Masters of Horror (2005–2007): Season 2, Episode 8 - Valerie on the Stairs - full transcript

These subtitles are intended for the
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Hello.
This is a message for Rob Hennessy.

This is Nancy Bloom at Highberger house.

A room has opened up
here, and I was curious

if you were still
interested in residency.

If so, please give me a call
right away at 212-555-3924.

HIGHBERGER HOUSE

- Robert?
- Yes. Nancy?

Ms. Bloom.
Come in. Come in.

Sorry.

- Come in through the library.
- Okay.



I'm really pleased that
there was an opening.

What, you're glad that terry died?

I'm sorry.
I didn't realize.

Suicide.

Thirty-nine reject slips
for terry's latest

novel, even the vanity
press wouldn't take it.

Between you and me, piece of shit.
But, terry's heart was in it.

Your application states that
you've never been published.

- That's right.
- Don't be embarrassed.

That's why you're here in the first place.

Old cap Highberger took the
building over in the '30's,

as a place for unpublished writers to work,

to hone their craft,
to become published writers, and move on.

He was a frustrated author himself.



Those are his unpublished
manuscripts over there.

All 47 of them.

What do you write?
Horror stories, that gruesome stuff?

No. No, I just want to write stories
that touch people's hearts.

Oh, people's hearts kind of guy.

Yeah, I've had a few of those.

- How many books have you written?
- Five.

Well, I'm working on number five now.

You got family?
Girlfriends, uh, boyfriends?

Are you in love?

The hell with love.
I'm gonna live my life for my books.

Well...
good for you.

Welcome to Highberger house.
Sign here.

This opportunity marks a
big change in my life.

I'm gonna be published if
it's the last thing I do.

Careful.
Terry said the same thing.

This place is all about keeping
you away from distractions.

Give you a nice, quiet place to work.

Here's your key. Room 217.
One flight up.

It's not the four seasons, but free
room and board as long as you're here.

Once you're published you're out of here.
You understand?

And then the next unlucky
bastard takes your place.

I understand.

Really, I can't tell you how
much I appreciate the oppor...

just write the god-damn,
great American novel, okay?

Deal.

Yet ever so humble.

Hello.

What the fuck!

I had only briefly shaken
hands with love...

and then I found
that that hand was a claw.

I had only briefly shaken
hands with love...

and then I found
that that hand was a claw.

Who is it?

What the fuck!

Hello?

Hello.

What's wrong?

What is it?

Help me.

Please.

Hello!

What's the matter?

I thought I saw...

what?

What did you see?

I'm, uh, I'm not sure.

Who the fuck are you?

This is Rob Hennessy.
He's in terry's old room.

Rob, this is Everett Neely
and Patricia Dunbar and...

so you're just another miserable
fuck-up like the rest of us.

- Well, you owe me, Hennessy
- For what?

I was on the verge of ecstasy before
you started banging on the wall,

and I dropped my fucking vibrator and now
the god-damn thing doesn't work any more.

Jesus, I hate this dump.

And I hate happy little
fucking faces like yours.

So give up writing then.
Become a nun.

I was a sister of fucking
mercy for seven fucking

years, you little
cocksucker know-it-all.

So don't you get smart with me.

Well, she does have a command
of the language, doesn't she?

Do try to keep it down, Mr. Hennessy.
We appreciate the quiet here.

Fuck them.

Anybody gives you any shit
from now on, you come

see me, Bruce Sweetland,
I'll set them straight.

You want to just shoot the shit
or learn the lay of the land, come on down.

And, uh, welcome to Highberger house.

Thanks.
Uh, hey, uh, Bruce?

Yeah, man.

Uh, this uh, is this place...

haunted?

Only by the spectre of failure.

Hey.
Are you okay?

You've come back.

I want to help you.

Yes. Please.
I need you.

I need your help.

Who are you?

What's the matter?

No.
You better go back.

Why?
I want to help you.

He's coming.

Who?
Who's coming?

Oh god, no.
Please.

