Dramatis Personae
(in order of appearance)
KURT Cross, actor, private investigator, and former skeptic. Male, early 30s, New York accent.
Inspector ISKANDAR Meshkia, Metropolitan police detective and raging caffeine addict. Male, late 30s, strong Turkish accent.
Dr. ERNEST Wilde, skeptic enough for the whole group. Male, early 30s, Northern English accent.
Eloise “ELLIE: Westmont, returned home at last. Female, mid 20s, posh British accent.
JASMINE Indrani, haunted by the ghost of her mentor. Female, late 20s, could have a British or Indian Accented English accent.
A Whitmoor FARMER, unwelcoming to outsiders and unphased by recent events. Male, middle aged, Northern English accent.
Constable Ben COREY, who learned not to ask questions. Male, mid 20s, Northern English accent.
MARIE Campbell, post office attendant and dreamer. Female, early 20s, Northern English accent.
Robert SANGFORD, telegraph operator and de facto postmaster. Male, early 40s, Northern English accent.
Father John WHITNEY, Whitmoor parish priest. Male, early 50s, Northern English accent.
Scene 1: Int. Westmont estate, third floor – Day
MUSIC: OPENING THEME.
KURT wakes, shaking off a dream; to represent the dream lingering, the sounds of a drone, a steady drip of water into a metal sink, and the rattle of an old radiator fade in after the music and fade out as he narrates.
KURT:
(Narrating)
It’s not like I’m a stranger to nightmares.
Hell, I still jump every time a tea kettle goes off. And it’s not like my life before the war was a field of daisies, either.
Lately, my dreams have featured drowning. I’ll be minding my own business, and I start choking, the taste of saltwater flooding my mouth.
But even that isn’t as vivid as this dream.
The sounds of the radiator and dripping water stop, replaced by wind through a window and the distant call of a crow. The drone persists.
KURT:
(Narrating)
Just like the drowning dreams, I’m alone in my apartment.
Funny, because I wasn’t alone the time I almost drowned.
It’s evening, and the sky is gray. The city is strangely quiet, as though my ears are stuffed with cotton.
I reach for a doorknob and see that the veins in my hand have turned black.
I don’t think of Claire until I wake up, but something drives me to look in the bathroom mirror.
Just like that poor girl, my face is gray, grayer than the London sky, spreading with black veins. My hair falls out, landing in the sink. For some reason, that’s the worst of it. I clutch at the fallen clumps like I can somehow stick them back on and everything will be fine. Normally I’d be more worried about my face.
I glance up again, and in the mirror, my reflection twists and distorts, spiraling in on itself.
That’s when I woke up.
The drone stops. KURT gets out of bed, shuffling and yawning, throwing the bedclothes back. He walks to the bathroom and turns on the tap.
KURT:
See? Everything’s fine.
Water splashes. The faucet turns off.
KURT:
Everything’s fine.
From the adjoining room, muffled by the walls, ISKANDAR cries out in the throes of his own nightmare.
KURT leaves his room and walks out into the hallway.
ISKANDAR:
(Off mike; muffled)
Bırakın beni!
KURT knocks on the door.
KURT:
Inspector?
He tries the door; it’s unlocked. The knob turns and the door swings open on well-oiled hinges. The mattress creaks as ISKANDAR thrashes about. KURT crosses the room.
ISKANDAR:
(Unintelligible sounds of distress)
KURT:
(Softly)
Hey.
With a cry, ISKANDAR wakes up and punches KURT in the face. There is the meaty slap of his fist connecting.
KURT:
Ow!
ISKANDAR:
Oh, my God!
Kurt, are you all right?
KURT:
(Slightly muffled by his hand on his face)
Yeah, I’m fine.
ISKANDAR:
I’m so sorry.
KURT:
No, it’s my fault. I know enough soldiers to know that was a bad idea.
ISKANDAR:
Here, let me see.
KURT:
It’s fine, really. Doesn’t even—
(ISKANDAR puts a hand on his face, interrupting his train of thought)
—hurt.
ISKANDAR:
Your eye looks all right.
I’m afraid you’ll have a bruise, though.
KURT:
(A nervous chuckle)
I’ve had worse.
ISKANDAR:
What were you doing in here, anyway?
KURT:
Heard you shouting. Sounded like a nightmare.
I had a strange dream, myself.
I had the doc’s crop disease. I looked like that kid. Claire.
ISKANDAR:
(Worried)
Oh?
