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The story you're about to see will be startling,

but it's based on a true experience,

something unexplainable from behind the veil.

You know, the world of a teenage girl

can be full of wonder and delight,

but not always.

Sometimes it can become a place of confusion, terror...

You know like sometimes people stare at you

like you have horns growing out of your head or whatever?

Like staring at you for completely no reason,

and they just keep looking at you

and you start to, you know, feel like you're going

to go insane if they don't stop staring at you?

- Mhm. - Okay, well, like Wednesday,

I was hanging out with Ella and Nick or whatever,

and we weren't really doing anything or anything,

but Ella just started looking at me that way

like I was some freak or whatever,

but she didn't say anything at all,

she was just totally silent.

And I was like, "What?" and she didn't even...

she just kept looking at me that way she does, you know?

And listen, okay, sure, I know I can be

like a total weirdo or whatever, but I wasn't,

I was just being totally normal

and Nick was being totally normal.

And it's not even like I was flirting

with Nick or anything.

I mean, I don't think Ella even knows about me and Nick,

and anyway, even if she did, it's not, like, suddenly okay

just to stare at me, right?

And how am I supposed to, like,

articulate this feeling I'm having to her

in this moment?

I'm just staring back and totally have no clue

- what to say to her whatsoever. - It's hard to put in words.

Yeah, maybe it's just the kind of thing

where there isn't really an answer, you know?

- Uh-huh. - And then I just, well,

I sort of bugged out and, you know, slapped Ella.

It's not like she didn't ask for it, right?

Like, why didn't she just say something, you know?

But I really, really wanted her to stop staring.

Honey, can we go over a few things?

Yeah, in a minute.

Yeah, I gotta go, my parents are leaving.

- Okay. - Okay, I'll talk to you later.

- Love you, bye. - Bye.

- What's up? - We're heading out soon.

I just wanted to go over everything with you.

Dad already went over everything.

Well, I wanna go over it again.

I know how to run everything and lock everything.

I'm not going anywhere, it's not a big deal.

I know it's not a big deal, it's just, you know, I worry.

It's fine.

All the phone numbers are on the kitchen table,

there's food in the fridge, but I left some money

in case you want to order a pizza or something.

You have some friends coming over?

Suzie and Mel and maybe Emily.

Okay, yeah, order pizza for everyone.

It'll be less work.

- No boys, right? - Mom.

Some friends is fine.

Just try not to burn the house down

and get some sleep!

We're just gonna watch movies or something.

- Hey, I'm responsible, right? - I know, you're responsible.

It's just, when I was your age...

Mom.

I just don't want anything bad to happen to you.

It isn't something I talk about.

It was so many years ago, no one remembers.

Hardly anyone would still care.

A million equally terrible things have happened

in the decades since.

I never spoke to the other girls much after.

We all just fell out of touch.

Everybody who knew anything about it

is out of my life now.

Dead or forgotten.

I'm a different person.

The world is a different place,

and it's very painful to revisit.

But you've come all this way,

and I can see in your eyes

that you won't take no for an answer.

So I'll tell you what you want to hear.

It's no secret what happened.

It's just the kind of terrible story

that always happens to someone else.

But it happened to them, it happened to me.

It happened to us all.

And as they used to say on the TV,

it's all true.

It was the summer of 1996,

and we were young.

You know, the whole thing comes right back

to what I was trying to tell you there in the office.

- Yeah, what's that? - What do you know about

the phony mystery stories?

Every time there's trouble, there's a big reason behind it.

- Phony, that's all. - Yeah?

Sure! This Paul Davis, for instance.

I guess I knew you'd find out.

I knew this morning when you picked me up.

I knew you had it figured.

Must've been a big job, huh?

- Finding me? - Pretty big, Henry, yeah.

A lot of mileage.

- How'd it happen? - Well, there again,

it's just what I was saying.

There's no reason behind it.

I needed a few bucks and this Davis came along.

I guess he was it.

You mind passing me the salt?

Mm, yeah.

Where'd you meet Davis, Henry?

While I was hitchhiking out in Ventura.

Not a dime in my jeans, I was going up to Maricopa.

Thought I had a job up there.

This Davis came along and he picked me up.

You ever know him before that?

No, stranger.

Said he was going to Oakdale and be glad to give me a ride.

When?

Well, I think we stopped for gas

up around San Fernando, and I saw that he had

a few bucks in his wallet.

I guess that's when I got the idea.

- About what? - Killing him.

Maybe that gives you an idea what I was talking about.

You don't need any big reason to kill somebody.

Davis had 18 bucks.

Suppose I told that to a writer,

somebody killing a guy for 18 bucks.

Wouldn't make much sense, huh?

He'd tell ya it'd never sell.

You need a million dollars.

Beautiful woman, good motive...

Maybe this seems insignificant to you,

but the only way I know to tell you what happened

is to tell you everything that happened.

We could play a game.

I've got one, if you guys can take it.

- Blah, blah, blah. - Okay, let's try.

It's a competition.

What's the worst thing you've ever heard?

What do you mean, like the worst sound?

No, like a thing that happened, a true story.

What's the worst, most awful?

So like a horrible story?

Yeah.

Absolutely vile.

Disgust me.

Terrify me.

It should be brutal.

I know some pretty bad ones.

Okay, bring it on.

Okay, okay, I got one.

Mel went first because Mel always went first.

She was nearly drowning in excitement and anxiety.

Always the eager child.

And the warm summer air enveloped us,

cushioning us from the reality

that was beating at the edge of our world.

Once upon a time,

in the country we now call Germany,

imagine a little town in a valley near a river.

Yellow-green grass, wildflowers, cows in the fields,

a little dirt road that carriages run through

on the way to the city.

I have to confess, I remember her energy

better than her words.

The twitch of her eyes,

the touch of saliva at the edge of her mouth,

the manner in which she described entrails

and bones and knives.

It was a story about how the indifference of man

can turn to brutal cruelty.

The place and the names

and the exact sequence of events

are lost in a haze.

But what haunts me about Mel's story

is not the content,

nor the violence of the narrative.

Instead, it is the childishness of her face,

the innocence of her gestures and confused murmurs

and run-on sentences.

What haunts me is not the story,

but Mel herself in the last hours

before she would be confronted with actual

instead of theoretical violence.

Do you have anything, you know, to drink?

Uh, my dad's booze, yeah, but I don't know.

My mom was in, like, super worried mode,

so I think it's better not to.

I feel like she's gonna check the bottles

when she gets back.

Yeah.

But maybe we could have a drink,

like a shot.

Uh, yeah, I guess, probably.

