Masters of Horror (2005–2007): Season 2, Episode 11 - The Black Cat - full transcript

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"I stand amid the roar
of a surf-tormented shore,

and I hold
within my hand

grains of golden sand.

How few, yet how they creep
through my fingers to the deep,

while I weep,
while I weep.

Oh, God, can I not grasp
them with a tighter clasp?

Oh, God, can I not save
one from the pitiless wave?

Is all that we see

or seem

but a dream
within a dream?"



Oh, Eddie,
that's beautiful.

Not as beautiful as you,
my dear Sissie, but...

- It is fine, isn't it?
- It's your best one yet.

Pluto, you imp. You don't
care much for poetry, do you?

No, you don't, do you,
you terrible beast?

Scat.

Oh, Sissie.

- My angel, are you all right?
- I'm sorry, Eddie.

It's nothing. Must
be the cat hair.

Yes, yes, fine stuff.

I'll give you
50 cents a piece

and print them in
the September issue,

in the society section.

But, Mr. Graham, sir, what
I have given you is gold.



It should be printed
on your front page, not

buried in the
ladies' pages.

Yes, indeed.

But I do believe I've read this
one in last month's courier,

and this one in
The Saturday Post

The ladies do seem to appreciate poetry,
though for myself I find it tiresome.

Of course.

You're right. But...

They are the favorites
of your female readers.

- A dollar a piece,then.
- I'll take them, Mr. Poe,

- at the half-dollar
price. - Mr. Graham...

if you agree to give
us what we really want,

another of your
fantastic tales.

That's your
meat, Mr. Poe,

like TheTell-Tale Heart

Now, that was
a real success.

Yes, killing his landlord because he was
disturbed to madness by the man's dead eye.

Where do you
get your ideas?

Take my advice, Mr. Poe.

Leave the poetry
to the ladies.

Your mad tales... Give
us some other of those!

How about a poet strangles his publisher,
and everyone else takes him for dead

so they put him
in his grave alive!

Buried alive!

Mr. Poe?

Mr. Poe!

Yes. Sorry. Another tale.

As a matter of fact, I'm
working on one at the moment.

Excellent! Let's have
it for the october issue.

Certainly, sir.

Your readers, Mr. Graham,
will marvel at its invention.

I-- I was wondering if you could
see your way clear to give me...

a small advance to
assure its completion?

Really, Mr. Poe,

where does all
the money go?

Poetry.

Poverty.

Barman!

Another bottle.

You haven't paid
me for that one.

My credit has always
been good here.

And that's the problem. You
haven't paid me a penny in months.

No more until
it's settled.

I am Edgar Allan Poe,
grandson of general David Poe,

hero of the
revolution, sir!

I swam the James
river seven miles,

and I was first in my
class at West Point!

Yes, Mr. Poe, we've
heard it all before.

Griswold!

Friend!

Fellow poet.

Could you make me a small
loan to appease this gentleman?

After the way you've savaged
my last book in your review?

You may hang him,
sir, for all I care.

- But, Rufus...
- That's it, then, Mr. Poe.

No... Wait, master
of the house.

A wager.

Set down a cryptogram as
devilish as you can devise,

and I will solve it for a
bottle of your best port.

Ask of me the impossible,

and I shall achieve it.

For example, I
propose to you

that I...

can stand on only...

one finger!

- You can stand on one finger?
- I can, and I will!

And if you can't?

I will reward you...

with all my time
on this Earth.

Sir...

we have a wager.

Point to the exact spot
where you would have me stand.

Stand where you like, as
long as it's on one finger.

Oh,no,no,no. I want you
to be satisfied, sir,

that there is no
trickery involved here.

- Choose the spot.
- All right.

- There.
- Where?

- Right there.
- There?

No, right there!

You didn't say it
had to be my finger.

"The dream
within the dream."

- There you are, Eddie.
- Sissie, I...

Hey. Hello, Pluto.

Our guest, Mr. Fordham, has
been wondering where you've been.

Oh, sir...

Thank you.

Sir.

I apologize.

I-- I was
detained...

by...

I was detained
by admirers.

Lovers of literature.
They insisted on a toast--

Several toasts--
to my work.

Are you a...

literary man, mister...

Fordham. No, My tastes run
more to musical entertainment.

But poetry is music

when it is
poetical at all.

Shall I recite to you

one of my lyrics, mister...
I'm sorry, mister...

Mr. Fordham is here
to buy the piano.

- Yes.
- Don't you remember, Eddie?

I'm sorry, sir,

but...

That is my wife's piano,

and it is not for sale.

- I-- - We
discussed this.

I will not let you
give up your music.

- We need the money.
- No!

Let me do this...

for us.

