Dead Still (2020) s01e04 Episode Script

1
(gentle music)
- Suicide, it appears,
but the bodies were posed
in the exact same position.
- Picture of a
fella lookin' like
he'd been tortured
for the camera,
wrists slit, then snuffed out.
- You took a photograph
from that album,
had a little private showing.
- The fake photographs you stole
from that party you
were not invited to.
- Charney.
The Communist punks.
- Nancy, I see that
you've met Percy.
- [Percy] Nancy.
Lovely name.
- Well, the girls 'round here
don't really dress like that.
- It's a disguise.
- [Frederick] Murdered
in front o' the camera.
But how could an
animal such as this
know his way around a camera?
- [Brock] I just
can't fathom it.
- Something happened
here, didn't it?
- I trusted something
I shouldn't have.
- Ye didn't see
that train comin',
but I did.
(drum pounds)
(carriages rolling)
(birds chirping)
(ominous music)
(men shouting faintly)
(metal door opening)
(man clears throat)
- Fred.
The lad should've been
checked thoroughly
for concealed weapons.
- He was, but
- So are you responsible
for the poor job,
or was it Farrelly?
- It was me.
- You should know better.
- Alright, but look.
Charney was found in
an identical position
as the two suicides
that I'd mentioned
in my report.
- There's only so many
ways you can kill yourself.
(sighs)
- And nobody on duty saw
anything strange last night?
- Nothing in the report,
except for a Communist
dying in our custody,
and seeing as it was a Communist
who didn't need to
be in our custody,
we could have had a much
quieter report, couldn't we?
- Look.
It's the photograph we
found on him last night.
Looks like McKlein, doesn't it?
Suicide, I mean,
or so we thought.
I believe he was brutally
tortured, photographed,
and then killed.
- Come on, Fred, this
is just parlor tricks.
- No, but look at the wounds.
They're consistent with
the other suicides.
- What's this?
Black rose.
Was that on McKlein
when you found him?
- Huh?
- [Man Outside] Any
chance of a smoke, Mary?
- Oh, Jesus.
I'm not sure.
(clears throat)
- McKlein was in debt.
The whole town knew that.
And this Charney was a desperate
character by all accounts.
- Think I'm onto something here.
(sighs)
- You are getting young
lads like Farrelly excited
with this talk of big cases.
- Big cases grow
out of small talk.
- Look, Freddy, me boy,
you're only in G
Division a few months,
and you want a big case.
Your name in the Times,
rising up the ranks.
I get it.
But this is not the boglands.
This is Dublin, heart
of the British empire.
How many changelings and pookas
do you see roaming the streets?
Leave that old banter
to the Fenians.
We deal in facts.
Proof.
- If I can prove this is real,
will you have a word with Mallon
about putting me on the case?
- Come on, Fred.
We have Republican agitators
getting bold as brass,
and here you are
chasing a few wastrels
doing cheap photo tricks.
You don't want the boys laughing
at you anymore, do you?
- Who's laughing at me?
- Wasn't laughing at ye.
- Look, um
Just stick to your
corner, Freddy.
Good man.
- Stick me corner up your hole.
(mysterious music)
(camera shutter clicking)
(eerie music)
- There.
Are you happy now?
(footsteps)
(mischievous music)
- Brock.
- Hmm?
- I warned you not
to touch Mother.
- Could you not, for once?
- Well.
Thought she looked much happier.
(whimsical music)
(carriage clattering)
- Whoa, stand.
Stand down.
(horses snuffling)
- Oh.
Thanks, Carruthers.
- Oh, I'm just keeping up
appearances, young man.
Lucky enough for you.
- Aw, Jesus, will
you just come on?
We're from the same
part of Dublin.
Why you always being
so sore wi' me?
Should we just--
Should we just go for
a pint one evening?
(door slams)
- [Conall] Nancy.
It's lovely to see you.
- I'm sorry for your
troubles, Miss Nancy.
- Thank you, Carruthers.
- Me, too, I'm very sorry
for the loss of
your grandmother.
- Thank you, Molloy.
She'd been mostly
miserable, so in a way,
it's a relief.
I need to warn you, though.
Our family can be trying.
Uncle, you already know,
and well, the others
made him like that.
- Who's this divil at all?
