The Gentleman From Hell |S1| Ep. 59

Rusty Quill presents.

Good evening, gentlemen and gentle ladies of hell.

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it.

should

be

able to

make the same

colour.

So, you actually think some kind of divine.

I don't know, force caused all that lightning just so we could escape?

I really don't see what you're so incredulous about, given all the other supernatural phenomena we've experienced.

These types of strange and fortuitous interventions have been recorded several times, especially right before a significant event.

And besides, what other explanation do you have?

I guess.

I've just gotten used to the fact that we're all alone on this.

Thinking we've got some super-powerful ally up in the sky isn't something I feel comfortable leaning on.

The material I've been given to review indicates that it's at least a possibility.

Trust me, I'm certainly not in the habit of attributing odd occurrences to deities in the sky.

But I am a man who considers the facts at hand, regardless of how very much I prefer not to do them.

From everything I've read, no one's suggesting it's a god.

At least not the god.

Only something counterposed to the forces of the damned.

Whatever it is, or might be, I wish it was a little more liberal with the lightning bolts when it came to helping out.

On that point, we are in complete agreement.

At least we have a little clarity about what this is all about.

The Inkersols and the Agents came here to stop the solders from coming back up.

Yes, well, even that doesn't completely clear the air.

The very first and only time I spoke with them, they didn't seem to know what they were on to.

Which was the very reason they called.

Well, I suppose you should consider the source.

That nut job didn't strike me as particularly intelligent.

Maybe he didn't know the whole story, just wanted to keep himself from having his sins eaten.

Or whatever you were on about, which, by the way, was a nice move.

Why, thank you.

I do occasionally have a good idea or two.

Whoa, where did all that fog come from?

I've never seen mist like this.

It's straight across and up,

like it's outlining some invisible wall.

Likely another effect of the damned gathering together, like the circle of clean sky above cold sparrow.

Good thing for us, this thing's got fog lights.

Still, it's gonna be slow going till we're clear of the stuff.

You feel that?

It just got really cold.

Yes, it's quite a temperature drop.

I'll check the heat.

What's that?

Over there, through the fog.

It's hard to make out, but it looks like some kind of tower.

A huge tower.

Never mind the tower.

What the fuck is this?

My god.

Is that supposed to be some kind of bridge?

I don't know this area well, but I'm fairly certain nothing like this belongs here.

Do those papers of yours mention anything about giant bridges popping up where they shouldn't be?

Unfortunately, they don't.

It looks like it's made from some kind of matte white stone and those massive statues.

What the hell are they supposed to be?

Gargoyles?

Dragons?

It's hard to say.

Is there another route to Colt Sparrow?

Yeah, but it's on the other side of this bridge.

What can we do?

Should we cross it?

Do you really think that's such a good idea?

We stopped making sense the moment we decided to drive all the way up here to confront God knows what.

And by the time we chose to keep going after whatever it was that jumped us in a burning hotel, well, we were probably already past crazy.

What are you doing?

I'm gonna go out there and have a look at that bridge.

Do you really think that's wise?

No, but like I said, when's that ever stopped us?

Anyway, before I'm driving over that thing, I want to make sure it's ship shape.

Well, then we should all go.

We don't need you vanishing into the fog.

Yeah, yeah, good idea.

That way, we can all vanish into the fog.

Don't be a smartass.

And if we're going to do it, then we'd best be about it.

This thing looks like it was built during the fucking Stone Age.

Rough-cut stone held together by some kind of clumpy mortar.

No way this thing would be allowed to conduct traffic.

I mean, just look at the road itself.

It's covered in cracks and pockmarks.

Not to mention for a bridge this tall, it's awful goddamn narrow.

The statuary's crude as well.

Hardly the work of an artisan.

Do you hear that?

Hear what?

Exactly.

I don't hear any water underneath.

All I can see is more fog down there.

Could just be spanning a ravine or something.

I guess.

But it would have to be one hell of a ravine for a bridge this size.

There's someone out there.

In the mist.

Sounds like more than one.

Come on, let's get back in the truck.

So, what do we do?

We can't sit here forever, that's for sure.

Apart from being unorthodox in construction, do you think the bridge will hold if we cross?

I have no idea.

It's not built like a modern bridge.

We'd definitely be taking a big chance.

When's that stopped us?

Do you really think that lightning was some sort of help from on high?

I don't know about it coming from on high,

but it certainly seemed a little too well-timed to have been a coincidence.

Why do you ask?

