The Simpsons (1989–…): Season 2, Episode 3 - Treehouse of Horror - full transcript

Hello, everyone.

You know, Halloween is a strange
holiday. I don't understand it.

Kids worshiping ghosts,
pretending to be devils...

...things on TV that are
inappropriate for children.

Things like the next half-hour.
Nothing bothers my kids.

But tonight's show, which I wash
my hands of, is really scary.

If you have sensitive kids, maybe
you should tuck them into bed...

...instead of writing
us angry letters.

Thanks for your attention.

Tree House of Horror

What a haul this year.
I love Halloween.



Wait a minute.
Let's see what the kids are up to.

And the policeman
on the phone said:

"We traced the call. It's coming
from the floor below you! Get out!"

But it was too late. End of story.

I heard that in the third grade.
It's not scary.

-Is too.
-Is not.

-Is too.
-Is not.

-Fine! Then you tell one scarier.
-Flashlight, please.

-Here's a story that's scarifying.
-Oh, brother.

I call it, "Bad Dream House."

-That's all. Sign here.
-There you are.

-And a dollar for you.
-A buck.

-I'm glad there's a curse here.
-Huh?

Well, it's all ours!



-I can't believe how cheap it was.
-Motivated seller.

Well, he must have been motivated.

Prime location, 18 rooms, moat.
We shouldn't be able to afford this.

So we got a deal for once.
Quit fighting it.

It just seems too good to be true.

Mom! Bart threw a book at me.

-Did not!
-Did too!

Get out.

-What on earth was that?
-Oh, just the house settling.

This kitchen certainly could
use a woman's touch.

-Homer! What's this in the corner?
-I don't know.

Looks like a vortex.
A gateway into another dimension.

Ooh, a vortex. Catch!

Hey, pretty slick.

"Quit throwing garbage
into our dimension."

Mom! Dad! Help!

Get out!

Okay, boy, let's see you
talk yourself out of this one.

I can feel an evil presence in here.

-Evil?
-Quiet. You're scaring your mother.

Children, get your coats.
We're leaving right now.

Wait. It's only natural there would be
things wrong with a home like this.

It's a fixer-upper.
What's the problem?

We get some priests--

I won't live in this evil house
just to save money.

Don't be so stubborn!

We're not talking about a few dollars.
We're talking a few thousand dollars!

It's got great high ceilings!

Tell you what.
Let's sleep on it. Okay?

-All right. If anything happens--
-What could happen?

They are all against you, Bart.

You must kill them all.
They all must die.

-Are you my conscience?
-I'm--

Yes, I am.

Lisa. Lisa.

The butcher knife, Lisa.

They are all against me.

They all must die.

Marge. Oh, Marge.

I'm in the kitchen, Homer.

Die! Die! Everybody die!

What's going on out here?

-Homer! Bart! Lisa! Maggie! Stop it!
-Sorry, Dad.

-Sorry, Bart.
-Sorry, Mom.

We're leaving.

-You said you'd sleep on it.
-I don't care.

This family has had
its differences...

...but we've never had knife fights.
I blame this house.

Mom! Dad! Look!

-It's an ancient Indian burial ground.
-Man, this place has everything!

An ancient Indian what?

Mr. Plott? Homer Simpson here.

When you sold me the house
you didn't mention one thing.

You didn't tell me it was built
on an Indian burial ground!

No, you didn't!

That's not my recollection!

Yeah? Well, all right. Goodbye.

-He says he mentioned it.
-Let's go, kids.

-Ah, Marge.
-Homer!

You will die.

You will die slowly.

Your stomach will swell.
Your intestines will writhe and boil.

Your eyes will burst
and some horrible stuff...

...possibly your brains, will start
coming out through your nose.

Shush! Shut up!
Quit trying to push us around!

Stop saying those horrible
things and show some manners!

Look. I've never been so angry.
My hands are shaking.

Better than your eyes bursting.

-Do it again.
-What?

-Make the walls bleed.
-No.

We own you.
Let's see some blood.

-I don't have to entertain you.
-Do it! Do the blood thing.

