Part 41 "The Windmill"

PART 41: THE WINDMILL

Transcript made by jack

CWs: Falls, sounds of gore and flesh, body horror, insect horror/skittering noises, vomiting, captivity

 

(BEGIN Part 41.) 

 

(Falling rain and the occasional peel of thunder. A slow piano melody begins.)

 

ARTHUR (calling out): Kayne! Kayne, god damn it, Kayne! (He grunts in frustration.)

 

JOHN: He’s gone, Arthur. 

 

ARTHUR: Kayne, you s  –

 

JOHN: He’s gone. The gateway he opened –

 

ARTHUR (furious): Shut up! Shut up, you…   

 

JOHN: Arthur, I… 

 

ARTHUR: You fucking… villain! 

 

JOHN: Villain. 

 

ARTHUR: After everything. After you tried to murder Oscar… and I forgave you, after lying to me about… about everything! You –

 

JOHN (voice distorting in rage): Oh, fuck you, Arthur, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the exact same thing! 

 

ARTHUR: What? I absolutely would not have! We were supposed to be friends. You –

 

JOHN: Are we, though? These last few days, you’ve treated me like a fucking taga –

 

ARTHUR: Oh, here we go again!

 

JOHN: You can brush me off again, just like you did –

 

ARTHUR: I didn’t brush you off, you childish prick! I spoke to Noel for you! I brought you exactly what you claimed you didn’t have in Oscar! (He breathes heavily.) So what the fuck are you even talking about, you –

 

JOHN (voice echoing): I’m trapped! (Voice returns to normal.) Just like Yellow was in Larson. Just like Noel was in the Dreamlands. You are my god-damned keeper and – (Voice distorts.) I am sick of it! I’m through being beaten down after every choice I make.

 

ARTHUR (stupefied): Are you seriously trying to take the stance that trying to erase my memory was the fair and honest way to –

 

JOHN: What I am saying is I am through being treated like a passenger. I can do more, now! And I won’t hesitate to. 

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN (voice distorting): You heard me. And you saw me. (Ominously.) I don’t… I have more abilities, now. I have more… options. 

 

ARTHUR: You… projecting yourself like that? It took a lot from me. You know that. It… It rendered me useless. You can’t –

 

JOHN (voice distorting): Maybe I can. I’m, I’m not… (Voice returns to normal.) I’m saying that maybe I… I deserve some… some fucking grace, here, Arthur! I don’t… (Intently.) Listen. Listen. I… I’m just saying. Don’t act like you wouldn’t have done the same thing! (A long pause.) Arthur. You would’ve! 

 

ARTHUR: What do you want? You want the power? Okay. Fine. You want to call the shots? Find the Black Stone? You’re tired of being a passenger, you want to drive this body, fine. Clearly you can, now. In some manner. 

 

JOHN: That’s not what I’m saying! I’m saying…

 

ARTHUR: Oh, I hear exactly what you’re saying. You’re saying that I better forgive and forget that you tried to fuck with my brain, because if I don’t, you’ll take control from me. And you believe that argument makes you what? More powerful? Did you not just say to Yellow that true weakness is believing your power makes you superior? (Evenly.) What the fuck is wrong with you? 

 

(A gentle piano melody begins.) 

 

JOHN: I don’t know.  I, I don’t know. I’m all… seeing Yellow… feeling… trapped. Watching Noel almost die, I… I-I… I don’t know, Arthur. (Emotionally.) I… I’m so lost. I’m so… confused. For eons, I’ve ruled with no counter, no equal. My whims, my… will! My entire existence, catered to fulfilling my own desires. No boundaries in the slightest way. The idea of being stifled in the smallest way was never even a possibility, and… and though I don’t remember that time… I don’t remember that… life… I can feel its influence. Like a deep-seated memory that refuses to reveal itself. I can feel it always, roiling beneath the surface.

 

Killing Oscar felt… so… natural. So instinctual. It didn’t even really dawn on me what was actually happening until… until you confronted me about it. It’s… It’s so much easier to fall back on the instinctual parts of me. (Quieter.) But I feel torn in two. I’m lost, Arthur. I don’t know what to do, and… I’m… frustrated. 

 

ARTHUR (frankly): I don’t know. But stop turning that frustration towards me. You want to command me? You want to take over this body? And –

 

JOHN: N-No! I –

 

ARTHUR: Do it or don’t. But stop threatening me. 

 

JOHN: I… what am I supposed to say? After that… after Kayne offered me –

 

ARTHUR: You say you fucked up, John! Jesus Christ. 

 

JOHN: I… I know. 

 

ARTHUR: It was an absolute betrayal of my trust. One I don’t see a path back from right now.

 

JOHN: I’m sorry.

 

ARTHUR (sighing): Well, I’ll tell you this. It was a very human thing to do. So I suppose if you’re keeping tally, unforgivable as that was, at least it was a human fuck-up. 

 

JOHN: The deal with Kayne…

 

ARTHUR: In a moment. We need to get out of this rain. (Stressed.) Where…? What the fuck? What the fuck are we supposed –

 

JOHN: I-It’s okay. It’s alright. There’s a stone windmill nearby. We’re standing in a field, it’s night-time. A row of trees nearby can be seen, but I can’t see much else. The windmill is only barely visible between flashes of lightning. 

 

ARTHUR: This way?

 

JOHN: Yes. (They walk.) Left. Wait, wait! Yes, left. 

 

ARTHUR: Why wait?

 

JOHN: Nothing. I thought I… it’s nothing.

 

ARTHUR: You’re sure?

 

JOHN: Yes. The door is just ahead. 

 

(The door squeaks open and shut. Rain continues outside, muffled.)

 

ARTHUR: Well. Small blessings. Oh, it smells in here. Like… I don’t know. Rot. 