- This is Mr. Molloy,
assistant to--
- Ah.
The gravedigger.
- No, he's not a gravedigger.
- This is the gravedigger.
- I'm Conall Molloy,
assistant to Mr. Blennerhasset.
Please accept me deepest
sympathies on your loss.
- My brother says
you're competent,
but Brock is a terrible
judge of character.
Can we please get
this over with?
I can't bear to see
Mother looking so alive.
(whimsical music)
- Alright, in you go.
Wipe your shoes, now.
(footsteps echoing)
- I'm sorry for your loss, sir.
- I thank you for
coming, Molloy.
You did owe me a favor.
- I'm honored you asked.
(suspenseful music)
(clears throat)
- Uh, Conall?
- Yeah?
- Half an inch to the right.
- To my right?
No, to your right.
- Always photography's right.
- Course.
(clears throat)
- What odd corner of Dublin
did you pull this one from?
- Mother, please.
- A grave, he was literally
pulled from a grave.
- Imagine.
Digging holes for
corpses for a living.
- Uncle Morris,
can you please-- ?
- One step below taking
photographs of them.
(box clatters)
(clicks tongue)
(sighs)
- Apologies.
- Take your time.
Grandmother isn't
going anywhere.
- Maybe he should dig her
grave while we have him.
- Uncle, I must say, the
memorial photography business
must be in bad shape
if this is who you have
working for you.
- He's doing a job, Henry.
More than you've
ever done in your--
- Your last young
assistant was much better.
What was his name?
John?
He was very charming.
- I don't remember
any old assistant.
- Oh, this was years ago.
The fellow disappeared in
the end, didn't he, brother?
Remember, that friend of
yours who disappeared?
- He wasn't my friend.
- He was your assistant.
- My assistants
are not my friends.
- You don't have
any friends, Brock.
Never had.
- Sacrificed everything
for photography.
- Now it seems any old
gravedigger can use a camera.
- Ah, will you just be quiet?
Please.
I'm ready.
So just don't move.
Especially your mouths.
(wood scraping)
(wood scraping)
Thank you.
(footsteps echoing)
- [Brock] Uh, Molloy?
- Yes, sir?
- That was
That was quite
commendable, you know,
particularly under
the circumstances.
- Thanks very much, sir.
- Carruthers.
Pack Molloy's stuff.
Look, I'm going to
have to stay here
with these people until
after the funeral.
So take tomorrow off.
With pay.
- Thank you very much, sir.
- And invest in some new
art materials, Molloy.
You need them.
- Thank you very much, sir.
- No.
Thank you.
- I can stick up a
bloody camera stand,
but can you do my job?
No chance.
- Yeah, it must be so hard,
sitting on your hole on
top of a horse all day.
I'd say your back
is broken, is it?
(people faintly conversing)
- [Betty] You'd have
to be a real lunatic
to fake a photo like
that, or make one.
- I know, yeah.
Glendinning thinks I'm
away with the fairies.
- That's sloppy now,
pure schoolboy error.
How did you miss
that rose at all, eh?
- Look, it's hard to
make out, isn't it?
It's like, thick
and black on black.
- Bit queer of him
to be wearing it, no?
Is that not the flower you give
when someone has already died?
- Or lost love.
- That's not consistent
with the body you found.
Sure anyone would doubt it.
Did you butter my bread?
- Aren't you lucky
to have someone
to butter your bread for you?
- Oh, I am, and the miserly
amount of butter on it.
And the coroner
didn't find anything?
- No.
Down to Marlborough
Street and Ossie said
that there's was nothin'
all for Charney's debt,
and he was
killed himself in the
cell and that was that.
- See, Fred, if you're saying
he didn't kill
himself in the cell,
then you're saying someone
killed him in the cell,
in Dublin Castle.
Inside Dublin Castle.
- I know, girl, I know.
It's ridiculous.
To go to that effort
for a tourist.
- Well, find out what he
was at on this holiday,
because if you're right,
he must have done something
to piss off the wrong people.
- What if I'm wrong?
- If you're wrong, then
you're the loud cark fella
going around Dublin Castle
shouting about murder plots
with no evidence to show for it.
(metal creaking)
(ominous music)
(someone knocking)
- Mr. Molloy.
How are you?
- What can I do
for you, Detective?
