OUTSIDE TASKERLANDS HOUSE - DAY

A SMALL CAR, an Austin 1300, is being carefully driven down

the last of along drive and into the forecourt of the house.

There is much evidence of the massive rebuilding this ugly

late-Victorian structure has undergone. There are contractors

huts on the lawn, and a large caravan. There are piles of

material -- sand and reinforcing metal and heavy pipes. Some

scaffolding clings to the centre parts of the building.

The car pulls in behind large motor vans.

There are two vans, both emblazoned with the name "Ryan

Electric Products". One has unloaded, the other is just

finishing. Men are shifting bulky apparatus onto trolleys

and moving it inside the house.

The car driver is JILL GREELEY, aged about 30. There is a

very feminine, strong directness about her, so that what she

is seems far more important than what she does. What she

does is computer programming.

She surveys the house, oppressed by the sight of it. Her

eyes go along the whole ugly length. One end of it looks

still untreated, smothered in ivy.

She is so absorbed that she hardly notices that the vans are

moving.

She looks round. One of them is backing straight towards

her, huge and blind. She blips her horn but it still comes

on. She glances to the side and sees the other van backing

towards her from that direction. She has moved in too close;

neither of the unseen drivers has noticed her.

She frantically starts her engine.

Then, as if something happens to her vision -- the two objects

are suddenly no longer motor vans but two huge, de-focussed

shapes like standing stones in motion, slowly blundering and

blending, looming over her. And their engine rumble descends

to something deeper, an irregular grunting. Somehow obscene...

Then it passes.

Jill finds herself sitting motionless, her car on the point

of being crushed. She frantically throws her gears into

reverse and slams her foot down.

The Austin shoots wildly backwards out of danger, swaying

and skidding in the loose gravel. She glances in the rear

mirror -- and sees a mass of builders’ equipment; piles of

pipes and scaffolding! She tugs at the wheel, hits the brakes.

The car skids straight on in a spray of gravel.

Jill screams.

The Austin scrapes past a pile of reinforcing metal with an

ugly grinding -- and thuds into a huge pile of sand. Jill is

flung back in her seat. The engine stalls.

For a moment she hardly realises what has happened. She leans

forward, head into hands. She shudders.

Fifty yards away the caravan door opens and ROY COLLINSON

looks out. He is a grey-haired man of 45 or so, his face

tight and strained.

Evidently he heard the scream. But he sees only the two vans

slowly turning into the drive.

In the Austin, almost lost to sight behind the builders’

equipment, Jill is still huddled over the wheel, giving

herself time to recover. She numbly watches the vans go...

then a yellow fastback swinging in past them.

The fastback pulls up in the forecourt and Collinson turns

to greet the new arrival: PETER BROCK, aged 35, Director of

Research for Ryan Electrics. He is a man with a lot of drive,

his temperament all upswing and downbeat. At the moment, he

is on a big upswing, arriving to take over his new

establishment.

BROCK

Hello, Colly.

COLLINSON

Peter.

BROCK

The big day.

COLLINSON

Don’t expect too much. It’s all a

mess. If only we’d had another month --

BROCK

Not a chance.

(They survey the house

in silence)

It looks good. I mean, it looks as

terrible as ever but -- stronger.

COLLINSON

(with feeling)

Why didn’t they tear it down!

BROCK

Colly --

COLLINSON

It would have been better. They had

to rip the floors out and the roof

and even the window frames -- there

was nothing worth keeping. Just an

ugly shell!

BROCK

Colly, he found it.

COLLINSON

Even so.

BROCK

Himself.

COLLINSON

I can understand about the park there --

at least it’s big -- but this!

BROCK

He liked the style of it.

COLLINSON

My God.

BROCK

One look, that’s all he needed, and

his mind was made up. He said it

spoke to him. Spoke to him, so it

did.

(This last comes in

the mock brogue which

is staff code for

utterances of the

firm’s chairman)

I know what it said. "Mr Ryan, for

pity’s sake don’t knock me down!".