- What do you want me to do?
- Help me! Please help me!

No!

I, um, heard you typing.

Well, you said to...

well, uh, come on in, man.
I'm a night guy. I could use the company.

You got a lot of sisters.

Oh, girlfriends.
Well, ex-girl friends.

Even got an ex-wife or two.
I can relate.

The "ex" part, I mean.

Care to partake?

No.
Thanks.

Well, don't worry.

I'm not gonna get you
high and fuck your ass.

Even if I did swing that way.

I don't shoot the creative juice, man.

I can't waste a drop.
I'm saving it all for the book.

You know, a fuck, a quick hand job?

It's like throwing a chapter
with the Kleenex, man.

I probably squandered a dozen novels
on the beauties on the wall already.

No sir, I'm a fucking monk, man.
I'm a fucking monk.

- No.
- Come on.

- All right.
- All right.

It's quiet in here.

Yeah, like the proverbial fucking tomb.

A lot quieter than my place.

Yeah, really?

What do you, uh...
What do you hear?

Um, some kind of a...
you know, noises in the walls.

Well, it's probably the pipes or something.

As you might have noticed,
there's not a lot

of maintenance that
goes on in this place.

You ever hear anything like that?

Nope.

You ever heard any, uh, voices?

What kind of voices?

Like, uh, crying.

There's a signpost up ahead,
you're next stop...

the twilight zone.

Your one.

Man, it's easy to see and hear
weird shit in this place, man.

It's a weird fucking place
full of weird fucking people.

I mean, we're writers, man.
I wouldn't worry.

Besides, it's not as if you're
seeing ghosts or anything.

So you said.

I had only briefly shaken hands with love.

Hand was a claw.

That claw held me in its thrall, and
threatened not only my heart but my life.

I would kill or be killed for her
if need be, so great was my love.

And that love was to be tested.
And a life was

to be given, as if in
sacrifice to an angry god.

Jesus, did I write that?

No.

No, no.

Come on.

Shit!

Hey, hey, hey, rob.

How was your first night in the
old, uh, Highberger house?

Okay, thanks.

Did you, uh, did you get any writing done?

Uh, not a whole lot, just
getting acclimated first.

So, what are you writing?

It's a romance.
A dark romance.

Hmm, a doomed romance?

That's the best kind.

Just what the world needs,
another bodice ripper.

Well, I wouldn't call it a bodice ripper.

It's very contemporary.
Very, real world.

Oh, I see.

Autobiographical, I assume.

A litter of great conquests
by the great lover.

No, no, nothing like that.
It's something...

personal. Intimate.
Really on a small scale.

Listen.

Don't worry about them.
Just a bunch of failures.

But you, are gonna have to be the
new guy, at least for a while.

Thanks.

I'm gonna go up to my room,
I've got some work to do.

Cool.
Cool.

Well, good luck with it, man.

Thanks.

Right good.

Right well.

Thanks.

Everything okay?

Hello.

I'm afraid.

Where are your clothes?

He took them.

Who?

Are you in pain?

What did he do to you?

Oh god, no.

He's here.

Oh, we shouldn't speak again.

He doesn't want you near me.

- Who doesn't want me near you?
- Ssh!

Touch me.

Am I real?

What?

Am I real?

Am I here with you?

Of course.
Of course you are.

And you can feel me as I feel you?

Yes.
Yes, of course I can.

Thank you.

Wait!

Tell me your name.

I'm Valerie.

Valerie, please don't go.

Stay away.
He'll hurt you.

Please.
Just forget about me.

No!
No!

No!

Let her out of there, you son-of-a-bitch!

Let her out!

Gettin' old, loverboy.

There was a woman on these stairs.

Mr. Hennessy.

I will not tolerate one
more escapade like tonight.

You do it again and you're out.

Do we understand each other?

All right.
Fine, I'm sorry.

Good.

You've been warned.

What's behind these walls?

The porthole to another dimension.

