by Neil Gaiman
Magazines (assorted). Books (witchcraft). Books (prophecy). Towels and bedlinens (to pink bedroom). Implements (magical) goes to downstairs study. And so on. There is even a nice old bicycle.
Anathema tapes the box closed, decisively.
ANATHEMA’S MOTHER
I’ll probably never see you again, honey.
Anathema is about to argue with her.
ANATHEMA’S MOTHER (CONT’D)
You know the prophecies as well as I do. Agnes is always very specific about family. Whether you succeed or fail, I won’t see you again.
ANATHEMA
I won’t fail, Mom.
ANATHEMA’S MOTHER
Make us proud of you, honey. Whatever the Beast is, I know you’ll be a match for it. Just trust Agnes, and trust the book.
221EXT. NEWT’S HOUSE – DAY
TITLE CARD: THE PRESENT DAY
Newt’s house now. Newt’s mother is ten years older than the last time we saw her . . . She’s waiting at the door. Newt’s car, Dick Turpin, is in the drive: small and ugly and klunky.
NEWT’S MOTHER
I just wanted to say . . . Well, good luck on the new job. I hope it works out this time.
NEWT
I’m sure it will, Mum.
NEWT’S MOTHER
You’ve just been unlucky. I made you sandwiches.
222INT. OFFICE BUILDING – DAY
It’s a big open-plan office. Lots of people around . . . NEWTON PULSIFER aka NEWT, mid twenties, gawky and awkward and potentially likable, is at his desk. (Photo of Newt’s mother on it.) LOUISA BLATT comes past. She has a tablet, and is tapping off names on it as she goes . . .
LOUISA
And you are?
NEWT
Newton Pulsifer. Wages clerk. I’m new.
She taps his name off on the list on her screen.
NEWT (CONT’D)
Excuse me, is there a way to do this without, you know, putting it into the computer?
LOUISA
. . . Is there a way to access the wages database without using a computer?
NEWT
Maybe someone could print it out for me, and I could do the sums on paper.
But NIGEL TOMPKINS has started his meeting, which, in the middle of an open-plan office, he does by clinking a spoon against a mug and saying:
TOMPKINS
So who’s excited about the training initiative? Let’s see some hands up then.
He raises his hand. Around the office a variety of hands go up, enthusiastically or wearily . . . we pause as we go around to look at JANICE EVANSON, NORMAN WEATHERED, the three women of the Financial Planning Trio . . .
JANICE EVANSON
Just so you know, Norman, I’ve registered a complaint with HR about this whole training initiative nonsense. And I believe Financial Planning are with me on this.
The three silent women of Financial Planning nod, disapprovingly.
TOMPKINS
It’s a team-building exercise, Janice. And you know what? There’s no I in team.
NORMAN WEATHERED
But there’s two I’s in building, Nigel. And an I in exercise.
Newt has his opening screen. It’s all going rather well. He starts to type in a number . . .
TOMPKINS
Norman. Please. Can I have everybody’s attention? Who are you?
NEWT
Newt. Newton Pulsifer. Sorry. Just got to hit return and I’m with you . . .
He hits return. The screen of his computer flickers and then goes black. A beat, then other computers start turning off. As do the building lights . . .
NEWT (CONT’D)
Sorry. Just not very good at computers. Team building . . .?
TOMPKINS
I’m afraid there’s no U in team, Mr Pulsifer.
223EXT. OFFICE CARPARK – DAY
At the back of the carpark, where the most junior of junior employees park, is an ugly car. It’s Newt’s Wasabi, it is painted green and on the back Newt has painted DICK TURPIN.
Newt reaches it, holding his cardboard box, and reaches down to open the car. A passing MS FROBISHER, from Internal Audits, says:
FROBISHER
Need a hand, Dick?
She opens the door.
NEWT
Thank you. But my name’s not Dick. That’s the car’s name.
FROBISHER
Oh. Right.
NEWT
You can. You can ask me why, if you like.
FROBISHER
No thanks.
224INT. HEATHROW AIRPORT IMMIGRATION – DAY
A bored IMMIGRATION OFFICIAL waves a family on and Anathema steps up.
IMMIGRATION OFFICIAL
AthanEema Device?
ANATHEMA
AnATHema. Old family name.
IMMIGRATION OFFICIAL
Purpose of your visit to the United Kingdom?
ANATHEMA
I’m commanded by an ancient family prophecy. I’m going to use all the witchcraft and wisdom at my disposal to hunt down the heart of darkness then do all I can to destroy it before it brings about the end of the world.
IMMIGRATION OFFICIAL
(tiny bit puzzled, ‘did I just hear that?’)
. . . I’m sorry?
ANATHEMA
Vacation.
She brings down the stamp.
225EXT. A PARK – DAY
Newt is walking, lonely and sad and alone. He’s on the phone.
NEWT
Hello, Mum. The job? Yeah. It’s going really well. It’s great. They love me.