COLLINSON

He -- he could have built it new!

For half the cost!

The stridency in his voice worries Brock.

BROCK

How long have you been down here?

COLLINSON

Three or four months.

BROCK

Got somebody stashed away in the

caravan?

COLLINSON

Eh?

BROCK

Why not?

COLLINSON

Hardly. I quite like it. It’s quite --

snug.

Horns blare in cheerful chorus. Three more cars are

approaching down the drive.

BROCK

Here they come.

COLLINSON

Eddie Holmes was a great help. He’s

got most of your gear in position.

I’m glad you could spare him.

BROCK

Good man, Eddie.

A battered estate car pulls in, with the other two close

behind. Hands wave from windows. Then they are scrambling

out. Most of Brock’s staff are under 30, stamped in general

with a kind of alert ingenuousness. EDDIE HOLMES, at 40, is

the oldest, a dull-faced clever man. HARGRAVES and MAUDSLEY,

both 25, one serious and introverted, the other afflicted

with an adolescent sense of humour on top of basic cunning.

CLIFF DOW is 30, a slow perfectionist.

There are three or four others, less noticeable characters.

All of them are in high spirits. There has clearly been a

lot of laughter on the way.

EDDIE

Aye, aye, Peter! Setting a good

example.

MAUDSLEY

The conscientious boss is always the

first in!

He leads the hammed-up dirty laugh.

BROCK

See what I’ve got -- a bunch of kids.

VOICES

Where is he! Mascot! Mascot! Mascot!

The rear of the estate car is flung up. An extraordinary

figure bounces out. Its head is covered by a rubber Martian

mask with bug eyes and sprouting wires. Its body is padded

and covered with the green undulating rubber foam that is

used under carpets, belted into place. on its chest hangs a

control panel with flashing indicator lamps and a loud beeping

noise. A sash marked "Ryan Electric Products" -- a relic of

some trade exhibition -- is tied round its middle.

BROCK

Stew! Is that Stewart?

EDDIE

Who else?

The figure bows as the cheering research staff close in.

They sweep it off its feet and swing it aloft. They run with

it beeping and flashing, in a wide circle.

In the Austin, Jill sits watching. Her nerves are steadying.

She smiles slightly, moves to get out.

The Martian figure yells as he is swept towards the house

and nearly crashes into the door lintel. They tip him back

and run him under it.

INSIDE THE ENTRANCE HALL

The figure is borne triumphantly in and set down with a bump.

Then they demolish him. He yelps as the Martian mask is ripped

off to reveal the thin face of STEWART JESSOP, 22, computer

operator.

STEW

Help! Take me to your leader! I come

in peace!

HARGRAVES

You’re coming in pieces, mate!

They yell like wild animals. The control panel is battered

into silence, the sash sent flying. Hands rip at the cords

and rubber foam. They fight for possession of the padding.

An elaborately uniformed "Sergeant" appears from the reception

desk, worried about exercising authority. Brock waves him

back.

BROCK

They’ve got to do it. Like dogs peeing

on something.

COLLINSON

Like what -- !

As Jill comes in, Stew is flung almost at her feet with the

worrying pack on top of him, whooping and yelling.

JILL

(in genuine, momentary

horror)

What are you doing to him!

MAUDSLEY

We’re sacrificing a Martian!

BROCK

All right, break it up. That’s enough.

That’ll do!

(He reaches Jill,

puts his arm round

her)

Just a bit of clowning.

MAUDSLEY

Innocent clowning, sir.

BROCK

Innocent? You lot?

EDDIE

You missed the fun, Jill.

DOW

You’re late.

MAUDSLEY

Bride’s privilege.

Brock gives him a hard look.

HARGRAVES

We’ve sacrificed a Martian!

Stew sits up, grinning and sweating. He wipes his face.

Brock draws Jill aside.

BROCK

(quietly)

You’re shaking.

