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[CLICK]
[GENTLE CREAKING OF TWO PAIRS OF FOOTSTEPS ON OLD, WOODEN FLOORS.]
MARTIN
I still don't see why we couldn't at least take a break.
ARCHIVIST
Martin...
MARTIN
It was a sitting room, Jon! The sofa was comfy, you could hear the rain against the window, nobody audibly suffering nearby, even! There was even a fire! Not a raging, demonic, burn-your-house-down, melt-your-face-off inferno. Just a nice, regular fireplace with a nice, regular fire inside.
ARCHIVIST
That's exactly what this place wants you to think.
MARTIN
Seriously? Can you See anything wrong with the fire?
[PAUSE.]
ARCHIVIST
(reluctant) ...No.
MARTIN
Exactly. Besides, aren't you the one who keeps saying that nothing can hurt us out here? What is an evil sitting room going to do?
ARCHIVIST
You'd be surprised how quickly things can go horribly wrong in a place like this.
MARTIN
Yeah, but you're not answering my question. Can this... (uncertain) house?
ARCHIVIST
(confirming) House.
MARTIN
...house, can it actually hurt us? Can it trap us in here if we stay to have a cup of tea before we move on to whatever the next hell is?
ARCHIVIST
(sigh) No. No, it can't. I just... I don't like this place, Martin.
MARTIN
(petulant) Well, I don't like any of the other places, Jon.
[PAUSE. FOOTSTEPS SLOW TO A STOP.]
MARTIN (cont.)
(relenting) Alright, I- I get it. What in particular gives you a bad feeling about this one?
ARCHIVIST
I-I mean, I'm not exactly sure? I think... I think it reminds me of the cabin. The- thing. That we were living in before.
MARTIN
What, like the house wants us to stay?
[FAINT CRACKLE OF STATIC AS THE ARCHIVIST LOOKS.]
ARCHIVIST
No, that's not quite right... It's more like it wants us to want to stay, if that makes any sense?
MARTIN
Eugh. (Beat) Well, I don't, if that's any consolation. I don't want to stay here long, I just want to have a bit of a break. And...
ARCHIVIST
And it’s better to pause in here than outside in the… strange weather.
MARTIN
Well, yeah. But I was thinking something else. Um, I feel sort of… sleepy?
ARCHIVIST
(confused) We can’t feel tired out here, we’ve already far surpassed what used to be the human capacity for—
MARTIN
(overlapping) Yeah, yeah, I know, just– just look. It’s not about, like– it’s not my body that’s tired? It’s not like I feel weak, I just– I think it’s more like, i-if, uh, if I wanted to lay down and take a nap, I feel like I would be able to. It would feel good, even if it’s unnecessary.
[PAUSE.]
ARCHIVIST
Ah.
MARTIN
Yeah, yeah, I know. (sigh) The domain probably only lets me feel that way for some nefarious purpose. Just– just thought that… nevermind.
ARCHIVIST
I’m sorry Martin. If I thought you would be comfortable here, I would be alright with stopping. But something tells me you won’t like it anymore if we stay too long.
MARTIN
Why? What is it like here?
[AWKWARD SHIFTING.]
ARCHIVIST
Ehm… Do you want me to try and, um…
MARTIN
Well, maybe? (uncertain) No, no, I… I think maybe not. Let’s just– um.
ARCHIVIST
I’m sort of surprised it hasn’t happened yet.
MARTIN
Me too, honestly. I thought you were going to go and do a statement when we first got in on the first floor, but you just cleared the way to the stairwell, and…
ARCHIVIST
Is it wrong that I’m a little disappointed?
[SIGNIFICANTLY MORE UNCOMFORTABLE PAUSE.]
MARTIN
I mean, kind of?
ARCHIVIST
Yeah, no. I– yeah. I didn’t think about it before—
MARTIN
(overlapping) People are suffering, y’know? It’s not really something you should be, like—
ARCHIVIST
(overlapping) —before I said it. I know. I get it now, just—
MARTIN
(overlapping) —excited for. It’s not a good thing to be able to watch.
ARCHIVIST
(overlapping) —Just forget I said anything.
[PAUSE. ARCHIVIST SIGHS.]
[FOOTSTEPS RESUME.]
ARCHIVIST
Ah. Right. Well, this will probably not be an improvement. Are you ready?
MARTIN
I really don’t— Jon, you can’t ask me stuff like that. You know very well I have absolutely no way of knowing whether I’m ready for whatever is going to be on the other side of a door.
