Original subtitles

Hey, Mr. Herwin.

Well, well, Owen.

Are we both heading for the same place, I wonder?

I had a message from Mrs. Rutledge asking me to come to the house.

Yes, I got word from her too.

Young Andrew came to me yesterday noon.

Are you friendly with the Rutledges?

I was once with Saul Rutledge, not Mrs. Rutledge.

She always seems strange and distant.

Straight.

Yes.

But God-fearing.

I hope there's no trouble.

I never knew a place that seemed so far away from humanity.

And yet it's not so in Miles.

Miles ain't the only distance.

Sylvester Brown.

Did you get word, Sue?

I did.

Good morning, Mrs. Rutledge.

Minister.

Walk right in.

Yes, Mrs Rutledge?

See to Mr Brown's horse.

Then step out and call Mr Rutledge.

You'll likely find him in the woodshed, around the stackyard somewhere.

Suit yourself to seats, won't you?

Minister?

Owen Bosworth?

Sylvester Brown?

I presume you're wondering what it is I asked you to come here for?

Well, yes.

It did seem to be urgent.

Oh, it is.

There's a spell been cast over Mr. Rutledge.

A spell?

That's what I said.

He's bewitched.

Do you use that word in the scriptual sense, Mrs. Rutledge?

That's how he uses it.

Do you care to give us more particulate before your husband joins us?

No.

No, I'll wait.

I got no particular lights on, Bible mysteries.

And as it happens, at this time I'm doing the village.

Give a man a couple of rabbits I shot for him. You won't be kept long.

Won't you be seated?

The minister here.

Such things is more in his line.

I want you. You should stay.

Stand by that old fisherman's out at Lamas Bay. That's where they meet.

They? Who, Mrs Rutledge?

My husband, Saul Rutledge, and her.

Who do you mean by her?

Your daughter, Sylvester Brand.

My daughter?

What the hell are you talking about?

It's a damn lie.

If I thought my Venny was consorting with a married man, I'd... Not your

daughter, Venny.

Your daughter, Leonora.

Aura? Yeah.

My... My dead daughter?

That's what Mr Rutledge says.

That all, is that?

Your husband's making my dead daughter.

That's all, is that?

All.

Ain't it enough?

How long since any of you seen Saul Rutledge?

Nigh on a year.

I saw him in the post office at Ashmoor all late summer.

How did he seem to you?

He didn't look any too good, I suppose.

Mr. Brand?

Oh, I don't recall when I last seen him.

Oh.

If you wait a minute, you'll see him with your own eyes.

And he'll tell you with his own words.

That's what I've got you here for.

See for yourselves what's come over him.

Then you'll talk different.

Does your husband know you've been sent for on this business, Mrs Rutledge?

He does.

It was with his consent, then?

It had to be so.

Can you tell us, Mrs. Rutledge, how this trouble you speak of, how it shows

itself, what makes you think... I don't think.

I know.

How?

I seen him.

Him and the dead?

Him and the dead.

Your husband and Ora Brandt? That's so.

It's a goddamn fear-mongering lie! Mr. Brandt, Mr. Brandt! Let me get out of

this. I want to see Saul Rutledge myself.

Tell him to his face.

No need to go anywhere.

Here he is.

Saul.

You look cold, commented by the Friar.

It is freezing weather.

Now, see here, Saul Rutledge.

What's this dirty lie your wife tells us you've been putting about?

It's no lie.

No lie?

Gone mad then, have you?

Insane, is it? My husband's not lying. Nor is he insane.

Nor am I.

Did I not tell you I seen him? Him and the dead? Yeah. At Lemur's Bay?

Yeah. And when was this, might I ask? Day before yesterday.

Fran Grant, we must see this thing through.

For better or worse.

I'll see it through.

Won't you, Sol, see it through?

Sit down, won't you?

Well, Sol,

Your wife says you think we can do something to help you through this

trouble.

Whatever it is.

No.

No?

I didn't think that.

