The Gentleman From Hell |S1| Ep. 54

Transcript

Rusty Quill presents.

Good evening, gentlemen and gentle ladies of hell. First and foremost, thank you for tuning in.
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Hi, folks. It's Mark Bittman from the podcast Food with Mark Bittman.

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What the hell is that up there at the end of the cornfield?

Strange spot for it. No water anywhere, but it sure looks like a lighthouse.
All the same. Let's head that way.
We could use the rest, and I don't hear anything on our trail.

Everyone just get back a bit while I check this place out. Watch yourself in there.

Those things seem to come out of nowhere. I will.
Just stay quiet and be on the lookout for anything. We will.

Phyllis, are you...

I can't right now. I...
I'm sorry. I just...

I just can't. It's okay.
We understand.

What the hell were those things?

For God's sake! They looked like they were falling apart!

I have no idea. I don't know, maybe this place is some kind of hidden dimension, and those things are.

I just don't know anymore.

It's a little odd in there, but the coast looks clear enough. Well, odd or not, it's probably better than being out there.

You were kidding about it being a little odd. Yeah, looks like somebody's attempt at an art gallery.
By the looks of it, all these paintings were made by the same person.

The paint looks like some kind of mixture of ash and grease.

Those faces

ghastly.

Let's just sit tight and wait for dawn.

Assume dawn never comes.

It has to come. It did for Ben, and we came out of it last time.

Hey, Phil,

I'm not gonna ask if you're okay.

I'm just gonna sit down next to you. If you.

Oh,

Leon.

He's gone.

I just... I can't take any more.
I just can't.

I know. I know.

But he did it to save us. We have to hold him.

If only to make what he did count.

I want to see those bastards, those fucking sparrows, burn for what they did. Every goddamn last one of them.

Me too, Phil.

Me too.

They found us.

Everybody, get back.

Oh,

I

I wasn't expecting visitors.

You come any closer, freak, and I'll put this knife right through your eye. Please, that's the knife I used to clip my flowers.

I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't damage it. Are you alone?

Always.

What

do you want?

Um, to remember and to create art.

which are about the same thing, as far as I can tell.

Are you from that church?

I'm afraid my faith was among the first things I lost.

Yet some fragments linger.

I remember the statues, all pale and solemn, gazing down.

I remember the stained glass blazing with color when the light touched it just right.

I used to imagine I might paint them, capture something of their beauty.

But all I have left are just the ghosts of color.

Black, white, and the endless grays between.

Once I thought to make red from my own blood, but I don't seem to have any.

Now I'm nothing but a husk, a

scatter of dust, waiting to settle in some forgotten corner.

Just the memory of colors I'll never touch again.

What are you?

I...

I'm an artist of fading memories.

Whatever else I might have been is right here, tucked into these paintings.

There was a time when looking at them helped me remember who I was,

the people I knew, the things I did, and

for a while it worked. Each brushstroke seemed to bring something back.

But now,

not so much.

The details slip away faster than I can hold onto them, and the paintings are starting to feel more like reminders of what I've already lost than

keys to what I once had.

Where...

what is this place?

This area, I mean, not the lighthouse. I wish I knew.
An orchard of gray flowers, perhaps?

You know, sometimes if I squint really hard, I can see the colors of things.

Or at least I could once.

I'm afraid my eyelids have since vanished.

You know, it's strange.

What strange?

That I could see so much more when I could close my eyes.

Well,

anyway,

where are you from?

Up until a little while ago, we were in Cold Sparrow. But now I don't know.

Cold Sparrow?

I remember that place.

I lived there once.

At least I... I think I did.

Oh, my goodness.

The memories you've released to me.

What happened there? Do you remember?

I remember that I wasn't alone.

Yes. Yes.

This painting here. Come, look.

You see these four figures? I remember now.

They lived with me. Yes, I'm certain of it.
A woman and two children, a boy and a girl. Were they your family?

Yes, I.

I think they were.

Sally.

My little girl.

Sally.

Do you remember what happened to them?

I think

this painting here, I.

