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Long story; short pier
City of Roses
a “Restless” exegesis
The Necronomicon
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Pixelfed

Act II

INT. IOTA ALPHA HOUSE, HALLWAY. NIGHT.

TRACEY wheels up to Janey's door, in a sweatshirt and plaid boxers, and knocks, vigorously. The hall's dimly lit. The sign on Janey's door indicates that MADAME PRESIDENT is currently ASLEEP.

TRACEY

C'mon, Janey. (knocks again) We've got to talk.

Janey yanks open the door and stands there, not coming out, not letting Tracey in. She's wearing her robe, and her hair is mussed as if she's just been recently awakened.

JANEY

You have any idea what the hell time it is?

TRACEY

(without looking at a watch) Quarter of two. I've spoken with Bob; he swears Kappa Theta had nothing to do with this. He laughed his ass off, first, and says he wished they had, but they didn't.

JANEY

(peering at her) You trust him?

TRACEY

Mostly. In this, yes. Janey –

JANEY

What?

TRACEY

It was just a prank, for God's sake. Even if Kappa Theta didn't do it – maybe the football team –

JANEY

Maybe the football team has our Book, then, did you think of that?

TRACEY

The book?

JANEY

The Book! Our Book. The sacred Book of the sisterhood.

TRACEY

(sarcastic; duh) Oh. That book.

JANEY

(arch, but cold) You take liberties.

TRACEY

Yeah, well, somebody sure did, didn't they! And in the morning, whoever pulled this stunt is going to start making us look like fools! We've got to be ready, figure out who did this, and why – who gives a damn, about the book?

Kimmi pulls the door open a little further, to Janey's and Tracey's surprise. She's still in her IA sweats, and she's been weeping, but her face is set.

KIMMI

Tracey, I –

JANEY

Kimmi.

There ensues a brief, subtle battle of wills between Kimmi and Janey. Nothing paranormal, mind – just the usual intimidation and pressure a charismatic leader can bring to bear on someone whose morality might be getting in the way.

TRACEY

(oblivious, mostly, to the aforementioned) I'm sorry, Kimmi, I didn't –

JANEY

(still looking at Kimmi) Kimmi was just down there, cleaning up. That's how we know the book's gone missing.

KIMMI

(still looking at Janey) Pia's –

JANEY

Pia went, too.

Kimmi looks down. Then and only then does Janey turn back to Tracey.

JANEY

(comforting smile) We just need to get the book back, and everything'll be fine. (to Kimmi) Let's get you to your room. (back to Tracey) Do you mind?

Tracey wheels out of their way, cocking an eyebrow, Spock-like, as they pass. FADE TO BLACK. CUT TO:

INT. HARLAN'S HOUSE, HARLAN'S ROOM. VERY EARLY MORNING.

Cold grey six-a.m.-on-an-October's-morn light leaks into the room. Start close on Liz, snuggled under the blankets, doing the classic reach-​out-​for-​one's-​bed-​partner-​in-​one's-​sleep-​and-​find-​an-​empty-​bed-​and-​wake-​up-​quizzically move. She sits up. Harlan's over across the room, in his reading nook, a low reading lamp on, wearing a blank T-shirt and sweatpants. He looks up.

HARLAN

Couldn't sleep.

LIZ

(adorable sleepy noise) I can.

She lies back down, stretching out luxuriantly to take up as much of the futon as she can. Harlan smiles, then turns his attention back to what he's reading. It is, of course, the Book. CUT TO:

INT. CURWEN HOUSE, CAF. MORNING.

We start close in on Liz, still in last night's blacks, yawning heavily, getting her omelet from the omelet guy. She makes her way through the sea of students milling about her over towards the coffee urn; as she does so, we can hear snippets of conversation from time to time – that whole signal out of noise, pattern recognition, closure thing:

ART STUDENT

But Twombly is a scribbling hack – that's what's so brilliant!

NEO-PAGAN

I just don't see what King Lear has to do with an MBA.

COMPUTER PROGRAMMER

I mean, Engels owned a factory. What a cheater!

There's Eric, neat as a pin, filling a travel mug with hot water – his one source of caffeine is a cup of genmai-cha in the mornings. (It's a kind of green tea with toasted brown rice in it. Yummy.) He has a plate with a poached egg and two dry pieces of toast on it, and a small plastic container of the sort older folks use to keep track of their daily round of prescriptions; he has his multivitamins, his amino acid supplements, his herbal energy boosts, St. Johns wort, gingko, etc. arrayed inside.

LIZ

(filling a cup with coffee) Hey.

ERIC

(distracted) Hey.

Eric's distracted by CHARLEY WARD, an immense football player monopolizing the juice bar right next to the coffee urn. Two trays rest on the cafeteria rails in front of him: one is loaded with plates loaded in turn with what appears to be one (or two) of everything the caf has to offer by way of breakfast, plus a mound of donuts; the other has a dozen or so of those little glasses, full of juice of all colors. Charley wears a Miskatonic University football jersey with his number (23) and name on the back. He's big, really big, and suggests something of the unhealthy Innsmouth Look; the instant stereotype we're looking for is fish zombie football player from Hell, or maybe Frankenstein's monster. But subtly, subtly. He's holding aloft his last glass, filled with a juice of an amazingly violent shade of orange.

ERIC

That – that is an amazing color.

Charley sips, pursing his lips judiciously, as if tasting a fine wine.

CHARLEY

Mango. (small smile) With a touch of passionfruit.

He refills the glass and pushes off, breakfast heaped in one hand, juice glasses rattling a little in the other, as the crowd parts before him, as if he were some weird Moses. A SYCOPHANT approaches as Liz waits for Eric to fill a glass with grapefruit juice, and he slaps Charley on the back as Charley passes by. Charley doesn't register it at all: a brick wall, our Charley.

SYCOPHANT

We're gonna roll over Oberlin tomorrow, right, Charley?

CHARLEY

Grunt.

Charley sits with the team. But enough about Charley. We're paying attention to Eric and Liz.

ERIC

Smoking or non?

LIZ

Smoking. Please.

ERIC

(shakes his head) You might as well admit it, girl.

LIZ

Harlan would kill me.

They head for a table in the smoking corner, where a disproportionate number of theatre majors and art students and other PIBs have gathered, along with a couple of computer programmers for color. We overhear, in passing, one of the theatre majors:

WILLOWY THEATRE MAJOR (F)

No, the Winter Term production. "The King in Yellow." I'm playing Cassilda.

ERIC

So what does Harlan have to say about the book?

LIZ

I don't know.

They find a mostly empty table. Eric pulls out his packet of unfiltered clove cigarettes and plucks one, rolling it across the table to Liz.

ERIC

You didn't talk about it?

LIZ

We didn't talk, much. It's only been, what, seven hours. We mostly slept, and, ah –

ERIC

Knocked boots?

Liz shoots him a Look, as much delighted by the phrase as she is taken aback by its rather off-color implications.

ERIC

Light?

LIZ

Not, not yet. (tucks the cigarette up behind her ear, for after breakfast) I mean, yes, we, urn, well, we did, but – I mean, so we really didn't talk. That much. He wasn't feeling well.

ERIC

The more I think about it, the more I become convinced. Something happened last night.

LIZ

(suddenly tired) Eric...

ERIC

It did! We did something, with those words! When Harlan spoke them – there was a – it was almost a sound, a flash – and it got cold, really cold, for an instant – (he's not getting through to her) If you stopped listening to Harlan, you'd admit it, it did. And if Harlan stopped for a minute and was honest with himself – (he stops, sighs) Something happened.

LIZ

I'll say. We pulled a silly, silly prank on some silly, silly girls who were about to do the same damn thing to some even sillier girls who wanted to loin their dumbass club, all so Jamshid could slake her inscrutable thirst for revenge –

JAMSHID (OS)

You know, you speak of the devil, she's bound to show up.

Jamshid hops into the screen and sits next to Eric. She's wearing one of those slutty Catholic schoolgirl outfits. On her tray is a delicacy I had once on an Amtrak train when I was, like, seven years old, and never, ever again.

LIZ

(pointing to said delicacy) What is that?

JAMSHID

Jelly omelet.

LIZ

I didn't know they made those.

JAMSHID

(points to sticky mound of empty Welch's jelly packets) You have to bring him the jelly.

ERIC

What brings you to Curwen this fine, fine morning?

JAMSHID

This is the closest dining hall to Iota Alpha house. (spots SHANTI, BECCA, and another pledge or two hunting for a table; she waves jauntily) Hi, girls!

They snub her, of course.

ERIC

So you're here to gloat.

JAMSHID

My thirst for revenge isn't that inscrutable.

LIZ

No, but it is insatiable.

ERIC

Why, exactly, did they kick you out again?

JAMSHID

A disagreement over some punch.

Liz, who is in the process of lighting her cigarette, cocks an eyebrow.

LIZ

Who'd you punch?

JAMSHID

(sighing) No, punch. They throw such dull parties, you would not believe...

ERIC

You dosed them.

JAMSHID

(exasperated) I dosed them. I concocted this street-legal hallucinogen – quick peak, maybe an hour on the splashdown, nice and quick, with intense visuals. I wanted to test it before turning it in as my organic chem midterm project. (beat) Not my fault they all saw giant bats.

ERIC

You dosed them. Without their consent.

JAMSHID

(snaps) That was before I got ethics. Relax, Eric. You need to get laid.

ERIC

Oh, please. Tell me what I need.

JAMSHID

Okay. You need a swiggee.

ERIC

A what?

JAMSHID

A swiggee. Someone with whom one swigs? It's a little more formalized than a fuckbuddy –

ERIC

Oh, really.

JAMSHID

Yes. See, you make a pact, with a good friend, that if you're gonna have sex, you might as well have it with each other. That way, the whole gotta-get-laid pressure is off, and you don't end up making stupid mistakes – like, oh, Kevin...

LIZ

Jamshid.

But Eric, his toast uneaten, gets up and prepares to bus his tray.

LIZ

Eric, just – don't let her –

ERIC

I have class.

And with that witty double entendre, he leaves.

LIZ

That was rude.

JAMSHID

Harlan wouldn't like what you're up to. (beat) And I'm not talking about the cigarette.

LIZ

What?

JAMSHID

Girl, it's obvious you have a thing for him.

LIZ

Who, Eric?

JAMSHID

You're what we'd call a fag hag, back in Jersey.

