Daemons' Roost Jonathan Creek

DRAMATIC MUSIC

SQUAWKING

Ladies and gentlemen,

welcome to this movie theatre -

the doors of which, you will note, are now locked.

-DOORS SLAM

-So you may abandon

any hope of escape.

I see you have a predilection for the macabre.

So allow me to whet your appetite for a tale of terror

that will challenge your very concept of evil.

In a wild and ravaged corner of this country,

more than a century-and-a-half ago,

legendary was the name of Sir Jacob Surtees,

a heartless nobleman of dark Satanic powers.

Assuming the guise of a hideous phantasm,

he would stalk his prey.

Sating his thirst for flesh in a most vile and twisted manner.

To a ghastly theatre of perverted practice

and torture were conveyed the objects of his lust

and their ill-fated lovers...

No!

..where, it was averred by those who were forced to watch,

he would consign each victim to ungodly oblivion.

SCREAMING

To the end of his days,

no rational means or human agency could ever account for the horrors

that took place in that chamber -

as you too, my friends, will discover when you encounter

the Brides Of The Damned.

OK, you'll be ready to stretch your legs now, probably.

Rain seems to be easing off a bit, so...

Only, I'd as soon not go any further.

It's just, erm, this place, you know?

Obviously, don't want to believe everything you hear, but...

BIRDS CAW, THUNDER RUMBLES

No worries. Erm, what do we owe you?

I know it sounds stupid, but...

No, no, no. We understand. There you go.

DOORBELL RINGS

15 years of nightmares.

GASPING

I suppose this was never going to be easy.

Hey, remember the mantra?

It's just bricks and cement...

and a shitload of Victorian superstition.

As houses go, it's as safe as...

Argh! Ah!

What the hell?! You all right?

-Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

-Give me a break!

-Sorry, sorry.

-That was NOT supposed to happen.

-God almighty. Stephen?

The masonry up there, I think.

-Talk about a deathtrap.

-It's seen better days.

ECHOING SCREAMING

HE SIGHS

Who was it said, "Every time Nathan Clore directed a film,

"it was a turkey shoot"?

Er, some smartarse wordsmith.

HE CLEARS HIS THROAT

Oh! Of course. This is, er...

A consequence of his most recent aneurysm

has been a near-total shutdown of the body's neurological

and motor functions.

But he CAN still hear.

And his eyes, Mr Belkin, I should warn you,

are very much alive.

Erm...

I always thought the only way I could deal with what happened

was to put as much distance between the two of us as possible.

But then I suppose you grow up,

realise the futility of denial.

And when I got your letter two weeks ago...

Your stepfather had so much he wanted to say to you.

It was barely three days after he wrote that.

It's beyond cruel, the way things have worked out.

"The time has finally come, for you to learn the truth."

Somewhere in this house,

if we look hard enough,

we'll get to unlock the past.

God help us...

to live with what we find.

CHURCH BELLS CHIME

Hello, is that Laszlo Hasselhoff, of Hasselhoff Hassle-Free Removals?

It's Jonathan Creek.

Yeah, this text you've sent me.

"Job number 640C 2B confirmed."

Does that mean you're confirming job number 640C 2B,

or that job number 640C is still awaiting process?

In spite of the fact, I notice,

that my cheque for the deposit cleared 11 days ago.

Creek.

C-R-E-E...

Yes, all right, put Zoltan on.

RADIO: House Of Fun by Madness

'Hello.

-'Speaking. No. No, no...'

-How about this?

Oh, perfect!

With the front turned up, maybe.

'Can I...can I stop you there?'

-Oh, I know what I meant to say to you, Polly.

-Mm?

My other half, last week, was doing a job at this big, old house,

erm, Daemons' Roost, did he say was the name of it?

Reckoned there'd been all sorts of strange and unexplained stuff

gone on there over the years.

Owner's on his last legs now,

and the step-daughter's come back to take over the property.

Well, straightaway, of course, I thought of Jonathan.

Sounded just the sort of thing he might be inter...

Yes! Er, are you sure that's going to fit on like that, Nina?

Maybe a bit of stitching, to keep it in place?

Friday morning, they're saying now.

I'll believe that when I see it. Ruddy cowboys.

Well, I don't know why we have to see it.

I thought the whole point of downsizing

was to have a good declutter, get rid of the past -

yours as well as mine.

Load of old junk from the windmill.

Can you believe it's taken five years to sell that thing?

How he thinks it's all going to fit in this place...?

Right, I think all we need now is a needle and thread.

Ooh, my sewing box is out there on the shelf.

If you want to go and pick some cotton, I think we'll be there.

-Are you out of your tiny mind?!

-What's your problem?

In this day and age?! You'll get us all arrested!

-Well, I only told her to go and pick some cotton...

-All right! Just...

Sorry about that. Have you met my wife, Senator Barry Goldwater?

See what I have to live with?

And, erm, this is looking very...

He's got no idea.

It's the Scarecrow Carnival.

Organised every summer, by the Reverend Wendell Wilkie,

-in Amblesham.

-Oh.

-Parish newsletter?

Big fan of yours, of course. He's always saying he'd love to meet you.

£50 prize for the funniest entry? You should give it a go.

Give you a chance to lighten up for a change.

Enter into the community spirit.

I don't think so.

No, no, I can see you definitely,

in her eyes.

So this would've been the last Christmas before, er...?

HE CLEARS HIS THROAT

Why, Phillipa...

after 15 years of silence does the man who packed me off

to a foster home decide it's time to play at being a parent again?

Tell me.

Certain corners of his life were so sensitive.

