Original subtitles

Terry, watch out!

There was a little girl!

This is Pat Phelps.

She bought the big house on Elm.

Is something wrong with the house?

It is a treasure.

No basement, but the attic has plenty of storage.

Kam read the page that I wrote in the attic

which I don't even remember writing.

She was a complete alcoholic.

Sober for over 16 years.

My kids ignore me.

When do you wear a cross?

I'm allowed to have spirituality!

- Hi, is Gaynor around?

Seems our children have developed a friendship.

Pat's seeing ghosts.

One ghost. It's a '50s housewife.

She keeps popping up in my dreams.

Good news, Patricia.

You're not crazy.

Oh, my God. What the hell!

Come on, you bitch.

- What's up? - Nothing, nothing.

I'm just admiring your

toddler-trapped-under-a-Toyota- like strength

and our newly-gouged floors.

I know you don't wanna hear this, but we have a ghost

and I'm pretty sure she lives in this closet.

Oh.

Gaynor, I'm sorry to freak you out.

- I'm cool. - Okay, okay.

Let's--let's assume we do have a ghost, Pat.

And let's say that that ghost lives right there

in this closet.

Do you really think that this armoire situation

is the best way to keep her from haunting us?

- Don't condescend. - Mm.

The armoire is a stopgap measure.

Great.

Ghost problem solved.

Let's have breakfast.

I just wanted a quiet place so I can get some privacy.

Leave me alone.

I think the ghost was jerking off.

I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow.

Oh, go ahead, Terry. It was your idea.

Okay.

When we moved into the house, I feel--

I'm still seeing the ghost,

and Terry doesn't believe me, so.

I'm sorry. Were you done?

No, it was just a breath between two sentences.

- This is the '50s housewife? - Mm-hmm.

I know you thought she would go away with more antidepressants,

but I'm seeing her even more now.

And I'm hearing music coming from the closet, which--

Terry just completely dismisses it.

I don't get the satisfaction of dismissing it.

I can't see it.

That's because you're never home.

I am bouncing around the house

stuck on page one of my fucking book,

and you're off in the city doing who knows what.

You know what. I have a job.

I work and I'm often in the city prepping with Kathéryn.

Kathéryn.

Do you hear that, Dr Berg? That can't be healthy.

Every time I mention my coworker's name,

she parrots it.

What? I just like the way you say Kathéryn versus Pat.

My firm is pitching to manage the pension

of the New York Archdiocese.

It's a gigantic deal.

And they paired me with an expert.

- Kathéryn is-- - Kathéryn.

Pat, she's not some tasty piece of ass.

She's your age.

Can we just sit with that for a moment?

Let's put a pin in Kathryn and get back to your ghost.

I'm wondering if she's a projection of the part of you

that is trapped at home.

the Pat who's a repressed housewife.

What? What's, ""?

No, it's not an insult.

It's just you don't cook and you don't clean.

You don't act repressed.

- I'm plenty fucking repressed. - Mm.

Let's--let's get back on point.

You think I'm schizophrenic.

I- I swear if I get one more crazy diagnosis,

I'm gonna go nuts.

Let's avoid the word "crazy."

It's not uncommon for a writer

to create an alter ego to unlock creativity.

So you mean like a ghostwriter?

Let's say she's your muse.

She's obviously been stoking your imagination.

Try engaging her.

Hmm. Okay.

In the meantime, here's a scrip

for anti-anxiety medication just for the week.

Not another one.

Just take the Clonazepam.

I've--I've been with you 15 minutes.

Even my plants are nervous.

Oh, my God. I'm so sorry.

Oh, hi, Ryan.

Hey. Wow. Gaynor. What's up?

Uh, not much.

I'm just thinking about

your share at Chastity Club last week.

How you almost jerked off to that Snapchat.

- That was powerful. - Oh, well, I was talking--

I was talking about making a Chastity Club Facebook page.

