Crime writer and snail lover Patricia Highsmith investigates a bizarre double murder. What really happened with Mary Shelley's polycule at Lake Geneva last summer?
Patricia Highsmith, crime writer, snail friend, and lovable weirdo known for her shabby trenchcoat, eccentric habits, and possibly imaginary wife, investigates a bizarre double murder. Two people who don't know each other, or if you will, "strangers", meet on a rail vehicle, or as it were, "train", and plan the perfect crime. What really happened with Mary Shelley and her polycule at Lake Geneva last summer?
Content notes: swearing, violence, murder, death including by train and drowning.
CAST:
with
plus special guest stars
Helen Arney is a science presenter and musical comedienne who has appeared in TV, radio and theatre across the world with her unique mix of stand-up, songs and science. For more information, see helenarney.com.
Mike McShane, veteran of Whose Line is it Anyway?, kindly agreed to record a cameo scream in support of Waverley Care, who provide help to people living with HIV and hepatitis in Scotland. Donations can be made at https://waverleycare.org
Script by Robin Johnson, edited by Bitter Karella, inspired by Patricia Highsmith's novel Strangers on a Train and its film adaptation by Alfred Hitchcock. Elements from copyrighted works are used for purposes of parody and comment.
This episode takes many liberties with history, the Midnight Pals characters are not necessarily representative of the real-life authors with whom they share names (except when they are), and Submitted for the Approval of the Midnight Pals should on no account be regarded as a historical source... but...
A transcript of this episode can be found at https://midnight-pals.simplecast.com/episodes/s01e05-the-tale-of-the-strangers-on-a-train/transcript
The Midnight Pals is the creation of Bitter Karella ©
Subscribe to Submitted for the Approval of the Midnight Pals on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Pocket Cast, or wherever you find podcasts. If you enjoy the show, please consider leaving us a rating or review. For more information, see https://midnightpals.com
[THEME MUSIC PLAYS: A SPOOKY ORGAN PIECE IN 3/4 TIME, BUILT AROUND TWELVE CHIMES OF A CHURCH BELL]
VOICEOVER (Rodrigo Borges): Submitted for the Approval of the Midnight Pals, created by Bitter Karella.
[MUSIC PLAYS OUT.
OWL HOOTS. FADE IN AMBIENCE OF FOREST AT NIGHT—WIND IN TREES, CRICKETS. CAMPFIRE CRACKLING NEARBY]
EDGAR ALLAN POE (Rodrigo): We have a special guest storyteller tonight, it’s—
PATRICIA HIGHSMITH (Kate Davoli): That’s right, it’s me, your bro Patricia Highsmith.
STEPHEN KING (Jason Robinson)/HP LOVECRAFT (Robin Johnson): Hi, Patricia!
POE: And Patricia’s here to tell us all—
HIGHSMITH: Mr King, did you bring your train set like I asked?
KING: Oh, it’s not a train set. It’s a Hornby double-A-gauge scale replica of a Seaboard Railroad Alco RS-2 locomotive.
[SOUND OF PIECES OF TRAIN SET BEING POURED OUT OF BOX]
HIGHSMITH: Now, I want you to lay the tracks in a circle round the fire, would you, guys?
KING: Sure! Edgar and Clive, You take that side. Mary—
MARY SHELLEY (Rebecca D’Souza): I’m not ten years old, Steve. I don’t play with toy trains.
KING: It is not a toy train! It’s a Hornby RS-2—
CLIVE BARKER (Sister Indica): This is kinda fun.
[SOUND OF MODEL TRAIN TRACK BEING LAID OUT]
DEAN KOONTZ (Wren Montgomery): [UNSUCCESSFULLY THUMPING PIECE INTO PLACE] I can’t get my piece to fit.
KING: You’ve got it upside down there, Dean.
KOONTZ: Ohhh. [TRACK SECTION SNAPS INTO PLACE] I have a question... what’s a train?
KING: Oh. OK, you know how that crappy rockets guy keeps saying he’s gonna make driverless cars?
KOONTZ: Yeah!
KING: Well, not everyone remembers, but we actually used to have them. They were called trains.
LOVECRAFT: What? Trains had drivers.
BARKER: You guys know trains are still a thing, right?
KING: (MOURNFULLY) We’ll not see their like again.
KOONTZ: I’d love a driverless car! I could pretend like my dog was driving. One time I tried to get Trixiebell to drive my mom’s car... but she crashed into some guy.
HIGHSMITH: Say, Steve, weren’t you hit by a car once? Yeah, I remember the news story, ’cause the driver said he was distracted by a dog in the vehicle. Ain’t that a coincidence?
KOONTZ: Uuhhh...
KING: We’ll talk later, Dean.
HIGHSMITH: Anyway, are you guys done setting up that railroad?
KING: Yeah... [FINAL PIECE OF TRACK CLICKING INTO PLACE] Neat job. Who wants the controls?
LOVECRAFT: Oh, I’ll do it. I’ll make the trains run on time.
[SOUND OF DIAL BEING TURNED. MOTOR OF A MODEL TRAIN STARTS]
HIGHSMITH: One more thing. [TRAIN STOPS] Bros, I’d like you to meet my co-storytellers. [SLIMY NOISES]
KING: Oh, you’re not gonna put them on my—
HIGHSMITH: This is Guy...
KING: (DISGUSTED) Oh, god.
HIGHSMITH: ...and Bruno. [CLICKS OF SNAILS BEING PLACED ONTO MODEL TRAIN]
KOONTZ: What are those?
HIGHSMITH: (PROUDLY) Guy is an eastern flatcoil and Bruno is a grey-foot lancetooth.
KOONTZ: Oh. I thought they were snails.
SHELLEY: They are. Patricia’s got a thing about snails.
KING: Now look here, Patricia, I want those gosh-darn snails off my gosh-darn train!
HIGHSMITH: No. They’re my companions for the evening. No snails, no story.
KING: But—
POE: There’s nothing in the rules that says a snail can’t tell a story, Steve.
KING: Oh... just tell them not to get slime in the smoke generator.
HIGHSMITH: Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story... [MAGICAL SPARKLE] The Tale of the Strangers on a Train. (PAUSE)
[EPISODE THEME PLAYS: A PIECE ON STRINGS IN THE STYLE OF A HITCHCOCK FILM SOUNDTRACK]
HIGHSMITH: You can start the train now, Mr Lovecraft.
LOVECRAFT: (IMITATING TRAIN WHISTLE) Choo, choo!
[MODEL TRAIN NOISE STARTS, CONTINUING THROUGHOUT ALL CAMPFIRE SCENES. SOUND OSCILLATES SLIGHTLY TO INDICATE TRAIN GOING ROUND IN CIRCLE.]
KING: (GRUMPILY) Actually it’s a diesel locomotive, so...
HIGHSMITH: Now, on this train are two disgusting, slimy people, represented here by these magnificent molluscs. These two guys haven’t seen each other before in their lives. But they happen to meet, quite randomly, on this rail journey. Everyone got that?
SHELLEY: Yeah. They’re on a train and they’re strangers. I don’t think we really needed the Snail Mobile Repertory Theatre to explain that, Patricia.
BARKER: (AS IF TALKING TO CUTE PETS) Hi, Guy! Hi, Bruno! [THE SNAILS SQUELCH IN RESPONSE]
HIGHSMITH: And these strangers happen to sit across from each other in the dining car. [RUMMAGING IN POCKETS] There’s a bit of mouldy lettuce for you, Guy. Bruno has a more sensitive hepatopancreas, so he’s having the vintage mushroom casserole. [SLOPPING NOISE] Bon appetit, Bruno.
LOVECRAFT: Ewwww.
KING: Oh, my beautiful RS-2.