JILL

(as quietly)

I was -- nearly in an accident.

BROCK

How? Where?

JILL

Outside here. I had a sort of --

momentary -- I don’t know --

BROCK

(his face hardening)

Blackout’s the usual word.

JILL

It wasn’t that.

BROCK

(sighing)

You should have been with me. I should

have been driving you. I’m sorry, I

couldn’t make last night.

JILL

Peter, please.

BROCK

So you’ll get accident-prone.

JILL

Nothing happened.

She turns, aware that the others are watching them now.

The house is as oppressive inside as out. Changes have only

worsened it. The great curving staircase now embraces a lift

shaft. Air-conditioning ducts run everywhere and spare

sections of ducting lie stacked about the place. There are

coils of cable and other debris. wires dangle unconnected

from the walls. A low-level reception desk shelters the

sergeant.

BROCK

Welcome to Taskerlands. It doesn’t

look much now but wait till it’s

finished -- then you’ll get the full

horror.

COLLINSON

Don’t put them off.

BROCK

Everybody know Roy Collinson, house

master and bunny mother?

COLLINSON

Hold on.

BROCK

Any problems about the move -- getting

digs in the area, housing wives and

harems -- see Colly.

EDDIE

Why is it called that?

COLLINSON

Taskerlands?

EDDIE

Yes, what’s it mean?

DOW

Work!

COLLINSON

It was built by a man called Tasker

and these were his lands. He made a

fortune out of iron railings.

HARGRAVES

It’s not -- ancient?

COLLINSON

Sorry to disappoint. It was built

about 1880. Mostly owned by the one

family. Requisitioned during World

War Two -- the American forces had

it. Derelict ever since.

Some laughter.

BROCK

Right. Let’s butter their paws. Come

on --

(Leading the way

briskly)

Lift, soon to operate, I hope. My

office is up there.

EDDIE

Very palatial.

BROCK

Of course, or why be boss? Reception

desk, with Sergeant Patterson.

Sergeant, get to know these faces.

SERGEANT

(nodding and grinning)

I know some already, sir.

BROCK

From here on, we’re secret. So no

chums in, no parties in the canteen --

which by the way is through there

and extremely decent.

COLLINSON

And working.

BROCK

Loos that way, also working. And now --

He opens the lab door and leads the way in.

THE LABORATORY

The laboratory is large and well equipped. It is filled with

benches and steel shelves holding all kinds of equipment.

Crates still unpacked stand round the walls.

There are a couple of TV cameras on roller tripods, large

monitors, oscillographs, thermographs, a spectrum analyser.

Separated off from the rest by a glazed partition is the

computer section. This is the territory of Jill and Stew.

There is the usual teleprinter for data communications-a

plotter of automatic graphs... a high-speed line printer.

But only a couple of the conventional tape storage units

with their heavy tape spools visible through windows.

BROCK

This is Lab One. Soon there’ll be

two others like it to spread into.

And if that’s not enough there are

five hundred acres outside to sit

and think in.

MAUDSLEY

Who else is coming here?

BROCK

Nobody. Just us.

HARGRAVES

But it’s enormous.

BROCK

We’ll get bigger. I’ll expand the

team with people I choose. Handpicked.

The best. Same as you’re the best.

STEW

Flattery, Pete...

MAUDSLEY

Gets him a lot of places.

DOW

Yeah.

HARGRAVES

This lot.

MAUDSLEY

Fantastic.

DOW

Too good to be true.

HARGRAVES

After North Acton, eh!

STEW

What about the other crowd? The

washing machine?

DOW

Here?

BROCK

Forget it.

DOW

That bunch in here?

BROCK

No! Can’t you get it through your

heads -- you’re special! Incredible

as it may seem, you are! I’ll spell

it out. This -- place -- is -- ours.

It -- is -- all -- for -- us. Because --

we -- are -- on -- the Big One!

(He surveys their

faces)

D’you want a pep talk? D’you really

want that?

