Part 55 "The Last Dollmaker"
A strange artisan, a monumental task, a dangerous path...
In the 55th part of Malevolent, Arthur and John must approach the Dollmaker, a strange and mysterious figure of the Dark World in order to attain a body.
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PART FIFTY-FIVE: THE LAST DOLLMAKER
Transcripts made and edited by jack,
CWs: discussions of cannibalism, chewing noises, sounds of gore/blood, torture, murder, sounds of violence, sounds of fire, knife violence, death of a parent, discussions of child death, suicidality, corpses, body horror, eye trauma
(BEGIN Part 55.)
JOHN (echoing): You have to understand. You have to remember something. At that time… we barely knew each other.
(An eerie melody begins. Past Arthur grunts.)
PAST ARTHUR: What did they drop for us today?
JOHN: We had spent those months in the prison pit.
PAST JOHN: It looks like another leg.
JOHN: And…
PAST ARTHUR: Brilliant.
JOHN: As you ate… Faust…
PAST ARTHUR: What are you doing here?
PAST FAUST: I don’t…
PAST JOHN: He looks poorly.
JOHN: You forced me to relive his death, over and over and over again!
PAST JOHN: I don’t think he means to hurt us.
JOHN: With every single bite you took, I had to watch the life leave his eyes again… and again.
PAST ARTHUR: Arthur Lester. Who are you?
JOHN: It was…
PAST FAUST: Faust. My name is…
JOHN: Torture. Perhaps for the first time in my existence.
PAST FAUST: Michael Faust.
PAST ARTHUR: Pleasure to meet you.
(Squishy, gory chewing noises.)
JOHN: I was being tormented. Don’t misunderstand. I have dealt with more than my fair share of pain. Inflicted untold horrors upon my enemies during my reign, but this… this came at a time when I… was trying. Clawing. To be better. It came at a time where I… for the first time, questioned who and what I was!
And as I yearned to be more than the monster I began to despise… I was forced to be reminded of him every day. Forced to witness the atrocities we committed! (Squishy chewing noises.) Forced to watch your gleeful smile reflected in the black of the dead man’s eyes. Forced to be reminded of who I truly was.
I cared about you, of course I did! But I also hated you.
PAST JOHN (voice distorting): Save him!
PAST KING IN YELLOW (voice distorting): Leave him and come to me!
PAST JOHN (voice distorting): Save him first!
PAST KING IN YELLOW (voice distorting): No!
(Past Arthur makes noises of agony.)
PAST JOHN: Goodbye, Arthur.
(Otherworldly whooshing noises. Past King makes noises of exertion.)
JOHN: When I was reunited with the King… after our mutual sacrifice… we waged an internal war.
PAST JOHN/KING IN YELLOW: Listen to me. You are not the true King in Yellow.
JOHN: Each vying for control of the body. The King in Yellow, as he existed… was powerful, but without me, was only a piece of what made us whole. And as the two competing halves battled… neither could take a firm hold on what remained of the King in Yellow. In the end… Yellow, who hadn’t taken that name quite yet, won.
(Past John/King in Yellow’s noises of pain.)
For he was willing to do the one thing I could not: sacrifice a piece of his soul. (A roar of agony.) A maneuver in our game of suicide chess that I was not able to make. I couldn’t cast Yellow aside. (Past King starts to cackle.) And regain control of the body, because… I… I pitied him too much. I had learned too much, I had seen too much humanity, I… I had loved too deeply, to… in Lilly, in our friendship. I couldn’t abandon that half of my soul, resigning him to the same fate we had always had! Because I believed that… that I could show him more. That I could find a way to show Yellow… that there was meaning in this world. That humanity offered something that both of us could learn to not only appreciate, but embrace. Perhaps… become a part of.
(Wind blows.)
What happened after, I could only guess. It seems that Kayne pulled whatever remained from that body, Yellow, and put him into you.
PAST ARTHUR: Who is this?
PAST YELLOW: I’m a friend.
JOHN: From there into Larson…
PAST YELLOW: What was that?
PAST LARSON: Poetry.
JOHN: Our body… perhaps still upon our throne in the Dreamlands… or perhaps now he has it once again… was forgotten. But I… I was in the Dark World.
(A solid impact. Falling rock. Past John pants and makes noises of pain.)
PAST JOHN: No! (Screaming.) No! (He roars.)
JOHN: I had a body. Though it wasn’t exactly the same. It was more… sinister. Darker, a-a shade of yellow that I hadn’t seen before. It suited me there. I won’t pretend I had even a fighting chance. That anger, that resentment towards you, towards every bite of Faust you made me take… toward all the things you took from me, it –
PAST JOHN: What!?
(In the past, someone screams. Sounds of violence and fire.)
JOHN: It roiled! The flame in my belly burned hotter than the sun, and I breathed fire every chance I could, cursing your name! (Past John roars and attacks. Sounds of blood and gore.) The Dark World had latched onto a spark of hate within me… (Many people screaming.) And I fed that fire happily.
(Sounds of fire.)
It burned… too bright. And so hot. And he was drawn back to me. Almost instantly.
(An otherworldly zap.)
PAST JOHN: Kayne! (He roars in fury.)
PAST KAYNE: Whoa, whoa, whoa there lemon-head! Why all the anger?
PAST JOHN: You! What the fuck are you doing here?
PAST KAYNE: Did my dagger not do the trick? I thought for sure Artie would’ve –
PAST JOHN: He failed. He failed, and I… I foolishly gave myself up to… to…
(Past Kayne laughs, Past John snorts in anger. Footsteps.)
PAST KAYNE: Well. You know what they say. ‘God wouldn’t trust an Englishman in the dark.’ (He cackles wildly.)
PAST JOHN: Who… Who are you?
PAST KAYNE: I told you already. You can call me Kayne.
PAST JOHN: Who are you really?
PAST KAYNE: Oh, enough of this! Look, Hastur. Can I call you Hastur? You don’t really want to be called ‘John’, do you? (Past John growls.) Good. We’ll go with Hastur. Listen. I’ve seen that anger you’re throwing all over the place! Killing here and there. It’s lovely, but… it’s so unguided! Unfocused.