- Well, we took the camera
that you, uh, borrowed
off Mr. Blennerhasset,
and we were dismayed
to find that all the
plates were missing.
- Just isn't fortunate.
- Yeah.
Then I met your pal
Matty Talbot, and, uh,
he was flashing your
dirty photographs
from down in Watling Street.
He said they were
doing the rounds.
So someone must've got
'em developed, I'd say.
- Yeah.
D'you think?
- Yeah.
After getting a handy
little job there now,
you probably shouldn't
want to do anything
to jeopardize that.
- Yeah, well, I won't be.
- Maybe I'll ignore
these photographs,
and maybe you will
do something for me
as a favor, like a good man.
- Ah, you're blackmailing me.
- You'd know if I was.
- What are you doing here?
You're trying to coerce me
into informing you, is that it?
- You do those?
- Yeah, I did.
- Very good.
You've an interest in
photography, so do I.
Maybe we could work together.
That's all I'm saying.
- Well.
Well, I'll help you where I can.
- Right.
Now, this little photograph
that I'm after findin',
if you find anything
of the sort like that,
you let me know, 'cause
the man I found it on?
Dead before I questioned him.
- That's a pity.
I'll keep an eye out.
(door creaks)
(ominous music)
- (stutters) Now,
while I have ye,
do you know the significance
of a black rose?
Is it some sort of
photographic prop?
- I've never seen one.
- Yeah.
Haven't seen one
myself much, either.
Good luck.
(door creaks)
(suspenseful music)
- [Nancy] Carruthers
is here, Uncle.
- [Brock] Let's just
get home, Nancy.
- [Abigail] She's
not going with you.
- You sent her to
me, did you not?
- And now your convalescence
is nearly complete,
Nancy can return here and
take care of the family home,
like her grandmother wanted.
- Very well.
If she wants to.
- I want to stay with Uncle.
- The Uncle who has
ignored you for years.
How weak of you, Nancy.
- I find that I'm happier
living in town than I am here.
- Oh.
You became very independent
all of a sudden, did you?
I'm sure you'll be so
responsible about it,
like your brother has been.
- Henry and I are not the same.
- No.
You're far less charming.
- Hmm.
Maybe you've had an
influence on her after all.
- I suppose, Nancy,
you won't need your
allowance anymore.
- Mother.
That's not fair.
I worked hard for that.
I minded Grandmother
for the longest time.
- It's alright, sister.
You keep it.
It's about time I started
paying her a proper wage anyway.
- Nancy?
Nancy.
You'll come crawling back,
just like your uncle did!
(carriages clattering)
(pen scratching)
(man shouting outside)
- [Farrelly] You
wanted me, boss?
(sighs)
- You bad bastard, you.
- Jesus, you're fierce jumpy.
- Don't sneak up
on me, Farrelly.
I get immersed in
my work, you know?
A mad notion around
here, I know.
- Here's something for you.
There's a Yank in town.
Photograph collector
of some sort.
Seems to be an associate
of Louis Cannon.
- Collector?
That's a queer one.
- Poor landlords gettin' stuck
with pitchforks up
and down the country,
and there's the two o'
you like headless chickens
over some fake photographs.
Grand to have nothin'
to do, isn't it boys?
- Farrelly, quicker you
become a G-Man the better.
- Working on that, boss.
(ominous music)
- Hmm.
Ah, beautiful.
You stole this
when we were there?
- Well, it was just lying about.
- There are some
photographs missing.
- The late Mr. Charney
ripped them out.
Quite unfortunate.
- The fool was a
goddamn liability.
Alright, Henry, I'll buy it.
Hell of an addition
to my collection.
- Delighted to have it off
my hands, to be honest.
I'd rather focus on a more
genteel sort of photograph.
Riding, or bit of tit,
saucy old crack, you know?
Ghost photography
like we were saying.
- Mr. Whacker, do you know
who the photographer is?
- I do not, but I know
it was commissioned
by those people whose
hospitality Henry
had kindly took advantage of.
- You don't think those
photographs are real, do you?
- Oh, I would be inclined
to think so, yes.
(man mumbling)
(customers conversing)
(door creaks)
- Now I thought you
were barred from here.
- I think my disguise
was a lot better
than people give it credit for.