I bet Becca brings something anyway.

- Yeah. - She just asks her brother

to get her something, and it always works.

He's like 22, so he can get whatever,

but to be honest,

it's not hard to steal from your parents.

I take wine from my dad's basement all the time.

Never noticed, ever.

Yeah, why are yours so strict?

It was the summer,

the summer,

and we were seeped in that feeling of summer,

enveloped in the fever of the season,

which causes all sense of time to vaporize

and leaves one with a dazed indifference

to all action.

The absence of Clara's parents only magnified the sensation.

Not only could we do anything,

but our position in the world,

young enough, rich enough, made us confident

that no matter what, nothing truly bad

could happen to us.

It's the last summer that any of us

ever felt that way.

Okay, what do you think of there?

- Yeah. - Don't just do it, let me see.

- Great. - Okay, hold still.

- Mel, do you have that needle? - Yeah, one minute.

Disinfecting.

You have to put fire on it?

- Yeah. - Yeah.

It's just a little hot, one sec.

Can you feel it?

Yeah, that's still a little warm.

Okay.

All right, Suzie, hold still, okay?

I'm holding still.

Let's do Emmy next!

Oh, um, my dad would kill me.

Whatever, he wouldn't even notice.

- There, okay? - Yeah, fine.

Okay, so we'll leave it in for an hour or whatever,

and then we'll take it out and put the stud in.

For better or worse, Emily's story

is more crystalline in my mind.

Later events made it impossible for me to forget

much of anything that she uttered that night.

Whether you believe it to be true or not,

I think the story has merit,

and I know Emily would have wanted you

to know it in full.

My story is even older.

It happened in the Roman Empire over 1,000 years ago.

Agnes was young.

She had just turned 12 when the trouble began.

She was from a well-off family.

Her father was a merchant and had made a small fortune

dealing in silks and other exotic fabrics

brought in from the Far East.

Agnes was always beautiful.

By the age of eight, it was clear

that she was something special.

Her physical appearance was so perfect,

so radiant that it was impossible not to notice her,

even in a large crowd.

Her hair was long and amber.

It fell almost to her knees.

Her eyes were large and rounded,

her skin was fair, but it didn't burn nor freckle.

It seemed immune to the elements.

Women would, almost without meaning to,

reach out and run their hands through her long, shining hair.

Young boys would stare, wide-eyed.

Men would look at her in a different way.

Her parents had converted from the Roman religion

to Christianity before Agnes was born.

She had been raised Christian

and had never known another faith.

Christianity in those days was still a secret thing.

It was not outlawed,

but it was better not to speak of one's faith in public.

There was a great deal of anger, hatred,

and fear towards the Christians.

Neither Agnes' mother nor father spoke of Christianity

outside of the house.

They kept their small crosses hidden from view.

Sometimes, when pressed,

Agnes' father would utter a prayer to the Roman gods.

He paid his tributes to the emperor

and went on his business.

His faith was his own.

Agnes was too perfectly innocent to live in this way.

She regularly let her small gold cross

hang openly on her neck.

Her mother would scold her.

"Agnes, you didn't wear that out, did you?

Don't you know what could happen to you?

That you could be beaten or arrested,

taken away from us, or worse?"

But Agnes couldn't hide her faith.

To her, Christ was love and she couldn't think

of a single reason to hide her love of Him

from the world.

Her parents' warnings fell on deaf ears.

They lived in a beautiful villa in a rich area of Rome.

Their servants, of course, all knew of their Christianity,

but most kept it a secret as they were kind employers

and paid well.

One of their employees, Agnes' nanny,

was in the process of converting to Christianity

along with her daughter,

who had become Agnes' best friend.

I can't remember the name of the friend.

It is long, old, and complex,

but I remember it reminded me of my own name,

and so I will call her Emily.

Agnes and Emily spent long days walking and playing together.

Emily had been raised a Pagan

but, through the influence of her life with Agnes' family,

had started the conversion process.

Questions of this new

and, to her, quite secret religion

burned in her mind.

She would ask Agnes to explain to her

how she should behave as a Christian

and how her life would be different.

"You need do nothing but put your love

and faith in Christ," Agnes would tell her.

"It couldn't be more simple than that.

Promise yourself to Christ and He will care for you."

Emily, having lived so long with Pagans,

was friends with many who said awful things

of the Christians,

things she knew were not true.

But she feared losing these friends,

and particularly a young boy who she had grown near

and who she imagined as her love and future husband.

"Would you... could you ever marry one of the Roman faith?"

Emily asked Agnes.

"It is impossible," Agnes replied.

"So you'd only marry another Christian?

Must it be so?"

"I can never marry any man, Christian or Pagan.

I have promised my hand to Christ,

He can be my only husband."

"It sounds like a lonely life."

"I am never lonely.

I can never be lonely.

Christ is always with me."

We were all bored at this point.

Don't worry, it's coming.

In the Rome of those times, a girl would usually marry

around the age of 15, but a younger marriage

was not unheard of.

Agnes was so clearly desirable,

beautiful, chaste, kind, rich

that shortly after her 12th birthday,

men began to approach her father

with serious proposals.

He continued to laugh and turn them away.

She was too young, he said, not yet ready to give her hand.

But then more and more important men

began to show up,

men who it was harder and harder to turn away.

When the son of a local prefect,

a kind of mayor in charge of an area of Rome,

came to ask for her hand,

Agnes' father didn't know what to do.

He must at least consider this man's proposition.

The prefect's son was handsome,

in his mid-20s,

a high-ranking soldier slated for success and power.

He had fought far from Rome on a front of imperial expansion

fighting the barbarians.

He had returned home to Rome

and he sought whom he had heard

was the most beautiful girl in Rome.

"Clearly, you would be a great match, sir,

but I think she is not yet ready,

and I in good conscience cannot force her."

He smiled.

"Let me speak to the girl," he said,

"and see if I cannot change her mind."

Agnes was called for and brought first to her father.

He tucked her small cross into her dress

so it could not be seen.

"Please, Agnes, be polite to this man.

He is not someone we can afford to offend."

Agnes was brought to see the prefect's son.

"Seeing you up close,

you are even more beautiful than I thought," he said.

"Thank you, sir."

"I seek your hand in marriage.

I have spoken to your father on this issue,

but he feels you are not yet ready to wed.

Is this the case?"

"Thank you, sir, but I cannot marry."

"You will be a rich and powerful woman.

You will be safe from all criticism,

and you shall be given everything on Earth

that you desire.

If you come to my house,

you will eat only the finest foods,

be waited on by the finest servants,

and no work shall be asked of you.