- You're kidding?
- Jesus Christ. Of course, I'm kidding.

You think I'm out of my mind?
It's a crawl space.

What do you think?
Hot water pipes, electrical wires.

More than a few dead rats, I daresay.

- And that's it?
- That's it.

- That and your imagination.
- Are you sure?

Do not press me, Mr. Hennessy.

The gutter is full of young men
just one step away from where you are now.

Let's all let this young
man get back to work.

Shall we?

She's a tough old bitch, ain't she?

You've, um... you've never
seen anything up there on the stairs?

Anything strange.

There's nothing in Highberger
house that isn't strange.

Why, you've seen ghosts after all?

Um...

I think maybe, uh, I think maybe I am.

Now that'd be cool, wouldn't it?

Why don't you come on down and
we can crack a few beers?

Come on.

Hey man, come on in.

Just, uh, wondering, the person who
had the apartment before me...

how did, um, how did terry die?

Suicide.
Razor blade.

Schick, schick, thick.
In the tub, man.

There was blood everywhere.
It was a real mess.

What have you been seeing up there?
I mean, like, a person?

I saw a woman.

A woman.

Did a young woman named Valerie
ever live here? Or die here?

Long hair, blue eyes, beautiful.

Not that I know of, man.
Damn it!

- Well, she's here now.
- Jesus.

The beautiful ghost of Highberger house.

Wooooweeewoooo!

You know, I think I have a
picture of her in my room.

I... I...
I'd love to see it, man.

Looks like a new book?

Yeah, that's right.
Draft 15.

What's that?
Draft 16?

Uh, that's, uh, just
something that I've been

playing around with for a few years.

I don't know if it's worth
a fart in a wind storm.

Oh, well look, why don't
I get those beers and

you, uh, get that picture for me?
All right?

- Okay.
- Cool.

Now, uh...
is light all right?

It's fine.

Valerie had a body made for love.

What the fuck are you doing!

He was looking at my fucking
work behind my back.

He was looking at my secret book.

You should not have done that, Mr. Hennessy.

That's not the way a real
writer would behave!

What the fuck do you know
what real writers do?

You're kidding yourself.
This place is a fucking asylum

and you're all a bunch of fucking lunatics!

And before you say a thing,
miss bloom, don't worry,

I'm packing up and
getting the fuck out of

this Highberger freak
show as fast as I can!

And who the fuck is Valerie?

Tell me!

A product of your wild
imagination, young man.

Bullshit.

Did she die here?

Did you kill her?

Now you're just being silly.

Get out of my way!

It's your fucking blood on our masterpiece.

Valerie.

Oh my god, it's you.

You've come.

You're really here.

Take him.

Put an end to this.

Who're you talking to?

Oh god, no.

You spineless, little man.

You've only yourself to blame.

That's all for you.

My...

beloved.

Is all this death the price of freedom?

All for you.

Not for me.

It's your hunger, not mine.

I'm so sorry.

I thought you loved me.

I do.

I worship you.

I...
adore you.

I want to wash you with my...
tongue.

Can we talk?

Sit down.

Sit!

Let me give you some advice.

Get out of this place.

Well you're a young man.
You can do anything you want.

Fuck writing!
Nobody reads anymore anyway.

Thanks.

This poster.

Yes, uh...

a piece of my past.

I've seen that creature before.

I knew someone had to have
seen that piece-of-shit movie.

Adapted from a novel by Neal Everest?

Neal Everest, Everett Nealy.
Not exactly subtle.

My guilty little secret is out.

Yes, I wrote a very bad
horror novel in my youth,

and they made it into an even
worse hunk of celluloid.

My one little claim to fame,
staring at me from the wall.

Pathetic, isn't it?

I'm telling you, get out, son.

And never come back.

That monster, the creature...

you want the poster?

It's yours.

Just don't tell that bloom bitch I'm a
published author or I'm out on my ass.

I want to know about Valerie.
The girl in the book.

The girl on the stairs.

- Valerie doesn't exist.
- Bullshit.