PAST JOHN: What does it matter to you?
PAST KAYNE: Well, come now. Surely there’s only one person you’re truly angry with.
PAST JOHN: And if he were here now, I’d…
PAST KAYNE (daring): You’d what? Will you put your money… where your mouth is?
PAST JOHN: What do you want?
PAST KAYNE: You’re right, you know! It is all his fault, isn’t it? Everything. Every word you spoke is true and I should’ve, you know – (Noises of frustration.) Mm, mm, mm! I should have seen it. So. If what you’re saying is true, and I hope it is, here’s your chance.
(A finger snap. An otherworldly zap. Past Arthur pants heavily.)
PAST ARTHUR: What? Where…? (Past John makes noises of surprise.)
PAST JOHN (shocked): Arthur.
PAST ARTHUR: What?
PAST KAYNE: Here he is, Hastur! Arthur Lester, as you… live and breathe, sort of. (He giggles.)
PAST JOHN: How did you…? How…?
PAST ARTHUR (confused): What is going on? Who…?
PAST KAYNE: So, Hastur! You talked a big game. Here’s your chance. What are you going to do?
PAST ARTHUR: Erik? Are you…? (Scrape of metal. Past John breathes heavily.) No no no no no – (A stabbing. Past Arthur makes noises of agony. Past John roars in anger. Sounds of flame.)
JOHN: I killed you. Quickly. But brutally. Kayne was… gleeful. An obvious sign that something was immensely wrong and twisted about all of this. But I didn’t care. I squeezed the life from your dead body, felt the meat of your brain pass through my fingers clenched in fists of rage, and I felt… home.
(The sounds of dripping blood.)
PAST KAYNE (clapping): Oh, wow, oh! Mm! (John pants.) Whoo, well done! Well, well done, Hastur. That is… (‘Mwah’ noise.) Chef’s kiss! Bravo. (Coyly.) So. How about another?
PAST JOHN: Another?
PAST KAYNE: Another, my boy! Why, I can bring you dozens, hundreds, hell, thousands of ‘em! Each and every day for you to play with. Kill, torture. Do whatever you want with.
PAST JOHN: Why? Why would you – ?
PAST KAYNE: Do you want to know why? Or do you want the man who brought you here, who sent you here, who took your life away from you, served on a silver platter… forevermore? Well.
PAST JOHN: Do it. (A finger-snap.)
JOHN: And so he did. I don’t fully know… (A delicate melody begins.) How long it was. How many times I killed you. And in so many ways. There was no voice anymore. There was no conscience, no desire for humanity. Only a desire to kill. To take. To rule. And I did.
PAST ARTHUR: No no no! No no no no! (An impact. The sound of blood. Past John laughs evilly.)
JOHN: Some of them I hunted for sport. Some I toyed with.
PAST JOHN: Feel my influence wash over you! (Past Arthur screams.)
JOHN: Others I pretended to save, only to crush their hopes… I, I… I can’t truly express… how much pain I caused to each and every Arthur Lester that… Kayne brought me. There was no end in sight for me, no quenching of my thirst for blood. And no question in my mind of how Kayne was bringing them to me. I would kill… forever. I would destroy, forever. I would be the monster I feared. I had always been.
Until one day. The Arthur Lester that appeared on the steps of my cathedral… was different.
(Otherworldly zap. Other Arthur breathes heavily.)
He didn’t look quite…
PAST ARTHUR: What?
JOHN: Right. Quite the same.
PAST ARTHUR: Where?
JOHN: I hadn’t spend much time considering, questioning where Kayne had been pulling you from. I… it didn’t really strike me as anything important, I… I didn’t care. But this Arthur Lester, he… he carried himself a little… different. Didn’t greet me with familiarity or fear. And was older than the rest.
(Footsteps.)
PAST ARTHUR: Who are you?
JOHN: He was more… world-weary. His eyes… a little duller. The gray in his hair, a little more… apparent.
PAST JOHN (amicable): Hello there, Arthur.
PAST ARTHUR: That voice… I… I remember you.
JOHN: I’m not sure why I even entertained the notion of speaking to this one. But something about him felt… different. He pleaded with me to send him back, to spare his life from this hell. He spoke of a black-suited madman… with wild eyes and a crimson smile. Kayne. Appearing out of nowhere in his home… torturing those around him, slaughtering his wife, his houseguests, his… father-in-law, Daniel. And taking him to this place.
I… pretended to entertain the notion. As if it were even in my power… and asked him… why you would choose to return to a world where everyone he knew was gone.
That’s when he revealed that Kayne didn’t slaughter everyone, but kept one alive: Arthur’s daughter. Faroe. (‘Faroe’s Lullaby’ begins.) It was… after all… her 18th birthday party. This Arthur, this one… didn’t lose her. In fact, all he wanted in the world was to find a way to get back to her. Back to his daughter, who was left alone, standing in a home she had always known. Surrounded by the corpses… of all the people she loved.
(More emotional.) That image… of that terrified young woman… was burned into me in that moment. But the hate, the fear, the anger, it… it wasn’t gone! He kept pleading and pleading to return to her… begging me to send him back, to… to spare his life! But I knew there was no return. I knew this Arthur would never make it home. I knew that the only one with the power to send him back would only torture Faroe, knowing this Arthur cared so much.
So I did the only merciful thing to do. And ended him. (Arthur’s noises of fear. The scrape of metal. John grunts. Sounds of blood. The clang of metal on the ground.) He was the last Arthur I would ever kill. Even though the Dark World corrupted me, let my blood run hot and stoke the fire of evil inside me, I… despite all that, I knew I couldn’t do it anymore.
PAST JOHN (furious): Kayne! Kayne, god damn it!
(Otherworldly zap.)
PAST KAYNE: Hastur, darling! You have to give me time. Arthurs don’t grow on trees, you know!
PAST JOHN (devastated): Enough! I won’t. I can’t. (Footsteps.)
PAST KAYNE: You won’t… what?