- Your brother asked
me to meet him here.
- Oh, yes, he's holding
court in the corner there.
He's absolutely too much.
I can't deal with it, so
we're going somewhere else.
- Sorry, Nancy.
I saw the bastard on the
other side of the counter,
went after him
out the side exit,
and you'll never guess.
- This pub has three
different exits
onto three different streets.
- Yes!
Three different exits on
three different streets.
It's madness, isn't it?
Hello. Percy Cummins,
lovely to meet you.
- Percy, this is Conall Molloy.
- Oh, you must be Mr. Molloy.
- Yes, I just said that.
- Yeah, Conall Molloy, yeah.
That's it, that's me.
- Ah.
Not getting this one
into trouble, eh?
Heard you got yourself holed up
in a whorehouse for the night.
No harm, says you.
- No, listen, I was there
for professional reasons.
It was a commission, as it were.
- [Percy] Right.
- Under duress, I must add.
- Well, you've got quite the eye
for naked forms, I must say.
Like myself.
- Percy's a sculptor.
- I'm a sculptor.
- He likes a nude.
- Who doesn't?
Decent money to be
made in nude sculpting,
but I'd say you made a small
fortune off those pictures,
did you Molloy?
- Uh, no, no, not really, no.
- I would say people'd
be less inclined
to buy them when they've
seen them for free,
like we did.
- Sorry, you've seen them?
- Oh, we saw the full spread.
- Did you?
- Yes.
That's why we're leaving.
Henry won't stop flashing
the bloody things around.
It's just too much.
- Augh. (vocalizes)
- Molloy, you bloody filth
merchant, get over here.
We've things to be doing.
Come on, hup!
Come on, now!
- Best of luck.
You'll need it.
(door creaks)
- Gentlemen, this is Molloy.
He used to be a gravedigger.
Molloy, this here's
Bushrod Whacker,
purveyor of exotic
photographs, as it so happens.
Did some great service in the
American Civil War, you know.
Dread to think how many men
the old bastard has killed.
- Me, too.
(chuckles)
- And this here is Louis Cannon.
He's going to be a big name
in the print business,
mark my words.
Gentlemen.
Louis, Molloy is one
hell of a photographer.
- If he's a hell
of a photographer
how come we didn't hire him?
- Well, I hadn't seen
his work at the time.
I cannot wait to see the
job he did on old Granny.
You should've seen
her propped up there.
She looked bloody
radiant, the old hag.
Look.
Look at the looks
on their faces.
I mean, marvel.
They look so bloody aroused,
and arousing, let me tell you.
Molloy, when you
were out at the house
you should've mentioned you did
this manner of lusty picture.
- Yeah, well, it might've
been inappropriate,
on the account of
your dead grandmother.
- You took these?
- Yeah.
But it was Mr.
Blennerhasset who--
who aroused engagement in the--
- Shut up and take a
credit, dirty little devil.
- I have never seen intercourse
photographed so beautifully.
- Well, thanks very much.
I mean, it was me first
time, uh, photographing.
Intercourse, that is.
- Molloy, a man of your
skill shouldn't resort
to taking photographs of
corpses with my eccentric uncle.
There is money to be made
in pictures people
actually want to see,
and Louis--
Louis.
Louis.
- Hmm?
- Louis, you can get them
out there, can't you?
- Well, I make
specialist publications.
It's a small operation,
but there is an appetite
for the strange and
bizarre in photography, eh?
'Scuse me.
- If you can get
the right collection
of photographs together,
there's a fortune to be made.
- Whacker here brought
us three to a party
up at the Wicklow
Mountains not too long ago.
Some sort of secret society.
Shouldn't have been there.
- No, and we're not s'posed
to talk about it
either, so let's not.
- Ah, we were not the
most sober trespassers,
it has to be said, eh? (laughs)
- Mighty nice, mighty.
Scenes of debauched,
wildness debauched.
Anyway, I stole this mad,
mad photograph album--
- Shut up about the
photo album, man.
Hey, why don't you both shut up?
(foreboding music)
- Molloy, Whacker was
saying there's big money
in ghost photography in America.
And Cannon's wife, poor
Jocelyn, died last month.
Fell down the stairs, she did.
(murmurs)
- It is like I can still feel
her presence in the house.