I've seen her.
I've actually touched her.

Touched her?
That's not possible.

There is no Valerie!
She isn't alive! She doesn't exist!

No, she does, and she's
in Highberger house.

Highberger house is filled with the failed
dreams of rotted imaginations.

Like your monster?

- For example.
- What is it called?

Othaki...

the blood fiend from hell.

That was the title of the novel.

My great contribution to culture.

Your blood fiend from hell?

It's here, too.
In the walls, I saw him.

That's not possible.

He's a pituitary case in a shitty rubber
suit in a shitty old monster movie.

- He's got Valerie.
- I said he doesn't exist!

How did she die?
I need to know how she died!

She never died!
She never lived! She isn't real!

She is, god-damn it!
I've seen her ghost!

This is not a fucking ghost story!

- Then who is she!
- Get out! That's enough!

Jesus.

Everybody in this fucking
place is fucking crazy!

Including you, young man!
We're writers!

Holy shit.

Nothing behind the walls, huh?
Just my imagination?

Some things are just better left alone.

I don't think this has anything
to do with my imagination.

Don't touch anything.

I've gotta call the police.

Fuck the police.

Valerie on the stairs.

It took three writers to construct.

Bruce, Neely...

and you.

I've seen the monster, Patricia!
Neely's beast, his great creation?

What about you?
What do you contribute?

Don't blame this on me.

What's that hammering?

It's your fiend, Othaki, your monster from
hell is fed up living inside the walls.

He killed Bruce, and now it wants out.

Nonsense.

We call that bullshit on my farm.

I think that between all
tree of you, working on

your secret masterpiece,
you brought it to life.

- That is ridiculous.
- Is it?

Think about all the lost dreams
that have been dreamed in this place.

Think of the energy that
must be stored here.

Bruce's famous creative
juices never been released.

Decades of imagination
trapped in Highberger house.

All it needed was a focus.

And the three of you gave it one.

Valerie and the fiend,
beauty and the beast.

The house finally had somewhere
to put all the frustrations.

And made your words flesh.

Your imagination brought to life.

You are so full of shit
your eyes are brown.

I'm getting out of this fucking madhouse.

I need to see Valerie again.

She isn't real.
Go write your own dream girl.

- Where is she?
- You can't have her.

- She belongs to the beast.
- Why?

Because we wrote her that way!

Oh, Jesus, it's true.

You live.

You've come.

One kiss before you go.

I was the one that made you beautiful.

I know.

You're the only woman
that can't say no to me.

A kiss.

Oh, Valerie, the times I've imagined this.

So why did you let me be punished?

Over and over and over.

Me and all the others.

Oh, I was a sad, lonely, angry bitch.

He was right, I poured all
of my rage into that book.

You know, my love, too.

Valerie, I'm so sorry.

I didn't know that you could be touched.

That you could be hurt.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

My sweet Valerie.
My sweet, lovely Valerie.

No.

Not yours.

What do you mean?
Of course you're mine. I made you.

No.

Valerie, don't go.
No, don't go, please!

I love you!

Patricia?

Patricia!

Holy shit.

Patricia.

You should go.
Give me the gun.

No.

I need to see it.

I need to see my beast.
My creation.

Not some guy in a rubber suit.

The real Othaki.

Look, it's killed Sweetland and Patricia.
You're next.

But why?

It wants to be free.
I think they both do.

They don't want you to write their ending.
They want to live it for themselves.

They've become real, to
end it, haven't they?

They are my children.

Let me help you destroy them.

Fine.

What's down there?

Come on, you wrote it.
What's down there?

The hellhole.

The fiend's private torture chamber.

You sick fucks.

The torture stuff was Sweetland.

He was a big fan of de Sade.

Why didn't you just finish your fucking
book and try to find a publisher?

Why did you keep going, year after year?

It was an addiction.
Every night.

Picking up where Bruce
or Patricia left off.

Writing on, leading it on to
a darker and darker place.

The body count rising.
We couldn't stop.