ARCHIVIST
Right, that’s– that’s fair.
[DOOR OPENS.]
[HEAVILY MUFFLED SOUNDS ALL AROUND — SOMEONE SCREAMS, SOMEONE SOBS, SOMEONE MUTTERS FRANTICALLY AND INCOHERENTLY. ALMOST IMPERCEPTIBLE BACKDROP OF MUFFLED HYPERVENTILATING.]
MARTIN
(so tired of this) Great. An identical hallway, but this time with a healthy serving of pain and anguish on either side.
ARCHIVIST
(just a tad breathy) So it appears. Uh– we won’t have to go through any rooms that are already… occupied, though, so.
MARTIN
Oh, lovely. I’ll just be hearing all of it without knowing what in the hell is causing— (reigns himself in) Right. Yeah, it’s better I don’t know. (sigh) Okay. C’mon, let’s go.
[FOOTSTEPS PROCEED.]
[CLICK]
<0><0><0>
[CLICK]
[SAME SOUNDSCAPE OF MUFFLED AGONY.]
[ONE VOICE STANDS OUT ABOVE THE REST, NEARER AND SLIGHTLY MORE DISCERNABLE AS IT HALF-MUMBLES, HALF-SHRIEKS ITS WAY THROUGH A BREAKDOWN.]
ARCHIVIST
Martin, it won’t help. You can’t do anything for them.
MARTIN
I don’t care, I just– I can’t just walk past.
ARCHIVIST
We’ve walked past all the others just fine.
MARTIN
I know! Just let me… Just let me do this.
ARCHIVIST
(mutters) Fine. But there’s no point.
[MARTIN KNOCKS TENTATIVELY ON A DOOR.]
[THE VOICE WITHIN ABRUPTLY GOES SILENT.]
MARTIN
(as politely as humanly possible) Um, excuse me, may I open the door?
[MUFFLED SOUNDS OF SOMEONE INTENTIONALLY DRAWING A LONG, SHAKY BREATH.]
MARTIN
I don’t mean to intrude, but y-you sound like you could use some help? So, um, if I can be of any assistance at all, I would be happy—
[MUFFLED VOICE SPEAKS. ITS TONE IS COMPLETELY AT ODDS WITH ALL PREVIOUS NOISES; IT SOUNDS CHIPPER AND COMPLETELY UNBOTHERED.]
MUFFLED VOICE
No, thank you!
MARTIN
(baffled) Ah– um, I– Are you sure? Look, it’s no trouble at all.
MUFFLED VOICE
(unnaturally cheerful, like a bad breakfast cereal commercial) No worries! I’m perfectly fine!
MARTIN
B-B-But–
ARCHIVIST
It’s not going to work, Martin.
[RATTLE AS MARTIN TRIES THE DOORKNOB. THE DOOR REMAINS FIRMLY SHUT.]
MARTIN
I don’t understand.
ARCHIVIST
They’re not going to ask for your help.
MARTIN
(to the muffled voice) Are you– (grunt) Are you leaning on the door?
ARCHIVIST
Even if you offer them an escape, they’re not going to take it. No matter how badly they want to. No matter how easy you make it for them to just say yes, they will always pretend that they’re not desperate for relief.
MARTIN
(distraught) Why?
ARCHIVIST
They have no other choice. This place, it doesn’t leave your will intact. It doesn’t let you make the decision you want to. You could have all the options in the world, and the only path you ever find yourself accepting is the one that keeps you exactly where you are. There is no progress, no improvement, no rest.
That’s why this house is so comfortable. Because in this place lives the fear that, no matter what your circumstances, you will always choose to be miserable. The fear that you are to blame for victimizing yourself. The fear that there is nothing anyone can do to help you, and nowhere that can ever be comfortable enough for you to let yourself relax. The fear that you will never be happy because deep inside, you are incapable of change.
MARTIN
That’s… th– that’s awful.
[ARCHIVIST MAKES A NOISE OF AGREEMENT, SEEMINGLY UNBOTHERED.]
MARTIN
But– but it’s an irrational fear, right? I mean, everybody is capable of some kind of change, even if they choose not to…
[HE SLOWS DOWN AND TRAILS OFF, WAITING FOR CONFIRMATION.]
ARCHIVIST
Not anymore. Not here. The Spider has them all caught in its Web. Perhaps they would have been able to escape it before, but now they cannot control the things that they do. And that loss of their own free will scares them more than any gory, violent death or vast, ethereal hellscape ever could.