 

JOHN: It’s pitch-black, and… (Something brushing against the wall.) Did you just… search for a lightswitch?

 

ARTHUR: Reflex, I suppose. Guess I’ll need to rearrange some thinking. (Worried.) Jesus Christ. What…? How are we supposed to – ?

 

JOHN: Light first. I can’t see anything in here.

 

(Arthur rustles through the bag and flicks the lighter repeatedly.)

 

ARTHUR: Right, right. Everything is soaked through in the bag, fuck.

 

JOHN: The lighter?

 

ARTHUR: Yeah, I can – I need to dry it out, maybe. I need to – (John sighs in frustration.)

 

JOHN: I can’t see anything. What do you need?

 

ARTHUR: I just need something to rub it against. A piece of wood, or –

 

JOHN: The floor is wood.

 

ARTHUR: Right. (He rubs the lighter against the floor.) 

 

JOHN: I… I didn’t mean it. About… taking control, I… 

 

ARTHUR: But you can project yourself, now.

 

JOHN: I know. But I…

 

ARTHUR: It wasn’t an empty threat. 

 

JOHN: It… I wouldn’t do that. Without talking to you. (A slow piano melody begins.) U-Unless… 

 

ARTHUR: How did it… feel?

 

JOHN: It felt… powerful. 

 

ARTHUR: Hm. (He flicks the lighter. The sound of flame.) There. 

 

JOHN: Yes! Okay. It’s dim, but. We’re in a stone windmill, the floor is made out of thick wooden boards covered in what looks like dust. Above us, there’s… (A horror sting. In fear.) Oh! Arthur, douse the light! 

 

ARTHUR: What? (He blows it out.)

 

JOHN (making noises of fear): There’s something in the rafters! Staring at us.

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: I only saw its yellow eyes in the reflection of the light! But it was silently clinging to one of the wooden beams. Staring at us. 

 

ARTHUR: It saw us? 

 

JOHN: It’s been watching us the whole time. Say something to it. 

 

ARTHUR: H-Hello? We don’t… I don’t mean you any harm. I-I’m lost. I’ve gotten lost in the rain, and…Look. We – I just want a place to… (Rising suspenseful music.) A place from the rain, that I can… I don’t mean any…

 

(An owl hoots. Arthur begins to laugh.) 

 

JOHN: What? What?

 

ARTHUR: Oh! (He continues to laugh, bordering on a cackle.) 

 

JOHN: What the fuck are you laughing for? (Sternly.) Stop it! 

 

ARTHUR (pulling himself together): It’s an owl! It’s an owl, John. It’s a fucking owl.

 

JOHN: An owl!? 

 

(Arthur flicks the lighter.)

 

ARTHUR: See? 

 

JOHN: I don’t – (The owl squawks.) Only its eyes a-are… (The owl hoots. John sighs in frustration.) 

 

ARTHUR: It’s fine, it’s fine. Look. Look. Given all we’ve been through… (John sighs.) A-All… All we’ve experienced together… (A slow piano melody begins.) Given everything we’ve accomplished and survived… it’s… completely expected that you might be a little jumpy. (He chuckles. More seriously.) We’ve weathered some truly horrific storms, John. Both of us. Together. And now… 

 

JOHN: And… now…? 

 

ARTHUR: A-And now, we’re in the fucking 1200s, I-I suppose. Jesus Christ. Somewhere in England, I-I can scarcely believe it.

 

JOHN: Given everything Kayne has shown to be possible… I believe it.

 

(A mysterious piano melody begins.) 

 

ARTHUR: That whirlwind of power… h-he killed all other versions of himself. I…

 

JOHN: He is insane. And has power unlike anything, I believe, I’ve ever seen. 

 

ARTHUR: This England… it may not even be… I-I mean. I-It may be a different one than I… know of. 

 

JOHN: What do you mean?

 

ARTHUR: He spoke of many different keys, remember? Different versions.

 

JOHN: Right.

 

ARTHUR: Well. I know… admittedly very little history of England around this time. Nearly none, but. Even what I do know, it… it could be totally different. We may not be in… our version of this… date. Does that make any sense? (He sighs.)

 

JOHN: All that makes sense is that we have one job to do here. And then… 

 

ARTHUR: And then. Speculating ‘and then’ will lead us nowhere.

 

JOHN: You’re right.

 

ARTHUR: We have only the stick to think about. The things Kayne could do… will do. 

 

JOHN: So. The, uh. Black Stone, then.

 

ARTHUR: Yes. The Black Stone.

 

JOHN: Well, at least he didn’t give us a deadline.

 

ARTHUR: Small graces.

 

JOHN: But I hear what you’re saying. This world could be very different than what we expect.

 

ARTHUR: On every front! So. We… We eat the elephant. 

 

JOHN: One bite at a time. (Arthur grunts.) There’s a torch on the wall. The central wooden pillar, here. (He gets up.)

 

ARTHUR: Right, thanks.

 

JOHN: It’s there. (Arthur brushes his hand on the wall.) There. 

 

ARTHUR: Okay. What do we see?

 

JOHN: We’re in a small, round room. There’s a ladder that leads up and another that leads down. Above, the beams support the structure up to a large, wooden gear that seems just above a platform. Doesn’t seem to be turning. The ladder down leads through an open hatch. On this level, there’s a small, crudely made wooden cabinet and a small table with a stool. 

 

ARTHUR: Let’s check the cabinet.

 

JOHN: To your right. (They walk.)

 

ARTHUR (quietly): Look, we can’t afford to be at odds here, John. Not anymore.

 

JOHN: I… know. 

 

ARTHUR: It is time to grow up, in every sense of the word. Do you get it?

