Original subtitles

A picture postcard village.

It seems to be waiting for the tourists to pull out their cameras.

The sort of sleepy, sun-dazed place that has kept itself to itself through the

centuries, untroubled by history.

Its young men fought in the war, but there was still a flower show at

midsummer.

Seed time and harvest came and went.

The years ticked past.

No change in the village.

Here comes the squire.

A taste for old wine, an eye for a pretty girl, and obstinate

as the devil.

Mr. Tucker, tobacco and news.

No girly magazine in his shop.

The postmistress and general storekeeper.

And the local farmer.

Milk and cream, butter and eggs.

Pick your own fruit in season.

And Mrs. Sweetapple of the Cobblestone's guest house.

Bed and breakfast all the year round.

Cream teas in summer.

The eyes and ears of the village.

The bus.

An event.

Even Mr. Tucker peers into the square to note the comings and goings.

A man gets out.

Mrs. Sweetapple has passed round the news and everyone knows that he is a

clergyman and that his name is Anthony Shaw.

Not quite a saint.

Not yet.

To tell the truth, he's getting a bit obsessed with the devil.

So the bishop, recognising the signs of strain, has given him an unexpected

holiday.

He carries field glasses.

He's a keen birdwatcher.

and one week's luggage in a suitcase.

But the bus might have carried him to another planet.

This is a far cry from his place of work.

The crowds, the noise, the worry.

Gone.

It's so quiet here.

He hopes the natives are friendly.

Sweet apple.

Anthony Shaw.

Thank you.

Up there.

He'd have liked to chat.

But she seemed so distant.

Remote.

Perhaps it's because he's a foreigner.

Or maybe it's the dog collar.

All the old granny flowers.

Roses, of course.

Candy tuft.

and snapdragons, lavender, the smell of cottage gardens,

a breath of childhood, angel's breath.

Such a pretty village.

He really couldn't have found a lovelier spot for rest and relaxation.

And a church.

An unexpected bonus.

He understood that the nearest church was in the next village.

Hallowed ground.

Listen to the pigeons.

No quieter voices.

ever lulled the earth to rest.

Locked, of course.

You can't see a lot, but it might be interesting.

He'll find out who has the key.

Have a look round sometime.

Now that's exciting.

It's gone.

That's odd.

He didn't notice her on the way in.

You are surprised.

I thought I'd see her on my own.

Isn't it a beautiful day?

Is this your chair?

Very beautiful.

I'm sorry, how rude of me. Would you, uh... Would you like one of these?

Very nice.

No?

I'm, uh...

I'm on a few days holiday.

I'm watching the birds.

I like doing that.

I've got a book about it here.

I use these.

The flowers are beautiful.

You know, you might think this sounds silly, but I wouldn't pick all the

flowers because, you see, if you do, when people come to church, they won't

have any...

Nice flowers to look at, aren't they?

That's a very nice bunch.

Take them home and put them in a vase.

Well, um... I suppose I'd better be off.

Nice meeting you.

Have a lovely day.

Bye-bye.

There's nettles round here. We'll get stung.

Bye-bye.

A strange little girl.

Anthony Shaw's priestly life is spent in pursuit of sinners.

He is a zealous saver of souls.

But a priest can't work so close to the devil without getting acquainted.

Now he doesn't sleep as well as he expected.

The devil has followed him even here.

He dominates his dreams.

Did you hope to cheat him by leaving off your dog collar?

You fool.

He can spot you without that.

You've been twisting his tail too long.

Look out, Anthony Shaw.

Watch it.

Weirdly, he looks for his sleeping pills.

No water.

He can't swallow them without.

What's wrong?

Did you see the devil looking over your shoulder?

The house is perfectly quiet.

Only the clock, like a beating heart, keeps the rhythm of the sleeping rooms.

And if the clock stopped, what of the sleepers?

Would they wake in the morning?

What on earth?

What sort of meeting is that?

feeling of being hounded.

Stop it.

Put it out of your mind.

And away goes Anthony Shaw in his holiday clothes on the lookout for birds

instead of devils this summer morning.

Swarms of flies today.

That's a handsome grey wagtail balancing over there.

It's very hot.

And he's got a bit of a headache.

Hello? He imagines she's deep in a game of her own, but every so often he finds

her gazing earnestly at him.