As you see,
Mr. Fremont--

or whatever
your name is--

I can deny...

my darling little wife...

nothing.

Virginia,

you must play for him.

And for me.

One last time...

for me.

My angel, you all right?

My God, man,
get her a drink.

Hurry!

Here... Take a sip.

Oh, my God.

Sissie. Sissie?

Get a doctor!
Get a doctor!

Sissie. Oh,
my God. Sissie.

I gave her a dose of
Laudanum. She needs to sleep.

It's all right, darlin'. You'll
be fine. I'll look after you.

She must be kept calm.

Now, this is of the
utmost importance.

Nothing must upset her.

Nothing.

Administer this
judiciously.

Will she recover?

- Your wife is a consumptive, Mr. Poe.
- The white plague.

Why didn't you
call me sooner?

That hemorrhage
could have killed her.

I... didn't
dare believe it.

Is there a cure?

You must move to a
milder climate, sir,

if you love your wife.

Now, that'll be $10.00 for the
fee and $2.00 for the sedative.

To speak of money while my wife is suffering
in the next room is ill-mannered, sir.

I am a doctor.

When should
I speak of it?

Send the bill
to Mr. Graham.

I'm in the process
of writing a story

for his magazine,
the october issue.

This is the
last time, Poe.

I have treated you in your
drunken stupors and your delirium,

and you've never paid
what you've promised.

But you can't just...

leave her like that.

Here. Here.
Take my w--

Wait.

I'll pay you when
I can. Please!

I suggest you find another physician
to attend to her. Good night, Mr. Poe.

Pluto, stop it!

There, there, Annabel.

He won't hurt you.

What--

Virginia,

what are you
doing out of bed?

We have to sell it.

We need the money.

You have to rest.

Husband's orders.

Breathe easy. Here.

Here, Sissie.
Take a tincture.

There.

- I'm sorry, Eddie.
- You have nothing to be sorry for.

I'm afraid taking care of
me inspires you to drink.

Writing is your genius...

your life.

Please don't destroy
them with drink.

Write, Eddie, please...

for me.

I will.

I promise.

The white plague.

Pluto.

What's gotten into you?

Damn.

Pluto.

Pluto,what have you done?

Pluto!

Pluto.

You come here
this instant.

For pity's sake!

Oh, my God.

Sissie.

Angel.

Angel.

There,there. There,there.

I'll protect you.

I'm sorry.

Pluto.

Pluto. Get away from her.

Pluto,no.

You... Get away!
You're killing her.

Come here.
You-- No!

Come here.

Where are you?

There you are.

Don't you move.

You... You...

Gotcha.

Nope.

I've got you.

Demon!

What are you
doing, Eddie?

Pluto.

Come here. Come on.

Oh, my-- what
happened to you?

He must have, uh,

gotten in a fight. I found him
like that. I tried to help him.

You poor thing.

My God.

What's
been--

What's been going
on? Our pets.

Now, Sissie, I...

was trying to
write, and...

Pluto...

Pluto ate the goldfish.

- Phineas?
- Yes.

- Pluto ate phineas?
- Yes, and he killed poor Annabel.

No. No, I don't
believe it.

He's the one who's been
attacked. Look at him.

No, no, no, no. There was
another cat, a black cat,

just like Pluto. He must have killed
them, and-- Pluto fought with him.

- You-- you've been drinking
again. - No! The cat's spilled that.

You promised. You said you would
write for me. You promised me.

I know I did.

I'm so, so sorry.
I can explain.

I have this longing in
my soul to do violence

to the ones I love,
to my own nature,

to do wrong for
wrong's sake.

Eddie.

Sissie...

Sissy? Sissy!

- I'll go get a doctor.
- No, no. Don't leave me.

It's all
right, ci--

Sissie? Sissie.

No. No,Sissie!

It's a shame.

He could never provide
for a woman of her...

delicacy.

How could he, so long as
he fancied himself a poet?

And she's so young.

So very young.

A mere...

a mere girl...

and-- and
his cousin.

An acceptable
match in Richmond,

but this is Philadelphia.

Mr. Poe.

My wife and I
just wanted to say

we're sorry
for your loss.

Well, I thank
you, mister, uh...

She's out of
her misery now.

Yes, she is.

Look, Edgar,

I can advance you a
small sum on your story.

She should have
a proper buriaL.

Yes. She should.

So she can rot in
an airless grave

with worms and ants
eating at her flesh.

Get a hold of
yourself, Edgar.

We all have to
go on, you know,

and you'll have
your writing.

I no longer
wish to write.

What else will you do? Goodness,
man, you're already famous.

I no longer
care for fame.

There are ways...

to ease the pain.

Get out.

I do not...

wish to ease my pain.

Leave me alone!

That is not how a
gentleman behaves!

How would you know?

