S2 Episode 8 – 10 Transcript – Chad: A Fallout 76 Story Podcast

S2E8 - 10 Transcript

"Dark Hallowe'en Parts 1, 2 & 3"

These transcripts are for your enjoyment, but please do not reuse, readapt or reproduce without express written permission. ~ Ken

CAST & VOICE TALENT

Alexander Luthor ~ Chad Johnson
Kenneth Vigue ~ Simon Rex, Evan
SPECIAL GUEST: Andreas Somville ~ Mr. Dark
SPECIAL GUEST: Ferret Baudoin ~ The Archivist
Taylor Jinx Knight ~ Amata Hayes
Clint Winberry ~ Moose Miller
Christian Mower ~ Punch, Mr. Handy, Mothman Cultist Dave, Red Rocket Robot
Jessica Marie Dickey ~ Patsy Parker, Mary Ann Belts
Jessica Duval ~ Susie/Ella, Dust Witch, Betsy
Brent Fairchild ~ Doc C. J. Martin
Sophia Hauswirth ~ Becky Watts
Fenwa Teryen ~ Charles Bishop
Kevin Chenard ~ Mothman Cultist Fred, Mamma Murmurgh, Mr. Cooger, Gunner (Merc Shade)
Dr. Mark Hauswirth ~ Slick Willy, Brian, Elder Will Holloway, Baldrick (Handy to the Archivist)
Adam Silva ~ Recruit Richard Williams
Christopher J. Morrow ~ Recruit David White
Mary Kalopedes-Saunders ~ Overseer
Joseph Picard ~ Albert Vince
Ray Middelthon ~ Commander Connor Johns
Lucy Middelthon ~ Lt. Kori Anders
Robert Solomon ~ High Priest
GUEST: Paul Anthony Slawinski ~ Grandson
GUEST: Alex Midnight ~ SGT. Higgins
GUEST: Holly Green ~ Editor In Chief Holly Green

KEN: This is Kenneth Vigue. Grab a chair and gather close, because as we carve this jack o ’lantern together I want to tell you a story. I grew up in an old seaside town on Massachusetts’ north shore, the same one of which Lovecraft used as inspiration for his cursed town of Innsmouth. Down a wooded backroad long after I had stopped trick or treating, I found myself one Halloween night crouched and sprinting across the grassy field of a local state park. Fueled by teenage hormones and possibly boredom, friends and I decided to spend that Halloween confronting a local legend, that of Hell’s Gates. Maudsley State Park is a place that I spent a lot of time at growing up, for one thing it was massive, for another it was once a grand estate, now long since gone with just the outbuildings, woods and gardens left. Even as kids we all had heard the stories of the great stone and wrought iron gates of the place being a source of supernatural and otherworldly horror. Legend had it that one Halloween night the master of the place had lost his mind, chopping off the heads of servants and family alike. In the morning, passersby were horrified to see a row of bloody heads fixed atop the iron gates and the master nowhere to be found. It was said that act had opened a portal into hell and into it went the screaming master. Quietly that night, in dark clothes and with bellies full of cheap Chinese food and root beer we dashed along the wood line until at last in the distance we could see the moonlit great stone wall and wrought iron gates. Just as we were about to move closer to get a spot for the stroke of midnight when the heads were supposed to reappear, we heard crashing through the woods and a dark figure clothed completely in black running right at us. We took off and made our way swiftly to the road and I recall, in perhaps what could’ve been my most embarrassing last words, myself yelling out, “wait! Just wait a minute! Hang on a second!” By the time I made it to the car, the more athletic of my friends were already in with the engine running. We tore out down the street, fishtailing gravel and that was that. We never found out who that was and while it’s likely it was a Park Ranger having some fun with us, it would be our tradition to go urban exploring on dark autumn nights to chase the dark, to fight the dark. Halloween, like local legends, has roots so deep and so ancient that we often forget their origin. But the most universal thread amongst them all is to remind us to carry the light into the dark, to fight it, not fear it. Out of any guest who has ever joined our show the one we get the most requests for is voice actor Andreas Somville’s villainous Mr. Dark. This story will see his return, but also the introduction of a new character: Dolos the Archivist voiced by Bethesda’s own Ferret Baudoin and we are deeply honored to have him join the cast. Now…look, over there…on a lonely stretch of West Virginia road behind train tracks long abandoned a man long in years sits with his grandson carving a pumpkin just like this one. The Great War has not yet come to pass, but this will be his final Halloween on Earth. Before he goes, he has one final act of kindness for a world he will leave behind. A reckoning is about to occur, one that many years later will have consequences for Chad, Simon and the gang. The cast of CHAD: A Fallout 76 story proudly present, “Dark Hallowe’en”.

MEDIA: DARK’S THEME INTRO

SCENE 1: EXT. R&G CROSSROADS – HALLOWEEN NIGHT. 2076

SFX: WHISPERING LEAVES. HALLOWEEN SONGS ON A RADIO. PUMPKIN CARVING SOUNDS.

HOLLOWAY: What shall it be this time? A goofy grin or a (funny spooky voice) scary scowl? GRRRRRAARRRR!

GRANDSON: (Laughing) A scary scowl!

HOLLOWAY: Scary scowl it is in then. Remember…before you get crazy with cutlery…take your time and be careful.

GRANDSON: (Annoyed) I know, I know. Always cut away from you…not towards you.

HOLLOWAY: …towards you. That’s right. So what devilry are you and Bobby up to this year eh?

GRANDSON: We’re going to meet up with Sam, Amanda and Lisa. Lisa’s Mom is going to drive us over to Beckley for some trick or treating, then she’s taking us to a spooky haunted corn maze!

HOLLOWAY: Haunted corn maze eh? Better take my hat with yah!

GRANDSON: Your hat? Why?

HOLLOWAY: You gotta watch your ears in a corn field boy! (chuckles)

GRANDSON: (eye roll) Grandddpaaa… (silent for a moment)

SFX: LEAVES RUSTLE. PUMPKIN CARVING NOISES.

GRANDSON: I wish you could take me like you used to.

HOLLOWAY: Me too kid, me too. There’s nothing I’d love more. Why I’d lead you down miles of dark lanes, streets you’ve never heard of, to homes just shy of ruin that despite looking like they wear the face of Halloween all year round, still have a smile behind a door and porch light and full-size candy bars in a brimming bowl. Those streets my boy are always where we’d venture to when I wasn’t much taller than you. We’d go in costumes so abstract in spookiness you’d think we fell headfirst into a hall closet. We’d set out in old bandages, or oversized threadbare clothes, or in a sheet frayed by endless summers and winters but mother always insisted could still be good for something. We’d head to those streets where no children were ever seen behind gothic fences still sturdy but promising lockjaw. Behind every bay window sat and stood hunched over, world weary, (and to us) ancient men and women who all had empty rooms upstairs still filled with the remnants of a child long since gone from home like forlorn museums of lost innocence. They would gaze expectantly out each fog glazed window into the dark of night with a bowl at the ready, “just in case”, they would say to themselves. Every year they waited for any witch, ghoul, vampire or goblin to emerge from the shadows into their porch light where a moth would be flailing impotently. They were the lonely, the forgotten, with bodies like brittle china but whose hearts still sang at this time of year whispering, “run, play, to the leaves, to the dark, to the delicious night, to candy, to friendship, to be young forever and feel young forever...come…come…” It was these streets you always go, because the treat is far more than a full-sized candy bar, it is to get them to open the door of those sagging homes and let in the smell of leaves, the cold moonlight and hallowed wind. To gaze into the face of the spirit of Halloween itself and taste it once more, the memory of when dark and all that was in it wasn’t something to fear, as they do now, where dark itself sits crouched at the top of the stairs…waiting…waiting. That…that is where we would go.

SFX: WIND WHISPERS. LEAVES RUSTLE. PUMPKIN CARVING CONTINUES. RADIO NEWS FADES IN.

RADIO: …the search continues for a missing girl in Beckley. One of 6 people reported missing in the last 4 days in the surrounding area. Police are asking if you have any information to the whereabouts of Claudia Monroe, Agatha DuFresne, Joseph Ellington, Amanda…

SFX: RADIO CLICK OFF.

HOLLOWAY: (Angry) That’s enough of that. How are we looking boy?

GRANDSON: There! He looks exxxtraaaaa spooky.

HOLLOWAY: That he does! Let’s light him up.

SFX: CANDLE FLICK.

GRANDSON: Ohhhhh!

HOLLOWAY: Not bad. Not bad.

SFX: TEA POURING.

GRANDSON: What’s that?

HOLLOWAY: Some good old herbal tea. Best thing for the joints when the seasons start changing.

GRANDSON: Can I try?

HOLLOWAY: Nope.

GRANDSON: How come?

HOLLOWAY: Because this isn’t your cup of tea. (Chuckles)

GRANDSON: Grandpaaaaa…

HOLLOWAY: Here. Look here, go fetch my project off the workbench.

