The Gentleman From Hell |S1| Ep. 42

Rusty Quill presents.

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Whoever designed this machine was absolutely certifiable.

As ingenious or lunatic?

I'd say a little of both.

Well, whoever they were, they clearly understood secret symbols.

And how to arrange them with purpose?

These designs here, fashioned from the wires, strongly suggest a summoning effect.

Well, it means I'm not as familiar with Mephitica as I'd like.

But these characters share distinct traits with runes I do recognize.

Once commonly used in rich as meant to open doors to the netherworld.

The way this thing distributes power to the life support subsystem is bizarre.

It seems the machine performs a controlled deceleration of the body's vitals.

This thing right here, which I've been calling the tilt switch in my notes, puts the host body into a sort of slow descent towards death.

It's rigged to activate whenever the record button is pushed.

The speed of the deceleration process can be modulated by this silver knob, right next to the play button.

Could it be that they're using the person trapped inside the machine as a kind of death fetish?

Across many cultures, the act of dying is seen as a liminal state, a moment suspended between worlds, with one foot lingering in life and the other stepping into death.

Perhaps by pushing the body ever closer to that threshold, they hope to forge a stronger bridge to the

well, to the unknown, exploiting the unique power of someone caught on the edge of oblivion.

That would seem to agree with the flaw of runes, which channel energies downward.

How do you manage to reconcile all your science with the supernatural?

You seem very comfortable accepting that paranormal energies are at work within this machine, that it can utilize runes as easily as wires.

That was always the idea.

To demonstrate that the the paranormal wasn't beyond science, just current science.

Come on.

Oh, that did it.

This compartment was sealed and locked.

Good thing I had a key.

A screwdriver?

Well, and all you have is a screwdriver and all that jazz.

What's in there?

More hair and nails.

Teeth, scraps of cloth, old news clippings, and and

a patch.

Looks like it's for some kind of rank.

I don't know if it's military or police or something else.

What do the news clippings say?

Huh, looks like there's two obituaries.

Both for cops.

One's for Matt Larkin, the other for Craig Brewerton.

There's also an article about Brewerton's death.

Says he was gunned down by drug dealers.

As for Larkin, he died later in a car crash.

I'm not seeing the connection.

Or why the cart would be trying to contact them with this thing.

If that's what they were really trying to do.

Oh, I suppose there's only one way to find out.

Oh, God, Phyllis.

You don't want to be touching all that, do you?

Oh, I've held far worse than teeth and nail clippings for the sake of a good reading, trust me.

And anything this machine can do, I can do better, especially behind the field of the resonator.

Besides, I'm sick of having to wait till all the chips fall before we know anything.

The psychic shortcut to the truth, huh?

I think that just about sums it up.

I know you always are, but I'm always going to say it anyway.

Be careful.

I wish I was always careful.

Well, all right.

I'm just going to have a seat right here and um.

Craig isn't gonna play ball, so he needs to go into early retirement.

You get my drift.

Loud and clear, officer.

Hey, officer, just what do all you want?

You should have taken the deal, Brewerton.

Wait, wait, wait, listen, I can...

I can...

Larkin was a corrupt cop.

He had thugs kill his partner because Brewerton wouldn't go along with some kind of crooked deal.

Damn.

Do you always get that much information and so quickly?

Now that you mention it,

I don't.

Was it the presence of the field, perhaps?

Uh, it certainly helped, but no, I think it was whatever the machine already did to the materials.

It was as if they'd been primed.

It barely took any effort at all for me to get the full story.

So it was Larkin they were trying to contact.

The one most likely to have gone to hell.

They would certainly seem that way to me.

And the majority of the materials belonged to Larkin.

That was evident the very second I started my reading.

I'm guessing we might find his voice on one of those cassettes?

I'd almost guarantee it.

Well, that's all taken care of for the time being.

Where did you...

put him?

After I finished taking notes and photographs, we sealed him up and left him in the secret room.

We'll have to dispose of him later.

I don't even want to know what that will entail.

Don't worry, we'll take care of everything.

Nobody but us needs to be involved.

Did you examine the body?

Yeah, but I'm no forensic pathologist.

I just snapped photos and jotted down anything that seemed off.

What really stood out were the tubes and wires.

They were all spaced exactly the same distance apart, arranged in this strange, deliberate pattern.

Does that shape ring any bells?