It just seems to me that if something really was trying to help us,

well, it wouldn't have cleared the way only for us to die in a collapsing bridge.

Not that I claim to know much about what unseen, supposedly benevolent forces do or don't intend.

I suppose you could be right at that.

It's either we go across or return back, completely.

There's really no other way forward, is there?

I guess we could walk over the bridge or head out into the fog, look for another way across.

But either way, we'd be on foot and it'll be a long while before we hit Cold Sparrow.

We've come this far,

perhaps too far to turn back.

Okay, strap in because here we go.

My god,

look out there, just

beyond the bridge.

Those structures.

Like pillars from some lost Grecian temple.

And those statues there, they seem to be carved from bone.

I.

I don't think we're upon the solid earth any longer.

Then where the hell do you think we are?

How could any of the shit even be real?

I can't be certain, but

the white stones, the pale devastation, the cold churning fogs?

It's all here.

Here, listen to this passage.

The broken void between worlds, now the palest ruin of itself, like the oldest bones lost to light and sound, lies outstretched at the foot of the world.

The woeful antechamber of hell, where the cold shapes of the unremembered dead skulk and scrape, forsaken of mind and memory, where hunger fills the air like pollen.

Call this Sheol Now, what was once Ungrill-Ker.

Don't you see?

It's describing this very place.

But how?

We've been driving down the highway this entire time.

Not to mention we've had the chime playing on our phones.

The fog.

We crossed over when we entered the fog.

Yes.

The mist of Sheol.

That must be it.

Then you're telling me we crossed over as in

we're dead?

No, I don't think so.

I think.

I believe that whatever the damned are doing to raise the sardars is affecting reality, just like we talked about before.

How their gatherings destabilizes the laws of physics.

According to Mephitican lore, Sheol, Ungrill-Kerr, underlies the solid world.

The damned have somehow, I don't know how, confused the spheres, so that we can now move between them.

So you think we can travel out of this place?

I can't be sure,

but now what the hell?

What is that?

It looks like one of the statues broke and fell into the road.

Or somebody pushed it over.

Is it possible to push it out of the way?

Well, that's generally what the people who pull this sort of shit want you to do.

What can we do then?

Well, it was a tight squeeze getting this far, so backing all the way down the bridge isn't going to be easy.

I don't know.

I don't even know what the fuck is happening.

Whether I should believe we're actually in some kind of fucking underworld or some weird theme park or something.

I think it would be a mistake not to assume the worst, especially after all we've gone through.

What we've seen.

Ah, fuck.

What are you doing?

Getting out.

And hoping whatever might be out there isn't counting on me packing.

What was that part again?

About the dead skulking?

She-hole is supposed to contain the dead.

There's no telling what might be out there.

What are you going to do?

I'm gonna check the back, see if there's any rope or straps I can rig to the truck to haul that goddamn statue out of the way.

Lenore, you stay here with the doors locked.

Doc, I'll need you with me while I check out the back.

Whatever's necessary.

Alright, let's get this over with.

The air

feels so strange.

Just keep your eyes peeled, never mind about the air.

We're pretty much trapped on this bridge.

The sooner we're off it, the better.

Headed in.

Try not to be long, yes?

Well, I found some straps and something else.

What is it?

I've got no idea.

Gonna need you to take a look and see what the hell you make of it.

Lenore!

What's wrong?

There's crowds of strange people coming up the other side of the bridge.

Look!

Are those

people?

They're so pale.

From here, it's hard to say, but

their faces don't seem right.

Christ, there's more of them coming from behind us.

Quick, get in the trailer.

I'll handle them.

Where are you going?

We only

want to talk to you.

There's no need to run.

There's nowhere to go.

Nowhere at all.

Exactly.

All we want to do is...

Look at you.

Speak with you.

Stay the fuck back, or I'll blow you away.

Now

with that small device,

it does look familiar, I must say.

What the fuck are you?

What do you want?

I've long since forgotten what I am,

only that I'm desperate to remember.

And for that to happen,

we must consume

your mind.

How about you eat this instead?

What an irritating sound it makes.

All that noise.

And for what?

You gotta be shitting me.

Bullets don't even leave a mark.

You've nothing to fear.

Nothing at all.

This will only hurt four Mormons.

Get back!

Get back!

Martin!

No!

We need your help, Ben.

And if we can, we want to help you.

Who are you?

My name is Phyllis Chambers.

My friends and I were

coming into Cold Sparrow.

Tricked by the very creatures who tricked you.

And for the very same reasons.

How is it that you can speak to me?

Here.

