The Gentleman From Hell |S1| Ep. 11

Rusty Quill presents

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You check your feed and your account.

You check the score and the restaurant reviews.

You check your hair and reflective surfaces and the world around you for recession indicators.

So you check all that, but you don't check to see what your ride options are.

In this economy, next time, check lift.

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Hello, Ben.

Always right on the dot.

Punctuality is a virtue, I believe.

If only my other clients thought the same thing.

So, how are you?

Last time we spoke, you were still a bit overwhelmed by your new lot in life.

Have you settled in?

I believe so.

It's um strange how one gets used to such things so quickly.

In fact, I've already sunk down into some old routines, although they certainly aren't tinged with the same desperation, I suppose.

Do you mean you're writing again?

Yes, and without all the pressure, I find it an almost alien exercise, writing just for the sake of it.

That's not to say the compulsion to pursue all the same topics has lessened, only that there's a legitimate lightness to it now.

My anxiety's been replaced with a sort of,

well, I suppose you could call it enthusiasm.

That's wonderful to hear, Ben.

I'm happy for you.

Are you still writing the book, or?

I've more or less finished with the book.

I've just been doing a little revision here and there.

But most recently, I've taken to writing essays.

I felt compelled to write the book due to its greater marketability.

But now, left to my own devices, bereft of pressure, I much prefer to pursue my subjects as they occur to me, rather than force them into some overarching narrative.

It sounds like things are really going well for you.

How have you been doing on other fronts?

I suspect you mean socially.

Well, now that you mention it, have you been able to interact with any less anxiety?

I'm rather ashamed to admit that I haven't so much as met a single person within the city.

I've yet to find the occasion to.

Rupert keeps the house stocked with whatever I might need or want.

That's not to say I haven't left the house.

I've driven for hours through the countryside.

Just a beautiful location.

You might try your hand at stepping out into the public eye, Ben.

Having no need to socialize, combined with a tendency to self-isolate.

Well,

you needn't be the recluse your father was.

How have you been getting on with Rupert?

Splendidly.

He's quite interesting once you get him talking, though a bit rustic.

He's...

Well, he's told me some things about my father.

I see.

Anything you'd like to share?

Apparently, we possessed many of the same interests, obsessions.

He also followed my life, or at least my work, such as it was, and quite closely.

Even secured a copy of my book, or

unpublished manuscript.

Had it bound into a proper hardcover.

How does that make you feel?

I

don't know.

But I wonder if these insights haven't caused some of my more

well

recent issues.

What's been going on, Ben?

It's hard to put into words.

I...

I've this apprehension, a sense of

otherness.

I can't quite explain.

But it's made it difficult to sleep.

And when I do sleep, there's nothing but nightmares.

It's entirely common for moving to induce anxiety.

It's one of the top triggers, in fact.

Compounded by all the other factors you mentioned, what you're experiencing is perfectly normal.

However, this sense of otherness...

Does it feel like your previous episodes of dissociation?

That's just it.

It doesn't.

Those experiences were more.

Well, I felt like my mind was dissolving into a sort of confusion.

This is quite different.

My mind feels intact.

It's more like I'm not occupying the same space anymore.

Like I've

gone somewhere else.

Different feelings can be triggered by extreme anxiety, and these feelings can shift with time.

Do you feel comfortable elaborating on what makes this other place seem distinct?

It's like a brief intimation with something.

Something wicked.

Is there a particular time or place where this feeling is stronger?

Late night, early evening.

Almost always after I've startled awake from a nightmare.

But I've always had nightmares, if not quite this many in a string.

And I've never had that feeling.

Hmm.

Why don't you tell me about these nightmares, Ben?

Well, my last one.

It um it begins with me gazing out my bedroom window into a sky so black and ominous it feels like a vast hungry cavern

Below stretching back in ragged waves toward the heart of the city are thousands of flickering red lights eyes

they're all fixed on me.

I know they've come for me.

To take me.

I step back from the window.

Only to stumble into the arms of a silent crowd that's been standing behind me all along.

Though darkness cloaks them, I can see their faces.

Each one grinning with a palpable anticipation, like children catching their first glimpse of a birthday cake.

They drag me through the hallway, my screams muffled, as if submerged underwater.

As I cross the hallway, lines of people flank me on both sides, each smiling in their turn.

Their attire is a chaotic blend of styles.

No two outfits remotely alike.

An overpowering, nauseating heat radiates from them, as if I'm walking past open flames.

