Script: The Reading

Three people in somber clothing sit in front of a dark wooden desk. They're in the library of an old house. Outside, rain batters the window and thunder rumbles in the night. A typical summer really.

Robert Schmidt-Easton: Thank you for attending the reading of the will for the late Professor Emilius Elwood.

Derek Foxton: Ah, dear Professor Emily, bless him.

Janet Heinz: He passed quickly – beautifully, even. His death wasn’t unexpected either.

Derek: He did love to toy with forces beyond mortal ken.

Robert: Umm. There’s no mention of a Ken in the will. Are we waiting for another party?

Janet: No. It’s all fine. Please carry on.

Robert: Ahem. Yes. Where was I? In accordance with the powers vested in me, through Miskatonic Property Development, I follow the instructions laid out by Emilius in his last will and testament.

Outside the rain creases and the thunder halts. It as if the storm is holding its breath. A nearby clock starts to chime midnight.

Robert: “I, Emilius Elwood, of sound mind and body, leave Casterton House and all materials within and under, to be divided equally to the following. Doctor Janet Heinz for her friendship, kindness, and expertise. She has helped me so much. To my student, and hopefully now graduated colleague, Derek Foxton: I bequeath the remaining fifty percent of said property. Thank you Derek for your help, kindness, and deleting my laptop search history.”

Janet (touching Derek’s arm gently): There are such things that cannot be unseen.

Derek: Indeed so, Doctor, indeed so. I’ve never seen a man of his age do such a high kick…. and backwards, in heels.

Janet: Is there any more to the will?

Robert: Let me see the rear of the page… Ah, yes. It says…

Janet and Derek: Yes?

Robert: “So long, and thanks to all the fishmen.” Is that a typo?

Janet: No. I believe Emilius had many good friends down in Innsmouth.

Outside, the thunder crashes. Lightning flashes, illuminating the shadowy places of the library.

Derek: Righto. Is that it? Do we, uh, need to sign anything?

Robert: Yes, just these two pieces of paper. Both where your names are.

Janet: That’s it? That was surprisingly easy. There, signed as well.

Robert: There is one small matter….

Janet: Go on.

Robert: Well, there’s been reports, by some of the locals, that’s… Well, there’s been, observations. Possibly, a haunting.

Derek: Ah, the story of Old Man Jenkins and his wicked familiar, Foul Spot.

Robert: Such alarmist nonsense, but I hear it is always best to be careful. I’ve heard he walks these very halls.

Janet: I hope so.

Robert: Pardon? He’s supposed to be the fell sorcerer that bargained with Slishubtsguaragh –

Derek: Bless you.

Janet: Not a sneeze. The Hidden One of Unknowns and Gatekeeper to the Elder Realm.

Derek: Hang on. How can someone be the hidden one of the unknowns? I mean, how do you hide something you don’t know? This is very confusing.

Janet: That’s not important right now. Robert, are you alright?

Thunder hammers the windows and they rattle against the onslaught. In the residue of lightning, a figure starts to materialise.

Robert: There! By the old clock. It’s, it’s him: Old Man Jenkins!

Jenkins: BEHOLD MY ELDRITCH POWER AND KNEEL BEFORE YOUR MASTER! TREMBLE FOOLISH MORALS!

Foul Spot: Meow

Janet: That’s our cue. Everyone, out via the conservatory doors and on to the lawn.

Everyone runs, leaving Old Man Jenkins to float across the room to grab the will. 

Now outside on the lawn, Derek, Janet, and Robert stand under a set of golfing umbrellas.

Jenkins menaces from the conservatory.

Derek: Are you alright, old chap?

Robert: I .. I have never seen a ghost before.

Janet: Well, technically, he’s more a Type IV Shade. He’d be a Lich if he could find his skeleton.

Beyond the hedges, there's a roar of machinery and floodlights blink on. Jenkins can be seen floating in the conservatory.

Derek: Given we’ve signed the paperwork and both of us have an equal share in the property. We’re going to recycle the house.

Robert: I.. I beg your pardon.

Janet: We’re not only going to knock down the house and burn everything using a plasma forge, any remaining items will be crushed and rendered into their component elements. Thereafter, we shall dispose of any remains by scattering them into the ocean.

Robert: But, the money the house contains! The art, the research, the history!

Derek: Also, the Class Four lich sorcerer, the underground hellmouth, two wardrobes with gateways to the Blighted Land of M’peng, four banned tomes that contain summons that’ll start the End Times, and a full set of Coldplay albums. Oh, and a demonic cat with an obsession with tiddling on people.

Janet: All that and Old Man Jenkins is a complete arse to boot.

Robert: Might Jenkins not make a play for the tomes you mentioned? Are we at risk of forcing his hand to end the world?

Derek: “… and lo, did the Ancient Masters scribe humanity’s undoing, where everyone yet no one might read them.” Yeah, we’re dealing with older than death, multidimensional prankster edgelords, and an undead pratt with daddy issues.

Janet: Luckily for us, the Hidden Ones dictated the sorcery and ghoulish mathematics in Esperanto, so we’re quite safe for another millennium. Well, unless Jenkins finds Google Translate.

Robert: But why destroy the house?

Janet: Well, Jenkins will have some type of anchor, if you will, to the property. Some might refer to this as a ghost stone –

Derek: Or a residual psychic matrix for non corporeal entities.

Robert: Umm. So, this, ghost stone?

Janet: It may be a single stone, rock, a book, trinket, or a room. We can’t be sure, so we’re going to recycle and sanctify the whole property and subsequent excavations.

Some time later, a boat tips the last container of dust into the sea. Particles flicker in the light, slipping into the looming black depths.

In the cold abyss, a fleck of stone comes to rest on the sea bed. A weak gibbous glow builds around it.

Jenkins: Well, that’s jiggered it. Obtain powers beyond your dreams, they said. Bring the world to heel and be worshipped like a living god, they said. I tell you, you burn one village to the ground, things get out of hand, and you’re marked for unlife!

Foul Spot: I still maintain if we wanted to be worshipped, we should have stuck with the ventriloquist act.

Jenkins: Perhaps. Still, we only have to wait a few millennia for the seas to change and plate tectonics to…. Eugh. What is that terrible smell?

Foul Spot: It’s your robes. I decorated them for you. Sorry. I couldn’t help it.