DOW

About the Japs?

STEW

He’s a bit simple. Brilliant but

simple.

BROCK

Cliff -- it is always about the Japs.

In ten years they are going to have

us all by whatever part of our anatomy

they pick. There will be no

electronics industry anywhere in the

world but theirs. Unless --

EDDIE

I think we’ve a good chance.

BROCK

We’ve got only a single chance. We’ve

got to play a card so high they can’t

top it.

STEW

(mock-Japanese)

Aah, so!

BROCK

A completely new recording medium.

STEW

Already have in honourable pocket.

EDDIE

Shut up, Stew.

STEW

(seriously)

What about tape, though?

EDDIE

Tape’s finished.

STEW

They can still improve --

EDDIE

Its day is done.

BROCK

Stew.

(He has a spool in

his hand)

Magnetic tape is compact, responsive,

all the sales chat-up says.

(He pulls some loose

and crushes it in

his fingers)

Also delicate and prone to lose its

memory.

MAUDSLEY

Like Cliff here.

BROCK

As you rightly say.

(He tosses the spool

down)

It’s time, gentlemen, for a

breakthrough. Just record me, say,

the whole of Wagner’s Ring cycle

inside a pin head -- with instant

playback, of course --

MAUDSLEY

Gimme till lunchtime.

BROCK

-- and you can name your royalties.

EDDIE

(hungrily)

It is royalties, then?

BROCK

Forget about bonuses, you’ll be right

in there. I’ve got his word on it.

EDDIE

Himself?

BROCK

Yesterday. "Just put the boot into

ould Nippon!" is how he delicately

phrased it. So -- if you want to be

millionaires, it’s a crash programme.

Find the medium and everything else

follows.

DOW

The hardware?

BROCK

We’d take the lot. Computers -- TV --

home recording -- satellites -- they

all follow. Then Ryan Electrics

becomes Ryan International becomes

Ryan Interspatial. It is up to you.

EDDIE

I love this man’s modesty.

BROCK

Thanks to Eddie you’ll find all your

junk in familiar order.

EDDIE

Disorder.

BROCK

Obviously. Sorry.

EDDIE

All that string.

BROCK

Now. Your pet projects will go on as

before -- Eddie’s digital crystal

and so on -- but we’re going to try

something new. We’ll correlate all

results together.

MAUDSLEY

But Pete -- if there’s no connection --

BROCK

The computer might spot one.

(Doubtful noises)

Every clue counts.

EDDIE

It puts a lot on the computer.

All eyes go to Jill. She is standing by the computer, her

expression strange, as if she is still under the heavy

apprehension that nearly made her crash the car.

BROCK

Jill’s ready. She’s going to try

something very sophisticated.

Projections -- extrapolations -- a

sort of randomised mix with an

accelerated uncertainty principle.

How’s that?

Jill seems to come to herself.

JILL

Something of the sort.

BROCK

You all right?

JILL

Yes, I --

(As if to take

attention away from

herself, she turns

to the twin tape

storage units)

What about data storage? Are those

all we’ve got?

BROCK

Colly. Computer storage room. When

do we get it?

COLLINSON

Oh yes. Well --

BROCK

What?

COLLINSON

(embarrassed)

There’ve been -- problems.

BROCK

(quietly)

You were here to solve them.

(Controlling his anger)

How far have they got with it? Colly,

how much have they done?

COLLINSON

(bluntly)

Nothing.

Brock stares at him in disbelief, then makes for the door.

BROCK

Let me see!

He stamps off down the passage. Collinson looks at Jill.

They both follow.

THE STORAGE ROOM

Brock throws open a massive door. There is still a notice

screwed to it reading "U.S. ARMY. STORE ROOM".

The room is immense. It could contain a small house. The

walls go up 15 or 20 feet to meet the bare and rotting beams

of the roof. The walls are covered with wooden panelling

that now hangs away from them in sagging sheets.

There is a single window at one end, high up and half

smothered by the ivy we saw outside.

