Dramatis Personae
(in order of appearance)
KURT Cross, private investigator who has already seen too much. Male, early 30s, New York accent.
Inspector ISKANDAR Meshkia, who still remembers how to use a sword. Male, late 30s, strong Turkish accent.
Father John WHITNEY, slayer of sacrifices and summoner of monsters. Male, early 50s, Northern English accent.
Eloise “ELLIE” Westmont, who always comes prepared. Female, mid 20s, posh British accent.
Three or more CULTISTS and residents of Whitmoor. Male or female, 30s or 40s, Northern English accents.
Sheriff Norbert OAKS, unofficially the second in command of the cult. Male, mid-40s, Northern English accent.
MARIE Campbell, not quite sacrificed. Female, early 20s, Northern English accent.
Dr. ERNEST Wilde, determined rationalist. Male, early 30s, Northern English accent.
JASMINE Indrani, staunch defender of the women’s shelter and its residents. Female, late 20s, could have a British or Indian Accented English accent.
JONATHAN Martel, butler and caretaker of the Westmont estate. Male, mid-50s, Northern English accent.
MARJANI Kaur, physician and practical optimist. Female, early 30s, could have a British or Indian Accented English accent.
CLAIRE Cooper, holy vessel. Female, late teens, Northern English accent.
Scene 1: Ext. Fields outside Whitmoor – Night
MUSIC: OPENING THEME.
The music fades into the howling of the wind over Whitmoor’s dry fields. In the distance, a copse of dead trees shake and rattle. Underneath the noise, a drone is present, steady and pervasive.
Something enormous and heavy is coming into being among those trees. A heavy footfall shakes the ground, and a dry branch snaps.
KURT:
(Whispering)
What is that?
As the being in the trees takes form, the drone grows louder, and more branches snap as they are displaced by the thing’s bulk.
We can hear KURT and ISKANDAR breathing, trying to stay quiet.
Another heavy step.
Then, the distant crack of a small-caliber revolver.
KURT:
(Whispering)
That’s Ellie’s gun.
ISKANDAR:
(Whispering)
Come on.
They get up, dry twigs and dead grass crunching underneath them, and set off for the church.
With the death of Father Whitney, the summoning has failed. In the distance, there’s one more footstep, still huge but muted, as the thing dissipates back into the air.
Scene 2: Int. Under the church – Night
We cut back to the hidden room beneath the church, where ELLIE has just shot WHITNEY. The echo of the gunshot hangs in the air for a beat.
WHITNEY slumps to the ground.
MARIE is still sobbing in fear, though she is trying to be quiet.
WHITNEY:
You can’t—
There are—
He doesn’t finish the thought. The knife drops from his hand and hits the stone floor with a discordant ring.
With that, the tension in the room snaps. The congregation, twenty or so people, rise to their feet and crowd toward ERNEST and ELLIE.
ELLIE:
Nobody move!
The crowd doesn’t stop.
She fires another shot into the air. Dust rains from the ceiling.
Another tense pause.
ELLIE:
Don’t come any closer.
FIRST CULTIST:
You killed him.
ELLIE:
(Hiding nervousness)
We’re leaving, and we’re taking the young lady.
OAKS:
Don’t just stand there, get them!
Their blood is just as good.
In the background, someone picks up the knife.
MARIE:
(Crying)
Please, no.
With a shaky hand, ELLIE draws back the hammer again.
As the assembled cultists press in, KURT and ISKANDAR descend the stairs at a rapid pace.
KURT:
What’s going on?
ISKANDAR draws the borrowed antique sword from its sheath.
ISKANDAR:
Kurt, get them upstairs.
ELLIE:
Don’t let them kill her!
The cultists descend on our investigators. The sword enters someone’s flesh with a terrible squelching sound.
KURT:
Come on.
He fires two shots in rapid succession. Someone screams.
As ISKANDAR narrates, the din of clashing blades and stomping feet fills the background. The space is small and should feel claustrophobic.
ISKANDAR:
(Narrating)
The sword isn’t mine; its balance is poor, and it isn’t even sharp.
It doesn’t matter.
These people—I expected them to crumble at the first sign of resistance.
Instead, they throw themselves at me, with kitchen knives and fists. There’s hatred in their eyes, and anger, and something else: cold, unseeing fanaticism.
Here, in the cramped, dingy seat of their power, this cult fears nothing. Not even death at the end of a blunt blade.
I reach the terrified girl and pull her out of the tangle of flailing limbs. Ten paces to the staircase, and we’re clear, for the moment.
It’s not only the blood on my hands that sickens me.
It’s that I know I’ll have to do this again, and again, and still they’ll remain, each ready to pick up where the last one left off.
It will never stop.
I’ve pulled one of their victims out of their grasp. How many more will I fail to save?