What happened to your mother and the children,

obviously he couldn't bring himself to share with me.

I so wish I could help you, Alison, but...

And you've had your own tragic loss to deal with, as I understand?

I mean, forgive me, I've no desire to...

Wallow in all the gory details...

of how my first wife was poisoned to death?

HE CLEARS HIS THROAT

Yes, it's fair to say, Miss Teller,

life's been a bit of a train wreck for both of us.

The main thing is we've found each other now

and whatever we have to face from here on, we face together.

SHE GASPS

"Qui olim iussit daemonia."

"Who once commanded devils."

Yeah, we've both seen the film.

All that stuff in the dungeon, seriously camped up for effect.

But based on source material?

Contemporary accounts, from all those women who witnessed it

with their own eyes, who had no reason to lie?

Oh, she saw something from that window.

What did she see?

Something in this place that took her away from me.

That took both my sisters.

The truth, he said, Stephen - how do we get to the truth?

That guy who sorted things out for YOU!

No. Different circumstances.

There was a fresh crime scene, hard evidence,

clues to pick through.

But he turned the whole case on its head when no-one else could see it.

What was his name again?

WEATHER FORECAST ON RADIO

'25, perhaps, but in the south it looks like clouds and rain.

'Hovering around 15 or so.'

DOORBELL RINGS

Don't worry, I haven't come to baptise you!

Mr Creek? Wendell Wilkie - St Hugh's of Amblesham.

I should think your hair nearly caught fire, did it, yesterday?

-Excuse me?

-The way your ears were burning.

Your friend Nina and I - did she tell you?

I'm your biggest fan!

When I found out you were right here on my doorstep...

"Well, pop round, pay him a call," she said,

"He won't mind, he's a lovely gent!" So, er, here I am.

God bless you.

Oh, sorry - mustn't talk shop!

So, what are you up to at the moment, Jonathan?

Anything exciting on the horizon?

Any juicy locked-room mysteries I should know about?

No, it all tends to be fairly quiet these days...

Cos that WAS a classic, wasn't it? Satan's Chimney.

Spoiler alert - the old descending ceiling.

You don't get cases like that any more.

So, er, what would actually be your personal favourite, then?

The corpse that climbed up the cellar steps...

the vanishing skeleton - have to be top of my list.

Anything with an empty tomb, you can't go wrong.

As the apostle said to the heretic!

But, no, got to come clean - there was a purpose to my visit.

I'm sure you'll remember that horrible business -

a while back now - in the House Of Monkeys?

Poor old scientist, ended up with a Samurai sword through his middle.

And, of course, the guy they put away for it -

by the name of Patrick Tyree - thanks to your endeavours,

I've got to know quite well over the years, through my prison visits.

Nasty piece of work, you might say. Well, yes, he was,

but no man who finds God is beyond contrition and repentance.

And I tell you what - today, you wouldn't recognise him.

The monster in his breast is vanquished.

His soul has been cleansed.

And, you know, the last thing he said to me, Jonathan,

before he was granted parole -

how grateful he was to you, for giving him the chance to

reflect on his crimes, and redeem his sins.

It just goes to show - even a man like that can finally learn

the meaning of kindness, compassion, and humanity.

-IN FOREIGN ACCENT:

-Easy now, watch how you go with that.

It's OK, I've got it.

This guy, I don't know what his problem is,

but let's not give him something else to complain about.

-There you go.

-Want to see how it works?

-Go on.

-Yeah. I think it... Does it go in here somewhere?

Stop messing about, boys! Come on, we're behind!

We're against the clock. Come on, chop chop.

Let's get this wrapped up.

Two-and-a-half hours of nonstop monologue.

Not since the heyday of the British sitcom

has the Funny Vicar been so unfunny.

And then when he got on to your magic career and said he had

a little conjuring trick of his own to show us...

Oh! Cutting your finger with a cake knife - that was genius!

Totally stopped him in his tracks. Well done.

What do you mean, "genius"? I very nearly sliced my fin...

TOILET FLUSHES

Now then, yes!

I was going to impress you with my little party piece, wasn't I?

It's a variation on an old routine, but quite fun.

Now, did I see a needlework box around here somewhere?

Ah, yes, if I could just borrow some of these

nice ivory-coloured buttons...

Oh, yes, I was going to put those on a blouse I just bought.

Never fear! They'll be safe as houses - trust me.

Park over there.

So, everything goes in shed, OK? Let's move it.

And now, together with a length of cotton thread,

I shall place them all in my mouth, so...

You want to get behind and pull.

-Pull!

-Argh!

-This weight.

-Careful!

-What's in this thing?!

MUFFLED SHOUTS FROM OUTSIDE

Watch it!

It's going, watch! Argh!

SPLUTTERS

Oh, God!

What the hell are they playing at out there?!

Now, erm, all is not lost.

You will get them back, I promise.

Er, what I'll do, the minute I get home...

No! Thank you, Mr Wilkie, there's no need. I'll get some more.

-Er, will you excuse me a sec?

-Of course.

PHONE RINGS

'Hello, sorry we're not here at the moment.

'Please leave a message and we'll get back to you as soon as we can.'

Hello, this is a message for Jonathan Creek.

You won't know me, my name's Alison Belkin.

Erm, you helped my husband, Stephen, six years ago,

when his first wife was killed.

I don't know if you remember the so-called

"Striped Unicorn Affair" at all.

Only...

there's something in this house that no-one can make any sense of.

It's like, I don't know, some horrible presence that won't let go.

Oh, yes, this'll make a nice addition to the household(!)

We can use it as that Weimar Republic-themed

broom cupboard we always talked about.