He puts the phone in his pocket and realises he is standing in front of SERGEANT SHADWELL, who is standing on a box, painted black, and has a small board propped up beside him. The board looks like it was painted fifty years ago, and says on it, a word or a thought to a line, WITCHES/BLIGHT CROPS/ CAST THE EVIL EYE / DANCE NAKED (an abomination) / WORSHIP THE DEVIL / HAVE TOO MANY NIPPLES/ CALL THEIR CATS FUNNY NAMES. Shadwell is giving it all he’s got.
SHADWELL
Fear? There’s only one thing we have to fear, ya sissies. It’s not ‘global warming’. It’s not ‘nuclear Armageddon’. Can anybody here tell me what it is?
Nobody is watching him. His audience consists of a bored pigeon.
SHADWELL (CONT’D)
You don’t answer. You don’t answer because you know it’s true. They are hidden in our midst.
(to a PASSER-BY)
They could be you!
PASSER-BY
Oh. Thank you.
SHADWELL
Don’t thank me. I’m the thin red line that stands between humanity and the darkness, but don’t thank me. I’m talking about . . .
NEWT
Witches?
And Shadwell looks down to see he now has an audience of one person. It’s Newt. Shadwell softens . . .
SHADWELL
Aye. Witches. They lurk behind a façade of righteousness. And there’s nobody to stop them but me.
Shadwell looks around. There’s nobody watching him. Nobody cares. He sighs. He gets off his soapbox, and picks it and his board up. He walks to a coffee van.
SHADWELL (CONT’D)
In the old days witchfinders were respected. Matthew Hopkins, Witchfinder General, used to charge each town and village ninepence for every witch he found. And they paid!
NEWT
Are you. Um. Witchfinder General?
SHADWELL
I am not. There is no longer a Witchfinder General. Nor is there a Witchfinder Colonel, a Witchfinder Major, or even a Witchfinder Captain. There is, however, a Witchfinder Sergeant. And you are looking at him.
Shadwell looks at Newt as if sizing him up.
Then he presents him with an elderly, stained business card.
NEWT
Pleased to meet you, Mister Shadwell.
They’ve reached the front of the line. Shadwell orders from the food van . . .
SHADWELL
Cup of tea. Nine sugars. And a packet of
cheese-and-onion crisps.
(to Newt)
Get your wallet out, laddie. Bit of advice: You never want to appear tight-fisted on first acquaintance.
Newt realises that he’s being told to pay for Shadwell’s tea. He hands over a fiver and is given some change.
SHADWELL (CONT’D)
And it’s not Mister Shadwell. It’s sergeant. Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell. What’s your name, lad?
NEWT
Newton. Newton Pulsifer.
SHADWELL
Pulsifer. It’s a familiar name, now you mention it. Hmm . . . Do you have your own teeth?
NEWT
Yes.
Shadwell slurps his tea.
SHADWELL
How many nipples have you got?
NEWT
What?
SHADWELL
Nipples! NIPPLES, laddie. How many?
NEWT
Just the usual two.
Shadwell seems satisfied. He thrusts a page of a local newspaper at Newt, who takes it reflexively. An advert has been circled.
SHADWELL
Be there tomorrow at eleven. Bring scissors.
Shadwell, carrying his board, has already headed off. He’s taken the roll-up cigarette from behind his ear, and is paying Newt no mind. Newt reads the advert aloud.
NEWT
‘JOIN THE PROFESSIONALS. ASSISTANT REQUIRED TO COMBAT THE FORCES OF DARKNESS. UNIFORM, BASIC TRAINING PROVIDED. FIELD PROMOTION CERTAIN. BE A MAN!’
CUT TO:
226EXT. TADFIELD – DAY
TITLE CARD: JASMINE COTTAGE, TADFIELD
TITLE CARD: THURSDAY
TITLE CARD: TWO DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD
A small moving van is parked outside Jasmine Cottage. A DRIVER is carrying in boxes of stuff from the van, with Anathema Device, mid twenties, sparky and funny and sensible. It is the most rustic and beautiful cottage that the location manager can find.
227INT./EXT. JASMINE COTTAGE – DAY
She is thanking the driver, as he deposits the last box of stuff in her house . . . empty bookcases, barely furnished . . .
ANATHEMA
Just put it there. Thanks so much. Here you go.
She gives him money. He wishes he had a line here. He doesn’t.
ANATHEMA (CONT’D)
What a gorgeous village. It’s like it ought to be on a postcard. Thank you . . .
The driver goes away, thinking, all these years acting and I don’t even get a line of dialogue. Anathema opens the box that she brought, and takes out . . .
A theodolite – an odd one, with crystals and runic carvings attached to it. A pendulum, a breadknife, the copy of The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter we’ve already seen.
An ordnance survey map of Tadfield, which she pins to the wall, followed by a medieval woodcut-style illustration, cut from an old book, yellowing and scary, connected to the map with a strand of wool: it shows a demonic nightmarish monster, bigger than a house. And it is captioned, in old gothic lettering, Ye Adversarye, Destroyer of Kings, Angell of ye Bottomle∫∫ Pit, Prince of Thi∫∫e Worlde, & Lord of Darkne∫∫.