All of you! Get out!

Now!

- Edgar, calm yourself!
- Leave me! All of you!

Leave me!

I say calm yourself, sir!

Leave me alone!

You...

You...

killed her.

Come here.

"We stand on the
brink of a precipice,

and peer into the abyss.

We grow sick and dizzy...

with blood."

"Nevermore."

Sissie?

Sissie.

Sissie.

Sissie. Come,Sissie.

Eddie?

Virginia.

Angel.

I thought
I saw--

I'm afraid to be alone.

Don't leave me again.

You came back to me from the
grave, and still I fail you.

Heaven curse me if I
ever take another drink.

Virginia.

No.

No.

You'll catch a draft.

Hello. Who are you?

No.

- It's Pluto.
- No. He died in the fire.

He must have escaped.
Oh, you came back to us.

Sissie,

it can't be.

He burned away. There
was nothing left.

You're right.
It's not Pluto.

Look at this
white patch, see?

It goes all
around his neck,

like a collar.

Or a noose.

Stop it, Eddie.

Your morbid imagination
is too much sometimes.

Now, Virginia.

He can't stay.
Your condition.

I need companion when you're
writing, or when you're gone.

He might make you
worse, the filthy beast.

I haven't coughed
since he's come.

He's just a cat,

aren't you, Pluto?

It's not... Pluto!

Heavens curse me.

You.

Eddie?

What's the matter? Why
are you acting like this?

- Go upstairs.
- You're drunk.

You promised. You
swore you'd stop.

Yeah, and you
believed me.

You always believe me.

I have no choice.

I love you.

How can you love me?

I can't clothe you. I can't
feed you. I can't cure you.

I can't write!

God help me, Sissie.

I can't write.

Come with me, Eddie.

Come back
upstairs with me.

It'll be all
right. Please.

- There you are.
- No!

- Eddie.
- Leave me be.

- Don't, Eddie,please.
- Where's that--

- Where...
- Eddie.

Eddie.

Eddie.

Oh, Sissie! No!

What's all that noise?

Farewell, my angel.

No!

Go back to hell,
you succubus!

Excuse me, sir.

Mr. Poe, isn't
it? The writer?

Yes, indeed. I
am the poet, yes.

As you can see, I...

I have just now been working
on one of my fantastic tales.

I apologize for any
perceived insult, Mr.

Sergeant Booker.

Of the south
Philadelphia constabulary.

Several of your
neighbors professed

to hearing screams
two nights ago.

Two nights ago.

Well, I have
been writing,

and as you've seen,

when I am engaged in
acts of the imagination,

I have little sense of the world
around me. Such is my genius.

Indeed.

These neighbors thought the
scams came from this room.

Well, as I say,

there may have
been a brutal murder

in this room, and I
would have been oblivious.

But by all means,
gentlemen, please,

come in and
satisfy yourselves.

Might I ask you, sir, where you've
been since the evening in question?

I believe I told you.

In this room,

writing.

We were here
yesterday, Mr. Poe,

when the complaint
was first made.

You didn't answer your door,
nor did you appear to be home.

Oh. Of course.

Uh, sergeant,

I felt the need to...

imbibe some inspiration.

Thank you, sir.

Thirsty work.

Indeed.

I wonder why my neighbors

did not ask me about the
disturbance themselves.

They're quite afraid
of you, Mr. Poe.

Nothing here, sergeant.
Some women's clothing...

and toiletries, but
so sign of violence.

You are married,
aren't you, Mr. Poe?

Mm, my wife is visiting
relatives in Baltimore.

The Poes of Baltimore
are very well known,

descended from
general David Poe--

... of the revolutionary

We won't disturb
you anymore, sir.

No bother. None
at all, gentlemen.

Thank you.

Wait!

You didn't search
the basement.

Watch your
step, gentlemen.

These stairs are
quite rickety.

You don't want to fall
and split your head open.

Now here. Please.

Let no hiding place
go undiscovered,

secret go undivulged.

The wooden parts of this
house are decidedly unsound,

but the walls, gentlemen,

the walls are extremely well
constructed, don't you think?

What I think, Mr. Poe, is that
there's nothing here for us to see.

Thank you for your help, but we
have a great deal of business,

criminal business,
to attend to.

Good day, sir.

I'm delighted to have
allayed your suspicions.

I wish you good health and
more than a little courtesy.

These walls! Gentlemen,
where are you going?

These walls are
solidly put together.

Break it open!

Sissie?

Sissie.

Oh... oh, angel.

Oh ,my. Oh, my.

- Come here, Pluto.
- Pluto?

Of course.

Pluto.

- Eddie, are you all right?
- Yes.

Yes, I am.

I can give old
Graham what he wants.

I have it, Sissie.

I have it!