LIZ

We have the term in Virginia, too. Where it's considered quite rude. Eric's simply a good friend of mine. And I, ah, get mad when my friends are attacked, and insulted. Even by other friends.

JAMSHID

But.

LIZ

But what?

JAMSHID

Come on, Liz.

LIZ

But nothing. (but Jamshid's grin is maddening) Okay. Fine. Look. If it's okay for guys to, to be into, into the whole thing of two, ah, girls, urn, being together... (she's blushing, bless her heart)

JAMSHID

I knew it. (beat) Still, gotta admit. Not many guys would bother to have a dyke as a best friend, just so they could get their jollies...

LIZ

(with real fire) Fuck you.

The tension holds for a moment, neither of them backing down. Then Jamshid closes her eyes and shakes her head.

JAMSHID

I seem to alienate everybody I meet before coffee. I play rough; you guys ought to know that by now...

LIZ

(mostly mollified) No kidding.

JAMSHID

At least you didn't run away, like Eric. (beat) Sissy boy.

Liz sputters with half-outraged laughter; Jamshid grins like a goon.

LIZ

Jesus, Jamshid!

JAMSHID

You believe how gullible he is? Falling for that bullshit about dosing their punch with my organic chem homework?

LIZ

So you were lying about that.

JAMSHID

(looks her straight in the eye) Maybe.

LIZ

(looks her straight back) Why did they kick you out, Jamshid?

JAMSHID

(looks away) I understand it's big in Japan, you know.

LIZ

What.

JAMSHID

The whole two guys thing. For women.

LIZ

Jamshid...

JAMSHID

No, seriously. They have romance comics about it. Two guys, falling in love, all swoony with the big eyes – women over there snap 'em up by the truckload.

LIZ

(shakes her head) Japan has comics about everything.

FADE TO:

INT. HARLAN'S HOUSE, HARLAN'S ROOM. LATE MORNING.

Harlan's still in his reading nook. His phone is ringing; his electric kettle is whistling. He's still flipping through the Book, with Liz's Latin dictionary by his side. The answering machine picks up. He irritably turns off the kettle and pours hot water into his cup, all without looking up from the Book.

HARLAN (VO FROM ANSWERING MACHINE)

Leave a message.

The answering machine bleeps.

KAPLAN (VO FROM ANSWERING MACHINE)

Hey, Harlan. We had an appointment, this morning, remember, to go over the most recent data? Eleven o'clock? Give me a call when you get this. Thanks.

The answering machine clicks, bleeps, goes off. Harlan doesn't appear to have registered it. He checks something in the Latin dictionary, then abstractedly picks up the mug, sips, spits in surprise, then fumbles around for a tea bag. He finds one, rips open the package, but he's at the end of his page and as he dips the tea bag into the water with one hand he turns the page with the other – and sees something that electrifies him. He freezes. He looks up, at his star chart with the flags marking the millipulsars.

HARLAN

I'll be God damned.

He gets to his feet, cradling the Book in one arm as he stumbles over his futon to get a closer look at the wall. The area of the wall chart he's looking at is Virgo; there's a flag there, at the location of PSR B1257 +12. The Book has an astrological/alchemical star chart of the same region of space; there's a black dot with a couple of wards and an elder sign drawn about it in its drawing of the constellation, at the location of the millipulsar. FADE TO:

INT. STORM DRAIN BENEATH ARMITAGE LIBRARY. DAY.

Pia's been here for about ten hours or so; the Door has unfolded enough to eat up past her elbow. The center of the Door is a little over waist-high; at some point before it ate her elbow, she was able to sit, sort of, with her arm uncomfortably held aloft. She's been crying, yelling, hallucinating (a little), even sleeping. She's in a very, very bad way. The camera glides in slowly towards her; she's looking down, sniffling.

JANEY (OS)

My God. I had no idea, you were still –

She stops short of saying "alive." Pia looks up, slowly, hardly daring to believe, as the camera spins around behind her to reveal Janey standing before her, dressed simply, carrying a nice bookbag.

PIA

(hoarse) Janey? Is that – is that –

JANEY

Kimmi thought you were – She thought you were dead. If I'd known, I'd have come much, much – right away –

PIA

Please, oh God, please, help me, get me out –

It kind of dissolves for a moment or two, into incoherent blubbing on Pia's part – especially when Janey reaches out, touches her cheek, proving she's real – and an awkward attempt on Janey's part to provide some little comfort, shushing Pia and actually hugging her, sort of, while trying not to touch the Door – which she is what she's really here to see. Janey can't hide the fact that she's entranced by it. It ripples, and pulses – quite definitely there now – though it doesn't grow; that still happens in random, chaotic bursts. It's shading from transparent to translucent, liminal, shining. Really, it's beautiful.

JANEY

Just, just be calm. We're going to get you out of here.

PIA

Please, oh God, please. I'm so scared. It's so – so cold –

JANEY

I know. (wonderingly) It's real... I felt it, last night, during the ritual, but I didn't know... It's real...

PIA

Please.

JANEY

(back to Earth) Shh. I'm doing everything I can to get you out of here. Believe me.

PIA

Whatever. Please. You can cut off my arm if you have to. Just, please – JANEY Shh, shh. Is it growing?

PIA

(nods) It just, it just had my hand, at first. Now...

Janey stares at the Door, reaches out a hand, slowly, tentatively, to almost, almost touch it, the expression on her face one of mingled fear and reverence. Pia watches, scared (of course) and just beginning to get a tad suspicious.

JANEY

It's happening. Something's happening...

PIA

What?

JANEY

I don't know. It's still... opening. It isn't here yet.

PIA

Oh, God –

JANEY

Shh. shh. Pia. Pia, shh. Look at me. (take her chin in her hand) Look at me, Pia. I – (deep breath; moment of truth) I have to go away.

PIA

No.

JANEY

The book. We have to find the book. To figure out what to do next.

PIA

You're not leaving me down here.

JANEY

Please. I'm doing everything I can. Once we find the book.

PIA

(grabs Janey's shirt) You can't leave me.

JANEY

Pia. Let go of me. Let go of me, Pia. Pia. Come on. I've got to go.

Janey's voice never goes above a low, seductive, mesmerizing murmur. No violence; Pia just lets go because it's right to let go.

JANEY

(backing away) I'm sorry. It's happening. It's really happening...

PIA

Please. Don't.

JANEY

I can come back. I'll bring a blanket, a pillow. Some water. A burger? Pizza?

PIA

Please. Just get me out of here.

JANEY

(still backing away) Well find the book, and well figure out what to do next. I – I...

Janey stops, for one last look, and her face turns sorrowful; to her credit, she can't keep lying to Pia. Besides, she's out of reach.

JANEY

I'm sorry, Pia. But. It's happening. And I don't think anybody can stop it. (beat) Goodbye.

Janey turns and walks away. Pia calls after her, too tired to oe really frantic, but terrified and mad, now.

PIA

Janey! Janey! JANEY!

FADE TO:

INT. HOADLEY, CLASSROOM. EARLY AFTERNOON.

Professor PETER DANNSEYS is finishing up his Friday afternoon class, Intro to Medieval Arabic Poetry, in Translation. It's a small class, a dozen at most, and the students, among them LIZ (having changed out of last night's blacks), are all packing up.

DANNSEYS

Let's remember to pick this up on Monday; I think we've got something interesting, on the two types of mysticism, and how they bear on Rumi. West – if I could see you, for a moment?

Liz approaches him, a little trepidatiously.

DANNSEYS

I spoke with Feinberg, this morning.

LIZ

Feinberg?

DANNSEYS

He works in the library? In the rare book room?

LIZ

Oh? Oh.

DANNSEYS

He's also a senior in the Classics program here.

LIZ

Ohh. (beat) So I suppose – I mean, you're wondering...

Dannseys just blinks as Liz obligingly digs herself a hole.

LIZ

About the, ah...

DANNSEYS

About what, exactly?

LIZ

(beaten, and she knows it) About the request form. For the book.

DANNSEYS

Good likeness of my signature. But your cover story was a tad crude. Feinberg got suspicious when someone he didn't know claimed to be taking a 300-level Classics course. (beat) So. What did you think?

LIZ

I'm sorry? Oh. About the book. Ah. Well. I only saw the copy, of the Dee translation – so it's a translation of a translation of a translation – but even so, there was some nice poetry, I understand there's a rumor Kit Marlowe helped with that – and as, well, as an intellectual peak, ah, of Arabic paganism, before the, ah, advent of Islam, it...

DANNSEYS

I asked what you thought of it. Not what I want you to think.

LIZ

Oh. (beat) It's boring.

DANNSEYS

(with an amused half-smile) Really.

LIZ

And coy. I didn't read that much, but – it's like he's always on the verge of telling you how horrible these, these gods are, but it always ends up being too "unspeakable" or too horrible for us to take. And if Marlowe really did help Dee translate the poetry, he was having an off day.

DANNSEYS

Ha! Good. The Necronomicon – You see, it has a peculiar history, of seducing brilliant scholars well. It's a name to conjure with, isn't it? Necronomicon. The Book of the Dead. Written by a "mad" Arab, found hidden in the libraries of famous alchemists and necromancers, reviled by all right- thinking people... Well. Terribly romantic. There ought to be something there...

LIZ

(puzzled) So this is about...

DANNSEYS

Mere professorial concern. You're bright, imaginative, You think for yourself; and, you have a taste for the esoteric. You're a prime candidate for, shall we say, Necronomiconitis.

Liz chuckles at that.

DANNSEYS

Feinberg calls them "Nec-heads" – but then, that's Feinberg.

LIZ

Well. I've got my own reality checks.

DANNSEYS

Good.

LIZ

So – about the, the request form –

DANNSEYS

Don't worry about it.

LIZ

Thanks. Thank you.

She heads for the door.

DANNSEYS

Actually, West – I'm not going to pretend scholarship doesn't have its dark, messy... expedient side, but for the sake of decorum, if nothing else – learn to cover your tracks better.

LIZ

Okay...

CUT TO:

INT. ARMITAGE LIBRARY, MAIN FLOOR. EARLY AFTERNOON.

ERIC approaches the Rare Book Counter, where Gerald is once again at his post, engaged in some minor bookkeeping task on his computer terminal.

ERIC

Excuse me?

GERALD

Actually, I'm about to close up, here...

ERIC

Could you help me, just, real quickly?

GERALD

Yes? What?