Yes, one of Adam's more tasteful designs.

Can't think why I kept it.

Cos I probably couldn't pay anyone to take it away.

We may not need to.

Oh-ho-ho!

This is going to kill - I tell you what - at the next church fete!

How special is this? Really chuffed. Oh!

Oh, and, er, don't forget that scarecrow, Jonathan.

You're going to blow our socks off, I know it!

Ta-ra!

HORN BEEPS

'..there's something in this house that no-one can make any sense of.

'It's like, I don't know,

'some horrible presence that won't let go.'

Who was the striped eunuch on a ferret?

I beg your pardon?

The striped eunuch? On a...ferry?

I heard someone talking about it the other day.

One of your ingenious murder cases. I was just curious.

I can only assume you're referring to the Striped Unicorn Affair,

which I would hardly describe as ingenious,

though it did present one or two singular features.

Which were?

Since when have you been interested?

Oh, I'm not! Particularly.

If it's that big a deal.

It's not a big deal.

Six years ago, a young guy named Stephen Belkin,

a research chemist, was wrongly accused of murdering his wife.

Quite a high-profile bank executive.

Imelda, I think her name was.

I get a call from his solicitor - can I give them a hand,

to sort out what appeared to be an open-and-shut case?

For several weeks,

she'd been getting these anonymous death threats.

Someone with some kind of vendetta against the capitalist classes.

Stephen, come and see this. There's another one!

I don't understand how these keep arriving. Who does this?

And all signed, rather mysteriously, with the name "Anti-Money".

Night in question, the door to the bedroom's all locked and

bolted securely from the inside, taking these threats very seriously,

and a brand-new sealed bottle of mineral water is opened,

which they share between them.

So, he's first into bed, and fairly soon, out like a light.

An hour or so goes by, she finds another one of these notes,

in her book, announcing that she's about to die that very night.

Wake up, wake up. This was inside my book!

Someone's been inside the room. Look.

He does his best to reassure her

the house and the room are totally airtight.

No-one can possibly get in.

The whole thing's just someone's idea of a sick joke.

The next morning, room all securely locked still, as before,

and she's lying there.

You were the only two people here. I don't believe you, OK?

Well, we were clearly NOT the only two people here...

-I don't believe your story.

-..if I woke up and she's dead.

It turns out she's been poisoned.

The water HE'S been drinking is fine.

In fact, there's no way anyone else could have possibly got in there,

and he stands to cop for all her money.

And being a research chemist into the bargain -

motive AND means - he's bang to rights.

Main thing it all hinged on was a child's painting

her little niece had done, which she'd got stuck to the wall

beside her bed - of a zebra, with a horn. Slightly odd.

But even odder - Belkin absolutely swore blind there was

no horn on it when she put it up there.

Hence the "striped unicorn".

Well, that was weird.

But, put together with the slightly protruding books on the shelf,

quite conclusive.

I won't bore you with the solution, obviously -

it's hardly rocket science -

but it was enough to convince the DPP that the whole thing was

a carefully staged fit-up, and they dropped the charge.

I might go through some of that stuff from the mill in the morning.

See what's what.

Night-night.

Night-night.

How's it going, Mr Ryman? Are you nearly done, I hope?

Well, it's not a five-minute job, unfortunately.

He did say he wanted blanket coverage.

Oh, and the young lady said to tell you, if you want her,

she's in the lounge.

Her and this chap who just called round.

Think they said something about an exorcism?

Yes, just doing that now.

One and two - both lit.

Holy water? Right, coming up.

Freshly blessed.

May this be sealed and hallowed,

and consecrated in the name of the...

Sorry? You've gone a bit faint.

Wouldn't normally use one of these helplines,

but it's not exactly my field.

They put you through to Rawalpindi or somewhere,

and of course the blasted connection keeps g...

Hello?

No, I'm seeing no green mist at the moment.

Or red mist.

I'm not seeing any mist at all. What does that mean?

Erm... Luke 11. Give me a second.

14 to 22, got that.

Sorry?

When you say "a reliquary of St Ignatius",

where would I get one of those on a Saturday morning?

Hello?

Oh, for God's sake!

Sorry.

No, you've gone again.

Well, anyway, just thought, perhaps I could offer my services,

try and put your mind at rest.

No, no, Mr Wilkie, I'm pleased you rang.

It's not something I'd have, erm... Cos I'm not a religious person.

I have to say that. It's just that...

Look, do you mind if we...?

I was the youngest of three sisters.

My mum and dad had got divorced when I was two.

But all I remember is we were happy, still.

And everything was fine,

until she got married again and we moved into this place.

Daemons' Roost.

Weird and creepy and reeking of decay.

Of course, that was the whole reason he'd bought it, my stepfather.

He'd made all his money from these cheesy horror movies.

He was so into all that stuff.

The legend of Jacob Surtees, who used to live there.

He even based one of his films on.

Argh!

Of course, I wasn't old enough to understand all that.

All I knew was my mother was starting to change.

It was so frightening to watch,

like some kind of sinister force had found its way into her soul.

Everywhere she went,

every corner of the house seemed to terrify her out of her wits.

SOBBING

After we'd all gone to bed at night, she'd just always be crying.

I'm scared.

And I'll never forget the first time I heard her mention it -

the hobgoblin.

Like this was the thing that frightened her more than

anything else in the world.

Then, one day, they found her.

And it was like nothing would ever be the same again.

And I can't remember how soon it was after that -

I had no idea of time...

both my sisters...

Something horrible happened that, to this day, has never been explained.

The hobgoblin.

I know - how does that fit in with the demons?

But it's something that's stayed with me all these years.