KURT:
Yeah. I guess she got to me more than I thought.
ISKANDAR:
Strange.
I dreamt…
(He pauses, remembering)
I was having dinner in my childhood home, but there was nothing to eat.
Just black water in a cup.
When I refused it, my father held me by my arms.
KURT:
No wonder you were screaming.
ISKANDAR:
I do apologize. For waking you, and for…
KURT:
Don’t worry about it.
Like I said, I’ve had worse.
ISKANDAR:
I feel terrible about it.
I’ll get you something for the swelling.
Scene 2: Int. Westmont estate, dining room – Day
MUSIC: BRIDGE.
We join ELLIE and ERNEST at the breakfast table. Neither are eating much. There are a couple of forlorn taps of silverware against dishes.
ERNEST:
Where’s your cousin?
ELLIE:
The grand hall. Dancing lessons.
Aunt Eleanor—or, more likely, our grandfather’s estate—paid for an instructor to come in from York.
ERNEST:
This early?
I hope he’s being paid well.
ELLIE:
He is.
I’d feel better if Aurelia went out for lessons, though.
ERNEST:
Does she ever leave the house?
ELLIE:
Not really.
I honestly wish she would go out of town for a bit.
ERNEST:
Was it always like this?
Unfriendly where it isn’t empty?
ELLIE:
Well, yes, but not nearly this bad.
There used to be more people. Not that I ever talked to any of them.
ERNEST:
Maybe it was for the best.
The bloke at the bookshop was all right. And he didn’t seem to think anything was wrong.
ELLIE:
Maybe the blight has been here longer than I thought.
KURT and ISKANDAR enter the room.
KURT:
Morning, all.
ELLIE:
Good morning, gentlemen.
Do you want something to eat?
ERNEST:
There’s tea and coffee in the kitchen.
ISKANDAR:
Mm. Maybe not yet.
ELLIE:
What happened to your face?
KURT:
Oh, it’s nothing. I ran into a doorway last—
ISKANDAR:
(Interrupting him)
No, it’s my fault.
I had the strangest dream. Mr. Cross was kind enough to wake me, and I struck him before I realized what had happened.
KURT:
It’s really not that bad.
ISKANDAR:
Is there something we can use for the swelling?
ELLIE:
You can check the icebox. It’s around the corner there.
KURT:
I’m fine, really.
ELLIE:
I had a strange dream, too.
KURT:
Really? You’ve said you don’t remember your dreams.
ELLIE:
This one I did. Still do.
I was in some kind of underground tunnel with all these people in black robes.
They were taking me somewhere. I remember being so afraid of what was at the end of that tunnel.
I think I heard water, but it was so dark, I couldn’t see what was there.
KURT:
Well, that’s…worrying.
ELLIE:
Why?
KURT:
Because I had a dream that I ended up like Claire, and the inspector said he dreamed about having to drink black water.
That can’t be a coincidence, right?
ERNEST:
I mean, it can.
We all met Claire yesterday. She certainly left an impression.
ELLIE:
Maybe.
It was just so vivid. I think I’m a little spooked.
KURT:
Yeah, me too.
And my face is all the evidence you need of how the inspector feels about it.
ELLIE:
Well, here’s a question.
Did you have a dream, Dr. Wilde?
ERNEST:
(A brief hesitation)
I don’t remember.
Look, dreams only matter to psychoanalysts. They’re not going to tell us anything we don’t already know.
ELLIE:
I suppose that’s true. I certainly didn’t learn anything last night.
We need to be out there in the town if we’re going to figure out what’s going on.
ERNEST:
I want to take a look at those fields. Maybe talk to the farmers, if there are any still around.
KURT:
I think the inspector mentioned wanting to go back to the women’s home.
ELLIE:
Right, then. I’ll go with you, Doctor, and Mr. Cross can accompany the inspector.
We’ll meet back here before suppertime. I don’t fancy being out and about after dark.
Scene 3: Int. Whitmoor Area Women’s Home, parlor – Day
Returning to the shelter, KURT and ISKANDAR enter the parlor. A fire burns low in the hearth, and again, a tea kettle whistles in the distance before someone in the kitchen removes it from the heat.
JASMINE follows the men into the parlor, her footsteps on the wooden floor sharp and quick.
JASMINE:
Is this important?
ISKANDAR:
I believe so, yes.
But we’d be happy to speak to you outside, if that’s better for your residents.
JASMINE:
Did you see the man across the street?
KURT:
Sure.