 

JOHN: It’s not about growing up, Arthur. (Struggling.) It’s not that… simple, or straightforward. I… I need… a moment. To figure out… what it is I am. W-What I truly… desire to become.

 

ARTHUR: I get that. I get that. And if you’re… Look, I’m here. I-If you need to…

 

JOHN: I just… I need to think. I-I’d like to take a moment and understand what these past few days have meant. Since… coming back… from the Dark World, it’s… it’s only been a handful of days. I thought I… was certain of what I wanted, but-but I realize, now… that I need time. There was so much I couldn’t explain, because you weren’t able to know where I had come from.

 

But now… with you knowing, perhaps…

 

ARTHUR: Yes, yes. I understand. 

 

JOHN: Thank you.  (The sounds of rustling.) 

 

ARTHUR: Anything?

 

JOHN: Some dried leaves, some sort of… (Something stretching.) What looks like rope? Oh, candles! Mostly burned to the nub.

 

ARTHUR: We’ll take them.

 

JOHN: There are three of them. (The bag rustles.) 

 

ARTHUR: At this point, anything helps. Kayne said something about your time in the Dark World…? 

 

JOHN (cautiously): Yes, Arthur. 

 

ARTHUR: Look, when you’re ready. I’m not going to push you into anything, but I need you to know… (He sighs.) I would’ve forgiven you, John. Easily. Taking that deal from Kayne… clearly, it was the right call, I… I would’ve understood.

 

JOHN: I realize that now. I’ve made mistakes. (The owl squawks. Arthur startles, then chuckles.) Such as thinking that could be anything more sinister than a fucking owl!

 

ARTHUR: Hey, if it’s any consolation, owls in the – well, in this time period, were bad omens in their own right.

 

JOHN: Were they?

 

ARTHUR: Yes, they gained a sinister reputation because of their nocturnal persuasion. But truth be told, I’ve… always quite liked them.

 

JOHN: Hm. Sinister just because they were nocturnal.

 

ARTHUR: In fact… they believed an owl’s call was the foretelling of someone’s death. 

 

JOHN: Given that we’re alone, unsure of where we are with little to no food… I’d agree and say that its presence is quite a bad omen. 

 

ARTHUR: Nonsense. (He walks. Calling out.) Hello there! (A distant, fluttering noise. As if he’s talking to a small child.) Hello! Hey! My name is Arthur. The voice in my head is John. (He chuckles.) What… What’s your name?

 

JOHN (not playing along): Arthur. 

 

ARTHUR: You’re a pretty thing, I bet. What does it look like?

 

JOHN: It’s brown. (Arthur sighs.) Yellow eyes. 

 

ARTHUR (thinking): Huh. A horned owl. A Great Horned. Do its ears peek out like little horns?

 

JOHN: Arthur! I recognize your compulsion for needing to befriend every creature you meet, but in the flickering torchlight, the owl’s shadow cuts a dark and foreboding aura amongst the rafters. 

 

ARTHUR: Well, then. (Calling out.) Why don’t we name you? Something safe. (Encouraging.) John, right? Something that feels comfortable.

 

JOHN (perplexed): Comfortable? What? 

 

ARTHUR: Alexander. Alexander the Owl. What say you, friend? (A fluttering noise, followed by a hoot. John chuckles.) Well? See? He likes it! Or she. I don’t… I don’t know how to tell the difference. (He chuckles.) Look, we have shelter from the storm. We can sleep on the floor if need be, right? So we have everything we need for tonight. Let’s just worry about that, one moment at a time. If we start thinking about the wider view of things here, we’re just going to get overwhelmed.

 

JOHN: Well, we should make sure there are no other animals living here before sleeping. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes, of course. We’ll poke around first. A-Above us, you said…?

 

JOHN: Yes, it opens up to a plateau, of sorts. A wooden floor, higher above, though I can’t vouch for its stability from down here.

 

ARTHUR: Right, right. And then there’s down.

 

JOHN: Yes. Which first?

 

ARTHUR: Let’s head down, probably.

 

JOHN: Alright.

 

ARTHUR: We can search up after. (An owl hooting. Arthur chuckles.) And Alexander agrees with down, so.

 

JOHN (sarcastically): Wonderful. (Arthur huffs.) The ladder down is to your right. (Footsteps. The ladder creaks.) It’s a crude, wooden ladder. Some of the bark from the branches that were used to make the rungs still remains.

 

ARTHUR (exerting himself): I think you’ll find that quite common from now on. (The owl begins to hoot intermittently.) Ornate woodwork is a luxury, not necessary or of interest for most people. Especially in this age.

 

JOHN: Careful. The ladder is old.

 

ARTHUR: How far down?

 

JOHN: A bit. Ten feet, maybe. 

 

ARTHUR: Right.

 

JOHN: The rungs are bending under your weight. 

 

(A soft thud.) 

 

ARTHUR: Ooh, there. (In disgust. Arthur sniffs.) Oh. Damn. 

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR: The smell. I noticed it when we first entered… (The owl squawks.) It’s much stronger down here. It smells of… ah, like… rot. 

 

JOHN: Perhaps they kept food down here. 

 

ARTHUR: Possible. What do you see?

 

JOHN: We’re in the dark, damp, medium-sized basement, I suppose, of this windmill. (A delicate piano melody begins.) The walls are made of the same stone as above. A variety of cobblestones stacked upon themselves, layered to create a random pattern of sturdy rock.

 

ARTHUR: Right.

 

JOHN: In the center, connected to the upper floor, it seems there’s a large stone wheel, and a basin, of sorts.

 

ARTHUR: Right. For grinding whatever –

 

JOHN: Yes. (Arthur exhales.) Only it doesn’t seem to have been used in some time. There is a small amount of whatever wheat was left in the grindstone, but it’s mostly gone. Is that what you’re smelling?