ERIC

Well, uh (deep breath) – I want to know I need to do to get a look at a copy of the Necronomicon.

Gerald frowns at that, but says nothing.

ERIC

Well? Can you tell me, or –

GERALD

What's your name?

ERIC

Eric. Eric Brankowicz.

GERALD

Well. You, Eric Brankowicz, are the second person in as many days to ask about that book. What's up? Is a wave of black magic suddenly sweeping the campus?

ERIC

Not that I'm aware of.

GERALD

You can't see it without approval from a faculty member.

ERIC

Difficult. I'm a math major, by trade.

GERALD

Which immediately begs the question: Why do you want to see the Necronomicon?

ERIC

I, ah, think a friend of mine might have stumbled across a copy, and I wanted to check a real one to make sure.

GERALD

(smiles indulgently) Is it a small, mass-market paperback, with a black cover?

ERIC

(irritated) No, it isn't a copy of the Simon hoax. Or the Wilson-Hay-Turner hoax. Or DeCamp's. And it isn't H.R. Giger's artbook either, okay? It might be a copy of the Voynich manuscript, which is one of the possibilities I wanted to rule out. Which one do we have here? John Dee's?

GERALD

(he is actually impressed for a moment) What does your friend's book look like?

ERIC

It's about this big (indicates with his hands), leather binding –

GERALD

(to himself) Quarto folio. (that's about 10" tall; he'd say "Octavo" if the Necoronomicon prop is more like 7" tall)

ERIC

What's odd is that the cover is for something else entirely – "Mussulmans of India," or something like that.

GERALD

Qanoon-é-Islam, or, the Customs of the Mussulmans of India.

ERIC

Uh, yeah. That's it.

There's a beat. Then Gerald suddenly plops the CLOSED sign up on the counter and grabs his coat.

GERALD

Come with me.

ERIC

Where?

GERALD

To meet this friend of yours.

CUT TO:

INT. PICKMAN OBSERVATORY. AFTERNOON.

HARLAN sits at an unused computer terminal at the base of the great refractor telescope, perched on the edge of his chair, surrounded by green- and-white fanfold printouts, the Book, Liz's dictionary, handwritten notes. Data tables fill the screen of the computer. He's still in his morning clothes, with maybe a fleece pullover on as a concession to the cold. Liz approaches, a take-out box in one hand.

LIZ

Hey. Feeling better?

HARLAN

Want to check a translation for me? Latin?

He starts to hand her his notes, turn the Book so she can see it, as, a little puzzled and a lot bemused, she tries to hand him the food.

LIZ

This – this is –

HARLAN

What? Oh. Let me get that –

He manages to take the food with one hand and effect the transfer of notes and Book with the other. He casts about for a safe place to put this little box of food, and ends up perching it precariously atop a stack of papers on a defunct monitor.

LIZ

That's for you, you know.

HARLAN

What? (looks over at the box, picking it up again) Why?

LIZ

It's pad thai. Your favorite?

HARLAN

Oh. Oh! (opens box, sniffs appreciatively, then frowns) I thought we agreed. No mothering.

LIZ

(looking at the notes) It isn't mothering. It's being nice. What's up?

HARLAN

(maybe pokes at the pad thai a little, but never gets around to eating it) My estimation of Jamshid's former sisters has gone up by leaps and bounds. That's one hell of a forgery – thousands, tens of thousands of dollars, just going by the materials and craftsmanship alone. To say nothing of the conceptual value.

LIZ

So now Iota Alpha is a hotbed of book forgers and calligraphers, as well as being a top-notch bindery? (looks up at Harlan) Did you ever stop to think that maybe it's real?

HARLAN

See, that's what I want you to help me with. (stands up to point out something on the notes) I entertained the notion this morning for maybe, oh, ten minutes. Then I found this.

LIZ

(frowns a little with the concentration sight translation requires) "and his stewardship – reign – "

HARLAN

I was thinking "period..."

LIZ

Let's go with "reign," given the context. "His reign shall be," oh, shit, let me do the math – twenty-five days.

HARLAN

Okay. And his brother, Issok-Tha?

LIZ

His reign is, uh, three times seven is sixty-three – sixty seven days. And Thoth-Omon reigns for, for "almost a century of days."

HARLAN

Now look at this. (he points to the computer screen)

LIZ

What?

HARLAN

Orbital periods for the extra-solar planets we know about. Planets in other solar systems. Check these three.

LIZ

What – by (hesitantly) PSR B1257 +12?

HARLAN

Yes.

LIZ

That's the trouble with you modern astronomers; you've taken all the romance out of it.

HARLAN

Just look at the numbers.

LIZ

Ah – twenty-five days, sixty-seven days, ninety-eight days... Coincidence?

HARLAN

(shakes his head) Those three circle a millipulsar, a millisecond pulsar. You can't see it with the naked eye, but if you point a radio telescope in the general direction of Virgo, you'll pick it up. Look at the chart in the book, again.

LIZ

Yeah?

HARLAN

That's Virgo. See that one star there, Al Simak al Azal? That's an old Arabic name for Spica, Alpha Virginis. And that black spot there, with all the words scribbled around it, where Cthulhu and his three sons are supposed to lie in wait? "The star that burns, yet casts no light to see"? That's almost exactly where you'll find our friend PSR B1257 +12.

Liz is deeply concerned, but Harlan's eyes are shining. He's on to something.

HARLAN

Those three planets were discovered in 1990 and '91. So the book was done some time after that, and by somebody with enough of a sense of humor to leave this little... clue, inside. (chuckles) It's a work of art, Liz.

Liz does not look convinced. Let the tension build a moment or two, then

CUT TO:

INT. PABODIE AUDITORIUM. LATE AFTERNOON.

Hey! We get to recycle a set. Isn't that neat. JAMSHID is lecturing somewhere between ten and fifteen serious science geeks, undergrads mostly, all clustered in the first four or five rows of the big auditorium. Jamshid is wearing a mad scientist's lab coat over her Catholic schoolgirl uniform, with maybe a pair of cat's eye glasses to lend her some scholarly authority. EXCO 347: MISFITS OF SCIENCE is scribbled on the blackboard; her PowerBook is hooked up to a projector and she uses one of those cordless mouse-pointers to click it through its little slides. The image on the screen is of a woman with a spatula sticking out of her head.

JAMSHID

Doctor Bartholow made a number of important discoveries in the localization of sensory-motor functions by compressing areas of her brain with a spatula, and recording the effects. He later moved on to electrodes, and thus was the first scientist to use direct electronic stimulus on the human cortex... Another sterling example of scientific pioneering.

Maybe a pan shot of the assembled science geeks as Jamshid's speaking; one of them sketching the image quite avidly in a notebook, another taking copious notes, prominent among which is the name "Herbert West" writ large and underlined four or five times with a couple of arrows drawn toward it. Anyway. The camera ends up looking up at KIMMI of all people, sitting toward the back, looking on, quietly horrified.

JAMSHID

But. This breakthrough did not come without its price. (looks dramatically at her watch) And yet I see we're out of time. (the geeks groan and protest) Hey! We wasted all that time going over Herbert West, okay? Be good, and next week I'll tell you all about what happened to the unfortunate Miss Rafferty – as well as the curious case of Crawford Tillinghast. Now shoo.

The geeks pack up and leave, and Jamshid straightens up her notes – which is when she sees Kimmi, standing there at the back of the room. They lock gazes for a moment, then Jamshid turns away, to begin erasing the board. Kimmi walks uncertainly down towards the bottom of the auditorium.

KIMMI

I didn't know you taught.

JAMSHID

(not looking up as she packed) It's just for fun, you know. Experimental College. (looks up) It's Kimmi, right?

KIMMI

Look. I know I'm not supposed to have anything to do with you –

JAMSHID

Believe me, I appreciate that.

KIMMI

But – look. I have to talk to you. Okay?

JAMSHID

Is it about what happened last night?

KIMMI

It – I – you know about that?

JAMSHID

A little bit.

Kimmi looks suddenly relieved. My God. Somebody she can talk to.

KIMMI

Oh. Oh. It's so – I'm – (deep breath) It's so fucking scary. Everybody's acting like it's some kind of goddamn prank. I even – I told Janey, but I don't think she believes me –

JAMSHID

Hey. Kimmi. Can I show you something?

Jamshid's grinning, slyly. She's about to toy with Kimmi, and Kimmi suddenly smells something fishy about the whole thing.

JAMSHID

It must have been pretty scary last night, huh. It's dark, Janey's doing the chanting, maybe the pledges are giggling a little, but they're nervous – the mojo's starting to work, right? Like it always does. And then...

She's typing a couple of things on her PowerBook as she says that, and clicking her mouse, closing the Misfits of Science slide show, and opening the burning eyes animation from the prank. Kimmi's eyes widen, and she stumbles back in horror.

JAMSHID

I mean, it's not quite as stunning now, is it? Without the fog machine, and my friend Harlan on the mike...

KIMMI

You.

JAMSHID

Yup.

KIMMI

But – you – (profanity fails her) – Why?

JAMSHID

To teach y'all a lesson, I hope. About calling girls "wogs,' and making lame, lame jokes about "beautiful laundresses."

KIMMI

(staggered by the enormity of it all, and how petty it all is) You. You. You – fuck! (Jamshid snorts at that) Pia's dead, you – you...

This is a critical moment. For an instant, Jamshid believes her; then her cynicism kicks in.

JAMSHID

Nice try.

KIMMI

You did it! You killed her! You –

JAMSHID

Kimmi. Stop. (Kimmi does, breathing hard) I fucked with your heads. I won. Admit it. (beat) Now get the hell out before you start to bore me.

KIMMI

Jamshid.

JAMSHID

Kimmi. You're boring me.

There's Jamshid, standing there, under the glowing eyes. Stumbling, Kirnmi backs up, then turns and half-runs out. Jamshid grins, then reaches out and slams the PowerBook shut.

JAMSHID

Damn, that felt good.

CUT TO:

EXT. HARLAN'S HOUSE. LATE AFTERNOON.

HARLAN and LIZ are climbing the rickety stairs to the front porch of the ramshackle Victorian. Liz has her bookbag; Harlan has the Book, notes, and printouts tucked under one arm. Just a quickie establishing shot; maybe we can overhear some of their conversation as they open the door and head inside.

LIZ

Maybe we should talk to Jamshid about it?