HIGHSMITH: So these strangers get to talking, about... I dunno. Small talk. (SQUEAKY SNAIL VOICES) “Oh I’m sorry, did I accidentally brush you with my pseudopod? My name’s Bruno, what’s yours?” “Hi Bruno, I’m Guy!” “What do you do, Guy?” “Oh, the usual. You know, radula scraping, secreting mucopolysaccharides”—(TALKING NORMALLY) when one of them suddenly changes the subject. (SQUEAKY SNAIL VOICE) “Hey, Guy, did I ever tell you about my idea for the perfect murder?”
KING: The perfect murder? Is there such a thing?
BARKER: I don’t think there can be. Without the thought someone might catch you, there’d be no thrill.
POE: Ah, but if the perfect murder didn’t exist, it wouldn’t be perfect. Not existing would be a pretty glaring imperfection. So it must exist. (PAUSE) Mary, are you not gonna tell me that’s, uh, (DREADFUL ATTEMPT AT BRITISH ACCENT) ontological fuckin’ bollocks?
BARKER: Ooh, switchblade in three, two...
[PAUSE]
KING: Mary?
SHELLEY: (DISTANTLY) Oh. Yeah. No.
LOVECRAFT: Whoah.
KOONTZ: She didn’t even slash him.
BARKER: Mary, are you all right? You look kinda... flashbacky.... (ECHOING] flashbacky... flashbacky...
[FLASHBACK SOUND EFFECT.
FADE IN AMBIENCE OF AN OPEN-TOP CARRIAGE IN AN EARLY STEAM TRAIN. WEAK WHISTLE, BOILING WATER IN ENGINE, SLOW CLANKS, RICKETY WOODEN CARRIAGES SHIFTING. BIRDSONG NEARBY.]
JANE WILLIAMS (Hannah Brown): I don’t feel well.
EDWARD ELLERKER WILLIAMS (David Court): Don’t worry, darling. I know it’s terrifying for your delicate constitution, but technology is our friend. You know, soon these “rail ways” will criss-cross the world.
JANE: (SARCASTIC) Yeah, fascinating. Can’t wait.
EDWARD: Did you happen to catch the serial number of the locomotive? I’ve a strange urge to write it down in a notebook. (RAISING VOICE) Does anybody have a notebook?
PERCY SHELLEY (LOU SUTCLIFFE): Take one of mine. I always carry a notebook or three, I’m something of a poet. Percy Bysshe Shelley, at your service.
EDWARD: Edward Ellerker Williams. How kind, thank you... do you happen to know the number of the locomotive?
SHELLEY: It’s 1. It’s the first fuckin’ train in the world, of course it’s 1.
PERCY: Allow me to introduce my beloved, Mary Wollstonecraft-Godwin.
SHELLEY: ’Sup, fucker.
PERCY: Excuse her colourful language. Mary fancies herself a writer too, you know.
EDWARD: Oh, really? How frightfully amusing.
SHELLEY: I’m working on something about a massive monster that destroys the life of an annoying patronising dude.
EDWARD: That is lovely. And this is my own betrothed, Jane Cleveland.
JANE: Hello.
SHELLEY: ‘Sup.
EDWARD: Tell you what, why don’t you girls get to know each other while Percy and I retire to the port-and-cigars carriage to discuss the more technical points of steam engineering.
PERCY: Ooh. Capital idea, Mr Williams!
EDWARD: [FADING] Oh, please. Call me Lieutenant Williams.
PERCY: [FADING] And may I say, your girlfriend’s a babe.
TRAIN ENGINEER (Canavan Connolly) (OFF): Ladies and gentlemen, brace yourselves. This train is about to reach dangerous, record speeds of up to twelve miles per hour! I must remind you that science is divided over whether such unimaginable velocities will cause fatal brain damage.
SHELLEY: Fuckin’ nerds.
JANE: I know, right. Ed had me up at five a.m. to come and stand in this bloody open-top soap crate getting pulled along by a kettle on wheels. I could kill him some days.
SHELLEY: I ever tell you about my idea for the perfect murder?
JANE: No. Because we’re total strangers.
SHELLEY: That’s the point. Have some vodka, Jane, I got a flask here. [BOTTLE BEING UNSCREWED, VODKA BEING SWIGGED] You have anyone special in your life?
JANE: Well... [SIPPING VODKA] Ed’s with the East India Company, so we move about a lot. Not much time to make friends.
SHELLEY: Oh, I didn’t mean friends. I mean, like, someone you want to murder.
JANE: Yeah. Ed.
SHELLEY: Huh. Most people don’t answer honestly until I’ve given them a bit more vodka.
JANE: Really? But everybody must want to murder someone, mustn’t they? I mean, otherwise they wouldn’t have to make it illegal.
SHELLEY: That’s exactly what I say. But too bad you can’t murder Ed, ’cause the constables would know it was you. You’d be like, the prime suspect.
JANE: Yeah. It’s too bad. Give us another swig.
SHELLEY: Sure. [VODKA BEING SIPPED] But! What if, by coincidence, somebody else murdered Ed? And they did it while you had a totally solid alibi. No suspicion at all.
JANE: I suppose I wouldn’t be too sorry about that. But who else would murder Ed? Everyone likes him, and his stupid train facts. Look, even your Percy’s besotted with him already.
SHELLEY: Oh, that’s Percy. Falls in love with something new every couple of weeks. Or someone. (TRYING TO STAY ON SUBJECT) But if Ed got murdered, right, by a total stranger, with no connection to either of you, they’d never find them. They could leave clues all over the place, but there’d be no motive, no link, nothing to follow. They’d be stumped, right?
JANE: I mean, sure. But that’s not terribly likely, is it?
SHELLEY: Well... supposing, hypothetically I mean, it wasn’t a total coincidence. Like, if you put someone up to it—someone you just ran into. On a train, for instance. Someone you’d never seen before and would never see again.
JANE: ...riiight. Hypothetically, though, why would this person do that for me? Do they want money?
SHELLEY: Oh, no, money can be traced. I only—I mean, this hypothetical stranger—only wants you to do a favour for me—I mean them—in return.
JANE: (DUBIOUSLY) What sort of favour?
SHELLEY: Well... like you said, everyone’s got someone they want murdered, haven’t they?
JANE: You’re saying...
SHELLEY: That’s how you do the perfect murder. You swap it with someone else’s. A murder swap!
JANE: (PAUSE) Can I have some more vodka?
[AMBIENCE FADES OUT AND BACK IN TO INDICATE TIME PASSING. MARY AND JANE ARE BOTH GIGGLING]
JANE: And the way he talks about bloody trains. (IMITATING EDWARD’S POMPOSITY) “One day, Jane, they’ll lay a ‘rail way’ across the bottom of the sea to the Continent.”
SHELLEY: What? So as well as getting shaken about in a glorified minecart at the speed of a sloth on opium, we’ll all fuckin’ drown?
JANE: I’d like to see more of the Continent. (SIPPING VODKA) If Ed drowned on the way, that’d be even better.
SHELLEY: You know... Percy and I have this other boyfriend, Byron, and he’s got this twink John Polidori, who’s got this house in Switzerland that we go to sometimes—me and Percy and Byron and Byron’s other girlfriend Claire, who’s actually sorta my stepsister... anyway, this house... the Villa Diodati, it’s... (JOKEY “TEMPTING” VOICE) It’s right by a big deep dangerous lake...
JANE: (GIGGLING) Are you serious?
SHELLEY: Well... (LAUGHTER) no, I guess not. I wouldn’t really want Percy dead. He gets on my tits, and he writes soppy poetry, and there was that time he got rusticated for contumacy...
JANE: (MOCK-SCANDALISED) No! Rusticated for contumacy!? (GIGGLES, SWIGS VODKA)
SHELLEY: I know right! And he’s a total fuckin’ wimp. (AFFECTIONATELY) But he’s my wimp, you know? I just wanted to talk about my murder swap idea.