PHONE BEEPS

Oh! Looks like my husband's found something.

No, I just thought this might take us somewhere. Jacob Surtees.

Professing his powers of sorcery and black magic.

Author of this book's in no doubt whatsoever, he was just

a very clever con man. And like most con men, he says, would have

loved to ensure his cleverness was one day fully appreciated.

And he thinks this could be a key passage,

from one of his manuscripts. Listen...

"To you who seek a light within the darkness

"That lamp, on my account, shall not be lit.

"Though such a course be palpably beneath me now

"The clue is in the foot that does not fit."

The foot that does not fit. Whose foot?

Things you hang on to.

East Germany, Yugoslavia...

South Vietnam!

God, I'm old.

Your first conjuring set.

-That was actually my brother's.

-Oh.

Yeah, one of the many things he got me started on.

-I didn't realise it was Terry that...

-Yeah.

He had a lot to answer for,

one way or another.

And what have we here? Oh, look, an old school report!

"JW Creek. Age - 15.

"Sex - he seems to find this a struggle."

Oh, no, sorry, that's German.

And it says you were in the school play.

"In the end-of-term production of A Tale Of Two Cities,

"he touched all the girls with his..."

"Portrayal..."

"..portrayal of Sydney Carton,

"ably evoking the character's final act of self-sacrifice."

He pretends to be the Frenchman Charles Darnay,

so he can take his place on the guillotine.

Ends up losing his head so that another man may live.

Many would say it was my finest hour.

Oh, look at you.

I wonder why you didn't take it up, then. Acting. You'd have been good.

Yeah, that would have gone down a treat with my father(!)

I might as well have told him I liked wearing bras.

Cos this was all completely real to me, at the time.

Jonathan! Jonathan! Come and see what I found in the woods!

He was eight, I was four.

Told me he'd met these magic pixies in the wood,

who'd given him special powers.

Course, I didn't believe a word of it.

But then I started finding these little letters under my pillow,

in tiny spindly writing, from the pixies,

telling me it was all completely true -

he was now a fully qualified wizard,

and if I didn't watch my step, he was going to turn me into a newt.

He was an evil sod.

And so did you, then?

What?

Like wearing bras?

What ARE you talking about?

No, it doesn't matter. I'm not judging you.

For goodness' sake.

Right, well, I'll leave you to it, then, shall I?

I don't suppose you've given any more thought to...

I'm not going to build a scarecrow.

That looks like your mum, I'm sure it does.

Oh, my mother's better-looking than that!

MUSIC: Funeral March Of A Marionette by Charles Gounod

(Foot... Foot...)

(Yes!)

'Well, it's my belief he's not referring to a foot on a leg

'or 12 inches at all -

'but to a student of poetry, of course,'

a "foot" is also a metrical unit in a line of verse.

And if you go through the whole thing - "To you who seek a light

"within the darkness

"That lamp, on my account, shall not be lit.

"Though such a course be palpably beneath me now

"The clue is in the foot that does not fit."

It's the third line that's wrong -

there's one syllable too many at the end.

"Beneath me now" is the foot that doesn't fit.

And "beneath me now" - surely - can only refer to one place.

If he left us something behind to explain what he did,

it could literally still be there.

Underneath him, in his grave.

This is going to be fun.

-STEPHEN:

-Yeah, and best avoided in broad daylight.

If my wife ever finds out I've committed this sacrilege,

she'll brain me.

It can't be sacrilege, Mr Ryman, when he's the disciple of Satan.

Now, get digging.

Now, then, let's see if our friend's theory is...

ALL YELL

You see?

Yeah, I told you you'd come up with a masterpiece, once you got going.

What is it exactly?

What do you mean, "What is it"? It's obvious.

Oh, yes! Of course, it's brilliant!

Phill Jupitus.

Phill Jupitus?! It's Alfred Hitchcock.

It's a play on the famous publicity stills he did for The Birds.

Oh, yes. No, very funny.

It's funny! Maybe not laugh-out-loud, but it's...

-Mm-hm.

-It's witty by implication.

What you've got is a scarecrow that's scaring crows, by means of

a person who made a very scary movie about crows scaring people,

so it's subliminally ironic.

OK. You don't think, if you got two bulging ping-pong ball eyes...

I'm not dumbing it down just to get a cheap laugh.

-No, no, you're right.

-Thank you.

Anyway, I think I got there in the end, with that unicorn business.

The horn on the zebra was done in poisoned paint,

which the murderer then got to drip into her glass,

somehow or other, during the middle of the night.

Very, very good.

Wrong, but very good.

No, they tested the paint, it was just harmless watercolour.

Fairly obviously, that whole unicorn thing was just incidental.

The fact that the picture was only loosely stuck to the wall

with Blu-Tack was the clue.

What if it had slipped down beforehand through 90 degrees,

and then something had splashed it, causing it to dribble,

so that when it was put back, it just LOOKED like a horn?

And clearly something had landed in the water,

which could only have come from that shelf, just above.

A shelf that had been very slightly raised at one end,

so something small and round and lethal would be

exactly channelled down towards the spot where her glass stood,

and just invisibly dissolve in the water.

Let's say the book she's reading has been deliberately replaced,

about halfway along.

The second she retrieves it, the whole thing's set in motion.

A few telltale crystals they found behind the books

just about sealed it.

Of course, they never did track down this mysterious Anti-Money

character, though they'd have had a hard time in any case to prove...

PHONE RINGS

Jonathan Creek. Hello.

Ah, Mr Wilkie.

Sorry? Daemons' what?

No, what phone message was this?

The coffin I have reburied, Mr Clore.

