It's nice doing this actually. One of the first things I wrote "properly" was a short play called "The Widow's Waltz" (which I'm currently turning in to a radio drama) about a cursed and damned piece of music. "The Reaper's Image" is very much in that vein of macabre antiquity so it was a real pleasure to adapt. To quote Garth Marenghi "I hope you're sitting UN-comfortably. Enjoy. Well. I say enjoy..."
The Reaper’s Image
By
Jeremy Linnell
Based on a short story by Stephen
King
Two men, Spengler and Claggert,
slowly make their way through the
audience. On stage is a pile of “antiques”, boxes, old vases etc etc etc. junk.
On overstuffed attic. However standing centre is a large, tall object covered
in a black cloth. At the foot of the stage is a door facing the audience, in
front of it some steps.
Claggert: We moved it up there last year. Had
to. Quite an operation it was to, let me tell you. Had to it by hand
Spengler remains silent, but watches Claggert with the sort of contempt only
the truly rich can mange when dealing with service people. They continue to
weave through the audience.
Claggert: Cost a great deal too. We insured
with Lloyd’s you know. Only company that would insure for the sum we were
thinking of. Five million pounds.
Spengler pauses to look around, as if admiring
objects he’s seeing on his way. Claggert
notices and stops with him.
Claggert: Admiring the rest of the collection,
sir?
Spengler: The old pirate certainly was a
hoarder wasn’t he. Not that I blame him. Most of this is junk. Not even worth
selling. I’m surprised you have the audacity to call this a museum. Are you
sure it’s genuine DeIver you’ve got up there? I don’t appreciate having my time
wasted.
They begin to move
again
Claggert: Oh yes. It’s why we had to move
it. Three weeks ago a woman, Sarah
Bates, came and tried to smash it. People don’t do that for anything other than
genuine DeIver. They inspire their destruction. The woman had a brother you see
and /
Spengler cuts him off
Spengler: I don’t require your spiel Mr.
Claggert. I’m familiar with the purported history of DeIver glass.
Claggert lights up with the passion of the
true enthusiast
Claggert: Fascinating isn’t it? There was the English
Duchess in 1709, the Persian rug merchant in 1776, not to mention/
Spengler cuts him off again.
Spengler: I’m convenient with history. What I’m
interested in is craftsmanship. Then, of course, there’s the question of
authenticity…
Claggert: Authenticity! It’s been examined by
experts Mr. Spengler.
Spengler: So too were Hitler’s diaries. So was
the Lemlier Stratovarius.
Claggert: All the same I can assure you /
He’s interrupted again.
Spengler: I’m not interested in assurances.
When I’m satisfied with its quality my own team will examine it before we
finalise payment.
Claggert sighs
Claggert: I understand. I do. Perhaps when you
see it you’ll be satisfied. I doubt a forgery possess quite the same…unsettling
nature as DeIver glass.
Spengler: Quite.
They continue walking
in silence. Upon reaching the stage Claggert
produces a key, climbs the stairs to unlock it
Claggert: Truth be told I’m glad the mirror is
up here. I’ve never liked it. Never even looked In it.
He pauses.
Claggert (cont.): I’m afraid to, honestly. Afraid I’ll
look and see what they saw.
He tries to unlock a
door that allows them to climb the stairs up to the stage. Fumbles in the lock
and drops the key
Claggert: Damn!
Spengler: You really are nervous aren’t you.
Claggert says nothing
Spengler: Look come down before you hurt
yourself.
Claggert: Five million. Five million pounds to
take that, that thing, from downstairs and up here. We had to hire a crane.
Team of men. Widen the attic windows temporarily. Huge operation. So much could
have gone wrong. I hoped it would. That a cable would give way, or one of the
men would drink on the job and then…it’d just be gone.
Claggert weakens and sits on the stairs.
Spengler: Why. Look at the facts Claggert.
Not…cheap and flimsy horror tales.