GRANDSON: You’ve been working on that thing FOREVER! Okay.

SFX: RUNNING ON WOOD. DOOR OPENS. TEA IS SIPPED.

HOLLOWAY: (Groan in pain, clutching stomach)

GRANDSON: Here you go! Is it a pop gun? It’s real funny looking.

HOLLOWAY: Nope! This here is something special. Say did I ever tell you the story of Stingy Jack?

GRANDSON: Who is that?

HOLLOWAY: Ol’ Stingy Jack is where jack-o-lanterns started. Plop on down there, because we have time for one last story before you need to get going. Now let me see. A long time ago and far from here there lived a blacksmith prone to drink enough to tempt the devil named Stingy Jack. Now Ol’ Jack was about as cunning a con man as you could ever meet who possessed not an ounce of goodness in him. So black was his soul, that Ol’ Scratch himself decided to crawl up from below to claim him. On a night of full dark with no stars, Jack was greeted at a crossroads by a dead man, eyes glimmering with the lurid flickering light of possession. Jack knew his game was up and his soul had come to be reaped. Jack, ever the slippery con asked the Devil for one final request, a final drink. The Devil, so tickled by the boldness of this request, that he granted it. They found themselves at a tavern where before a roaring hearth, pint after pint went down all too smoothly as they spun tales of their greatest tricks. At last, the barkeep announced it was time for them to depart. Jack, with a twinkle in his eye padded his pockets and said, “Oh dear. I carry no coin, but the tab must be paid is our business is to be done. Let us play a great trick on this man…turn yourself into a silver piece and after he’s placed you in the till, transform back and we will be on our way.” The Devil, always up for a trick or two, agreed. With a flash of hellfire, a silver coin appeared in his place. Jack clapped his hands and withdrew from his pocket a crucifix and chain, twice wrapped round the coin and smartly placed it back into his pocket. The Devil was furious, from a voice with no mouth echoed in his alcohol addled brain he ranted and raved to be released. Stingy Jack struck a deal with him, a decade to be left in peace to continue his tricks and cons and his soul would at least belong to the Devil. He agreed and the Devil was released. Stingy Jack wasn’t quite through with Satan however, they would meet again 10 years later and once again that cunning old fox outsmarted the great liar himself and in due time, Jack died a natural death. Proudly standing before St. Peter Jack asked to be let in, but St. Peter rejected him with impunity, casting him down below. At last, in the flickering fires of damnation Jack now stood before the Devil himself. But the Devil, with a wicked grin, reminded Jack that his final deal with the Devil was not to go to hell. He was led to the edge of hell where the great blackness of infinity lay before him, a purgatory devoid of light, life and horizon. Jack asked for one final wish, a single ember of hellfire to light the darkness as he wandered in eternity. Satan plucked a glowing ember from the ground, produced a twisted and malignant turnip. Hollowing it out and carving Jack’s own face, he placed the ember inside and sent Jack off into the void with it. In the centuries to come, every now and then when the veil was thin and the last bit of life and greenery faded with winter’s breath, lights would sometimes be seen. Locals would cross themselves and whisper low under their breath, “there goes Jack o’ the lantern.”

GRANDSON: And he’s still out there?

HOLLOWAY: Well…maybe, maybe.

GRANDSON: Is the Devil real grandpa?

HOLLOWAY: Aye. That he is. That he is. That business with cloven hooves, red face and horns is all just theatrics, how we put a face to him so we recognize him for what he is. Truth is, he looks just like anybody…and that’s his greatest deception. He’s just an ordinary man casually strolling past as you mutter under breath after running from a bully what you wish something awful upon him; or sitting quietly in the shadows of the stands as you look out of the dugout and watch someone running a little faster than you, pitching a little harder than you. He sits, he smiles, he listens…10 feet away, 10 miles away…he’s always listening. Ahhh (pained).

GRANDSON: Are you okay?

HOLLOWAY: Just the ol’ ticker. Every time I look at the tops of that fence over there and think of running along it like I used to, it complains about the shadow of the idea. I’m okay.

GRANDSON: Did you ever meet the Devil grandpa?

SFX: SILENCE. IN THE WHISPER OF LEAVES A MOURNFUL TRAIN WHISTLE.

HOLLOWAY: Say, it’s getting late. You best beat feet back home. They should be waiting for you now and this night only comes once. Just once. Come here and give me a squish.

GRANDSON: I love you.

HOLLOWAY: Love you too. You be good now…and you remember what I told you. He’s not what you think. You keep looking up, never down. Never, ever down okay? Now go…chase this night, chase the shadows in the trees, a wizened witch behind a bush….dance into that dark and remember tonight.

GRANDSON: I will! Good night grandpa!

SFX: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS. LEAVES CRUNCHING.

HOLLOWAY: Goodbye son.

SFX: LEAVES RUSTLE. TRAIN WHISTLE IS HEARD. CREAK OF ROCKING CHAIR.

HOLLOWAY: (Groans as bones ache, in pain) They sleep not, except they have done mischief…

SFX: RAILROAD CROSSING SIGN GROANS AND WHEEZES TO LIFE. BELL RINGS MAKING AN EERIE ECHOING TONE. CRUNCH OF LEAVES AS HE MOVES TO THE TRACKS.

HOLLOWAY: And their sleep is taken away, unless they cause some to fall…

SFX: WIND PICKS UP. TRAIN WHISTLE LOUDER. TRAIN HEARD IN DISTANCE.

HOLLOWAY: For they eat the bread of wickedness…

SFX: TRAIN THUNDERS IN THE DISTANCE. MOVING AT IMPOSSIBLE SPEED DOWN THE TRACKS.

HOLLOWAY: And they drink the wine of violence….

SFX: GUN LOADED. METAL CLICKS INTO PLACE.

HOLLOWAY: COME ON! RIGHT AT ME! I’VE BEEN WAITING! WAITING! YOU THINK I FORGOT? I REMEMBERED! I REMEMBERED! I REMEMBER HER!

SFX: TRAIN THUNDERS EVER CLOSER, NOT STOPPING.

HOLLOWAY: TAKE ME!

SFX: CONCUSION OF HEAT AND WIND ROARS PAST, BUT DEATH DOES NOT COME. THE SOUND FADES FROM THE WORLD. THE ONLY SOUND IS HIS BREATH AS STEAM SURROUNDS HIM. EERIE QUIET.

DARK: I tell you the truth, if anyone keeps my word, he will never see death.

SFX: STEAM HISSES. TRAIN IS REVEALED ON TRACKS. GROANING IN METAL, THE MOAN OF LOST SOULS.

HOLLOWAY: John 8:51.

DARK: Quite so. A charming little verse I think, though not one of my old favorites. “The bread of wickedness” you said? Proverbs if I’m not mistaken, but I’m partial to some of the profound ones issued with frothing fury on the brow of the addled, good book thumping preachers of other years. What class they had, what marvelous pomposity…whose lecherous eyes and darkest thoughts were concealed in lily white virtue for whom to question that stark austerity would warrant a ride in the river or a place on the pyre. (Sigh) I miss those days. Thunder and damnation is not what it used to be.

HOLLOWAY: Dark. Mr. Dark. (Furious and defiant, spitting the words in his face) I remember you.

DARK: You do, don’t you? Hello again Will. How grand to see still the glinting defiance still there just beneath cataracts, yet deliciously trapped in a prison of rotting flesh and crumbling bone. It is, if you’ll pardon, always a pleasure to meet old friends again at the end of their book. How I love to be present to savor that final sentence.

HOLLOWAY: Where is she?

DARK: Whomever do you mean?

HOLLOWAY: You know very well who you smug bastard. I know you took her.

DARK: Took. Took. What an abrupt, inadequate, and inaccurate word. Now transform, transmogrify, even deconstruct however…far more accurate and…

HOLLOWAY: (Furious) WHERE IS SHE??

DARK: (Smirk and harumph). Hm. Very well, on your own soul be it. Though I do think all these years you’ve wasted away at this decomposing train station to look, to know, and to see, were a very tall price to pay for the goods you are about to see. (Loudly) MR. COOGER! Tell Zeena her services are required.

COOGER: With great pleasure.

DARK: While your…acquaintance is acquired my compliments to your grandson on his skills with a blade. What a marvel he could be in our shadow show, a knife-throwing daredevil perhaps?

HOLLOWAY: You and your filth go anywhere near him…

DARK: And? (Silence) And WHAT Mr. Holloway? You’ve been impotent in more ways than one for decades now. You’re about as threatening as a single leaf dancing in the wind. Though I must say the pumpkin you two carved is quite charming.

HOLLOWAY: I’m done talking to you.