I think this has something to do with it.

Why did you write all the devil's houses at the bottom of the canvas?

I'm trying to remember.

Mommy! Daddy!

I had a scary nightmare!

Me too. Can we sleep in here, please?

Of course.

Come right up here, you two.

Honey,

you alright? Yeah,

I just had a doo-siama nightmare myself. And look at you.
You're covered in in sweat.

Huh.

It looks like we all got a visit from the nightmare, fairy. Don't you think it's a little weird? Everyone having a nightmare at the exact same time?

I don't know. I mean, I suppose.

Maybe it was something we ate.

Dad! Look outside!

Wow.

That's a lot of fog.

Are we gonna be okay?

We're all going to be fine. It's just fogs we are.

What the hell? Daddy, who's knocking at the door? Is it a monster? It's probably just a friend. Or maybe someone who needs help.

You three stay here. I'll check it out.

Harry?

It's okay.

I'm just gonna take a look. Daddy, don't go.
Stay here us.

Don't worry, pal.

I just want to make sure everyone's okay. I'll be right back.

Mommy, make him come back.

You two monsters keep quiet. Zaddy will be back in no time.

Hello,

hello there.

Who the hell's out there?

Harold, is everything all right? Lock the door and call the police.

Harold, what's happening? The power just went out.

I said close the door and stay in there.

I'm warning anyone that's out there. I'm armed.

What the fuck is going on? Is this supposed to be some kind of goddamn game?

Hello?

Is anyone there?

C.S. Lewis once said,

the safest road to hell is the gradual one.

The gentle slope, soft underfoot, without some turnings, without milestones, without signposts.

That,

however,

is not this.

What the hell's happening?

Sarah,

I'm coming,

I'm coming.

Sarah, Billy, Sally, where are you?

Sarah,

what the fuck is happening?

It's my family.

Is anyone home?

You,

you bastards,

where's my family?

Is that any way to treat your saviors?

Hell is coming up to greet you, friend.

Bust come with us while time still favors the living.

What the hell are you?

We are those who were left behind. You might be glad to be left behind as well.
I'm not going anywhere without my family.

You already have.

And will soon go deeper still.

I am afraid they will have to burn without you, my friend. For we too must eat.

No!

Let me go.

No,

I won't leave my family.

No

Are you

okay?

No,

I don't believe I am.

Can you tell us any more about I think you should leave now

before I do something

bad

to you?

Okay, okay.

Come on, let's get out of here.

Are you sure you won't let us take you to the hospital?

I mean, some of these cuts are pretty deep.

You

need stitches. No.
No, I'm fine. Thanks, though.
Alright, I can't make you go. But if you change your mind, I'll be over there treating those folks.

All of those people tonight.

Because of us.

All those people died because of them. Period.
Full stop. You may be right, Martin.

But it doesn't make me feel any less responsible. You two gotta stop trying to absorb the blame and start worrying about our next move.
Worry about our next move?

Did you see that fucking thing? It had three heads and a body that looked like a giant open wound.

How the hell do we move against something like that, Martin? Ador, please. You're going to attract attention.

I don't care!

I feel like I'm living inside a goddamn nightmare, but we did make a move against them. You did, you killed that thing.
I'd say that answers the question of whether fighting back works.

We can talk about all of this later, right now. We need to leave.

All right, let's get out of here.

Hello, Evelyn.

It's nice to hear your voice again, Robert. I just wish it was under better circumstances.
I take it you don't have any good news for me.

I wish I did.

But unfortunately, I think things are getting worse. I see.

Tell me all about it. I just received a report from several of our spotters on the east coast.
And

more importantly, in and around northern New York. This thing looks like it could be big.
Robert. What are they seeing? Signs are piling up faster than we can read them.

Just like they did when they tried to bring up Hec Degree back in 63.

I've got

quite a list here.

Dozens of miscarriages occurred at the stroke of black noon. Some of the women complained of horrible nightmares the night before.
A few even had to be restrained and given psychiatric evaluations.

They all dreamed of, and I'm quoting here, horrible people rising from a huge smoking pit. Their eyes full of hateful fire.

