01x04 - Camera Obscura

[bunniefuu]

(gentle music)

- Suicide, it appears,

but the bodies were posed

in the exact same position.

- Picture of a

fella lookin' like

he'd been tortured

for the camera,

wrists slit, then snuffed out.

- You took a photograph

from that album,

had a little private showing.

- The fake photographs you stole

from that party you

were not invited to.

- Charney.

The Communist punks.

- Nancy, I see that

you've met Percy.

- [Percy] Nancy.

Lovely name.

- Well, the girls 'round here

don't really dress like that.

- It's a disguise.

- [Frederick] m*rder*d

in front o' the camera.

But how could an

animal such as this

know his way around a camera?

- [Brock] I just

can't fathom it.

- Something happened

here, didn't it?

- I trusted something

I shouldn't have.

- Ye didn't see

that train comin',

but I did.

(drum pounds)

(carriages rolling)

(birds chirping)

(ominous music)

(men shouting faintly)

(metal door opening)

(man clears throat)

- Fred.

The lad should've been

checked thoroughly

for concealed weapons.

- He was, but

- So are you responsible

for the poor job,

or was it Farrelly?

- It was me.

- You should know better.

- Alright, but look.

Charney was found in

an identical position

as the two suicides

that I'd mentioned

in my report.

- There's only so many

ways you can k*ll yourself.

(sighs)

- And nobody on duty saw

anything strange last night?

- Nothing in the report,

except for a Communist

dying in our custody,

and seeing as it was a Communist

who didn't need to

be in our custody,

we could have had a much

quieter report, couldn't we?

- Look.

It's the photograph we

found on him last night.

Looks like McKlein, doesn't it?

Suicide, I mean,

or so we thought.

I believe he was brutally

tortured, photographed,

and then k*lled.

- Come on, Fred, this

is just parlor tricks.

- No, but look at the wounds.

They're consistent with

the other suicides.

- What's this?

Black rose.

Was that on McKlein

when you found him?

- Huh?

- [Man Outside] Any

chance of a smoke, Mary?

- Oh, Jesus.

I'm not sure.

(clears throat)

- McKlein was in debt.

The whole town knew that.

And this Charney was a desperate

character by all accounts.

- Think I'm onto something here.

(sighs)

- You are getting young

lads like Farrelly excited

with this talk of big cases.

- Big cases grow

out of small talk.

- Look, Freddy, me boy,

you're only in G

Division a few months,

and you want a big case.

Your name in the Times,

rising up the ranks.

I get it.

But this is not the boglands.

This is Dublin, heart

of the British empire.

How many changelings and pookas

do you see roaming the streets?

Leave that old banter

to the Fenians.

We deal in facts.

Proof.

- If I can prove this is real,

will you have a word with Mallon

about putting me on the case?

- Come on, Fred.

We have Republican agitators

getting bold as brass,

and here you are

chasing a few wastrels

doing cheap photo tricks.

You don't want the boys laughing

at you anymore, do you?

- Who's laughing at me?

- Wasn't laughing at ye.

- Look, um

Just stick to your

corner, Freddy.

Good man.

- Stick me corner up your hole.

(mysterious music)

(camera shutter clicking)

(eerie music)

- There.

Are you happy now?

(footsteps)

(mischievous music)

- Brock.

- Hmm?

- I warned you not

to touch Mother.

- Could you not, for once?

- Well.

Thought she looked much happier.

(whimsical music)

(carriage clattering)

- Whoa, stand.

Stand down.

(horses snuffling)

- Oh.

Thanks, Carruthers.

- Oh, I'm just keeping up

appearances, young man.

Lucky enough for you.

- Aw, Jesus, will

you just come on?

We're from the same

part of Dublin.

Why you always being

so sore wi' me?

Should we just--

Should we just go for

a pint one evening?

(door slams)

- [Conall] Nancy.

It's lovely to see you.

- I'm sorry for your

troubles, Miss Nancy.

- Thank you, Carruthers.

- Me, too, I'm very sorry

for the loss of

your grandmother.

- Thank you, Molloy.

She'd been mostly

miserable, so in a way,

it's a relief.

I need to warn you, though.

Our family can be trying.

Uncle, you already know,

and well, the others

made him like that.

- Who's this divil at all?