DARK: Oh? Then you’ll listen then because the curtain is about to open, and the final act is about to begin. You people take Halloween so literally. Before cheek scratchy masks and ponderous sacks of ill-gotten gains, it was All Hallow’s Eve, Samhain…words and a name given to a season that personifies the death of life. That first kiss of sweet icy death as summer’s promise falls as you all do eventually. It is the season of shadow, unchanged and in feeling undying since you crawled from the sea and swung through the trees. When the veil grows thin and every lustful thought, every murderous desire and guilty soul bleeds out into the world giving shape to shadow. It is our Autumn Garden filled with the plenty of years…a millennium buffet on which we gorge with Autumn’s plenty…a cornucopia of misery. And we FEED. Oh we FEED well. Speaking of which…LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! BOYS AND GIRLS OF ALL AGES! Cooger and Dark’s Pandemonium Shadow Show presents an oddity like no other, captured in the darkest depths of the Brazilian jungle (mutters) or West Virginia…may I present Zeena The Geek!

HOLLOWAY: What…what have you done to her…. (broken, stricken in shock)

DARK: Behold! Zeena shall now perform an act so monstrous, so vile that it is recommended that ladies shield their eyes, child leave the room and those with WEAK hearts turn away.

SFX: CHICKEN CLUCKING. ANGRY.

DARK: What’s this? A living chicken!

HOLLOWAY: Stop this…don’t…

DARK: A meal FIT for a queen to be sure! Oh that jaw! Look at the impossible MAW of ZEENA! She couldn’t possible…oh but SHE IS! EAT HEARTY MY DEAR!

SFX: CHICKEN PANICED. CRUNCHING OF BONES. CHICKEN SCREAMING. SILENCE. BLOOD DRIPPING.

DARK: SENSATIONAL! Take a bow!

SFX: VOMITING.

HOLLOWAY: (Sick) Mom no. What did you do?

DARK: A lifetime ago from your point of view on a sunny autumn day, a woman bought a ticket for our Ferris wheel. She had married young the first man to place a shaking finger on her thigh and after a vigorous evening in the thickets behind the rectory a cell flared to life. You Mr. Holloway. And so, the man with visions of better quarry and prospects was led to the chapel by a soon to be father-in-law with a shotgun at his back. Over time, her prospects dimmed, he took to drink and when he drank the possibilities of a life never lived turned to pure, unfettered rage. Year and year, hit after hit, what was a pretty young flower exploded into a cow stuffed into a seam splitting dress…

HOLLOWAY: YOU BASTARD!

SFX: PUNCH. HOLLOWAY IS KICKED TO THE GROUND.

DARK: I see the rage runs in the family. Careful now Will, you can’t afford many falls at your age. This cow in a dress sat on my Ferris wheel and it would not turn. Can you imagine that? As she wept into a plate filled with sugar coated fried dough, she told me her heart’s desire. She wanted to be a “looker” again she said, she loved to eat, but she wanted people to look at her and not laugh. Do you see? Well now they don’t laugh Mr. Holloway. They don’t laugh at all and she can eat whatever she likes.

HOLLOWAY: (Laughing slow…getting up off the ground with great pain).

DARK: That’s…unexpected, but I too am particularly tickled by the irony of her shadow.

HOLLOWAY: You know for someone who listens you don’t see shit.

DARK: See what Mr. Holloway?

SFX: THUNDER RUMBLES.

DARK: While it is nice to catch up, I’m afraid we’re on a tight schedule. I have an offer to make you…

HOLLOWAY: When she didn’t come home, I knew. I saw what you were…what that place was. It was wrong. You’re wrong.

DARK: What if you could be with her again, eh? All those years lost without mother’s embrace, her nurturing words…all back again, seen and felt through the eyes of a child. With but a word our carousel of lost time could be unpacked at the speed of thought.

HOLLOWAY: But I waited, I read, I learned, and I saw through you. Right through the heart of you and I knew what I had to do.

DARK: This is a final offer Will. No one meets me twice. Not anymore.

HOLLOWAY: You’re nothing but dust and shadow with not a foothold in this world except the ones you make. The lives you ruin and leave behind…tethers to wherever the hell you go to, to sleep, to wait. When you took her, when I did nothing and knew where she was and DID NOTHING a single slice of shadow on my soul. That was you.

DARK: I’m growing impatient Mr. Holloway. You can join us or alternatively Mr. Cooger can shatter your legs so you can live out your remaining days in a urine-soaked bed. What a lovely stench to accompany your grandson through his life…

HOLLOWAY: You’ve visited here before, but I’ll bet you know fuck all about Appalachia. Datura stramonium but locally we just call it jimson weed…though I (pained yell) like to call it Devil’s Snare. (laughs) That’s funny when you think about it. (Cries in pain).

DARK: (Pained) What…what have you done?

HOLLOWAY: It’s a powerful hallucinogen, but the seeds…the seeds are quite deadly. Made myself a little tea. They say it killed Nathanial Bacon himself during Bacon’s Rebellion…and I’ll bet you were still travelling…even back then. I’m snapping your tether.

DARK: (Angry but in pain) You think you’ve wounded me? I have more faces and forms on this earth than you could possibly imagine. You are a tether to this place, but I have so, so many others…this is nothing.

HOLLOWAY: I know (laughs) you do love to talk, but you still never see.

SFX: GUN CLICKS INTO LOADED POSITION

DARK: A gun Mr. Holloway. You have to be joking.

HOLLOWAY: (Pained and struggling to stay awake) Nope. Not a gun, but it sure does look like one don’t it. You know in the old days they used to say that photographs steal your soul. Each click of the shutter you lose a little bit more of you, pale copy after copy. A shadow of you forever trapped in 2 dimensions.

DARK: No…

HOLLOWAY: I’m done. Good and dying, but before I’m through we’re going on one final ride together.

DARK: MR. COOGER! STOP HIM!

COOGER: Say goodbye Mr. Holloway.

SFX: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS. EXPLOSION OF POWDER AND LIGHT. TEARING OF REALITY.

COOGER: Noooooooooooooo ahhhhhhhh.

SFX: WHOOSH AND IMPLOSION.

HOLLOWAY: This doesn’t fire bullets. It’s a chronophotographic gun. And it’s been anointed…every tear I shed on my wedding day, the birth of son and grandson…

DARK: ZEENA! FEED AND CRUNCH. SWALLOW HIM WHOLE. LET’S PUT YOUR SPAWN BACK INSIDE SHALL WE?

HOLLOWAY: Tears of love…not hate…I collected them all.

SFX: THUNDERING FOOTSTEPS.

HOLLOWAY: I love you Mom.

SFX: EXPLOSION OF POWDER AND LIGHT. TEARING OF REALITY. WHOOSH AND IMPLOSION.

DARK: No…no…stop! I’ll give you anything! Anything in creation can be yours!

HOLLOWAY: (Crushing pain) AHHhhhh….

SFX: COLLAPSE TO GROUND.

DARK: Back in the train! HURRY! WE MUST GO!

SFX: THUNDER AND LIGHTNING DRAWING CLOSER.

HOLLOWAY: I knew you’d come. I waited and I knew…when my Madie died I mourned her, I let myself mourn and give in to despair…because I knew you’d hear it. (laughs) You can’t help yourself…the Devil’s Snare… (coughing) Not long now…

SFX: RUNNING ON GRAVEL. CLAMBERING ON METAL AS DARK CLIMBS INTO THE LOCOMOTIVE.

DARK: You’re FINISHED you old fool. I’m going to run you down…smear you down the tracks. With a bit of luck your grandson will greet us up ahead. I wonder what will happen to his mind when old grandad’s head winks at him as we creep by, smashed between our bloody grill. Perhaps I’ll scoop him up and feed him nightmares…you two! KILL HIM! KILL HIM NOW!

SFX: EXPLOSION OF POWDER AND LIGHT. TEARING OF REALITY. WHOOSH AND IMPLOSION.

HOLLOWAY: 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 and 11…every summer day with my feet in the grass when I cried just to be alive…every happy tear with friends.

DARK: (Furious) ENOUGH! YOU HAVE NO POWER OVER ME!

SFX: TRAIN WHISTLE. TRAIN STARTS TO MOVE.

HOLLOWAY: (Death rattle) you’re….right…but…love…love kills you.

SFX: TRIGGER SNAPPED. FINAL EXPLOSION OF POWDER AND LIGHT. THE TRAIN SQUEELS IN PROTEST, TEARING, GRINDING, LIGHTNING, THUNDER AND WIND.

DARK: THIS IS ONE FORM…ONE FORM…DIE! DIEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

SFX: VOICE GROWS TO A HIGH-PITCHED KEENING WAIL. IMPLOSION OF SOUND. RATTLE AS GUN DROPS THE GROUND. BODY COLLAPSES.

HOLLOWAY: (Long exhale one final breath and then silence).

MEDIA: DARK’S REQUIEM

SCENE 2: EXT. POINT PLEASANT. DAY.