PAST JOHN: I’m done. No more. I won’t kill… any more… of him. I… I don’t want to. I miss…
PAST KAYNE (knowingly): Well? What do you want?
PAST JOHN: I want Arthur to be alive again. I want to go back… to how it was. (Past John sobs.) I want to be… good again.
PAST KAYNE: Well. (Footsteps. Facetiously.) Why didn’t you just say so?
(Otherworldly whoosh. ‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.)
JOHN: I wanted to be good again, Arthur. I didn’t care if Kayne resurrected you, o-or what, but I needed you again, Arthur. I… I needed to say the humanity you had taught me. I needed to be reminded.
(Otherworldly whoosh. Past John sobs.)
PAST KAYNE: And… in exchange… you’ll get Arthur to the Order of the Fallen Star. Now, you have to find out exactly where it is –
PAST JOHN: The Order of the Fallen Star?
PAST KAYNE: Yes. (Quickly.) But but but but… not a word about me wanting him there, or the deal’s off! And I wouldn’t talk about the Dark World. (Fake surreptitiously.) You wouldn’t want him finding out about what you’ve done here.
PAST JOHN: I… you want me to lie to…
PAST KAYNE: Or I can always just keep you here.
PAST JOHN: No no no no. (Desperate.) Okay. Okay. Anything.
PAST KAYNE: Just say you don’t remember. It’s worked for you before.
PAST JOHN: Right.
PAST KAYNE (cackling): Oh, cheer up! Look, you’ll be back to despising and distrusting each other in no time! It’s what humanity is. (Facetiously.) It’s what you’re born and bred to do! Distrust… and despise. You’ll see.
PAST JOHN: Fine, fine.
PAST KAYNE: Now. Remember! You know nothing. If he asks ‘Have you heard about the Order of the Fallen Star?’ You say…
PAST JOHN: No.
PAST KAYNE: Excellent.
PAST JOHN: Okay. Okay, so… you’ll bring Arthur back? From the dead?
PAST KAYNE: From the dead? (Pityingly.) Oh, Hastur! He never died.
PAST JOHN: But…
PAST KAYNE: Remember… the Order of the Fallen Star.
PAST JOHN: I… I…
(Fingersnap. An otherworldly zap. Wind blows, silt falls, Arthur occasionally grunts in exertion. Footsteps.)
JOHN: That’s it. That’s everything, Arthur. (Uncertainly.) I returned to you… being dragged… to the… hole in Larson’s s-s-study, o-or dining room, and… and I swear, t-that’s everything. (Arthur breathes.)
A-Arthur? We’re at the other cliff-face now. Yorick is – is far above and behind us. As is the still ocean, the beach below us. The Dollmaker is somewhere in this direction. A-A field seems to be… (Worriedly.) You managed that climb very well! You haven’t spoken in a while. Are you okay? (Desperate.) Talk to me, please. I’m not asking for forgiveness, I-I’m…
ARTHUR: Aren’t you?
JOHN: What?
ARTHUR: Aren’t you? Asking for forgiveness?
JOHN: I… I don’t… I suppose, if you found it in your…
ARTHUR: Would you?
JOHN: Would I what?
ARTHUR: If you were in my shoes… would you forgive?
JOHN: No. I wouldn’t.
(A slow melody begins.)
ARTHUR: I know. I know you wouldn’t. So let me ask you this. How many did you kill?
JOHN: I-I… I don’t…
ARTHUR (terse): Guess.
JOHN: So many that I can’t recall, Arthur. I… tens… of thousands.
ARTHUR (devastated): Tens… tens of thousands? What? What did you think you…
JOHN: I didn’t think of…
ARTHUR: Oh. I can’t… I… I’m gonna be sick. (Arthur groans.)
JOHN: Arthur, I-I…
ARTHUR: You… we learned there are worlds! Thousands of worlds! Hundreds of thousands where I have my daughter! (Growing more broken.) Where I have my life, and you… you murdered… so… so many of them! You left… so many children… without a father! So many homes… without…
JOHN: I didn’t… know, I –
ARTHUR (screaming): How could you not have!? (A short pause. Arthur sobs.) In… in one world… I lost my daughter. And it was enough to nearly destroy me. I… I can’t imagine what all those children… I can’t… no, I can’t. (He sniffs.) I can’t… because if I stop and think about it, I… Jesus. Oh my God, John. Oh my God.
JOHN: I’m sorry. I’m so… sorry. (Arthur sobs.) I told you I…
ARTHUR: You what?
JOHN: I – ! I don’t know. The Dark World, it… you’ve felt it, I’m… I’m accepting the blame, but you must realize that… I was not… it wasn’t me. It wasn’t… truly… me. I-It… It wasn’t. (A short pause. Fiercely.) It wasn’t! (John sobs.)
ARTHUR: I don’t know what to say. I know what I should say. I should say this is exactly what he wanted. And he preyed on your fear and hatred… and the power of this place to corrupt you, and… and trick you. He made you his personal executioner. And… And perhaps he knew this day would come. Perhaps he counted on it. God – God knows he had many chances to spill it himself, but… he wanted this one to hurt. He wanted it to come at the right time, a… a time when we needed to be most united. So I should say fuck this a-and fuck him for… putting you in that position, and I should say that I’ve already forgiven you and none of this matters, but.
(A long pause. Arthur takes several deep breaths.)
But nothing. That’s what I should say. And that’s what I will say.
(A gentle melody begins.)
JOHN: Arthur…
ARTHUR: No, I get it now. I do. I see now why watching me fail in Addison… why hearing how I failed Yellow hurt you so much. Because you tried and failed as well. You tried to save him and failed and you tried to fight against your nature and failed and… the only thing we didn’t have… was the other. To pull us back.
(He sniffs. Arthur grunts, as if pulling himself together.)
We can’t control this anymore. We can’t pretend to have any say. All I can control is how I react to it and I am choosing… to not let him win. Not now. Not ever. You killed tens of thousands of me. But maybe that spared tens of thousands of others you may have been coerced to kill. And fuck, I-I… and if I had the choice… I’d rather it be me anyway.
JOHN: Arthur.