HARLAN

That's an idea. That's a definite idea.

Somewhere in there, CUT TO:

INT. HARLAN'S HOUSE, LIVING ROOM. LATE AFTERNOON.

As they are finishing that exchange, shucking out of their coats, Harlan looks up to see ERIC and GERALD waiting in the living room.

HARLAN

(instantly guarded) Hello.

ERIC

Hey. Austin let us in.

HARLAN

I see. (to Gerald) And you are..?

LIZ

(pointedly, to Gerald) Hello.

GERALD

Elizabeth West. We meet again.

HARLAN

(to Liz, surprised) And he is..?

GERALD

Gerald Feinberg. I work in the Rare Book Room at Armitage.

HARLAN

And you're here because...

GERALD

(pointing to the Book) I'm here to see the Necronomicon.

Eric looks distinctly uncomfortable; Liz looks pissed; Harlan and Gerald look at each other, carefully neutral.

HARLAN

I see. Tea, anyone?

CUT TO:

INT. HARLAN'S HOUSE, KITCHEN. LATE AFTERNOON.

Maybe we start close in on the Book itself. This is a movie about the Book, after all. A nice page, lots of illumination, calligraphy, crowded with evil names and elder signs and the word "unspeakable." The gang – being, at this point in time, Harlan, Eric, and Liz, are gathered about the table, where Gerald is holding court.

GERALD

There's no real reason for the Necronomicon to have the reputation it does. It's just – it's mostly a paranoid synthesis of various pre-Islamic, pre-Christian myths. Nothing terribly... special about it. There's not much by way of spells, for instance, beyond some summonings and incantations. If you wanted to curse an enemy, you'd be better off with Hartlieb's Das puch aller verboten kunst; if you want theory, try Isidore of Seville's EtymoIogies, or better yet the Didascalicon...

HARLAN

You sound like you know your stuff.

GERALD

Rare books. So. There's no accounting for taste – somehow, this is the one that ended up grabbing people's attentions.

ERIC

You know, most people who write about magic bring it up but I don't think I've ever read anything by anybody who's actually seen it. I didn't even know Miskatonic had a copy.

GERALD

We had two, actually, which is more than most universities, but the school's never gone out of its way to advertise that fact. Serious scholars only; yahoos need not apply.

ERIC

We're not yahoos.

GERALD

That remains to be seen.

LIZ

How many of them are there, in all?

GERALD

Who knows? I don't think anyone's seen the original Arabic manuscript in centuries. It was probably lost when the Crusaders sacked Constantinople in the fifteenth century, along with the Greek translation Philetas did, in the 10th century. The most common – if I can use that word – The one you're most likely to stumble across is Brother Olaus's Latin translation, from the 1200s. Everybody and his brother who wanted to feel like they were messing around with the black arts copied bits and pieces of it; various editions were printed all the way up to the early 1700s. Almost all of them burned, along with their owners, by one church or another. Still. Both Harvard and Buenos Aires managed to get copies of a 17th century printing; but we had a 15th century edition. This. One of the first books ever made with movable type.

LIZ

After the Bible.

HARLAN

It can't be. The cover alone –

GERALD

It was rebound, probably early in the 19th century.

ERIC

The title?

GERALD

Purloined letter. If you wanted to hide an infamous book of black magic from prying eyes, how better than on a bookshelf, with a really boring name? Anyway. This copy turned up in the Bodleian, at Oxford, some time in the 1860s, and was promptly stolen by this mad shipping agent from New England. Then Armitage bought it off the shipping agent's widowed daughter, at the turn of the century, for Miskatonic. There was a feud between us and Oxford for years over who had the right to hold onto it. Armitage loved that. Made him feel like a player. Then it got stolen again, from us, in the '70s. They were pretty sure a sorority did it – in fact, they were pretty sure it was Iota Alpha – but no proof. Besides, the head of the library was an IA. And once a sister, you know?

HARLAN

You said there were two.

GERALD

The other one's fragmentary. It was John Dee's translation, and he only picked bits and pieces.

HARLAN

(dry, dry as a bone) A greatest hits collection.

GERALD

Sort of. He was mostly interested in how it pertained to summonings. Conjuration, exorcism, that sort of thing. For the Enochian system of magic he was devising.

HARLAN

You mean making up out of whole cloth.

LIZ

Did Marlowe really help Dee with that thing?

GERALD

Opinion's divided. I mean, Kelly fancied himself a poet, too...

HARLAN

Who was Dee, again?

ERIC

Astrologer and necromancer to Queen Elizabeth.

HARLAN

Ah.

ERIC

Worked with John Kelly, or Edward Kelly, a medium – (grudgingly) or a conman, depending on who you believe.

LIZ

Whom.

ERIC

(ignoring that) Got Marlowe into politics, which got him killed. Marlowe was a playwright –

HARLAN

I know who Marlowe was.

ERIC

Hey, I figured, as long as I was doing footnotes..

HARLAN

Anyway. Does Dee's copy have star charts in it, which pinpoint the location of a millipulsar that can't be spotted without a radio telescope?

GERALD

(has to think about that – what a strange question) No. (beat) Though it does have the quote about "The star that burns, yet casts no light to see." But that's a popular Al Azrad quotation. It also has something about "The spinning, bloodshot eye hung deep in night." Or something.

LIZ

God, I hope that isn't Marlowe.

ERIC

Wait a minute. Are you saying this pinpoints the whosiwhatsis?

Harlan takes the Book, flips through its parchment pages until he finds that chart.

HARLAN

Right there. Millipulsar PSR B1257 +12, on an astrological chart supposedly printed in the fifteenth century. (Gerald frowns) This isn't your book, Gerald. It's a fake. A very, very good fake – but it was made some time in the last ten years.

ERIC

How do you know? Because of this pulsar thing?

HARLAN

Millipulsar. Tell you what. If that's not good enough, I'll have you call Alex Wolszczan so you can tell him, hey, about those planets you discovered in 1990? Sorry, but medieval necromancers have been wanking off about them f or almost a thousand years.

LIZ

Harlan...

HARLAN

Don't "Harlan" me, Liz.

ERIC

Is it beyond the realm of possibility that Al Azrad could somehow have... sensed this thing?

HARLAN

By magic? Don't even go there, Eric.

GERALD

Um –

ERIC

I'm there, Harlan. Always have been.

HARLAN

Occarn's Razor, goddammit!

ERIC

You'd rather believe somebody could create a note-perfecL forgery, except for this one little joke that only you could find?

HARLAN

Instead of voices from the stars that told a mad Arab about a pulsar thirteen hundred lightyears away? Yes! When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever's left, no matter how improbable, is the God damn truth.

ERIC

Occam cuts entirely the other way for me. Who are you to decide what's impossible?

HARLAN

It's not just me! It's the scientific method! It's two thousand years of scientific inquiry!

LIZ

(bitter at how rude they've been) So use it.

That stops them dead: Eric, with his hand raised for some forensic point or other; Harlan in mid-sneer; Gerald barely stifling a rude laugh at their expense.

HARLAN

What?

LIZ

This fucking argument never ends. Why don't you once and for all settle it? We have a phenomenon that doesn't seem to fit our current model, of how the world works –

HARLAN & GERALD SIMULTANEOUSLY

What phenomenon? (or words to that effect)

ERIC

What happened last night.

HARLAN

Nothing happened last night!

LIZ

We have this book. All right? You've got to admit there's a mystery there. We have an hypothesis that might serve to explain it. Instead of bitching and moaning about it, let's test it, for Christ's sake. In the spirit of scientific inquiry.

HARLAN

What are you talking about –

LIZ

I'm talking about performing one of the rituals out of the book. Note for note. And see what happens.

ERIC

I'm up for it.

HARLAN

And when nothing happens, you'll admit it's all wishful thinking?

ERIC

Something's going to happen. Just like it did, last night.

HARLAN

(muttered) So much for an objective lack of bias.

GERALD

What, ah, what did – or did not – happen, last night?

INT. IOTA ALPHA HOUSE, TRACEY'S ROOM. LATE AFTERNOON.

Tracey is out of her chair, on her bed, rubbing lotion on her legs, working the atrophied muscles with her hands. Her door is ajar. A couple of sisters walk past quickly, talking animatedly; a moment later, Shanti walks past, stops, sticks her head back in the door.

SHANTI

Hey – didn't you hear?

TRACEY

Apparently not.

SHANTI

Janey's called a meeting downstairs. Like now-ish?

TRACEY

(sighs heavily as she prepares to heave herself into her chair) What does Madame President want now?

CUT TO:

INT. HARLAN'S HOUSE, KITCHEN. TWILIGHT.

GERALD and ERIC are dragging the kitchen table out of the way, baring a sufficiently large expanse of floor. LIZ is going through the cabinets. HARLAN watches the whole thing with barely concealed contempt.

LIZ

(pulling down bag of salt) Salt, we have.

HARLAN

What are you going to do with that?

LIZ

(points to a page in the Book) Draw this on the floor.

HARLAN

You're going to sweep it up afterwards.

LIZ

Of course.

HARLAN

And replace the salt.

ERIC

It's two dollars a bag, I think we can swing it.

LIZ

Whoops. We need candles.

That stops them for a moment. Harlan sighs, looks away.

HARLAN

Rachel probably has some birthday candles left over. The drawer by the sink. In the back.

Gerald and Liz look to Eric to see if this is adequate. Eric shrugs and heads for the drawer. Harlan looks at Gerald.

HARLAN

You believe this stuff?

GERALD

I'm agnostic about this sort of thing. Swear to God.

Eric is sorting a handful of ludicrously short, pastel candles.

ERIC

(shrugs) Hey, they're candles.

Harlan walks out of the kitchen. Liz exchanges Looks with Eric, then follows. CUT TO:

INT. HARLAN'S HOUSE, LIVING ROOM. TWILIGHT.

Harlan's bending down and picking up the portable phone. Liz follows him.

LIZ

Who are you calling?

HARLAN

Jamshid. I want to talk to somebody rational, and oddly enough, she's the best candidate I can think of at the moment.

LIZ

Don't. Don't be like this.

HARLAN

This is crazy, Liz.

LIZ

So be crazy with it. Don't take it so damn seriously.

Harlan just looks at her: tired, sad, cranky.

LIZ

It's keeping Eric entertained...

