Part 37 "The Farm"

PART 37: THE FARM

Transcripts Made By jack, Flamia, and K.M.!

CWs: Memory loss, insect horror (burrowing into skin, swarms of insects), claustrophobia, sounds of gore, limb dismemberment, axe violence, body horror (body infestation), vomiting

(BEGIN Part 37.)

 

(Rain falls lightly. They continue to drive. Oscar continually hums a song to himself.) 

 

JOHN (annoyed): Would you tell him to stop? Please. 

 

(A long pause. Oscar continues.)

 

ARTHUR (politely): Oscar.

 

OSCAR: Oh?

 

ARTHUR: Do you… (He sighs, stutters.)

 

OSCAR: Oh, sorry. (Arthur chuckles awkwardly.) I’ve found it helps me read. (He flips through the book.)

 

JOHN: It’s irritating beyond measure.

 

ARTHUR: It’s fine.

 

JOHN: It’s been nearly half an hour, Arthur. (A slow piano melody begins.) He hasn’t said a thing. I think I should’ve read it. 

 

OSCAR (sighing): Damn.

 

ARTHUR: Hm?

 

OSCAR: I don’t take the Lord’s name in vain often, but. (Tired.) Jesus Christ.

 

JOHN: Hah!

 

ARTHUR: What? What did you –

 

OSCAR: Can I ask you something?

 

ARTHUR: Sure. 

 

OSCAR (flabbergasted): Where on Earth did you get this?

 

ARTHUR: Oh. Well, uh. There’s a town called Harper’s Hill, near Arkham. I found myself there looking for someone who had answers –

 

OSCAR: Answers about what?

 

ARTHUR: Well, ehm. Another book, actually. Funnily enough.

 

JOHN (scathing): My book.

 

OSCAR: Did you find answers?

 

ARTHUR: Not exactly. (Backtracking.) Uh, well. Somewhat.

 

JOHN: Hmph.

 

ARTHUR: But I tracked someone who would be able to help me to an island off the town’s, uh, lake. And in the caves beneath the island, I found… that book. A-And another.

 

OSCAR: Well… it’s quite the read.

 

ARTHUR: Yes. I found it to be… uh, a bestiary of sorts.

 

OSCAR: Yes. I suppose so, it’s – it’s quite old, as well. Perhaps from that era.

 

ARTHUR: Really? I-I… I didn’t realize.

 

OSCAR: Yes, well. Look at it! I mean… you don’t see books like this anymore. It’s quite evident how old it is.

 

ARTHUR: Yes, well, I, um. Missed that, I suppose.

 

JOHN (offended): It’s an old book, Arthur. Hardly a notable fact.

 

OSCAR: It’s by far the oldest book I’ve ever seen. It could… I don’t know. Maybe… ninth or tenth century?

 

ARTHUR (whispering in shock): What? Really?

 

OSCAR: I don’t know, but I have seen texts that are old, and this is remarkable.

 

JOHN: Scratch, Arthur. Has he learned anything?

 

ARTHUR: I-I-I don’t believe it. Y-You’ve had a look through it, then?

 

OSCAR (sighing): Yes, I really don’t know what to say. This creature we’re hunting could be any manner of thing.

 

ARTHUR: Such as?

 

OSCAR: This whole book is filled with horrors, but… a lot of these creatures are more physical in their manifestations than Scratch appears to be.

 

ARTHUR (go on): Okay…?

 

OSCAR: Larva of Outer Gods, Hounds of Tindalos… a bloody Boltworm of the Bnazic desert…

 

ARTHUR (in grim recognition): Ah. Yes. Boltworm.

 

OSCAR: I mean, can you imagine such a thing?

 

JOHN (patronizing): Oh, Oscar.

 

ARTHUR: Right, uh, but what of the non-physical entities, then?

 

OSCAR: Well, in those, there are endless possibilities. Mainly in the category of immensely powerful. 

 

ARTHUR: What do you mean?

 

OSCAR: These creatures… seem to be… gods, in a way. (Faroe’s Song starts to play.) Or, at least that’s how this book makes them out to sound. I mean, it’s all a little far-fetched, despite what I’ve seen.

 

JOHN (condescending): How little you realize.

 

ARTHUR: And…?

 

OSCAR: And beyond narrowing it down, which is difficult, many of these Elder Gods don’t have the same rules… o-of physically-bound creatures. They can manifest however they want, wherever they want.

 

ARTHUR: But, Scratch can’t.

 

OSCAR: No. Which allowed me to narrow down some suspects, but not many. For example: Hypnos, an Elder God, Lord of Dreams and Sleep. (The rain grows heavier.)

 

ARTHUR: Well, that sounds promising.

 

OSCAR: Yes, but Hypnos is known to transform the dreamer’s form in some way, change the way they look. Which is not what Scratch did, not really his plan.

 

ARTHUR: Right.

 

OSCAR: Nothing about torturing or manipulating… or possessing. 

 

ARTHUR: Really?

 

OSCAR: Aye. Tulzscha, o-or the Green Flame, can possess the flesh of a dead person. Vorvadoss, Trader of the Sands, can see truth, the way he did in my mind, but none of them are exactly right.

 

ARTHUR: No.

 

OSCAR: In the description, they’re vague at best. Narrowing it down is… I mean, there’s reference to a place called ‘The Dreamlands’. A place, can you imagine?

 

ARTHUR: I… I don’t have to. 

 

OSCAR: What do you mean?

 

ARTHUR: Well! (He pauses.) I was there. In the Dreamlands. It is a place. And nothing within that book is far-fetched, I promise you.

 

OSCAR: Have you seen some of these before?

 

ARTHUR (calmly): Seen… and fought.

 

OSCAR: And fought?

 

ARTHUR: And you will too. Y-You’ve seen it, too. Like you said. He read your mind. 

 

OSCAR: Aye.

 

ARTHUR: We both have come face-to-face with this thing, Oscar. We’ve heard its voice, we’ve seen its face. I was in a trance of sorts, being led, manipulated into performing tasks. Seeing things that –

 

OSCAR (cutting him off): Alexander.

 

ARTHUR: Is that who you saw? Is that who Scratch appeared as? 

 

OSCAR: Aye. 

 

ARTHUR: Look, we’ve both faced him, Oscar, and we’ll do it again. This time, more prepared. 

 

OSCAR: Alright.

 

ARTHUR: We can do this.

 

(Growing ominous echoes rise in the background.)

 

JOHN (scathingly): I suppose I’ll just watch again, then. (Arthur sighs.) Like I did when you untied Hattie from the bed and unleashed this creature onto the world, right?