And as long as you know, it wasn't my idea, any of this -

I didn't want any part of it.

Whatever it was that flew out of that thing, it's fair to say

it's put a slight dent on our policy of cynical detachment.

God help us all.

I know you know so much.

So much you can never tell us.

If only you could tell us.

Oh, my God! Call an ambulance!

Call an ambulance!

I'm afraid...

..that won't be necessary.

'So you're saying they're all out there, digging up

'this bloke's grave, as you do, in the middle of the night?!'

We're talking about a coffin that's been buried underneath

-six feet of soil, for 150 years.

-MACHINE BEEPS

And not one but three witnesses, Jonathan!

'OK, I think we need to put these theories about resident demons

'on hold for a bit, don't we? And try and be sensible.'

Sorry, could you just excuse me

while I turn off the washing machine, or it'll drive us mad.

Oh! My godfathers!

'Hello? Are you still there? What's going on?'

Yes, er, I don't want to worry you, Jonathan,

but there's been a bit of an incident.

I'm still a little hazy as to why you happened to have

a life-size effigy of Mr Creek in your sitting room,

but then the personal proclivities of the clergy have always been

a closed book to me - and are not germane to this present inquiry.

Suffice to say, it's served to alert us to the fact that Tyree

obviously has a score to settle,

and it won't take him long to rumble what's happened and try again.

Rest assured, we are on the case,

but 24-hour protection is not a luxury we can currently afford.

In the meantime, I'd think seriously about switching bases,

maybe to somewhere nice and safe, and out of the way,

where he's less likely to find you.

I don't know if anywhere occurs at all,

that would fit that particular bill.

Jonathan, hi. Come in.

Stephen. How have you been?

-And you've not met Polly.

-Hello.

Yes, out of one frying pan - thanks to you -

and into another fire, it seems. I gather Mr Wilkie's, erm...

Yes, filled us in on pretty much everything.

And listen, it's open-ended,

so feel free to stick around for as long as it takes.

-Phillipa's lived here six years, nearly...

-That's right.

..nursing him right up to the end,

so she'll be able to answer most of your questions.

Oh, God! Do you know what?

Just having you here in the house - I'm feeling safer already.

It's, erm, not what you'd call pokey here, exactly, is it?

Well, we don't even use...

So it couldn't have worked out better, then, really, could it(?)

Stalked by a homicidal, knife-wielding psychopath -

plus a nice romantic getaway for two on the set of the Amityville Horror.

You wonder why I try and filter all this weirdness out of our life?

Because I still have this rather quaint affection for breathing.

SHE SNIFFS

Jonathan - dead rat. Oh, God, what do we do?

I'll get them to send one up.

Now, from this picture of the place, as it originally was,

you've got some other outbuildings and an old chapel here,

which have all mostly disappeared.

If we believe all this guff about an underground dungeon,

where grown men were sent flying across the room,

it does make you wonder if...

Jonathan!

Oh, yeah, sorry.

Dead rat. Remove.

Any preference which one?

When was it electromagnetism first kicked in?

Wasn't there some magician, about that time,

who used it in one of his tricks?

Robert-Houdin - The Light And Heavy Chest.

Be around the mid-1800s.

Yeah, it would have to be a pretty powerful force

to whisk people like that 50 feet through the air.

Or, alternatively, a very weak force.

Erm, this letter, Alison, you say he sent to you...

About two weeks ago.

It doesn't say very much, just how sorry he was we'd lost

contact all those years, and now it was time I "learned the truth".

Second page is just directions to the house and how

he hopes we'll both be able to settle down here.

Mmm. But I wonder why he'd do that.

Put the date again at the top,

which is four days after the date on the first page.

Can't have taken him five days to write,

what, a couple of dozen lines?

But what about last night, guys?

That was like nothing human came out of there.

Don't know. There's definitely some stuff going on round here that

someone's desperate to keep a lid on, but...

..how the hell it all fits together...

A lot of CCTV around the house, I can't help noticing.

Well, there's another mystery.

Evidently, something he'd ordered up just before she came.

As to why, your guess is as good as mine.

So, your wife having an early night?

Feeling the strain of events, I think.

POLLY SCREAMS AND GASPS

Oh!

-Oh!

-Oh, sorry, didn't mean to scare you.

Been a bit of a day, hasn't it? All in all.

Yes, and I'm feeling a little queasy, Mr Wilkie.

Cos I forgot to give them to you, didn't I?

Earlier on - your buttons. All now safely retrieved,

courtesy of a quick-acting emetic, soon as I got home.

Oh...

-They HAVE been through the dishwasher.

-Ah.

Tell you what you need, Polly, is

to suck on as many ice cubes as you can.

-No better cure for nausea.

-Ah...

Such a shame they only ever got to see him as he was at the end.

I really believe he was terribly fond of her.

The fact that she came back will have meant a lot to him.

But he never shared it with you - anything from his past -

that would have helped us now?

Well, sometimes, when he'd had a drink or two,

you'd see him loosen up a little, but...

..he was under strictest orders to keep off alcohol.

Paid no attention to that.

I just gave up in the end, trying to frustrate his little schemes -

like filling up the ice trays with neat vodka.

He could be quite a wily old customer when he wanted.

POLLY SCREAMS

Oh, my God! Oh, my God, no!

No! Agh! Agh! Can this get any worse?!

Oh, God, you made me jump!

I was trying NOT to make you jump!

What, have you gone completely blind now?

No, she was just telling me,

the undertakers couldn't make it till the morning.

So, what do we think about your amazing detective friend, Mr Creek?

Doesn't give a whole lot away, does h...?