Perhaps she's still looking for flowers.

Now, is she his friend or not?

He couldn't say.

She has an odd trick of disappearing, creeping in among the cow parsley, which

is as tall as she is.

At one point, he thinks he has lost her.

You seem to be everywhere.

Yes, well, I suppose styles are really quite tricky, particularly if you're not

very... But she's cold.

Cold.

A touch of ice on this summer day.

I really do think you should go home now.

It is quite, quite late now.

Can she find her way back?

A charming but unaccountable little figure.

That was really, really very nice, Mrs. Mitterhavel. Thank you.

As the landlady serves his evening meal, he describes the little girl and asks

who she is.

I just thought it was rather strange that she was there totally on her own.

Again today, down by the river.

Tea as well, thank you.

There she was again.

I just thought it was rather strange. Very young to be out on her own. I

wondered if you had any idea at all who she might be.

None at all.

I just felt rather concerned for her parents.

You really had no idea?

None whatever.

Well, if you'll excuse me, I... Everything was really very nice.

Yes.

Ill at ease, he goes to bed early.

He's surprisingly tired.

And he still has a headache.

Good night.

Good night.

Next day, he decides to go and look at the church.

Hello.

I understand you have the keys to the church.

Yes, I have.

I wonder if I may borrow them.

Mr. Tucker hands over the key.

What does he want it for?

There is nothing to see in there.

Thank you.

That's very kind of you. I'll make sure we'll be brought back to you.

Bye. Bye.

Another hot afternoon.

He wonders vaguely whether it ever rains here.

A sun-dazed place.

Perhaps his little friend will be waiting for him.

No. The churchyard's empty.

An unused place.

Not much to see.

It can't have been outstanding at the best of times.

But it has atmosphere.

Yes, it certainly has a surprising amount of atmosphere.

And not all pleasant.

Besides the moldy smell, there's a definite feeling of...

well, death.

Foxwell. Tucker.

Sweetapple.

Shattuck.

Same old names.

Links with the past.

Now, how did that happen?

When he came in, there wasn't a breath of wind.

Hello? Hello, are you there?

Stupid of him.

He left the key in the lock.

On the outside.

I'm, uh... I'm afraid I've been locked in.

They'll realize what's happened, of course.

Mrs. Sweetapple will miss him at the evening meal.

Mr. Tucker knows he went to look at the church.

So someone will soon be along to let him out.

It's absurd to feel trapped.

The flies again.

The hot flies buzz against the panes.

The evening creeps on.

Mrs. Sweetapple must have missed him by this time.

But she doesn't come.

Maybe he'll have to spend the night here.

God, this place is so cold and damp.

And it smells more and more like a tomb.

Maybe the little girl will come to the churchyard.

His last hope.

He watches for her until it is almost too dark to see inside the church.

Funny how the draft gets in.

The wind must be getting up.

He can hear rustlings and scatterings along the floor.

Dead leaves.

Or mice, perhaps.

The thought of sleeping here.

The white-faced moon appears to view the scene.

There's no wind outside.

In the churchyard, the trees are transfixed as if they were pinned

against the sky.

But in the church, inside the church...

Come on, Anthony Shaw, take a grip.

It's not like you to hesitate.

You're the original daredevil, snatching the sinful souls like hot potatoes out

of the everlasting bonfire.

You ought to have known this was coming.

The place felt bad from the start But

he

has to force himself to move his arms and legs are stiff with fear

He stumbles back as bravely as he can.

He knows his only power is the power of prayer.

They

wait for him

to lose it.

Sly, malevolent.

Merciless, they peer at him between pious fingers.

They

wait

like dogs for dinner.

Make the cut!

He doesn't see her standing at his side, but her presence gives him strength.

When he turns to her, she's gone.

They've all gone.

Dawn.

The time when souls are barely attached to earth.

Inside the church, the eastern windows warm with the breath from the rising

sun.

Suddenly he knows that God has heard him.

He feels his agony being drawn away.

It seeps out of him like a poison.

He can pray now.

He can thank God.

Dear Lord above, who moves in a

mysterious way your wonders to perform,

for my safety, my deliverance, my protection.

An act of God.

A child's grave.

A handful.

of faded flowers.