We've also got several credible reports of blood raining across Three Mile Bay, New York. There was enough of it to create puddles and stain clothing.

And, lest I forget, there's a reliable account of a dog giving birth to a litter of bats. Mosslick and squealing.

It goes on and on like this.

The solders are significant enough to shift the balance.

It appears so.

If they come up,

well,

we could be looking at an entirely different kind of ballgame. What does the Highmark say about all this?

There's been no word. I'm actually surprised you haven't been called into council by now.

Knight's still young.

But

you don't think he really intends to wait for some kind of

intervention, do you?

I hope not.

But from what I've heard from Ambrose.

Wonderful.

Any word about Dr. Locktrum's progress?

That was the other matter I called about.

Ambrose wanted me to tell you his hotel has been set ablaze.

Did he survive? I haven't received confirmation, but.

But it doesn't look good.

Good lord.

What about your people? Oh, we're out there, all right.

But so are they, and in full force.

You know the Kodaks as well as I do. Maybe better.

Wherever the cursed of the Earth gather in their numbers, the world shall suffer for it.

And that's exactly what we're seeing now. Tremors rattling cities.
Outbreaks of fear and disease, power grids going dark without warning.

Looks like every one of those bastards showed out to watch the festivities.

Our ranks were already gutted from the attacks on the high houses, and our Morphos us are vanishing every single day. Good men.
And women.

Swallowed without a trace.

All this points to the same thing.

This isn't just another one of the damned getting the fatwings, Robert.

There's a start of something far worse.

What do you recommend we do?

Pray for a miracle?

I'm not where I'm headed, other than somewhere well lit. They find us anywhere we go.
It made sense when they were using a tracker.

Now.

Now I don't know. They know we were looking for the FBI agents.
So when we left, making a beeline straight to Cold Sparrow.

I'm guessing they realized we figured out where they were, and so planned accordingly. They probably had people along the route on the lookout for us.

Once we're back on the highway, there's only a few roads that'll take us there, so we're gonna be twice as predictable. And, if they realize we use weapons dipped in stormwater to kill the creature,

well, we're gonna be pretty much out of surprises. Be that as it may, we're in far too deeply to even consider turning back.
I'm not suggesting we turn around. Wouldn't do us a bit of good anyway.

These fucks aren't the type to let bygones be bygones.

I'm just saying we're quite literally running out of road.

What do you suggest we do about about it? I'm not sure, but I don't think holding up in another hotel is a good idea. All we're liable to do is get more people killed, ourselves included.

Hell, I'm not even sure traveling during the day is a great idea either. We're that much easier to track in broad daylight.
But to travel at night?

I know it's more dangerous, but it'll be a hell of a lot more difficult to visually track us. That is, if they're not using some other kind of method to keep tabs on us.

You really think we should try it? Well, I'm certainly not fond of the idea, but he's correct about our presence putting more lives in danger.

I'm not sure we have a choice in the matter.

If we leave now, we could be in Porta Ford before lunch, at which point we can grab some crub, hit Cold Sparrow, and hopefully find our guys and hatch some plans.

Like Dad said,

we really don't have a choice.

All right, then. Let's go.

The Gentleman from Hell is a Maltopia production.

Today's episode was written by Mark Ansloan and voiced by Stephen Zivick, Sam Stark, Aubrey Akers, Jesse Van Hove, Kelly Baer, Matt Van Hove, Gina Smith, Harper Taysent, and Trenton Butt.

Sound editing was completed by Stephen Ansloan and script editing was conducted by Walker Kornfeld. Be sure to rate and review us on iTunes, Spotify, or your favorite podcast platform.

And follow us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter at Maltopia. If you want unique art and animations of Meltopia's stories, visit our YouTube page or click on the link in the show notes.

And for more exclusive content, such as additional lore, stories, and art, be sure to check out our Patreon at www.patreon.com forward slash Meltopia.

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Conditions apply.

Hi, folks. It's Mark Bittman from the podcast Food with Mark Bittman.

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