 

OSCAR: Well, there’s nothing about dust, or violet skin, or silver eyes –

 

JOHN (angry): You don’t trust me enough to read the damn book and now you’re acting as if I’m not even here!

 

ARTHUR: Uh, what about time dilation?

 

OSCAR: What do you mean?

 

ARTHUR: Remember, we talked about how Scratch thought that he was trapped for 200 years, but the building wasn’t even that old. That must be important.

 

OSCAR: Right, right. Well, I’ll take another look –

 

(John interrupts, speaking at the same time with Oscar.)

 

JOHN (growing fury): If you want to be so honest, Arthur, why not just tell him about me? But then I suppose that would mean you’d actually have to talk to me!

 

OSCAR (intermittently unintelligible): And I didn’t see anything about warped glass or mirrors or anything of that sort, those seem like – that might have been – thing that Hattie’s –

 

ARTHUR: Stop!

 

(John and Oscar quiet. The ominous noises cut out suddenly.)

 

OSCAR: What? (A pause. Arthur stutters.) Oh, I’m sorry.

 

ARTHUR (flustered): Not you, sorry. Okay. (Pulling himself together.) Nothing we’ve learned seems to have narrowed it down.

 

OSCAR: No, but then I suppose that’s why we’re going to the house. Undoubtedly, it’ll have more information.

 

ARTHUR: Exactly. I’m sure we’re almost there. Why don’t you… check on that time dilation thing? I-I think that can help.

 

OSCAR: Alright.

 

ARTHUR: A-And… (Slowly.) If I… if I ignore you, it’s just because I’m focusing on driving. Okay? (Purposefully.) I’m not trying to ignore you. 

 

JOHN: Is that so?

 

OSCAR: Yes?

 

(A higher, happier melody begins.)

 

ARTHUR: I’m just… trying to keep focused. Trying to keep us focused. And I can tell you’re nervous, Oscar.

 

OSCAR: Alright.

 

ARTHUR (gently): And I just want you to know that we have this because you’re my friend. And I trust you. 

 

OSCAR: Of course.

 

JOHN: Okay. 

 

ARTHUR: So if I ignore you, it’s not because I don’t care. 

 

OSCAR: Yes.

 

JOHN (calmly): I understand.

 

ARTHUR: Good. S-So, sorry, that sounds odd. There’s a lot of conflicting thoughts going on in my mind right now.

 

OSCAR: Here as well.

 

ARTHUR (more upbeat): Hey! What if we’re dealing with conflicting factors, or elements that might be altering our view of the creature?

 

OSCAR: What do you mean?

 

(A quick-paced piano melody begins.)

 

ARTHUR: Well, what if it is this… Hypnos. But not a complete piece of him. You know, that would… alter his power significantly.

 

OSCAR: Not a complete piece?

 

ARTHUR: Yes, like a fracture of it. 

 

OSCAR: Is that even possible?

 

ARTHUR: Yes, although rare, I wager.

 

JOHN (wryly): Very rare.

 

ARTHUR: But not impossible. And when dealing with things from other worlds coming into ours being a possibility… see if you can read up on that, a-and when –

 

OSCAR (abruptly): O-Oh, hey!

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

OSCAR: There’s the… (He sighs.) Well, that was it. You’ve passed it again.

 

ARTHUR: Again?

 

OSCAR: Yes. That’s the turn-off, I believe. I wondered why you’d miss it the first time, but this time, I swear you’d noticed it.

 

ARTHUR (knowingly): Did I?

 

JOHN (defensively): I didn’t see the turn-off.

 

OSCAR: Yes, I think it’s just down there. Wait, you didn’t realize you missed it?

 

ARTHUR: No.

 

OSCAR: Well, why did you circle back around this way?

 

JOHN: I realized we missed it at first, but not –

 

ARTHUR (cutting him off): I don’t know, but we’re taking it this time. (He grunts.)

 

OSCAR: It’s okay, it’s not a big deal, we have plenty of time. (They drive forward.) Well. Isn’t that quite the sight?

 

JOHN: The house sits close to the gravel driveway, but far from Boulder Road. It’s a large property with out-buildings near the edge of the woods. The main house is a two story building in front of us. The broken, rotted porch that wraps around. (The engine dies, the keys are removed.) The ground here is overgrown. Fallen trees litter the property. There looks to be a large barn in the back to the left.

 

OSCAR: So, this is the house. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes. The second property owned by Edward William Allan.

 

OSCAR: Who you believe is dead.

 

JOHN: The same Allan that we found dead in the walls of Marie’s building.

 

ARTHUR: If there are answers to what Scratch is, and how to stop him… they’ll be in here.

 

OSCAR: Did you want to head straight in or poke around the outside first?

 

ARTHUR: Well, let’s stay on site first, I think.

 

OSCAR: Alright.

 

JOHN: We should split up to cover the outside.

 

ARTHUR: Yes – w-why don’t you look around the right of the property…?

 

JOHN: There looks to be a well.

 

ARTHUR: By the well – and I’ll take the left and, uh. Search the barn.

 

OSCAR: Sounds good.

 

ARTHUR: Uh, let’s say we meet on the front porch in – five, uh, ten minutes maybe. D-Do you have the time?

 

OSCAR: Oh, yes, uh… (His clothes rustle.) It’s uh… eleven twenty-three.

 

(A quiet piano melody begins playing.)

 

ARTHUR (dismayed): Oh… that late.

 

OSCAR: Aye, we may need to sleep in the car, depending on what happens. I don’t think I want to sleep in there.

 

ARTHUR (pensively): Yes… um.

 

OSCAR: Are you alright?

 

ARTHUR: Look – Oscar. I-I need to tell you something.

JOHN (cautionary): Be certain you want to do this –

 

OSCAR (overlapping): Of course.

 

(Arthur’s clothes rustle as he takes Scratch’s stone out of his pocket.)

 

ARTHUR: This… stone. It was given to me. By… well, by Scratch. 

 

(A sad piano melody begins playing.)

 

OSCAR (cautious): …How?

 

ARTHUR (sighing): It-It doesn’t matter how –

 

OSCAR: It doesn’t? Was this before you saw him, or after? 

 

ARTHUR: After.

 

OSCAR: …You saw him. You saw Hattie? (Hurt.) Why didn’t you tell me?

 

ARTHUR: I… I didn’t know how to… Look – I can’t get into this now. Suffice to say that –

 

JOHN (forceful): Tell him! Arthur. Tell him how you took the deal with Scratch. He deserves to know, doesn’t he?

 

(A mysterious, tense tune begins playing.)