 

ARTHUR: No, I don’t think so. It smells… wetter. 

 

JOHN: Well, the light only just touches the walls of this round room. You’ll need to move forward, a bit. (Soft scraping.) In the corner opposite us, beneath the large, wooden floor above, there are a few crates. It looks like loose wheat was kept in them, but now is gone. And… 

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: There’s… something. In the wall. 

 

ARTHUR (softer): What?

 

JOHN: A… crack. This way. Uh, left. 

 

ARTHUR (audibly recoiling): Ooh. That’s it. That’s it.

 

JOHN: The smell?

 

ARTHUR: Yeah, it’s coming from…

 

JOHN: The wall, here. It’s… cracked open. The jagged stonework is almost… unzipped. 

 

ARTHUR: Broken?

 

JOHN: No, no. It’s… It’s as if the stonework was… pulled apart. 

 

ARTHUR: By hand, chisel – ?

 

JOHN (struggling for words): No, I mean… it just… it wasn’t built like this, o-or broken. It… It looks pulled apart, literally. As if the wall itself moved. 

 

ARTHUR: Okay. 

 

JOHN: Beyond… I can’t see much of anything, but the torch is catching the light of something within. Glistening, almost. 

 

ARTHUR: W-Wait, it… it continues?

 

JOHN: Yes. (A soft woosh.) The torchlight is reflecting off the walls within. They look… wet. 

 

ARTHUR: It smells… earthy, but… off. Bitter and damp. Can we block it? Seal it, in some way?

 

JOHN: You can try to move the crates in front, but they’re not very large and fairly empty. It wouldn’t do much.

 

ARTHUR: No. No, that’s fair. Well, let’s just not… linger here, then.

 

JOHN: Agreed. Though… (At a distance, repeated thuds.) 

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: Well, is this place safe to rest?

 

ARTHUR: Let’s just see if we can find something to block it, and then decide what we should do if we can’t.

 

JOHN: Alright.

 

ARTHUR: What else is down here? It’s larger than upstairs.

 

JOHN: Inarguably. (Repeated thuds, and a soft echo.) 

 

ARTHUR: John? 

 

JOHN (distracted): Sorry. Sorry.

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: Just… the hole. 

 

ARTHUR (cautiously): Yes?

 

JOHN: There’s something. I feel like I can see it from the corner of my eye. No matter where I look. Its… presence fills the air, down here. Standing as imposing as a monolith, and yet… only a vertical, jagged strike. Like that of lightning. Both the top and bottom sew together again. Only the center widens, as if depicting a vertical mouth with… jagged, broken stone teeth. 

 

ARTHUR (nervous): Yes, um.

 

JOHN: Y-Yes, yes. 

 

ARTHUR: T-The crates, the crates. (Repeated thuds continue intermittently.) Over here, right?

 

JOHN: Yes. Like I said, there are… pieces of loose wheat, dry and forgotten, though… the way it’s spilled on the floor…

 

ARTHUR: What about the way…?

 

JOHN: I don’t know. It could be seen as if someone tried to make a… well, bedding. Or at least a comfortable place to sit.

 

ARTHUR: Okay.

 

JOHN: The way the crates are positioned, away from the wall.

 

ARTHUR: Someone was here?

 

JOHN: Yes, I’d… I’d say someone moved them.

 

ARTHUR: Recently, you think?

 

JOHN: No way to know, but I imagine whoever was here, he was not the windmill’s owner. Someone… like us, seeking shelter from whatever forces rage outside. In fact…

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: I think… by your left shoe. There’s something glistening in the stalks of wheat. 

 

ARTHUR (rummaging): Here.

 

JOHN: Yes. 

 

ARTHUR: Oh. Oh, what is – (In pain.) Ow! Fuck. 

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR: I… (He chuckles.) I-I pricked my finger on… this. (A metal ding.) 

 

JOHN: A brooch.

 

ARTHUR: Oh! A brooch. Damn. 

 

JOHN: Your finger is bleeding.

 

ARTHUR: Should’ve used our left hand.

 

JOHN (awkwardly): Yes, well. I feel it’s important for you to still feel like you have, uh… 

 

ARTHUR: Control. 

 

JOHN: Yes. 

 

ARTHUR: You don’t need to do that. 

 

JOHN: I want to. I know it’s your body. 

 

ARTHUR: A brooch. That seems… odd. W-What is it…?

 

JOHN: It’s a long, silver brooch with a pin in the back. It depicts… two deer, running from… what looks like a lion. 

 

ARTHUR: Deer?

 

JOHN: Uh, perhaps gazelle. The lion is… eating the one in the back, while the one in the front escapes. It doesn’t have horns, the one in the front.

 

ARTHUR (realizing): It’s a fawn. A… A young one. 

 

JOHN: I think so. The lion is biting into the hindquarters of the elder, and behind the lion, a snake watches in a tree. It hisses angrily at the scene. 

 

ARTHUR: This doesn’t… This seems far too valuable to be forgotten in a wheat pile. Additionally, i-it doesn’t feel like it belongs here.

 

JOHN: Well, I nearly missed it.

 

ARTHUR: You – (Kindly.) You really started to master your investigative ways, you know?

 

JOHN: Heh, thanks. New York was… helpful. (A soft echo. Arthur gasps softly.) What?

 

ARTHUR: Did you just – ?

 

JOHN: N-No.

 

ARTHUR: Is there…? Is the crack…?

 

JOHN: Perhaps there’s a way to block it from the inside.

 

ARTHUR: I don’t think we want to go in.

 

JOHN: No. No. But… I have to admit… I’d feel better knowing where it went. It could just be a dead end, or an animal’s hole. 