Apart from a workmen’s trestle table, standing in the rubble,

it is completely bare. A few square yards of the rotten

panelling have been torn down and thrown on the floor. Then

work seems to have been abandoned.

Brock stands in the middle of the room, unable to believe

it.

BROCK

It -- it simply isn’t -- ! Five months

and not a single -- ! Why didn’t you

report it?

Collinson joins him. Jill stays in the doorway.

COLLINSON

I knew there were reasons they had

to finish the priority jobs.

BROCK

Colly, this was priority!

COLLINSON

To be fair, it wasn’t in phase one.

BROCK

Refacing and air-conditioning and

wiring -- ! Did they just forget it?

COLLINSON

No.

BROCK

What then?

COLLINSON

Problems with the men. They claimed

it was -- I don’t know -- a dirty

job.

BROCK

There’s dry rot! Do they think it’s

catching! Look at those panels -- I

could shift the lot in half an hour!

He grabs a swathe of distorted panelling and peels it back.

It splits, disclosing shroud-like hangings of fungus. Dust

scatters. Brock sneezes.

He pulls savagely at another section and this too rips away.

More fungus -- and something else.

BROCK

Stairs.

Jill comes to look. The steps are little more than pegs the

wall, scarcely a foot wide and very badly worn -- hollowed,

sloping and uneven.

COLLINSON

Yes, they saw those.

BROCK

The men?

He tugs at the next section of panelling. It is more resistant

but it shows them enough.

JILL

They don’t lead anywhere.

The steps run from ground level to about eight feet up and

then stop.

BROCK

Surely that wasn’t what -- ?

(Sourly, as he releases

the panel)

What else did they find? A skeleton?

COLLINSON

No-o.

BROCK

Anything?

COLLINSON

As a matter of fact, yes. About thirty

tins of Spam.

BROCK

Spam!

COLLINSON

And a letter to Father Christmas.

He nods at the trestle table. With a comic groan Brock goes

to look. There is a pile of rusty tins. He picks one up.

BROCK

U.S. Army issue.

COLLINSON

Doubt if it’s fit now. They must

have got forced in through the

panelling. The Yanks used this for a

store.

BROCK

Painted it khaki!

COLLINSON

Trying to quell the rot.

BROCK

Even then?

COLLINSON

It was empty before the war. When

the rot gets really going like this

they call it weeping. Weeping fungus.

Brock glares at the membranes of rot with personal enmity.

There is a piece of paper on the table -- a half disintegrated

sheet that looks as if it was previously folded up in a tight

wad. Jill picks it up and tries to make out the faded scrawl.

JILL

"Christmas Eve..."

COLLINSON

Oh yes, that’s it.

JILL

"What... I want for...Christmas...

COLLINSON

A kid’s writing.

His manner has changed -- tight and nervous.

Brock suddenly attacks the wall, kicking out a great piece

of panelling. Rot and dead wood and dust go flying. He kicks

at it again, hacking more away with his foot.

BROCK

Even the stone’s got it!

COLLINSON

It’s just -- very old.

BROCK

1880?

COLLINSON

Ah, that’s when they panelled it in.

These walls are a lot older than the

rest of the house. They’ve just been --

built onto. In fact, they must have

been knocked down and rebuilt and

generally messed about a lot in the

last thousand years.

(Brock stares at him)

Oh, yes. The foundations might be

Saxon.

BROCK

Saxon!

COLLINSON

Just an amateur opinion.

BROCK

My God -- !

COLLINSON

Informed amateur.

BROCK

If you’re right, you see what it

means?

(in despair)

They’ll be in here -- the environment

boys, the conservationists -- nailing

their little notices on the door and

writs and -- they could stop

everything! If they get on to it --

(Thinking furiously)

-- what about the architect?

COLLINSON

(with contempt)

That architect!

BROCK

Didn’t he spot it?

COLLINSON

Not till the day he quit.