Harlan punches in the last number and raises the phone to his ear. It rings – but he can hear a phone ringing nearby, at the same time. Liz hears it, too. He takes the phone down from his ear. The phantom phone rings again, a chirp, like a cell phone; sounds like it's coming from outside – Harlan strides to the front door and yanks it open. There's JAMSHID, fumbling her cell phone out of her jacket and flipping it open, holding up one hand to forestall whatever Harlan's about to say until after she deals with whomever's calling her. The light outside is that gorgeous, ephemeral golden light of sunset; the light that will flood these next few scenes in this intercut sequence.

JAMSHID

(into phone) What. Hello? Helloooo?

HARLAN

Jamshid. (holds up his phone) It was me.

JAMSHID

(a moment; then she flips her phone shut) Oh.

HARLAN

We need to talk.

JAMSHID

Oh, baby, do we. It worked! It worked! It worked so fucking well! Better than we hoped! (Harlan cocks an eyebrow at that) Okay. So I'm teaching my ExCo class, right? Misfits of Science? And Kimmi walks in at the end of it, right? And she's all, ooh, I have to talk to you, she's all nervous, and I say, about last night? And she's like yes, yes, it was so scary – they believed it, Harlan! They thought the stupid magic spell was doing something! And then I tell her it was all a prank, I prove it to her, right? And bam! Her brain melts! It was beautiful! She's like, she starts stammering, and swearing – girl always had a filthy mouth – and she tells me, I mean, the best thing she can think of is, "Oh yeah? Well, uh, Pia's dead! Yeah! That's it!"

HARLAN

Jamshid –

JAMSHID

I mean, yeah. Pia's as dead as I am.

HARLAN

Jamshid. Game's over, okay? The book's a bigger deal than we thought.

JAMSHID

(frowns) What, it's real or something?

HARLAN

No, no. But it's one hell of a puzzle. Where did you guys pick it up? And when?

JAMSHID

(shrugs) Book was senior sister stuff, right? And I never got that high – (notices strange noises coming from kitchen) Hey, what's going on back there?

HARLAN

(sighs) Eric and Liz and some librarian Eric picked up have decided to do a spell out of the book to summon up a demon or some such thing.

JAMSHID

Cool! can I watch?

HARLAN

Sure, sure. Be my guest.

JAMSHID

(frowning) I thought you said it wasn't real.

CUT TO:

INT. IOTA ALPHA HOUSE, FRONT PARLOR. TWILIGHT.

The sisters, sans pledges, are milling into the front parlor. We're following SHANTI and TRACEY as they make their way in. JANEY stands over by the windows, on the other side of the room, gazing dramatically out the window. After a sufficiently dramatic moment passes, she speaks, without preamble, without even turning away from the windows.

JANEY

Thanks. Thank you, sisters, for being able to meet on such short notice.

They fall silent. There's an air of expectancy in the room. CUT TO:

INT. HARLAN'S HOUSE, KITCHEN. TWILIGHT.

The last candle is being lit and placed at the apex of the Greater Circle. It isn't a terribly big one, but it takes up most of the kitchen floor. Eric is explaining the layout to the others as he does this.

ERIC

This ward is for what we summon. It keeps it enclosed, in here; whatever it is, if this has been done right –

HARLAN

(drips condescension) With birthday candles...

ERIC

(ignoring that) If this has been done right, it can't leave.

LIZ

What are we summoning, again?

ERIC

Nyarlathotep.

GERALD

The, uh, the Hermes figure.

JAMSHID

Cool.

ERIC

This ritual calls for a single officiant – me – so I'll stand here, in this ward (points to the little pentagram in the corner of the Greater Circle) –

HARLAN

Why?

ERIC

That's to protect me, from what we summon –

HARLAN

I thought you said Nyarlawhosee can't leave that space.

ERIC

It can't. This is just in case –

HARLAN

In case what? He gets out? What about us – we're standing completely outside the salt. Are you telling me we're at risk? (Liz elbows him) Ow.

ERIC

Are we, are we ready?

He looks about the room. Jamshid is eager; Gerald's a little uncertain, now; Liz is miffed at Harlan, still; Harlan's – well, Harlan's Harlan.

ERIC

Okay. Clear your minds. Focus. Concentrate...

CUT TO:

INT. IOTA ALPHA HOUSE, FRONT PARLOR. TWILIGHT.

Janey's still staring out the window.

JANEY

Our sororal ceremonies were interrupted last night, rudely interrupted. At the time, we didn't know what happened. We were scared. We ran. No one's blaming anyone, but we did shirk our duties, our responsibilities, and as a result, our book was taken from us. One of the binding symbols of this sorority.

CUT TO:

INT. HARLAN'S HOUSE, KITCHEN. TWILIGHT.

Everything's in place. Eric isn't the showman that Harlan is, but he has the advantage of props. Still, his audience doesn't help much, and he's nervous. He reads names from the book, uncertainly:

ERIC

"Psinother. Therinops. Nopsither. Zagoure. Pagouri. Neth – Nethmomath – " (shakes his head, trying to get it right) – Nethmomaoth." (whew; deep breath before plunging on) 'Nepsiomaoth. Markhkhhatha.'

CUT TO:

INT. IOTA ALPHA HOUSE, FRONT PARLOR. TWILIGHT.

Janey looks over her shoulder at the attentive sisters.

JANEY

I've heard a lot of talk about how we were pranked, last night. It seems like the only possible explanation – but I'm here to tell you it isn't. (she turns around slowly, to face them, fully) Something wonderful happened last night.

Maybe there's a collective intake of breath at that; everybody's been nervous, curious, here's a voice of authority doing a pretty good job of claiming to have the answer. Tracey's frowning, though, and other sisters, as well; the acceptance is far from total.

JANEY

Something wonderful is happening.

Close in on Tracey, who shakes her head, looks down, then happens to catch sight of KIMM1, standing in the doorway, staring with horror and dismay and betrayal and fear and disgust and defiance at Janey – and this rattles Tracey, hard. CUT TO:

INT. STORM DRAIN BENEATH ARMITAGE LIBRARY. TWILIGHT.

The end is beginning. It's so cold; the Door has opened to swallow half her chest, and she's lost one of her lungs; it's hard, it's very, very hard, but there's nothing else Pia can do. CUT TO:

INT. HARLAN'S HOUSE, KITCHEN. TWILIGHT.

Things have turned indefinably serious. Maybe, in the gaps between names, we can start to hear a faint gasping, panting sound; Pia, though not immediately identifiable as such. Gerald looks uncertain; Jamshid looks like she's in denial; Harlan looks ill.

ERIC

"Ahtu. Lrogg. Thoth and Avaloth. Dorozhand. Tamash."

His voice is becoming more serious and assured with each name. And maybe, just maybe, under his voice, unnoticed by anyone at the moment, we start to hear the faint sounds of other voices, speaking with him, a faint echo of the roar that opens the Prologue. CUT TO:

INT. IOTA ALPHA HOUSE, FRONT PARLOR. TWILIGHT.

We can hear Pia's gasping; no one seems to notice.

JANEY

Can you feel it? In the air? The... hum? The sense that something, something is going to happen? Every year, we take our pledges down into the bowels of the earth and we tell them that we are going to open the gate between this world and the next so that they will see it for themselves, and this knowledge will bind them to our sisterhood. Well. This year. Last night. We really did open that gate. And this year, right now – something is coming through.

Tracey looks for Kimmi again, but the spot by the door where Kimmi was is empty. Concerned, Tracey manages to push her chair out into the hallway; no one notices her leave.

JANEY

Do you hear it?

She isn't talking about Pia. She's talking about the tension in the air, which we realize has suddenly resolved itself into a chorus of women soaring in a clean, pure chord. Not loud; just a color, in the air, of expectancy. Some sisters gasp; others frown, puzzled. CUT TO:

INT. IOTA ALPHA HOUSE, DOWNSTAIRS HALL. TWILIGHT.

Tracey is wheeling towards the kitchen. There are no sounds. (Tracey can't hear them.)

TRACEY

(hesitantly) Kimmi?

CUT TO:

INT. IOTA ALPHA HOUSE, KIMM1'S ROOM. TWILIGHT.

The sounds of Pia's final struggle are clear here, but it's the only supernatural sound we can hear. Kimmi is backing into her room, away from Pia's voice, hands over her eyes, weeping soundlessly.

KIMMI

I'm sorry. Pia, I didn't know. I'm sorry. Aw, fuck, please, I tried. I – I don't know. I can't. I –

She stops, takes a deep breath. Lowers her hands.

KIMMI

Please.

Pia's gasping does not relent. Kimmi closes her eyes, turns, facing the window, opens her eyes. The window is one of those attic dormer-type windows; we're up pretty high. CUT TO:

INT. HARLAN'S HOUSE, KITCHEN. TWILIGHT.

The sounds all come together, here. The chord, as a base, tension, keening; the roar of the voices, Lovecraftian glossolalia, echoing Eric as he calls out the names, echoing snippets of dialogue from the Prologue, the history of the Book; Pia's death rattle. Quick shots of everyone's reactions: Gerald looks even more uncertain, and concerned – is this for real? He can't hear the sounds. Liz, frightened; she almost hears them. Harlan can hear them, but dismisses them; he looks as if he's about to dry-heave, because he is; he's also trying to keep from saying the words himself. Jamshid can hear Pia most clearly, and is muttering

JAMSHID

Shut up. Shut up.

under her breath. But it's Eric who grabs our attention. He isn't looking at the Book any more; every name is a lump he must spit up. He doesn't know the names, and he's saying them. He's scared, but filled with wonder – my God, this is working...

ERIC

"Nyogtha... Tsathoggua... Yog-Sothoth..

His arms suddenly jerk wide, as if welcoming something. He gives with the full-throated cultists roar:

ERIC

IÄ! IÄ!

CUT TO:

INT. IOTA ALPHA HOUSE, FRONT PARLOR. TWILIGHT.

Janey cries out with him, startling the sisters. All of the sounds can be heard here, as well.

JANEY

IÄ! IÄ!

Shocked, scared, some of the sisters join in. It gathers momentum. CUT TO:

INT. STORM DRAIN BENEATH ARMITAGE LIBRARY. TWILIGHT.

The Door is bigger, brighter, pulsing quickly, in time with the roar of voices. Pia is fighting to the end, but it is already brushing her cheek. She's dying, of the cold, of half her body being swallowed, of being unfolded through into a higher dimension. Her voice is desperate, weak, almost lost.