ARTHUR (quicker): And you may have been forced to do Kayne’s bidding, to lie to me, but that brought us Noel and Oscar and… Marie and I know our life is brighter for having known them.
JOHN: Arthur, please.
ARTHUR: And even though Kayne has played us both and aimed to give us ample reason to distrust and despise each other… it would give me no greater joy… than to prove him wrong. I’m sorry you felt such pain, my friend.
JOHN (crying): God…
ARTHUR: And I wish I was there to help take it away. And in a way, I guess I was! (He laughs tearfully.)
JOHN (raggedly): Jesus Christ. I don’t deserve this.
ARTHUR: You do! We both do. I mean it, look at this. This is it, this is the end, all of those… all of me, they’re gone anyway if we don’t succeed. It all ends.
JOHN: We’re not going to make it out of this alive, are we?
ARTHUR: No. We’re not. But we’re gonna stop Kayne before the end.
JOHN: What do I do? With all of this…
ARTHUR: Guilt?
JOHN: Mhm.
ARTHUR: What do you do with it? You, you admit the mistake, you regret it, you make amends and you move on.
JOHN: But what… fixes it? What makes the guilt go away?
ARTHUR: For you? Time. For me?
JOHN: I suppose it’s easy when you’re here to forgive me.
(They both sigh deeply.)
ARTHUR: Man. Tens of thousands. (He sighs.) Alright. Alright. We left Yorick when you were still talking. We climbed down the chain and up the cliff on the far side of the still ocean. In the direction he pointed us. And now we are…?
JOHN: In a field. We stand a few hundred feet inland, in a field of soft pale… hair.
ARTHUR: Hair?
JOHN: It sprouts from the ground, moving with the breeze ever-so-slightly, as if planted on a doll’s head. Bunches tied by black twine at their base stick out of the ground. Whether it’s growing or simply stored here, I-I-I can’t tell. Like everything here.
ARTHUR: The Dollmaker.
JOHN: Most assuredly. The fields stretch on, as far as the eye can see. Rolling hills of pallid grass occasionally broken by a path… within the fields, tall scarecrows sit perched upon wooden scaffolds. Though I’m not entirely sure what they’re meant to keep away.
ARTHUR: You don’t… recall anything about the Dollmaker?
JOHN: Nothing. It was new to my ears when Frederick said it.
ARTHUR: He warned us that this Dollmaker collects unusual parts, and uh… (A zipping noise. A mysterious melody begins.)
JOHN: Your scar.
ARTHUR: Is it still…?
JOHN: White? Yes. Still prominent. Brighter than when we first arrived. Difficult to hide.
ARTHUR: Damn. I should’ve asked Yorick about this. (A zipping noise.)
JOHN: We’ll have a chance to, once we’ve returned to him. With your new body.
ARTHUR: Thankfully, he already has yours.
JOHN: He has… Hastur. Yes.
ARTHUR: The body you occupied when you were…
JOHN (overlapping): Yes.
ARTHUR: Right. It seems like… leaving this place… means we don’t need to be stuck together anymore.
JOHN: I suppose not.
ARTHUR (chuckling): It’s funny, isn’t it? (A light melody begins.) In death, we find ourselves getting what we sought. It’ll be strange, getting my sight back.
JOHN: Strange to be in my own body again.
ARTHUR: True, though it wasn’t too long ago for you.
JOHN: No. But I’d be lying if I said it felt… like home.
ARTHUR: Really?
JOHN: Obviously there were… circumstances surrounding that feeling, but. Would you believe me if I told you that I… I would’ve been happy to stay like this?
ARTHUR: Would you believe me if I said the same? (John hums.) But we knew this had to end sometime.
JOHN: I suppose so.
ARTHUR: Anyway. The Dollmaker.
JOHN: This direction.
ARTHUR: Right. (Footsteps.)
JOHN: So, how do you… how do we plan on asking for help? Convincing the Dollmaker to aid us.
ARTHUR: I don’t know. I’ll take the chance that they’re at least willing to entertain the idea, given their name, but I’m sure it won’t come without a cost.
JOHN: Huh. I suppose. Especially since we need them to do this for us. Force isn’t really an option.
ARTHUR: No. Who knows what kind of witchery Yorick is capable of to get us home? (He stammers.) If we don’t receive this body in good faith, or if the Dollmaker doesn’t make it correctly –
JOHN: Too many variables, I agree. A straightforward approach is best.
ARTHUR: Exactly.
JOHN: However.
ARTHUR: However?
JOHN: Do you plan on hiding your scar?
ARTHUR: My scar?
JOHN: Frederick said the Dollmaker may covet you. Perhaps… if they see it… they may propose an amount we’re not willing to pay.
ARTHUR: You’re not wrong. (He exhales.) I suppose, then, we should keep it h-hidden. I, I don’t like the idea of leading with trickery. But we don’t know who or what this Dollmaker is just yet, I-I think saying less is the smarter option.
JOHN: Agreed.
ARTHUR: Either way, we know our… destination. And our… goal.
JOHN: Right.
(Arthur grunts in exertion. Sounds of shifting grass.)
ARTHUR: So there are scarecrows?
JOHN: Yes.
ARTHUR: What are they keeping away?
JOHN: Clearly this Dollmaker has cultivated the lands around here to provide the necessary items for… creation. Perhaps there are others who do the same. Using the same materials, I-I…
ARTHUR: Perhaps. This hair, you said it’s… (He grunts.) I-It’s sewn into the ground. Truly, like a doll’s head?
JOHN: Yes… in rows.
ARTHUR: I doubt it’s grown. Even with how strange the Dark World is, this… feels… (A squish. In surprise.) Oh! It’s wet at the bottom. (John exhales.) Where it touched the ground, i-it’s…
JOHN: It’s blood.
ARTHUR: Blood? (More squish. He sighs. The occasional creak of wood.))