 

OSCAR: You wanted me to trust you. And you’ve kept this from me. Vital information from me, how can I –

 

ARTHUR: Oscar, you knew there were things I had to keep close to my chest. 

 

JOHN: Tell him!

 

ARTHUR (hesitantly): And… I… I made a deal with Scratch.

 

OSCAR (horrified): You…

 

(A quiet, slow piano tune begins playing.)

 

ARTHUR: I-I – had to! Oscar, I-I had to make a deal! I had that maniac, th-the Butcher, he had – he had tied me to a chair, and Daniel would’ve been dead, and – i-if I hadn't have… If I hadn't have agreed to Scratch, then I’d be dead. He’d be dead. You would be dead. 

 

(A tense, discordant string plays.)

 

OSCAR (grave): What deal.

 

ARTHUR: It shouldn’t – (He sighs.) Look, I… I agreed to give this stone to someone before they fall asleep tonight. 

 

OSCAR: Why?

 

ARTHUR: To give –

 

JOHN (overlapping): No!

 

ARTHUR: To help Scratch find –

 

JOHN (forceful): Arthur, if you tell him, there is no out for us! (OSCAR: What?) You have no contingency plan! We are dead if you cannot stop Scratch! Do not tell him!

 

(Unintelligible whispers are heard in the background, rising in volume.)

 

OSCAR: Tell me.

 

JOHN: This is life or death, Arthur. This is no time to be stupid!

 

ARTHUR: To help Scratch find a way out of Marie’s house. To unbind him from whatever was keeping him there. 

 

JOHN (relieved): Good. 

 

(Oscar exhales.)

 

ARTHUR: He told me that – that, uh, that even though he had Hattie – uh, if she should fall asleep, h-he’s stuck back at Marie’s. W-Which we’ve seen. Giving the stone to someone else, uh, would use wherever they sleep as his new… home, as it were. 

 

OSCAR: I-I don’t know what to say.

 

ARTHUR: I’m… sorry. I’ve been… secretive, and I’m sorry. Please, understand, I-I wasn’t… sure how far you were willing to take this, how far you were willing to help me. (He sighs.) 

 

(Oscar’s clothes rustle.)

 

JOHN: He’s looking out the window at the house. He seems hurt.

 

(A mysterious tune begins playing.)

 

OSCAR: I’ve been looking at this book while we drive up here, pouring through the pages… But I can’t lie and say that my mind hasn’t been drifting. I’ve been circling around what my purpose here is – not just in this car, or outside this house… but in life. I’ve felt aimless for so long… trying in what small ways I can to make amends. 

 

ARTHUR: Oscar, we went through –

 

OSCAR (interrupting): No – I know, but… still. After all I’ve done… after all the pain and misery I’ve caused… I struggled to wonder what my purpose was. What God had planned for me. 

 

ARTHUR (cautious): And…?

 

OSCAR: He put me in your path to show me. (He turns in his seat.) I believe you’re my purpose. To help, to guide, to protect, even.

 

(A hopeful piano tune begins playing.)

 

ARTHUR: Oscar… I-I’m not… Look, I-I-I don’t think that G –

 

OSCAR: I know, you don’t believe in God. That’s your decision. But He believes in you, and I know… He’s given me you as a purpose. 

 

ARTHUR: Well…

 

OSCAR: So how far am I willing to help? As far as I’m physically, mentally, and spiritually able. 

 

ARTHUR: Alright. Well… we’ll see this to the end. No matter what that looks like.

 

OSCAR: Aye. Now, this stone… binds the creature to the house the owner sleeps in. Perhaps… if it shouldn’t work, we just sleep here. If Scratch is stuck up here, far away from the city, I guess it would be safer than it would be at Marie’s.

 

ARTHUR (hesitant): Yes… perhaps.

 

OSCAR: Let me take the stone, then. Just in case.

 

JOHN: Oscar’s right. It would be easiest to give it to him now –

 

ARTHUR (forceful): No! No, it’s okay. I’ll – hold onto it for now.

 

OSCAR: Are you certain?

 

ARTHUR: Certain. (John sighs.) Alright. Well…

 

OSCAR: Wait. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes?

 

OSCAR (sighing): With this new information, about the stone and the time dilation. I think it would be worthwhile to have a look again, one last time, at this book. 

 

ARTHUR: Right…

 

OSCAR: And the way it is outside right now…

 

ARTHUR: Right, right – yes, that book shouldn’t get wet. W-Why don’t you stay here, and see if you can’t find something with this new information? And I’ll have a look outside.

 

OSCAR: Aye. I’ll be here.

 

(Arthur opens the car door and steps outside, then closes the door behind him, and starts walking, shoes crunching on the path. A sad piano melody begins.)

 

JOHN: The rain is coming down lightly, melting much of the snow-covered ground. The lot is large, the barn sits to the back left. The entire property is in disrepair, poorly kept and overgrown beneath the snow. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes, well – better rain more than snow. Let’s check the barn, first. (He walks.)

 

JOHN: You didn’t want to give Oscar the stone, there. That seemed like a great opportunity, no?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t know what role the stone will play yet, in terms of drawing Scratch to us. It could be needed to bring him here, I-I don’t wanna risk Oscar using it incorrectly, or… or having Scratch come to him, instead. 

 

JOHN: Fair enough. Well, hopefully we won’t need to use it at all. I’m sure we can defeat Scratch. Still, nice to have Oscar as an option. 

 

ARTHUR: When the time comes, if we have no other choice, nothing has changed.

 

JOHN: You’re thinking clearly, then. I’m glad to hear it. 

 

ARTHUR: The barn.

 

JOHN: Straight ahead, around some rusted equipment. This way. (Rusty hinges creak.) Here! So why did you choose to search outside first?

 

ARTHUR: Well, if Allan left this place for the city, he undoubtedly brought all the important, necessary items with him. (Lightning cracks in the distance.) I’m not counting on much in the way of information to be inside the house, but the property, well, it may hold some –

 

(Suspenseful strings begin playing.)

 

JOHN (horrified awe): Oh.

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: The shadow, Arthur. 

 

(A mysterious tone begins playing.)

 

ARTHUR: What…? What shadow?

 

JOHN: Like I saw when we first approached Marie’s house. It’s… It’s as if a haze clings to the barn. I cannot tell the shadow apart from the darkness. 

 

ARTHUR: Well… I’d say in this case it’s exactly what we’re looking for. 

 

JOHN: I suppose so. (Arthur steps.) The large double doors are closed. (Thunder rolls.) A lock once holding them shut lies rusted in the snow by our feet. 

 

ARTHUR: Newly broken?