- This is Mr. Molloy,

assistant to--

- Ah.

The gravedigger.

- No, he's not a gravedigger.

- This is the gravedigger.

- I'm Conall Molloy,

assistant to Mr. Blennerhasset.

Please accept me deepest

sympathies on your loss.

- My brother says

you're competent,

but Brock is a terrible

judge of character.

Can we please get

this over with?

I can't bear to see

Mother looking so alive.

(whimsical music)

- Alright, in you go.

Wipe your shoes, now.

(footsteps echoing)

- I'm sorry for your loss, sir.

- I thank you for

coming, Molloy.

You did owe me a favor.

- I'm honored you asked.

(suspenseful music)

(clears throat)

- Uh, Conall?

- Yeah?

- Half an inch to the right.

- To my right?

No, to your right.

- Always photography's right.

- Course.

(clears throat)

- What odd corner of Dublin

did you pull this one from?

- Mother, please.

- A grave, he was literally

pulled from a grave.

- Imagine.

Digging holes for

corpses for a living.

- Uncle Morris,

can you please-- ?

- One step below taking

photographs of them.

(box clatters)

(clicks tongue)

(sighs)

- Apologies.

- Take your time.

Grandmother isn't

going anywhere.

- Maybe he should dig her

grave while we have him.

- Uncle, I must say, the

memorial photography business

must be in bad shape

if this is who you have

working for you.

- He's doing a job, Henry.

More than you've

ever done in your--

- Your last young

assistant was much better.

What was his name?

John?

He was very charming.

- I don't remember

any old assistant.

- Oh, this was years ago.

The fellow disappeared in

the end, didn't he, brother?

Remember, that friend of

yours who disappeared?

- He wasn't my friend.

- He was your assistant.

- My assistants

are not my friends.

- You don't have

any friends, Brock.

Never had.

- Sacrificed everything

for photography.

- Now it seems any old

gravedigger can use a camera.

- Ah, will you just be quiet?

Please.

I'm ready.

So just don't move.

Especially your mouths.

(wood scraping)

(wood scraping)

Thank you.

(footsteps echoing)

- [Brock] Uh, Molloy?

- Yes, sir?

- That was

That was quite

commendable, you know,

particularly under

the circumstances.

- Thanks very much, sir.

- Carruthers.

Pack Molloy's stuff.

Look, I'm going to

have to stay here

with these people until

after the funeral.

So take tomorrow off.

With pay.

- Thank you very much, sir.

- And invest in some new

art materials, Molloy.

You need them.

- Thank you very much, sir.

- No.

Thank you.

- I can stick up a

bloody camera stand,

but can you do my job?

No chance.

- Yeah, it must be so hard,

sitting on your hole on

top of a horse all day.

I'd say your back

is broken, is it?

(people faintly conversing)

- [Betty] You'd have

to be a real lunatic

to fake a photo like

that, or make one.

- I know, yeah.

Glendinning thinks I'm

away with the fairies.

- That's sloppy now,

pure schoolboy error.

How did you miss

that rose at all, eh?

- Look, it's hard to

make out, isn't it?

It's like, thick

and black on black.

- Bit q*eer of him

to be wearing it, no?

Is that not the flower you give

when someone has already died?

- Or lost love.

- That's not consistent

with the body you found.

Sure anyone would doubt it.

Did you butter my bread?

- Aren't you lucky

to have someone

to butter your bread for you?

- Oh, I am, and the miserly

amount of butter on it.

And the coroner

didn't find anything?

- No.

Down to Marlborough

Street and Ossie said

that there's was nothin'

all for Charney's debt,

and he was

k*lled himself in the

cell and that was that.

- See, Fred, if you're saying

he didn't k*ll

himself in the cell,

then you're saying someone

k*lled him in the cell,

in Dublin Castle.

Inside Dublin Castle.

- I know, girl, I know.

It's ridiculous.

To go to that effort

for a tourist.

- Well, find out what he

was at on this holiday,

because if you're right,

he must have done something

to piss off the wrong people.

- What if I'm wrong?

- If you're wrong, then

you're the loud cark fella

going around Dublin Castle

shouting about m*rder plots

with no evidence to show for it.

(metal creaking)

(ominous music)

(someone knocking)

- Mr. Molloy.

How are you?

- What can I do

for you, Detective?