JOHN: The roots are… bloody. A scarecrow stands off to our right. It’s perched impossibly high on a thick, porous wooden beam. The grain of the wood is deep and intricate, as if… carved. The figure at the top… meant to frighten those who would disturb this field… is human, o-or at least it was… once meant to resemble one. Its… bare flesh is sewn together, tied with thick black twine at the seams. Its body looks overstuffed and bloated, giving the scarecrow a sense of weight and presence against the gray sky. Upon its head, it wears a hood… completely covering its face.
ARTHUR: A hood?
JOHN: A-A sack. I believe it was once white, but it’s stained… red. Especially at the top. As if the scarecrow has had its head… beaten in with a blunt object.
ARTHUR: This is… This was a…
JOHN: This was a person. The more I look, the more I’m convinced. It isn’t just a scarecrow, i-it… it’s a warning.
ARTHUR (seriously): ‘Stay away.’ The Dollmaker isn’t scaring away animals, they’re telling would-be thieves… what will happen to them.
JOHN: Who would steal hair? (He stammers. Arthur sighs.) Let’s… leave.
ARTHUR: Right. (He grunts in exertion. The sounds of shifting grass.)
JOHN: The fields continue on, rolling ahead of us. Beyond the next field… I see a house.
ARTHUR: A house? (A quick melody begins.)
JOHN: Yes. Almost… a cottage.
ARTHUR: Alright.
JOHN: It sits between the fields of pale hair, nestled in amongst them like a… tick buried within the meaty flesh of a scalp. Upon first glance, it seems no different than the previous buildings, but… studying it, I-I can see so much more!
ARTHUR: More? How?
JOHN: I-It’s not… the way the other buildings were. This one… This one was crafted. The wooden struts holding the roof aloft are straight a-and not the same black stone we’ve seen everywhere else. The windows are rectangular on the second story and the roof itself is… thatched! Perhaps with the same hair that surrounds the cottage. A tall windmill sits next to the house, not unlike the one we first saw in England, but… this one is constructed with pale wood. Almost the color of sand. A-And it doesn’t move!
This house was… built, Arthur. The Dollmaker is not like the others we’ve met so far. This feels… different. Very different.
ARTHUR: To be in the Dark World and craft a home… one with such comfort…
JOHN: It is. I-It looks almost out of place, here. Through squinted eyes, it almost seems… peaceful. But… placed in this dead land without fear. Without corruption.
ARTHUR: Building a home in a battlefield, without fear of what may come.
JOHN: It takes an extreme level of confidence.
ARTHUR: Or power.
JOHN: The field breaks ahead. And we… enter the lot of this homestead. (Arthur grunts in exertion. The sounds of grass stop.) The ground here is black dirt, packed hard by years of footfall. A wooden cart lay off to the right, a-a well to our left. The windmill, unmoving, lay beyond the cart. And the homestead directly before us. (A sad melody begins.) It’s… inviting. Bizarrely so. The architecture is pointed with a roof, provocative in its design. Like that out of a fairytale.
The windows flicker with a soft… yellow light that feels like a warm fire. And the porch, which seems to wrap around the cottage, is covered by a balcony that offers a second story view. Arthur, this house is… crafted with undeniable skill. And a great deal of passion. (He sighs.) I don’t know what to make of this.
ARTHUR (exhaling): We know what this place does to people. What it takes from the real world. This is merely a facade. And I’m not buying it.
JOHN: The steps. Here, here. Lead up to the porch. (Footsteps.) Well?
ARTHUR: Well. I-I suppose I-I’ll knock.
JOHN (urgently): Wait, wait, wait.
ARTHUR: What?
JOHN: There’s a sign above the door, carved into a piece of white wood. It’s written in extravagant handwriting with long curls after each letter, and it looks burned into the wood. It says… ‘Fiends knock. Friends… enter.’ (Arthur sighs.) Are we… friends or fiends?
ARTHUR: We may not be either, exactly. But I know which I’d rather not be. (Footsteps. A squeaking door.)
JOHN: Friends… enter. (The door shuts.) We stand in a… quaint foyer. A large staircase across from us leads up to the second story. To our right, there’s a… sitting room and to our left… a passageway to a long hallway. It seems much larger in here than it looked from the outside. Impossibly larger.
ARTHUR: The left is, uh…?
JOHN: The hallway. The walls are covered in… faded rose-colored wallpaper. Vertical lines run from the ceiling to the floor and the same dark brown wood frames the passageways and banisters around us. The hallway is… just ahead. (Footsteps.) The furniture here is… sturdy. Well-made, it… it almost resembles Daniel’s home more than the Dark World, though… I wouldn’t describe it as… cozy. Like the outside. There’s a scent in the air. (Arthur sniffs.)
ARTHUR: I smell it, like… rotting wood.
JOHN: Yes, maybe, o-or mold, o-o-or… something else. The furniture is caked in a layer of dust and… dark stains appear sporadically on the ceiling. In fact… all the areas that were once painted white look more akin to coffee-stained tablecloths than a painted wall. The rose wallpaper, too. This hallway… as I said, it seems to run longer than the length of the home and exits at the far end with two small circular framed doors. One looks to be a powder room, or perhaps the kitchen.
A maroon rug with a… barbed wire motif runs the length of the room. The pattern stitched within repeats… images of flowers, barbs, and… non-descript symbols all drawing the eye toward the center image, which… seems to be torn out.
ARTHUR: Torn out?
JOHN: Yes. The rug’s center is missing. Only sharp, thin pieces remain from the middle, as if it were hastily cut out.
ARTHUR: Are there windows, facing where we came from?
JOHN: Yeah, the fields outside.
ARTHUR: You said this room is impossibly long, t –
JOHN: The view would confirm that, I already see further down the field than what the facade of the home appeared to face.
ARTHUR (whispering): What trickery is this?
JOHN: The windows sit opposite the long wall of this hallway, which… seems to hold a great number of… portraits. Large canvases depicting men and women, l-like a family tree, or a lineage. Perhaps of this home.
ARTHUR: What of the first?
JOHN: Is by the foyer, here. (Arthur grunts in exertion.)
ARTHUR: Who is it?
JOHN: A-A woman. ‘Irma Winters’, the nameplate says. She has… a soft, round face and a stoic expression. Her neck is long and crane-like, but… beyond that, she seems…
ARTHUR: Normal?