Still really powerful.

And your share about

how you had sex with your upstairs neighbor.

Was a joke.

Obviously, I'm just trying to get a rise out of the group.

Well, it worked. Three people left.

Shit--shoot. Sorry.

Uh, so hey, uh, what are you doing later?

Uh, not much.

Praying. Praying probably.

You wanna come over for dinner?

You guys do that? Hells yeah.

- Um...

I'll see you later for a home-cooked meal.

Yeah.

- Hey, Mrs. Phelps. - Hi, Guy.

Give me a few minutes and I'll--I'll get this filled.

Okay. I'll just be right over here.

You don't care. Okay.

Hi, hi!

Holy shit, Robyn.

Are we okay?

Yeah, we're fine.

Oh, a-actually, is there something you forgot to mention

about the house you sold us?

Of course, she has stories to tell.

Every life leaves a mark.

Secrets and old clocks

and broken lockets, and hidden staircases.

Those are just Nancy Drew titles.

- Are they? - Uh-huh.

You are so well-read.

Is the house fucking haunted or not?

Mrs. Phelps.

Looks like your medicine is ready.

Yeah, it's for my allergies.

They don't have that many plants in Brooklyn.

I have your Clonazepam.

Oh, great. I'll take it from here.

This is a Class Four psychotropic.

You understand possible side effects include hallucinations?

Yup.

- Sleepwalking. - Got it.

- Blackouts. - No problem.

- Memory loss. - Copy that.

- Disorientation. - Yep. No driving.

No heavy machinery. Bye.

No pressure, just a billion-dollar portfolio.

I know I'm not allowed to say this, but normally,

if we were pitching men, I would put Kathryn out front.

But given the audience, we'll go with the altar boy.

I don't know why either of us would find that offensive.

Take the compliment.

You're the smartest woman I know who looks like you.

Mm-hmm.

- Anyway, what do I say? - Crush it.

There you go. All right. Don't fuck up, guys.

I know I'm not supposed to say this,

but he can be an ass.

Oh, I think you're allowed to say that.

Hey, babe.

Yes, I'm in a meeting.

Yeah. Yes, it's with Terry.

Okay, bye.

That Blake?

Apparently, I talk about you a lot.

Yeah, Pat says the same thing about you.

So...should we do it?

Go over the presentation.

Yes, abso-- Yes, we shall.

We shall do it.

It's weird. It's not here.

Okay, I've got five hours before the kids come home.

One page, no distractions.

No.

What to write? Okay.

- Mm.

God, that's good.

Oh.

A sudden tropical heat was rising up...

Sweat pooling in Cressida's navel

making her feel so... so...

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Oh, gross.

Making her feel so, um,

aroused?

Sexy pants?

Oh, come on.

Come on, ghost.

Muse me.

Languorous.

Fuck yes.

Mm.

Hey. What's up?

Oh, thank God, Pat. Are you home?

Yeah, I'm just in the middle of working.

- You okay? - No, no. I'm not okay.

I left my presentation at the house.

I must have left it on the desktop in my office.

Can you email it to me, please?

- Of course. What's it called? - Uh...

Terry-Church-Kathéryn.

Kathéryn.

Pat!

Kathéryn.

Hey, I'm sending it now.

Honey, Pat, what-- what took you so long?

You said you were sending this almost an hour ago.

It hasn't been an hour. It's been...

- 58 minutes. What? - Honey, honey.

I have a room full of very stern-looking priests

waiting for me in the other room.

I'm getting flashbacks to Jesuit school.

Please send this.

Okay. I'm sorry.

I-I must have lost track of time.

Here, it's coming now.

Okay. Yes, got it.

I am terribly sorry for the delay, gentlemen.

Let he who has never lost a document in the cloud

cast the first stone.

I wanna start by thanking my partner, Kathéryn,

who has generously shared much of her work

for me to present here today.

Oh, let's see how it goes, first.