I offer you a place in paradise, my beauty."

"Thank you, sir, but I do not need

your offer of paradise.

It is very kind of you, but I cannot marry."

"Be reasonable.

I know you are young.

I will not rush you

and I will not be hard with you.

I will return to the front in a few months' time.

If you accept my offer,

you can live on with your mother and father

until you feel comfortable moving in to my bed.

I'm a kind man, and I will treat you

with love and respect."

"Thank you, sir, but I must repeat

what I have already told you.

It is impossible, I cannot wed."

"If I may ask, why not?"

Agnes knew this man was very powerful,

could ruin her father's business,

and her family's life if she misspoke.

But Agnes could not lie.

"I am already promised to another, sir."

"Another? Some school boy?"

"No, sir."

"Some local man or another soldier?

If you give me this man's name, I will speak to him,

and you will be released from any commitment

you think you may have."

"There is nothing that can be done.

I am committed and nothing will change that."

The prefect's son was becoming annoyed.

He was not used to being refused what he wanted.

In a sudden rage, he reached out

and grabbed Agnes' arm, shaking her.

As he did so, her small, golden cross

fell out from her dress.

"A Christian?"

"I am, sir."

"This is why you deny me?"

"I have pledged myself to Christ.

He can be my only husband."

The prefect's son's eyes filled with disgust.

"I should report you to my father.

He has no patience for Christians.

But, because I'm kind, I will give you one more chance.

Renounce your faith and accept my offer

and you will have a life of plenty.

Refuse me, and I cannot be held accountable

for what will happen to you."

"I can never accept you nor renounce my faith."

Agnes went home.

In fear, she told her father nothing of the encounter

other than that she denied the offer.

The next morning, four guards came to Agnes' home

to take her before the prefect.

He condemned her without hesitation

over the pleading of her parents

and the protests of Emily and her mother.

He said simply that she would be shown

the error of her faith.

A guard grabbed her by that long, shining hair

and forced her face into the dirt.

Agnes closed her eyes and thought of Christ.

Pulling her hair taut,

he began to drag her through the streets.

Soil filled her mouth

and small rocks cut her cheeks and face.

A crowd followed, watching,

but no one intervened on Agnes' behalf.

The word of the prefect was final.

Agnes' head was lifted

and she looked at an opulent building

with a balcony overlooking a square,

surrounding in marble sculpture and potted plants.

"Do you know what this place is?"

The guard whispered in her ear.

"No, I have never seen this place in my life."

"You will learn."

Agnes felt herself being lifted,

then carried across the threshold of the building.

An older woman, a worried look on her face,

watched the guards bring her in.

"What is this?"

"A Christian."

The woman's look of concern disappeared.

A smile spread across her face.

I should explain something.

In those days, under the rule of the emperor Diocletian,

Christianity was increasingly

being made illegal in the Empire.

Many were purged.

Christian soldiers were removed from their post

and many imprisoned or killed.

Christian men were removed or fired from their positions.

Christian women were safe

if married to an established Roman citizen,

but if they were unmarried,

they were deemed a potential threat.

Avowed virgins were considered radicals

and were systematically ordered to be married off,

made into prostitutes, or raped

to remove any special status.

Agnes, of course, was a virgin,

and by force of law, was taken to a brothel.

The madam took her from the guards

and washed the blood from her face.

She comforted Agnes.

"There, there, my dear, all will be well soon."

She was taken to the balcony overlooking the square.

A crowd gathered, looking up.

She stood at the edge, her face stinging,

her eyes full of tears.

A young soldier was brought to the balcony with her.

Two young women lay a clean white duvet

out in front of them.

The young soldier lay a hand on Agnes' arm

and looked tenderly into her eyes.

"Kiss me.

Make this easier on yourself."

Agnes shuddered.

"I would never profane myself."

With that, the young soldier brought the back of his hand

against her face hard.

She fell, blood spattered against the duvet.

The crowd applauded.

The young soldier looked down on her

and said with a smile,

"It makes no difference to me, Christian."

With that, he threw himself on her.

He was hard, pressing against her leg.

She barely even knew what was happening.

He tore at her gown, shredding it,

her small breasts exposed to the air.

He bit one hard.

Blood seeped out from the wound, filling his mouth.

He pulled himself out and, clutching her throat,

prepared to penetrate her.

He shoved himself against her, but she twisted to avoid him.

As she felt him begin to enter her,

Agnes reached up to his face calmly.

She thrust her fingers into his eyes.

His blood poured down onto her.

Her naked skin was covered in the red liquid,

hiding her from the hungry gaze of the crowd.

The youth screamed out, falling off of her.

She rolled away from his quivering body,

pulled herself up to her knees, and began to pray.

"Our Lord who art..."

The rough arms of the guards grabbed her again,

dragging her out of the brothel and into the street.

Her naked, bloodstained body was thrown into the sand

at the feet of the prefect.

"Before, I found you only insolent.

Now you are a full-fledged criminal

and a danger to the state.

There can be only one sentence:

Death."

Agnes' mother cried out, but was held back.

Her father was silent and looked to the ground.

Agnes herself looked up to the prefect and smiled.

He spat in her face.

Her gown was torn off of her

and a guard kicked her to the ground.

Iron shackles were put on her arms,

and she was dragged through the street

to another square where the execution would take place.

Her small wrists strained against the metal.

Her flesh wore down,

and eventually she slid out of her constraints entirely.

The shackles were not made to hold such small hands.

Panting, humiliated, naked, and bloody,

she tried to stand.

She could not.

Calmly, the guards rebound her with rope

and continued to pull.

At the square where executions were held,

a large wooden stake was already put in place.

Agnes was to be burned at the stake.

Her body was unbelievably light.

The guards lifted her

as if she was no more than a feather

or a mannequin in the shape of a human girl.

Her undeveloped body was fully exposed,

coated in both her own blood

and that of the youth from the brothel,

covered in hundreds of cuts and bruises

from the transit from one location to another.

Her hair was no longer shining.

It was matted with blood and soil.

Ropes were drawn tight,

binding her in three places against the stake.

On her neck, across her breasts,

and across her thighs.

The ropes cut her skin further and grew red with her blood.

Kindling was set around her.

A guard approached with a torch

and thrust it into the wood.

Either by chance or by miracle, the wood would not light.

It was a little thing, but in that moment,

it seemed miraculous.

Was Agnes' God preventing the flame from catching

or merely the wind?

Agnes lifted her eyes to the crowd.

All of her friends, her family, her servants,

they all stared back at her.