In this terrible place.

Is this some sort of trick?

Hope for the hopeless.

We discovered a machine machine of theirs, the form of the damned.

It allows them to communicate with um

with

hell.

The word you're searching for is hell.

And yes,

that

is where I am.

Ben, I.

I'm so.

Sorry.

I don't know how long I've been here.

Time is dust.

But I know it's been quite some time since I've heard another's voice.

A voice not born from the echoes of a lost hell.

Gone cold and dark

and endless.

My God.

Can you really help me?

Please.

Please let me out.

I beg you.

You have my word that I will do all that I am capable of.

If they can lift themselves out, then we should be able to do the same for you.

The rest,

I will help you in whatever way I can.

Before we can do anything, I must know what happened to you.

How they sent you

below.

I will tell you all the drawing now.

was alone inside the mansion, beside myself with fear, as I could sense horrors that,

even at that very moment, advanced upon me.

I had exhausted every avenue of escape.

There was nothing left to me, just the final note of the song that had been building since the moment I set foot in that house of horrors.

I squatted at the window overlooking the town, awaiting the time that heralded the end of it all.

Or perhaps began it.

I watched as the fog snaked through the streets, enveloping everything.

How the storm faded into the blackness of a vanishing sky.

The grey light that replaced it.

It felt as though I was descending through layers of space, through dimensions.

And of course,

it was far worse than any of that.

In the distance, through the whirls of fog, I saw a light.

But unlike any light I'd seen before, it seemed to gather the darkness rather than dispel it.

And yet...

I could see by it.

The shadows that followed after it, lines of them.

The greatest of all the assembled shadows were the lead six,

five of them dressed in flowing tatters, like witches from a child's fairy tale.

But the other,

though I knew him only through pictures and stories, I was certain the very second I laid eyes upon him, it was my father, Edward Viers.

How or why,

I did not know.

But one thing I knew for certain.

He and the rest of them had finally come

for me.

I rose from my place by the window.

Frantic, terrified, I tore through the rooms, desperate to find some means to turn back fate.

But there was nothing.

I had reached the end of the spiral, the place where the serpent devours its own tail, where all roads collapse into one.

My journey had come to its end.

At last, I stood at the top of the stairs and gazed down at the thing I had so foolishly mistaken as my father.

He spoke as he ascended.

leading the dark procession up the winding staircase.

The paint peeled and the wooden railings rotted beneath their touch, the air thickening with a scent like honey decay.

Here we are at last,

dear Benjamin, father

and son.

I may be unsure of much,

but I am nearly certain that I am not your son.

Not yet,

but soon.

You're not Edward Veers at all, are you?

And you certainly never died.

You're very clever, Ben.

Just like your father.

But you see where that got him.

Or at least,

you will.

You did something to him, back at that awful castle.

Changed him into something else.

Axe changed him.

to be more specific.

What?

What do you mean?

You have all the pieces.

You need only put it together.

Rupert told me how astute you are.

All the dreams you had of strange stone buildings.

The horrors that might have happened within them.

The Earln.

Rupert's notes said he was in communication with them.

Miss McKay said they took my father below the castle.

He was screaming.

You did the same thing thing to him as you intend to do with me.

You're getting warmer.

Ah, Miss Veronica McKay.

She'll never know how much she was missed, how far she set us back.

It took quite some time to find a suitable replacement for her.

Replacement for what?

To serve as a mother for you, dear boy.

So when the time came, I could be reunited with my own son,

Cyrus.

No.

No, that's not possible.

You're...

you're Arthur Erlon,

the madman, the sadist, killed all those women.

You've...

You've somehow taken possession of my father.

And at last you see for true.

That's how it's done, my boy.

There must be something that connects us.

Blood, in this case.

And then, with the proper preparations, of course,

we lower you further and further down.

Until,

on a night just like this one,

you are delivered straight to...

Hell.

Then

that voice, the figure who I always see in the mists,

is my son, who waits like I once did, deep in his own personal hell, until I bring him back up, supply him a new body,

your

body.

And then, with the ritual concluded, he shall walk once again upon the earth.

And you,

dear Benjamin, shall take his place below the earth and suffer in his stead

forever.

The Gentleman from Hell is a Maltopia production.

Today's episode was written by Mark Ansloom and voiced by Steven Zivick, Aubrey Akers, Jesse Van Hove, Harper Taysent, Matt Van Hove, Trenton Butt, and Stephen Ansloom.

Sound editing was completed by Steven Ansloan, and script editing was conducted by Walter.

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