BROCK

(a tight smile)

Right! If we go ahead fast -- get

everything concreted over and the

machines in -- while we can! Where

are the men now?

COLLINSON

Working on the back.

BROCK

Come on!

(In the doorway he

turns)

Don’t worry, love, you’ll get your

storage room!

They hurry off along the passage. Jill shivers. It is cold

here, the chill suddenly striking. She follows.

As the men’s footsteps fade they seem to echo inside the

room. Curiously changed, though -- this is a rapid pattering.

The effect is so startling that Jill spins round expecting

to see another person. And finds nobody. She forces calm on

herself and makes for the door. As she reaches it the sense

of another presence behind her is overwhelming. She halts

and steadies herself against the doorpost. Quite deliberately,

she turns to look.

And sees a figure.

It is standing high up on the peg-like steps. The figure of

a woman in black, its face hidden by arms raised in front of

it. It looks as if it is on the point of falling. Still and

rigid.

In the same moment that the vision lasts -- and it is only a

moment -- there is a shrill rasp in the air. A human scream

that has lost its humanity, denatured and dead.

Then silence. The steps empty.

Jill twists about and clings to the doorpost, beyond crying

out. She claws her way into the passage. In the entrance

hall she can see Brock and Collinson talking to one of the

builders’ men.

JILL

(hoarsely)

Peter...

He turns. As he starts towards her she pitches forward...

BROCK’S SUITE — LIVING QUARTERS

Jill is huddled on a convertible bed. Her knees are drawn up

beside her and her fists are bunched. She has come out of

the first shock into a paroxysm of violent, confused sobbing.

Brock is trying to calm her.

BROCK

All right now, all right. Jill!

He pulls her crumpled face round. Her eyes open but it takes

her a moment to focus on him. She looks like a child that

can’t explain what hurts. Then panic rises again.

JILL

I can’t stay here, I’ve got to get

away! Take me away!

(wildly)

Peter!

She sits up, tense and trembling, her fists held tight against

her breasts and her body rigid. She is on the brink of

hysteria.

He moves closer, stroking her, soothing her.

BROCK

Jill, Jill, Jill. Easy now.

(He kisses her but

she stays rigid in

his arms)

I’m sorry. I didn’t listen to you

before. Tell me about it.

JILL

What?

BROCK

The accident.

JILL

It isn’t that.

BROCK

Tell me.

JILL

I -- I hit a pile of sand, that’s

all. There were vans and -- I couldn’t

have been watching.

(Suddenly)

I hate this place! I didn’t want to

come here!

BROCK

No. You didn’t.

(His face sets a

little. Now he feels

he knows where he

is. They are on old

ground. He sits back.

Her fists are still

pressed tight against

her body like a

barrier. He gently

eases them down)

Here. Dump the moist hankie.

JILL

(opening her hand)

Not -- not a hankie.

Brock takes it.

BROCK

Oh. Father Christmas’s letter.

She shakes her head.

BROCK

(reading)

"What I want... for Christmas is...

please go away. Signed Martin Tasker".

Well.

JILL

(whispering)

Not what you’d say.

BROCK

I don’t know. One of my kids is like

that, hates the idea of him coming

down the chimney.

JILL

It wasn’t to Father Christmas.

BROCK

Who, then?

JILL

I know. I think I know!

Again the rising note of hysteria. Brock hardens himself

against it. He gets up.

The room is only half finished. It will be very luxurious

indeed but at present is still a mess of hanging wires and

unopened crates.

BROCK

How do you like it now? They’ve done

a bit since we came down that time.

All the shelving and --

(He looks into the

adjoining office,

where a huge desk

stands in a sea of

unsecured carpet,

and back to her)

I quite liked it even without the

shelving. Didn’t you?

(Her face is

unresponsive)

You know what all this is about.

You’re getting at me.

(He waits for a protest

but there isn’t any)

Mind you, I quite enjoyed your

previous ploys. "How are Christine

and the kids? How are Timothy’s mumps?