Claggert: I have!
Spengler: Fact number one: John DeIver was an
English craftsman of Norman descent who made mirrors in what we now call the
Elizabethan period of British history.
Claggert: I know.
Spengler: He died uneventfully. No hidden
rooms. No bloody pentagrams. No contracts smelling slightly of sulphur and
signed in suspicious red ink.
Claggert: I know.
Spengler: Fact number two: His work became
famous for their quality of craftsmanship and unique use of crystal during the
process that gave the resulting mirror a curious, but subtle, distorting effect
that, to this day, remains unreplicated.
Claggert: I know
Spengler: Fact number three: Only five DeIver’s
remain in existence today. Three of them in America, one in France. This is the
only one in the UK. They are priceless.
Claggert: I know.
Spengler: Fact number four: This DeIver, and
one that was destroyed during the Blitz, gained a reputation based on rumour,
coincidence, falsehood and exaggeration.
Claggert is silent.
Spengler: Fact number five: You are a
superstitious coward who overinflates the one item of value in his own
worthless museum for reasons I presume are self-importance.
Claggert: I was leading a tour group.
Spengler: What?
Claggert: School children. About sixteen.
Brother of the Bates woman was with us. We arrived at the DeIver and I was
talking about the part you so love. The perfect craftsmanship. “What about that
black mark” asked the boy “That looks like a mistake”. Well. There is no black
mark. I can assure you of that. I assured him the same. Maybe he had something
in his eye I said. His friends started teasing him, they could see nothing
wrong either. He went to take a closer look. “It looks like a man” he said.
“But I can’t see his face”.
Spengler: Go on. Just say it. I know you’re
dying to tell me he saw the reaper in the glass. That’s what they say isn’t it.
Those ridiculous web-sites. That certain individuals, when gazing in a DeIver,
see death, the Grim Reaper. So what horrific death befell the lad? Hit by a
car?
Claggert: If you know you’re history as well as
you say you’ll know there’s no deaths. A few days later the boy went out with
some friends. He never came home.
Spengler: Come on. That’s not unheard of for 16
year olds. He’ll be home in a few days. Probably met a girl.
Claggert: 1709 an English Duchess steps outside
at a dinner party after seeing something in the glass. She never comes back to
the table.
Spengler: History loses details.
Claggert: 1776 a Persian rug merchant goes to
his stock room after looking in the mirror at an auction house. He never
returns.
Spengler: Probably gave someone a bad deal and
had to disappear.
Claggert: I could tell you fifty more.
Spengler: Fifty more coincidences. Look. I
don’t have all day. Take me to see the mirror. Now.
Spengler forcibly hands Claggert the key from the floor. Claggert stands shakily and unlocks the door. They climb the stairs
and enter the attic, navigating around the boxes and junk.
Claggert: Well. Here we are.
He pulls off the cloth.
A huge, beautiful mirror is unveiled. Spengler
is audibly impressed.
Spengler: It’s magnificent.
Spengler steps towards it.
Spengler: Dammit Claggert you said those
workmen were careful? Why is the mirror taped up?
Claggert: They were. There’s no tape.
Spengler: I’m not blind man. It’s right there
in the corner.
Claggert: Touch it.
Spengler reaches out and touches the mirror
where he thinks the tape is.
Spengler: That’s…odd. I can’t feel the edge of
the tape. It’s smooth like the glass.
Claggert: You’re seeing it. You’ve seen the
reaper.
Spengler: Don’t be a fool.
He pauses and inhales
sharply.
Spengler: Oh. I suddenly feel a bit…queer.
Dizzy. I’m just…I need some fresh air.
Spengler leaves the stage and disappears in
to the audience.
Claggert: Spengler? Don’t leave me up here with
it. I can’t cover it alone without looking.
He pauses. Waits.
Claggert: Spengler? Spengler?
He waits.
And waits.
And waits.
The End
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