MARTIN
Jon, stop. Tha– that’s enough.
ARCHIVIST
(quiet) I mean, you did ask.
MARTIN
I didn’t ask for a– a– a comprehensive analysis of– of– Just forget it.
ARCHIVIST
Sorry.
MARTIN
Let’s just go, okay?
ARCHIVIST
Right.
[CLICK]
<0><0><0>
[CLICK]
[FAINT RAIN PATTERS AGAINST WINDOWPANE.]
[FIREPLACE CRACKLES AND SPUTTERS MERRILY WHILE SOMEBODY POKES AT IT AND BLOWS ON THE COALS.]
[INTERACTION WITH THE FIREPLACE STOPS, LEAVING ONLY THE GENTLE SOUND OF BURNING.]
MARTIN
Here.
ARCHIVIST
Hm? Oh. Thank you.
[SHIFTING AND RUSTLING OF FABRIC AS THE TWO GET COMFORTABLE.]
[AFTER A MOMENT THERE IS AN AUDIBLE SLURP, FOLLOWED BY A LIGHT SMACK AND THE ARCHIVIST’S QUIET BREATH OF LAUGHTER.]
MARTIN
(teasing) I will take the tea back if you can’t drink it quietly.
ARCHIVIST
You wouldn’t!
MARTIN
I would.
[COMFORTABLE PAUSE. ARCHIVIST SIPS QUIETLY THIS TIME.]
MARTIN
Much better. (Beat) Do you really not feel…
ARCHIVIST
Drowsy? (sigh) I guess… I don't know. It's hard to know which feelings are actually mine anymore. But like I said, it won't be a bother if you fall asleep and I don't.
MARTIN
Jus– just don’t feel bad about waking me up if you need to. It’s probably fine, but if anything weird happens, or– or you don’t want to be here anymore, just. I said already. I don’t need to sleep, this is just for comfort. So it’s okay if we need to leave.
ARCHIVIST
Of course. Enjoy your nap, Martin.
MARTIN
(pleased) Thank you. I will.
[CLICK]
<0><0><0>
[CLICK]
[RAIN IS LOUDER NOW, JOINED BY THE DULL ROAR OF WIND AND THE STEADY RISE AND FALL OF MARTIN’S BREATHING.]
[FIRE IS NOTICEABLY ABSENT.]
[DISTANT CREAKING, JOINED OCCASIONALLY BY THE FAINTEST OF MUFFLED SCREAMS AND SOBS.]
[RISING STATIC.]
ARCHIVIST
(starts out in a faint, breathy murmur) It’s… quiet in the house… but never quite silent. It’s… dim, in the house… but never quite dark. Secrets… they try to hide here, but… it’s never quite enough to cover them entirely.
(gradually growing stronger) Greta has learned this time after time, and yet she still keeps silent on the stairs as she descends. The press of secrecy constricts her throat and chest, and every sound her trembling limbs make against the floor, the handrail, the door, is too loud. She is not paralyzed by the fear. That will come later, when she wants to run. For now, she wants nothing more than to stop and sit down on the stairs, and put her head in her hands and cry, perhaps loud enough for someone to hear so that they might get out of bed and help her. Comfort her. Stop her from what she is about to do. Maybe, if she could just pause for a moment, she could talk herself out of it. Even if no one else is here, surely she has enough reason left in her to convince herself to stop. She doesn’t want to do it. She doesn’t.
Greta breathes, or tries to, but the choking sobs that she expects to hear from her own throat are silent. No evidence of even a hitch in her breathing. No sounds of guilt, or even of indecision. She takes another step — was she trembling before? She is steady now. Perhaps she only imagined the trembling. It dawns on her slowly that there is nothing unusual about her body or demeanor. Time and time again, her body has passed through the signs of craving and terror and regret. All of the shivering and sweating and crying and squirming and nausea. Time and time again, she has buried these feelings. Now, she tries desperately to dig any of them up and bring them to the surface, hoping that if anything her own guilt may convict her.
She comes up empty handed. There is nothing inside of her that is willing to emerge. She cannot feel the guilt anymore, and that stark realization lays a heavy, indigestible stone of dread in the bottom of her stomach. What has she become?