It was her idea to ask you here and try.

What could be done?

I presume, though, since you agreed to not being here, you don't object to us

putting a few questions?

I don't object.

So, what have you got to answer?

How do you explain?

How can he explain?

I've seen him.

Is it so, Saul?

It is so.

You mean to sit before us all and say that you... Friend Brand, we're all of

us trying for the facts, aren't we?

Now, so we heard what Mrs. Ratliff says.

What is your answer?

There is no answer.

She's seen us.

You mean to tell us that the person you were with, the person your wife saw you

with, was Ora Brand?

meeting with the dead.

I think what you're saying... it's against our religion, so... Ola died

over a year ago. You were at the funeral.

How can you make such a statement?

What else can he say?

Tell me, the day before yesterday, was that the first time?

Nigh on a year ago, I reckon.

God.

Do you mean to tell us that ever since?

Yes.

Ever since.

I've only got a look at him. Why not let Saul make his own statement if that's

what we're here for?

Well, you're his oldest friend, Owen Bosworth.

I hope we're all here out of friendship, Mrs. Rutledge. I'm sure we all know what

we're here for.

I think it's a good idea, Owen.

Saul.

Can you try to tell us how it began?

It began long ago, before even I was married to Mrs. Rutledge.

You know, you all know Aura Brand and me were to have been married.

Straighten out that statement first, please.

What I mean is we kept company, but Aura was very young.

Too much so.

And Mr. Brand here, he sent her away, which he was entitled to do.

She was gone nigh on three years.

When she came back, I was married.

That's right.

After she came back, did you meet her again?

Alive.

Well, of course.

Once I did.

Only the once.

And there was a lot of other people around.

At Ashmore Fair it was.

And did you talk to her then?

Only a minute.

What did she say?

She... She was sick.

And knew she was going to die.

So she was.

And she said...

When she was dead, she would come back to me.

What did you answer?

Nothing.

Did you think anything more about it at the time?

Well, no.

Not till I heard she was dead.

After that, I thought of it.

And I suppose... she just drew me.

drew you to the hut at Lamers Bay.

How did you know it was there? She wanted you to come.

She... She just drew

me.

Saul, is there anything more you want to tell us?

That's all. There is nothing else.

She just draws you?

Yes. Often?

As it happens.

But if it's always there she draws you, man, haven't you the strength to stay

away from the place?

Ain't any use.

She follows after me.

These are forbidden things.

You know that.

Have you tried prayer?

Will you pray with us now?

If you folk want to pray, I'm agreeable.

Prayer ain't no good.

Didn't ask you to pray.

This kind of thing, prayer ain't no manner of use, and well, you know it.

Now, I ask you here, Minister, because you remember the last case we had in

this parish.

30 years ago or more.

I reckon you remember.

James Nash.

Did praying help him?

I was no more than a child, but I can remember people talking about it winter

nights.

James Nash and Anna Madren.

And praying did him no good.

They drove a stake through her breast.

That's what cured him.

My God.

You're talking about that old story as if this was the same sort of thing.

Ain't it the same?

Ain't my husband pining away the same as James Nash was pining away and for the

self-same reason?

Oh, the minister here, he knows. He remembers.

These are forbidden things.

It's the truth.

Supposing your husband is sincere in thinking himself haunted, as you might

say? As I do say.

Even so, what proof have we that it's the spirit of that poor dead girl?

Proof?

Doesn't he say so?

Didn't she tell him?

Haven't I seen him?

There's a stake through the breast.

Same as they did with Anna Madren. That's the old way and that's the only

way. The minister here, he knows.

It's against our religion to disturb the dead.

Ain't it against your religion to let the living perish the way that my

husband is perishing?

See here.

Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.

That's in Exodus.

That's where it is.

Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.

Exodus.

Any of you men got the courage?

That's no way, Mrs Rutledge. It isn't a question of courage.

What we need, first of all, is proof. That's so.

Do you agree, Rembrandt?

Proof?

Proof that spooks walk?