JASMINE:
He’s the grocer. Mr. Hughes. He’s closed up shop today to watch our door.
I can’t keep him from knowing you came by, but I can prevent him from overhearing what you have to say.
ISKANDAR:
I appreciate your caution.
JASMINE:
So.
What is it you want?
KURT:
We just had a few more questions about Professor Ragnarsson.
JASMINE:
(Resigned)
Of course you do.
(A beat)
Well? What do you want to know?
I wasn’t what you would call his close friend, but I’ll tell you what I can.
ISKANDAR:
We’ve discovered a book—part of a book, anyway—that may be connected to the underground structure on Ragnarsson’s island.
JASMINE:
(Brief, bitter laughter)
Oh, he’d have loved that. The island named after him.
This book—was it another Irish chronicle? Something about a monk accompanying the chieftain north?
ISKANDAR:
I don’t believe so.
JASMINE:
He’d found a few more mentions of an island to the north, but they were so vague they could have been referring to anything.
At that point, his research was guided more by wishful thinking than scholarly rigor.
KURT:
This is…different.
It was in the library of the Westmont estate. It’s just one page, in the back of a book that doesn’t have much of anything to do with it.
JASMINE:
Is that so?
ISKANDAR:
It mentions the hollow island, and a temple. It has a simple map and the instructions for some kind of ritual.
JASMINE:
That’s certainly less vague.
KURT:
It also mentions a well underneath the temple, and having to drink from it.
And something about not allowing creatures to live.
JASMINE:
Creatures?
KURT:
“Six times I drank from the well beneath the temple, and six times I have committed a mortal sin in the eyes of God, but I could not allow the creatures to live.”
ISKANDAR:
(Impressed)
You remember that?
KURT:
(Proudly, but trying to be subtle about it)
Close enough, at least. I’ve got a lot of experience memorizing lines.
Also, it was hard to forget. I’ve been trying.
JASMINE:
We didn’t get very far into the temple. I couldn’t tell you what might be in there.
ISKANDAR:
You and Ragnarsson never encountered this text, then?
JASMINE:
It doesn’t sound familiar.
Ragnarsson would have traded his life’s savings and his daughter to find something like that.
And it was here in Whitmoor the whole time?
KURT:
Yeah.
Ellie remembers it from childhood.
JASMINE:
It’s a shame he never saw it.
KURT:
I have to ask. You’re here, and this page is here, and Miss Claire is also here.
Miss Claire, who is apparently afflicted with the same blight that made Ragnarsson interested in our friend Dr. Wilde, and who says she drank something mysterious and bad for her health from a holy well.
That’s not a coincidence, is it?
JASMINE:
I came here to get away from Ragnarsson and his project.
As for Claire and the book, I don’t know.
ISKANDAR:
If you don’t mind, why did you come to Whitmoor?
You apparently told your neighbors in London that you were moving to York.
JASMINE:
I was. I suppose I made it most of the way there.
I found myself here and decided to stay. This place needed help. I like it better than the university.
Does that answer your question?
ISKANDAR:
Well enough. Thank you.
According to the letter he sent you, Ragnarsson had no intention of abandoning his research, no matter what he might have said to others.
He kept an encoded copy of one of his translations on his person.
JASMINE:
That sounds like something he would do.
He would have taken the original manuscript if he thought he would get away with it.
KURT:
Say, does the phrase “green grows the lily” mean anything to you?
It wasn’t in the manuscript, or the translation, or what have you, but he wrote it over and over again.
And then someone burned those notes, so we have no idea of any larger context.
JASMINE:
It’s a line from a folk song.
Ragnarsson thought it might be connected, but he couldn’t find a complete version, either in text or in some singer’s memory.
ISKANDAR:
He may have been correct.
The illustrations in the Westmont book prominently feature a lily flower.
JASMINE:
Oh, good. I’m sure that will help him so much now.
KURT:
We thought you might like to know what we found.
JASMINE:
It’s, well, it’s not kind of you to think of me, but I appreciate the sentiment.
If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not know anything else about Ragnarsson’s project.
The women here are my responsibility, not the research interests of a man who’s dead now.
If there’s something you know that can help Claire, I’ll be willing to hear it. Otherwise, I don’t want to know.
KURT:
I’m sure the doc is on it.
ISKANDAR:
We’ll get out of your way.
If there’s a change in Claire’s condition, or if she mentions anything that might help us find the man who did this to her—
JASMINE:
(Interrupting)
Julian.