- Well, we took the camera

that you, uh, borrowed

off Mr. Blennerhasset,

and we were dismayed

to find that all the

plates were missing.

- Just isn't fortunate.

- Yeah.

Then I met your pal

Matty Talbot, and, uh,

he was flashing your

dirty photographs

from down in Watling Street.

He said they were

doing the rounds.

So someone must've got

'em developed, I'd say.

- Yeah.

D'you think?

- Yeah.

After getting a handy

little job there now,

you probably shouldn't

want to do anything

to jeopardize that.

- Yeah, well, I won't be.

- Maybe I'll ignore

these photographs,

and maybe you will

do something for me

as a favor, like a good man.

- Ah, you're blackmailing me.

- You'd know if I was.

- What are you doing here?

You're trying to coerce me

into informing you, is that it?

- You do those?

- Yeah, I did.

- Very good.

You've an interest in

photography, so do I.

Maybe we could work together.

That's all I'm saying.

- Well.

Well, I'll help you where I can.

- Right.

Now, this little photograph

that I'm after findin',

if you find anything

of the sort like that,

you let me know, 'cause

the man I found it on?

Dead before I questioned him.

- That's a pity.

I'll keep an eye out.

(door creaks)

(ominous music)

- (stutters) Now,

while I have ye,

do you know the significance

of a black rose?

Is it some sort of

photographic prop?

- I've never seen one.

- Yeah.

Haven't seen one

myself much, either.

Good luck.

(door creaks)

(suspenseful music)

- [Nancy] Carruthers

is here, Uncle.

- [Brock] Let's just

get home, Nancy.

- [Abigail] She's

not going with you.

- You sent her to

me, did you not?

- And now your convalescence

is nearly complete,

Nancy can return here and

take care of the family home,

like her grandmother wanted.

- Very well.

If she wants to.

- I want to stay with Uncle.

- The Uncle who has

ignored you for years.

How weak of you, Nancy.

- I find that I'm happier

living in town than I am here.

- Oh.

You became very independent

all of a sudden, did you?

I'm sure you'll be so

responsible about it,

like your brother has been.

- Henry and I are not the same.

- No.

You're far less charming.

- Hmm.

Maybe you've had an

influence on her after all.

- I suppose, Nancy,

you won't need your

allowance anymore.

- Mother.

That's not fair.

I worked hard for that.

I minded Grandmother

for the longest time.

- It's alright, sister.

You keep it.

It's about time I started

paying her a proper wage anyway.

- Nancy?

Nancy.

You'll come crawling back,

just like your uncle did!

(carriages clattering)

(pen scratching)

(man shouting outside)

- [Farrelly] You

wanted me, boss?

(sighs)

- You bad b*stard, you.

- Jesus, you're fierce jumpy.

- Don't sneak up

on me, Farrelly.

I get immersed in

my work, you know?

A mad notion around

here, I know.

- Here's something for you.

There's a Yank in town.

Photograph collector

of some sort.

Seems to be an associate

of Louis Cannon.

- Collector?

That's a q*eer one.

- Poor landlords gettin' stuck

with pitchforks up

and down the country,

and there's the two o'

you like headless chickens

over some fake photographs.

Grand to have nothin'

to do, isn't it boys?

- Farrelly, quicker you

become a G-Man the better.

- Working on that, boss.

(ominous music)

- Hmm.

Ah, beautiful.

You stole this

when we were there?

- Well, it was just lying about.

- There are some

photographs missing.

- The late Mr. Charney

ripped them out.

Quite unfortunate.

- The fool was a

g*dd*mn liability.

Alright, Henry, I'll buy it.

Hell of an addition

to my collection.

- Delighted to have it off

my hands, to be honest.

I'd rather focus on a more

genteel sort of photograph.

Riding, or bit of tit,

saucy old crack, you know?

Ghost photography

like we were saying.

- Mr. Whacker, do you know

who the photographer is?

- I do not, but I know

it was commissioned

by those people whose

hospitality Henry

had kindly took advantage of.

- You don't think those

photographs are real, do you?

- Oh, I would be inclined

to think so, yes.

(man mumbling)

(customers conversing)

(door creaks)

- Now I thought you

were barred from here.

- I think my disguise

was a lot better

than people give it credit for.