Her feet carry her down the well-beaten path down the stairs and through the hallway once again, against her will. Is it her will? She feels the drive behind her movements, that horrible force of hunger that presses her onward to seek the satisfaction of her ugly desire. What she wants is… Irrelevant. She cannot want. The want burns in the back of her mind: Stop. Stop! Go back to bed. I want to rest. I want to be done. But it is overwhelmed by the strength of the will that is not her own which tells her to walk on. The want churns in her body: Stop. Stop! Go back to bed. I want to rest. I want to be done, please! But it is completely overwhelmed by the strength of the will that is not her own which tells her body to walk on.
A tune slips out of her throat unbidden, and once she begins to sing, she cannot stop. She doesn’t remember the words, but her lips form them anyway.
[ARCHIVIST BEGINS TO SING, SOFT AND RHYTHMIC. HE DOES NOT PAUSE AT ANY POINT THROUGHOUT HIS TUNE.]
ARCHIVIST (cont.)
The itsy bitsy spider crawled in through the door;
Don’t look surprised, dear, you’ve let it in before.
[A KNOCK ON THE DOOR.]
[MARTIN’S BREATHING HITCHES AS HE WAKES.]
ARCHIVIST (cont.)
Down came a boot, and the spider ran away,
But the itsy bitsy spider would return another day.
[FABRIC SHIFTS AND RUSTLES WHILE HE SINGS. MARTIN LETS OUT A FEW DROWSY AND CONFUSED NOISES.]
ARCHIVIST (cont.)
The itsy bitsy spider crawled in through the win–dow;
Why leave it open? You knew it would get in, so
Down came a hand, and the spider ran away,
But the itsy bitsy spider would return another day.
[FAINT TAPPING ON THE WINDOWPANE THAT IS NOT RAIN. THE SOUND OVERLAPS ITSELF LIKE A CLUSTER OF DOZENS, NO, HUNDREDS OF TINY LEGS SCURRYING ACROSS THE OUTSIDE OF THE GLASS.]
MARTIN
(sharp inhale) Oh— gah— what the– J-Jon!
[RUSTLE AS MARTIN PRESUMABLY GRABS THE ARCHIVIST.]
[ARCHIVIST’S GENTLE SINGING DOES NOT PAUSE THROUGHOUT ANY OF THIS.]
ARCHIVIST (cont.)
The itsy bitsy spider crawled in through a crack;
Silly little you didn’t think it would be back!
Out came the broom, and the spider ran away,
But the itsy bitsy spider would return another day.
[SCURRYING SOUNDS COME FROM BELOW NOW. MARTIN CRIES OUT IN ALARM.]
MARTIN
Argh– hg– eugh! Stop, stop, stop— Jon!
[COMMOTION AND MOVEMENT. ARACHNOID CHITTERING.]
MARTIN (cont.)
Jon, snap out of it!
ARCHIVIST (cont.)
The itsy bitsy spider crawled up through the drain;
Sticky, sticky cobwebs clogged the water main.
[MATCH STRIKES.]
MARTIN
(panicked) Woah, what– w-where did you get that? No, stop, give it—
ARCHIVIST (cont.)
Out comes the match, and the spider starts to grin;
As the blazes rise around you, the spider wins agai—
[MARTIN BLOWS OUT THE MATCH AND THEN SLAPS HIM.]
[STATIC FUZZ AS THE ARCHIVIST STRUGGLES TO BRING HIS BREATHING BACK TO NORMAL.]
ARCHIVIST
(disoriented) Uhh– ehm. Wh–what’s—
MARTIN
Up. Up, get up, come on. Move, they’re all over.
[MARTIN DRAGS HIM TO HIS FEET.]
ARCHIVIST
Oh– agh, good lord!
MARTIN
Let’s go, let’s— drop the blanket, let’s go!
[BLANKET DROPS ON THE FLOOR. ARCHIVIST MAKES A HORRIFIED NOISE.]
[SOUNDS OF FRANTIC BRUSHING AND SMACKING AGAINST FABRIC AND SKIN.]
ARCHIVIST
Oh, sh– agh, oh, shit, shit—
MARTIN
(hurried and exasperated) They’re spiders, Jon, they’re not gonna hurt you. Let’s just go!
[RUSTLE AS MARTIN GRABS HIM; STUMBLING FOOTSTEPS.]
[ARCHIVIST CONTINUES TO MAKE NOISES OF DISGUST.]
[CLICK]
<0><0><0>
[CLICK]
[WIND AND RAIN ALL AROUND.]
[MARTIN GRUMBLES INCOHERENTLY IN THE BACKGROUND.]
ARCHIVIST
(as much venom as this wet cat can muster) Web domains… fuck you.
[CLICK]