Okay, all right. So Campbell & Burke.

We know we're not the biggest firm on the street,

but we've got a secret weapon.

How'd that get in there?

St. Joseph's class of '86.

All right, all right, Campbell & Burke.

We put together a three-prong strategy here

to manage the church's portfolio.

Safety, return, ethics.

What I call the holy trinity of investing.

And I'd like to start right here with safety.

Sorry about that.

Let's just move on to return.

We're obviously having technical difficulties here.

If you would just-- um, ethics.

There. Ah, here we go.

All right?

Very sorry. Wow.

Uh, we are in full compliance with U.S. Conference

of Catholic Bishops investment guidelines

so that we can protect your assets and values

allowing you to sit back and suck a hot dick.

- Excuse me?

- This is offensive. - Fuck me.

Languorous?

What the hell does that even mean?

Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom.

Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom.

What the fuck.

I called your name like 11 times.

Sorry, honey, I was-- I must have zoned out.

What's a turgid manhood?

Okay, give me your phone right now.

Why?

Because I don't want you reading porn.

It's sexist and misogynist

and it's gonna destroy you as a man,

not to mention the coats in our closet.

But it wasn't on my phone.

It's on your laptop right next to "apricot nipples."

What?

Wait, page 14?

What the hell?

"Couldn't stop thinking about her apricot nipples."

Oh, my God.

- Mom? - Okay, um,

well, why don't you go play outside?

Okay, can I bring my AR goggles?

Yeah, fine.

How's that different from my phone?

- Just take the win. - Okay.

My name's Fauna.

Before we start our journey, some very important rules.

Skip intro.

Let's explore.

Fauna, what kind of fungus is that?

That is a poisonous A. phalloides mushroom,

also known as the death angel.

Boring.

Let's hit the woods.

Pat?

Hi.

I've had the weirdest day.

Me too.

Someone messed with my presentation

and I told an entire room full of priests to suck a hot dick.

Oh, my God. Really?

Yeah, it was pretty bad.

Who would do that to you?

You don't think I would do that?

Well, come on. Why would I do that to you?

I don't know. Maybe you, uh--

maybe you resent all the time I'm working with Kathéryn.

Please, don't.

I've been working all day. I wrote 13 pages.

I mean, how am I supposed to have time to do my work

and sabotage your work and take care of our kids?

Pat, it was so humiliating.

Where are the kids?

Fauna, where are we going?

You shouldn't be here.

Shit.

What's the last thing he said to you?

Don't say last thing like he's dead.

Poor kid. He falls through the cracks.

Eating so much candy and whacking off,

it's just a cry for help.

Well...

What's up?

Come here.

- Are you all right? - I am so sorry.

About what?

What are you talking--

okay, why are you touching me?

You're safe and home and...

You're a little ripe, too.

Why don't you go upstairs and--and take a shower, okay?

And I'll order some dinner in.

- Hey. - Where have you been?

I had dinner at Ryan's house. His mom cooked.

Actually, you should try it.

I'm glad you liked it,

'cause you'll be doing a lot of it

when you have 12 kids and wear a giant bonnet.

It's not The Handmaid's Tale.

Whatever. They're trying to convert you.

From what? What are we?

We're a family and that should be good enough--

What's that sound?

Is it coming from the oven?

Apparently, I made a casserole.

Apparently?

You don't remember?

What?

Oh, my God, obviously I remember.

Jesus.

Since when did this family lose their sense of humor?

Okay, guys. Come on.

Who's ready for a cooked...

cornflake something?

Come on, muse.

Mama needs another 13-page day.

Hello? Languorous?

Oh, God.

We don't have a fucking basement.

Where the fuck is the basement?

- Oh, boy. - What a mess.

You know, Thom suspended me for a week.

I got forever.

- No, no. - Yeah.

They can't fire you. Why not me?

You've been here longer.

You're a bigger earner.

You're a guy.