PIA

Oh, God, please...

The Door, perhaps, swells perversely as she calls out to God. Maybe we focus on her trembling hand. CUT TO:

INT. HARLAN'S HOUSE, KITCHEN. TWILIGHT.

Arms wide, gleaming with sweat, eyes bugging, breath coming in shallow pants, a mockery, almost, of Pia's dying breath, Eric is trying to say the last name, but he can't. Gerald looks like he's about to jump in, magic spell or not. Jamshid's still muttering, though we can't hear her through all the roar:

JAMSHID

Shut up, goddammit. Shut the fuck up.

Liz has grabbed Harlan, who's doubled over, in pain. Eric's all we can hear, as he tries to say the name:

ERIC

"Nyar..........Nyar..........Nyarlath..........NYARLATH – "

JAMSHID

SHUT UP!

And Eric, looking shocked, loses it, and collapses to the floor, even as the roar collapses, falls apart into silence. Gerald leaps to help him. Harlan retches. Jamshid is muttering

JAMSHID

Shut up, shut up, shut up –

with her hands over her face. CUT TO:

INT. IOTA ALPHA HOUSE, FRONT PARLOR. TWILIGHT.

With the silence, the tension snaps. Janey nearly falls. Some of the sisters, who had been into it, do drop, like puppets. Others start muttering. Janey reaches up, uncertainly, to her temples, as if making sure her head is still there. Someone moans. CUT TO:

INT. IOTA ALPHA HOUSE, FRONT HALL. TWILIGHT.

Tracey peers up the stairs to the second floor.

TRACEY

Kimmi? You up there? We need to –

There is a sound from outside, behind her; from just the other side of the front door, a sick, wet thump, like a hundred and twenty pounds of meat and water hitting the concrete from three floors up. Tracey immediately knows what the sound is. She doesn't want to.

TRACEY

Oh, God. Oh, holy fuck.

CUT TO:

INT. STORM DRAIN BENEATH ARMITAGE LIBRARY. TWILIGHT.

Silence. The Door isn't glowing so brightly, or pulsing so quickly, but it is bigger. We can't see Pia's head from this angle, but it should be obvious from the curve of the Door that it's over the threshold by now. Her body shivers, perhaps, one last time; then nothing. CUT TO:

INT. HARLAN'S HOUSE, KITCHEN. TWILIGHT.

Jamshid has shut up herself, and sits there, dumbstruck; Gerald's helping Eric to his feet; Harlan's sitting up against Liz, still having some trouble breathing.

ERIC

Well. That – was... interesting...

FADE TO:

EXT./INT. IOTA ALPHA HOUSE, KIMMI'S ROOM. EVENING.

Start high, outside that third floor dormer window of Kimmi's room, looking down at her body, splayed lifelessly on the front steps, neck at that tell- tale angle, perhaps a pool of blood. A number of sisters, sh&Ll-shocked, stand around her; maybe a passer-by or two; the flashing red and blue lights of a security car approaching. The camera pulls around to see JANEY, standing in the open window, curtains billowing in that somebody-just-jumped-out-of-this-window way; she's peering down, an unreadable expression on her face. Behind her, we can see SHANTI, holding up a piece of paper: Kirnmi's note.

SHANTI

She – it just says she's sorry. She, ah, she wanted it to stop.

Janey pulls her head into the room.

JANEY

A quitter.

SHANTI

What?

JANEY

We don't need quitters in this house.

She reaches out, takes the note from Shanti, and methodically begins ripping it to pieces. CUT TO:

INT. HARLAN'S HOUSE, KITCHEN. NIGHT.

Harlan, of course, is sweeping up the salt. They've put the table back. Gerald sits at it, flipping through the Book. Liz is setting up the kettle for more tea. Jamshid sits at the table, looking blank. Eric sits there, too, looking at the half-melted birthday candles in his hands.

GERALD

(breaking an awkward silence) The illuminations are, technically, gorgeous...

ERIC

(bitter) You're actually standing there telling me you didn't hear a goddamn thing.

HARLAN

The blood, rushing in my ears. A ringing sound. I felt sick to my stomach. I nearly puked. I think I'm coming down with something, some stomach flu, maybe. I don't know.

ERIC

How do you explain the voices?

HARLAN

I didn't hear any voices.

ERIC

But – (to Jamshid) You heard them, right? You were yelling...

Jamshid doesn't say anything. Another awkward silence ensues.

GERALD

(to Harlan) Can you write something up, about this millipulsar thing?

HARLAN

Sure.

ERIC

Why?

GERALD

I'm... concerned about it. If it bears out –

HARLAN

It does.

GERALD

 – then I have to agree: its a pretty serious challenge to the authenticity of this volume.

ERIC

How can you say that? After what just happened? After what we –

GERALD

(gently) Eric. I didn't hear anything. I'm sorry...

ERIC

(an edge of desperation) Liz, you must have –

LIZ

(slowly shaking her head) I don't know, Eric. I – it was so confused – maybe –

ERIC

Why – why is this so hard to accept? Why can't you believe what happened –

HARLAN

(gentle, for once) Because it requires belief, Eric. Your hypothesis – magic – it might serve to explain – this book, or what you think happened, last night, tonight – but it knocks the legs out from under everything else I know to be true about the world. Not believe – know. I – I – (stands) I can't accept it. I won't. It just isn't possible.

And, a little abruptly, he leaves, heading up to his room.

LIZ

Harlan?

Jamshid stirs to life.

JAMSHID

Bugger this for a lark. I'm out of here.

ERIC

Where are you going?

JAMSHID

Dancing! Want to come?

ERIC

(frowns) I'm exhausted.

GERALD

I'm spoken for.

JAMSHID

Fine. Your loss. (to Gerald) And I dont even know you.

GERALD

Your loss.

JAMSHID

Liz?

LIZ

Huh? No. I'd, uh, better stay here. With Harlan.

They're getting up, getting ready to leave. Liz frowns, looking at the Book, sitting there on the table.

LIZ

Hey. (points to the Book) What about this? (to Gerald) Shouldn't you take that?

GERALD

What? I – (obviously quite uncomfortable) I don't, I mean –

LIZ

To keep it safe?

GERALD

I don't think that's necessary. I mean, Harlan needs it, to write that stuff up about the pulsars –

LIZ

Yeah, but –

JAMSHID

Nervous much?

Liz and Gerald both glare at her as she skips out, but it's true; the Book is making them both nervous, and neither of them wants to be stuck with it.

LIZ

It is a valuable book... whether it's real, or a fake...

GERALD

Yeah, but... It's creepy. Tonight, it's creepy.

LIZ

Gee. Thanks.

GERALD

Harlan can keep it safe. (he turns to leave)

ERIC (OFF-SCREEN)

(from the front door) Jesus, Jamshid –

LIZ

Hey. (catches Gerald's arm) Be careful with him. Eric, I mean. He's coming off a bad break-up...

GERALD

(blinks, surprised; he'd thought he was below everyone's radar on this) I'll, ah, I'll keep that in mind.

CUT TO:

EXT. HARLAN'S HOUSE. NIGHT.

ERIC and GERALD on the porch, buttoning up their coats; JAMSHID is already bouncing off into the night. Maybe she's singing Garbage's "When I Grow Up" at the top of her lungs.

GERALD

You want some company on the walk home?

ERIC

Huh? Yeah. Thanks. All that "nothing" that happened back there has me wrung out. (beat, then, ultra-casual) So. You're spoken for, you said?

GERALD

Yeah. I mean, I'm walking you home, aren't I?

Gerald offers Eric his arm. After a moment, Eric takes it. Off they go. We can see LIZ, watching them through the window from the living room; after a moment, she lets the curtain fall. CUT TO:

INT. HARLAN'S HOUSE, HARLAN'S ROOM. NIGHT.

Harlan lies on his futon, staring at the ceiling, his hands fiddling with a sleight-of-hand exercise, walking a coin along the back of his hand, or making balls appear and disappear from between his fingers. Some quiet, complicated music plays in the background. Liz knocks on the c[oorframe, looking in on him.

LIZ

Marry me?

HARLAN

I'm busy. Being mad. Ask me again in a couple of weeks.

It doesn't go over as well as he intended. Liz purses her lips, swallows the instant snappy comeback.

LIZ

(stiffly) I'm sorry I "Harlaned" you.

HARLAN

You should be. But. I shouldn't have snapped. I was reacting, not thinking.

LIZ

Overreacting.

HARLAN

(grin) Do you mind? I'm trying to find a way to apologize and keep my dignity, here.

LIZ

Good luck.

She sits next to him, on the futon, rubs his shoulders.

LIZ

Ye gods, you're tense.

HARLAN

I'm always tense.

He submits to her ministrations with little grace, like a cat suffering a small child to pet it.

LIZ

Do you really mean you heard nothing?

HARLAN

Did you?

LIZ

Harlan – I was holding you. You were –

HARLAN

I said, I'm feeling a little ill.

LIZ

You were doubled over in a fœtal crouch, Harlan.

A beat.

HARLAN

Do you – you know, I don't think I've ever asked you. Do you believe, in, in magic? (as she hits a tight knot. in his neck) Ow.

LIZ

Sorry.

Harlan pulls away from her a little, rubbing his shoulder where she hit the knot.

HARLAN

How about God? Do you believe in God?

LIZ

I tell Daddy I do. At Christmas. (beat) There's... something out there. I believe that. And every now and then, you can... know that. Feel it. Directly. Sometimes. You know what I mean?

HARLAN

Tonight?

Another beat.

LIZ

I don't know. Maybe.

HARLAN

(sighs) Well. I believe in science. It's the best part of us. That ability to ask questions, and then go looking for the answers, no matter what.., never taking them as sacred, always challenging, questioning whatever we discover, or think we discover... We know how a star works, that's so far away, the light that's shining on us left it a thousand years ago. We know about the molecules that bind together and code everything we are. We've got a pretty good idea how the universe got started. All that from asking questions. And that – that book is the very opposite. It's about making up the answers. Worse – It's a fake, a hoax, a fucking joke that appeals to the part of us that just wants to go to sleep.

LIZ

But. If it's true.

HARLAN

It isn't.

LIZ

If, dammit. If. You've got to admit, it raises some questions. Challenges what we think we know.

HARLAN

You just want it to be true.

LIZ

That's just it. I hope it's a fake. That thing scares the shit out of me, Harlan. I don't want it to be real.