I presume you want this business settled. Yes, I do. Same as the rest of

us. But I ain't no spiritualist.

How the hell are you going to settle it?

I don't see but one way.

Mrs Rutledge's.

Ain't that against your religion, Mr. Hedden?

If, I say if, we can find proof.

How do you propose to get your proof?

Friends, if this poor girl does walk, her that's your child,

wouldn't you be the first to want to see her laid quiet?

We all know there have been such cases, mysterious visitations.

Can any one of us here deny it?

I've seen them.

And I see you're so religious.

You'd better settle this damn business quicker. I know the reason why.

You say my dead girl comes to you.

When?

Tell me that and I'll be there.

Round about sunset, mostly.

You know beforehand?

Tomorrow will it be then.

I'll be there.

We'll be there too.

Tomorrow? Yes.

You'll see them.

You'll meet me at Layman's Bay tomorrow then.

Sunset. We will.

I want witnesses.

You shall have your witnesses, Fred Brown.

The Lord have mercy.

On him?

On all of us.

What do you think of this business, Mr. Urban?

Rutledge is a sick man, that's certain.

It's his brain that's sick.

He's not the only one in these parts. I dare say.

That place.

Rutledge's place?

Solitude is a worm in the brain.

Well, you have a drop of something to help you on your way, Owen.

I'd appreciate that, but...

Of

course, you and Saul Rutledge are old friends, aren't you?

Aren't you?

Hardly.

Oh, we took the occasional drink together in the village before he was

married.

Never a friend.

Then perhaps as much of a friend as he has in the world.

Now, after you.

And you think this story is superstitious nonsense?

many's the time we've sat in the wagoners arms drinking and yarning and

laughing our heads off at old wives tales about witches and such.

let me tell you what my grandmother could remember the last witch burning in

these pubs.

my Ed tells me it's all nonsense as you say and yet...

and yet what?

there's such a thing as madness and families that I do know.

Perhaps in Sylvester Brown's family.

Why? Because he married his cousin?

I don't believe that old wife's tale, that's for sure.

His wife died before her time.

The daughter, Ora, died.

The other daughter, Veni, is as fit as a mark. Veni? She runs wild.

She runs wild. She don't run mad.

Is it some other madness you're thinking of, then?

When I was a boy, my mother used to take me up to see my Aunt Cressy.

That hill farm way up beyond Sylvester Brands.

Yes, I know. I knew your Aunt Cressy. I was with her when she died.

I remember a little white-haired woman.

I remember her being shut in a little cold, clean room with bars at the

window. And her two sisters used to look after her.

Ah, yes.

Once I said to my mother...

She's got bars at the window like a canary bird.

My mother said, I do believe they keep your Aunt Cressy too lonely.

The next time we went up the hill, we took her a canary, a little wooden cage.

I knew it would make her happy.

And when she saw it, she said, it belongs to me.

And we said, yes, it belongs to you.

And she put her hand in the cage.

And the bird got frightened and started fluttering its wings.

And my Aunt Cressy, she screamed. And she got hold of that bird and she

squeezed it. And she was shouting, Sea devil!

Sea devil!

They took me from the room.

Made me promise never to say anything about it.

Or the men would come and take her away to the asylum.

I kept my promise. Kept it a secret.

I never told anyone till now.

Yes, well, we all have to learn to keep secrets.

I'll tell you a story that isn't a secret.

Although most people have forgotten it by now.

The last witch to be burned in these parts.

Her name was Brand.

Oh, no.

Oh, I don't want to believe that, Mr. Hepburn.

I don't want to believe any of it.

We don't any of us want to believe it, Owen.

You said yourself it's against your religion, Mr. Hepburn. Doesn't that

count?

Owen, people come to me with animals that seem to be possessed.

With children that fall to the ground and foam at the mouth.

There are some things...

Do you understand those things?

No.

These are matters that pass our understanding, but I know them to be so.

And you would drive a stake through the breast of a dead girl?