She hasn’t said anything yet. I don’t expect that will change.
ISKANDAR:
I understand.
I—we would like to help you.
JASMINE:
With all due respect, Inspector, I don’t want your help.
You’re too close to the professor. You’re drawing me back into his nonsense, whether you mean to or not.
I left Oxford, and then I left London. Ragnarsson pursued me even here, even after he died.
I think I’ll never be free of him.
Scene 4: Ext. Fields outside Whitmoor – Day
MUSIC: BRIDGE.
ERNEST and ELLIE make their way up a hilly path out of town. Dry leaves and stems crunch softly and delicately under their feet—the fields are in an advanced state of decay from the blight, and have mostly turned to ashy dust. A dry wind stirs the debris, and the only bird calls are those of crows passing by overhead.
ELLIE:
Is it okay to breathe around this stuff?
ERNEST:
I don’t know.
We should definitely change clothes afterward, though.
ELLIE:
(Lightly)
You really know how to inspire confidence, don’t you, Doctor?
ERNEST:
Well, Claire seems to think she had to ingest something in order to be affected, so we’re probably safe.
I’d be worried about any plants you have at the estate, though.
ELLIE:
Is this what it looks like every time?
You’d think there had been a fire. Everything’s turned to ash.
ERNEST:
More or less.
I usually only see a small sample at a time, though.
Even when it went through my lab, that was maybe forty or fifty plants, all in pots.
This is…bad.
I’m starting to understand why the inspector was worried about food shortages.
ELLIE:
Maybe that’s why it’s so empty here.
Even in the winter, there were more people living here when I was young.
ERNEST:
It looks like they lost the entire harvest.
Which would mean that the blight came through last autumn.
ELLIE:
Was it buried under the snow?
ERNEST:
I’d assume so.
I’m worried about where the snowmelt has taken it.
ELLIE:
Down to the river, eventually.
ERNEST:
And then to the sea.
ELLIE:
This is going to be very bad, isn’t it?
ERNEST:
(A sigh)
Most likely.
I still don’t know how exactly it spreads, but look around you.
It does spread. And this is what happens when it does.
ELLIE:
It’s just so quiet. Feels like a grave.
ERNEST:
There’s someone out there. Look.
ELLIE:
He’s coming this way.
Let’s say hello.
A brief interlude of footsteps through the crumbling plant matter and a lonely, whistling wind.
ELLIE:
(Calling out)
Good morning!
FARMER:
(Off mike, distant)
I’ve rung the police.
ERNEST:
What?
FARMER:
(Coming closer)
You’re trespassing.
ELLIE:
Oh, terribly sorry.
Dr. Wilde here is a researcher. Is it all right if he asks you a few questions?
Then I promise we’ll be on our way.
The footsteps stop as ERNEST and ELLIE meet the FARMER on the path.
FARMER:
We don’t have to answer any questions.
You’re not welcome here. Go back to York.
ERNEST:
London, actually.
FARMER:
I don’t care.
ELLIE:
Dr. Wilde is studying the blight that took your crops.
You might be able to get some compensation for the loss of your harvest.
FARMER:
There’s no blight here.
ERNEST:
(Dumbfounded)
What?
FARMER:
There’s nothing for you here.
ERNEST:
All these fields have been blighted. You’re not going to be able to grow anything this year—maybe for the next several years; I don’t know yet.
Aren’t you worried about your livelihood?
FARMER:
That’s none of your business.
ELLIE:
We’re really here to help.
FARMER:
We don’t need your help.
You don’t know the first thing about what’s happened here.
Not yet.
ERNEST:
…Beg your pardon?
Approaching footsteps through the dust as Constable COREY approaches, summoned by the farmer.
ELLIE:
What do you mean, “not yet”?
FARMER:
Go away.
COREY:
What seems to be the problem?
ERNEST:
We’re, uh, we’re just leaving, Constable.
COREY:
I think it’s better if you come with me.
Scene 5: Int. Whitmoor post office – Day
MUSIC: BRIDGE.
The door opens with a creak, indicating that this building is old and not as well-maintained as its government function might suggest. KURT and ISKANDAR walk into the front office.
KURT:
I’m kind of surprised that a town this small has its own post office.
ISKANDAR:
I’d imagine the Westmonts had something to do with it.
KURT:
Yeah, probably.
Before they decided to hole up in their estate, they must have had a lot of influence.
ISKANDAR:
They still do. They collect rent even if they don’t show their faces in town.