Scene 3: Ext. Town of Whitmoor – Night
MUSIC: BRIDGE.
The music is tense, atonal, and quick. It fades into the background as the scene fades in.
The church’s front door opens with a bang, and the night wind stirs the dust outside.
KURT:
You two go on ahead.
Get to the house.
ERNEST:
What are you going to do?
KURT:
Wait for Iskandar. Try to slow them down.
ELLIE:
We’ll head through town and try to lose them.
Don’t die, will you?
KURT:
Haven’t yet.
ERNEST and ELLIE take off across the dry grass on the hill.
ISKANDAR arrives from within the church, along with MARIE. She stumbles as they reach the threshold.
KURT:
Easy there.
You all right?
MARIE:
I—I think so.
ISKANDAR:
We can’t stop.
KURT:
That’s, um.
That’s a lot of blood.
ISKANDAR:
It’s not mine.
KURT:
Right. Okay.
We should cut through town. They’ll see us in the field.
MARIE:
They took my shoes.
ISKANDAR:
You’ll have to run anyway.
Can you do that?
MARIE:
(Breathless with fear)
Okay.
KURT:
I’ll go first and watch out for glass.
They take off at a stumbling run down the hill.
Behind them, Sheriff OAKS staggers to the church door, followed by three or four others.
SECOND CULTIST:
What do we do now?
OAKS:
We’ll need the others.
Go knock on their doors.
THIRD CULTIST:
Then what?
OAKS:
Catch the outsiders and find the vessel and the book.
We have our orders, with or without Whitney.
Go. Now.
The CULTISTS depart in a different direction. OAKS follows our investigators into town.
KURT, ISKANDAR, and MARIE run down the gravel street. In the background, one of the CULTISTS is knocking on doors, and we can hear doors opening and muffled exchanges.
KURT:
We can go around the post office. Less glass there.
Everyone still with me?
MARIE:
I’m here.
ISKANDAR:
There are more people coming.
KURT:
Yeah.
Okay. Around the post office, past the shelter, and then we run for the house.
MARIE:
Won’t they see us on the hill?
ISKANDAR:
We’ll be safe in the house.
Can you make it?
MARIE:
I think so. Yeah.
ISKANDAR:
You can rest there.
MARIE:
Yeah. Okay.
They duck off the main road and into the dry grass between buildings. In the background, the mob approaches.
Scene 4: Int. Westmont estate, front hall – Night
The wind has quieted, indicating that we’re now indoors. The shutters rattle. We can hear the quiet breathing of the people waiting here—ELLIE, ERNEST, JONATHAN, and JASMINE.
After a brief pause, KURT pounds on the front door.
The lock turns, and the door opens, admitting KURT, ISKANDAR, MARIE, and the sound of the night outside: the wind, the rasping of dry plant matter, and the distant murmur of a couple dozen more cultists.
ELLIE:
You’re here.
KURT:
Still in one piece, too.
The door slams shut, and the lock turns again.
JASMINE:
What happened?
KURT:
Did you know there’s a secret room under the church?
Because I didn’t.
MARIE:
I didn’t either.
ISKANDAR:
Are all the windows secure?
ERNEST:
As best as we can do now.
KURT:
Good. We have more company on the way.
Can we get this brave young lady off her feet?
ELLIE:
Oh, of course.
You’ll be safe upstairs. We’ll get you cleaned up.
MARIE:
Thank you.
And thank you for—for what you did. Back there.
He was going to kill me.
ELLIE:
I…
I’m just happy you’re all right.
They cross the hall toward the stairs, ELLIE’s fashionable shoes and MARIE’s bare feet on the tile floor.
ERNEST:
She shot the priest.
KURT:
She what?
ISKANDAR:
Ah. I was wondering what had happened to him.
ERNEST:
I thought you ought to know.
KURT:
This is a nightmare.
Someone bangs on the door. It’s less of a knock and more testing its security. It rattles on its hinges.
JASMINE:
What do these people want?
ISKANDAR:
Blood.
Either in retribution or for whatever ritual they were trying to perform.
JASMINE:
Fantastic.
ERNEST:
Here, we can put a table in front of the door.
KURT:
Has someone checked the back?
JONATHAN:
I’ll go.
ISKANDAR:
I’ll help you with the barricade.
More banging on the doors and windows. ISKANDAR and JONATHAN leave for the back door. KURT and ERNEST pick up a side table, scraping it against the floor, and place it against the door with a thump.
OAKS:
(Off mike, muffled)
Did you try the other door?
THIRD CULTIST:
(Off mike, muffled)
Locked.
OAKS:
(Off mike, muffled)
Find something to break the lock, then.
Movement outside; the tramping of many sets of feet.
From upstairs, the sound of an interior door banging open.