- Your brother asked

me to meet him here.

- Oh, yes, he's holding

court in the corner there.

He's absolutely too much.

I can't deal with it, so

we're going somewhere else.

- Sorry, Nancy.

I saw the b*stard on the

other side of the counter,

went after him

out the side exit,

and you'll never guess.

- This pub has three

different exits

onto three different streets.

- Yes!

Three different exits on

three different streets.

It's madness, isn't it?

Hello. Percy Cummins,

lovely to meet you.

- Percy, this is Conall Molloy.

- Oh, you must be Mr. Molloy.

- Yes, I just said that.

- Yeah, Conall Molloy, yeah.

That's it, that's me.

- Ah.

Not getting this one

into trouble, eh?

Heard you got yourself holed up

in a whorehouse for the night.

No harm, says you.

- No, listen, I was there

for professional reasons.

It was a commission, as it were.

- [Percy] Right.

- Under duress, I must add.

- Well, you've got quite the eye

for naked forms, I must say.

Like myself.

- Percy's a sculptor.

- I'm a sculptor.

- He likes a nude.

- Who doesn't?

Decent money to be

made in nude sculpting,

but I'd say you made a small

fortune off those pictures,

did you Molloy?

- Uh, no, no, not really, no.

- I would say people'd

be less inclined

to buy them when they've

seen them for free,

like we did.

- Sorry, you've seen them?

- Oh, we saw the full spread.

- Did you?

- Yes.

That's why we're leaving.

Henry won't stop flashing

the bloody things around.

It's just too much.

- Augh. (vocalizes)

- Molloy, you bloody filth

merchant, get over here.

We've things to be doing.

Come on, hup!

Come on, now!

- Best of luck.

You'll need it.

(door creaks)

- Gentlemen, this is Molloy.

He used to be a gravedigger.

Molloy, this here's

Bushrod Whacker,

purveyor of exotic

photographs, as it so happens.

Did some great service in the

American Civil w*r, you know.

Dread to think how many men

the old b*stard has k*lled.

- Me, too.

(chuckles)

- And this here is Louis Cannon.

He's going to be a big name

in the print business,

mark my words.

Gentlemen.

Louis, Molloy is one

hell of a photographer.

- If he's a hell

of a photographer

how come we didn't hire him?

- Well, I hadn't seen

his work at the time.

I cannot wait to see the

job he did on old Granny.

You should've seen

her propped up there.

She looked bloody

radiant, the old hag.

Look.

Look at the looks

on their faces.

I mean, marvel.

They look so bloody aroused,

and arousing, let me tell you.

Molloy, when you

were out at the house

you should've mentioned you did

this manner of lusty picture.

- Yeah, well, it might've

been inappropriate,

on the account of

your dead grandmother.

- You took these?

- Yeah.

But it was Mr.

Blennerhasset who--

who aroused engagement in the--

- Shut up and take a

credit, dirty little devil.

- I have never seen intercourse

photographed so beautifully.

- Well, thanks very much.

I mean, it was me first

time, uh, photographing.

Intercourse, that is.

- Molloy, a man of your

skill shouldn't resort

to taking photographs of

corpses with my eccentric uncle.

There is money to be made

in pictures people

actually want to see,

and Louis--

Louis.

Louis.

- Hmm?

- Louis, you can get them

out there, can't you?

- Well, I make

specialist publications.

It's a small operation,

but there is an appetite

for the strange and

bizarre in photography, eh?

'Scuse me.

- If you can get

the right collection

of photographs together,

there's a fortune to be made.

- Whacker here brought

us three to a party

up at the Wicklow

Mountains not too long ago.

Some sort of secret society.

Shouldn't have been there.

- No, and we're not s'posed

to talk about it

either, so let's not.

- Ah, we were not the

most sober trespassers,

it has to be said, eh? (laughs)

- Mighty nice, mighty.

Scenes of debauched,

wildness debauched.

Anyway, I stole this mad,

mad photograph album--

- Shut up about the

photo album, man.

Hey, why don't you both shut up?

(foreboding music)

- Molloy, Whacker was

saying there's big money

in ghost photography in America.

And Cannon's wife, poor

Jocelyn, died last month.

Fell down the stairs, she did.

(murmurs)

- It is like I can still feel

her presence in the house.