JANE: Aw. Pity. I’d absolutely drown Ed. Shove him in the nearest body of water and watch his face while he thrashes about.
SHELLEY: Oh, no, you can’t do that. You gotta tie up his limbs and wrap him up and weight him down properly, otherwise bits of him’ll float back up, soon as he starts to decompose.
(LAUGHTER)
JANE: Wow. You’ve looked into this stuff.
SHELLEY: (GIGGLING) Did you just... accidentally on purpose brush your hand against my leg?
JANE: ... Maybe.
EDWARD: (RETURNING) Hello again, ladies! Enjoying your frivolous girl talk?
PERCY: (BESOTTED) Hello again, Jane! (NORMALLY) Mary, Edward knows all sorts of astonishing facts about steam engines. Oh! And I wrote a love poem. [RUSTLE OF PAPER]
SHELLEY: Oh, Percy, you shouldn’t have. It’s fuckin’ embarrassing.
PERCY: Go on, read it.
JANE: (TEASING) Yeah come on, Mary. Let’s hear what your devoted wimp wrote about you.
SHELLEY: (SIGH) (READING) “My love is like a red, red rose;
I met her on the train,
She set my heart in passion’s throes”—ugh—
“My gorgeous, lovely Ja—” (PAUSE) (STAMMERING)—Mary. [CRUMPLING PAPER]
PERCY: That’s not—
SHELLEY: Shut up, Percy. (BRIGHTLY, HIDING ANGER) I was just inviting Jane and Edward to join us at the Polidoricule in Switzerland this summer.
JANE: What, really? You... want to go ahead with the plan, then?
SHELLEY: Oh yeah. (FIRMLY) Plan’s on.
PERCY: What a splendid idea!
EDWARD: The... Polidoricule?
PERCY: Oh, it’s such spiffing fun! (LAUGHS) Come on Edward, let’s go and introduce ourselves to the driver. (FADING) See you later, Jane! And, er, the other one.
SHELLEY: Great. Now we’re being pulled along at twinge-neck speeds by a distracted driver.
PERCY (OFF): I say, driver!
ENGINEER (OFF): What? (SURPRISED) Aaaagh!
[SCREECH OF RAILWAY BRAKES. SPLAT OF AN EARLY STEAM ENGINE RUNNING OVER A MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT. TRAIN RATTLES TO A SUDDEN STOP]
WILLIAM HUSKISSON MP (Mike McShane): Aaargh!
MARY SHELLEY/JANE: (REACTING TO TRAIN JERKING) Oh!
SHELLEY: (BREATHILY) Thanks for catching me.
ENGINEER: We apologise for the sudden stop, ladies and gentlemen. The train appears to have struck a conservative member of parliament.
HUSKISSON: Blech! (DIES)
SHELLEY: Hah! I like trains now.
JANE: Wow, look at the all bits of him. Hey, is that his top hat down there?
SHELLEY: Want me to go get it?
[CREAKING OF WOOD, FOOTSTEPS AS SHELLEY CLIMBS DOWN FROM THE TRAIN]
JANE: (LAUGHING) Careful!
SHELLEY: (OFF) (MORBID FASCINATION) Ugh, there’s a bit of his scalp still stuck to it.
JANE: (AMUSED) Mary! Get back on the train!
SHELLEY: (NOISES OF EXERTION)
[CREAKING OF WOOD AS SHELLEY CLIMBS BACK UP. HITCHCOCKIAN “DANGER” MUSIC PLAYS, GRADUALLY INCREASING IN TEMPO AND VOLUME]
ENGINEER: Ladies and gentlemen, I am happy to announce that the fragments of politician have been cleared from the track, there is no damage to the locomotive, and we can get back underway... as soon as I can get this boiler going...
[SPUTTERING AS THE ENGINEER TRIES TO START THE LOCOMOTIVE]
JANE: Mary, climb back up, he’s starting the engine.
[ENGINE STARTS RUNNING]
ENGINEER: Almost there... she’s temperamental sometimes...
[MORE CREAKY WOOD CLIMBING]
SHELLEY: It’s fine, I’m almost—oh balls, my skirt’s caught in the wheels—
ENGINEER: And we’re off!
[WHEELS ENGAGE. TRAIN NOISE GETS FASTER AND LOUDER. SUDDEN SPLINTERING OF WOOD. DRESS RIPPING. GOTHIC HORROR WRITER BEING DRAGGED ALONG BY TRAIN]
SHELLEY: Aaaah! Ow! Aaaargh! (ETC)
JANE: MARY! Shit! Help! Somebody! Cute goth chick overboard!
[MUSIC REACHES CLIMAX AND STOPS. SUSPENSEFUL PAUSE.
WOOD CREAKS, FOOTSTEPS, SHELLEY’S GRUNTS AS SHE CLIMBS BACK ABOARD]
JANE: You’re all right!
SHELLEY: Whew... cute, am I?
[SHELLEY and JANE both giggle]
JANE: (LAUGHTER) Your dress is ripped to shreds! Looks good. I... I’ve never met anyone like you, Mary.
SHELLEY: (DAFT IMPRESSION OF A MALE POLITICIAN) “Mary? Who’s Mary? Look at my hat, I’m Sir William Huskisson. Mr Speaker, will you kindly remind the Right Honourable gentleman that children dying of cholera is actually good!”
JANE: (GIGGLING) You’re so cool.
SHELLEY: (GIGGLING ALONG) I know right. Have a top hat. Go on, I risked my arse to get it for you... and you look hot in it.
[SEXUALLY CHARGED PAUSE]
ENGINEER (OFF): Ladies and gentlemen, do not be alarmed. The train is about to enter a cinematically symbolic tunnel.
[TRAIN WHISTLE BLOWS. AMBIENT SOUND CHANGES AS TRAIN ENTERS TUNNEL. SOUND FADES INTO DISTANCE]
JANE: (UNDERSTATED, JUST AS SCENE FADES OUT) Oh, that feels nice.
[CAMPFIRE AMBIENCE FADES BACK IN]
HIGHSMITH: So, they agree that Bruno’s gonna murder Guy’s spouse, in exchange for Guy murdering Bruno’s—
SHELLEY: (SUDDEN, SHOCKED REACTION) What the fuck, Highsmith?
HIGHSMITH: Huh?
BARKER: Are you OK, Mary? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.
KING: You haven’t been talking to your mom again, have you?
SHELLEY: I gotta go. [FOOTSTEPS STOMPING OFF THROUGH GRASS]
HIGHSMITH: Weird. What’s up with the goth chick?
POE: Mary is as Mary does.
HIGHSMITH: (SNORT) Broads, am I right? I tell ya, when my wife storms off like that, it’s either ’cause I’ve done something wrong... or she has.
[FADE.
SHELLEY’S LEITMOTIF PLAYS ON ELECTRIC BASS. FADE IN NIGHTTIME STREET AMBIENCE OF INDETERMINATE CENTURY. STOMPY GOTH BOOT FOOTSTEPS ACCOMPANIED BY ANGRY GROWLS AND HUFFING FROM SHELLEY. GATE SWINGS OPEN. FOOTSTEPS NOW ON GRAVEL.
SHELLEY: (ANGRY HUFFING) (CALLING) Jane! Jane! JANE!!
[GRAVEL BEING SCOOPED UP, STONES BEING THROWN AT WINDOW]
SHELLEY: OI! JANE!!! (ANGRY GRUNTS OF EXERTION)
[HUGE STONE OBJECT BEING DRAGGED ACROSS GRAVEL. LOUD GRUNT FROM SHELLEY AS SHE PICKS UP WHATEVER IT IS AND THROWS IT. VERY LOUD SMASH OF GLASS]
JANE (OFF): What the hell? Mum, wake up from your drunken stupor, we’ve got burglars! (FRUSTRATED) Oh, Jesus. (CALLING) Get out, burglars! We’ve no valuables, Mum’s sold them all. But I still have my dad’s old bayonet! It’s not sharp, but it’ll give you a nasty case of tetanus. I’m coming in! [DOOR BEING KICKED OPEN]
SHELLEY: Jane. Jane! It’s me.