 

JOHN: No, very old.

 

ARTHUR: Alright. Let’s do this. 

 

(Arthur pushes against the barn doors, grunting in exertion. The doors slowly creak open. Arthur walks slowly into the barn, his steps echoing slightly.)

 

JOHN: The barn is devoid of any partitions for cattle or horses – just a large, open area. I-I…

 

ARTHUR (echoing): Tell me everything you see.

 

JOHN: The ceiling is blackened, as if the soot from a hundred fires have painted it – and yet no signs of fire exist on the floor, ancient or otherwise – which is… dust-covered, and sporting a large, carved symbol.

 

ARTHUR: Similar to the one in the secret room?

 

JOHN (somewhat tremulous): The exact same. 

 

ARTHUR: Well, if we –

 

JOHN: Wait! Stop.

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: There’s more. 

 

ARTHUR: Okay?

 

JOHN: A lot more. The inside of this barn – Arthur, it’s… tainted.

 

(A suspenseful, eerie tune starts playing.)

 

ARTHUR: Tainted?

 

JOHN: Scorched with pieces of another place, as if… stained by the presence of some otherworldly dimension. 

 

ARTHUR (breathless): The Dreamlands…?

 

JOHN: I don’t know… Large, frozen pustules the size of human heads are attached in groupings of three. In the corners of this barn, the floor, and ceilings – long, spindly strands of icy hair-like rope hang down from the ceiling like large pieces of dew-covered string. The floor around the symbol is stained red and yellow, as if various fluids were spilled here.

 

ARTHUR (breathing raggedly): Jesus Christ…

 

JOHN: Chunks of open-celled combs like those of wasps cover the right wall of the barn, attached to the wood, as if… built by some alien creatures. They’re surrounded by a mud-like multilayered outer shell. 

 

(A claustrophobic, echoing noise rises.)

 

ARTHUR: Empty…?

 

JOHN: I hope.

 

ARTHUR (breathless): Oh my god… What on earth happened?

 

JOHN: I don’t know! But whatever happened… this is where it took place.

 

ARTHUR (frantic): Yes… yes, but-but… W-We still don’t know, what o-o-or how… or why, if-if this… happened in New York… this symbol… was it a test? D-Did it not work here? 

 

JOHN (grimly): Something worked.

 

ARTHUR: We should check inside the house.

 

JOHN: Arthur, you said –

 

ARTHUR: I-I need air! 

 

(Arthur runs out of the barn, grunting in exertion, and stops outside in the rain, panting slightly.)

 

JOHN (genuine): Are you okay?

 

ARTHUR (breathless): I-It’s been a while since… We had to deal with that sort of thing. I’d almost forgotten. The Dreamlands were –

 

JOHN: Far behind us.

 

(A hopeful piano tune begins playing as thunder rolls.)

 

ARTHUR: Yes, but still here. Still with me. 

 

JOHN: I didn’t see anything else in there, no books, or drawings that –

 

ARTHUR: Let’s see if we can’t find something in the house. Save exploring the barn fully until we’re ready to… do what we need to. 

 

(Thunder rolls.)

 

JOHN: Summon Scratch, and end him.

 

ARTHUR: That’s the plan.

 

JOHN: Alright. Well, the back door is straight ahead. 

 

ARTHUR: (He steps.) O-Oscar, we should –

 

JOHN: You’ve barely given him any time to read. If we –

 

ARTHUR (overlapping): Well, if we find something, or we need help… It’s clear that he wants to help, I-I don’t wanna cut him out –

 

JOHN (firmly): We’ve managed this far on our own, Arthur. We don’t need him to explore the house.

 

ARTHUR: I know, but… this is important to Oscar, as well as us. Besides, if there’s something dangerous in there, he should know where we are.

 

JOHN (displeased): Fine.

 

ARTHUR: We’ll head back to the car and then we’ll head inside. (He starts to walk.) Which, uh…?

 

JOHN: Left.

 

(More steps and occasional noises of exertion.)

 

ARTHUR: Yeah. Thank you. (A slow piano melody begins.) Look, I recognize that you’re feeling frustrated because of Oscar’s role in all this –

 

JOHN (pointedly): I’m only trying to remind you that we managed extremely well without Oscar.

 

ARTHUR: I understand that and I hear you.

 

JOHN: And I haven’t missed anything important. We arrived safely, and –

 

ARTHUR: Yes, but missed the turn-off. (He sighs.) All I’m saying is please be patient. I need another set of eyes on all of this. 

 

JOHN: Until?

 

ARTHUR (uncertain): U-Until… I-I don’t… until I can rely fully on you again. 

 

JOHN: And when is that?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t know, John. But if we want to hope to make it far enough to find a solution… we need Oscar.

 

JOHN: You need help, sure. But Oscar isn’t our only option.

 

ARTHUR: For tonight, he is. (John sighs. Nearby, rain pings on metal.)

 

JOHN: The car is here. (Arthur knocks on the window. Oscar makes a surprised noise.)

 

OSCAR: Did you find something?

 

ARTHUR: Yes, you?

 

OSCAR: Yes, I-I… I think so.

 

ARTHUR: Well, look, I-I’m about to head inside the house, actually. Did you want to join?

 

OSCAR: Y-Yes. Let’s. (The door opens, Oscar exits the car.)

 

ARTHUR: Brilliant.

 

JOHN: He’s left the book in the car, so as not to get it wet.

 

ARTHUR: Come on. (They walk.)

 

JOHN: The front door is just ahead, to the left. Here! (Wood squeaks.) The porch steps are rotten and barely holding together. Carefully. 

 

(They open a squeaky front door.)

 

OSCAR (taking it in): Damn. (Arthur takes a deep breath.)

 

JOHN: We’re in the front foyer of this hallway. It’s a small farmstead, really. (The door creaks shut.) The walls, which look as though they were once white… are filled with cracks and jagged holes where the wet plaster has sloughed off, exposing the brick beneath. There are a set of stairs hugging the left wall, here, which start just beyond an archway that leads to a den. The hallway extends down to what I imagine is the backdoor. And to our right… the kitchen.

 

OSCAR: So. What did you find? (A sad piano melody begins.)

 

ARTHUR: The barn is where it happened, where… I believe Edward Allan may have… well. 

‘Tested’ his ritual.

 

OSCAR (puzzled): His ritual?

 

ARTHUR: Yes. Whatever is in the barn, it – it looks as though… that it… it’s…

 

JOHN: As if another world has merged with this one.