- I actually know what
you mean, Mr. Cannon.
- I thought it might
be a good opportunity
to capture some
manner of apparition.
- I'll capture it.
The photograph, I mean.
Spirit photography's an
area I'm very interested in.
I'm not a cynic, you know?
I think there are
spirits among us.
I can't guarantee that I'll
capture something, but
Do me best.
- Let's see what
Mr. Molloy can do.
- Mighty.
- I'll make some cancellations.
- Jeez, thanks very much.
- Well, have a drink.
Molloy, drink.
Come on, now.
- Thanks very much, gentlemen.
- Slainte.
- Slainte.
- [Conall] Slainte.
- Thank you, thank you, lovely.
- And, uh, how're you planning
on conjuring the ghost?
- Son, how do you think?
They've organized a
seance in Cannon's house.
She'll do the job.
- Well, her name's Eva Lambert.
Look, I think-- I
think she's a medium.
It says, uh, like,
it says, "spirit--
"spiritual seance" on a--
- Molloy.
Let me.
Eva Lambert, or the Ghost
Queen as she likes to be known.
A very well-known
medium, notorious even.
In theatrical circles she's
very carefully studied.
- Yeah, but that's only,
that's only because
they want to see, like,
if she makes it up.
- That's it: it doesn't
look like she does.
People emerge from her
seances thoroughly distressed.
- Henry has very strange
interests, doesn't he?
- Do you want that comment
to pass unremarked on?
- Back to your
proposition, Molloy.
- I know
that spirit photography, it's
a bit more sensationalistic
than your style.
So I thought I might
undertake the shoot by myself.
And I could do
with the money, so.
- Well, spirit
photography is merely
the double-exposure technique.
It's just the work
of charlatans.
- What if you capture
something real?
You're not being a charlatan.
- Tell me, Molloy, why
are you so desperate
to believe in ghosts?
- I think there's something
quite comforting about the idea.
You know? Just that they're
still here, minding us.
- I am not passing
up the opportunity
to go to a seance.
- Very well, Molloy,
you've got the job.
You can use one
of my old cameras.
- [Conall] Oh, thank you, sir.
- And I think I'll come along
with you, if you don't mind.
- Really?
I didn't think it'd be
your kind of thing, Uncle.
- It'll stop me looping
around these four walls.
- That's the spirit.
(Conall snorts)
We should take bets
on how she does it.
(ominous music)
(carriage clattering)
(Nancy knocking)
(Brock sighs)
(door creaking)
- You are here for my
sister's gathering.
- Yes, we are.
Mr. Cannon extended
the invitation to us.
(whispers) I'm very excited.
- What is this?
- Did Henry not mention that
we were bringing a camera?
- No.
He did not.
- They want to capture it--
- Spirits do not
like being captured.
Enter.
- (whispers) Very ominous.
I like it.
(door creaks)
(door slams)
(door creaks)
- Ah.
Welcome to my home.
Please.
- Uncle Brock.
Here to have a chat with
dead Granny, I presume?
- Pleased to meet you.
- I'm here, Henry, out
of simple curiosity.
- Brock Blennerhasset?
I own two of your originals.
Most beautiful,
haunting tintypes.
- How did you come upon those?
- There are ways, my friend.
Families don't
wanna mourn forever.
Bushrod Whacker.
Pleasure to meet you, sir.
- And you, I'm sure.
- Please, let's start.
- You did not tell me
that you'd be taking
photographs, Mr. Cannon.
- Think of the publicity
for you and your sister
if we get this in print, hmm?
- Mount your apparatus quickly.
- Molloy's going to
do a bloody good job.
He's very versatile.
People riding, people being
dead, people as ghosts.
You do it all, don't you Molloy?
- Uh, yeah, do-- do
me best, Mr. Vickers.
- And Uncle here
didn't even want you
to take the photographs
of poor, dead Granny.
Nancy had to talk him into it.
- Henry, shut up.
- Now it's time for the bloody
Dublin Photographic
Society you did.
- Henry, shut up!
- I'm telling the
truth, aren't I?
Tell me if I'm lying, Brock.
- Quiet!
The Ghost Queen is
ready to meet you.
(curtains rattle)
(eerie music)
(laughs)
- Oh, no I don't, I
don't drink on the job.