That may not be necessary.

You know, I might just take a look at that hut on the way home.

I'll come with you.

That's the place.

That's it.

It's getting colder.

We shall have snow tonight.

Ah, it's too cold for snow.

Are you frightened?

Here and now I have no reason to be frightened.

Will you follow? I will.

Not in heaven.

Now you have reason to be frightened.

Frightened? Of footprints?

Nobody could walk barefoot in this cold.

Perhaps a madwoman.

No, not a madwoman, Owen.

I think perhaps a dead woman.

How can you be sure?

I am sure.

We are looking at the footprints of a dead woman.

They lead to the hut.

Come.

I wanted to see the place.

We thought we'd take a look too.

And then tomorrow... Come down here.

I've seen them.

Well?

Are they the footprints of the living?

The feet of the dead.

My God!

So they do walk, huh?

Better hear them.

In the churchyard.

That will bullet the mistake through the breast.

But that was Venny. No.

It was Aura.

Aura.

They shan't dig her up now.

Have you heard the news?

What news?

About Vennie Brand.

I ain't heard no news about anybody.

I'm too busy.

She's down sick with pneumonia.

The minister's with her now.

They say she's dying.

Vennie Brand? I know you never liked her, but... She runs wild.

Not anymore.

I never knew much about her.

Well, she's dying.

That's something for you to know about her.

Yes.

It'll kill her father all alone in that godforsaken spot.

I've got work to do.

We're all godforsaken.

Her lungs filled right up.

Seems she had bronchial troubles afore.

And she ran wild.

Wild and handsome she was.

But frail. Like her sister.

Both of them frail.

Look at her.

How she wasted away.

Her mother too.

She find a way to nothing.

Tis a cold place, Sylvester Brass.

Cold, bitter.

And they don't ever make old bones on the mother's side at the farmer.

And that is born a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of

misery, he cometh up, and is cut down like a flower, and seeth as it were a

shadow, and never continueth in one stay.

In the midst of life we are in death, of whom may we seek for succour, but of

thee, O Lord, for our sins are justly displeased.

Yet, O Lord God most holy, O Lord most mighty, O holy and most merciful

Saviour, Deliver us not into the bitter pains of eternal death.

I know, Lord, the secret of our hearts.

Shut not thy merciful ears to our prayer, but spare us, Lord most holy, O

God most mighty, O holy and merciful Savior, our most worthy judge eternal.

Suffer us not at the last hour for any pains of death.

Amen.

For as much as it hath pleased almighty God of his great mercy, take unto

himself the soul of our dear sister here departed, therefore commit her body to

the grail.

Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, ensure uncertain hope of the

resurrection to eternal life to our Lord Jesus Christ, who shall change our vile

body that it may be like unto his glorious body.

according to the mighty working whereby he is able to subdue all things to

himself.

The praise of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God, the fellowship of the

Holy Spirit, be with us all evermore.

Amen.

Would you like one of us to see you home?

Home?

What home?

Good day, Mrs. Rutledge.

Good day, Miss Bosworth.

Mr. Rutledge not here today?

No, Mr. Rutledge, he ain't here.

What a shame.

He would have come for certain.

But his aunt Sarah Carradine is being buried over in Stokesbury this very day.

He had to go there.

Don't it sometimes seem as if we was all walking right in the shadow of death?

It does, Mrs. Rutledge.

Mrs. Rutledge.

Thank you, Minister.

So, how is school?

Well enough.

Good.

I reckon you'll sleep quieter now.

I hope so, Mrs. Rutledge.

Er, too.

Maybe she'll sleep quieter now she don't lay there alone any longer.

Andrew?

Seeing as we've come this far, we might as well go on into the village.

I need to buy a box of soap.

Mr. Eben?

It's finished.

I looked at her hands.

Whose hands?

Mrs. Rutledge's.

Witch's hands.

She stood there and clasped them tight like this.

Like my Aunt Cressy crushing the canary.

It is finished, Owen.

It is finished.