JOHNS (V.O.): I used to love the autumn, not now…but how it used to be. When the greens would erupt with the palette so vibrant, so colorful…it would remind me of my granddad. I know, I know…but that last week of his life it was like he wasn’t sick at all. He carried me on his shoulders as they fell from the sky and then one morning he was just gone. Fall is like that, it’s an explosion of color and light, one last gasp of energy from all the pent-up grass scented, beach sand floorboard littered, firefly dancing days and nights. And then, all the color fades from the world and the ice creeps in. A cold so deep that it burns…I never understood that. You know when people are getting hypothermia one of the final stages is that they feel like they’re burning up Kori. Can you believe that? There are stories of search parties finding people stripped down to their underwear, frozen solid, having taken everything off because they were so hot. (Pause and sigh, scared) I feel cold. Every day. Something’s coming…I’ve known that for a long time and I know we’ve weathered it all, but this is something worse. We were the last defense, the last bastion to maintain law and order, but for the very first time my eyes are open. I know it was a lie, his lies, his illusion but I can’t get past it. I have to leave for a while. No, don’t interrupt…because I don’t even know who I am anymore. What I’ve done…and what I have to do, I don’t want you to see me like that. I don’t even like seeing me like that. I didn’t tell you everything. It started with the dust…no. Really it was before then. It started with Simon because everything always does. People think that evil is something you do. Truth of it is, evil is always there, always hungry, ever present, and it waits…quietly for you to call it.

SFX: CRICKETS CHIRPING. TOSSING AND TURNING OF SHEETS. ECHOING VOICES AS SIMON WAKES UP FROM A NIGHTMARE.

MEDIA: PIPBOY RADIO PLAYS QUIETLY SPOOKY MUSIC.

SIMON: No….no….wait….come back. DON’T LEAVE ME! Ahh… (panting)….

SFX: HAMMERING NOISES. PANIC BREATHING.

SIMON: Jesus Christ…what…a nightmare.

BISHOP (V.O.): …and that little spooooopy number goes out to a Cultist Wrathwing named…umm…Biff out there at Point Pleasant. Listeners should be reminded that unless you’d like your life’s blood spilled in supplication to a 6-foot-tall moth this Halloween, best be steering clear of Point Pleasant starting tonight folks. Though truth be told the Mothman Parade is a sight to behold I’m told. Beware because it’s D…D….DEVIL’S NIGHT! An evening of Mischief and Mayhem. Rumors from the Aristocrats at the Whitespring is that they’ve taken measures to ensure that the explosive chaotic pranks and mayhem of year’s past WON’T be happening again. This is your dulcet dynamo on the deck Charles Bishop bringing you all the sounds of the season hear on RBTS Radio. Up next a little number that will have you questioning your state of being. It’s Autumn Day and the Fester Five with their hit single, “I kissed a ghoul and I kind of liked it…”

SOLOMON: You there! Watch the rib cage! This isn’t some kind of Moth Enthusiast CAMP from those wretched Vault Dwellers, this is a glorious display of fealty and dark invocation to our mothy overlord. It must be perfection. Acolyte Fred! What is that supposed to be?

SIMON: (to himself) Solomon?

FRED: D’uhhh…a feeding trough with 30 gallons of blood?

SOLOMON: 30? 30?

DAVE: I told him we needed at least 60 boss.

FRED: No, you didn’t.

DAVE: Yeah, I did…

FRED: Hey! Stop throwing blood on me! That’s for later!

SOLOMON: Enough fools! We will need at least twice that for my lord to feast upon to have enough arcane power to return to rend the veil of reality itself and descend into the dimensions of madness. ACOLYTE DAVE WHAT ARE YU DOING?

DAVE: Makin’ some eggs boss I’m hungry.

SOLOMON: THOSE ARE HIS EGGS ARE YOU INSANE?

DAVE: No. I’m Appalachian boss.

SOLOMON: Sweet Mothman help me…

SFX: PANTS ZIPPED. SLEEPING BAG RUSTLE. TENT UNZIPPED.

SIMON: What the?

SOLOMON: Ah! Young Mr. Rex.

FRED: Oh! I’ll bet he has LOTS of blood Dave!

DAVE: Lots and lots of blood Fred! Let’s skin him!

SOLOMON: Leave me him be…I’m still on his retainer.

FRED: Awwww…welp. Come on Dave, let’s go find some blood elsewhere. I think I saw a pink castle CAMP back there someone built. They’re probably standing still inside hoping people will buy their junk.

DAVE: Should I bring the smelly boom boom meat?

FRED: Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Let’s blow it up!

SOLOMON: (Sigh) compliments of the season to you.

SIMON: What’s going on here?

SOLOMON: A little festival to celebrate the Great Ones birthday. We are calling home the Acolytes far and wide for a great festival in his honor. It’ll be spectacular…chants and invocation, ritual sacrifice of virginal Vault dwellers, arcane rights that will rend reality and open a portal to the dark places where the Elder Ones sleep so He Who Devours Clothing In Closets may return to the Dimension of Madness. There also will be a hot and cold buffet with cucumber sandwiches and festive clogging. I made candy apples.

SIMON: Uhh…that sounds great, but no thanks. I need to move on. Holidays around here tend to go tit’s up. I’m heading to a silo to hide for the next few days.

SFX: TENT POLE SNAPPING. ZIPPING UP.

SOLOMON: Well, suit yourself…however if you change….your…hmm…

SIMON: What?

SOLOMON: Your shadow.

SIMON: What about it?

SOLOMON: It wasn’t there for a moment.

SIMON: (Laughs) Clouds do happen Solomon.

SOLOMON: That they do…so do things from below. I bid you good day.

SIMON: (Laugh) Weirdo…

SOLOMON: Oh! One last thing. Tell that insane fool in the graveyard over there he has an hour left. I shan’t be responsible for his safety once the binding pyres are lit. I’ve grown weary of his questions.

SIMON: Who? Solomon? (Sighs) Right…on we go.

SFX: FOOTSTEPS ON STONE. CHANTING IN DISTANCE. LEAVES RUSTLE.

BALDRICK: Scans indicate tracks in the dirt Sir.

ARCHIVIST: What about the tombstones?

BALDRICK: Checking…surface scans indicate a concentration of quartz, sericite, and trace minerals.

ARCHIVIST: Well, there’s no doubt about it Baldrick, it’s plain ordinary weather beaten old slate. Strange…

SIMON: Excuse me?

ARCHIVIST: No! For pity’s sake I don’t have any light bulbs! Oh! So sorry son, I thought you were that cult leader.

SIMON: Ah. That would be Solomon, Mothman Cult Leader and part time public defendant. He uhh…wanted to let you know you have an hour left. They’ll be lighting the fires and conducting a ritual that very probably won’t be good, so like me, it’s best to clear off.

ARCHIVIST: Quite right, quite right. Full moon tonight, they’ll be going on with that “O Bright One, we bid thee…” nonsense. Bloody mess if you ask me. The Mothman is about as supernatural as a box of Sugar Bombs.

SIMON: You seem to know a lot about it.

ARCHIVIST: As I should if I’m worth my weight in title. Oh! Heavens me where are my manners. I’m Dolos, amateur Archivist, little known librarian, and part time preserver of knowledge of the old world.

SIMON: Simon, Simon Rex. Nice to meet you.

ARCHIVIST: And this currently occupied floating fella over my shoulder is my companion and good friend Baldrick.

BALDRICK: Good day young master. Sir, if you intend on exploring Site D before nightfall we should be pressing on.

ARCHIVIST: Oh dear! Right you are. But we must come back here after the bulk of those cultists clear off. The Judge was here for a reason.

SIMON: The Judge? He was here?

ARCHIVIST: Hmmm…oh you know him, do you?

SIMON: We’ve had some…dealings. I steer clear of him if I can help it. Last I checked he still had a bounty on me.

ARCHIVIST: You didn’t kill his cow, did you?

SIMON: Good lord no, I got tangled up with the Overseer when she…well let’s just say I’m looking for something he’d rather I not find.

ARCHIVIST: Hmm…mysterious. Most mysterious. But quite right, keep your cards close you don’t know me from a hole in the ground. (Laughs) Which I suppose is apropos for a cemetery eh Baldrick?

BALDRICK: Ugh...not the puns again. I’ll collect the rubbings and fetch your satchel sir.

ARCHIVIST: Tell me son, look at this cemetery. What do you see?

SIMON: What am I looking for?

ARCHIVIST: What do you see? Take your time.

SIMON: It’s a cemetery…old.

ARCHIVIST: Yes, quite old…how do you know?

SIMON: Well, the tombstones…they’re old, incredibly old…battered, spalled and broken with dates going back to the 1700s.

ARCHIVIST: Yes! Excellent! What else?

SIMON: Umm…two sections. 19 tombstones…5 obelisks and 5 of the taller tombstones have a skull and crossbones.