MARJANI:
(Off mike)
Where are you going?
CLAIRE leaves the bedroom in which she was waiting and runs downstairs. She’s awkward, especially on the steps. MARJANI catches up with her and helps her the rest of the way.
ERNEST:
Oh. Hello.
MARJANI:
Claire, it’s not safe down here.
CLAIRE:
I need to talk to them.
KURT:
In your condition, I don’t think that’s a good idea.
CLAIRE:
I can tell them to leave.
ERNEST:
I don’t think they’re really in the mood to listen.
MARJANI:
Come back upstairs, dear.
CLAIRE:
(Insistent)
They’re looking for me.
KURT:
They’re looking for a book, which we’re not giving them.
So, we’re definitely not giving them you.
CLAIRE:
But I’m the vessel.
MARJANI:
I know, but that might not mean anything to them.
CLAIRE:
It will. It does.
Let go of me.
She struggles with MARJANI, who lets her go, and then she proceeds to tug on the table barring the door, scraping it on the floor.
MARJANI:
Claire, please!
ERNEST:
What are you doing?
KURT:
Okay, okay, you’ve made your point.
The scraping stops.
KURT:
Just, I don’t know, shout at them from an upstairs window or something?
Don’t let them come in the front door.
CLAIRE:
All right.
Placidly, she crosses the hall and starts up the stairs again.
ERNEST:
Is she…
I mean, is there something wrong?
MARJANI:
No more so than usual, I think.
(Calling after CLAIRE)
Be careful on the stairs, dear.
She follows, ascending the stairs with CLAIRE.
ERNEST:
Maybe they’ll see her and decide not to burn down the house.
KURT:
We can hope.
ERNEST:
This is weird.
KURT:
You’re just noticing now?
ERNEST:
Well, no. I noticed when I was mugged for a packet of seeds.
But this? We’re barricaded into a manor in the middle of a blighted field, while the occupants of this nice town try to batter down the doors.
Miss Westmont just killed a member of the clergy because he was going to slit the post office girl’s throat.
The inspector is covered in blood. I’m not even going to ask.
There’s a pregnant girl who thinks she can just talk down the mob, and the worst thing is that you and I can’t say for certain what she’s pregnant with.
KURT:
Yeah, that sums it up.
I don’t know. I can’t explain it, either.
In order to make any sense of what happened back at Milton’s, I had to start believing in magic, I guess.
It’s not regaining some childlike whimsy. I think it was more giving up on anything ever making sense again.
ERNEST:
I’m…sorry.
KURT:
Nah, don’t be.
It’s weirdly freeing.
Overhead, a window opens. A gust of wind sweeps through the house.
CLAIRE:
(Off mike, shouting)
I’m here!
A brief moment of quiet, but for the howling of the wind.
CLAIRE:
Don’t worry about these people.
Think about the world to come.
We will all meet again at the holy place.
A few seconds of quiet, and then one by one, the CULTISTS depart, walking away from the house.
Scene 5: Int. Westmont estate, upstairs bedrooms – Day
MUSIC: BRIDGE.
This is a quiet, melodic musical interval.
MARJANI opens a window. It’s now morning, and the wind has calmed to a slight breeze. A crow flies by, cawing.
MARJANI:
Well, here we are.
The sun still rises, and we’re still alive.
ELLIE:
I want to get all of you out of here.
Maybe to York? Or London?
MARJANI:
London is farther.
I might still have family there, and Jasmine knows some people.
ELLIE:
We can help you.
MARJANI:
Thank you. Truly.
I don’t want to think about what might have happened if we hadn’t left the shelter.
CLAIRE:
I would have told them to leave.
ELLIE:
That was very brave, what you did.
MARJANI:
How did you know they would listen to you?
CLAIRE:
I told you. I’ve been chosen.
ELLIE:
You didn’t mention that the whole town knew about it.
CLAIRE:
Julian told me.
He said the messenger would be summoned, and my brothers and sisters would show themselves and take me somewhere safe.
ELLIE:
Why didn’t you go with them?
CLAIRE:
The messenger didn’t come.
And I didn’t want anything bad to happen to you.
Jasmine and the doctor have been sweet to me. And it was kind of you to invite us all here, even though you didn’t need to.
It’s all right, though. Julian will be here soon, and they’ll summon another messenger.
MARJANI:
We’re going to be leaving here, Claire.
CLAIRE:
I know.
He’ll find me.
ELLIE:
Well, I think a change of scenery will do us all some good.
Is there anything else you need from the shelter?
MARJANI:
A few things. The ladies made a list.
Jasmine and I will go. But first, I think breakfast for everyone is in order.
ELLIE:
You’re probably right.
Can you be ready to leave by noon?
MARJANI:
I think we can manage it.