No, this--this is completely unfair.

I'm- I'm gonna talk to Thom.

No, no, no, no, no. Stop.

I'm gonna find out who did this.

Mm, pretty sure I figured it out.

No, I already asked.

Believe me. It wasn't her.

Anyway, um, good luck, Terry.

Good luck, "Kathéryn."

It's Kathryn.

There's no "er." Just Kathryn.

- No "er." - No "er." Just--

Oh, my God.

Yoo-hoo! Gaynor!

Can I give you a ride?

Uh, sure. Yeah. Thanks, Mrs. He.

Gaynor, do you know why you moved here?

Yeah. My mom boned the handyman.

Sorry, she layeth with the carpenter.

No offense, dashboard Jesus.

I believe something in that house

wanted your family there.

Okay, you can drop me off right here.

I believe there are dark forces in that house

that have attached themselves

to vulnerable women over the years.

Wear this medal. It'll offer protection.

I'm not really a saint person.

- Put it on! - Okay.

Wonderful.

God bless!

Freak.

Pat?

- Oh, my God.

Pat?

What the hell?

Found the source of the music.

Not so crazy now, huh?

What is this place?

Well, apparently we have a vintage Tiki bar.

When I saw it I was, like,

"Terry's gonna be so fucking happy."

Why aren't you so fucking happy?

Because I know it was you who sabotaged my presentation.

The IT guy said that

your digital fingerprints were all over it, so you lied to me.

Terry, I swear I have no memory of doing that.

You have to believe me.

Why would I do that?

Not the first time you've lied to me, is it?

Because I blacked out.

It's a side effect of Clonazepam.

I don't remember writing. I don't remember cooking.

I don't remember much of anything.

Well, why didn't you tell me?

Because I haven't written anything meaningful

in seven years

and then all of a sudden, I wrote 13 pages.

I can't tell you how happy I was just to feel productive.

I felt like it was worth

putting up with a few side effects.

I got suspended for a week.

Kathryn just lost her job.

Those are pretty major side effects.

I'm so sorry.

Okay, I will call Thom tomorrow and tell him

that I had a bad reaction to the medication.

I'll talk to Thom.

What are we gonna do about you, Pat?

- What? - I'm good.

That--that is the headline here.

I am good.

Dr. Berg was right.

I found my muse.

And we have a fucking Tiki bar!

I mean, come on. Be fucking happy.

- Okay, put the axe down. - All right.

Well,

I guess I could do a little woodwork around here, right?

You know,

maybe you put up those little twinkling hula lights.

Jukebox?

- Does it work? - Yep.

Wow.

Maybe update it with some '70s songs.

Yeah, probably.

Pat...

I just want us to be a normal family.

Not just for us,

for the kids.

We will be.

I promise. Come here.

We're gonna be so fucking normal

you're not gonna recognize us.

Welcome, Patricia.

Have a seat.

Are you my muse?

I'm Rosemary.

Rosemary?

Did you write those pages?

We wrote them together.

I'm so proud of our work. That's why I sent them to Kam.

It's a pretty fucking overreach for a muse.

Oh, come on.

Deep down, you knew you wanted to.

You were just too afraid to send them.

Just like making dinner or Terry's presentation.

You made that casserole and wrote "suck a hot dick"?

It's called a cornflake bake.

But "suck a hot dick"?

That was all you, darling.

I would never have wanted to do that.

Really?

Not deep down?

Deep, deep down?

We've had a big day.

It's time to celebrate.

I-I haven't had a drink in 16 years.

16 good years?

At least I remember them.

You're not the same person now.

I mean, you were just a kid then.

I was 36.

You can handle one little drink, can't you?

Come on.

Who's in charge?

- You? - No, you.

Take charge, Patricia. You deserve it.

Don't let a muse drink alone.

Okay.

One drink, but that's it.

- No more. - You're the boss.

Fuck it. Hit me.

Let's get crazy.