It's a match for one of the signals we found inside the machine.

Made from organizations of wires and other mechanical parts?

I'll tell you what jumps out in me.

This machine ain't some cobbled-together junker.

It looks factory-made.

Riveted tight, polished clean, perfectly balanced.

Moving it onto the elevator and bringing it up here was effortless.

Like it just rolled off an assembly line.

Jesus, you're right.

When you compare this thing to, say, the resonator, you can clearly see which one got the spit and which got the polish.

You thinking these things are mass-produced?

Why not?

We already know these guys are loaded.

Hellhead was a billionaire.

We also know the cult might be spread out all over the world.

Given the kind of shit they're up to, seems like a pretty sound investment, if you ask me.

Then they've literally got Mefitika down to a science.

You're right.

I can hear machines.

All of them working in unison.

And

I can see...

Yes, assembly lines.

I can also see coffins opening, corpses tumbling into vats of bubbling molten metal, and the metal, it's being poured into casts.

Cuss of the machine.

All its metal parts.

You're right.

There's a sizable operation behind all this.

Organized.

Refined.

Every part of the process is deliberate and calculated and.

monstrous.

Here, Phil, sit down for a bit.

Yes.

Yes, I think I will.

Thank you.

So they've actually developed, industrialized, a process of contacting and extracting people from hell.

I believe that's it exactly.

It's just...

unbelievable.

I think we need to redefine our notions of what is and isn't believable, even more than we already have.

So is that what happened to the people of Cold Sparrow?

They all got used to season the steel for these fucked up machines?

I don't think so.

The bodies they were using were taken from coffins, which means they were already dead and buried.

The people of Cold Sparrow simply vanished without a trace.

Do we even care what happened here anymore?

I mean, the whole whole job was just a ploy to get us here.

And now that we figured that out, I don't really see why the fuck we should focus on it anymore.

This thing clearly goes beyond the city.

Everything we've seen so far points back to the same thing.

Raising the damned.

We have to assume that's what's behind the disappearances, too.

We need to know everything we can about these bastards.

What drives them, what makes them tick.

Until then, we're flying blind.

For all we know, we could be the next to vanish without a trace.

Look at Ben or Alex Harmon.

They did something to them that could just as easily happen to us.

We need to understand what happened here.

It's part of the puzzle, the answer.

Well, for those answers, we've really only got one source.

Yep.

I'll grab some tapes if you guys want to get the coffee and tea going.

I'm on it.

My mind reels at what might truly be unfolding here, at what simply cannot be, and yet,

by every rational measure, must be.

Unless, of course, I've lost my sanity entirely.

But I show no signs of madness.

My thoughts are clear, my senses sharp.

Still, I cannot deny the impossible.

There is another world beneath this one, its threshold perhaps hidden somewhere under this very mansion.

I have glimpsed the city shrouded in fog.

I have felt its presence.

But what terrifies me most is the certainty that it saw me as well.

It peered into me with a depth and clarity I could never hope to return.

My dreams now burst at the scenes with visions straight from hell, and I can no longer dismiss them as mere echoes of my waking mind.

There is a weight to them, a growing reality that presses upward from the depths, blurring the line between dream and nightmare, and the waking world I once thought I knew.

Ironically, I think the only thing holding me together is that which I once believed would be my undoing.

My disorder, my need for answers.

Despite the horror of all of this, my mind desires, craves, an answer.

Naturally, I must assume this is all related to my father's bizarre request that I remain here for no less than a year, to discover his secrets.

I must also assume that, given the horrors that I have already discovered, My father's plan for me was not a kind one.

I would never have guessed that abandoning me at birth would be the least of his offences.

But what role does Rupert serve in all of this?

Certainly he is part of it.

He must be.

I expected Rupert's room to be locked.

Yet I believe I've found the spare key to it.

As I've said, I feel horrible for invading the man's privacy,

but I feel certain that he is hiding some involvement in this.

The room is quite sparse.

It shouldn't take me long to inspect it.

There really doesn't seem to be a lot here, which is strange in itself.

Just some clothing and lots of empty drawers.

And only one picture upon the wall.

And an odd one at that.

A rather ominous castle.

Doesn't say anything on the back.

The closet's big enough to live in.

And all he has in here are a pair of boots and a coat.

Hmm.

There's a strange symbol engraved into the wall behind the door.

Almost looks like a um bird's skull.