ARCHIVIST: But those are just numbers. You’re looking at what you’re meant to. What do you see?

SIMON: Wait…the carvings. They’re almost all identical. Some of them have been weathered for the writing to be faded, but…yes…it’s the same writing just reversed. Thomas Webb died 1769.

ARCHIVIST: Excellent! It took some close reading and enhancement from some rubbings but it reads, “Here lies deposited the Remains of Mr. Thomas Webb who died very suddenly much lamented ye 8th July 1769. Aged 33 Years. He was born in the City of Glocester in England. This stone the hand of social friendship rears whose generous griefs supply a parents tears. Could friendly wishes stay ye transient breath. A kind companion had not tasted Death.”

SIMON: This isn’t a real cemetery. What is it?

ARCHIVIST: An excellent question from an inquisitive mind. That is the very quandary I found myself in after learning from the priest that the Judge and his Judiciary Guard had been observed moving crates and materials out of that graveyard as the cultists were taking Point Pleasant. A few other observations you wouldn’t spot with the naked eye…this is Boston slate, and there has never been a Thomas Webb in West Virginia, because Point Pleasant was only settled in 1794.

SIMON: Some kind of hidden chamber or base?

BALDRICK: We must depart sir.

ARCHIVIST: Very probably. Look, we’re headed over to a place that my back teeth have been itching to explore as I’ve chasing down some ancient tomes that at this point are reaching the end of their shelf life without proper protection and preservation. Care to tag along? With Cultists on one side, the Judge on the other and Halloween just around the corner to be candid Baldrick here isn’t exactly a commando in a combat situation.

SIMON: Thanks, but I’m…

DUST WITCH: (Eerie whisper) Still your tongue and go with he…go…go…gooooooooo.

SIMON: You know what? Sure. Though to be fair molerats seems to be my lot in life. So, expect a horde of them to chase us most of the way there.

ARCHIVIST: It’s decided. Off we go to Site D! To Moundsville we go and the National Museum of the Paranormal!

SIMON: Wait…the WHAT??

SCENE 4: EXT. CHARLESTON. DAY.

SFX: WIND AND LEAVES. CRUNCH OF GRAVEL.

JOHNS: …predominantly your beat is going to be Charleston but depending on whatever new kind of nightmare pops up around here, we often have to move people around. The Mire is an ongoing problem keeping the strangler hearts from regaining a foothold. Today starts 48 hours of Hell around here. Devil’s Night chaos and then Halloween things usually go south for reasons beyond understand. The Aristocrats at the Whitespring start radioing in complaining about every Tom, Dick and Harry blowing shit up, settings fires everywhere and leaving forks stuck in the damned lawn.

WILLIAMS: (Fondly) Yeah…those were the days. I miss Mischief Night.

SFX: CORK PULLED. DRINKING NOISE.

JOHNS: I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that. You wear that badge you set a higher standard. Or whatever passes for one around here.

WILLIAMS: A little early for drinking, isn’t it?

JOHNS: (Angry) It’s a little early for a lot of things, mouthing off isn’t one of them.

WILLIAMS: Got it.

JOHNS: Look, be prepared that some days are harder than others to be the paragon of virtue. There are plenty of days when I just want to pump bullets into the Raiders as opposed to feeding them three meals a day.

WILLIAMS: Yeah, sometimes it be like that.

JOHNS: Your uhhh friend White is really grinding on Lt. Kori’s patience. Have a word with him will yah? Make sure this is something he really want to do this.

WILLIAMS: (Laughs) His heart’s in the right place. The exploding pumpkin prank was a bit too far. He’s definitely on board.

SFX: RADIO STATIC

KORI (V.O.): Connor? You there?

JOHNS: Too early in the morning for call signs Kori?

KORI (V.O.): Someone put a pumpkin in the toilet. I’m not in the mood.

JOHNS: (Laughing) 10-4. What’s up?

KORI (V.O.): You still up on Manor Drive?

JOHNS: Yeah, we’re just finishing up the loop of his beat.

KORI (V.O.): Someone called in an attack, just north of Overlook Cabin. Abandoned field just off the road.

JOHNS: We’ll check it in…err out. Almost there any who.

KORI (V.O.): You’re already drinking, aren’t you?

JOHNS: What?

KORI (V.O.): God damn it Connor. We’ll talk about it later.

JOHNS: Sure. Yeah…whatever.

WILLIAMS: Problems in paradise?

JOHNS: Shut your god damned mouth rookie. Get your piece out…we have no idea what we’re walking into here.

SFX: CRUNCHING LEAVES.

WILLIAMS: What the hell…what happened here?

JOHNS: I don’t know.

WILLIAMS: Look like there a fire or something. Look here, lightning strike maybe?

JOHNS: Yeah maybe. Listen.

WILLIAMS: What?

JOHNS: Everything stopped. No crickets…birds, nothing.

WILLIAMS: Eye of the storm.

JOHN: What?

WILLIAMS: Eye of the storm. My Dad was a weather nut, Vault-Tec certified meteorologist, which is kind of pointless when you think about it. Not like he could do anything useful with that in a Vault. He talked about how still it was in the eye of the storm, just before the back half would hit and do the most damage.

JOHN: I don’t like it here. Let’s check out that wrecked Ferris wheel over there and get the hell out of here. I’m not seeing anybody around.

WILLIAMS: What is this stuff all over the ground?

JOHNS: Some kind of powder. Ashes? No…it’s dust…

WILLIAMS: Grass is kind of high here…watch your step.

JOHNS: I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING ROOKIE. You watch yours.

WILLIAMS: There’s something in the weeds here.

SFX: WEEDS RUSTLE. METAL GROANS.

JOHNS: Eyes on your surroundings! Leave that be!

WILLIAMS: No (straining) I’ve almost got it…

SFX: METAL TEARS FREE. BODY THUDS.

WILLIAMS: Owwww…fuck that hurts. Damn it. Sliced my hand.

JOHNS: DAMN IT! I told you to leave it.

WILLIAMS: Hey…look at that.

JOHNS: Old broken sign…looks almost like a circus or carnival marquee Something R AND DARK’S PANDEMONIUM SHADOW SHOW. Rest of it is burned off and torn.

SFX: GRASS SWISHES. BREEZE LIGHTLY BLOWS AND TRAIN WHISTLE IS HEARD IN THE DISTANCE.

JOHNS: Did you hear that?

WILLIAMS: Damn that burns…

JOHNS: Better wrap that…this stuff is all over your hand. Gonna get a free ticket to Doc Martin’s.

WILLIAMS: This used to be a carnival or something?

JOHNS: I dunno…stay there. Looks like there’s some debris over there.

SFX: SWISHING GRASS. EERIE WIND. CROW CAWS.

JOHNS: Something…something’s wrong with this place.

SFX: FOOTSTEPS RUNNING.

JOHNS: Hey! You there! STOP! NEW RESPONDERS! I SAID STOP!

SFX: RUNNING.

SFX: EARTH RUMBLES. WOOD AND GLASS CRASH. JOHNS FALLS INTO UNDERGROUND ROOM.

JOHNS: AHHHH! DAMN IT!

WILLIAMS: Commander! Commander are you all right! Hang on! I’m coming!

SFX: PIPBOY LIGHT SWITCHES ON.

JOHNS: (Yelling) I’m fine. Fell into this hole. Looks like it was part of a mirror maze.

SFX: CRUNCHING GLASS.

SFX: RADIO.

JOHNS: Kori? Kori come in.

SFX: RADIO STATIC.

JOHNS: Damn it.

SFX: CRUNCHING GLASS.

JOHNS: This place…so cold…

WILLIAMS: Are you there yet? Do you see the door?

JOHNS: Door?

WILLIAMS: (Voice funny and creepy) The door. Open it. Open the door.

JOHNS: I…I see a door. There’s a key in it.

WILLIAMS: Just a little further. You’ll be free.

JOHNS: Is this the way out?

WILLIAMS: (Suddenly voice close from behind) The door. Open the door.

SFX: EERIE WHISPERING.

SFX: KEY SLOWLY TURNS AND UNLOCKS. HEAVY DOOR SWINGS OPEN RELEASING A BURST OF FOUL AIR.

JOHNS: Ugh…smells like something died down here. This isn’t the way out…it’s just a mirror room. What’s that light?

SFX: WHISPERING LOUDER. VOICES ECHO AROUND.

JOHNS: Is someone there?

DUST WITCH: Twice bound soldier, fallen free…open thy mind and release meeeeeee…..

JOHNS: What…no…no….

DUST WITCH: The looking glass sees, the reflection of thee…

SFX: WIND WHIPS. GLASS MELTS.

JOHNS: The mirror…it’s….moving…flowing….get off me. WILLIAMS! WILLIAMS!

