All language subtitles for Red.Iron.Road.S01E04.The.Undertaker.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DD+2.0.H.264-playWEB_track3_[eng]

Narrator:
Hello there, O thrill-seekers.

Are you looking for
a horror-packed tale,

chock-full
of blood-soaked gore

and spine-tingling terror?

Well, tough rocks for you.

This one's a slow burn,
but the flame's pretty bright.

It is a story of

a young undertaker named Adrian.

In 1830,
he opened a funeral home

smack dab in the middle of

Moscow's colourful
artisan district.

And colourful was precisely

what Adrian
and his twin daughters were not.

Which, of course,
simply delighted

his higher-class neighbours.

He named his own establishment

Funeral Home Dosvidanja,

which roughly translated,
means "See you later."

Ha-ha-ha.

But you know what?

Hold on one Moscow minute.

Let me tell this story
from the very beginning.

Adrian started as a gravedigger.

Together with his buddy Yurko,

they were shovelling fresh dirt
for the freshly dead.

Yurko liked simple things.

A tiny whiff
of fresh baked bread

would get him high as a cloud.

Adrian, on the other hand,

was a philosophical thinker.

A goddamn poet.

And one day, there she was.

His inspiration.

That was exactly when,

as the kids say,
"Shit got real."

The beguiling beauty
that bewitched

our bashful bachelor

was Ludmila,

who, conveniently,
was the unwed daughter

of the local undertaker,
Adrian's employer.

Looking to impress,

Adrian asked for more work.

This was fine
by the undertaker.

The old fart
just wanted to retire

from all this
morbid shite anyway.

In addition to
the whole carpentry shtick

of building caskets,
there was

the caring-for-stiffs stuff.

Ah, Ludmila.

She was a special soul.

Adrian felt lucky.

So, happily-ever-after, right?

Wrong. Reality set in quick

when the old undertaker

became Adrian's
first actual client.

Was it throat cancer,
tuberculosis, cholera,

or some other
unpronounceable disease?

Who knows? Who cares?

People dropped
like dung flies back then.

So, no biggie.
Just a sad moment.

Soon came kids, and finally,

the good life.

Right?

Wrong again.

Ludmila died
right after giving birth.

That was a bit of
a boiling point

for our dear Adrian.

Imagine being teased
with a pretty, shiny image

of a perfect future.

A family, a fulfilling career,

a beautiful, vivacious wife,

two lovely kids, and then, bam.

It all goes to hell.

Love of his life, dead.

His mentor, dead.

Left alone with two babies.

Yep, this was when life
kicked Adrian

in his soul's crotch.

He preserved
Ludmila's gorgeous visage

in a death mask.

He vowed to give the girls
a good life,

to take them from the village

and save them from poverty

and tongue-twisting diseases.

Adrian went full morbid.

The other villagers
would whisper about

the stink of death
that wafted after him.

Yurko didn't care about
any of the drama.

Too busy sniffing bread.
But Adrian had no time

for goofing off
with a gluten fetishist.

He had work to do,
children to raise,

and a brutally shattered life
to get on with.

The twins
and the funeral business

were the only things left
that reminded him of Ludmila.

So, he held on to them
as hard as he could.

The twins sprouted up
into creepy characters

just like their pop.

He taught them everything
about the business of the dead.

The embalming,

the fashionable makeup,
everything.

They ran
a full-service funeral home

with a reputation
for unmatched quality.

Which, as one can imagine,
brought in the cash.

Adrian,
empty shell though he was,

still had his pride.

Pride in his girls,
in the business,

even in himself.

Let's give some credit
where it's due.

The sweat from his hard work

washed away
the stink of poverty.

And here we are,
right where we started.

Moscow's
fancy artisan district.

Somehow, Yurko had made it

to the same street as well,

and without any tragic shit
to fuel his motivation.

Yurko shared his love
for pastries

with any who would have them,

selling them out of
his fancy little bakery

directly in front of
the dark, spooky house

Adrian had bought
with all that corpse money.

One day, Yurko dropped in
on his old friend.

He brought with him
an invitation to a fancy party

hosted by the local
fancy-ass shoemaker, Gottlieb.

Adrian couldn't stomach
his vacuous neighbours,

but you never know when
one of them will need a funeral.

So, our weirdo decided to come
out and play, just this once.

At first, the party
was actually not that bad.

Fresh food, decent booze,
tolerable music.

But nothing good ever lasts long
for Adrian.

They delighted in learning about
his morbid business,

tragic life
and strange appearance.

After everyone took their turn
bragging about their success

and toasting to the health
of their wealthy customers,

all eyes turned to
the creepy guest

with corpses for clients.

Just then, the fancy
wise-ass shoemaker Gottlieb

suggested Adrian
drink to the health

and return of his clients.

After all,
without repeat customers,

your business is dead.

And my favourite weirdo
was offended,

to say the least.

Adrian decided to tell
these people

what they needed to hear.

He cursed the hell
out of the whole party,

pointing out exactly
what he thought of the living

and how he preferred the company
of the deceased.

Biting their tongues,
the other guests shut right up.

Yurko was still clueless,

but Adrian simply stood up
and left.

His long, spindly legs took him

where he was most comfortable,

the graveyard.

And there, he spoke directly
to the dead.

He spoke and they listened.

Back at the homestead,

a guest wearing

an old-fashioned tricorne hat

greeted him.

The dude looks familiar,
don't you think?

They both went inside,

and then, there was a real

"Night of the Living Dead" thing
happening.

All the familiar faces,

all the stiffs
and corpses were walking about.

The twins decided to
sit this one out.

Naturally,
Adrian was a little shaken.

But then he saw her. Ludmila.

Rotten but not forgotten.

To Adrian,
she was as beautiful as ever.

The twins were old enough
to go at it alone.

It was time.

So, Adrian left
with his old friends.

As it happens, the girls
continued Adrian's legacy.

They took over the business,

found themselves husbands
to do the heavy lifting

and smelly corpse-work,
and just like that,

Funeral Home Dosvidanja
prevailed for generations.

As for Adrian and the zombies,

they decided to hold
an annual parade.

Now, every autumn season
the dead rise,

with Adrian as their king

and Ludmila as his queen.

Together, they remind the snobs
and ass-hats alike

that everyone is mortal.

I was there

and saw it with my own eyes.

Once I even told
this same anecdote

to a local writer,
and he managed to publish it.

Or his version of it, at least.

The poor fellow died
in a duel a few years later.

Hence,

the moral of my story stands.

Everybody dies. The end.