Come on! Do it! Do it! Do it!

Why are you scaring us?
To keep us from getting close...

-...and maybe even loving you?
-Leave me alone.

Don't talk that way.

-Hey, listen, lady--
-Oh, don't call me lady.

My name is Marge Simpson,
and we're not going anywhere.

We're going to have to live together,
so you better get used to it. Please.

-Can I think about this?
-Sure.

Life with the Simpsons.

What choice do I have?

-Wow!
-Bitchen!

It destroyed itself
rather than live with us.

You can't help but feel
a little rejected.

-That wasn't scary.
-Oh, yeah?

Well, how about this severed finger!

Eww! Baby spit!

Well, that last story was a warmup
for this macabre tale I call:

"Hungry Are the Damned. "

-Homer, all these flies.
-Not to worry.

I'll just turn on the trusty
bug zapper.

Ooh! That was a big mama.

That should do it.

Man alive, there's nothing better
than a hamburger grilled to perfection.

Cool, man!

The burgers are getting
cold, guys-- Holy moly.

Huh?

Greetings, Earthlings.
I am Kang. Do not be frightened.

We mean you no harm.

-You speak English.
-I'm speaking Rigelian.

By coincidence, our languages
are exactly the same.

-What are you gonna do with us?
-We're taking you to Rigel Four.

A world of infinite delights
to tantalize your senses...

...and challenge your intellect.

Look. To you, we Simpsons
are a lower order of life.

We face that prejudice every day,
but we are happy on our planet.

We throw ourselves on your mercy.
Please return--

-Dinner!
-Get a load of that spread.

Here you go. Take all you
want, but eat all you take.

Thank you, Mr--?

To pronounce it correctly,
I would have to pull out your tongue.

-Fried shrimp.
-Sloppy joes.

-Smothered pork chops.
-Look! Radish rosettes.

These are hard to make.
They're an advanced race.

Come, Earthlings, eat.
Grow large with food.

Something's not quite right.

The girl's right. Let's get some
applesauce for these pork chops!

-What are you looking at, buddy?
-Your wife's quite a dish.

Thanks.

It's our pleasure to provide you
with entertainment on your journey.

We get over a million channels
from the far reaches of the galaxy.

-Do you get HBO?
-No. That's extra.

Here's our achievement
in amusement technology.

An electronic version of table tennis.

-Your paddles have been replaced--
-That's just Pong!

-Get with the times, man.
-We played that before marriage.

We did build this spaceship.

Anyone that has mastered
intergalactic travel, raise your hand.

-All right, then.
-Sorry. Your game is very nice.

-Dinnertime.
-How come you guys never eat?

Oh, we wouldn't want to
spoil our appetite for...

...the feast when we
land on Rigel Four.

-Ooh, a feast.
-Will we be invited?

Oh, you'll be at the feast.

I have a feeling you'll
be the guests of honor.

-Tell us more about this feast.
-No, eat now.

When we arrive, there will be
plenty of time to chew the fat.

Very good, Earth boy.

Excellent, Mr. Simpson. Excellent.

This will give the humans
the perfect flavor.

Stop! Don't you see what's happening?

They're fattening us up
so they can eat us!

-Lisa.
-Oh, come on, Lisa.

If you don't believe me,
look at this book I found.

-She's right.
-You have stopped eating.

Listen, you big stupid space creature!

Nobody, but nobody,
eats the Simpsons.

-I beg your pardon?
-We found your book.

You mean this?

It's a harmless cookbook.
It's just a little dusty.

Wait a minute.

Wait, there's still more
space dust on here.

-Let me get this straight.
-They thought we would eat them.

-Good God! Is this some kind of joke?
-No, they're serious.

Why were you making us eat?

Make you eat?
We merely provided a banquet...

...and you made pigs of yourselves.

I slaved in the kitchen
for days for you people and--

Well, if you wanted to make Serak cry,
mission accomplished.

You aren't the only beings
who have emotions, you know.

We offered you paradise.

You would have experienced emotions
greater than what you call love...