HARLAN

Did you hear anything? Feel anything?

LIZ

I – I don't know. Maybe. (beat) Did you?

Hold that a moment; let it get uncomfortable. Then FADE TO:

INT. CURWEN HOUSE, HALL OUTSIDE ERIC'S ROOM. NIGHT.

ERIC is preparing to unlock his door; GERALD's standing there beside him.

ERIC

Well, thanks. I'm safe now, I guess. The Book is far away...

GERALD

You want me to go?

Eric's got his door open; he stops, though, looks over at Gerald. Dare he? Daren't he? Gerald grins, a little, also nervous.

GERALD

You know, without exception, this has got to be the strangest first date I've ever been on.

Eric reaches out, then, pulls Gerald's face to him, kisses him.

ERIC

Yeah...

They kiss some more, fumbling their way into Eric's room. CUT TO:

INT. ROSE OF DUNWICH. NIGHT.

Something loud, harsh, jagged is playing; the management humbly suggests "Daikoukai – Verso lo Schermo" by Riyuiuchi Sakarnoto. Jamshid is dancing, but it should become clear her heart isn't in it; she's thinking too much. About Kimmi. About the prank. About what just happened, with the Book, in Harlan's house. Dancing was supposed to drive all the thoughts out of her head, but it isn't working; she's mad, mad at herself, mad at everything, and she lashes out, then gathers herself together, stops.

JAMSHID

Well, fuck.

She stalks off the dance floor. FADE TO:

INT. CURWEN HOUSE, ERIC'S ROOM. NIGHT.

Oh, we might as well give in to temptation: a slow pan, either along discarded clothing, or along the hills and hummocks of love-wracked sheets.

Either way, we end up looking at Eric and Gerald, post-coitus. We hear them speaking as we pan.

ERIC

Well, it's so damn heterosexual, you know? I mean, they're lovely people, the whole idea of getting more in touch with spirituality, the power of nature, that's all well and good – but at the end of the day, the moral center of the religion is that every year the High Priest plows the High Priestess so we get good crops.

Gerald chuckles, drily.

ERIC

I'm serious! Look. I was pretty seriously into Wicca for a while, in high school.

GERALD

Yeah?

ERIC

Yeah. Joined a coven, that met at the local community center. Did rituals "sky clad." Consecrated my own athame. The whole deal. But every year at May Eve, pop! Off they'd go to bushes, like bunnies. I felt. .. left out.

GERALD

So you were struggling out of the closet, and –

ERIC

Oh, no. Nothing like that. I've known since I was six.

GERALD

Ever hear of the Radical Faeries?

ERIC

(catty) I have some dignity. (beat) I guess the best way to put it is that I believe... Things happen. That we can't explain. Things we just can't understand. Beyond that, I don't know. I'm not willing to say.

GERALD

And have you seen anything like that? Yourself?

ERIC

You mean, like tonight?

GERALD

What did happen tonight?

A pause, as Eric gathers himself.

ERIC

I don't know. (beat) Maybe nothing. I mean – I heard voices. I did. I – felt – something. I don't know. .. It could have been, I don't know, a hallucination. Or wishful thinking,, I wanted something to happen, so badly...

GERALD

Why?

ERIC

Why not? (looks up at him) But enough about me. What about you? What's your take on the whole subject?

GERALD

Judith Feinberg's boy puts his faith in the Kaballah. Though I must admit to a weak spot for Gnosticism...

ERIC

Look at you, with your fancy two dollar words.

GERALD

You must admit, the theory that this world is a material prison created by the Devil has a lot going for it.

ERIC

(suddenly, oddly wistful) Yeah...

CUT TO:

EXT. JAMSHID'S APARTMENT COMPLEX. NIGHT.

JAMSHID approaches, fishing out her keys, drunk, but not nearly so drunk as she wants to be, and in a foul mood. As she hunts for her key and prepares to unlock her door, JANEY steps out of the shadows.

JANEY

Took you long enough.

JAMSHID

(jumps) Jesus Christ! You – fuck! (she's dropped her keys; she bends over to pick them up) Don't do that!

JANEY

It's not safe, wandering around at night like this.

JAMSHID

So what are you doing here?

JANEY

I think we both know the answer to that.

Jamshld tries to screw together her bravada, but it seems to have seeped away, leaving a vaguely drunken stupor and the first nasty stirrings of a hangover.

JAMSHID

Yeah. Whatever.

JANEY

I felt you, this evening. When you did whatever you did.

That rattles Jamshid. She fumbles with the door lock to cover it.

JAMSHID

I have no idea what you're talking about.

JANEY

Is that the best you can do? Where's the snappy comebacks? The witty banter?

JAMSHID

Fuck off, Janey. I'm tired. (she opens the door)

JANEY

Kimmi killed herself, Jamshid.

Now the bombshell goes off. Jamshid stares at Janey, holding the door open still.

JANEY

Jumped out of her window. This evening. While you were doing whatever it was you were doing. With the Book...

JAMSHID

Pia?

JANEY

I think we both know what happened to her, too. May I?

Jamshid lets Janey in, still shell-shocked; she stands there a moment, in the doorway, then steps in herself, letting it close. I forgot to mention that building through this scene is the low murmur of that chorus of Lovecraftian glossolalia, the weird unearthly chanting. It's a low murmur, at first at that did-I-hear-it-or-am-I-just-imagining-it threshold, but as Jamshid lets Janey in it ramps up suddenly, and the door closes as it gets louder and louder and we CUT TO:

INT. HARLAN'S HOUSE, HARLAN'S ROOM. NIGHT.

as the glossolalia hits its peak and HARLAN, panicked, just awakened from a nightmare he can't remember, jerks upright in his bed in his dark room. The glossolalia stops dead. He gasps for breath. Liz stirs, but doesn't wake up. CUT TO:

INT. HARLAN'S HOUSE, KITCHEN. NIGHT.

Harlan stumbles into the kitchen, yanks open the refrigerator, pulls out the Brita water pitcher and pours himself a glass. He drinks it down, pours another. He's still rattled by the dream, maybe because he can still hear that weird unearthly chanting. In fact, we can hear it, too, only it's quiet, now, more a background noise than a rising crescendo. Harlan looks irritated, uncomfortable.

AL AZRAD (VO)

(his voice barely heard, distorted, torn) Do you hear it?

Harlan jumps. Did he hear that? Did we? There's a babble in the chanting, half-understood (of course, we know it's lines heard during the Prologue) – He turns. There's the Book, on the table, where Gerald and Liz left it. But it's lying open. The glossolalia, the voices...

KELLY (VO)

(similar distortion) God's mercy on us, Doctor Dee.

Harlan walks closer to the Book, his hand out. It's open to the chart. His face is impassive.

MRS LOVECRAFT (VO)

(similar distortion) – come say good-bye to our guest.

KELLY (VO)

(similar distortion) It is so large... It has a name.

AL AZRAD (VO)

(similar distortion) Do you hear it?

We can hear the pulsing, slowly, creeping up through the voices. Harlan touches the page. He jolts, a little, as if at an electric shock.

KELLY (VO)

(similar distortion) God keep us safe from every harm. The name begins, it begins with –

Suddenly, almost savagely, Harlan slams the Book shut. Silence. Thank God, it's quiet. He stands there a moment, panting. Wipes his face. CUT TO:

EXT. HARLAN'S HOUSE. NIGHT.

HARLAN comes stumbling out, half-dressed, shrugging into his coat, his breath frosting about him. The Book is tucked under one arm. He looks up. The stars. He's so small and tiny here, and the enormous sky is full of cold, unfathomable stars. He stumbles down the steps off the porch and stands at the bottom, looking up, looking up. The stars. He shudders, and sets off, somewhere, purposeful, with the Book. CUT TO:

INT. JAMSHID'S APARTMENT. NIGHT.

JAMSHID sits before her mirror, head in hands, looking dejected. Her responses are tired and colorless to start, almost as if something has drained out of her. JANEY wanders about, looking at the posters on the wall, magnanimous, expansive.

JANEY

What I don't understand is why you left us at all.

JAMSHID

Of course you don't.

JANEY

Explain it to me.

JAMSHID

Y'all didn't exactly go out of your way to make me feel welcome.

JANEY

No more or less than any other girl. We did right by you, Jamshid. And this is how you repay us.

JAMSHID

Yeah, well, I never wanted to join in the first place. It was my mother's idea. She thought it would be a great way to network.

JANEY

It's so much more than that. It's a bond. For life. Once a sister, always a sister...

JAMSHID

(muttered) That's assuming you were ever a sister to start with.

JANEY

(annoyed) It's a sacred bond, of friendship, and sorority. Not something to be taken lightly. (the threat is starting to show, in her voice) Not to be trifled with.

JAMSHID

(her spunk is starting to flare up again) What is this? You tell me Kimmi's dead, Pia's dead, and you're spouting off in my room on some kind of James Bond evil mastermind kick?

JANEY

(quietly) "Honor is my touchstone and my creed."

JAMSHID

Now you sound like a fucking Klingon.

JANEY

Do I? That's from the oath you took, when you joined our house. An oath no sister ever breaks.

JAMSHID

(snorts) Sure. And Iota Alpha has a zero-tolerance policy towards hazing, and takes a hard-line stance against under- age drinking. Says so, in the by-laws.

JANEY

You broke your oath, Jamshid. You betrayed us.

JAMSHID

I left. Remember?

JANEY

But you have a chance to redeem yourself. Tell me – I can almost feel it. .. I think I can hear it, at this point....

JAMSHID

(blinks; it's rather like Janey switched scripts in mid- sentence) What are you talking about?

JANEY

(smiles) The Book, Jamshid. Where's the Book?

CUT TO:

EXT. PICKMAN OBSERVATORY. NIGHT.

A shot of the bulk of the observatory, the great dome of it, dark against the brilliant, starry night. Harlan, carrying the Book, walks up the sidewalk towards it, preparing to perform a blasphemy in the darkened temple of Science. CUT TO:

INT. PICKMAN OBSERVATORY. NIGHT.

The fluorescent lights flicker on, and there's HARLAN, Book in his arms, crossing over the bare expanse of concrete floor beneath the enormous telescope (get it? the phallus of Science, penetrating, probing, piercing the secrets of the great Darkness with Light? I'll shut up, now). He's not quite sure, now, why he came here. It's a safe place, though. A place where maybe he can start toying with some of the ideas flitting across his brain, whether he wants them to or no.