JOHN: Ordinary. Like a portrait you’d see in any home.
ARTHUR: This isn’t ‘any home’.
JOHN: Next to her… the portrait, I mean… reads ‘Eugene Winters’.
ARTHUR: Her son, or…?
JOHN: The portrait is definitely more recent than hers, though this too seems to be painted a long, long time ago. He has her features, though a sharper nose. His eyes are the same as hers.
ARTHUR: Are there any dates on these…?
JOHN: Not that I see. Though the canvases are similar.
ARTHUR: How many are there?
JOHN: Looks like nine in total.
ARTHUR: Nine? What of the last one?
JOHN: They all… seem relatively the same. As we move down the wall, the styles change somewhat, the expressions of the people… (Taken aback.) C-Change, becoming more, uh…
ARTHUR: More what?
JOHN: Fractured.
ARTHUR: Fractured? What do you mean?
JOHN: T-These at the end –
ARTHUR: Fractured how, John?
JOHN (impatient): Broken, changed. I don’t know how to explain, Arthur , but these portraits at the end… paint a picture. The third one from the end.
ARTHUR: Seven.
JOHN: Yes. It’s…
ARTHUR: Huh.
JOHN: The canvas itself is torn, pieces missing from it. I-It’s… the draw of this man, this… ‘Randall Winters’. It seems like pieces of it have been removed. Like the carpet, and… and sewn into the portrait that follows… eight.
ARTHUR: What’s the name on eight?
JOHN: There is no name. The canvas is… patchwork, taken from other sources, pieced together. T-The… Irma’s neck, Eugene’s nose, all from other paintings, portraits, they’ve been stitched and glued together in this portrait. Fragments of what’s come before, framed into something new.
ARTHUR: And what of nine?
JOHN: Nine, the final portrait, is, uh… Oh. I-It… It’s not… framed.
ARTHUR: What?
JOHN (in surprise): Oh! It is the wall! (An ominous melody begins.) As if grown beyond its canvas, a… mural of sorts covers the wall here. It branches off like roots, filled with colors and textures that make it difficult to discern. Pieces of torn canvas, objects… pins, yarn, broken glass, have all been secured to this wall in… a dizzying array of shapes and colors. I-I can’t quite make out –
ARTHUR: Just… let me step back. Try viewing it from a distance.
JOHN: Stepping back? I… (In a realization.) Oh. A face, a… a face. It’s a portrait, as well.
ARTHUR: There’s no tenth.
JOHN: There’s no room for a tenth.
ARTHUR: Why is there only room for nine? What happened to the last one?
UNKNOWN VOICE (muffled): I am the last. (Arthur and John gasp.)
JOHN: A-Arthur! A figure stands in the foyer, from which we came! Bathed in gray light from the windows behind us, they… they’re tall! Slender, a-and…
ARTHUR: The last what?
DOLLMAKER: The last Dollmaker, of course. (Thudding footsteps.)
JOHN: They enter the hallway, nearly ducking beneath the bulkhead, their… their skin, their body, like the ninth portrait, is… sewn together from a variety of sources… most of which I can’t tell, but.
DOLLMAKER: I see you’ve decided to approach as a friend.
ARTHUR: Yes. I, um…
JOHN: The Dollmaker approaches, Arthur. Thin strands of yellow hair hang from their head, tucked neatly behind each different-colored ear. Their eyes… like that of Irma Winters, shine brightly in the gray light from outside. (Footsteps stop. Squeaking sounds, like folding leather.) They smile warmly, though a flicker of something I can’t place dances behind their eyes.
DOLLMAKER (curiously): Have we met before?
ARTHUR: I don’t… think so.
DOLLMAKER: Very well. How can I help you?
ARTHUR (sighing): I’m, I’m sorry. I… you startled me.
DOLLMAKER: I startled you? (Amused.) You’re in my home!
ARTHUR: It’s quite the inviting home you have.
DOLLMAKER: I aim to keep it pleasant. So much is… unpleasant out there.
ARTHUR: How… How did you make this place? It’s…
DOLLMAKER: Part of me made this. Much of me now… can barely remember what it was like.
JOHN: The Dollmaker looks out the window, almost… fondly.
DOLLMAKER: You failed to answer my question.
ARTHUR: Uh, sorry, I, um…
DOLLMAKER: Apologies are not necessary.
JOHN: They smile. Genuinely.
ARTHUR: I was hoping you could make me… a body.
DOLLMAKER: A body, you say?
ARTHUR: Yes.
DOLLMAKER: Well, then. Follow me to my workshop and we’ll see what we can do. (Thudding footsteps.)
JOHN: They turn around. The Dollmaker’s form is almost stretched, though their torso h-has… odd misshapen angles beneath the faded blue suit, as if… w-well, I don’t know as if. Follow! They’re heading back to the foyer.
ARTHUR (suddenly): Right! Thank you. (Footsteps.)
JOHN: The Dollmaker moves a hand as if to say, ‘Your thank you is not needed.’ (A short pause.) We’ve entered the foyer again and are preceding into the sitting room, it’s… warm and inviting. A fireplace I didn’t spot sits along the wall. They’re leading us past, to a… a small wooden door. (Creaking wood.) That… leads down to a cellar. Here, here! The Dollmaker stands at the open door and gestures for you to lead the way. (He inhales.) It’s pitch-black down there, Arthur. (Arthur exhales.) The Dollmaker is so tall, their… head reaches the ceiling, and… must turn at an uncomfortable angle just to be in this room!
ARTHUR: It’s quite dark down there. I’m not sure I’ll be able to see the way.
JOHN: Their expression doesn’t change.
DOLLMAKER: I’m sure you’re well-used to being in the dark.
JOHN: What do we… Arthur, it’s so d –
ARTHUR: Of course.
DOLLMAKER: I‘ll be right behind you. (They begin to hum. Arthur makes noises of exertion. Footsteps – only Arthur’s. The Dollmaker starts chuckling.)
JOHN: Arthur, th… there’s nothing down here, I can’t see!