DUST WITCH: I see…I see your tomorrows and all your yesterdays…ohhhh the blood in the mud, the bride thrice denied….the fire…you burn….the fire in the ice and the Great Darkness comes! Just a little closer…blood bound door…a taste of life…THE DOOOOR OPENSSSSS!

JOHNS: (Gurgling) My mouth….flowing…WILLIA (coughing choking)

SFX: GUNSHOT AND SHATTERING OF GLASS.

DUST WITCH: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

SFX: WIND EXPLODES OUTWARD.

SLICK WILLY: Oh no you don’t, you heathen bitch! COME ON KID! RUN! RUN LIKE THE DEVIL!

SFX: SCRAMBLING UP.

DUST WITCH: FEEEEEEEDDDDDDDDDDDDD. FEEEEEEEEEEEEEDDDD.

JOHNS: WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!

SLICKY WILLY: Quit your yapping and run like the wind! THIS WAY! OUT HERE!

SFX: WIND AND LEAVES RAGE AS THE GROUND HEAVES UPWARD.

SFX: RUNNING.

DUST WITCH: (Demonic voice) FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

JOHNS: WILLIAMS?! WILLIAMS?

SLICK WILLY: JUST A LITTLE FURTHER! TO THE ROAD!

JOHNS: It’s gaining on us!

SFX: CONCUSSION OF AIR. WIND SILENCES AND RETURNS TO NORMAL.

JOHNS: (Panting) What….what was that?

SLICK WILLY: The Witch. Olllll Willy knew. Ol’ Willy REMEMBERED! Let’s see her work her black magics from there. Sodium chloride sonny, all the salt you can muster…doing something other than pouring out the mouths of people in these parts. She’s stuck in there like a fly in molasses hoooo wheee!

JOHN: Witch? WILLIAMS! Where the hell did he go?

SLICK WILLY: The kid in the uniform? He’s plum scampered off. But you best be steering clear of him. He has the gray in his eyes…he’s hers now. That means trouble.

JOHN: Where are you going?

SLICK WILLY: To scare up some o’ the Ol Tesla Rifles. You best be tellin’ your folks to saddle up. If she’s here….he’ll be on her tail bringing all of hellfire and temptation with him.

JOHN: STOP! Who are you talking about? Willy! WILLY! Damn it.

SFX: RADIO.

JOHN: Kori come in.

KORI: What??

JOHN: Enough. This is serious. I need a squad down here right now. We have….(scared) some kind of problem.

KORI: (Concerned) Connor? What is it? What’s wrong?

JOHN: Just send them. Suit up. I need a perimeter. We need to keep this contained.

KORI: Okay. Give us an hour. We’ll be there. I’m coming too. HQ out.

SFX: WIND. ANGRY WAILING.

DUST WITCH: Ahhhhhhhhhhhh…. (haunted, creepy wailing continues)

JOHN: Better hurry.

SFX: SLOW FADE AWAY…CRICKETS CHIRP…LEAVES STIR.

DUST WITCH: Hear me and attend, the ring…a break in the ring…let me bleed into the places between…

WILLIAMS: Break the ring…break the ring…

SFX: SCUFF IN THE SAND AS THE SALT RING BREAKS. MAGICAL VIBRATION IS HEARD AND A GUST OF FOUL WIND FLASHES PAST HIM.

SCENE 5: INT. RUSTY PICK.

SFX: FOOTSTEPS ON WOOD. WATER FLOWING IN TUB IS HEARD.

PATSY: (sing) I tollllddd the witch doctor I was in love with you…..

I told the witch doctor I was in love with you….

SFX: SQUEEKY FAUCET TURNS OFF WATER. BOARD CREAKS.

PATSY: Moose? (Listens) Punch if that’s you I told you if I catch you creeping on me in the tub one more time I swear to god I’ll have your head in a jar. Hello?

(Singing) And then the witch doctor he told me what to do

He said that Ooh eeh ooh aah aah….

ooo little warm…

SFX: TUB SPLASHING. CURTAIN CLOSED.

(Singing)Ting tang wallawalla bingbang

(Sighs) 20 minutes of pure, warm…comfort…

SFX: BOARD CREAKS.

PATSY: I’m serious you guys cut it out! (Listens) Christ I can’t get a minute away without some bullshit nonsense. (Sighs)

MEDIA: TENSE MUSIC.

PATSY: (Humming Witch Doctor)

SFX: QUIET FOOTSTEPS.

PUNCH: (Heavy mouth breathing)

PATSY: (Humming Witch Doctor)

SFX: BOARD CREAK.

PATSY: M….Moose?

SFX: CURTAIN DRAWN BACK VIOLENTLY.

PUNCH: (Imitating the Psycho show scene music pooly) REEEE REEEEE REEEEEEEEEE! STABBY STAB! (Laughs)

PATSY: PUNCH! GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!

PUNCH: Punch get spices. You make good stew with mushrooms and bone broth.

MOOSE: (Laughing) Good one bro!

PUNCH: Punch do Hell ween good?

MOOSE: Yeah bro! It’s all about those pranks today and tonight! Mischief Night dude! Did you finish up that springboard trap in the Haunted House maze?

PUNCH: Uh huh! Punch do! Punch do. Boing! TSSSHHHHH! AHHHHH! Down down the hole!

PATSY: What are you two up to now?

MOOSE: We setup a Haunted House in the bar. It’s legit! Spooky lights and fog machines all themed with a cool story about a headless miner. Just when they see the exit we trigger a springboard to blow out the floor and drop them into a shoot that then yeets them out and over the mountain out back. It’s hilarious.

PATSY: Okay whatever. Just clean up afterward…and see if you can get me some wood Moose, if you can manage to find it.

MOOSE: Jeez…come on Punch dude.

SFX: WALKING AWAY.

PUNCH: Meatbag friend not like Trick or Teet?

MOOSE: I don’t know dude…she’s been ragging on me a lot for months now…

SFX: DOOR OPENS.

BETSY: HEY! ASSHOLES!

MOOSE: Oh! Uhhh..well this is awkward. How’s it hangin’ Betsy?

BETSY: Oh gee I don’t know Moose! I just walked all the way from the Vault after dying in your septic tank trap you set up by the door here.

SFX: SHOTGUN COCKED.

BETSY: And I’m sick of this cap. Open the register!

PUNCH: HEY! THOSE PUNCH SHINIES!

BETSY: So help me mutie I’ll shoot you square in the crotch. REGISTER. NOW!

MOOSE: Chill Betsy! It was an accident! Look Patsy was just having a bad day. No hard feelings dude…

SFX: SHOTGUN BLAST. CHANDELIER BLOWS APART.

MOOSE: Geez! Holy crap.

BETSY: Maybe you two are hard of hearing. Let’s get with the kerrrrrching!

PUNCH: Moose want Punch smash?

MOOSE: Nah dude, she’s due.

SFX: CASH REGISTER DINGS.

MOOSE: Have at it.

BETSY: There’s nothing here.

MOOSE: No kidding dude.

BETSY: Where’s your caps? In a safe?

PUNCH: Punch buy yum yums.

MOOSE: Yeah we kind of drink our profits (laughs)

BETSY: I don’t believe this…okay fine…where is she? Where’s Patsy?

SFX: DOOR OPENS.

CHAD: Hey gang! The Chad’s home! Whoops…who setup a trap here? Better trip it.

SFX: TRAP TRIGGERS. FLOOR BREAKS.

BETSY: NOT AGAIIIIINNNNNN YOU BASSSTARDSSSSSSSSS

SFX: THUD

DOC: Oh my! Who was that?

MOOSE: Just some whack job Doc! Nothing to worry about.

CHAD: Hey this place looks great! Is the kid okay?

PUNCH: Punch watch. Keep safe.

MOOSE: Yeah she’s fine. She’s been real quiet. Ran out of sedative juice, so we gave her like 500 pieces of Halloween candy after Punch and I killed a bunch of losers down at Watoga High doing some pre Halloween cosplay crap. Knocked her right out.

PUNCH: Doc make friend better?

DOC: Well we’ll see…

CHAD: Right downstairs here dude.

SFX: STAIRS NOISES.

CHAD: Hey you got this place lookin’ great dude! Totally spook central.

SFX: CHAINS UNDONE. DOOR UNLOCKED.

ELLA: (tired) …and the Three Bears came home and said, who is this blonde tramp who ate our oatmeal. So they found her sleeping in one of their beds and disembowled her and made a throw rug. The end. Tee hee!

MOOSE: We gave her warm blankie.

ELLA: And I told her stories that would tickle any fanny…time to sleep now and dream of the dark places. Wheeeee! (Snoring)

DOC: Errr…right. What’s with the doll?

CHAD: Look dude, just don’t piss it off. What do we gotta do?

DOC: Let’s setup the equipment right here.

CHAD: What’s the deal Doc?