- I actually know what

you mean, Mr. Cannon.

- I thought it might

be a good opportunity

to capture some

manner of apparition.

- I'll capture it.

The photograph, I mean.

Spirit photography's an

area I'm very interested in.

I'm not a cynic, you know?

I think there are

spirits among us.

I can't guarantee that I'll

capture something, but

Do me best.

- Let's see what

Mr. Molloy can do.

- Mighty.

- I'll make some cancellations.

- Jeez, thanks very much.

- Well, have a drink.

Molloy, drink.

Come on, now.

- Thanks very much, gentlemen.

- Slainte.

- Slainte.

- [Conall] Slainte.

- Thank you, thank you, lovely.

- And, uh, how're you planning

on conjuring the ghost?

- Son, how do you think?

They've organized a

seance in Cannon's house.

She'll do the job.

- Well, her name's Eva Lambert.

Look, I think-- I

think she's a medium.

It says, uh, like,

it says, "spirit--

"spiritual seance" on a--

- Molloy.

Let me.

Eva Lambert, or the Ghost

Queen as she likes to be known.

A very well-known

medium, notorious even.

In theatrical circles she's

very carefully studied.

- Yeah, but that's only,

that's only because

they want to see, like,

if she makes it up.

- That's it: it doesn't

look like she does.

People emerge from her

seances thoroughly distressed.

- Henry has very strange

interests, doesn't he?

- Do you want that comment

to pass unremarked on?

- Back to your

proposition, Molloy.

- I know

that spirit photography, it's

a bit more sensationalistic

than your style.

So I thought I might

undertake the sh**t by myself.

And I could do

with the money, so.

- Well, spirit

photography is merely

the double-exposure technique.

It's just the work

of charlatans.

- What if you capture

something real?

You're not being a charlatan.

- Tell me, Molloy, why

are you so desperate

to believe in ghosts?

- I think there's something

quite comforting about the idea.

You know? Just that they're

still here, minding us.

- I am not passing

up the opportunity

to go to a seance.

- Very well, Molloy,

you've got the job.

You can use one

of my old cameras.

- [Conall] Oh, thank you, sir.

- And I think I'll come along

with you, if you don't mind.

- Really?

I didn't think it'd be

your kind of thing, Uncle.

- It'll stop me looping

around these four walls.

- That's the spirit.

(Conall snorts)

We should take bets

on how she does it.

(ominous music)

(carriage clattering)

(Nancy knocking)

(Brock sighs)

(door creaking)

- You are here for my

sister's gathering.

- Yes, we are.

Mr. Cannon extended

the invitation to us.

(whispers) I'm very excited.

- What is this?

- Did Henry not mention that

we were bringing a camera?

- No.

He did not.

- They want to capture it--

- Spirits do not

like being captured.

Enter.

- (whispers) Very ominous.

I like it.

(door creaks)

(door slams)

(door creaks)

- Ah.

Welcome to my home.

Please.

- Uncle Brock.

Here to have a chat with

dead Granny, I presume?

- Pleased to meet you.

- I'm here, Henry, out

of simple curiosity.

- Brock Blennerhasset?

I own two of your originals.

Most beautiful,

haunting tintypes.

- How did you come upon those?

- There are ways, my friend.

Families don't

wanna mourn forever.

Bushrod Whacker.

Pleasure to meet you, sir.

- And you, I'm sure.

- Please, let's start.

- You did not tell me

that you'd be taking

photographs, Mr. Cannon.

- Think of the publicity

for you and your sister

if we get this in print, hmm?

- Mount your apparatus quickly.

- Molloy's going to

do a bloody good job.

He's very versatile.

People riding, people being

dead, people as ghosts.

You do it all, don't you Molloy?

- Uh, yeah, do-- do

me best, Mr. Vickers.

- And Uncle here

didn't even want you

to take the photographs

of poor, dead Granny.

Nancy had to talk him into it.

- Henry, shut up.

- Now it's time for the bloody

Dublin Photographic

Society you did.

- Henry, shut up!

- I'm telling the

truth, aren't I?

Tell me if I'm lying, Brock.

- Quiet!

The Ghost Queen is

ready to meet you.

(curtains rattle)

(eerie music)

(laughs)

- Oh, no I don't, I

don't drink on the job.

- Do not insult the dead.