Stephen?

Hello?

Somebody down here?

Who is that?

Stephen?

LIGHT SWITCH CLICKS REPEATEDLY

Come on, this isn't funny.

Stephen?

Are you in here?

What's happening?

ALISON SCREAMS

See, I just don't buy this.

2nd of August and the 6th of August. You're not telling me

he left four days between writing these two pages?

Someone's trying to be clever here, but not clever enough.

Is there a fire alarm going off somewhere?

Says it's time she learned the truth, and then goes into

lengthy directions about how to get to the house.

Highly significant, you'd have to say.

The minute I finish orbiting this light fitting, I tell you,

I'm out of here.

Bloody man!

Highly significant - how?

You look at this second date again, more closely,

and then compare it to the first one - what do you notice?

Ohh!

What?

The ink on the "th" and the "Aug" is a very slightly different colour,

and a brave but unsuccessful attempt

has been made to copy the handwriting.

Conclusion - they were added in afterwards, by someone else,

to what was already there.

Which was just the number six.

Now disguised to look like a date

which, together with the rather abrupt change in topic,

between one sheet and the other, surely only points to one thing -

that pages two to five of the original letter

that Clore wrote to Alison were removed before it got to her,

by person or persons unknown, to stop her reading about "the truth".

GROANING

MOANING

SCREAMING

BIRDS CAW

Oh, everyone having a lie-in?

Mr Wilkie had a christening to attend to, and I'm not sure

where Mr and Mrs Belkin have got to this m...

And that's absolutely everything, Alison, you can remember?

You have no recollection of being taken into this place

or out again afterwards?

Oh, if only I AM going mad.

Having nightmares, sleepwalking, anything but that...

Sounds to me as if whatever they drugged you with had

some kind of hallucinogenic effect, maybe? Or...

So where is he?

You say he's not in the house.

Oh, dear God.

DOORBELL RINGS

Oh, sorry. Funeral directors.

I'll have to, er...

Yes, of course.

Your poor stepfather.

Must have been such a shock when he...

Just before he died, it's like he was trying to say something.

With his eyes.

And his chair was just there and she was next to him.

Seemed like he kept looking back and forth...

First, at my mobile phone on the table, and then over to that door,

three or four times, and...then...

I don't know, he just, he just...

Oh, it's OK, you'll be getting drowsy.

Best if you just lie down, try and sleep it off.

End of the day, you're going to find out -

it's just one of those scary things that never actually happened.

I promise, because, well, how COULD it have happened?

"Just one of those scary things"?

The poor girl was in bits!

Anyway, you don't believe it's possible she saw all that?

Her husband being magically teleported into a furnace,

by a demented Satan worshipper?

Hmm. The teleportation part, I can certainly believe.

It's the demented Satan worshipper I'm having more trouble with.

-What?

-PHONE BEEPS

Oh, it's a picture from Nina, with her scarecrow.

Yeah, very nice, but I'm not in the mood right now.

Scarecrow. Oh! Deus ex machina. That would CERTAINLY do it.

I Think it's high time, don't YOU, we had

a scout round that grave out there?

So, we on a ghost hunt, then, now?

Please don't tell me you're planning to dig all that up again.

Not unless we have to.

If my first instinct was anywhere near correct,

about that routine in the torture chamber,

then this coffin thing shouldn't be too much of a headache.

Doesn't even bear thinking about.

Some stupid old piece of folklore

that was completely impossible in the first place.

You don't really think that poor man might have...?

The way it happened, quite obviously, was a trick,

cleverly designed to spook everyone.

Same way it did all those other women that Surtees brought there

in order to terrify them into surren...

Ah.

Aha!

Now, then.

Oh, a rusty ring! All is solved(!)

Come on, a rusty ring that was once part of...

Ah, think I'm starting to see...

Am I?

Knowing that one day someone was going to fathom out that clue,

as a final parting shot, in order to scare the living crap out of them,

he sets up what is essentially a very high-powered jack-in-the-box.

And a pretty nifty piece of work, you have to say,

to stand that test of time.

So he was never even buried here in the first place.

Oh!

You might be right. There's another

piece of the spring here as well, look.

But we still haven't found anything that tells us who's behind

all that other...

No, the fact we haven't found anything might tell us

EXACTLY who's behind it.

PHONE RINGS

It just seems an unlikely coincidence -

this magic dungeon makes a reappearance

immediately after that grave was opened the other night.

Oh, do you think maybe that was the entrance to it?

Or else furnished some clue to the entrance.

Underground crypt of some kind? Now very recently accessed -

somewhere round here, beneath our feet.

Depends how good a job they made, I suppose, of covering up afterwards.

-Mmm.

-Might be a hands and knees job.

Start at the front, maybe, then work our way round?

And, of course, what we still don't know is,

who was it killed that first wife in your clever poisoning case?

And if they had a grudge against both of them,

why wait all this time to take out the husband?

If that IS what they've done.

Or else, are they entirely unrelated?

Remembering our "Anti-Money" character, from those death threats,

who was supposedly killing for political reasons, but it was

MRS Belkin who was drawing all the big bankers' bonuses,

so why take it all out on a research chemist,

who has no connection with the world of high finance of any ki...?

What?

I can't believe I missed that.

Six years it's been sitting there, I never saw it.

-Saw what?

-Research chemist.

Oh, if you want a detective brain-teaser,

that one takes the biscuit.

Funny how a thing can bother you at the time - under the surface -

but you just let it go.

That signature - "Anti-Money".

Well, I suppose it makes sense for someone who's deeply opposed

to the whole culture of capitalism, but...