JANE: ...Mary??
SHELLEY: You look badass with that bayonet.
JANE: Mary, why are you breaking into my house at eleven fifteen at night?
SHELLEY: (QUICKLY, FLUSTERED]) Well, when we formed the Midnight Society, we were gonna meet at midnight, but Dean’s dad won’t let him stay out that late, so we meet at eleven, and Steve wanted to call it the Eleven o’Clock Society, and I said that was a fuckin’ stupid name, then Edgar said it was always midnight somewhere, then Dan Simmons turned up saying time zones are a myth propagated by Nasa global elitists to dupe the round-earth sheeple so I fuckin’ hooked him and he ran away crying, and then—
JANE: Bloody hell, Mary. What’s happened to rattle your usual stoic demeanour? (BEAT) Did you have to break the window? Why not knock on the bloody door?
SHELLEY: Didn’t want to wake your mum.
JANE: ...so you chucked a ten-stone sundial through the front window?
MRS CLEVELAND (OFF): Hello? Who’s in there?
JANE: (SIGH) It’s all right, mum. It’s only—
MRS CLEVELAND: Mary Shelley! How nice to see you again. Jane still talks about you a lot, you know! (SUGGESTIVELY) Mmm? Eh?
JANE: Mum!!
SHELLEY: (UNCHARACTERISTICALLY POLITE AND NERVOUS) Hello Mrs Cleveland how do you do Mrs Cleveland.
MRS CLEVELAND: Will you stay for a cuppa? We’re out of milk but, um, well, I can put gin in it.
SHELLEY: No thank you Mrs Cleveland another time Mrs Cleveland thank you goodbye Mrs Cleveland.
MRS CLEVELAND: All right. (NOT OFFENDED) I know when I’m not wanted. I was young once, eh? Eh?
JANE: No, not “eh”, mum. I don’t know what she’s even doing here.
MRS CLEVELAND: Whatever you say, chicken. I’ll leave you two love birds to get reacquainted. Take care of her, Mary. Jane, if you’re not in bed by midnight—come home! Eh? (CHUCKLES) [DOOR CLOSES]
JANE: Mary, what are you doing here? We agreed we’d stay away from each other.
SHELLEY: We gotta go somewhere. Just to talk.
JANE: (AS THE SCENE FADES) All right, as long as it’s not...
[FADE IN GRAVEYARD AMBIENCE. NIGHTTIME CITY NOISES IN DISTANCE, SPOOKY WIND, OCCASIONAL BATS]
JANE: ...your mother’s grave.
SHELLEY: Don’t worry, she’s probably out haunting Jean-Jacques Rousseau. This is where I come to think.
JANE: Among other things, as I recall.
SHELLEY: It’s a comfortable grave. Nice springy moss.
JANE: I remember. (PAUSE) Mary, we’re not getting back together.
SHELLEY: I know.
JANE: We weren’t good for each other... and I’ve met someone else.
SHELLEY: (HIDING THE FACT THAT THIS HAS COME AS A BLOW) Oh. Who?
JANE: You kidding? If I told you that, you’d bloody shiv him... or her or them.
SHELLEY: (LAUGHING) Yeah, I would.
JANE: You so would.
SHELLEY: Fair enough.
JANE: You certainly would.
SHELLEY: I’d stick that fucker. I don’t even want you back, I’m not jealous. I’d just do it anyway.
JANE: I miss you sometimes.
SHELLEY: Me too. Not very much, but I do.
[SLOW, NOSTALGIC-ROMANTIC VERSION OF EPISODE THEME PLAYS]
JANE: Mary... what are we doing here?
SHELLEY: (SHARP CHANGE TO SERIOUS TONE) Patricia Highsmith’s telling a story at the Midnight Society meeting.
JANE: So? I’m still not coming to your stupid story club.
SHELLEY: It’s not stupid. It’s just got a lot of stupid people in it. But that’s not all. (BREATH) Her story’s called “The Tale of the Strangers on a Train”.
JANE: So?
SHELLEY: So she’s fuckin’ on to us, Jane. She knows what we did last summer!
JANE: (DAWNING REALISATION) Oh my god. Are you sure? What do we do?
SHELLEY: I dunno!
[FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING]
JANE: Someone’s coming.
HIGHSMITH (OFF): (WHISTLING “THIS OLD MAN”)
SHELLEY: Fuck! Who is it?
JANE: Some weird bint in a dirty trenchcoat.
SHELLEY: That’s Highsmith. Well, at least we’re already in a graveyard. [SOUND OF SWITCHBLADE OPENING]
HIGHSMITH: [ARRIVING] Excuse me, ladies. Oh, that’s a lovely switchblade. Is that a Benjamin Huntsman original? Fine piece of engineering. You know he was a clockmaker originally?
SHELLEY: Aren’t you supposed to be telling your story at the campfire?
HIGHSMITH: Ah, my snails are on it. They’ve done this story a hundred times, they know the script. You know, my wife’s got a switchblade just like that, Miss, uh...
SHELLEY: (PAUSE) Shelley.
HIGHSMITH: No. Mary Shelley? Oh, it’s an honour, Miss Shelley, to meet the author of, uh—what was it, Dracula?
SHELLEY: Frankenstein.
HIGHSMITH: Right, of course. Can’t say I’ve read it myself, I don’t go in for that, uh, gothic horror. I’m more of a creepy psychological crime story type, you know. But my wife, she’s a huge fan. She’ll turn green when I say I met Mary Shelley.
SHELLEY: Thanks.
HIGHSMITH: And, uh—
JANE: Jane Williams.
HIGHSMITH: Jane Williams... née Cleveland, sure. Your reputation precedes you, don’t it, ’cause your name comes up in a lot of sappy love poetry by that... what’s his name? Romantic poet... foppy hair... Perry?
SHELLEY: Percy.
HIGHSMITH: That’s it. Percy—boy, he was really into you, wasn’t he? Percy... Bysshe... Shelley. Huh, that’s the same last name as you, Miss Shelley.
SHELLEY: That’s ’cause—
HIGHSMITH: Ah, no, wait, I remember now. You two were married.
SHELLEY: That was more of a bureaucratic thing.
HIGHSMITH: So, let me get this straight—so to speak. Percy was married to you, Mary, while writing all this schmaltz about you, Jane, and, uh, neither of you had a problem with that? I mean, here you are, shootin’ the breeze like old... friends.
JANE: Fine with me.
SHELLEY: Yeah. Me and Percy weren’t monogamous.
HIGHSMITH: Ah, polyamory, I see. Not my thing, but my wife’s into it. Say, is Percy around? She loves that poem about the skylark. She’d be thrilled if I could tell her I met him.
SHELLEY: (PAUSE) He’s dead.
HIGHSMITH: Oh. Aw, that’s bad news. I’m sorry. How’d it happen?
SHELLEY: He drowned.
HIGHSMITH: Drowned... yeah, that’ll do it. Say, Miss Williams, didn’t your fella Edward also drown?
JANE: Yeah. And before you pretend you don’t know it already—yes, he went down in the same boat as Percy.
HIGHSMITH: So he did! A tragedy, right? I mean, you two gals happen to lose your lousy men in the same accidental boat accident... last summer, down at, where was it, Switzerland, right? Lovely country, I tell ya, I could eat that cheese with holes in it till I puked holes. Where abouts were you? Don’t tell me—the Villa Dio-uh, Deodoranti?