- To the dead, to

welcome them here.

- [All] To the dead.

- The spirits are ready,

but they won't wait

around all night.

Now,

hold hands.

- Do we really need to hold--

- Hold hands.

(The Ghost Queen

breathes heavily)

(gasps)

(exhales sharply)

The dead are here.

- They were quick, weren't they?

(voices whispering)

- There is-- there is--

A Jocelyn is speaking to me.

- That is my wife.

My late wife.

- She is speaking

to me of a fall.

- Yes, she died in a fall.

- She says she was

pushed down the stairs

in this house.

- No, it was an accident.

I was in a different

county at the time.

- We'll need evidence,

I'm afraid, Jocelyn.

Hard evidence.

- g*dd*mn right

about hard evidence.

I don't give a sh*t about

Cannon's m*rder*d wife,

'less I can see her.

- She wasn't m*rder*d,

at least not by me.

- Jocelyn, I hear your cries.

Show yourself to us.

(Nancy shrieks)

- [Bushrod] What the hell?

- I hear another voice.

There's someone who

wants to talk to you.

- Who wants to talk to me?

- Someone you loved and lost.

- It must be Grandmother.

- Love, that's pretty strange.

(gasps)

- Hello.

It's me.

I'm still here.

(whispering voices intensify)

- Who?

- Your assistant.

- Yes, but, my assistant

and then, what else?

- The voice is fading.

No.

No.

Your assistant--

- Is he-- is he really dead?

- Um, I'm right here, sir.

- No, someone wants to talk

to your assistant over there.

(The Ghost Queen gasps)

(whimpers)

- Conall.

I can talk to you again.

I can sing to you

like I used to.

She is far from the night

Where her young hero sleeps

And lovers around

her are sighing

Oh, coldly she turns

from their gaze and weeps

For her heart, in

his grave is lying

- (whispers) Jesus.

- Keep it together, man.

- Yeah, sorry.

(table rattles)

(participants exclaiming)

(Nancy shrieks)

(chair clattering)

- I was pushed, by

some ghostly force.

It's workin'.

- Right, be quiet,

I want to see.

- I didn't come here for

shitty old Irish songs.

I wanna see something real.

(Conall shushes)

- Give her a chance,

lads, give her a chance!

- Stop talking, everyone!

- Your negative energy

has attracted bad spirits,

come to torment you.

- Nancy, I-- I'm not

feeling too good.

I think we should leave.

(wings fluttering)

- There is a bat, a

giant bat, on the wall!

(Louis breathing heavily)

Does anyone else see the bat?

- Nancy, we shouldn't

have taken this job.

Molloy shouldn't

have taken this job.

- God, you look demented.

Are you okay?

(mumbles)

Wait!

I think I see the bat!

- Why is everybody seeing bats?

- Who knows what forms

our own demons take?

- Well, maybe everyone

should just calm down

until this thing passes,

whatever this silliness is.

- Alvin (mumbles).

Anyone else see 'im?

He's standing in the corner.

I shot that b*stard

dead over a card game,

Charleston back in '70.

You don't look

too happy with me.

(breathing raggedly)

- Nancy!

This is your grandmother.

You are free to do

what you want to do.

- That doesn't sound

like Grandmother.

(gasps)

- No, Grandmother can't be here.

I sang at her funeral.

Oh no, wait, Grandmother's

ghost is here.

Oh, yes.

This is awful different

all the same, isn't it?

- We have connected with

the spiritual world.

Embrace it!

- Good Lord!

There's more of 'em.

The men I k*lled, come to

take their vengeance on me

while I'm in a wild

and unfamiliar land.

(dog barking)

- Does that dog live here?

- Just stay calm!

- Alvin!

I only put you in the ground

on account of you cheated me!

(barking)

Had it come it, you

sh*t-sucking rider!

Get back!

(g*n c*ck)

Make this stop, you witch!

(g*nsh*t sounding)

(Nancy screaming)

- Oh, he's got a g*n!

(barking)

(women shrieking)

I told you, check them all out!

- I didn't put my hand

down his trousers, did I?

- A bleedin' camera?

- They dropped their a*mo!

(men scuffling)

(grunts)

(Henry barking)

(eerie music)

- They're frauds, Molloy!

Look!