Could it be a coincidence? Could it be a double bluff?

Or could it be that whoever it was that murdered his wife

was daring to taunt us by declaring their identity in some kind of code?

"Anti-Money".

-Sorry?

-Just need to check that I'm remembering it right

And I am.

What do you reckon?

Antimony.

Toxic metallic element. Atomic number 51.

Chemical symbol Sb.

Sb.

Oh!

Too much of a stretch, surely! Stephen Belkin?

What, deliberately staged that whole thing

to look impossible, so that he'd be accused of murder?

And then got you in to prove it was someone else?

Wouldn't be unheard of.

If I hadn't got there by myself,

he could have gently nudged me in the right directions.

And looked at from this distance,

doesn't it all seem just a little too perfect?

That painting on the wall supposedly slipping down that very night.

And the splash mark from the water that very conveniently

created the horn on the zebra?

It's just the kind of things he knew I'd pick up on.

Ugh!

Stephen...

Ugh!

SHE GASPS FOR BREATH

Well, I don't know.

You're going to need a lot more than that to convince her

she married a killer.

I know.

I know.

You knew about this.

All along. Everything.

The hobgoblin.

A lot of flattened grass just here.

I think we could be getting warm.

Oh, well done, you.

-If I had a biscuit...

-Don't push it, sunshine.

JONATHAN GRUNTS

You ready to face the demons?

Let's get on with it.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

And, of course, you know exactly what's on the other side of this.

Well, there was only ever one possibility

that would tie together all those first-hand accounts

of demonic powers and a boring old thing called the real world.

DOOR CREAKS

Careful how you go...

LOUD CREAKING

90 degree shift in the viewers' perspective,

and there was no mystery to it at all.

What IS that?

A work of art in itself.

Certainly puts all those village scarecrows to shame.

One of the signature tricks of 19th-century magic.

It's a very skilfully constructed automaton.

The most persuasive part of the whole deception.

Don't know why it took me so long to tumble.

Here, we presume, is our "fiery furnace in the wall".

Oil of some kind.

Piped in, maybe, or some kind of supply tank somewhere.

Very recently ignited.

POLLY SIGHS

Do we really want to see what's under here?

Just curious as to where it was all controlled from.

A handy little recess, suitably disguised.

CLUNKING AND RATTLING

DOOR SLAMS

And this is where he worked it. Simple, but effective.

So when they all woke up on this thing,

I suppose they'd be in such a drugged state to start with...

And strapped on so tight, they'd have no sense of gravity.

Ah, yes. Your relatively weak physical force.

Well, you have to hand it to these Victorian engineers -

they certainly built things to last.

So who the hell do you think is behind all...?

POLLY GASPS

Where is he? Where is he?

Jonathan Creek! Show yourself!

Well, he's, erm...

-Come on.

-He's, erm...

I'm not here to play Hunt The Thimble.

Creek! You and me have got some unfinished business to sort out!

CREAKING AND RATTLING

GRUNTING AND SQUEALING

Yeah, that's going to work(!) Piece of shit Wizard Of Oz routine!

I don't think you're hearing me!

This floor's going to get very red and sticky in a minute.

Wait, erm, how did you...?

Yeah, it took a while.

One of your neighbours had some very helpful suggestions.

OK, I'm not waiting for Christmas, Mr Creek!

It's you or the young lady here.

Decision time!

TYREE YELLS

POLLY SCREAMS

ALL YELL TYREE SNARLS

Come here!

-Get the matches.

-What?

They're on the floor.

You're dead!

JONATHAN YELLS

You're dead now, Creek!

Oh!

Get off!

Oh, quick!

POLLY SOBS

ALISON SOBS

Yeah, we will.

Don't think he couldn't tell you were holding something back -

who you think it was behind all that last night.

There's one very obvious candidate, but...

my track record here's been pretty iffy so far, I could be way off.

There's too much stuff pulling in the wrong direction.

Hang on a sec. Is that the photo she sent?

Nina? With her scarecrow?

What?

Because when you told me that she told you...

Oh, you see? Too many easy assumptions.

Now the options start to open again,

cos when he was staring at her mobile - Clore -

and then through the open doorway,

and then there's the mystery of all the last-minute security cameras,

which surely just about seals it.

Unlikely as it may seem, I think we have our killer.

Alison, I'm so sorry. I am so sorry.

If there's anything I can do...

Good evening.

-Er, gin and tonic, please.

-Certainly, sir.

He's on his way.

Thank you.

Hello, sir.

Ryman, a table for eight o'clock.

Thank you.

Good evening, sir.

-A glass of red wine, please.

-Yes, sir.

Mr Ryman? We were never properly introduced, at the house.

Wendell Wilkie, and this is Jonathan Creek, and Polly.

You can probably guess how much we already know.

This is more in the way of a mopping-up operation.

Creek.

You were the one...

Helped Stephen Belkin get away with murdering his wife.

A crime for which, we assume, you've now brought him to justice,

in a suitably grisly fashion.

I'm guessing it wasn't exactly planned that way,

you were just on his tail,

ready to strike when the conditions were right.

I don't think any of us see you as a professional hit man,

so someone with a personal stake in the case?

That picture of a grazing zebra,

painted by his niece, suggested a family connection overseas.

So, a close relative, maybe? Someone in the domestic security business,

who would have had the perfect cover

to hang around the house all day and monitor his target.

Feel free to correct me at any point.

I deny everything, naturally.

And knowing how shaky your theories were first time round,

I don't give much for their chances this time.

I suppose you're going to say that was found at the scene of the crime.

Good luck with the jury.

Actually, I borrowed it from your jacket pocket to light a candle.