Though I do wonder what changed.
KURT:
Rich folk can be very strange.
I love Ellie, but she did move to London to become an—a secretary for a private investigator. She doesn’t need to work, much less do something like this.
ISKANDAR:
You don’t like it?
KURT:
No, I love it.
The hours and the pay could be better.
MARIE:
(Off mike)
Morning!
ISKANDAR:
Good morning, Miss.
I need to send a telegram.
MARIE:
Mr. Sangford’s out right now, but you can fill out the form and he’ll transmit when he gets back.
ISKANDAR:
That’s fine. Thank you.
A shuffling of papers. KURT and ISKANDAR step away from the desk.
KURT:
You’re not contacting the Met, are you?
ISKANDAR:
Of course not. This is far outside our jurisdiction, and I’m on leave, remember?
I’m contacting my assistant. She should know that we found Miss Indrani. I had her searching for some time.
KURT:
Assistant?
ISKANDAR:
Emilia.
I probably couldn’t survive without her. She would tell you so, certainly.
KURT:
(A little suspicious and possibly jealous)
How’d you meet her?
ISKANDAR:
An advertisement in one of the smaller papers.
Only two people responded. Emilia could type and make proper coffee, so I hired her on.
KURT:
She’s young?
ISKANDAR:
Almost young enough to be my—
(Interrupting that thought)
Yes. A little younger than Miss Westmont.
I hope she’s saving the money I pay her for an education, but it’s not my place.
KURT:
(Placated by the paternal sentiment)
I’m glad someone in London will know where we are.
You know. Just in case.
The sound of a pen scratching across the page as ISKANDAR fills out the telegraph form.
ISKANDAR:
I trust her to alert the proper authorities should we not return soon.
I also trust her to only place herself in a moderate amount of danger coming to our rescue.
KURT:
She sounds like Ellie.
ISKANDAR:
I believe they know each other.
KURT:
Ellie knows pretty much everyone.
ISKANDAR picks up the page and returns it to MARIE.
MARIE:
Thanks.
It should go out in a couple hours.
KURT:
Much obliged.
It’s nice to see a friendly face.
MARIE:
It’s my job, but you’re sweet to notice.
Everyone here doesn’t want to talk to outsiders. I try to make up for it a little.
Where are you from?
KURT:
New York, originally; London lately.
MARIE:
I’ve never been to London. Or New York.
I’ll get there someday. I just need to save up the money.
I want to be an actress.
KURT:
Is that so?
MARIE:
Mostly I just want to get out of here.
I’m not even allowed in the back office. Mr. Sangford says it wouldn’t be proper.
ISKANDAR:
Maybe he’s just trying to protect your reputation.
Gossip can be cruel in a town like this.
MARIE:
Trust me, I know.
Mr. Sangford is a little eccentric, though. He keeps looking at me with his eyes all sad, like I’m deathly ill and going to die any second.
Knowing him, he’s probably just concerned for my immortal soul. But I go to church every Sunday. Even though the stained glass is so creepy. I’ve hated those windows ever since I was little.
KURT:
We haven’t been to the church yet.
MARIE:
Oh, are you staying long? You must be at Mrs. West’s boarding house.
KURT:
Friend of a friend’s, actually.
The door opens, admitting Mr. SANGFORD, and closes behind him with a slightly too-loud slam.
MARIE:
Hello, Mr. Sangford.
SANGFORD:
Good afternoon.
Can I help you?
KURT:
The lady here was just going to send a telegram for us.
SANGFORD:
I’ll take it.
MARIE:
(Chipper in a customer-service way)
Here you are.
A rustle of paper as the telegraph form changes hands.
SANGFORD:
Is there anything else I can do for you, gentlemen?
ISKANDAR:
I don’t believe so.
KURT:
There is one thing.
Strange question, but I do have to ask.
I’ve heard of some strange things happening around town. Fringe religions and weird rituals, that sort of thing.
SANGFORD:
There’s never been anything like that here.
MARIE:
Whitmoor isn’t a very exciting place.
SANGFORD:
You should ask those Indian girls on the other side of town.
KURT:
Sure.
SANGFORD:
Will that be all, then?
KURT:
That’ll do it. Thanks.
Scene 6: Ext. Whitmoor Main Street – Day
Footsteps on gravel as COREY leads ERNEST and ELLIE back into town. The wind whistles past buildings now, and the dry, dusty sounds of the dead fields are diminished.
ELLIE:
Are we being arrested, Constable?