 

ARTHUR: Right. Right, l – it is just a passage. Probably created by the shifting of earth.

 

JOHN: Entering it? Well… it would put our mind at ease. (Another echo, followed by the fluttering of feathers and a hoot.) Jesus! 

 

ARTHUR (laughing): Well!

 

JOHN: He’s landed on a rung of the ladder.

 

ARTHUR (pleased): You’re not very shy, are you?

 

JOHN (dour): Is he? 

 

ARTHUR: Most owls are fairly timid. (The ladder creaks.) 

 

JOHN: Look. All I’m considering is peace of mind. Revealing this small, earthen crevasse to be a tree root that split the stone…

 

ARTHUR: Or a downpour, having broken a part of the foundation –

 

JOHN: Right.

 

ARTHUR: Would make me sleep much, much easier. I-I do agree. Not that you couldn’t keep an eye on it. 

 

JOHN: Mind you… there could be something upstairs to block the hole, as well. And we do want to explore there.

 

ARTHUR: Right. Yes. Okay. 

 

JOHN: I just want to know nothing is coming out of that, that we don’t want a visit from. 

 

ARTHUR: Upstairs, then. If we find something to block it, there’s our answer. If not… 

 

JOHN: Venturing in for… peace of mind. 

 

ARTHUR: Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

 

JOHN: Back up the ladder, then. (A creak of wood. An owl hoots.) Alexander is on the rungs at the top.

 

ARTHUR (unconcerned): Yeah, he’ll move. (He begins to climb.)

 

JOHN: Careful, now. The ladder is –

 

ARTHUR: It supported us on the way down! 

 

JOHN: Yes, but. (The ladder starts to splinter.) Arthur. (In alarm.) Arthur! 

 

(The ladder breaks. Alexander screeches. Arthur screams in pain and tumbles to the floor.)

 

ARTHUR: Ow, fuck! God. (He groans in pain and starts to pant.) God damn it!

 

JOHN (insistent): I told you!

 

ARTHUR: Well, what fucking difference does telling me make? (The sound of wet dripping.) I can’t climb any lighter! God damn. 

 

JOHN (surprised): You’re bleeding?

 

ARTHUR: Yes. How badly?

 

JOHN: How did –

 

ARTHUR: How bad!?

 

JOHN: I can’t see! You dropped the torch.

 

ARTHUR: Is it still lit?

 

JOHN: Yes.

 

ARTHUR (rummaging): Where is it?

 

JOHN: To your left. There. (A slight tap.) Fuck, Arthur. A large splinter is protruding from between your third and fourth finger.

 

ARTHUR: Fuck. (He huffs.)

 

JOHN: We need to pull it out.

 

ARTHUR: Okay. (An owl hoots.)

 

JOHN: Your teeth? 

 

(Arthur makes noises of exertion, then spits.)

 

ARTHUR: Ah, fuck.

 

JOHN: There. (Arthur makes noises of pain.) You’re, uh… the blood is…

 

ARTHUR (breathless): Is there any fabric around here, something I can wrap it… with?

 

JOHN: No… mind you, the robe is…

 

ARTHUR: Oh, god damn it. (Fabric ripping.) Oh, fuck. (More fabric ripping and shifting.) Is the ladder…?

 

JOHN: In pieces. 

 

ARTHUR (thoughtful): Ten feet, eh? 

 

JOHN: At least. 

 

ARTHUR (frustrated): Fuck! (The owl hoots.)

 

JOHN: Your friendly owl sits perched upon an empty wall sconce on the opposite side of the room.

 

ARTHUR: Not now, Alexander. (The owl hoots. Both sigh.) This… stupid robe! (He grunts. The shifting of fabric.) It’s… soaking wet. We’re being… being weighed down by it, by all of this… stuff. (He rummages.)

 

JOHN: Our bag? 

 

(A soft thud of their bag.) 

 

ARTHUR: Yes! Where can I put the…?

 

JOHN: The torch?

 

ARTHUR: Yeah.

 

JOHN: Where…?

 

ARTHUR: Somewhere.

 

JOHN: You can lean it against the center…

 

ARTHUR: Here?

 

JOHN: Yes, there. (A tap.)

 

ARTHUR: There. (He sighs.) Okay. Okay. (He rummages through his bag.)

 

JOHN: What are you doing?

 

ARTHUR: I’m going to go through this bag. It’s been too long and we’re just… 

 

JOHN: Just what?

 

ARTHUR: We’re not home anymore. (He sighs. A sad piano melody begins.) We’re not going to be home. For a long time. If ever again. We need to be smart, stop toting around some of this… junk. (The fluttering of paper. Arthur grunts.) Like this, what is this? It’s… paper, it’s soaking wet.

 

JOHN: Letters. One from Frank, the Butcher… Anna. 

 

ARTHUR: They’re ruined.

 

JOHN: Completely. I can’t read them, the ink is all run.

 

ARTHUR: Toss them. (He grunts. The fluttering of paper.) Along with… this, money. And my wallet, I suppose.

 

JOHN: We don’t… need that?

 

ARTHUR: Not here. (A clacking noise.) What are these? (Insistent.) John. 

 

JOHN (distracted): Huh. 

 

ARTHUR: What am I…? (A slow pause. Quieter.) What’s wrong?

 

JOHN: No… no, nothing.

 

ARTHUR (whispering): Is it the wall?

 

JOHN: I feel like… (A faint, unearthly echo.) I can… like it’s watching. 

 

ARTHUR: Focus. Then we can get out of here.

 

JOHN (pulling himself together): Right. Right, right! 

 

ARTHUR (amidst jingling noises): W-What is this, what are these? Keys?