None dared step forward.

Emily trembled and reached out,

but Emily's mother pulled her away harshly

from her old friend.

"You know not what you do.

I forgive each and every one of you.

I feel no pain, I feel no fear."

The guards were shaken, some backed away.

The prefect's son stepped forward,

reaching a hand up to Agnes.

Grasping her hair,

he pulled her face up to meet his.

"Guard, bring your sword."

One guard stepped forward, his sword in hand.

He raised the tip of his blade,

setting it against Agnes' heart.

"Girl?" the guard asked.

"Yes, sir?"

"I ask you honestly: Marry me.

Save yourself from this fate.

You are young and good.

You need not die this way."

She stared at him,

her round, childish eyes full of wonder.

"Please, marry me."

"It would be an injury to my spouse

to look on anyone as likely to please me.

He who chose me first for Himself shall receive me.

Why are you delaying, Executioner?

Let this body perish which can be loved

by eyes which I would not."

And with that, the guard leaned forward.

The slight pressure on the blade

pushed it through Agnes' breast and into her heart.

Was there room for such a wound in that small body?

Her blood poured onto the dirt.

Her body fell limp against the bindings.

Still, she was breathing, smiling slightly.

"Our Lord who art..."

The guard lifted the sword and brought it down

against the back of her neck,

severing her head from her body.

It rolled across the ground,

her muddy amber hair spilling out on either side.

They buried her in a ditch

in an area reserved for those executed by the state.

There were no markings.

In the hours after the execution,

Christians would go to the square

and soak bits of fabric in Agnes' blood.

After she was buried, Emily was found praying

near her friend's unmarked grave.

A crowd stoned her to death

and left her for the crows and vultures.

Everyone else merely went on with their lives.

Don't let the pictures

of Emily's little face fool you.

She always had to be number one.

She had to know she had reached

a state of perfection that we would never achieve.

Having already demonstrated a moral superiority,

she undertook to dominate us intellectually,

leading us on a lengthy quest through musty pages

to find a fragment of writing that would, in her mind,

prove some abstract point.

What we found instead was totally unintended.

What's that?

"Long Island girl, 15, found strangled in Frisco."

"The strangled and battered body of a 15-year-old

Port Washington, Long Island schoolgirl

has been found in a park in San Francisco,

where she'd gone during Easter break

to visit her half-sister.

Missing since Monday afternoon,

when she failed to show up

at Golden Gate Park Riding Stables,

Marissa Harvey was found dead Tuesday,

her fully clothed body left in underbrush

a half a mile away in Sutro Park.

San Francisco Police said Miss Harvey was last seen alive

by a friend of her half-sister's

who dropped her off near the stables,

but they had not been able to determine

where she had been murdered.

As yet, they have neither suspects nor solid leads.

A freshman at St. Dominick's High School

in Oyster Bay, Long Island,

Miss Harvey was on the West Coast

to visit Miriam Wadeiff, 26,

her only living blood relative.

The two had met for the first time

last December 23rd.

Born 11 years apart to different fathers

and to a New York model

who died when Miss Harvey was an infant,

they had grown up separately,

unaware of each other's existence

until last fall, when the family lineage

was traced in the probate of the estate

of a maternal relative in Belgium.

Marissa had been adopted by Gary and Mariguette Harvey

of 200 Park Lane, Douglaston Manor, Queens.

When they divorced, she went to live

with her adoptive mother and her husband,

Howard Schultz of 33 Harvard Road,

Port Washington.

While Schultz was in San Francisco yesterday

to identify her body, Gary Harvey talked about

the 'just delightful' girl he remained close to.

'She was a very happy child,

not aggressively friendly, but very responsive, '

said Harvey's current wife Ruth.

'If someone spoke to her, she would always answer.

She never put anyone off with a snub.'

She said Miss Harvey and Miss Wadeiff,

a graduate student and instructor

at the San Francisco Institute of Fine Arts,

had hit it off well in their Christmas meeting

and couldn't wait to get together again

during the spring vacation.

Though petite, 5'2", and under 100 pounds,

the teenager was an accomplished horseback rider,

said Miss Harvey, and had won several ribbons

in Long Island jumping events.

Miss Harvey's body will be returned

- to Port Washington." - Oh, my God.

- Your dad totally killed her. - Huh?

I mean, it's your dad's book, right?

Yeah, but he probably got it at a garage sale or something.

Uh-huh.

Do you think it was the killer's book?

Do you think it's, like, cursed?

Why not?

It could've been her grandma or her mother's.

Yeah, but then wouldn't they have

like a normal picture of her, not a creepy newspaper cutout?

Yeah, and didn't she, like, not have any parents

or blood relatives or anything?

She had parents.

She was adopted, but she still had parents.

Rebecca.

I loved her most of everyone I knew in those days.

Uh, yeah.

Uh, yeah, two large pizzas.

Cheese.

It looks great.

Thanks, Clara did it.

Eventually, she disappeared,

just like all the others.

I don't have a clue what happened to her,

but I always imagined her getting married, growing old,

and having lots of children.

She would've hated that.

Clara, do you have any candles?

Yeah, I think so.

And a mirror.

- Like a hand mirror? - Yeah.

Go get them.

Okay.

Who wants to see their husband?

Who ever even gets married anymore?

Emily, give me the candle.

Clara, the mirror.

Mel, get the light.

Okay.

Suzie.

Now, take the candle

and illuminate your face with it

and look into the mirror.

This is the absolute stupidest thing ever.

What's the matter, Suzie?

Are you scared, Suzie?

No, I just don't want to be the fall guy

for another one of your dumb tricks.

It's not a dumb trick.

Of course it's a dumb trick,

it involves a candle and a mirror.

Come on, guys.

I'll do it.

Whatever.

Great.

It's good to see that bravery still exists in this world.

Okay.

Clara, carefully walk backwards up the stairs.

Don't close your eyes.

Don't even blink.

Look directly into the mirror.

With each step, you have to chant,

"Let me see, let me see."

Then what'll happen?

- Nothing! - She'll see...

She'll see, if she doesn't wimp out or cheat,

one of two things:

her future husband or a skull.

- A skull? - Death.

If she sees a skull,

we know she'll die before she marries.

Okay, well, let's try.

Let me see, let me see.

Let me see, let me see.

Let me see, let me see.

Let me see, let me see.

Let me see, let me see.

That's bad luck.

Right.

What did you see?

My hand just slipped.

I just don't think it sounds that scary,

that's all I'm saying.

Suzie, you started this.

Show Becca how it's done.

With pleasure.

My story I remember perfectly, word for word.