COREY:
No.
Should you be?
ERNEST:
I don’t think so.
I really am a researcher.
COREY:
Look, I’m sure you mean well, but it’s better if we handle these things ourselves.
The farmers know more about their fields than anyone from London. No offense meant.
ELLIE:
Aren’t you worried about it?
Something like this could ruin this town.
COREY:
Of course I’m worried. I live here.
You don’t. It’s none of your concern.
ERNEST:
The blight is my concern.
And then there’s the fact that it’s infected a girl at the—
ELLIE:
We understand, Constable.
ERNEST:
But—
ELLIE:
(Aside)
Don’t.
COREY:
Good.
He walks away, hard-soled shoes crunching on gravel. After a few paces, he turns around and calls back.
COREY:
Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.
It doesn’t end well.
ERNEST:
(Genuinely confused)
Is that a threat?
COREY:
Unfortunately, no.
It’s a warning.
My brother was like you. Was.
He leaves, footsteps receding.
ERNEST:
So, just to be clear, you don’t think I should say anything to the police about Claire.
ELLIE:
Correct.
ERNEST:
What are we going to do now?
ELLIE:
We’re going to keep sticking our noses where they don’t belong.
ERNEST:
I don’t know why I asked.
ELLIE:
What we need is an in. Someone who knows everyone and might be willing to talk to us.
The post office, maybe? We could try the bookstore again.
ERNEST:
What about the church?
If you want someone who knows everyone…
ELLIE:
Brilliant.
I wonder if the good church-going folk of Whitmoor know about the cult lurking outside their doors.
ERNEST:
Cult?
ELLIE:
What else would you call it?
ERNEST:
I don’t know. I’m a botanist.
ELLIE:
Come on. Let’s go to church.
Scene 7: Int. Whitmoor Parish Church – Day
The heavy door opens slowly with a creak, and ERNEST and ELLIE enter the church. The space is large, hollow, and empty, and their footsteps on the wooden floor echo.
ELLIE:
(Calling out, with an echo)
Hello?
ERNEST:
It’s dark in here.
ELLIE:
There are only the four windows.
ERNEST:
Wasn’t there another one? I thought I saw one at the far end of the building.
ELLIE:
I didn’t notice.
ERNEST:
You never came here when you were growing up?
ELLIE:
No, never.
Grandfather read us some passages from the family Bible once a week.
ERNEST:
I’m starting to think you weren’t allowed to spend time with the townsfolk for a reason.
ELLIE:
I wish he were still here. I have so many questions.
Slow, echoing footsteps as ELLIE and ERNEST enter the nave. The room is long and narrow, with a high, vaulted ceiling. Very softly, a drone begins in the background.
ELLIE:
(Narrating)
I’ve never seen this place before.
It’s so dark, even in the middle of the afternoon.
There are only four windows, stained glass, two on either side.
The scenes are familiar, but something’s off.
Adam and Eve, dressed in skins, leaving the Garden of Eden. The trees behind them are gray. They look behind them, past the garden and the edge of the frame, toward the pulpit and the cross looming over it.
Joseph, explaining his dream to his brothers: a sheaf of grain at the center with eleven other sheaves bowing down to it. But the one at the center is gray, and the dark stain spreads to the others. You’d think it was dirt, or something wrong with the glass, but it’s spread so evenly. Instead of looking at Joseph, the eleven brothers stare at the back wall of the church.
The Immaculate Conception, with Mary kneeling before the angel, her arms raised in supplication. The angel holds a chalice, and inside the chalice is black. The Virgin, too, looks toward the back of the church.
Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well. He looks so stern, like he’s telling her she’s going to burn in Hell instead of drink from the water of life. There’s a steeple in the background, looking out of place, and from it hangs a great iron bell. Jesus points to it with an imperious finger, while the woman looks away—again, toward the back of the church.
ERNEST:
No one’s here.
Let’s go back. The others will be waiting for us.
They turn to go, their footsteps echoing. The echo changes as they reach the smaller space of the foyer.
In the distance, another door opens and closes.
WHITNEY:
(Off mike)
Good afternoon! Can I help you?
ELLIE:
(Narrating)
There was no one else in the church.
Where did he come from?
MUSIC: OUTRO.
Back to Episode 9: Green Grows the Lily
Forward to Episode 11: Dust to Dust
Thanks for reading! I’m still working out how to build suspense and dread in these episodes. I want the town to feel immersive and creepy.
Space Whales Press 
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