HARLAN

(to himself) All right...

Still cradling the Book (gingerly), he sweeps the nest of papers from the computer terminal he was using earlier today, and set the Book down on the desk. He stands there a moment, looking at it, obviously screwing up his courage to do something (and embarrassed that he has to screw up his courage – what is he scared of, a book?) – then he reaches out, quickly, flips the Book open. He squeezes his eyes shut. Nothing happens. He sighs. Nothing. No sound, no noise, nothing. Maybe he laughs a little, at himself. How silly. A nightmare, and here he is, halfway across town. He reaches out, flips through the pages. Frowns. He's flipped to the pages Eric was reading from, this afternoon. He runs his finger down the list of names.

HARLAN

(muttered) "Psinother. Therinops. Nopsither."

He picks up the Book, looking at the list, then suddenly spins around, declaiming loudly, stentoriously, to the open space:

HARLAN

Psinother! Therinops! Nopsither! Zagoure! Pagouri! Netbxnomaoth!

Still nothing. He grins a little, at what he's doing; still, the grin falters. This isn't a fair test, and he knows it, inside. Maybe he tries one more name, halfheartedly:

HARLAN

Nepsiomaoth...

Then he sets the Book down, on the concrete floor. It does nothing. No weird sounds, no voices from the past. Still...

HARLAN

(muttered) Once and for all.

He grabs one of the Latin dictionaries hed left behind, and a pad of paper, and kneels on the concrete, going through the spell item by item. Hes going to do it, damn it, once and for all, and prove theres nothing there.

HARLAN

Chalk...

He starts looking about for some. CUT TO:

INT. JAMSHID'S APARTMENT. NIGHT.

JAMSHID and JANEY are pretty much where we left them.

JANEY

At first, I had no idea it was you. Like everyone else, I thought it was the football team, or those geeks who do that humor magazine. But this evening.., when I heard you, it all made sense.

JAMSHID

Let's review a moment, shall we? I'm still trying to grasp this whole "feel it, hear it" concept.

JANEY

(frowns) Don't be coy with me.

JAMSHID

Perish the thought.

JANEY

(threatening) Jamshid...

JAMSHID

Janey, I'm being as honest as I possible can when I tell you i have no idea what the fuck you're talking about.

JANEY

(cocks her head) You don't hear it.

JAMSHID

No.

JANEY

(puzzled) But I heard you this evening. Telling Pia to shut up... (Jamshid flinches; Janey doesn't notice) That humming. How can you not hear it? (Janey closes her eyes) Like something spinning, very, very fast? (opens them) It's that poem we read to the pledges, every year. About what the Book contains. 'Some secrets of this earth, that God had damed..." That's what this is, isn't it.

JAMSHID

Why don't you tell me?

JANEY

Somehow – you learned them. Somehow –

JAMSHID

Janey – I haven't learned a goddamn thing. Not about this, anyway. I – (and suddenly, it clicks. Grudging admiration spreads across her face) Oh. I get it. Prank the prankster. Nice.

And now it's Janey's turn to be puzzled.

JANEY

I don't –

JAMSHID

Sending Kimmi to see me today, setting me up like that, was a master-stroke. And your performance – damn, girl. You had me going. And there are very few people on this planet I can say that about.

JANEY

Shut up, Jamshid. If you're not going to – if, after all this, you're not going to let me in – just tell me where the Book is. Okay?

JAMSHID

(shrugs) You might as well give up on that, babe. This grad student from the library has seen it, and he –

From out of nowhere, Janey slaps Jamshid hard with her left hand. Jamshid's head rocks to one side, she lifts her hand, touches her cheek. Ow.

JAMSHID

Okay. We crossed a line, there.

JANEY

How could you? How could you betray us? That Book is the most important thing in the world now, and you – you –

JAMSHID

I'm not – ow – I'm not a sister anymore. Remember?

JANEY

(jabbing her right forefinger at Jamshid to punctuate her words) Once a sister, always a sister –

JAMSHID

(raises a hand to grab Janey's, thrust it away) Stop – (and, as her hand touches Janey's, she yanks it back, electrified) Jesus!

And everything is still for a moment, Janeys hand still thrust in Jamshids face, and if we can manage it, we see a puff of frost in the air, as Jamshid's breath blows over Janeys hand, and is instantly chilled. Cool.

JAMSHID

Jesus, Janey. It's freezing.

Janey, tentatively, lifts her hand, wonderingly brushes her left hand over her right, not quite touching it.

CUT TO:

INT. PICKMAN OBSERVATORY. NIGHT.

And there, on the concrete floor of the observatory, under the great telescope, Harlan has scribed the Greater and Lesser Circles, and he's on his knees, scribing the last Cthonic god-name in its proper place on the circle. He mutters as he draws:

HARLAN

Psinother. Therinops. Nopsither. Zagoure. Pagouri. Nethxnomaoth. Nepsiomaoth. Markhkhhatha. Thobarran. Tharnakhakhan. Zoroko. Thora. Jeou. Sabaoth.

The Book is lying open to one side, with a couple of dictionaries and scribbled sheets of paper scattered about it. Harlan finishes the name, stands up, dusting his palms; looks over his work. Not bad. He steps over to the Book, kneels down to check something. Runs his finger along the Latin, sounding it out to himself. Stops.

HARLAN

Shit.

Looking around at what he's got, he stands, slowly. He isn't finding what he's looking for.

HARLAN

Fucking candles.

Okay. A slight break, to relieve some of the tension; comic relief, almost.

CUT TO:

INT. KAPLAN'S OFFICE. NIGHT.

We start out in the hall of the office annex attached to the dome. Harlan, pulling out a big ring of keys, unlocks a door which reads PROFESSOR KAPLAN Radio Astronomy. We follow him in as he flicks on the fluorescent lights. Quick impression of a nice enough office, some blow-ups of astrogational hotspots as seen through a radio telescope, or the Hubble – and, on a shelf, a small shrine to the Tao, with a litter of candles and an incense burner. Harlan grabs an empty trash can.

HARLAN

(muttering) Sorry, professor.

He sweeps the candles off the shelf into the can, then opens a cabinet and grabs more, fresh candles that haven't been lit. Mostly little votives, but also some thick white scented ones, as well. Somewhere in there, the phone on Kaplan's desk rings. Harlan freezes. The phone keeps ringing. Nothing else happens. Shaking his head, he finishes loading up on candles, and leaves the ringing phone behind. CUT TO:

INT. JAMSHID'S APARTMENT. NIGHT.

Janey is still staring at her hand, going over events in her mind, piecing it together.

JANEY

It was so cold, last night. I was holding the Book, and then the... voice... started to speak.

JAMSHID

This is nuts, Janey.

JANEY

And this hand was holding it up. And I felt it. Something... snapped open. It was cold, very cold...

You know, maybe we are starting to hear that pulsing noise. And maybe Jamshid is starting to hear it, too.

JAMSHID

Janey, your hand. Somehow – I don't know. But if we don't get you to a doctor –

JANEY

And I dropped the Book. And I was scared. It's stupid, but I was scared. It's so beautiful. And now it's happening again. I need the Book...

JAMSHID

(frightened) What?

The sound is building to that peak again.

JANEY

No... someone else has the Book, right? One of your friends. (turns, smiling) They know.

JAMSHID

(edging close to panic) What?

Janey kneels in front of Jamshid, grabs her hands and holds them tightly in her cold, cold fingers. Jamshid looks like she's about to scream; it hurts.

JANEY

This time it's really going to happen.

White noise. CUT TO:

INT. PICKMAN OBSERVATORY. NIGHT.

Silence. A swirling single shot widdershins (counterclockwise) around Harlan, which starts as a slow revolve and gets faster and faster as the spell intensifies. He's standing in the lesser circle, holding the Book before him.

HARLAN

(slowly, a little uncertain)
Per Adonai Eloim, Adonai Jehova,
Adonai Sabaoth, Metraton Ou Agla Methon,
verburn pythonicum, mysterium salamandrae,
cenventus sylvorurn, antra gnomorum,
daemonia Coeli God, Almonsin, Gibor,
Jehosua, Evam, Zariatbnatmik,
Veni, veni, veni!

He's breathing heavily, and looks a little sick. Sweat slicks his brow. He sets down the Book and peels off his sweatshirt.

HARLAN

(with more force, gathering steam)
Per Adonai Eloim, Adonai Jehova,
Adonai Sabaoth, Metraton Ou Agla Methon,
verburn pythonicum, mysterium salamandrae,
cenventus sylvorurn, antra gnomorum,
daemonia Coeli God, Almonsin, Gibor,
Jehosua, Evam, Zariatbnatmik,
Veni, veni, veni!

Per Adonai Eloim, Adonai Jehova,
Adonai Sabaoth, Metraton Ou Agla Methon,
verburn pythonicum, mysterium salamandrae,
cenventus sylvorurn, antra gnomorum,
daemonia Coeli God, Almonsin, Gibor,
Jehosua, Evam, Zariatbnatmik,
Veni, veni, veni!

Harlan's breath is heaving, now; he's fighting his nausea, swallowing, preparing to speak the names – but really, the names are speaking him at this point. He couldn't stop it if he tried.

HARLAN

Ahtu.
Lrogg.
Thoth.
Avaloth.
Dorozhand.
Tamash.
Sharnoth, Sharnoth!
Nyogtha!
Tsathoggua!
Yog-Sothoth!

He takes a deep breath. Oh, my God, here it goes.

HARLAN

Nyarlathotep. Nyarlathotep. NYARLATHOTEP!

The camera, as its whirling as he says this, as it swings behind him – We see suddenly that there is someone dark and shadowy standing in the big circle that wasn't there lust a second ago, and as it swings around before him we see his eyes bug out, my God, it worked! The camera, slowing, spins behind him again, and the camera slows, and the camera stops. CUT TO a more distant view, showing the two of them there, Nyarlathotep impassive, silent, shadowy, Harlan breathing heavily, raggedly, arms wide, shaking, shivering with a sudden chill, as if a fever has broken. CUT TO as close as we're going to get to Nyarlathotep.

NYARLATHOTEP

You called, and I have come. What do you want.

CUT TO Harlan. What does he want? That this not be real. That this be undone. That this all go away. He's terrified. He has no idea. Hold a moment, then CUT TO:

—Filed 6278 days ago to .

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Act I Act III