SHELLEY: Diodati.
HIGHSMITH: Diodati, gotcha. Right by Lake Geneva, Beautiful bit of water. Oh my, is that where your guys drowned? Musta been devastating for the both of you, I can’t imagine. I mean if I drowned, I think my wife woulda moved on by the weekend. But a couple of, uh... romantics like you two...
JANE: Are you insinuating something, Patricia?
HIGHSMITH: (FEIGNING OFFENSE) Insinuating? Insinuating! No, no. I’m just tryna get a clear picture here. I’m a crime writer. I’m interested in this stuff. No offense meant.
JANE: None taken.
HIGHSMITH: All right. I’ll leave you two to—whatever you happen to be doing in the middle of the night at Mary’s mom’s grave. Which, by the way, (LAUGHING INCREDULOUSLY) I heard the wildest rumour about the things you’ve gotten up to here, Mary. No, I said, that’s an urban myth, you know, playing on Mary’s reputation as a rebellious goth girl and Percy’s as a libertine with a shady past—what was it he got rusticated for?
SHELLEY: Contumacy.
HIGHSMITH:—contumacy, right. Nasty business. If I got rusticated for contumacy, my wife, well, I think she’d wanna kill me... but those claims about your using this grave for, uh, unconventional purposes—there is some historical evidence, would you believe that? Entries in Percy’s diary, Mary’s letters. And it does look like a nice comfy grave. Look at that moss there. Uh, may I?
SHELLEY: Be mum’s guest.
HIGHSMITH: (SOUND OF EXERTION, CLIMBING)
[SOUND OF CRIME WRITER CLAMBERING ONTO ALTAR GRAVE]
HIGHSMITH: Oh. Oh, that’s lovely. I’m telling ya, my back is in bliss here. Oh, I should get one of these for the wife. I can picture lying on this grave, gazing at the stars while your best gal... uh, like I say, I’m sure it’s only a well evidenced rumour. But even if it’s true—hey, love is love, right? Whether it’s on a bed or a grave... or at a Swiss villa.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT’S GHOST (Helen Arney): [MUFFLED] Hello? Who’s that?
[GHOSTLY MUSIC CUE ON AQUAPHONE]
HIGHSMITH: Aah! [THUMP OF FALLING DOWN FROM THE GRAVE]
SHELLEY: Aw, shit. You woke Mum up.
WOLLSTONECRAFT: [GHOSTLY FILTER] [EMERGING] Language, Mary.
SHELLEY: Sorry, mum.
WOLLSTONECRAFT: Mary, what have I told you about bringing your friends round to make out on my tomb?
SHELLEY: That it was cool.
WOLLSTONECRAFT: Yes, but also to do it when I’m out. Otherwise it’s also what I believe you kids call “cringe”.
SHELLEY: I wasn’t gonna make out with her!
HIGHSMITH: Excuse me, are you Mary Wollstonecraft, uh, this Mary’s mom?
WOLLSTONECRAFT: No. I’m Mary Wollstonecraft, feminist philosopher and radical political author defined by my own accomplishments.
HIGHSMITH: I apologise, ma’am, I didn’t mean to reduce you to your status as a mother there. Can I ask a few questions? My name is Patricia Highsmith, I’m—
WOLLSTONECRAFT: Ms Highsmith, what are your intentions toward my daughter?
HIGHSMITH: Uh, don’t worry about that, ma’am. She ain’t my type.
WOLLSTONECRAFT: Oh, yes? What’s wrong with her?
HIGHSMITH: Nothing! She’s a stunning gal, but, y’know, even if I wanted to, it looks like I’d be at the back of a pretty long line. First there was that poet, Percy.
WOLLSTONECRAFT: I remember him. Creepy, skinny little Nice Guy. Never understood what you saw in him, Mary. Broken up, have you?
SHELLEY: He died.
WOLLSTONECRAFT: (NASTY LAUGH) Of course he did. I knew that boy wouldn’t amount to anything.
HIGHSMITH: Then, uh, Bi Ron...
SHELLEY: Byron.
WOLLSTONECRAFT: Lord Byron. He had a bit of class. I’d certainly have boffed him myself—
SHELLEY: (MORTALLY EMBARRASSED) Ugh, mum!!
WOLLSTONECRAFT:—if I hadn’t died of an infection after giving birth to you.
SHELLEY: (IRRITATED) Oh, is that how you died? You’ve never said.
HIGHSMITH: ...and, of course, young Jane here.
WOLLSTONECRAFT: (HAPPILY) Jane!
JANE: (NERVOUS) Hello Mrs Wollstonecraft how do you do Mrs Wollstonecraft please thank you.
WOLLSTONECRAFT: Wonderful to see you again, Jane! You keep hold of her this time, Mary, do you hear me? Or I might just snatch her up.
SHELLEY: We’re not back together.
WOLLSTONECRAFT: Is that so? In that case, come over any time, Jane.
SHELLEY: MUM!!
HIGHSMITH: Ah, so you, Mary... Junior... and you, Jane, were, uh, romantically involved?
JANE: It was just—
WOLLSTONECRAFT: They were at it like little gothic rabbits, Ms Highsmith. I lost count of how many times I had to get the moss replanted.
HIGHSMITH: I see. Young love, there’s nothing like it. And was this before or after the, uh, unfortunate if convenient death of Mr Shelley and Mr Williams?
SHELLEY: After.
JANE: We found solace in each other’s arms.
WOLLSTONECRAFT: And elsewhere.
SHELLEY: Aw, MUM!!!
WOLLSTONECRAFT: All right, dear, I won’t embarrass you any longer. I’m off to throw plates at Henry James. Keep smashing the patriarchy, Mary.
SHELLEY: Bye mum.
WOLLSTONECRAFT: And Jane, I’ll see you again soon, I hope. Unless my nitwit daughter dumps you again.
SHELLEY: (EXASPERATED) We’re not—
JANE: Thank you Mrs Wollstonecraft goodbye Mrs Wollstonecraft please thank you.
[GHOSTLY MUSIC CUE. SOUND OF GHOST FLOATING AWAY]
HIGHSMITH: Say, your mom’s an impressive lady, Miss Shelley. Explains a lot. I think I got what I need. Have a beautiful night, girls. [FOOTSTEPS AS SHE STARTS TO LEAVE] Boy, is the wife gonna be thrilled when I tell her I met the gal who wrote Wuthering Heights.
SHELLEY: (GROWL)
HIGHSMITH: Oh, just one more thing. How did you two meet?
SHELLEY: (PAUSE) Percy knew Jane’s husband.
JANE: Common-law husband. It wasn’t serious.
HIGHSMITH: Oh. So Edward was also a poet?
JANE: He was a lieutenant in the East India Company.
HIGHSMITH: Huh. People got all kinds of hobbies, I guess. I mean, I breed snails. My wife can’t stand the things, but... I just think they’re neat.
JANE: Is this conversation going anywhere, Patricia?
HIGHSMITH: Hm? Oh, I’m just getting my thoughts together. You met for the first time at this, uh, Villa Diarrhoea?
JANE: Er—
SHELLEY: Diodati.
JANE: That’s right.
HIGHSMITH: Let’s get back to the story.
[GRAVEYARD AMBIENCE FADES.
FADE IN INTERIOR OF HORSE-DRAWN CARRIAGE. HOOFBEATS, MUFFLED BIRDSONG AND COUNTRYSIDE NOISES, ECHO OF SMALL SPACE]
JANE: (EXCITED) That must be the villa!
EDWARD: That half-dilapidated farmhouse? I expect so.
JANE: I can’t wait to see Mary again! (HASTILY) And Percy and everyone. And spend some quality heterosexual time with you of course. (WITH A CRUSH) You know Mary once got false passports for two of her female friends so they could run away to France and live as a married couple?