 

ARTHUR (sighing): It’s as if another world has merged with this one. In the barn. He was conducting some sort of experiments, I imagine. The book I found in the secret room at Marie’s was beyond use, but the symbol on the floor was the same as the one in the barn. I… I think he practiced here. To summon something. Scratch, perhaps, or… whatever Scratch is? And when he perfected it, he moved. 

 

OSCAR (stepping closer): Look, in regards to Scratch, I think that I may have an idea of what he is. 

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

OSCAR: I suspect that we may be dealing with something called a ‘Forgotten One’. (An ominous sound briefly plays.)

 

JOHN: A ‘Forgotten One’?

 

ARTHUR: What is that?

 

OSCAR: Based on what I can gather, and understand, this is not exactly scientific…

 

JOHN: I’ve read it. I know what he means.

 

OSCAR (finding the words): Forgotten Ones are trapped entities from outside. They’re… manifestations or counterparts of… of Great Ones.

 

ARTHUR: Fractured?

 

OSCAR: Of a sort, yes. What I gather is that Scratch is a Forgotten One of some Great One that Edward William Allan, or whoever, tried to bring into this world and failed.

 

ARTHUR: Hypnos?

 

OSCAR: There’s no way to be certain, not without finding something here that confirms it.

 

ARTHUR: Alright.

 

OSCAR: But that only gets us so far.

 

ARTHUR (distracted): Yes. 

 

OSCAR: So. What gets us all the way to stopping Scratch, then?

 

ARTHUR: We need to find anything that Edward William Allan would have used for research. It’s a good bet that the book is, in fact, gone, but he may have made notes. Primarily we need to know how he summoned Scratch.

 

JOHN: And how to destroy him.

 

OSCAR: Right. (Arthur sighs. A brief sting of horror music.) There’s a smell, here. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes… like… rotting wood. 

 

OSCAR: No. Like… decay. 

 

ARTHUR: Look, let’s just eat the elephant.

 

OSCAR (confused): Sorry?

 

ARTHUR: One bite at a time. You take the kitchen, and I’ll take the den. Keep your eyes peeled.

 

OSCAR: Aye. (They walk.)

 

JOHN: You’re making an awful lot of assumptions.

 

ARTHUR: Am I? We know this symbol matches the one in the bestiary, we know creatures like this don’t naturally exist in our world, they need… help getting here, for lack of a better word.

 

JOHN: Why move to New York to summon Scratch? And for what purpose? What about Hypnos makes him desirable? Even as a Great One…

 

ARTHUR: Well, that’s what we’re looking to find out. (He sighs.) What do we see?

 

JOHN: In the den?

 

ARTHUR: Yes. 

 

JOHN: There’s a small wood stove for heat, bare furnishings, a stark contrast to Daniel’s house. 

 

ARTHUR: Few people live the way Daniel does.

 

JOHN: The furniture here is sparse, lots of markings on the wooden floor where…

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: I don’t know. It’s… well-worn. Almost… smoothed down looking. Polished. 

 

(Arthur walks over.)

 

ARTHUR: Here?

 

JOHN: Yes. (He crouches down.) See? It’s worn. Right here by the window. 

 

ARTHUR: Children. (Faroe’s Lullaby begins, as if on a music box.) 

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR: Hands, knees. Crawling. Playing. Maybe this is where they did it. They played here. 

 

JOHN: Children?

 

ARTHUR: This house is… old?

 

JOHN (uncertain): It… seems so, though I can’t wager how old.

 

ARTHUR: I wonder if it was Edward’s childhood home. If he was the one… who contributed to these markings. (Almost fondly.) As he crawled around, playing with his toys. 

 

JOHN: If he had any. 

 

ARTHUR: Hm? (Arthur gets up.)

 

JOHN: I don’t get the impression that they had food on the table, let alone money for toys.

 

ARTHUR: That sparse, is it? 

 

JOHN: At first… I thought some of the furniture was perhaps moved. But yes. I believe this is how they lived. 

 

ARTHUR: Motivation enough to seek more, in whatever form that may take.

 

JOHN: I suppose so.

 

ARTHUR: Eh, Oscar?

 

JOHN: The room exits back into the hallway at the back of the house.

 

ARTHUR: Right. (He walks.)

 

OSCAR (distant, growing closer): The kitchen is quite small, hard to tell if anything was made there at all.

 

ARTHUR: The den, as well. The Allan family didn’t seem to have much money.

 

OSCAR: But owns two properties?

 

ARTHUR: Well, I think we found our motivating factor, to reach into the beyond, to see what powers lay untamed. 

 

OSCAR: I suppose so.

 

ARTHUR: Regardless, I suppose we’ll head upstairs.

 

(Briefly rising suspenseful music, abruptly cut off.)

 

OSCAR: Well, what about the basement?

 

ARTHUR: Hm?

 

JOHN (confused): Basement?

 

OSCAR: Look. Here. There’s a hatch, right here.

 

ARTHUR: Oh!

 

JOHN: I… didn’t notice that. It’s nearly impossible to see. 

 

OSCAR: Did you want to head down? Or… upstairs, first? 

 

(The sound of rain and a creaking house. A slow piano melody plays. Something hollow echoes faintly.)

 

ARTHUR: Well… 

 

JOHN: There are wisps of shadow clawing out from the hatch. Like that of the barn. I think…

 

OSCAR: Shall I?

 

JOHN: I think there’s something down there.

 

ARTHUR: Look, perhaps we should check upstairs, first.

 

(The echo stops. Faroe’s Lullaby starts.)

 

OSCAR: Oh! Okay. If you’re sure.

 

JOHN: Good call, Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: Yes, look –

 

JOHN: Yes, let’s be thorough.

 

ARTHUR: I mean, if Edward William Allan is behind all of this, knowing more about him, about his family, could prove to be instrumental in defeating Scratch.

 

OSCAR: Aye.

 

ARTHUR: Additionally, this isn’t my first time searching a house, for answers, and – and usually, and I do mean usually, the basement is where we find what we’re looking for. Normally there’s no… time to turn back.

 

OSCAR (agreeing): Okay.

 

JOHN: Like the widow’s house.

 

ARTHUR: So let’s… take a moment and be thorough. Leave no stone unturned.

 

OSCAR: Aye.

 

JOHN: This hatch is at the back of the stairs. If you head left around this wall, you’re back into the front.

 

ARTHUR: Let’s, uh… (They start to walk.) Yes. 

 

JOHN: The stairs are rickety and well-worn, made of wood, but sagging under the weight of time. 

 

OSCAR: Be careful, they don’t look all that sturdy.

 

ARTHUR: Quite.