It's not an easy story to forget.

I'll tell it to you now

just the way I told it to them then.

This one happened just a couple years ago.

It's about a group of girls around our age,

a little younger actually.

Marianne was the youngest.

She was 12 years old, only child.

She lived a pretty normal life.

You know, nice girl, nice mom, nice dad.

Smart kid, did well in school.

But she had one quality that proved to be

a bit of a problem for her.

She was a flirt.

She didn't always mean to be one,

she was just friendly, smiley, loving.

She was the type of girl

who didn't even realize she was flirting,

she just thought she was being nice.

She had blonde, curly hair,

big teeth, thick lips.

She seemed to be constantly blushing slightly.

One day, she got into an argument

with another girl at her school

that was a little older named Jane.

It was over nothing, something trivial.

After the fight, Marianne apologized.

She was nice.

She flirted.

Marianne and Jane became close friends.

Very close.

One day, a few girls saw them kissing

in the back of an empty classroom.

Jane had previously been in a relationship

with a girl named Miranda.

They had broken up like months before Jane met Marianne,

but Miranda's jealousy flared

every time she saw the two together.

Jane and Marianne on a swing set,

Jane and Marianne eating together in the cafeteria,

Jane and Marianne at the school dance.

Miranda was very, very jealous.

One day, Miranda approached them,

shoving Marianne and grabbing her by the hair.

She said to stay away from Jane,

to keep her hands off Jane, that Jane's hers.

"Jane's mine!

What right do you have?

Who are you?

Jane's mine."

Sometime that winter,

Miranda started talking to her friends

about hurting or even killing Marianne.

Sometime after Christmas.

No one thought much about it.

Miranda was the type of girl who got angry

and you didn't really pay attention.

Marianne certainly didn't think much of any of this.

Her friendship with Jane continued.

It was mostly completely innocent.

One night, Miranda was driving around

after a concert with three of her friends,

Faith, Lily, and an older girl, Amy.

It was Amy's car.

None of the girls really knew Amy that well,

but she made them feel a little older,

a little cooler than they were.

Amy had a bunch of beer, and they were all drinking.

Miranda was fuming, talking about that little bitch

and how awful Marianne was.

Lily said, "When are you ever going to shut up about her?"

And Miranda said, "When she's dead and buried!"

And Amy said, "So what are we waiting for?"

They made a plan.

Miranda would hide under a blanket

on the floor of the car.

Lily knew Marianne and she knew Jane really well,

so she would go and invite Marianne

to meet Jane somewhere.

Once Marianne was in the car,

Miranda would jump out and scare her, torment her,

and get her revenge.

They talked about it and laughed.

Faith and Lily could tell Amy thought it was hilarious.

They wanted Amy to like them more,

so they egged Miranda on.

Miranda just got angrier, and angrier,

more, and more excited,

and all the others laughed harder, and harder.

It was gonna be so funny,

the look on Marianne's face

when Miranda popped out with a knife in her hand.

All the girls probably...

probably thought that was all that would happen.

It's not really clear what they thought or expected.

Maybe they weren't thinking much at all.

They cruised by Marianne's house slowly,

circled around, then parked across the street.

Lily made Faith come along with her to the front door.

She was scared to go alone.

They ring the doorbell.

A man came to the door.

"Hello, how may I help you young ladies?"

"Is Marianne home?" Lily asked.

"Yes, of course," her father replied.

He called her, and Marianne came running.

"Hi, Lily.

Hey, what's up?"

"We're gonna go meet Jane, she said to pick you up."

Marianne looked confused.

"Jane, tonight?

But she said she had to study."

"She finished early.

She said we should go get you."

"Oh, well, I can't go out tonight."

"Come on, why not?"

"I have to ask permission in advance."

"Oh, well,

can you tell your parents it's, like,

a special location?"

Marianne glanced around

to see if her parents were listening.

"I don't think that would go over so well."

"Well look, Jane really wants to see you, like, really bad.

She said it was important that she sees you tonight."

"Can't we try to meet tomorrow?

Can I talk to her?"

"She isn't with us, she said it has to be tonight.

That it's really special,

a surprise," said Faith.

Marianne looked confused, and increasingly worried.

"How about this," said Lily,

"we'll tell Jane you can't come out now,

but we'll get you later.

Does that work?"

"But how?" asked Marianne.

"Sneak out."

Marianne thought.

A little smile crept her face,

and for a moment,

she didn't look so innocent.

"Okay.

Make it around 11:00.

They'll be asleep by then.

Drive by the front window, and flash your lights.

I'll come out, and meet you around the corner."

"Great," said Lily, "we'll see you in a couple hours."

"Who's your friend?" asked Marianne.

"Oh, this is Faith.

Um, she's in high school."

"Cool," said Marianne.

The two girls went back to the car.

Marianne watched them for a moment,

then closed the door.

It was the kind of cold night

that you usually spend indoors,

but the girls couldn't be bothered

with any of their parents or anything,

so they just drove around a little while,

listened to music on the radio.

They stopped and stole some beer from a 7-Eleven,

and kept drinking.

After another two hours, they were pretty drunk.

Amy drank, but it didn't seem to have any effect on her.

Around 11:00 PM,

they drifted back through the streets

of Marianne's neighborhood.

They drove past the front of the house.

They flashed the headlights.

The four girls waited in the car at the corner.

Miranda was already crouched under her blanket

on the floor of the front passenger's seat.

The front door of Marianne's house creaked open,

and her tiny figure emerged,

bathed in light from the house.

Carefully...

she closed the door,

walked down the steps,

down her driveway,

onto the sidewalk,

towards the car.

With each step,

her fate became more definite.

Later, Faith would say...

she felt something leave her body in those moments

as Marianne walked to the car.

She couldn't explain it.

She felt absolutely, just, empty.

As she came closer, Lily opened the back door.

"Hey, come on in."

Lily stepped out, and let Marianne climb in

taking the middle seat in the back.

Um, Marianne was wearing

a purple polka-dotted turtle neck,

um, this white sweater,

and black jeans.

"Hey," said Amy.

"Where's Jane?" asked Marianne?

"She's waiting at the witches' castle."

- The witches' castle? - It was an old,

burnt down stone building

out in the countryside.

Supposedly, a group of witches used to live there.

They'd actually founded the town through black magic,

and gained all this wealth.

But, ultimately the town turned against them,

and burnt them along with their home.

Was it?

Owned by witches?

Well, that's what everyone said.

At any rate,

it was a place kids went to do drugs, or have sex,

or just scare each other.