They murmur words that dissolve before reaching my ears.

At the corridor's end, the elevator doors slide open with a gentle chime.

The sound is innocent, almost whimsical.

A lone butterfly fluttering amidst a swarm of wasps.

As I'm thrust into the confined space, the force slams me against the opposite wall.

The doors snap shut instantly.

Time stretches, and a suffocating terror grips me.

What if I'm trapped here forever?

Then, faintly at first, I hear gears and pulleys stirring to life.

The carriage begins to descend, its sides grating harshly against the surrounding walls.

The relentless screech of metal on metal fills the air.

But then I realize it's not machinery I hear.

It's the streams of a vast crowd echoing from somewhere far below.

This chilling revelation sends the car plunging into a freefall.

I'm weightless, suspended between terror and disbelief, frantic about the impending impact.

When the car finally halts, there's no crash, just an abrupt stillness.

The air grows so heavy that I can't lift myself from where I've collapsed upon the floor.

Then the elevator door opens, the chime sounding even more misplaced.

I'm met with an expansive silence, an abyss of impossibly deep subterranean space that churns with emptiness.

Then, from somewhere far below, footsteps begin to ascend, spiraling upward.

The sound grows louder and then softer again,

echoing as they wind around and around.

As I lie helpless on the cold, unforgiving floor, the elevator's lights flicker and extinguish as someone walks past me, oblivious to my presence.

I hear the footsteps shift from muted taps to metallic echoes as they step into the metal box.

The doors slide shut with a final hiss.

And the elevator ascends, its mechanical hum fading into the distance.

Left alone in this dark, abandoned place, the crushing reality settles over me.

I will never escape.

And then

I scream.

Poor man.

Ben's no slouch intellectually.

I'd say he knows full well the implications of what he says and is being super careful about what he admits to.

Raglan mentioned his prior disassociative episodes, which means he might have more kicking around in his head than just OCD.

Might be worried about some kind of recurrence and wants to take things slowly, so he's cherry-picking what he tells Raglan.

He mentioned the lift in a journal entry I read earlier.

Another nightmare.

If we tore that elevator apart, would it stop this thing from using it?

Or, to put it another way, can we make something harder for paranormal mojo to overcome by making it do more work?

Like, if we just yank the elevator out entirely, would the thing have to work harder to use it to mess with us?

Hmm, I can't say that I know.

We could very well be dealing with the intersection of two worlds.

How easy is it for one of them to accomplish feats in the other is anyone's guess?

I'd say it's likely to have little to no effect, just like our bullets with the hyena.

But it does bring up a good question.

Are there physical anchor points for the supernatural and if you messed with them could you somehow affect the paranormal activity they're associated with like tearing that portrait of a hyena to shreds there are so-called cursed objects and such and hauntings often have physical epicenters but i've no idea what would happen if you sought to alter or even destroy them generally speaking when one encounters a place of spiritual turmoil A ritual, which would vary from culture to culture, is performed to heal the space.

And if one meets a a lost soul, there's a ritualized attempt to cross them over into the light.

But this phenomenon is different from any of that.

It's more widespread, but at the same time

concentrated.

And as I've said before, I don't think this is the work of human spirits.

Well, if some kind of cult stirred all this up, maybe we can figure out how they did it.

At least enough to satisfy you and maybe even stop what's happening here.

I suppose that's what my plan's starting to look like.

Figure out what, if anything, is physically associated with all this shit and work back to a cause, just like we would with any other case.

Then maybe we should start with us.

It's like I was saying the other night.

This thing's only now decided to put on a show when we showed up.

We gotta face facts.

It wants us here.

I wish you hadn't phrased

I'm not sure an encyclopedia entry for hyenas and the supernatural is exactly a clue.

Perhaps not directly, but I think Mesa's right to make something of the imagery.

It's not unheard of for spirits to take on symbolic forms to signify some underlying meaning.

The hyenas' proximity to a place of the dead could very well be some kind of clue.

Thank you, Phyllis.

It's gonna be morning soon.

We should head out at first light.

Nothing like working a case to screw up your sleep cycle.

Haven't had one yet that hasn't.

Better make sure our phones are fully charged, too.

We should take plenty of pictures while we're out there.

The disc had some canvassing shots of the graveyard the Bureau took back in 99, but nothing with any detail.

I'm not going anywhere without the day's first cuppa.

I'm right behind you.

Somebody's gotta make breakfast.

Certainly seems like a right and proper day for visiting a graveyard.