...greater than what you call fun.

You would have been treated like
gods and lived forever in beauty.

But, now, because of your
distrustful nature, that can never be.

For a superior race,
they really rub it in.

There were monsters on that
ship, and we were them.

See why we say you're
too smart for your own good?

-Way to go, Lis.
-Yeah, thanks, Lisa.

Hello, something scary happening.

Hey, it's Halloween.
Put the book away.

For your information, I'm about to
read a tale by Edgar Allan Poe.

-Wait. That's a schoolbook.
-Don't worry, you won't learn anything.

It's called, The Raven.

Once upon a midnight dreary

While I pondered
Weak and weary

Over many a quaint and curious
Volume of forgotten lore

I nodded, nearly napping
Suddenly there came a tapping

As of someone gently rapping
At my chamber door

-Just some visitor--
-I muttered

Tapping at my chamber door

Only this and nothing more

-Are we scared yet?
-Bart, he's establishing mood.

Ah, distinctly I remember
It is in the bleak December

Each dying ember wrought
Its ghost on the floor

Eagerly I wished
The morrow

Vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow

Sorrow for the lost Lenore

Oh, Lenore.

For the rare and radiant maiden
Whom angels name Lenore

Nameless here
For evermore

The silken sad uncertain rustling
Of each curtain thrilled me

Filled me with fantastic terrors
Never felt before

To still my beating heart
I stood repeating

A visitor at my chamber door
And nothing more

My soul grew stronger
Hesitating then no longer

-Sir--
-Said I

Or Madam, truly your
Forgiveness I implore

I was napping, and you came rapping
And so faintly you came tapping

Tapping at my chamber door
That I scarce was sure I heard you

Here I opened
Wide the door

This better be good.

Darkness there and nothing more

You know what's scarier?

-What?
-Anything!

Back into the chamber turning
My soul within me burning

Soon again I heard tapping
Something louder than before

-Surely--
-Said I

Something at
My window lattice

Let me see what thereat is
And this mystery explore

I flung a shutter
With a flirt and flutter

In stepped a Raven
Of the days of yore

No obeisance made he
Not a minute stayed he

Mien of lord or lady
Perched above my door

Perched upon a bust
Just above my door

Perched and sat
And nothing more

-Thy crest be shorn and shaven--
-I said

Art sure no craven, ghastly ancient
Raven wandering from the nightly shore

-Tell me what thy name is--
-Quoth the Raven

-Eat my shorts!
-He says, "Nevermore."

-And that's all he'll ever say.
-Okay. Okay.

Then methought
The air grew denser

-Perfumed by some unseen censer
-Stupid censer.

Swung by Seraphim
Whose foot tinkled on the floor

-Wretch--
-I cried

God lent thee
By angels sent thee

Respite from thy
Memories of Lenore

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe
And forget this lost Lenore

-Quoth the Raven--
-Nevermore

-Be that word our sign of parting--
-I shrieked up starting

Get thee into the tempest
And the night's Plutonian shore

Leave no black plume as a token
Of the lie thy soul hath spoken

Leave my loneliness unbroken
Quit the bust above my door

Take thy beak from out my heart
And take thy form from off my door

-Quoth the Raven--
-Nevermore

Take thy beak from out my heart
And take thy form from off my door

Quoth the Raven

-Nevermore
-Why you little--

Come back here, you little raven!

Nevermore, nevermore
Nevermore

The Raven never flitting
Still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust
Just above my chamber door

His eyes have the seeming
Of a demon that is dreaming

The lamplight o'er him streaming
Throws his shadow on the floor

My soul from out that shadow
That lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted
Nevermore

Lisa, that wasn't scary.
Not even for a poem.

It was written in 1845.
Maybe people were easier to scare.

Like Friday the 13th Part I.
It's pretty tame by today's standards.

Children, bedtime!

I guess I'll have no trouble
getting to sleep tonight.

Oh, no, Marge. Come on, please.

I'm not sleeping with the lights on.

They're just children's stories.
They can't hurt you.

Oh, I hate Halloween!