 

JOHN: It’s true. Hold the railing. (Arthur does so, grunting. The stairs creak loudly.) The top floor here is… in quite the state of disrepair. The walls are almost entirely exposed brick. Ancient pools of dried plaster lay at their feet. This is a small sitting area with a broken wooden chair… and a window that looks out over the backyard. Despite the rain… the night is still.

 

OSCAR: Well, this place has seen better days.

 

JOHN: To your left is a small bedroom, I believe. Two doors to your right, down a short hallway.

 

ARTHUR: Ah, why don’t you take the one on the left?

 

OSCAR: Aye.

 

ARTHUR: Call if you see anything.

 

(Oscar walks off. A door creaks.)

 

JOHN: Oscar’s heading into the small room. 

 

ARTHUR: Alright.

 

JOHN: There’s a door, just to the right, here. Uh… glad you didn’t head for the basement.

 

ARTHUR: Oh, yeah? Why?

 

JOHN: I just think we can’t afford any room for error. We may only have this one shot. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes.

 

JOHN: The door is here. It’s… slightly ajar. (Arthur creaks the door open.) I mean, think of the people, Oscar included, that are counting on us.

 

ARTHUR: I know, but –

 

(A sudden clap of ominous music. Something glass-like falls and clinks.) 

 

JOHN (shocked): Wait! Stop!

 

ARTHUR: What!?

 

JOHN: To your immediate right!

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: There’s a table, stacked with furniture. It’s balanced precariously close to the door. 

 

ARTHUR: What? Why?

 

JOHN: I don’t know. Lots of furniture is pressed to the side of the room, right by the door.

 

(They walk forward carefully.)

 

ARTHUR: Here.

 

JOHN: Yes, careful!

 

ARTHUR: Why would someone do this?

 

JOHN: I’m not sure. It looks like… maybe… 

 

ARTHUR: A barricade?

 

JOHN: Yes. (Arthur sighs.) Drag marks on the floor indicate… this pile of furniture was moved. Often.

 

ARTHUR: Someone didn’t feel safe in this house.

 

JOHN: I can’t blame them. This house doesn’t feel vacant. At least, not entirely. 

 

ARTHUR (sighing): So what is this room, then?

 

JOHN: It looks to be a small bedroom. The only furniture not to the right of the doorway is a washbasin, and… what I imagine was once a dresser, but it’s broken in the middle and laying in pieces. 

 

(They walk closer.)

 

ARTHUR: Did anything in the dresser survive?

 

JOHN: Rotten clothing covered in dust and mold. Nothing of use, no.

 

ARTHUR: Is there a bed here?

 

(A mysterious piano melody begins.)

 

JOHN: A bed is against the far wall, although it looks to be just a mattress. This room reeks of utility and speaks of a busy mind. Sweat stained sheets, tossed and torn… through many sleepless nights. And… marks on the wall.

 

ARTHUR (thoughtfully): A sleepless mind.

 

JOHN: The walls have scratches in them. Markers, perhaps, denoting… time passing.

 

ARTHUR: How many…?

 

JOHN: Dozens, maybe. All next to the bed. 

 

ARTHUR: As if they were counting. (He sighs softly.) Someone barricaded themselves in this room.

 

(Rising suspenseful music.) 

 

JOHN: Perhaps.

 

ARTHUR: Over a course of many days. (A loud clattering of metal and wood. Arthur gasps.) Jesus!

 

OSCAR: Sorry, I…

 

ARTHUR: Aw, f –

 

JOHN: Oscar!

 

ARTHUR (breathing hard): It’s okay, it’s okay.

 

JOHN (sternly): Why not wake the dead while you’re at it!?

 

OSCAR: Another bedroom?

 

ARTHUR: Yours was?

 

OSCAR: As well, aye.

 

ARTHUR: Nothing of importance. Anything at all?

 

OSCAR: No. 

 

ARTHUR: Damn. Alright, well, shall we check the last room together?

 

OSCAR: Aye. (They exit the room.) It’s colder here.

 

ARTHUR: Yes, I feel it, too.

 

JOHN: The last door is on your left, now. Towards the front of the house.

 

OSCAR: Watch your step!

 

JOHN: Watch your – !

 

(The cracking and crashing of wood. Something quietly skitters away.)

 

ARTHUR: Wait. Wait, wait. (Scared.) H-H-Hold… (More skittering.) Did you hear that?

 

OSCAR (confused): No?

 

JOHN: I didn’t hear anything.

 

ARTHUR: I-It was like… movement.

 

OSCAR: Sorry, no. (Something hollow echoes.) 

 

ARTHUR (sighing): O-Okay. (They continue to walk.)

 

JOHN: Here. The door is closed. 

 

OSCAR: So cold.

 

(The door creaks open. The sound of rain grows louder.)

 

ARTHUR: Yes, it feels…

 

JOHN: The roof has collapsed in this room, Arthur.

 

ARTHUR (woeful): Oh, Jesus.

 

OSCAR: Damn.

 

JOHN: Rain is following through a large hole in the roof. Bricks are scattered across the floor.

 

OSCAR: Well, it looks like the chimney’s fallen in.

 

ARTHUR: It does.

 

JOHN: Yes, the chimney must’ve blown over at some point and broken through the roof. It lies, scattered in pieces, across the floor of this room. Small mounds of snow still remain in here, indirect and hidden from the rain that falls slowly. 

 

(They walk around the room.) 

 

ARTHUR: What is this room?

 

OSCAR: I’m not sure. There’s a table against the wall, small wood stove that must’ve been connected to the chimney.

 

JOHN: Perhaps an office at one point, though there isn’t a desk here. There’s a wall that could sport one… (Something skitters at a distance.) But.

 

OSCAR: Do you hear that?

 

JOHN: Wait. There’s something above the table.

 

ARTHUR: A w-what?

 

JOHN: There’s a thin layer of frost on it.

 

OSCAR: A sound… 

 

JOHN: It’s a picture. Of some sort. Straight ahead. Above the table, watch for the – (The clattering of metal and wood. Arthur grunts in pain.) Here.

 

OSCAR: It’s like a scuttling…

 

ARTHUR: Yes. One moment. There’s a painting here.

 

JOHN: You’ll need to brush away some of the frost.

 

OSCAR: I think it’s coming from the stove. Is it connected downstairs?

 

ARTHUR: Yes, Oscar, one moment! (He grunts, wipes the glass. Faroe’s Song begins to play.)

 

JOHN: It’s… a woman! A painting of a woman. With black hair. And… pale skin. She’s lovely.

 

OSCAR: I think there’s something in the stove. I’m going to open it.