But I suppose these old places have plenty of strange flourishes.

Doesn't seem to do anything.

It's one of those symbols that activate hidden doors.

Come on, let's grab the portable units and head upstairs.

See if we can find that symbol.

Way ahead of you.

According to the Bureau's canvassing photos, Rupert's room is down the hall and on the left.

Let's hit it then.

Do you hear that?

That sounds like sparrows.

Look, way down there.

The end of the hallway is filled with them.

And they're not the normal variety.

They're the...

The dead ones.

But it looks like they're backing away from the resumators.

I can't bear to look at the things.

It's like walking through a nightmare.

Okay, just...

Keep your eyes on me.

Try to ignore them.

As long as they stay away, we're fine.

Just keep going.

Room's right there.

Oh, it's hard to see with all the mist the resonators are pulling up.

Sounds like they've completely invaded the tariff flock.

They're massing at the edges of the primary unit's field.

Room's clear.

Let's get to that symbol, ASAP.

I see it.

Let me see if I can activate it.

There we go.

I can see why Ben missed it.

Took some doing for it to give.

Yeah.

Klickin's hound came from over here.

I think this section of the wall moves.

Yep, just slide sideways.

Easiest Easiest one yet.

Be careful.

You see anything in there?

Just a narrow walkway.

Gonna check it out.

We're right behind you.

There's another sliding door up here.

Head it in.

You gotta be fucking kidding me.

What is it?

Come in and see for yourself.

Room's clear.

It's just like the hidden room at the school.

Except the dismembered arms are reaching up from the floor instead of hanging from the ceiling.

I'm going to guess Ben's room is right above us.

Yep, that's why Ed wanted Rupert to stick with Ben.

To curse him good and proper.

Get him ready for whatever happened in this damn town.

Some of these symbols drawn on the floor are the same as the ones we found in the machine?

and carved into Pris's body.

So Rupert was in on it from the start.

Sure as hell looks that way.

All that time playing the part of Ben's friend, every moment just a mask, while secretly damning him to hell.

Is is everyone okay?

I'm okay.

Just

shaken.

I'm fine.

But we won't be if we don't get out of here.

Where is it?

I don't know.

It smashed right through the living room wall.

Could be anywhere.

It may be able to overcome the chime, but I'm certainly must take some effort.

So make sure your phones are playing.

Gotcha.

But if the chime can't stop it, we gotta get out of here.

Hungering down in the cellar is not gonna do us any good.

What a pleasure to see you again, Dr.

Loxtrum.

It has been a long time.

It sounds like it's out in the hallway.

There's no need to hide.

I know where you are.

I can smell your souls.

Tell me, good doctor, having had so much time to reflect, would you have taken the place of any of your comrades?

The ones I gnashed between my teeth as they squealed and popped?

Or do you still think it was you who deserved to be the only one to live?

Don't answer him.

Perhaps she was your reasoning, yes.

A daughter to raise?

What better justification for any sin, any sacrifice?

But I wonder, would Gwen have understood?

There was still a flicker of life in her as she slid down my throat.

Those tiny, desperate spasms as she disappeared.

I like to think she found some comfort.

Knowing her end bought you a little more time to play the dutiful father.

Talk to it, Doctor.

I've got an idea.

How?

How did you get in here?

Past the time.

My darkness is an old one, Dr.

Loctrum.

It has thick skin.

There was pain, to be certain, but it was worth every second of seething agony, as I can now unite you with your fallen friends, where they still reside within my churning bowels.

Bill,

if you're still there, just give me a click.

Thank Christ.

If there's still power, and you can get to them, I need you to hit all the floodlights.

Then grab the car and meet us in the driveway.

If you can do all that, click twice.

My father is a good man.

You can twist the truth all you like, but in the end, we know what you are.

And what is that, lovely Leno?

You're just the human self that was able to climb back up from the sewer.

You will have plenty of time to ponder the matter, sweet girl, as the two of you watch each other writhe and churn within me.

Now, let us meet.

No,

come on, come on, go, go!

Hit it, Bill!

Go!

The Gentleman from Hell is a Maltopia production.

Today's episode was written by Mark Anselone and voiced by Stephen Zivik, Sam Stark, Aubrey Akers, Jesse Van Hove, Kelly Bear, and Mark Anselone.

Sound editing was completed by Stephen Anselone, and script editing was conducted by Walker Kornfeld.

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