How’s the dog’s toothache?" Oh my

Jilly. You’re a very female one.

(MORE)

BROCK (cont’d)

(He sits on the bed)

I need you. I know you weren’t keen

to transfer but I need you for your

brain as well -- if that doesn’t

sound crass but of course it does.

If you’re in doubt ask Eddie and the

boys.

(He strokes her

forehead)

What’s in there is so rare and...

valuable.

(After a moment)

Do it your own way. Commute home to

old mummy or stay here. Stay?

(She says nothing)

Sometimes, anyway.

Jill looks him straight in the face. She is calmer, but only

by her own effort.

JILL

I saw a ghost.

Just for a moment Brock’s eyes soften -- then the response

dies and they are hard again. He gets up briskly.

BROCK

Let’s get out of here for a while.

Leave Colly to fight the labour

relations.

He helps her up. when she is on her feet he kisses her.

JILL

Let’s go...

LOCAL PUBLIC HOUSE

The brewers’ gimmick when they face-lifted this roadside pub

was ’motoring’. The beer handles are gaitered gear levers,

and the whole bar looks like an accessory shop. Babycham

bottles peep through spokes and steering wheels. Muffled

muzak throbs.

Any jollity is dispelled by the BAR LADY, a genteel harridan,

who forks out cold meats and pickles for Jill and Brock. Her

helper, an ungainly little countrywoman, is allowed to work

the beer engine.

HELPER

(beaming)

One Danish draught, one Super-Strong.

BROCK

One for yourself.

HELPER

Ta.

BAR LADY

No, thank you. Are they really making

poison gas up there?

BROCK

No -- we aren’t.

BAR LADY

It’s what I heard.

BROCK

Not a whiff.

BAR LADY

(wearily)

I mean germs. You know what I mean.

Feeling Jill’s tension rise, he puts his hand over hers.

JILL

Do you know the place?

BAR LADY

I’ve only been here a month. That’ll

be -- with the bread -- one pound

eighty pee.

(As Brock pays)

I mean, it won’t do us any good.

These days people don’t like that

sort of thing.

JILL

It’s nothing bad!

BAR LADY

(freezingly)

We all know what secret means.

She moves away to attend more favoured customers. The helper

grimaces and lifts her glass.

HELPER

Cheers. I believe it’s been made

very nice.

JILL

Do you know it?

HELPER

I used to. Well, sort of.

JILL

You went there?

HELPER

Not actually in. It was during the

war when the Yanks was there.

(She leans forward

with a grotesque

confidential giggle)

I was a good-time girl!

BROCK

Hooray for you.

HELPER

(pleased)

Yes, well -- why not? They was nice

boys. And the nylons!

JILL

Did they talk about the house?

HELPER

Ooh -- it was all generals and people.

Some headquarters. Eisenhower was

there once.

JILL

I mean -- what was it like inside?

HELPER

(puzzled)

No. Very posh, I expect. There was

one boy, though --

(Fondness shows)

-- He was a caution. He said -- now

lemme think -- oh dear, he had all

these funny words, y’see, he was a

coloured boy. I know -- guppy. He

said there was guppies in the store --

that’s where he worked --

BROCK

Guppies are fish. Tropical.

HELPER

Oh dear. Duppies?

A man in his late twenties moves along behind the bar, aproned

and carrying a crate of bottles.

MAN

He must have meant rats.

HELPER

You don’t know, Alan.

ALAN

Taskerlands is full of rats. We used

to play up there when I was a kid.

HELPER

Oh yes -- you and that Jackie and --

She breaks off in some curious embarrassment. He gives her a

hard look and goes on with emphasis, as if to prove he doesn’t

mind talking about it.

ALAN

Yes, old Jackie. We used to do dares.

JILL

The end room -- you know it?

ALAN

(after a moment)

Yes. Stand there in the dark, after

a bit you’d hear ’em all noising

about and squealing.

JILL

Did you see them?