ELLIE leaves the room, closing the bedroom door behind her. She walks down the hall. She still has her shoes on, indicating she hasn’t slept.
She meets KURT and MARIE in the hallway.
KURT:
Morning.
MARIE:
Hello.
ELLIE:
Are you all right?
MARIE:
Not really. But I will be, I guess.
I’m Marie, by the way.
ELLIE:
Ellie.
KURT:
She says you’re something of a hero.
ELLIE:
Don’t…don’t say that.
KURT:
All right. Sorry.
MARIE:
I just—
Thank you.
That’s all. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you.
There’s a beat of silence.
MARIE:
Mr. Cross says I’m going with you to London.
ELLIE:
I think it would be safest for now.
It’s hard for someone to find you in the city, if you don’t want to be found.
KURT:
We’ll get you set up, and then you can contact your brother, or whoever you need.
I can take you to your place later. So you can get your things.
MARIE:
I guess I’m getting to see the city after all.
ELLIE:
It’s really quite lovely, once you get used to it.
Why don’t you head downstairs and get something to eat? It’ll be a long day otherwise.
MARIE:
Okay.
Thank you.
She leaves, heading down the hallway to the stairs.
KURT:
Are you okay?
ELLIE:
No. Not really.
KURT:
You did the right thing.
ELLIE:
I don’t think that makes it any better.
KURT:
I know.
It’s worth saying, anyway.
ELLIE:
Thanks.
KURT:
We’ll get through it.
If worst comes to worst, I’ll visit you in jail. I have extensive plans for smuggling pastries in.
ELLIE:
(A reluctant chuckle)
Have you, now?
KURT:
I told you. I’ve got your back.
Scene 6: Int. Kurt’s car – Day
MUSIC: BRIDGE.
A slow interlude, to indicate the passage of time.
The doors to the car open, and the shocks creak as our investigators climb in.
KURT:
(Narrating)
I’ve been driving most of the day already.
The doors close, and the engine starts.
KURT:
(Narrating)
We got Aurelia on the train to York, and the ladies from the shelter on the train to London.
I’ll be picking them up later.
Now I’ve got to get the four of us back to London.
The scrape of tires against gravel as he pulls the car out.
KURT:
(Narrating)
No one’s talking.
The silence is making the car seem like a tiny box we’ve all been stuffed in.
The engine hums, and the white noise of the highway begins.
KURT:
(Narrating)
Whitmoor looks like a ghost town. Whatever these people are doing, the morning after, they’re doing it indoors.
I never want to set foot here again.
A slight change in the white noise, and the brush of KURT’s hands against the steering wheel as the car makes a turn.
KURT:
(Narrating)
People are dead.
Not a lot, but enough.
I think some of them, maybe all of them, even deserved it.
The highway noise grows a little louder.
KURT:
(Narrating)
I don’t need to ask what makes a person able to take another life.
Anyone can do it, given the right circumstances.
Even Ellie, as it turns out.
Poor kid.
A slight pause.
KURT:
You doing okay?
ELLIE:
I’m fine.
KURT:
(Narrating)
I shouldn’t keep asking. I can’t help it.
What I should be asking is what makes someone willing to slit the throat of someone innocent and helpless in order to—what, end the world? Change it somehow? Summon…something?
Marie went to church. Father Whitney knew her. Probably for years.
She lived there her whole life. Worked at the post office. It’s not like the rest of them didn’t know who she was.
And they were just going to sit there and watch the priest bleed her out.
A short pause, filled with highway noise.
KURT:
(Narrating)
God, I’m tired.
Between me and Iskandar, I think we cleaned the manor out of coffee.
It wasn’t enough.
He’s not talking, either. Not even to complain about the drive.
I hate it, but I don’t blame him.
What are we supposed to do now?
Go back to London, lay low, and hope that no one in Whitmoor calls the authorities?
Wait for them to try again to do whatever it was they were doing?
A pause.
KURT:
(Narrating)
I’m going back to London. Things aren’t better there, but at least they’re familiar.
And then what?
I can’t fix this.
I have to try to keep Ellie safe. She’d do the same for me.
And maybe I can keep the rest of us safe, too.
Who am I kidding? I couldn’t even manage my own life when it was normal.
The sound of the car fades into the distance.
MUSIC: OUTRO.
Forward to Episode 14 (forthcoming)
Thus concludes the Whitmoor arc. Back to London for a brief interlude, then we’re off to Dublin for the next arc!
I often run into the problem with my first drafts that the protagonists’ actions should have Consequences, and I haven’t worked out quite what they are. We’ll see how all of this comes back to bite our investigators as we go. Thanks for reading!
I’ll still be working on this (I would like to finish it eventually), but it’ll be taking a back seat to Last Watch Before Dawn so I can have another print book available next year.
Space Whales Press 
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