 

ARTHUR: One moment, Oscar! (At a distance, Oscar fiddles with the stove. Quieter.) A woman?

 

JOHN (dazed): Her eyes are…

 

ARTHUR: Is she Allan’s wife, or mother?

 

JOHN (slowly): Perhaps, though she… 

 

OSCAR (quietly as if to himself): What are you doing?

 

JOHN (slowly): Who are you? (Unintelligible whispers rise.) 

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

(Oscar abruptly starts to scream in pain and continues throughout. Terror music begins to play.)

 

JOHN: Oscar!

 

ARTHUR: Oscar!? Oscar!?

 

JOHN: Jesus Christ! (The sound of something ripping. Insect wings buzz rapidly.) 

 

ARTHUR: Oscar!

 

JOHN: An insect has burrowed into Oscar’s arm, Arthur!

 

OSCAR (in pain): Oh, God!

 

ARTHUR (in horror): Oh, God!

 

OSCAR: Oh, fuck!

 

JOHN: Its body is entirely under his skin!

 

OSCAR: Fuck!

 

ARTHUR: W-W-What do I –

 

JOHN: Splitting and tearing as it moves down towards his elbow!

 

OSCAR: Bloody hell – ah, god damn it! Christ!

 

ARTHUR (whispering): What!?

 

(Multiple objects fall and clatter to the floor.)

 

OSCAR: Damn!

 

JOHN: The dagger, Arthur!

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

OSCAR: Oh, God!

 

ARTHUR: You want me to cut it out?

 

JOHN: Yes!

 

OSCAR (begging): No! Please, Arthur, no!

 

JOHN (intense): He’ll die, otherwise! 

 

ARTHUR (uncertainly): I can’t –

 

OSCAR: Please!

 

JOHN: Yes, Arthur! He will die!

 

ARTHUR: Oscar, I-I-I have to –

 

JOHN: You have to, Arthur, or it’ll kill Oscar!

 

OSCAR: God, God, oh, God!

 

JOHN: It’s writhing its way higher up in its arm.

 

OSCAR: No, don’t, please, Arthur, no!

 

JOHN (demanding): Cut it, Arthur!

 

ARTHUR: He’s saying no, he-he doesn’t want –

 

JOHN: He’s panicking, Arthur! He’s in shock!

 

OSCAR: Arthur, no! Don’t cut it out, no, please!

 

ARTHUR: I-I won’t! I can’t.

 

(All suspenseful music abruptly cuts out.)

 

OSCAR: Don’t!

 

JOHN: Arthur! 

 

OSCAR: Don’t cut it out!

 

JOHN (aggressively): He is going to die! 

 

ARTHUR (gently): I won’t. I won’t, Oscar, I won’t.

 

OSCAR (gasping for breath): Don’t cut it out, no! Arthur! (Insect wings buzzing.)

 

ARTHUR: W-What can I… I need to do something. 

 

JOHN: Arthur.

 

OSCAR: Don’t cut it out. No. Don’t.

 

ARTHUR: I…

 

OSCAR (emphatically): Cut. It. Off.

 

(A suspenseful horror sting.)

 

JOHN (in shock): Wh… What?

 

ARTHUR (also in shock): What?

 

OSCAR: Axe! (The sound of fabric tearing.) 

 

JOHN: He wants you to cut it off!

 

OSCAR: There’s an axe! In the backyard!

 

ARTHUR: Jesus!

 

OSCAR: Now! (Insects buzzing.)

 

JOHN: He’s wrapping his arm above the elbow.

 

OSCAR: Axe! Now!

 

JOHN: Move, Arthur!

 

OSCAR: Now! 

 

(Arthur breaks into a run, slamming through the door. He breathes quickly.)

 

JOHN: Left! (Arthur moves and grunts.) Here! Down and be careful, Ar – (The sound of wooden splintering. They fall. Arthur gasps in pain.) Arthur! You’ve fallen through the stairs. (Gasps of pain from Arthur.) You’re on the main floor. 

 

ARTHUR (gurgling): Ah… fuck.

 

JOHN: The axe, Arthur! (Arthur stands.) The back door is behind you! Move! 

 

ARTHUR: Jesus! (He hisses in pain and moves.)

 

JOHN: What does Oscar know about this thing? Why cut off his entire arm instead of trying to cut it out!

 

ARTHUR (angrily): I don’t know, John! Clearly he knows something! (Oscar screaming at a distance. Arthur pushes through a door.) Axe!

 

JOHN: I, I don’t see where…

 

ARTHUR (demanding): Axe, John!

 

JOHN: I don’t – To the right! There’s a stump. An axe sits lodged in it.  (Arthur moves.)

 

ARTHUR: Where!?

 

JOHN: Here, here. Here! It’s covered in rust and heavy with water. It’s been here for years, Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: Will it cut bone?

 

JOHN: With enough force. 

 

(Arthur pries it out. A brief horror sting of music.) 

 

ARTHUR: Then it’ll have to do. 

 

JOHN: What manner of creature does –

 

ARTHUR: You saw nothing?

 

JOHN: No! I only saw the tail end of it, entering his skin. (They go through a door, back inside.)

 

ARTHUR: Jesus.

 

JOHN: It looked like it had thin, black worms hanging from it. Stairs! To the left! (Arthur starts up the stairs.)

 

ARTHUR: W-Wait! (Arthur goes back down.)

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR: The kitchen! (They go through a door.)

 

JOHN: What are you doing in the kitchen, Arthur?

 

ARTHUR: A towel!

 

JOHN (baffled): A towel?

 

ARTHUR (barking): A god-damned towel, John!

 

JOHN: On the floor, to the left. More. (Arthur grunts.) Here. Higher. There! 

 

ARTHUR: Stairs!

 

JOHN: Behind you!

 

(They go through a door. Suspenseful string music begins.)

 

ARTHUR: Upstairs. To the…

 

JOHN: Remember, they’re broken now at the mid-point. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes!

 

JOHN: You’ll have to jump up. You… (Arthur leaps, the music briefly pausing, before landing with a thud. A soft piano melody begins. In approval.) Arthur. 

 

ARTHUR (out of breath): Yeah, yes.

 

JOHN (congratulatory): Well done, Arthur! 

 

(They go through a door. Oscar is screaming and groaning in agony. Throughout is the sound of insects squirming in flesh.) 

 

ARTHUR: Oscar, Oscar! I’m here, I’m here!

 

JOHN: He’s taken the strips of clothing and tied it tightly, just above his elbow. 

 

ARTHUR: Where do…?

 

OSCAR: Quickly!

 

JOHN: The veins in his arms have turned… black.