EDWARD: Excuse me?
JANE: Well, one of them might have been a trans man, but we don’t yet really have the terminology—
EDWARD: This Mary is involved with... inverts? You should be careful, Jane. You know, unnatural relations can cause chronic delirium.
JANE: (TO HERSELF) Only when it’s done properly.
EDWARD: They also result in corruption and moral turpitude.
JANE: Such as?
EDWARD: Such as unnatural relations! (BEAT) Darling... has this Mary ever tried to incite anything... improper with you?
JANE: You mean, are we banging?
EDWARD: (MORTIFIED) Er...
JANE: Yes, Edward. We’re banging.
EDWARD: (RELIEVED, OBLIVIOUS) Oh! You’re just gal pals. I see. What a relief.
JANE: We did it all over our house, all over her house, and on her mum’s grave. She rocked my world like the bloody Industrial Revolution, only with more steam.
EDWARD: Pure platonic gal pals. Glad to hear it.
JANE: Amazing.
[HOOFBEATS STOP. NEIGH. DOOR OPENS, COUNTRYSIDE AMBIENCE BECOMES LOUDER AND CLEARER]
PERCY: (WARMLY) Edward! (BESOTTED) And Jane!
EDWARD: (FORMALLY) Mr Shelley. Miss Wollstonecraft-Godwin.
JANE: Hi, Percy. (BESOTTED) Hi, Mary!
SHELLEY: (ALSO BESOTTED, BUT TOO COOL TO SHOW IT) Hey, Jane.
PERCY: How was the journey?
EDWARD: Delightful! We took a train as far as Dover.
JANE: Then four and a half weeks getting dragged up and down hills by various ungulates.
EDWARD: Do you want to know what the number of the train was?
PERCY: Was it, by any chance, 2?
EDWARD: Yes! I wrote it in that notebook you gave me. Look! [RUSTLE OF NOTEBOOK]
[FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL, FADING WITH THE MEN’S VOICES AS THEY LEAVE]
PERCY: (FADING) Hm. D’you know, I’m more into boats now.
EDWARD: (FADING) Oh, tell me more.
[HOUSE DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES]
SHELLEY: Fuckin’ boats. I almost miss the train drivel.
JANE: Nice countryside. Is there, er, somewhere we can go? When we want a bit of moral turpentine?
SHELLEY: Yeah. There’s a graveyard in the village. Dunno who Anne Mallet de Saint-Andre was but she’s got a nice king-size mausoleum. We could go tomorrow. Percy won’t notice. He’ll probably be sailing on the lake all bloody day.
JANE: You’re on. That his boat?
SHELLEY: Yeah. Cost a fuckin’ bomb. Wouldn’t mind, but he’ll be into something else next week. Horse-drawn caravans or some shit.
JANE: Only he won’t be here in another week, Mary. (PAUSE) The plan’s still on, isn’t it?
SHELLEY: Oh! Yeah, sure. (UNCERTAINLY) That is, unless you’re—
JANE: (AWKWARDLY)—oh, no, I was just making sure you were—
SHELLEY:—no, I’m cool.
JANE: Me too!
SHELLEY: I mean, I’m fond of Percy, but, all things considered... fuck it, why not?
JANE: Cool. (PAUSE) Except. Mary, if we go through with this, we’re not supposed to see each other again.
SHELLEY: Yeah. It’s, uh. It’s been fun.
JANE: ...what, that’s it?
SHELLEY: Jane, after I’ve done this for you... you’ll be free. You won’t need me.
JANE: (QUIETLY HEARTBROKEN) I suppose not.
SHELLEY: We’ve got this summer, though, right? I mean, better to break things off while we’re happy than stay together and wear ourselves down till we hate the sight of each other.
JANE: (HOLDING BACK TEARS) Sure.
SHELLEY: You wanna come in and bully Polidori for a bit?
JANE: I think I’ll stay out here and watch the sunset... feel like joining me?
SHELLEY: Nah. Fuckin’ hate sunsets.
[FADE.
GRAVEYARD AMBIENCE FADES BACK IN]
HIGHSMITH: Just one more thing.
JANE: That’s what you said about the last thing.
HIGHSMITH: Where did you get that stylish top hat, Jane?
SHELLEY: (TOUCHED) You kept the hat I gave you? (REALISING SHE SHOULD NOT HAVE SAID THIS) Fuck!
HIGHSMITH: You gave her that? Aw, ain’t that sweet. Can I, uh, snatch that off your head for a minute, Miss Williams?
JANE: Ow! Help yourself.
HIGHSMITH: I’m thinking of maybe getting one of these for formal occasions. I’m usually more of a fedora gal, you know? (ECHO, MUFFLED) Ah, too bad, it’s on the big side. Right over my eyes. You know, this hat looks like it was made for someone with a bigger head, a guy perhaps. What’s that say on the label there? “W. H.” That reminds me of something. [REMOVES HAT, VOICE BACK TO NORMAL] Oh yeah—William Huskisson, you know who that is?
JANE: No.
HIGHSMITH: He was a politician who was hit and killed by one of the very first trains. Locomotive number one, in fact, or, uh, Stevenson’s Rocket, as it was nicknamed. Huskisson was crossing the tracks carrying a double-bass, and the train driver never saw him, because—uh, he said in his statement that he was distracted by a skinny, fop-haired poet, who now I come to think of it, musta looked something like your late fella, Miss Shelley, and another guy, a military type, who, tangentially, musta looked something like your late fella, Miss Williams.
SHELLEY: Is this relevant, Patricia?
HIGHSMITH: Relevant? Not necessarily, just, y’know, a tangent. I like tangents. My favourite trigonometric function. Did you know the square of the tangent is equal to—there I go again. Where was I? William Huskisson MP, Tory centrist, you know, sat on so many fences his ass stank of creosote. He had this long, flowing grey hair that—say, there’s a piece of long grey hair right there on the hatband there, next to all the dried blood. Huh, and a bit of scalp tissue. Uh, and that mark there, see that? That looks a lot like a steam burn. Hey, you don’t think this coulda been Huskisson’s actual top hat, do ya? I mean, he was torn to bits by Stevenson’s Rocket, arms, legs, all over the place, but the one thing they never found was his top hat. Several witnesses thought they saw it being removed from the scene by some goth chick. Boy, it looks like you been wearing a piece of transport history right there on your head, Miss Williams!
JANE: What if I have been?
HIGHSMITH: Well, if this is Huskisson’s hat, and you, Mary, uh, let’s say found it, and gave it to you, Jane, then... wouldn’t that mean you two first met on the very train journey that killed William Huskisson? Several months before you were together at the, uh, Villa Duodenum?
SHELLEY: Diodati.
HIGHSMITH: Ladies, you’ve been lying to me. (SUDDENLY AGGRESSIVE) I believe that you, Miss Shelley, murdered Lieutenant Edward Ellerker Williams, and I believe that you, Miss Williams, murdered Percy Bysshe Shelley.
SHELLEY: (PAUSE) That’s a fascinating hypothesis, Patricia. Got any evidence?
HIGHSMITH: Well, yeah. I got this hat here.
SHELLEY: Oh. Oh yeah... (AS THE SCENE FADES) fuck.
[FADE IN AMBIENCE OF KITCHEN AT VILLA DIODATI. CLASHING OF POTS AND PANS AS SOMEBODY COOKS.
A CUCKOO CLOCK TICKS, THEN BEGINS CUCKOOING THE HOUR. A SWITCHBLADE OPENS. THE CLOCK IS SMASHED. CUCKOOING PETERS OUT SADLY]
PERCY: Good morning, Mary! Why, you’ve slept in till almost six. You’ve missed a quarter of the day!
SHELLEY: Yeah. I’d have missed more if you weren’t making this racket.
