you’ve kept from me, about your time here. You wanted your moment. Here it is.
JOHN: I wasn’t lying when I told you I hunted and killed. My time here was painful, beyond belief. But I didn’t hunt and kill at random. I didn’t murder innocents or torture children. I only hurt one person. The same person who provided every bone in this citadel. Every skull… every ribcage. And every vertebra. You, Arthur. I killed… nearly every version… of you.
(A click, followed by static.)
(END Part 54.)