ARTHUR: The light from the sitting room must reveal some –
JOHN: It does, but it’s too dark! And too… Arthur, I – (A quick thud.) The Dollmaker!
ARTHUR: What! What happened?
JOHN: They shut the door behind us. (Stressed.) I can’t… I can’t see anything, Arthur!
ARTHUR: God damn it.
(John makes panicked noises.)
JOHN: We’re trapped down here, like… like with Kellin!
ARTHUR: Damn it, calm down!
JOHN: All over again, Arthur!
(Whispers rise in the background.)
ARTHUR: What is that?
JOHN (miserably): I don’t know, Arthur!
(Arthur and John make noises of fear.)
ARTHUR: Something just touched me!
JOHN: I felt it.
ARTHUR (overwhelmed): I felt, I felt something.
JOHN: I felt it, too.
ARTHUR: A hand!
JOHN: I felt it, too.
ARTHUR: We need to get out!
JOHN: God damn it.
ARTHUR: We need to get out now!
JOHN: I’m trying!
ARTHUR (yelling): Now, god damn it, now!
(A distant thud and the buzz of electricity.)
JOHN: The… The lights… they’re on, a-and…
DOLLMAKER: You startle quite easily.
ARTHUR (breathless): You… You shut the door, y-you left us…
JOHN: A-Arthur, the lights are on. It’s… w-we’re in a workshop. (Arthur breathes deeply.) It’s a well-lit room, this workshop. A large stone floor with patches of wood laid across it. A series of electric lamps are in the corners and controlled by a switch near the Dollmaker. There are shelves here. Hundreds of them. Behind us, in a large room that leads off of this one… they stand in the center of the room, so as to be accessed by both sides. (Soft metal clicking and clanging.) They’re… they’re filled with tools and parts.
A large wooden worktable sits between them. And against a desk in this room… is the Dollmaker.
ARTHUR: I’m sorry, I…
JOHN: The Dollmaker cuts you off with a smile. (Arthur sighs.) The walls to our left are stone, with more shelves and… things like… hands… being held by metal framing. The ceiling is tall enough for the Dollmaker to stand up, though it helps that the floor seems to go down in the center. (Continued metal clicking.)
DOLLMAKER: Quite nervous, aren’t you?
ARTHUR: Well, you mentioned this Dark World is unpleasant. It doesn’t frighten you?
DOLLMAKER: No, no. I can’t say much out there frightens me. Only what’s in here.
JOHN: The Dollmaker taps their temple and picks up a small metal object to peer at.
ARTHUR: This… This is quite impressive.
JOHN: It is. There are hundreds of extremely fine detailed items on some of these shelves, Arthur. Intricate and impressive. Before you is a small… metal bird, of sorts, it’s… tarnished copper, now green with time, but it looks as though it could fly!
ARTHUR: Why doesn’t the outside world frighten you?
JOHN: The Dollmaker continues to tinker with small metal… oh. (Disappointed.) It’s… an eyeball. It’s not metal at all, rather it… catches the light the Dollmaker is using to study it. With a fine needle in one hand… they poke and steer the iris into position until… (In fright.) Jesus. It moved.
ARTHUR: Well?
JOHN: The Dollmaker looks up. (Metal clattering.)
DOLLMAKER: I’m sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt your… voice, there. Are they done?
ARTHUR: Voice? I…
JOHN: You can hear me?
DOLLMAKER: Yes.
ARTHUR: Good to know. Good to know.
DOLLMAKER: It is?
JOHN: Yes.
DOLLMAKER: Do you use this voice for internal dialogue? Does this voice speak the things you wish not to say aloud, or… does it simply tell you everything you cannot see?
ARTHUR: I cannot see, yes, but… this is also a –
JOHN: Person. Like him. (Arthur sighs.) We travel together, i-in fact… part of the reason we need your help is to… separate us. (Footsteps.)
DOLLMAKER: A new body for you, then?
ARTHUR: For me, y-yes.
DOLLMAKER: Well. Let us measure you then, shall we? (Wooden scraping.) Up. Up, up on the stool now.
JOHN: There’s a stool in the center of the room.
DOLLMAKER: Clothes off.
ARTHUR: Right. R-Right, I’d prefer to keep them on, if that’s okay. (Wooden creaking.)
JOHN: The Dollmaker squints, a-and…
DOLLMAKER: Am I? Apologies.
JOHN: Oh. S-Sorry.
DOLLMAKER: Very well. Though I cannot speak to its exactness, for I assume this is… meant to be the same as you are now. A replacement.
ARTHUR (uncertainly): I suppose so. Really, truly, I haven’t… thought about it, actually.
DOLLMAKER (eagerly): No, well, you should! I’m going to start measuring you now, save your friend there an effort in explaining that. You stand still, I’ll… move you as I need to. (A sound akin to measuring tape.)
JOHN: A new body… and you can choose.
ARTHUR: Oh. What… smell is that coming off of you?
DOLLMAKER: You don’t like it?
ARTHUR (sniffing): I’ve… just never smelled it before. But no, I… I rather like it.
DOLLMAKER: It’s called ‘Crimwood’, I make it myself. Think of it… as a cologne.
JOHN: What options does he have?
DOLLMAKER: Options? Any. I can make anything. I have made… everything.
ARTHUR: Well, to keep it simple, I suppose I could just… be what I already am. H-Have what I already… do.
DOLLMAKER: Scars, too?
ARTHUR: I… suppose I can show you… some of them.
DOLLMAKER: Not all? You realize this is quite the… invasive process, yes?
ARTHUR: Just some.
DOLLMAKER: Very well, I can make you as you are now…
JOHN: Or you could be a completely new person.
DOLLMAKER: I could just… let my artistic flair fly.
ARTHUR: Oh. Right.
DOLLMAKER: Your choice.
ARTHUR: Tempting as it may be, I-I think… I think I’ve… (‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.) I’ve grown rather used to this… old body. (He sighs.)
JOHN: Me… too. Eh, for what it’s worth.
DOLLMAKER: It certainly has got some use. Is this a throat incision?