 

JOHN: Daniel’s car, the Hotel Tudor, Marie’s…

 

ARTHUR: Right. Don’t need them. (He tosses them and continues to rummage.)

 

JOHN: Those are the books. The bestiary and the one with my symbol on it. 

 

ARTHUR: The bestiary? Didn’t… w-wasn’t this from… long ago?

 

JOHN: Yes. 

 

ARTHUR: This era?

 

JOHN: I think so!

 

ARTHUR: This may be important. Very important. We’ll keep both, definitely this one for now, for sure.

 

JOHN: Once we’re out of here, we’ll take a look at it.

 

ARTHUR: Agreed. (Something squishes wetly.) Oh! W-What is…?

 

JOHN: The tendril. 

 

ARTHUR: What is… I don’t think we need that. Or two masks! 

 

JOHN: Keep the pallid mask. It allowed us to see the creature in the mines.

 

ARTHUR: Sure.

 

JOHN: Get rid of the Order’s mask, though you do have the robe and the ring and the medallion.

 

ARTHUR: We’ll keep the medallion and the ring, but not the robe. The Order may exist, here. (He continues to rummage.) What is… 

 

JOHN: That’s the Crystallizer of Dreams.

 

ARTHUR: Right, right. (Remembering.) Right, the Trader… said that this allowed travel of… items between worlds. 

 

JOHN: And views places far away in dreams.

 

ARTHUR: Right. Right, good to know.

 

JOHN: Good to keep. (More rummaging.) And that is the Glass of…

 

ARTHUR: Leng. This let us see the bluffs in the Dreamlands.

 

JOHN: Why did it?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t know. We don’t know why it showed us that.

 

JOHN: Should we… use this again? 

 

ARTHUR: Yes. Yes. It can’t hurt. Can it? 

 

JOHN: It’s an oddly-shaped piece of glass.

 

ARTHUR: Like ice, you said.

 

JOHN: Yes, rounded in the corners, with an odd discoloration of blue and violet. 

 

ARTHUR: Let’s hope it still works. 

 

(A theremin-like noise, followed by a slight crackling.) 

 

JOHN: I… see… darkness. Nothing. Nothing, Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: Damn.

 

JOHN: I don’t see… wait!

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: A flash of lightning! I do see! It’s… a castle, Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: A large castle. Sitting against a pitch-black night sky, I can barely make it out, but. It’s there. It sits next to a cliff, as if perched. 

 

ARTHUR (exhaling): Reminds me of Addison.

 

JOHN: That’s it. That’s all I can see. 

 

ARTHUR: Well, okay! (Brightly.) Okay! We know… something! Last time the glass showed us the way forward. How to get where we needed to be.

 

JOHN: Maybe this will do the same. 

 

ARTHUR: Huh. Let’s hope. Well, we’re keeping this, for sure. (More rummaging.) 

 

JOHN: Huh. This is the shaving tin. Inside are… fishing hooks and… well, you put a number of –

 

ARTHUR: Uh, right, right. Still safe. It doesn’t feel wet. 

 

JOHN: No no, it’s not.

 

ARTHUR: I’ll put the brooch in, as well.

 

JOHN: O-Okay. (A metal clicking.) 

 

ARTHUR: Alright. What else is…? Ooh. (Clacking wood.) This… is… oh, damn. 

 

JOHN: Broken.

 

ARTHUR: What is…?

 

JOHN: Larson’s flute.

 

ARTHUR: Oh, broken. (He sighs.) Fuck. Useless, now. 

 

JOHN: I’d imagine so. 

 

(A soft, breathy noise from a distance.)

 

ARTHUR: Did you just… hear…?

 

JOHN (shakily): Y-Yes. 

 

ARTHUR (quietly): Okay. Okay. Okay. (He hisses in pain.)

 

JOHN: Kayne’s dagger. (A scrape of metal.)

 

ARTHUR: Frustratingly useful. We should put it on our belt, actually. (The sound of shifting fabric and the click of metal.)

 

JOHN: At least the robe kept most of the water off your suit.

 

ARTHUR: W-Well, it won’t last long. I don’t know what to do about this… (He grunts in exertion.) There. (In realization.) Oh! 

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR: My pockets. I have my… lighter and my handgun is still holstered. (Metal clicking.) Oh… fuck. Empty, though. 

 

JOHN: But you have another clip!

 

ARTHUR: Right, right! (He reloads.) Great. Seven shots. 

 

JOHN: Still.

 

ARTHUR: Y-You’re not wrong.

 

JOHN: Anything else in your pockets?

 

ARTHUR: Ehm… (Surprised.) The Vanguard!

 

JOHN: The Vanguard?

 

ARTHUR: We asked it about Anna Stanczyk the other day.

 

JOHN: Didn’t Kayne say something about it? About… giving it a mouth?

 

ARTHUR: Kayne said a lot of nonsense. But you’re not wrong. We’ll think on it. For now, I’ll keep it in my pocket. And… finally… what is…? (Paper fluttering.)

 

JOHN: What? (In realization.) Oh. 

 

ARTHUR: The letter from Oscar. (A slow piano melody begins.)

 

JOHN: Right. 

 

ARTHUR: I… forgot about it, I… I tucked it into my inside breast pocket before… 

 

JOHN: Yes. Do you want to, uhm…?

 

ARTHUR: No. No, not now. Okay. So. My lighter, Oscar’s note, the Vanguard, Kayne’s dagger, and the gun are all on me.

 

JOHN: So we’re keeping the two books, the pallid mask, the Crystallizer of Dreams… the Glass of Leng, and the Fallen Star medallion and ring.

 

ARTHUR: And then, in the shaving tin…

 

JOHN: Well, you have your shaving kit and fishing hooks. The coin… Daniel’s ring, Marie’s locket, and, uh… a picture of… 

 

ARTHUR: Faroe.