- Do not insult the dead.
- To the dead, to
welcome them here.
- [All] To the dead.
- The spirits are ready,
but they won't wait
around all night.
Now,
hold hands.
- Do we really need to hold--
- Hold hands.
(The Ghost Queen
breathes heavily)
(gasps)
(exhales sharply)
The dead are here.
- They were quick, weren't they?
(voices whispering)
- There is-- there is--
A Jocelyn is speaking to me.
- That is my wife.
My late wife.
- She is speaking
to me of a fall.
- Yes, she died in a fall.
- She says she was
pushed down the stairs
in this house.
- No, it was an accident.
I was in a different
county at the time.
- We'll need evidence,
I'm afraid, Jocelyn.
Hard evidence.
- Goddamn right
about hard evidence.
I don't give a shit about
Cannon's murdered wife,
'less I can see her.
- She wasn't murdered,
at least not by me.
- Jocelyn, I hear your cries.
Show yourself to us.
(Nancy shrieks)
- [Bushrod] What the hell?
- I hear another voice.
There's someone who
wants to talk to you.
- Who wants to talk to me?
- Someone you loved and lost.
- It must be Grandmother.
- Love, that's pretty strange.
(gasps)
- Hello.
It's me.
I'm still here.
(whispering voices intensify)
- Who?
- Your assistant.
- Yes, but, my assistant
and then, what else?
- The voice is fading.
No.
No.
Your assistant--
- Is he-- is he really dead?
- Um, I'm right here, sir.
- No, someone wants to talk
to your assistant over there.
(The Ghost Queen gasps)
(whimpers)
- Conall.
I can talk to you again.
I can sing to you
like I used to.
She is far from the night
Where her young hero sleeps
And lovers around
her are sighing
Oh, coldly she turns
from their gaze and weeps
For her heart, in
his grave is lying
- (whispers) Jesus.
- Keep it together, man.
- Yeah, sorry.
(table rattles)
(participants exclaiming)
(Nancy shrieks)
(chair clattering)
- I was pushed, by
some ghostly force.
It's workin'.
- Right, be quiet,
I want to see.
- I didn't come here for
shitty old Irish songs.
I wanna see something real.
(Conall shushes)
- Give her a chance,
lads, give her a chance!
- Stop talking, everyone!
- Your negative energy
has attracted bad spirits,
come to torment you.
- Nancy, I-- I'm not
feeling too good.
I think we should leave.
(wings fluttering)
- There is a bat, a
giant bat, on the wall!
(Louis breathing heavily)
Does anyone else see the bat?
- Nancy, we shouldn't
have taken this job.
Molloy shouldn't
have taken this job.
- God, you look demented.
Are you okay?
(mumbles)
Wait!
I think I see the bat!
- Why is everybody seeing bats?
- Who knows what forms
our own demons take?
- Well, maybe everyone
should just calm down
until this thing passes,
whatever this silliness is.
- Alvin (mumbles).
Anyone else see 'im?
He's standing in the corner.
I shot that bastard
dead over a card game,
Charleston back in '70.
You don't look
too happy with me.
(breathing raggedly)
- Nancy!
This is your grandmother.
You are free to do
what you want to do.
- That doesn't sound
like Grandmother.
(gasps)
- No, Grandmother can't be here.
I sang at her funeral.
Oh no, wait, Grandmother's
ghost is here.
Oh, yes.
This is awful different
all the same, isn't it?
- We have connected with
the spiritual world.
Embrace it!
- Good Lord!
There's more of 'em.
The men I killed, come to
take their vengeance on me
while I'm in a wild
and unfamiliar land.
(dog barking)
- Does that dog live here?
- Just stay calm!
- Alvin!
I only put you in the ground
on account of you cheated me!
(barking)
Had it come it, you
shit-sucking rider!
Get back!
(gun cocks)
Make this stop, you witch!
(gunshot sounding)
(Nancy screaming)
- Oh, he's got a gun!
(barking)
(women shrieking)
I told you, check them all out!
- I didn't put my hand
down his trousers, did I?
- A bleedin' camera?
- They dropped their ammo!
(men scuffling)
(grunts)
(Henry barking)
(eerie music)
- They're frauds, Molloy!
Look!