 

ARTHUR: Oh, God. Oh, God.

 

JOHN: They’re pulsating and moving. 

 

OSCAR: Here, here! Just below the elbow!

 

ARTHUR: Alright, alright.

 

JOHN: He’s on the ground, his arm stretched out beside him.

 

OSCAR: Just below the elbow!

 

ARTHUR: Fuck.

 

JOHN: His left arm, Arthur. 

 

OSCAR: Do it. Clean through.

 

JOHN: Aim the axe and I can tell you where to bring it back down –

 

OSCAR: Don’t stop!

 

ARTHUR: Here?

 

OSCAR: No matter what!

 

JOHN: More to the left. 

 

OSCAR: Clean through.

 

ARTHUR: You’re sure?

 

JOHN: Here, Arthur. (Oscar starts to hyperventilate.) 

 

ARTHUR: You’re positive? 

 

JOHN: Yes. 

 

ARTHUR: John!?

 

OSCAR: No, back here! No!

 

JOHN (emphatically): Yes. 

 

(Arthur gasps for air. The music abruptly stops.)

 

ARTHUR: I’m sorry, Oscar! (He brings the axe down to Oscar’s scream of pain. Sounds of gore and blood dripping.) 

 

JOHN: You didn’t make it all the way through. Again. 

 

(Arthur brings the axe down. Oscar screams.)

 

ARTHUR: I’m sorry! I’m sorry!

 

JOHN: Again! The bone hasn’t broken yet. (Arthur brings the axe down to a dull ‘thud’.) You missed and hit the arm. Once more should do it.

 

ARTHUR (nearly to tears): Aw, fuck. I’m so sorry… (Arthur brings the axe down. Oscar screams. Something splinters.) It’s okay!

 

JOHN: It’s through!

 

ARTHUR: It’s okay.

 

JOHN: But skin is still connecting. Finish with the dagger!

 

ARTHUR: Here, here! (He drops the axe and withdraws the dagger. The sounds of gore and wet blood. Oscar gurgles in agony.) It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. Okay. Okay. Oh, fuck. Are you… I have this.

 

JOHN: It’s not bleeding as much as I’d imagined.

 

ARTHUR (panicked): You made a tourniquet. Oscar. Great job. Great job. It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here. Here, here, here… (Oscar vomits.) Oscar, I’m so sorry. Oscar… I’m so sorry. Okay. You’re alright. You’re alright. You’re alright, it’s okay.

 

(A gentle piano melody begins. Oscar is hyperventilating.) 

 

JOHN: You’ve wrapped his bloody stump in the towel. It does seem to help stop the bleeding, but the tourniquet is doing most of the work. His breathing is shallow and rapid. But steady. (Oscar quiets.) I think he’s passed out from the pain. (John sighs.)

 

ARTHUR: He’s gone into shock. (A low ‘thud’.) Oh, fuck.

 

(At a distance, something squirms.) 

 

JOHN (quietly): Arthur. 

 

(It squirms again.)

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: His arm… (More squirming.)

 

ARTHUR: What about it?

 

JOHN: It’s… moving. 

 

(Suspenseful music begins to rise again. The occasional sound of squirming.)

 

ARTHUR (flatly): What?

 

JOHN: The arm you cut off. It’s on the other side of Oscar. Thin black tendrils, like… worms, are branching out from the open cut. Tasting the air. As if feeling around for something. (Arthur gasps shakily.) Dozens of them… like… like a snake’s tongue. All licking out from the open and severed veins of Oscar’s dead arm. 

 

ARTHUR (stunned): What the fuck? What the fuck?

 

JOHN: The fingers on the arm are twitching and… (A meaty pat along with the occasional tap.) The arm has flipped over. It’s dragging itself away. The black tendrils pushing along the bloodstained wooden floor as the fingers slowly and stiffly pull!

 

ARTHUR: Jesus fucking Christ. 

 

(The hand skitters off.)

 

JOHN: Oscar didn’t think it could be cut out. 

 

ARTHUR: He was right. Those… black… worms had crawled in every vein and his arm, as if he were infected… 

 

(A short pause.)

 

JOHN: He looks okay, now. 

 

ARTHUR: For now. (Metal rattles faintly. Arthur gasps.) That… 

 

JOHN: It’s coming from the stove. (More metal rattling, along with insects skittering.)

 

ARTHUR: More of them.

 

JOHN: More. (The noises grow louder.)

 

ARTHUR: Many. Many more.

 

JOHN: Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: We need to move.

 

(Suspenseful music starts, amidst metal clattering.)

 

JOHN: Arthur!

 

ARTHUR (more urgently): We need to move!

 

JOHN: Where?

 

ARTHUR: Oscar!

 

JOHN: He’s passed out! Leave him!

 

ARTHUR (angrily): No, we’re not leaving him!  (The sounds of fabric scraping against wood.)

 

JOHN: You’re going to drag him!?

 

ARTHUR: Come on! We need to move. 

 

JOHN: Where!?

 

ARTHUR: Come on! The other room! The barricaded one!

 

JOHN: Then move, Arthur! (Loud metal clattering. Arthur strains.) Arthur, they’re pouring out of the stove! (Loud chittering, buzzing insect noises throughout.)

 

ARTHUR: Fuck!

 

JOHN: Dozens, hundreds! Oh, Jesus fucking Christ! Move!

 

ARTHUR (shouting): I’m trying! I’m trying! Come on, Oscar!

 

JOHN: They’re pouring up from the floor below as well! Hundreds of these creatures are… there’s no way you’ll –

 

ARTHUR (shouting): The room! The room, where is it?

 

JOHN: Your left! (He strains.)

 

ARTHUR: Come on!  

 

JOHN: We’re in, Arthur! The door! (Arthur shuts the door.) Crush them! Stomp on them, just don’t let them near your skin! 

 

ARTHUR: The barricade!

 

JOHN: Left! (Glass clatters and wood scrapes. Arthur grunts in exertion.) Push, Arthur, push! (A loud, final clatter. The suspenseful music ends. The occasional, quieter insect skitter. Arthur heaves for breath.) Arthur, they’re… they’re not getting through. Even the vents in this room, they’re… 

 

ARTHUR: Covered.

 

JOHN: Yes. 

 

ARTHUR: We’re not the first person to use this room as a safe haven, from… whatever the fuck those are. (He takes a few steps and sits with a grunt..)

 

JOHN: Well. 

 

(A slow piano melody begins.)

 

ARTHUR (thoughtfully): Well.

 

JOHN: What… do we do now? 

 

(Arthur sighs.)

 

(A click, followed by static.)

 

(END Part 37.)