 

JOHN: Yes. 

 

ARTHUR: Well, that’s… everything. Our whole life. Everything we have to accomplish, this goal with… 

 

JOHN: And the three black candles.

 

ARTHUR (confused): What?

 

JOHN: The three candles.

 

ARTHUR (remembering): Right, right. Now. (He grunts.) Getting back up. 

 

JOHN: Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: Don’t tell me it’s not possible.

 

JOHN: I don’t see a way. 

 

ARTHUR (determined): There must be. 

 

JOHN: None that I can see, Arthur. Especially in your state. 

 

(A soft, breathy noise from a distance.)

 

ARTHUR: So. We… 

 

JOHN: I… I think so. 

 

ARTHUR: Oh, the smell. 

 

JOHN: I don’t know what… 

 

(At a distance, a strong wind blows.)

 

ARTHUR: Do you hear that? 

 

JOHN: Yes. 

 

ARTHUR: What does it sound like to you?

 

(A soft, breathy noise from a distance. The wind still blows.)

 

JOHN: Whispers. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes. Or it could be a breeze. 

 

JOHN: A breeze?

 

ARTHUR: It could be a way out.

 

JOHN: It would have to be quite large in there.

 

ARTHUR: Yes.

 

JOHN: If it does go deeper… how do we plan on keeping sense of our direction? 

 

ARTHUR: Well. I’ll keep one hand on the wall, like always, the other holding the torch.

 

JOHN: Right. Hopefully there’s nothing… no animals within that could… mean to do us harm. In which case… if there are… what about the dagger?

 

ARTHUR: Draw the dagger? But I’m already holding the torch with my other hand, that means… I couldn’t keep a hand on the wall. We could get lost. 

 

JOHN: But it also means if anything is in there, we have protection. (Arthur sighs.) I’d rather stumble around in the dark for a few moments longer than have something attack us, while we’re unarmed.

 

ARTHUR: No, I wouldn’t. The darkness, even with the torch, is… pervasive. The torchlight will cast tricks on your eyes, John, and something about this feels… 

 

JOHN: Corrupted.

 

ARTHUR (surprised): Corrupted? No, I-I… you think that – ?

 

JOHN: I don’t know. I don’t know what to think yet. But I hesitate to.

 

ARTHUR: Because…?

 

JOHN: Because that’s our only way forward. 

 

ARTHUR: Right. (A footstep.)

 

JOHN: It lay before us. Again, the torchlight dances along something wet within. It almost seems… like… starlight. 

 

ARTHUR: The foul stench of rot is almost a companion, now. Its rancid, earthy note seems… sweeter, somehow. 

 

JOHN: Sweeter?

 

(Arthur inhales. An owl hoots, surprising them both.)

 

ARTHUR: So long, Alexander. I hope we meet again. (John huffs.) Stay safe. Within, within. (Rock crumbles as he pushes forward. In disgust.) Oh, God. 

 

JOHN: The passage is tight. Tighter than it looked from the outside. The walls are slick with… I don’t know.

 

ARTHUR (with exertion): It’s… thick! 

 

JOHN: The light is filling the space, but the dampness is… dimming the torch. I don’t know how long it…

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: It’s just… fighting against the humidity. Keep going. The rock is black, almost burnt-looking. (Arthur pants, struggling.) Just keep going. Keep the torch out in front. 

 

ARTHUR (breathless): Oh, I can barely move here. Fuck. What is…? What is this, what am I f – what am I feeling?

 

(The sound of wet squishing and a suspenseful sting of music.) 

 

JOHN: I don’t know, it… it’s a… thin, translucent… flesh-colored barrier.

 

ARTHUR: What? 

 

JOHN: It’s just before us. It looks almost… like… (Arthur exhales shakily.) Tissue. A membrane. I can see the cavern continue beyond. Y-You just need to push through.

 

ARTHUR: I can barely move!

 

JOHN: Just… break it!

 

ARTHUR (stressed): With what? I can’t reach the dagger.

 

JOHN: Your fingertip, Arthur. 

 

ARTHUR: Oh, God.

 

JOHN: Just see if you can’t break it with your hand. 

 

(Wet. squishy noises continue throughout.)

 

ARTHUR: Oh, God.

 

JOHN: It’s… stretching, almost like skin. There are dark veins throughout it. 

 

ARTHUR (disgusted): Jesus…

 

JOHN: Stretching still…

 

ARTHUR: Fucking… Christ…

 

JOHN: Use your fingernail to pierce it, Arthur. Once you’ve broken the skin and gotten a finger through, you can… tear it! Like a seam! (Arthur makes revolted noises.) It’s…

 

ARTHUR: I… 

 

JOHN: Oh. Ah. It’s… there’s a black liquid coming from the seam, running down your hand, keep… (Arthur gags.) Keep putting your finger through.

 

ARTHUR: I’m, I’m… I’m trying. What is… what’s on me? My arm? (Fearful.) Something’s, something’s –

 

JOHN (sternly): There’s nothing on your arm, except for the black… liquid. Keep going! 

 

(Wet tearing.) 

 

ARTHUR: It’s – It’s through! Fuck. (Insistently.) There’s something, there is something! I can feel it.

 

JOHN: Arthur, there isn’t. Now drag your finger down! Split the membrane so we can pass through. 

 

ARTHUR: There is! There is, god damn it! I can feel something… moving!

 

JOHN: There!

 

ARTHUR: Under the sleeve of my… shirt…! (He makes disgusted noises. More wet tearing.) 

 

JOHN: Yes, keep going!

 

ARTHUR: Fuck!

 

JOHN: Keep tearing it. Use your palm to push down! (Arthur groans.) Tear it, faster!