Forgot to put it back.

Two from the same hotel - we thought it was odds-on we'd find you here.

Well, certain facts, I won't try to conceal.

Imelda - yes - my wife's sister.

Gifted, sweet-natured, but far too trusting.

Never saw through him,

never saw it coming.

That was his great gift, I suppose. The mask of innocence.

Predatory, reptilian,

and more than happy to bide his time.

It turns out she wasn't worth quite as much as he thought,

so he had no choice but to bail out early,

and look elsewhere.

So you've managed to keep close tabs on him all this time,

and what happened next?

You heard that he'd married again, to Alison.

A young lady who stands to inherit a very large property and estate.

What are the chances history's going to repeat itself?

You're still looking for proof of Belkin's guilt, so maybe

you'll catch something on one of your cameras that'll give him away.

Clore's final stroke is your stroke of luck.

You turn up on the doorstep,

claiming the work's already been arranged.

The nurse takes your word for it. Clore, by this time,

is in no state to say otherwise.

Or is he?

Before he died that day, he did try to say something,

with his eyes.

Seemed to be staring, first at a mobile phone,

and then at an open doorway.

A doorway through which he would have seen...

..the edge of a film poster, and the letter Y.

Too hammy - do you think - even for the mind of Nathan Clore,

to try and put those two clues together?

To think that what he was actually trying to tell us was

that the man standing next to him

was a "phoney".

When they roped you into that grave-digging job is when

it all went south, I'm afraid.

Spring-loaded phantom shoots out of an empty coffin,

and disappears into thin air?

I don't think so.

Far more likely Surtees did leave instructions there, as we thought.

A map, or a plan, or something,

that led you down into that chamber, where it all fell into your lap.

A means of disposal that was just nasty and ritualistic enough

to tick all the boxes.

We know he went outside to take a phone call.

We can only guess who he thought was ringing him -

certainly no-one he wanted his wife to know about.

MUFFLED YELLING

HE SCREAMS

Prospects of it getting traced back to YOU are already pretty slim.

And, with Alison there as a witness,

there's even a chance that it'll be put down to the "evil forces"

in the house...

..if you believe in such things.

Ah, well, my flight leaves at 11.

I had thought of squeezing in a bit of supper, but maybe not.

There WAS an evil force in that house.

I think you'll find it's gone now.

Shouldn't we...?

Take a moment to reflect, before we rush to judgment.

Nina's husband - remind me what he does again?

He's a taxi driver. Why?

Course he is.

PHONE BEEPS

Oh. Alison.

Suggesting ten o'clock tomorrow for coffee.

State she'll still be in.

Can you imagine?

-Yeah, here!

-Ace!

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

Yeah. One, two, one, two, one, two, one, two!

What are you doing?!

What the hell are you...? Leave that alone! Leave that...

Oh!

Weirdest thing, isn't it?

The way you can feel about someone, that's so intense, and so real...

..and now I have to tell myself that was all a lie.

I suppose I always knew...

..when I came back here.

It's like...

..my eyes were going to be opened to stuff you'd never want to see.

The truth he spoke about in that letter

troubled him every hour of every day.

When I realised, for whatever reason, you hadn't read it...

I don't know - was it my place to say something?

And then...events just seemed to take over, and...

Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks.

It was me that dragged you into all this, so...

If I'd just been a bit smarter, in the first place...

I'm sorry.

He was a very clever man.

Found his way into this no trouble, at any rate.

I suppose it suited his purposes to keep me in the dark, until...

Basically, what killed my mum and my sisters...

I can't even try to pronounce it.

You hear about these very rare blood diseases.

This one was, like, only a handful of cases ever recorded.

In the space of 18 months...

Three lives.

All down to some shared gene or other.

And so unpredictable.

There was no way of telling whether I'd last a month, a year, or...

So, wow. You know?

This place, for you, then, held only horrors.

While there was still a chance you might have a life ahead of you,

he felt the kindest thing was...

Then, in the end, with his own time running out,

and the risk you might be planning a family...

So all those scary stories about...

Little worlds you build as a child.

You never really leave, do you?

And now, obviously...

# Ring a ring o' roses... #

Can I ever bring myself to imagine what she had to go through?

SHE GASPS

SILENCE

Leukocytes and lymphocytes. White cells and red cells.

At five years old, what other sense could I make of that word?

The haemoglobin...

Just seemed like it had the power of life and death and...

..whatever it was, one day it would come for me.

It hasn't yet.

Maybe it never will.

It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done.

Come again, Mr Creek?

Ah, there you go.

Well done. That wasn't easy.

Listen, I really do appreciate this.

What can I say?

Yeah, this is definitely going to work.

And I think, with the big ping-pong ball eyes...

Oh, yeah, that'll be wicked.

It'll be hysterical!

Congratulations, congratulations,

one and all, on a most splendid joint effort, if I may say.

And I hope you'll all agree - the best man won?

Oh, definitely.

Definitely!

Big improvement on your first draft, by the way.

Phill Jupitus - not that well-known round here.

Well done! Congratulations! First prize!

Come on, Miss, have a photograph.

You know there is a hosepipe ban in this village?

LAUGHTER

Looking for...?

Oh, no, just a final rummage.

All done now.

Won't be sorry to see the back of it all.

Little worlds you build, as a child.

Hobgoblins. And pixies.

I know. Those tiny letters your brother wrote.

Probably found them all when I got older, you know,

and just chucked them, like you do.

To prove you didn't believe in fairies.

He'd never have wanted me to keep them.

No.

You don't really think I liked wearing bras?

Hey, we live in enlightened times.