(Henry barking)
- That was the
third photographer
that tried to catch
us out this year.
- It's the worst
bleedin' invention goin'.
- That was a strong dose, Aline.
- Well, they can't say they
didn't get their money's worth.
(footsteps echoing)
(breathing heavily)
(cymbals crash)
- You!
You!
Nancy, I saw--
I saw him!
- Saw who?
- Vaudry! I saw him.
(gunshots banging)
He's not dead.
- Go, before we're shot!
- Aren't you delighted we came?
- Not really, no.
- We must go, we
must go, we must go!
I fear Bushrod's going to
shoot every last buck of us.
- I never got a
photograph of the spirit!
- Well, you're not bloody
going to get it now, are you?
- Who's shootin' up
the bleedin' place?
- Carruthers!
Bring us home, right away!
(gunshot bangs)
- Where's my goddamn album?
(eerie music)
Where's my album?
Come back, you thieves!
- [Shadowy Figure]
(whispers) Thieves, you say?
(chilling music)
One of you took their album.
- I didn't.
- [Shadowy Figure] Who did?
- It's you, isn't it?
- It is.
- Well, can I just say,
sir, that I love your work?
(Shadowy figure yells)
(grunts)
(gun clicks)
(breathing heavily)
- Oh, hello.
You, uh, you saw the
Yes.
So strange.
All the things you can see
in front of your eyes, eh?
(speaks foreign language)
(blade scraping)
(sighs)
(speaking foreign language)
(carriage clattering)
(playful music)
(Conall whispering)
- Push over there, you.
- I just (mumbles).
- Give over, will you?
- I can see so many different
colors in front of my face.
Can you see that?
- No, like I can
see-- I can see two--
I can see two-- everyone's
got two or three faces.
- I can't stand listen to this.
When do we get to
your house, Uncle?
- Oh, no, no, no, Henry.
You're not coming to
stay at my house, no.
(door creaks)
(breathing heavily)
- He was there, he, he seen me.
- Yes, very good,
sir, very good, yeah.
Now, that's enough
excitement for one night.
A good, sweet cup o' tea
now and you'll be grand.
- Tea, tea!
Yes.
I'd love some tea,
thank you Carruthers.
- Then go make it yourself.
Will be back tomorrow
to check on youse.
See if you're all still alive.
- Bye-bye, Carruthers.
Thanks for getting
us home safely.
- Jesus, give me patience.
- He's such a good
man, d'you know that?
- I need-- I need
to get to my study.
Take me to my study!
(Nancy grunts)
(door creaks)
(Brock groans)
- I saw him, Nancy.
I saw him.
- [Nancy] Who?
- Vaudry, Vaudry was there.
- Who (grunts) is Vaudry?
- He's my, my old
my old assistant.
- And he's dead.
You've seen a dead person.
Have we been scared witless?
Is that what's going on here?
- Ah, that's how she does
it, the crafty bitch.
She's poisoned us
with some manner
of mind-altering concoction.
That's what I said.
I win the bet.
- You're not dead, Vaudry.
You're not dead.
- Poor Uncle.
I hope he had a good night.
Because, I tell you this:
I had a bloody great time.
- That's it.
I'm gonna die walkin' home.
I'm gonna go wanderin'
for miles and miles
and end up face
down in the Dodder,
seein' moving statues and
all kinds of weird shite.
- No, no, stay here, Molloy.
You're in no fit state
to be out in the street,
you poor boy.
(calm music)
- I can't, me mother and me
sister would be worried, and
That feels good, doesn't it.
- You're a very pleasant man.
Do you know that?
- But you've got a
fella, don't you?
That Percy chap, he's, he
seems very dodgy, but
Alright.
- A mildly diverting
distraction.
And you?
Why must you always
be so nervous?
- I think you may have caught
my heart off guard, Nancy.
(dramatic music)
- What?
Can you see those faces?
- Yeah.
(carriage clattering)
(eerie music)
(door creaking)
(match hissing)
- Her employer
sent you this, sir.
I'm not too happy that
we haven't found it yet.
- [Dark Figure] We will.
- We weren't as
discreet this evening
as we previously have been.
What I'm saying, sir, is
we need to be careful.
- [Dark Figure] Get out.
(flame whooshing)
(water trickling)
(mischievous music)