PERCY: Well, a sailor needs a hearty breakfast. Can’t splice a mainbrace on an empty stomach.
SHELLEY: Percy, you have literally no idea what a mainbrace is and have never spliced anything in your sheltered little life. Love you.
PERCY: But I can learn! (SINGING) It’s a sailor’s life for me, Mary... all these years, I didn’t even know I’d never found my true calling. What are your plans for the day?
SHELLEY: (CASUALLY) Oh, I thought me and Jane might take a stroll to the village, you know. Check out the cemetery. Fuck on some of the graves. Don’t tell Ed.
PERCY: (LAUGHING WILDLY) Oh, what a cracking wheeze! You’re a truly lucky woman, you know. Jane really is wonderful.
SHELLEY: Yeah, I know.
PERCY: The pinnacle of feminine excellence.
SHELLEY: Yes, Percy, I get it, you like her.
PERCY: A perfect specimen of all that’s desirable in—
SHELLEY: (CHUCKLING) All right, Percy, that’s enough.
PERCY: (LAUGHS) Yes, dear. Breakfast?
SHELLEY: Just coffee.
[INTERNAL DOOR OPENS]
JANE: [ENTERING] I’ll make it.
SHELLEY/PERCY: Good morning!
JANE: Gimme that, Percy. I know how she likes it.
PERCY: So I hear. (GIGGLES)
[DOOR OPENS AGAIN]
EDWARD: [ENTERING] Jane, Tea. Darjeeling. Lukewarm.
SHELLEY: (UNDER HER BREATH) Dick.
JANE: Actually, Ed, I was about to go for a turn around the village graveyard with Mary. (EXCITEDLY) I’ll go and get a pillow. [INTERNAL DOOR CLOSES]
SHELLEY: You going sailing again, Percy?
PERCY: Sailing? Oh, the boat. You know what, I think I’ve just now completely gone off the idea of boats. Ugh. What d’you think of us getting a horse-drawn caravan?
SHELLEY: Oh, for fuck’s sake.
PERCY: I say, Edward. D’you want a boat? I’m never setting foot in that thing again.
EDWARD: Gosh. Well, why not, indeed? I shall take it out after breakfast. Thank you, Shelley.
[INTERNAL DOOR OPENS]
JANE: [RE-ENTERING] I got us a wedge-shaped pillow and a pot of scented oil and a bottle of vodka and a copy of the complete works of the Marquis de Sade, with woodcuts.
EDWARD: What’s that for?
JANE: Gal pal stuff. Come on, Mary.
[FOOTSTEPS. EXTERNAL DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES, SHUTTING US OUTSIDE. AMBIENCE SWITCHES TO OUTDOORS—BIRDSONG, LIGHT BREEZE, WATER RIPPLING NEARBY. FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL]
JANE: Ed’s so bloody clueless. It’d be endearing if he wasn’t such a cockhead. Which way’s this graveyard?
SHELLEY: That way. You go on ahead. I’m just gonna fetch some more booze, I’ll catch up.
JANE: [FADING] Don’t be long!
[QUICK FADE TO BACK IN THE KITCHEN]
EDWARD: You’re really giving me your boat?
PERCY: Oh yes. Can’t imagine what I ever saw in it.
EDWARD: Could you at least give me a driving lesson?
PERCY: (SIGH) Oh, all right. One trip over the lake and back. Then you’re on your own.
EDWARD: Good man.
[FADE.
FADE IN BOAT/LAKE AMBIENCE—CREAKING OF BOAT, GENTLE WAVES, WATER BIRDS. NAUTICAL VERSION OF EPISODE THEME, ON ACCORDION AND TAMBOURINE IN MAJOR KEY]
EDWARD: Sailing is pleasant, isn’t it? (PAUSE) How do you stop?
PERCY: Oh! Um... I generally find it stops when it hits a bit of land or a rock or something.
EDWARD: I see. And how do you steer?
PERCY: I don’t. I let the winds of fate sweep me where they will, you know.
EDWARD: How poetic.
PERCY: I expect some of these ropes turn the sails round, or something. I haven’t tried all of them. Let’s try that one... (GRUNTS)
[WINDLASS TURNS. ROPE UNCOILS. SOMETHING SWINGS. A SHEET FALLS]
PERCY: There, see. We’re going in a different direction now.
EDWARD: Are we? What direction?
PERCY: Er... downwards!
[SOUND OF WATER TRICKLING INTO THE BOAT, GETTING LOUDER AND LOUDER]
EDWARD: I really don’t think the hull should be filling up with water like this. Are those holes in the side supposed to be there?
PERCY: Huh. Never noticed them before.
EDWARD: Can you swim?
PERCY: No. I don’t need to. I’ve got a boat.
EDWARD: (PANICKY) I can’t either. It’s up to our chins, man, aren’t you worried?
PERCY: Oh, I’m sure things will sort themselves out before [SPLOSH]
EDWARD: This is another fine [SPLOSH]
[FADE. MUSIC STOPS.
LONG PAUSE.
FADE BACK IN WITH AMBIENCE OF VILLA DIODATI KITCHEN AT NIGHT. DOOR CREAKS OPEN. SOUND OF TWO GIGGLING DRUNKEN WOMEN STUMBLING IN, GIGGLING AND MAKING A LOT OF NOISE AS THEY TRY TO BE QUIET]
JANE: Sshhhhhhh! (LAUGHTER)
SHELLEY: (MOCK WHISPER) It’s the middle of the night.
JANE: (MOCK WHISPER) Don’t wake them up!
SHELLEY/JANE: (DRUNKEN GIGGLING)
SHELLEY: (DRUNK) (CALLING LOUDLY) Percy!
JANE: (ALSO DRUNK) Edward! (ALSO DRUNKEN GIGGLING)
SHELLEY: We’re both steaming drunk!!!
SHELLEY: Oh! Oh, you know what? Edward ain’t home!
JANE: What, how d’you know that?
SHELLEY: (IN STITCHES) ‘Cause I fuckin’ murdered him!
JANE: Ha! I murdered Percy too! (LAUGHS)
SHELLEY: We need more booze. [RUMMAGING IN CUPBOARDS]
JANE: How d’you do it?
SHELLEY: I... heard Edward saying he was gonna take out Percy’s boat. So I fuckin’ stabbed a hole in it.
JANE: (LAUGHTER) Fuck! (STOPS LAUGHING)
SHELLEY: ...what?
JANE: (SUDDENLY SOBERING UP) I punctured the boat too. Last night. ’Cause I thought Percy was taking it out today.
SHELLEY: No. Percy gave the boat to Ed. You’d gone up to get oil or whatever.
JANE: Hang on, there’s a note on the table here.
SHELLEY: It’s from Percy. [UNFOLDING PAPER] “Dear Mary, Going out for one last boat ride with Edward. Might be late for dinner. Tell... Jane I love her.” (DEAD SERIOUS) Oh my god. I drowned Percy.
SHELLEY/JANE: (BOTH BURST OUT LAUGHING HYSTERICALLY)
JANE: Hahahahaha they’re both fuckin’ dead!
SHELLEY: Bottom of the fuckin’ lake!
JANE: We’re fucking murderers, Mary!
SHELLEY: TEAM MARY JANE! [HIGH FIVE NOISE]
JANE: Wait, hang on. (STILL GIGGLING) If they were both in the same boat, right...
SHELLEY: ...right...
JANE: ...then like, Percy was in the boat you stabbed, and Ed was in the boat I stabbed. Doesn’t that destroy the whole untraceable motives thing?
SHELLEY: No. ’Cause you stabbed it for Percy an’ I stabbed it for Ed. There’s no link.
JANE: But they might still reckon I did Ed, an’ you did—
SHELLEY: Hahahaha you’re adorable when you’re confused. Come here.