Wasn't, like, a totally normal place to go,

but wasn't impossible for girls to be going there

after sneaking out of the house.

Marianne certainly didn't think it was odd.

Later on, Faith would say

that after Amy said

"She's waiting at the witches' castle,"

Marianne simply said,

"Oh, cool."

They were driving on an empty country road now.

Driving fast.

Suddenly, Miranda popped up from underneath her blanket.

Marianne's eyes filled

with stupid terror.

"Was she sweet to you?

Did you like the way she tasted?"

Then lunged onto Marianne, knife in hand,

screaming obscenities.

Marianne started to scream,

and in that tiny car it was deafening.

Lily and Faith grabbed Marianne's hands,

and pinned them down.

"Shut her up," Amy said, as she opened another beer.

"Be quiet!"

"Yeah, shut up!"

"No one can hear you anyway."

Miranda brought a knife to Marianne's throat,

and said, "Quiet,

or I'll slit you open."

And that pretty well did it.

Marianne stopped screaming.

She sputtered

out a nervous question,

"Wh... wh... why?"

"This is what happens when you take a girl's girl."

Amy started laughing so hard she almost spilled her beer.

"We're here," said Faith.

They pulled to the side of the road.

"Tie her hands before we get out," said Amy.

The other three took some twine,

held Marianne down,

and bound her hands behind her back.

Miranda stuffed a sock into her mouth.

They got out of the car,

and walked through the woods to the burnt stone rubble

of the witches' castle.

They came to a clearing...

near the old fireplace,

where the living room must have been once upon a time.

Miranda shoved Marianne from behind,

and she fell to her knees,

skinning them on the hard gravel.

Marianne coughed, spitting the sock out of her mouth.

"Please, don't do this."

- "It's a little late for that." - "Yeah, it's a little late."

Lily kicked at one of Marianne's legs, she fell

unable to catch herself.

All the girls started kicking her,

and spitting on her.

Faith was hesitant at first,

but after a minute she got into it.

"Please! Please! Please!"

Marianne kept repeating over and over again,

like a broken record.

Over and over, "Please! Please! Please!"

Not even, like, "Stop," or "Help me,"

just "Please! Please! Please!"

Ugh, okay, it's hard to listen to something

once it gets repeated too many times, you know.

It's hard to listen to that sort of thing.

So after a bit, Amy said,

"Hold her down a minute."

Faith and Lily held Marianne down flat on her back.

Lily held her legs and her ankles,

and Faith held her arms down at the shoulders.

Amy straddled Marianne...

leaning down, and looking into her eyes.

"You know why we brought you here?"

"Please! Please!"

Amy slapped Marianne's face.

"Do you know?

Do you understand?"

"No, no, I haven't done anything."

"I don't care about that.

You are here

for one reason."

Marianne was silent.

Tears running down her dirty face.

The tears and the dirt created this muddy paste

that, that coated her skin.

"Human sacrifice."

Miranda started laughing.

It was a completely normal laugh.

Just like one you might hear after someone told a great joke.

"Give me the knife," Amy said.

Miranda passed it over.

Amy ran the knife across Marianne.

First, around her face, gently, not cutting or anything.

From the tip of her chin,

straight down her throat,

until it rested on her breast.

"Do you know

how many gallons of blood you have in you?"

Marianne shook her head,

"No."

"Me either," said Amy,

and that got Miranda laughing again.

Lily started laughing, too,

and before you knew it,

Faith was laughing.

Sorry, I'm sorry.

They were all laughing,

then Amy got serious again.

"I'm going to let you in on a little secret, Marianne.

Miranda said she was upset about Jane,

but that's not really it.

See," Amy leaned in,

putting her mouth up against Marianne's ear.

"See, we're witches.

We're the reincarnation of the witches

that used to live here.

Our restless spirits struggle from body to body,

and the only way we can make it in this world is...

blood,

virgin blood,

spilled on the spot

where we were burnt to death.

So, little Marianne,

I have a very important question."

Marianne was crying.

"Marianne! Shh!

Can you understand me?"

Marianne kept sobbing.

"Marianne!

Say, 'I'm listening.'"

Marianne barely mumbled,

- "I'm, I'm listening." - "Great.

Are you a virgin, Marianne?"

"What?"

Marianne's eyes were wide with confusion.

Then she started to nod her head.

"Ye... ye-yes, of course."

Amy leaned in

less than an inch from Marianne's face,

the knife pressed flat against the younger girl's throat.

"We're happy to hear that

because if you weren't a virgin, it wouldn't do us any good

to slit you open here, would it?"

The girls started laughing again.

Marianne closed her eyes

waiting for the knife to cut her.

Amy stood up, and passed the knife back to Miranda.

"She's all yours."

Miranda was almost crying.

It was all so funny.

She could barely even hold the knife.

At that moment,

Marianne kicked with all her strength,

pulling her legs out of Lily's grasp.

And in one motion,

rolled over, stood up, and began to run,

bolting blindly into the night.

Marianne run... ran forward,

her arms bound behind her,

her... mm, her sweater was all filthy now,

and her hair was matted

filled with blood and dirt from the beating.

It was like watching a wounded doe

try to run after being shot.

You almost thought she could make it,

but her legs weren't working right anymore,

and she kept getting caught in the thick brush of the forest.

They all started throwing rocks at her as she ran.

Faith hit Marianne in the back of the head

with a jagged stone,

even though she was...

hardly even trying.

The rock made a thick thud against her skull,

and Marianne fell down.

A car drove by in the distance.

You could see the headlights moving down

the country roads through the trees.

Didn't stop.

No one was laughing.

For a moment,

it was almost completely silent.

"Hey, let's get out of here," said Lily.

"Yeah, okay," said Amy, "let's hit the road.

Go get her."

Marianne was unconscien... unconscious.

They took her to the car.

They bound her ankles,

and stuffed the sock back into her mouth,

and wrapped duct tape around it to keep it in.

That should keep her quiet.

They tossed a blanket over her, and everyone piled into the car.

They drove around for a while,

listened to some music on the radio.

Most everything was pretty shitty,

so they just kept changing the station.

"Don't you have any tapes or anything," Miranda asked Amy.

"Not really."

"What are we gonna do," asked Faith.

No one responded.

"Let's get some gas," said Amy.

So, they drove to the nearest gas station,

and everyone threw in a few bucks.

"Let's get some more," said Amy,

"for later."

Amy casually opened the trunk.

The pile under the blankets was still.

She pulled out a red plastic tank,

and handed it to Miranda.

"Fill it up."

Miranda did.

They put the tank back in the trunk, and closed it.