ARTHUR: Yes. Self-inflicted.
DOLLMAKER (excited): Wonderful!
JOHN: So you can make him exactly the same?
DOLLMAKER: Identical. Right up to the last… (Shifting.)
ARTHUR (urgent): No, no, not there! No.
DOLLMAKER: You hide your arm from me? Why?
ARTHUR: It’s a part of me I… don’t wish to recreate. I-It’s, it’s… it’s not important.
DOLLMAKER: Of course. In the end, I care not. (Metal scraping. Footsteps.) However you wish to appear is how you will. I’ve been sated by my curiosity enough times to care little about such things.
ARTHUR: Thank you.
DOLLMAKER: Though I will say plainly and firmly… if what you keep hidden is a danger to me or my workshop… I will alter you in such a way to bring everlasting agony to every part of your body. I will dismantle you, piece… by piece… and bring each morsel of you back to life to be used in a hundred tiny creatures, so that every part of you lives on forever in excruciating agony. (John exhales.) You found my scarecrows.
JOHN: We did.
DOLLMAKER: I will make you envy their slow and painful death. For I will at least allow them to die. (A small pause.) Eventually.
ARTHUR: Understood.
DOLLMAKER: Wonderful! I like to be understood. (Footsteps.)
JOHN: The Dollmaker walks back and –
DOLLMAKER: I’m sure he can hear, John.
ARTHUR: Y-Yes. (Footsteps. The Dollmaker sits.)
DOLLMAKER: So. Payment.
ARTHUR: Oh. I…
DOLLMAKER: Surely you didn’t think such a task would be free, I-I…
ARTHUR: No. No, I just… I don’t have any…
DOLLMAKER: I‘m sure you can imagine, currency in any form doesn’t quite matter to me.
ARTHUR: I suppose not. (Wooden creaking.)
DOLLMAKER: In fact. (They chuckle.) I remember a great big fat man in a tall blue suit trying to convince me that his money was just as good here.
JOHN: Is that so?
DOLLMAKER: He was born in a sea of gold coins that burned off much of his hair, though apparently his wardrobe didn’t suffer. Or did he take the suit from another? That would explain the blood.
ARTHUR: Well, what will you take as payment?
DOLLMAKER: Ah. (Sounds of exertion. Footsteps.) As you can see, I’m a collector of sorts. Parts. (A quick melody begins.) Many of which I’ll use for you. But I have a taste for those individuals who arrive here with… special parts.
JOHN: Special?
DOLLMAKER: Yes, they allow me to create some truly astonishing works.
ARTHUR: Right.
DOLLMAKER: One has been quite elusive to me. I need… you to fetch it for me.
ARTHUR: It?
DOLLMAKER: It, him. A part or the man, either will suffice… but he will need to be… dead.
ARTHUR (taken aback): Dead, you – you want me to kill someone?
(A long pause.)
DOLLMAKER: I am sorry. I assumed your voice would clarify. Yes.
JOHN (shocked): We’re… We’re not…
ARTHUR: I don’t –
DOLLMAKER: As adorable as your moral quandary is, you can weigh the decision yourself. That is the payment. Non-negotiable. (Footsteps.) You are welcome to leave here and not come back, or return with my request. It matters very little to me.
ARTHUR: Where is this man?
DOLLMAKER: Not far, thankfully. Out the back of the house, there are a few fields and two large scarecrows. One with a missing right hand… the left hand points the way to… the Hunt.
ARTHUR: The… Hunt?
DOLLMAKER: I would be lying if I told you this was an easy request. But then again… this is not an easy body that you’ve asked for. Scars and details aplenty.
JOHN: What is the Hunt?
DOLLMAKER: This… quarry is quite ruthless. An experienced killer, one who enjoys it so. Many I meet that arrive here are greeted to their own personal torments, twisted versions of the worst parts of themselves. He’s the first I’ve seen… enjoy it so much.
ARTHUR: What… part of him do you need?
DOLLMAKER: His… ears. More specifically, the cochlea. Located in the inner ear, but the ears and what is attached inside, or better yet his entire head, would suffice.
JOHN: His… ears. (He stammers.)
DOLLMAKER: Yes. He’s got quite the ear. But also tends to be quite… bloody.
(A short pause.)
JOHN (in realization): The Butcher? (A string version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ begins.)
DOLLMAKER: Yes. I believe that is his moniker.
JOHN: The Butcher! (Arthur gasps.) Jesus. (Footsteps.)
DOLLMAKER: You know him, wonderful! Should make it easier.
ARTHUR: Easier, I… I… I don’t even have a weapon, I…
DOLLMAKER: Ah, yes. Here. (Metal scraping.)
JOHN: The Dollmaker hands us… a scalpel.
ARTHUR: That’s… That’s not enough! The Butcher nearly killed me, a-and –
DOLLMAKER: Well, you can return the favor.
ARTHUR: Not only that, we parted as friends, I-I…
DOLLMAKER: Friends come and go. It’s best not to get attached.
ARTHUR (more distressed): Not like this! I can’t bring myself to…
DOLLMAKER (exploding): I named my price! (The Dollmaker, Arthur, and John breathe heavily.) I’m sorry. I lost my temper. As I said plainly, that is my price. You can pay it… or not.
ARTHUR: Very well.
DOLLMAKER: Excellent. I trust you know the way out. (Metal tinkering noises.)
ARTHUR: Yes. (Quieter.) Yes.
JOHN: The stairs are… just ahead.
ARTHUR: Okay. (Footsteps.) What did the scarecrows… do… to you?
DOLLMAKER: To deserve such a fate?
ARTHUR: Yes.
DOLLMAKER: They attempted to take back their parts.
ARTHUR: Their… parts? I…
JOHN: The Dollmaker gestures to the wall of hands, eyes, and… feet.
DOLLMAKER: I have to get my parts from somewhere.
ARTHUR: Right.
JOHN: The Dollmaker locks eyes with us… and smiles.
DOLLMAKER: Be safe, now.
ARTHUR: We will.
(Footsteps. A loud thud.)
(A click, followed by static.)
(END Part 55.)