[GIGGLING GIVES WAY TO SMOOCHING AS SCENE FADES.
FADE IN CAMPFIRE AMBIENCE. TRAIN STILL GOING. OCCASIONAL QUIET SLIMY NOISE OF SNAILS MOVING]
LOVECRAFT: What are they doing now?
KOONTZ: Well... Bruno killed that firefly. That was Guy’s wife. Now he’s caught up with Guy at the other end of the train and he’s telling Guy that he has to keep up his end of the bargain and kill Bruno’s dad.
BARKER: How are you getting all this from a couple of snails crawling around a train set?
KING: It is not a train set!
KOONTZ: Oh, I’ve watched the movie A Bug’s Life like fifty times.
LOVECRAFT: (SNORT) Antz was infinitely preferable.
POE: Yes, but Woody Allen turned out to be a creep who married a much younger woman who was related to him.
BARKER: Do you really wanna go there, Edgar?
KING: Where d’you guys think Patricia went?
LOVECRAFT: After Mary, maybe? Hey, you guys don’t think Mary and Patricia might be... gal pals?
BARKER: Mary’s not Patricia’s type. Too much brains.
[SEVERAL SETS OF FOOTSTEPS APPROACH THROUGH GRASS]
KING: Speak of the devil.
POE: Three of them. Who’s the new girl?
BARKER: (GASP) That’s... Jane. Mary’s ex. (SOTTO VOCE) Psy-cho!
LOVECRAFT: Why does Patricia have them in handcuffs OH MY GOD YOU PERVERTS
BARKER: No. No, Patricia’s not handcuffs kinky. Snail kinky. Steel wool kinky. Way past handcuffs.
HIGHSMITH: Gentlemen. What you’re about to hear will shock you. I have to warn you that the Midnight Society may never see each other, or the world, the same way again.
KING: With respect, Patricia, we hear that a lot. You gonna finish your story?
HIGHSMITH: Oh, I’m gonna finish, bros. You all remember Mary’s boyfriend Percy?
POE: Yeah, we’ve had Percy here a few times. Mary even let him talk once or twice.
KING: Haven’t seen him in a while, though.
HIGHSMITH: You haven’t? Oh, that’s must be because—what was it? Oh yeah, I remember. Percy’s dead!
POE: Oh. Oh, Mary won’t be happy with him.
HIGHSMITH: And you remember Jane’s husband Edward?
BARKER: (DELIGHTED BY THE GOSSIP) Jane’s married? Mary, you sly fox.
SHELLEY: I know right.
HIGHSMITH: Was married, Mr Barker. Edward’s also dead. Both murdered, and I got the hat to prove it.
KOONTZ: Is this still about the snails?
HIGHSMITH: You see, this top hat—whoah!
[SUDDEN SOUND OF CRUMBLING EARTH]
KOONTZ: What’s that?
[ZOMBIE-LIKE GRUNTING, CLAWING]
BARKER: Something’s clawing its way up out of the earth!
KING: This is one of those end-of-night pranks, right? Where we all run away screaming and then Edgar takes his mask off and says a witty one-liner?
POE: I’m sitting right here, Steve.
[DRIPPING WATER, SOGGY FOOTSTEPS]
LOVECRAFT: Is it a a wet zombie?
SHELLEY: That’s not a wet zombie. That’s—
PERCY: Yoohoo!
SHELLEY:—Percy!?
PERCY: Hello, everybody!
KING/BARKER/KOONTZ/LOVECRAFT/POE: Hi, Percy!
SHELLEY: Percy, you’re soaked to the skin.
PERCY: Yes, dear.
SHELLEY: And you’re supposed to be dead!
PERCY: Sorry, dear.
JANE: Ed’s not back too though, is he?
PERCY: Hm? No, no, no. He was eaten by a Swiss octopus on the way down.
LOVECRAFT: Swiss? Oh, the horror!
PERCY: But no act of God nor cephalopod, nor the eternal veil of Death herself could keep me from returning to the true love of my life...
SHELLEY: Oh. Oh, well, that’s... kinda sweet.
PERCY: ...Jane Williams!
SHELLEY/JANE: (SIMULTANEOUSLY) Oh for fuck’s sake Percy!
[FADE.
INSTEAD OF THE NORMAL END MUSIC, WE GET A JAZZ LOUNGE SONG TO THE TUNE OF “STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT”, PERFORMED BY HELEN ARNEY.
LYRICS:
Strangers on a train! Exchanging murder;
Scheming on the train, we cross-referred our
Homicidal acts; we’d do each other’s deeds!
No known links or threads of proof connect us
No police or Feds who would suspect us
Quite the perfect crime to meet our morbid needs!
Strangers on the train! So unfamiliar,
We were strangers on the train! I said I’d kill yer
Dad if you’d do in my spouse,
Sneak into my house;
Freedom just a kill away,
A dark, forbidden thrill away
And ever since that ride, I’ve heard you taunt me;
Something in me died; Our victims haunt me;
Endless guilt and pain
For strangers on a train!
[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC CONTINUES UNDER CREDITS]
ANNOUNCER (Rodrigo): Submitted for the Approval of the Midnight Pals starred Rodrigo Borges as Edgar Allan Poe, Jason Robinson as Stephen King, Rebecca D’Souza as Mary Shelley, Sister Indica as Clive Barker, Wren Montgomery as Dean Koontz, and Robin Johnson as HP Lovecraft; with Kate Davoli as Patricia Highsmith, Hannah Brown as Jane Williams, Lou Sutcliffe as Percy Shelley, David Court as Edward Ellerker Williams, Julia Drake as Mrs Cleveland, Canavan Connolly as the train engineer, Dexter Howard as human Guy, Brad Barnes as human Bruno; and special guest stars Helen Arney as Mary Wollstonecraft, and Mike McShane as William Huskisson MP. Elements of the novel Strangers on a Train by Patricia Highsmith and its film adaptation by Alfred Hitchcock are used with intent to parody. The music was by Robin Johnson. The theme song is performed by Helen Arney. The episode was directed and produced by Robin Johnson. Daisy McNamara was an audio consultant. This episode is dedicated to the memory of William Huskisson MP. Submitted for the Approval of the Midnight Pals is created by Bitter Karella. All characters are fictitious, especially the real ones. If you’ve enjoyed this episode, please consider leaving us a rating or a review on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or your favourite podcast platform. Find Submitted for the Approval of the Midnight Pals at midnightpals.com
LYRICS:
Freedom just a kill away,
A dark, forbidden thrill away
And ever since that ride, I’ve heard you taunt me;
Something in me died; Our victims haunt me;
Endless guilt and pain
For strangers on a train!
[MUSIC PLAYS OUT.
FADE IN CAMPFIRE AMBIENCE. TOY TRAIN STILL GOING]
HIGHSMITH: (SQUEAKY SNAIL VOICE) “So Bruno, now we've gotten away with the perfect murder...”
SMOOTH CUT TO 1950s TRAIN AMBIENCE.
GUY (Dexter Howard): ...what do we do next?
BRUNO (Brad Barnes): Well, Guy, given all the homoerotic subtext in this story, we ride our train into the sunset and get married.
GUY: Oh no you don’t! I can’t marry you!
BRUNO: Why not?
GUY: Well, for one thing, we’re both men, and it’s the nineteen-fifties!
BRUNO: We’ll have an unofficial ceremony.
GUY: I have a terrible past. I murdered a man’s father for no reason.
BRUNO: I forgive you.
GUY: I can never have children.
BRUNO: We’ll adopt.
GUY: But you don’t understand... [SLIMY BODY HORROR TRANSFORMATION NOISES] (IN PATRICIA HIGHSMITH’S SQUEAKY SNAIL VOICE) ...I’m a snail!
BRUNO: Well... nobody’s perfect!
[COMIC PUNCHLINE MUSIC]