Or to avoid one.

There's that too.

Keep your eyes peeled for any sign of that car from the other night.

I'd love to find out who that guy is.

He didn't find his brother, so he might be back to take another look.

Unfortunately, I don't think his brother will ever be found.

You're getting anything from all these abandoned buildings?

A little,

but they're like the fading memories of a nightmare.

You've got all these horrible impressions, but just rapidly vanishing images for what caused them.

Anything at all stand out?

Even the smallest detail?

Do you recall what I said before?

That I had a sort of ambient menace.

Something that rolls in from the distance?

But now, early in the day, it feels like it's waiting.

Somewhere below.

I felt it most when we were chasing that thing through the cellar.

It's like the tides.

A cycle.

It comes out in the dead of night and recedes with the sun.

Do you mean below metaphorically or literally?

I don't know.

Maybe both.

So, hell, right?

Hell can mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people.

From what little I know about Satanism, I'd say we're seeing something other than the typical brand.

Although the history of the area is certainly consistent with colonial notions for devilry and witchcraft.

How so?

It's all there in that book you found for me, The Witching of Isabel.

It describes the witch trials that happened nearby, just the other side of the Pitchpot Woods.

It's written by the actual town elder of Isabel, Samuel Whitlock.

Ugh, despicable man.

Wait a minute.

What did you say in the name?

Slow down, or you'll miss the entrance.

That's the cemetery right there.

Uh, yeah, I see it.

Well, it's a graveyard, all right.

It may not be very remarkable, but considering the town's size, that's to be expected.

It's small enough for us to fan out a bit.

Just don't get out of eyeshot of each other.

All right, let's get to it.

Find something

maybe

I've been going over my pics and when I changed them to monochrome I saw this

See that looks like a small path running from the edge of the cemetery over to this mausoleum right here.

And then there's this Looks like a cigarette butt.

I didn't know hyenas smoked.

Learning more about them every day.

I'm guessing the graveyard is a popular spot for thrill seekers.

There must have been loads of people coming and going.

I mean, I ain't betting the farm or anything, but it's all I managed to tighten up.

This mausoleum is so old, there's barely anything left to identify it.

However, this area right here looks like there could be something.

Good thing I'm an old-handed grave-robbing.

Come again,

grave robbing?

Sounds kinda.

that'll be quite enough, young man.

I'll have none of your potty mouth.

I just need to run to the van and back.

I think I may have all I need in my bag.

There, I think that's done it.

Oh my.

It's the same symbol you drew that night at the seance when you told us where to find Ben's stash.

It was uh it was on the false door.

Yeah, I never really made much out of it.

What with all the iconography and what not covering the mansion?

I just thought it was some random decoration.

Maybe something that would help us identify the location of the stash.

I think it may be far more than that.

I'm gonna grab my crowbar and pry this sucker open.

Phil, what you doing?

I'm going to try and read the symbol and perhaps save us a bit of legwork.

All right.

Let's see what this symbol has to say for itself.

Thou art hereby declared a friend unto the devil, an apostate.

Neither we nor the good Lord shall look upon thee with mercy.

For thou hast ventured beyond where hope and redemption may follow, down that crooked and forsaken path that leadeth only unto hell.

And now, mayst thou find thy final abode in those undying fires, where thou shalt burn and wail for all eternity.

There be no justice in this world.

Well, the Lord may damn the innocent.

Gather ye round, ye unclean spirits of earth and air, and rend us under this place we climb in the name of him who hath fallen and shall rise yet again.

Sever it from the grasp of him who made us, but who hath forsaken us.

He who consigneth to the flames those whom he fashioned and loved, and vouchsafe unto us, a sign that the deed is accomplished.

The Gentleman from Hell is a Meltopia production.

Today's episode was written by Mark Anzalone and performed by Steven Zivick, Sam Stark, Aubrey Akers, Jesse Van Hove, and Matt Van Hove.

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

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Coach, the energy out there felt different.

What changed for the team today?

It was the the new game day scratchers from the California Lottery.

Play is everything.

Those games sent the team's energy through the roof.

Are you saying it was the off-field play that made the difference on the field?

Hey, a little play makes your day, and today it made the game.

That's all for now.

Coach, one more question.

Play the new Los Angeles Chargers, San Francisco 49ers, and Los Angeles Rams Scratchers from the California Lottery.

A little play can make your day.

Please play responsibly.

Must be 18 years or older to purchase, play, or claim.

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