What body count?
I thought there was only Valerie.

She was the only one alive.

But there were others.
Sweetland would pick them up.

Runaways, prostitutes
passed their sell date.

Girls who would never be missed.
The lonely ones.

- You fed them to your monster?
- God, no.

Bruce would get them high.

Get them to tell him
their hard-luck stories.

And he'd fall asleep.
When he woke up they were gone.

Like smoke, not a trace.

And why not Valerie?
Why didn't he kill her?

Oh, if you had created Valerie,
would you kill her? Hm?

- And it's all in your book.
- Oh, of course.

- The power of the imagination.
- You're a despicable piece of work, Nealy.

I am, I am, I am, of course, I am.

But I... I didn't know it would come alive.
None of us did, it was story.

My last chance to make
something that would last!

Valerie on the stairs.

That was my idea.

And you're proud of it?

It's not like they were
murdered in front of me.

It's not like I truly knew.

Are you telling me you don't
know the difference between

something that you imagine
and something that's real?

Do you?

Is there any difference really?

They were all in my head.

The life I lived yesterday, the
dreams I dreamed last night.

The words I put to paper.

All in here...

mixed up together.

You are out of your fucking mind.

Pff, and you're not.
You love her, don't you?

The girl we made up.
The girl we wrote.

You want to be her hero.

I'm going to finish your
fucking story for you.

Of course you are.

That's why you're here.

To bring it all to a close.
To end it.

Now I never saw Bruce’s final pages.
Maybe he wrote you.

Did you think of that.
Yes, maybe.

If you survive this and you try to leave
Highberger house, you won't be able to.

Bullshit.

I had a life before I came here
and I'll have a life after it's all over.

- Will you?
- You need a fucking shrink.

No, I need a bestseller!

Give me my ending and we'll all be happy.

- Is this place your creation, too?
- No.

This was mostly Sweetland'S.
He specialized in the outré.

Oh, shit!

Come on.

Ah, fuck.

Anna.

Oh, shit.

Neely.

You're supposed to save her.

Neely!

- I'm here.
- For Valerie.

Of course, you are.

And I'm here to stop you.

They're all dead now.
All of them.

And we're free to...

Write our own lives.

Or deaths.

We shall see.
Won't we?

It's the victor who writes history.

It's just you and me now.

The hero...

and the beast.

The tale often told.

Valerie.

Valerie.

What are you doing?
Get away from him.

Help me.

We both knew it
would come to this.

You and me fighting to the death.
My beautiful Valerie.

You do want her, don't you?

- Please help me.
- Leave she alone.

Take me hand, Valerie.

You love the way
I touch you, don't you?

Yes, yes.

No, no.

Valerie. Run! Run!

Fuck!

Go ahead, shoot!

Then I'll spit the
bullet right back at you.

Fine. Then I'll spend the
bullet where it counts.

It is full of pricktiss and you can
rip me up and send me to hell.

Although I'll be happy
once this bitch is dead.

No.

Kill the others and now
you want me dead too?

No. no, I just want you to know.

No.

We'll find another woman,
what's the big deal?

Look at the harem you
got hanging here.

I'll kill her and you can do
whatever you want with me.

Rob, please don't.

Don't you dare.

What's it matter to you?
She's just another flesh garden.

No, not that one.
All the others are bloody shit.

And she loved me, she's mine.

No.

She's mine.

- My Valerie.
- Run!

Come on, come on. let's go.

Come on, Valerie.

Where are you taking me?

Take you out of here,
I'm not going to lose you.

I can't leave here.

Yes, you can.
It's over. You're free.

It's not your choice. We're not free.
Don't you understand. They finished it.

No, we finished it, Valerie.

Come on, we gotta go.

No, I can't go out here.

- Valerie, please. come on
- I can't doing this.

- Valerie. Come on.
- No, no.

- Valerie...
- No...

Come out there son.

I don't want anyone else
to get hurt here today.

Put down the gun.
Put your hands up.