 

ARTHUR (groaning): Oh, fuck. 

 

JOHN: There.

 

ARTHUR: Fuck.

 

JOHN: It’s large enough to pass through. Let’s move. (Wet squelching as they move through.) Ugh. Feel like I smell the stench, now. It’s stronger in here.

 

ARTHUR: John, there is something. There are…

 

JOHN: Hold still, let me see. (The woosh of flames.) I-I don’t see anything! (In horror.) Oh. There… a-all over you, they’re… !

 

ARTHUR: Oh, I can feel – I can feel them all over my collar! And my neck! Oh.

 

JOHN: Turn around. Let me see the… (Another woosh of flames. Quietly.) Oh. 

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: The membrane. This side of it. It’s covered in… small, black maggots. (Arthur gags and vomits. Insects skitter.) They’re all over your hair, too, and down your neck! 

 

ARTHUR: Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. (He pants in fear.)  

 

JOHN: Are you okay? They seem harmless.

 

ARTHUR (desperately): None of this seems harmless, John. Seems… wrong! Like… an affront. 

 

JOHN: An affront to what?

 

ARTHUR (groaning in disgust): What is this? Where are we?

 

JOHN: The caves more resemble the membrane now. The walls are still black rock, but seem to have a fleshy hue to them. The maggots are… everywhere. Clinging to the walls, seemingly feasting on whatever liquid is being produced here. 

 

ARTHUR: We need to leave. We need to get out of here.

 

JOHN: The path splits two ways, more or less. Right or left? 

 

ARTHUR (briefly mumbling to himself): Listen. Let me listen. (A long pause filled with the distant breeze. Arthur exhales.) Okay. We stay right. We stay right.

 

JOHN: Agreed. 

 

ARTHUR: I have my…

 

JOHN: Hand on the wall, then. (Arthur groans.) Just…

 

ARTHUR: Oh, fuck.

 

JOHN: Ignore the maggots.

 

ARTHUR: Okay. (Wet squishing.) Okay, I have my hand on the wall. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: The floor is beginning to descend. 

 

ARTHUR: But the uneven surface makes it difficult to…

 

JOHN: It’s okay. Between the light and you tracking the wall with your hand, we’re keeping sight of the… (Arthur slips and grunts in frustration. Reassuringly.) You’re okay! You’re okay!

 

ARTHUR: Yes! Yes.

 

JOHN: It’s continuing down, steeply.

 

ARTHUR: I can feel that.

 

JOHN: You may need to climb a bit, here. (Arthur starts to climb.)

 

ARTHUR (groaning): I can’t… can’t…

 

JOHN: Feel for the stones. There!

 

ARTHUR: Okay. Okay. What… Where…

 

JOHN: This way. 

 

ARTHUR: Oh, Jesus, this…

 

JOHN: Large fissures open above and around us. Some are far too small to navigate, others seemingly shrink down into nothing.

 

ARTHUR: What is… this smell, this ca –  (A loud animal shriek, followed by silence. John and Arthur make noises of fear.) What was that? What just happened?

 

JOHN: Something just blew out the torch. We’re in complete darkness.

 

ARTHUR: Light it again.

 

JOHN: I… 

 

ARTHUR: We light it again, right?

 

JOHN: I-I don’t know. 

 

ARTHUR: What’s wrong?

 

JOHN: I don’t know! Something is… something is… we’re not alone. 

 

ARTHUR: What are you seeing? What are you…?

 

JOHN: Nothing. I see nothing. I hear… nothing. (A breathy sound, at a distance.) There! 

 

ARTHUR: I hear, I hear it, too.

 

JOHN: What are we doing? Where are we –

 

ARTHUR: We need to move. We need to light the torch.

 

JOHN: No light. No light. It’ll see us.

 

ARTHUR: Okay. No torch. But draw the dagger. (Unwillingly.) I’ll keep my hand on the wall, again. (Wet, squishy noises.) We’ll navigate by sound and feel. (The scratch of metal. They start to move.)

 

JOHN: This way. I can hear it louder. Down this way. (Rain is audible at a distance.) Listen! 

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: Listen! Rain!

 

ARTHUR: A way out! (A gentle melody begins.)

 

JOHN: This way! (They rush forward.) Here, left! Yes. Right! Here, here!

 

ARTHUR: I hear it, I hear – I hear – !

 

JOHN: I see a flash of light. (He grunts.) We’re in a… a small area, small room, almost. 

 

ARTHUR: What is…?

 

JOHN: Blue light comes from bolts of lightning.

 

ARTHUR: W-Where’s the light coming from? 

 

JOHN: I don’t know, but… (Downtrodden.) A small hole. In the ceiling.

 

ARTHUR: How small? 

 

JOHN: Far too small. And far too high, for us.

 

ARTHUR: B-But the rain, is…?

 

JOHN: It’s water, falling through the ceiling, traveling from the ground above. 

 

ARTHUR (shakily): No. (The crumbling of rock. Almost to tears.) But we’re close to the surface! 

 

JOHN: Arthur. 

 

ARTHUR: That has to mean something, right? That we’re…

 

JOHN: Arthur. (Arthur breathes shakily.) There are bones on the floor of this room. 

 

ARTHUR: What? 

 

JOHN (slowly): Human bones. The maggots are feasting on them beneath our feet. There are chains on the walls. (Insect skittering.)

 

ARTHUR: Chains?

 

JOHN (cautiously): Arthur. Through the flickering light that comes from above… I can just make out the silhouette of a figure, chained to the far wall. His arms are spread out on either side. 

 

ARTHUR: Alive?

 

UNKNOWN MAN: Help me. Help. Me. (Chains clatter.) Help me. (Screaming.) Help me! 

 

(A click, followed by static.)

 

(END Part 41.)