"I'm thirsty," said Lily.

So they bought some cokes at the gas station.

"Let's go to my place for a bit.

I think my Mom's at her boyfriend's," said Amy.

So they drove to Amy's place.

On the way there,

they heard a sound coming from the trunk.

Kind of muffled yelling.

Amy pulled over, went back, and opened the trunk.

Sure enough,

Marianne was partially untied,

trying to claw her way out.

They were pretty far out of town at this point,

and no one was around.

Amy took a tire iron,

and gave Marianne a few good whacks.

She fell back down and was quiet.

They kept driving.

"Were you serious

about all that witch stuff?" asked Faith.

"I was just messing with her.

Why, do you believe in witches?"

"I guess," said Faith,

"I mean, I've always, like, wondered about them,

'bout, like, the occult."

"I've got some, like, books on them and stuff," said Lily.

"Like, how they do different rituals and stuff."

"Let's get them," said Amy.

So they turned around, and went to Lily's place.

She snuck into her house real quiet,

and got her books, and some stones that

a friend of hers from the city had gotten for her.

These stones with runes on them

that were supposed to help you see the future.

And then, they went to Amy's.

She didn't have much food,

but they just, like, ate crackers and cheese,

and flipped through the books.

"Let's try these," said Miranda about the rune stones.

So, they started throwing the stones,

reading the symbols.

Trying to make sense of what the combinations meant,

and how they related to what they were reading in the book.

None of them really knew what they were doing,

except for Lily a little bit,

but she'd only sort of read the book for herself,

so it was all pretty vague.

But it was fun,

and they were all having a pretty good time,

and Amy had some pot that they smoked,

and everything just got funnier, and funnier.

And every now and then,

Miranda would bring up Marianne.

"Can you believe

she's still in that trunk right now?"

And that would start Amy laughing,

and Lily would start laughing,

and it was pretty hard for Faith to not laugh...

even though she thought it was all a little bit scary.

Faith started wondering about

when they were gonna let Marianne go,

and when they did what she would do.

It seemed like it would be a big problem, for instance,

she decided to tell anyone what they had done to her.

Suddenly...

...there was a knock at the door.

Amy's mother.

They hid the pot and the rune stones,

and tried to act calm and normal.

Amy's mother bitched them out,

asked them why they were up so late.

Amy apologized halfheartedly,

and said she would drive the other girls home.

They piled back into the car.

"So...

what are we going to do?"

- asked Faith. - "About what?" said Amy.

"You know, about her?"

Amy started the car, and they kept driving.

"You've gotta finish it."

No one else spoke.

Miranda sat up,

and looked at the knife in her lap.

"We'll find a nice spot," said Amy.

Lily started laughing again,

but no one else did.

The fields passed...

on either side.

It was flat, it was so flat.

You could see forever.

The little twinkling lights of the town in the distance.

Amy kept turning on country roads,

and after a little while,

you couldn't see the lights at all anymore.

It was all black...

except for the stars and the moon.

Amy pulled over and cut the engine.

"Let's check on her."

They all got out and opened the trunk.

She was in there, all right.

And her eyes were open.

Wide awake.

Amy said, "Hit her!"

and handed the tire iron to Lily.

"Why me?

We've all got to do this,

so none of the others can turn the others in."

Lily hit Marianne in the face a few times.

Blood poured down her face, she screamed through the gag.

"Ugh, let's get her out," said Amy,

"don't wanna stain the trunk."

They picked her up together,

and carried her out into the field as far as they could.

The air was cold.

The kind of cold that really gets into your bones.

"We really should be in bed right now," thought Faith.

She didn't say anything though.

They stood in a circle

around the sobbing girl.

"Okay, give Faith the knife," Amy said to Miranda.

Miranda handed it over.

Faith looked at it

feeling stupid.

"Go for it."

- "Go for it?" - "Stab her!"

Faith was trembling, and she felt like

her grip wasn't really good enough,

like, even if she had tried to stab her,

she would just, like, drop the knife.

"Look, if you don't do this,

we're gonna have to do you too."

"Okay, okay," said Faith.

She kneeled down and stabbed twice, quickly,

not very well.

Amy took the knife from Faith.

Then lifted up, giving a long...

uh, a long, deep stab into Marianne's stomach.

A wheezing scream came through the gag.

"Now you, Lily."

Lily took the knife,

and looked down at Marianne's body.

Her clothing was...

...entirely soaked in blood.

Lily put the knife against her tiny body,

and pushed forward,

slightly, slowly...

feeling it...

move past her rib cage,

and into her organs.

Marianne started struggling again,

kicking, a new burst of strength.

Lily, shocked, stepped back.

Marianne started crawling with her knees and elbows.

The knife fell out of her onto the ground.

It was sad

watching her struggle to move.

A wounded bird trying to fly.

She had no hope, of course.

Miranda grabbed her,

rolled her over, and pinned her to the ground.

Amy said, "Hey, Lily, Faith,

come on, help me at the car.

Miranda can keep an eye on her."

The three of them went back to the car,

the younger girls following the older.

Lily and Faith

carried the can of gasoline.

Amy got her cigarettes and a lighter.

No one knows what happened between

Marianne and Miranda during that time.

There was a lot of blood on Miranda.

Guessed it must have all been Marianne's.

The body lay there, limp.

"Is sh... Is she dead?" asked Faith.

"Marianne?" asked Lily.

As if in response, Marianne sat up.

Her eyes were rolled back

so you could only really only see the whites,

and she had chewed through the gag at some point,

and her mouth hung open, and she moaned this strange,

weird sound that none of us had ever heard before.

Miranda took the gasoline can, and opened it.

She splashed gasoline all over Marianne.

Marianne started shrieking,

as best as she could,

as it ran through her cuts and into her body.

Amy lit a cigarette, took a drag,

and tossed it on the bloody, whiny mess.

She went up like a bonfire.

The four girls stepped back, and watched while

the mass struggled, went limp...

and burned.

Eventually, the flames went down,

and it grew dark once more.

They took turns

poking the body with a stick

to be sure she was dead.

Seemed like she was.

They got back to the car, drove around for a little while

trying to find a good station on the radio.

The sun crept up over the flat line of the horizon.

Faith said...

she found that light puzzling,

strange, and just unexpected.

She expected the dark

to last forever.

Miranda said,

"I'm hungry."

So, they went to McDonald's.

It was early, but they just started serving breakfast.

Lily opened up her McMuffin,

and stared at the sausage.

"Oh, my God," she said.

"What?"

"It looks just like Marianne."

Miranda started laughing uncontrollably.