ANATHEMA (CONT’D)
Right. To work.
228INT. CROWLEY’S FLAT, OFFICE – DAY
In the office, a huge desk with an old-fashioned phone and an answering machine on it, and there’s a cartoon of the Mona Lisa on the wall. Crowley picks up the plant mister, and walks out into the flat.
229INT. CROWLEY’S FLAT – DAY
GOD (V.O.)
The only things in the flat Crowley devotes any personal attention to are the house plants. He had heard about talking to plants in the early seventies and thought it an excellent idea. Although, talking is perhaps the wrong word for what Crowley does.
Crowley is misting the plants. And talking to them.
CROWLEY
An easy job. Just deliver the Antichrist. And keep an eye on him. Nice, straightforward job. Eh? Not the kind of thing any demon is going to screw up. Right? . . . Is that a spot? Is it?
He examines a plant . . .
CROWLEY (CONT’D)
Right! You know what I’ve told you all about leaf spots. I will not stand for them.
(to the plant)
You know what you’ve done? You’ve disappointed me. Oh dear, oh dear.
He holds the plant up.
CROWLEY (CONT’D)
Everyone, say goodbye to your friend. He just couldn’t cut it.
The plants are terrified. No, I don’t know how we show this on television either.
He shakes his head.
CROWLEY (CONT’D)
(to plant)
This is going to hurt you so much more than it will hurt me . . .
(to other plants)
And you guys, just, grow better.
GOD (V.O.)
What he does is put the fear of God into them. Or, more precisely, the fear of Crowley. The plants are the most luxurious, verdant and beautiful in London. Also the most terrified.
Crowley leaves the room, taking the offending plant with him. We stay with the terrified healthy ones, which tremble as . . .
We hear the sound of something like a shredder or even a woodchipper in the background. The plants stand up straighter, and do their best to make their leaves look greener and prettier.
Crowley returns with an empty plant pot, heading for his office.
230EXT. SHADWELL’S FLAT – THE NEXT DAY
A corner newsagent. A seedy door next door, leading to the flat. Newt rings the doorbell.
A moment, then MADAME TRACY comes down the stairs. She’s a medium, and a sex worker, and is not as young as she used to be. Today, she’s dressed for sex work, rather than as a medium, which means a dressing gown and a little too much make-up.
NEWT
Um. Hello. I’m here about the advert. In the paper.
MADAME TRACY
Well, Madame Tracy Draws Aside the Veil every afternoon except Thursdays. Parties welcome. When would you be wanting to Explore the Mysteries, love?
NEWT
I think perhaps there must have been another advert.
MADAME TRACY
Oh, right. Well, I don’t do anything kinky except by prior agreement, and my knees aren’t what they were. Also, if it’s strict discipline you’re wanting, tell me now, because it can take me half an hour to squeeze into the leather pinny.
She and Newt start back up the stairs together.
NEWT
I’m sorry . . .?
MADAME TRACY
You’re not here for intimate personal relaxation and stress relief for the discerning gentleman?
NEWT
No! I’m here to join the Witchfinder Army.
MADAME TRACY
Oh, Mister Shadwell said he had a visitor coming! You’re going to make him so happy! It’s just been him for so long. Can I make you a cup of tea?
Newt is not quite certain what he’s got himself into. But Madame Tracy is already knocking on the door of Shadwell’s flat. A sign on the door in crabbed handwriting says DEFY THE FOUL FIEND!
Shadwell’s unshaven face appears at the door. He’s suspicious.
SHADWELL
Aye?
MADAME TRACY
It’s your new recruit, Mister Shadwell. Look!
SHADWELL
Awa’ wi’ ye, HARLOT! SCARLET WOMAN! JEZEBEL!
She’s flattered.
MADAME TRACY
Oh, Mr Shadwell! I’ll bring you both tea.
(to Newt)
Milk and sugar, dear?
SHADWELL
He’s in the army now, Jezebel. He’ll make his own tea.
231INT. SHADWELL’S FLAT/HALLWAY/MADAME TRACY’S BEDROOM – DAY
Newt is looking around the flat, bewildered. It’s a Witchfinder Army museum, and a collection of books, and a filthy shambles. Newt is standing by an ancient kettle on a gas hob, about to make tea. The kettle begins to whistle as Shadwell talks.
SHADWELL
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Welcome to the Witchfinder Army, new recruit. You are, as of right now, Witchfinder Private Pulsifer. We used to be powerful. We used to be important. Condensed milk, laddie. Pour it in. And I take . . .
NEWT
Nine sugars.
SHADWELL
Exactly. We were the line of fire between the darkness and the poor unsuspecting folk who don’t believe in witches.
There is a 200-year-old blunderbus hanging on the wall: the Thundergun.