(Henry barking)

- That was the

third photographer

that tried to catch

us out this year.

- It's the worst

bleedin' invention goin'.

- That was a strong dose, Aline.

- Well, they can't say they

didn't get their money's worth.

(footsteps echoing)

(breathing heavily)

(cymbals crash)

- You!

You!

Nancy, I saw--

I saw him!

- Saw who?

- Vaudry! I saw him.

(g*nshots banging)

He's not dead.

- Go, before we're shot!

- Aren't you delighted we came?

- Not really, no.

- We must go, we

must go, we must go!

I fear Bushrod's going to

sh**t every last buck of us.

- I never got a

photograph of the spirit!

- Well, you're not bloody

going to get it now, are you?

- Who's shootin' up

the bleedin' place?

- Carruthers!

Bring us home, right away!

(g*nsh*t bangs)

- Where's my g*dd*mn album?

(eerie music)

Where's my album?

Come back, you thieves!

- [Shadowy Figure]

(whispers) Thieves, you say?

(chilling music)

One of you took their album.

- I didn't.

- [Shadowy Figure] Who did?

- It's you, isn't it?

- It is.

- Well, can I just say,

sir, that I love your work?

(Shadowy figure yells)

(grunts)

(g*n clicks)

(breathing heavily)

- Oh, hello.

You, uh, you saw the

Yes.

So strange.

All the things you can see

in front of your eyes, eh?

(speaks foreign language)

(blade scraping)

(sighs)

(speaking foreign language)

(carriage clattering)

(playful music)

(Conall whispering)

- Push over there, you.

- I just (mumbles).

- Give over, will you?

- I can see so many different

colors in front of my face.

Can you see that?

- No, like I can

see-- I can see two--

I can see two-- everyone's

got two or three faces.

- I can't stand listen to this.

When do we get to

your house, Uncle?

- Oh, no, no, no, Henry.

You're not coming to

stay at my house, no.

(door creaks)

(breathing heavily)

- He was there, he, he seen me.

- Yes, very good,

sir, very good, yeah.

Now, that's enough

excitement for one night.

A good, sweet cup o' tea

now and you'll be grand.

- Tea, tea!

Yes.

I'd love some tea,

thank you Carruthers.

- Then go make it yourself.

Will be back tomorrow

to check on youse.

See if you're all still alive.

- Bye-bye, Carruthers.

Thanks for getting

us home safely.

- Jesus, give me patience.

- He's such a good

man, d'you know that?

- I need-- I need

to get to my study.

Take me to my study!

(Nancy grunts)

(door creaks)

(Brock groans)

- I saw him, Nancy.

I saw him.

- [Nancy] Who?

- Vaudry, Vaudry was there.

- Who (grunts) is Vaudry?

- He's my, my old

my old assistant.

- And he's dead.

You've seen a dead person.

Have we been scared witless?

Is that what's going on here?

- Ah, that's how she does

it, the crafty b*tch.

She's poisoned us

with some manner

of mind-altering concoction.

That's what I said.

I win the bet.

- You're not dead, Vaudry.

You're not dead.

- Poor Uncle.

I hope he had a good night.

Because, I tell you this:

I had a bloody great time.

- That's it.

I'm gonna die walkin' home.

I'm gonna go wanderin'

for miles and miles

and end up face

down in the Dodder,

seein' moving statues and

all kinds of weird shite.

- No, no, stay here, Molloy.

You're in no fit state

to be out in the street,

you poor boy.

(calm music)

- I can't, me mother and me

sister would be worried, and

That feels good, doesn't it.

- You're a very pleasant man.

Do you know that?

- But you've got a

fella, don't you?

That Percy chap, he's, he

seems very dodgy, but

Alright.

- A mildly diverting

distraction.

And you?

Why must you always

be so nervous?

- I think you may have caught

my heart off guard, Nancy.

(dramatic music)

- What?

Can you see those faces?

- Yeah.

(carriage clattering)

(eerie music)

(door creaking)

(match hissing)

- Her employer

sent you this, sir.

I'm not too happy that

we haven't found it yet.

- [Dark Figure] We will.

- We weren't as

discreet this evening

as we previously have been.

What I'm saying, sir, is

we need to be careful.

- [Dark Figure] Get out.

(flame whooshing)

(water trickling)

(mischievous music)