And pretty soon they all were.

You know, it was pretty funny at the time.

In the end,

Faith couldn't keep her mouth shut.

She told Jane, who told her parents,

and some farmer had come across the body,

so everyone connected the dots pretty quick.

I guess they're all in jail now.

Yeah, I mean,

that's messed up,

but it's not really scary.

Whatever.

I'd like to see you tell something scarier.

Forget telling,

I can show you something scarier.

Just don't lose it, okay?

It was my grandmother's.

Don't worry.

I'm not gonna lose it.

None of us believed her, of course,

but we were curious to see what she might pull off,

how she might trick us,

what kind of rush of fear she could provide.

Becca was more animal than the rest of us.

And while we got lost in out minds and emotions,

she was able to function

on pure instinct.

And so, knowing nothing good could come of it,

we followed her into the woods.

So, you really know how to do this?

I know, I've done it before.

- And it worked? - He came.

- Bullshit. - Hey, don't believe me,

you'll see.

And he'll what,

answer our questions?

He'll answer our questions in exchange for an offering.

He'll perform actions, or give us powers,

but the offering has become

- much larger. - Why?

Why would he bother?

His powers are very limited without humans.

He has to act through us.

If we're careful, there's no real danger,

but he'll try to get more than we offer.

He's greedy.

So, will we see him, or just hear him?

I don't know.

He always acts different every time.

You can't predict.

Do you wanna try?

Together?

Okay.

Do exactly what I tell you to do.

Listen carefully,

and repeat after me.

Whatever you do,

after it's begun,

don't leave the circle.

I am Rebecca Webber, 16.

I am Melanie Todd Mackenzie, 15.

I am Suzanne Levinton, 16.

I'm Emily Milay, 14.

I'm Clara Brooks, 15.

Oh, tenebrous,

DA, Lukes, Knox,

Oh, Lucifer,

princeps madness,

accept this offering.

Oh, tenebrous, DA, Lukes, Knox,

oh, Lucifer, Princeps Madness.

- Accept this offering. - Oh, light bringer,

show us what we cannot see.

Oh, light bringer, show us what we cannot see.

Hello?

- Oh, my God, you guys! - God, screw you!

You totally fell for it.

You aren't being funny.

What, if you had gotten me, you'd be laughing.

- You're so lame. - Come on, it was funny.

I was just joking.

I didn't know you were gonna act like little kids about it.

Where the hell is my ring?

My Mom's gonna kill me if I lost that ring.

- I don't care about your ring. - Why didn't you grab Suzie?

Can we just, like, appreciate

- how funny that was? - I called bullshit,

I told you before that it wasn't

- gonna be real. - Nobody is laughing right now.

Nobody is, like,

can somebody please laugh?

That was so funny.

Can't we do anything but just stand here?

Isn't there any way of fighting back?

- Only one. - What?

I'm feeling kind of dizzy.

You want some fresh air?

I don't don't use them until our

- very souls are... - Sure.

Okay.

...as effectively as it would stop for Carter,

and alter time and space.

Hey.

Can I have one of your cigarettes?

Yeah, um, there's one in my purse.

Thanks.

Once breaks into the circle.

If we once catch sight of his face.

Tired?

I guess.

Did you see a skull?

Huh?

In the mirror,

did you see a skull?

I don't know, it was,

like, a trick of the lighter or something.

Anyway...

maybe you just won't have a husband

then, if you saw a skull or whatever.

It doesn't necessarily mean anything.

Probably nothing bad will happen to you or anything.

Do you believe in magic?

No.

And God, and the Devil, and whatever?

Not really.

I do.

I know.

Does that make me stupid?

No, it doesn't make you stupid.

Can I try that?

You don't have to breath in so deep.

Don't worry about the other girls,

and their stories, and games, and whatever.

- They're just messing around. - I know, but...

those stories are real.

Those things happened.

It's like Suzie said,

those people exist.

I don't wanna be like them, I...

I wanna be like Agnes.

You mean, like, have faith?

I wish I was there with those girls and Marianne.

Even if they killed me too,

I wish I could have been there to stand up to them.

- Oh, my God! - What?

My ring!

I knew you'd find it.

I don't understand how it got over here.

You never told a story.

Seems silly now.

Why?

It's just the two of us.

You could still tell me a story.

I don't have any stories.

Not like the ones you guys told.

Then read to me.

Bring the light up so I can see.

What should I read?

Anything.

"'Tis the year's midnight,

and it is the day's,

Lucy's, whose scarce seven hours herself unmasks;

the sun is spent, and now his flasks

send forth light squibs, no constant rays.

The world's whole sap is sunk;

the general balm th' hydroptic earth hath drunk,

whither, as to the bed's feet, life is shrunk,

dead and interr'd; yet all these seem to laugh,

compar'd with me, who am their epitaph.

Study me then, you who shall lovers be

at the next world, that is, at the next spring;

for I am every dead thing,

in whom Love wrought new alchemy.

For his art did express

a quintessence even from nothingness,

from dull provisions, and lean emptiness;

he ruin'd me, and I am re-begot

of absence, darkness, death:

things which are not.

All others, from all things, draw all that's good,

life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have;

I, by Love's limbec, am the grave

of all that's nothing.

Oft a flood of we two wept,

and so drowned the whole world, us two;

oft did we grow to be two chaoses,

when we did show

care to aught else;

and often absences withdrew our souls,

and made us carcasses.

But I am by her death

of the first nothing the elixir grown;

Were I a man,

that I were one,

I needs must know,

I should prefer,

if I were any beast,

some ends, some means;

yea plants, yea stones detest,

and love;

all, all some properties invest;

if I an ordinary nothing were,

as shadow, a light and body must be here.

But I am none; nor will my sun renew.

You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun

at this time to the Goat is run

to fetch new lust, and give it you,

enjoy your summer all;

since she enjoys her long night's festival,

let me prepare towards her, and let me call

this hour her vigil,

and her eve, since this both the year's,

and the day's deep midnight is."

What happened next is well-known.

It's a matter of record.

And if you want all the ugly details,

you can look them up,

along with the pictures to prove it.

I don't want to remember.

Some things are too awful to speak about.

I didn't know that then,

but I do now.

I don't know there is anything to learn

from the events of that night,

other than sometimes it's best to be silent.

It's late.

I hope you got what you came for,

even if it wasn't quite what you expected.

Now I'll say goodnight,

and let you try to find your way home

while I try my best to sleep.

The car's still over there,

and then the footprints leading up to here.

And then nothing.

Subtitles by explosiveskull www.OpenSubtitles.org