DOC: Well normally all we would’ve needed is a field blood transfusion kit, heck even an anticoagulant and gravity would do, but this is far, far more complicated and riskier. To put it simply, this unit is going to flush out red cells, white cells, plasma…leaving fluid as we infuse your healthy red cells, white cells and plasma. It has to go…all of it, if this has a chance of working. She’s a kid, otherwise this would be a guaranteed fatality for you and to be candid son I’m not too sure we won’t get a flatline out of you yet.

CHAD: Doesn’t matter. I have an insurance policy…she…doesn’t. Let’s go.

DOC: No time like the present then…sleeve up…and lie down here. I’m going to need you to stay calm and keep slow, regular breaths and stay awake.

SFX: KNOCK ON DOOR.

CHAD: Who the fuck knocks before barging in here? Grab that would you Punch?

PUNCH: Punch go see! Maybe sell some pumpkin brew!

SFX: CLOMPING UP STAIRS.

SFX: KNOCK ON DOOR.

PUNCH: Good bye! Uhhhh…helloo?

SFX: DOOR OPENS.

PUNCH: Uhhh….anyone home? Pumpkin brew! 15 caps! Hellloooo?

SFX: GUST OF WIND AND WHISPERING BLOWS IN. FLOOR SHAKES.

ELLA: No…..no…..the pickity witch…the picket witch….stop her! Stop her!

MOOSE: What’s her problem?

SFX: LIGHTS FLICKER OUT. EERIE WHISPERING.

ELLA: Feral child small and lean, wake from dreams and pick bones cleannnnnnnnnnn! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

SFX: WIND WHIPS ROOM.

DOC: What in the hell?

SUSIE: (Mumbling awake) killlllllllllll killllllllllll rarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr notttttt ussssssssssssss! RARRRRRR!

SFX: THRASHING.

CHAD: Calm down kid! MOOSE!

MOOSE: On it! Come on kid….hold still…

SFX: THRASHING CONTINUES.

SFX: MACHINE TOPPLES AND SMASHES ON FLOOR. CIRCUITS EXPLODE.

DOC: God damn it! No!

ELLA: (Angry slightly demonic voice as she grapples with the witch) Youuuuu….gettt….outtttt….offffff….myyyyy fannnnnyyyyyyyyy!

DUST WITCH: (Angry moaning and yelling)

MOOSE: Hold on! Tranqing her!

SFX: INJECTION NOISE.

SFX: WIND RECEEDES. DOOR IS HEARD SLAMMING ABOVE.

CHAD: What was that? Is it okay?

DOC: No….it’s finished.

CHAD: Can’t you fix it?

DOC: I’m a doctor…this is wiring and electrical engineering well beyond me son.

CHAD: Lemme see dude I’m handy with this stuff.

DOC: No, it’s no good…there’s only a handful of things that I knew existed around here. It’s too complex to cobble together and you’d never be able to program it.

CHAD: Well what the hell do we do now?

DOC: The only chance in hell you have of finding another would be a Vault. Your best bet is 76, but there’s no way back in. I know, I’ve tried before when things got bad…there’s a goldmine of medical supplies in there I could’ve used.

CHAD: I…I’ll figure it out. Is okay Moose…think you can leave her be now.

SFX: KISS ON FOREHEAD.

CHAD: (Whispers in ear) I’ll be back…maybe we can go trick or treating huh? (Voice breaking) Please don’t let go.

DOC: That’s all I can do here for now, I need to head over to the Red Sloe. Keep her sedated…and…maybe salt the doorways.

MOOSE: Salt?

DOC: Just…humor me…

SCENE 6: INT. PARANORMAL MUSEUM. NIGHT.

SFX: RATTLING DOOR.

SIMON: What are you doing?

ARCHIVIST: It’s a level 3 lock…this might take a bit.

SFX: SMASH WINDOW. LOCK TURNED.

SIMON: Or we could just do that.

ARCHIVIST: I….huh. Well isn’t that the darndest thing.

BALDRICK: I’ll stand guard sir in case we have some slightly feral guests.

ARCHIVIST: Good man Baldrick. Welp…in we go.

SFX: DOOR OPENED. CREEPY ATMOSPHERE. DUST SIFTING DOWN FROM CEILING. PIPBOY FLASHLIGHTS SWITCH ON.

SIMON: Archive of the Afterlife, see the wonders of the National Museum of the Paranormal. So, what’s the story with this place?

ARCHIVIST: Ahhh…well that’s an interesting tale. I take you’ve dropped by the Eastern Regional Penitentiary at some point?

SIMON: Mad Dog Malone hates me with every fiber of his being.

ARCHIVIST: Well I suppose it’s better than malfunctioning Prison Marshalls riddling you with holes while your minding your own business…but I digress. In its heyday it sent over 100 prisoners to the red hot beyond, first by hanging and then via electric chair with the morbidly humorous name “Old Sparky”. The place was supposedly incredibly haunted and none was more interested in the history and supernatural of the place than a prison guard named Steve Cameron. He began an obsessive collection of cursed, haunted and macabre objects from all the place and opened the place in 2011.

SIMON: What exactly are we looking for?

ARCHIVIST: Books my boy, books! Knowledge…it’s all about knowledge.

SIMON: This place is huge…and…more than a little creepy. Ouiji boards, mirrors, furniture…this is like an antiques shop for the damned.

ARCHIVIST: Prices are likely a killer (chuckle)…ah! What have we here…

SFX: GLASS CASE SMASH.

SIMON: Well, that’s one way to open it.

ARCHIVIST: This my boy is the Mallus Maleficarum, hammer of the witches…the most complete compendium of detection and methods of dispatch for practitioners of the dark arts ever compiled.

SIMON: Yeah…I’ve had my fair share of witches…do you believe in this stuff?

ARCHIVIST: “The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown” Lovecraft wrote. I would add that it is the light of knowledge shone into the dark, that all is revealed. If we remained fearful of nature’s fire we never would’ve mastered it.

SIMON: I’m surprised no one has scavved this place. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? It’s pristine in here.

ARCHIVIST: Hmm…not entirely. Broken display case. “Ella. Uncertain origin. Stay back, do not approach. Do not remove.”

SIMON: Not to be rude or anything but I’m surprised we’ve never crossed paths before.

ARCHIVIST: Ah! Well, my roots are here, go back generations, but before the Great War I took up a job over in Columbus. Underground document storage, government files, historical ephemera that kind of thing. Decided to play catch up on cataloging one Saturday morning and it’s about the most well-paid overtime I ever had. Took me a good few months to dig out. After that, one year bled into another…but it’s had its good moments.

SIMON: Trying to save all this stuff is…altruistic…I’ve surprised you held on to that considering how long you’ve been out here.

ARCHIVIST: Faith. Everyone has to have it in some form or another. It’s not always in what lies above, sometimes it’s in an ideal, or a cause, science…or even just people. What do you believe in?

SIMON: I…honestly don’t know.

ARCHIVIST: And that right there is the most important question you’ll ever have to answer for yourself. Dark is the soul that is without faith in anything…it’s a road cast in shadow.

SFX: FLAME IN THE DISTANCE.

SFX: LASER RIFLE CHARGE.

ARCHIVIST: Over there. Who is that? Is someone there?

SIMON: We…should go…

ARCHIVIST: What is that? Is this a joke? Well, I’ll be…it’s a jack-o-lantern…up here. Mind the stairs…they are a little cluttered.

SIMON: I’m beginning to think this was a mistake.

ARCHIVIST: Bah. Some raider playing a joke. Looks like an archive up ahead. Jackpot my dear boy! Jackpot! Breath deep. Smell that?

SIMON: Smell what?

ARCHIVIST: Worn leather, delicate papers that crossed oceans on a sun chair, adorned flickering mantels on Christmas Eve’s and stained by generations of teas, coffees, wine and cocoa. It is the vanilla scent of the jackpot.

SFX: EERIE WIND

SIMON: Hello?

ARCHIVIST: Look at this! Here, hold the laser rifle.

SFX: EERIE WHISPER. BOOK FALLS.

SFX: LASER RIFLE FIRE.

SIMON: Ah! Jeez.

ARCHIVIST: Good lord! There’s no one in here. Get a grip kid. I…I don’t believe this. This is an original Dean’s New Book of Dissolving Scenes, 1861…one of the very first forms of a pop-up book. Look…see…you pull the tab and the scenes change. This is remarkable…goodness, goodness…mind you this note here says it was found in the home of a quadruple homicide…but still…

SFX: FOOTSTEPS ECHO AS SIMON FOLLOWS WHISPERING.

SIMON: H…hello?

SFX: FAINT TRAIN WHISTLE. CARNIVAL MUSIC. CABINET RATTLES.

SIMON: What is that?

SFX: FOOTSTEPS.

ARCHIVIST: Simon? What…on earth…

SFX: CABINET RATTLES LOUDER. EERIE WHISPERING.

SIMON: I think someone’s in there…yes…yes I’m here. How did you get in there?

ARCHIVIST: Who are you talking to?

SIMON: Yes, we can. My shadow is gone.

ARCHIVIST: There’s no one there…

SIMON: My shadow is gone. Do you have it? I will. One minute…I’ll get you out. You must be so scared. So lonely…so hungry.

SFX: HANDLE IS SMASHED. CABINET OPENED. GUST OF WIND AND WAILING.

ARCHIVIST: What is that…some kind of gun? No…it has a projection disk on it. Simon? Kid?

SFX: SNAPPING FINGERS.

SIMON: Huh? What happened?

ARCHIVIST: You spaced out there for a moment. You okay?

SIMON: Yeah…I think so. What is this?

ARCHIVIST: I have no idea and that’s saying something. There’s some kind of drum magazine here…but..

SFX: METAL CLICK.

ARCHIVIST: I’ll be…there’s a image plate here! Well…hmm….this is odd. Shine your PipBoy light here for a second. Looks like…a figure and something behind him. The image is odd…it’s like all the frames of something piled one on top of the other.

SIMON: Some kind of early movie camera?

ARCHIVIST: Maybe…I’ve just never seen anything this anachronistic before.

SIMON: Hey there’s a journal here.

ARCHIVIST: Come on, there’s a fireplace back in the archive. What say we make a comfy fire and setup CAMP here for the night so we can poke through all this at our leisure. I might be able to rig a projector for this thing and we can see what it is. We can have a chin wag and I can cook up some of my legendary molerat and beans.

SCENE 7: EXT. OVERSEER’S HOUSE. DAY.

SFX: HAMMERING NOISES.

VINCE: There. Peace be to you, and peace be to your house, and peace be to all that you have. (Chuckles) Yeah right.

SFX: DOOR OPENS IN DISTANCE. FOOTSTEPS ON DECKING.

OVERSEER: …about done unpacking. Shall we start dinner? Vince? Where are you? A barnstar? Really?

VINCE: Come on now…it’s a tradition and with what we’ve been through a little bit of luck would do us good.

OVERSEER: (Smirking) Luck huh? Remind me what your Luck rating is?

VINCE: Oh ha ha. You keep flashing that Lucky 7 you got in my face. Come here…

OVERSEER: (Laughing) No! Stop it, Vince! (Laughing) Cut it out! I’m supposed to be the serious one…

VINCE: Oh yes Overseer…oh yes Ma’am…right away Ma’am…

OVERSEER: Come on Mr. Security Chief…I’m starving…now get in there before I write you up.

VINCE: Wait! One last thing…

OVERSEER: What?

VINCE: Close your eyes…right this way…

OVERSEER: What is it?

VINCE: Just…trust me…mind the stairs now. Right…there…no peeking now!

SFX: ELECTRICAL SPARK.

VINCE: Okay, have a look!

OVERSEER: (Annoyed) Halloween decorations?

VINCE: And just about the flashiest Vault 76 jack-o-lantern you ever did see. Carved it myself.

OVERSEER: We’ve been through this already I just don’t like Halloween, okay.

VINCE: Why not? Remember what it was like back in the Vault? You didn’t seem to have a problem with it then. The trick or treating…the apple bobbing.

OVERSEER: That was different…it was for THEM…not me. Just because I can’t stand a holiday doesn’t mean I was going to deny it to those kids. Even then it was a damned nightmare. Remember the Ghoul Ball of 2097 when our buried dead rose from their graves because of that chemical spill? Or the Vampire Masquerade of 2089? Everyone went cannibal because of that tainted CRAM. Complete disasters that cost us lives.

VINCE: We got through it…it was two Halloweens out of decades of us all being together. So, what’s this really about?

OVERSEER: I don’t want to talk about it.

VINCE: You never do! Look if we’re going to make this work, you need to let me in. Your work is done…you raised them; you did what you could…let all that go.

OVERSEER: I can’t…I wish it were that simple. If we hadn’t lost level 13, everything that’s happened since Reclamation Day…it would’ve all been different…it would’ve been right. They would’ve had leaders out here. It would’ve made all the difference.

VINCE: (Sighs) Well we did and that’s just the way it goes. You want to make a difference? Stop hiding from them and bring them back together. It’s Halloween for Christ’s sake. Get on that HAM radio and tell them to swing by the house. I’m not taking these down…so deal with it. Tonight, we’re going to have a great dinner…I’ll cook…and then together, tomorrow, you and me are going to hand out candy to 20 year olds and possibly some little ghouls. Okay?

OVERSEER: (Sighs) Fine.

VINCE: Now! Soup time…perfect for a brisk autumn day…

SFX: METAL STAIRS.

VINCE: Well I’ll be damned! Chad Johnson…how are you kid?

CHAD: I need help.

OVERSEER: The world must be ending.

CHAD: I don’t have time for chit chat here, I’m against the clock.

VINCE: What’s the problem?

CHAD: It’s….my kid…

OVERSEER: Your what?

CHAD: Susie…she’s sick. Doc Martin can’t do fuck all for her…she’s turning feral. We’re going to try a blood dump from me into her, my blood is compatible…but we need…

OVERSEER: A Vault-Tec MedInfusion Unit. Did you try the AVR Medical Center?

CHAD: Yeah, I snagged that one already, but it got broken…he said the only other one he knew of…

VINCE: …is back in the Vault. Medical wing had one…should still be there. Place is sealed up tighter than a drum.

CHAD: I need to get in.

OVERSEER: You can’t. It’s sealed. Life support in there is long since shutdown…everything had a kill switch set to Reclamation Day.

CHAD: Yeah…real helpful. Don’t care. I need to get in there.

VINCE: There…isn’t one. It’s a one-way exit.

OVERSEER: That’s…not entirely true.

VINCE: What?

OVERSEER: The #3 outflow pipe runs parallel to the Hydroponics Lab, the wall there had a purposeful structural flaw…walls were left thin on purpose. One grenade would do it.

VINCE: What? Why didn’t you say anything? When everything went to hell we could’ve used armory access.

OVERSEER: There’s no life support in there Vince. I…I didn’t want to risk you.

CHAD: That’s perfect. I’m loaded up with enough explosives to do the job…

VINCE: Got some hazmat suits in the garage and some 02 tanks…should be able to cobble together some gear. That is if…

OVERSEER: It’s fine. Go. Help him.

VINCE: You sure? You be okay by yourself?

OVERSEER: Of course…I’ll….get on the horn and tell everyone to take a night off from recreational nuke drops, workshop murder bingo and running from hordes to put on a costume and head out for trick or treating tomorrow night. You two should be back by then.

CHAD: Thanks dude…appreciate this. I’ll owe you one.

VINCE: Don’t mention it kid, come on, garage is back here.

OVERSEER: Chad Johnson…a father…now I have seen everything.

SFX: THUNDER RUMBLES.

OVERSEER: Sky getting dark…looks like we’re in for quite a storm.

SCENE 8: ROADWAY. BERKELY SPRINGS. DAY.

SFX: CRUNCHING GRAVEL.

SLICK WILLY: Heathen demons, shades, ghouls and beasts from beyond. Ol’ Willy knew they’d be back! Why they got their teeth plum stuck right in Appalachia and all its miseries. Well Ol’ Willy remembered. He remembered them…they want the righteous cleansing lighting that chases back down below? Well they’re going to get it! They’ll get a kiss of old Tesla!

SFX: THUNDER IN DISTANCE. LEAVES STIR.

SLICK WILLY: Storm’s a comin….no…not a storm…there’s somethin’ foul in the air…like a carcass in the road, milky eyed and cooked in the sun…last year’s pumpkins long decayed…of festering graves and the dank swamps without a bottom…

SFX: WIND WHIPS UP. LEAVES BLOWING AROUND

SLICK WILLY: YOU WON’T GET OL’ WILLY YOU CRAZY WITCH!

SFX: ANGRY MOAN ON THE WIND. LEAVES SWIRL AROUND.

SLICK WILLY: Keep your wits Willy…ow! These leaves….they’re sharp….no! I’m…I’m bleeding…you keep your black magics away from me you old bitch!

SFX: TESLA DISCHARGES.

SFX: RUNNING. LEAVES SLICE AND CUT.

SLICK WILLY: Ouch! Damn it woman! Blood…need to find shelter…where’d the sun go?

SFX: EVIL LAUGHTER AND VOICES. WIND ACCELERATES.

SLICK WILLY: Train station! Watch Ol’ Willy salt the door! Hooooo Wheeee!

SFX: DOOR OPENS. SALT POURED. WIND FALLS AWAY. DOOR SLAMMED.

SLICK WILLY: (Panting) There! Let’s see you get passed that you Dusty Demon from Hell!

SFX: HEAVY LABORED BREATHING.

SLICK WILLY: Who’s there! You best git! Vamoose! Or taste a kiss of my lightnin’!