ALAN

What was there to see? If they was

behind the woodwork?

He moves off with his crate. Brock glances at Jill. She is

trembling.

JILL

Who else would know about it? About

the house?

THE VICARAGE LIBRARY

The vicar is in his sixties. He is a scholar gone completely

to seed. He has opened an old glass-fronted bookcase and is

searching hopelessly through the mess inside. It is crammed

to bursting with tattered journals and folders and exercise

books. Bundles fall, scattering dust.

Brock and Jill are with him. All her tension has returned.

VICAR

You’ve seen the parish registers.

Not many Taskers there... among the

births and marriages and... they

were not... statistically prominent.

But apart from the registers I really

don’t know --

BROCK

We’re wasting your time.

JILL

No, please --

VICAR

It’s quite all right, if I can only --

JILL

I just thought there might be

something more -- personal. About

the family and the house.

VICAR

(opening an exercise

book)

Old sermons. Now who on earth would

want to hear today about... about...?

JILL

Did you know them? The Taskers?

VICAR

Eh? Oh... they’d all gone before I

came. Died out. That last one was a

recluse, I believe. Now -- there

must be some odds and ends from my

predecessor Is time. I fancy --

somewhere here --

(He suddenly turns to

them with eyes

brightened by a vital

recollection)

You know? It came to me the other

day -- about pollution. It’s the

modern rediscovery of sin. The only

form it can take in a materialistic

world!

(He is delighted with

his notion)

All the rubbish and mess -- that’s

the new wickedness! And they can see

it! The sudden conviction of -- of --

of non-returnable bottles! Eh?

BROCK

(uncomfortably)

Yes, Jill, I think --

VICAR

Then sackcloth and ashes. Plenty of

ashes!

BROCK

I think we’d better get back.

VICAR

Oh dear.

BROCK

This -- was just a thought.

VICAR

(moving with them to

the door)

Yes, well I... Come again and perhaps

by then I --

BROCK

Thanks anyway.

VICAR

They must have been funny people.

There was something about an exorcism

once --

JILL

Exorcism!

VICAR

(shaking his head)

Now I can’t approve of that. I know

it’s in the prayer-book, but -- oh,

dear, dear!

JILL

You do mean -- laying a ghost?

Her intensity catches at Brock.

VICAR

It was either there or... now was

it? Ah!

(He seems to change

his mind)

I may be maligning them.

JILL

When was it?

VICAR

Oh -- long, long ago.

(Then he brightens

out of his vagueness

and happily remounts

his hobby-horse. He

beams)

I feel I’m obsolete but not sinful --

I cause so little pollution. Apart

from tea-leaves -- and my hens eat

those up --

OUTSIDE TASKERLANDS HOUSE — DUSK

Jill’s Austin pulls out of the corner behind the building

materials, backfiring repeatedly. Brock holds up his hand to

halt her and runs round behind the car to kick the sand out

of her exhaust pipe. He waves her on. Engine running more

smoothly, she turns away down the drive.

Brock watches her go. His face is serious. He has sent her

off early. The other cars still stand parked. After a moment

he starts towards the caravan. There is a light in its window.

INSIDE THE CARAVAN

Brock looks in and finds Collinson at work with two fingers

on a portable typewriter by the light of an angle poise lamp.

BROCK

How did it go?

COLLINSON

Well -- they’ve made a start, clearing

the old panelling out. I’m just making

a report.

(As Brock glances

back at the house)

I’d leave them to it. They were

decidedly tricky.

BROCK

Any reason given?

COLLINSON

No. They just don’t like it. Come in --

have a drink.

BROCK

Good idea.

Collinson clears a space for him. The whole caravan is tightly

packed with files and office equipment as well as personal

things, but method keeps everything in place. He produces

whisky and glasses from a tiny cupboard, ice from an equally

tiny fridge.

COLLINSON

How’s Jill now?

BROCK

-- I’ve sent her home.

COLLINSON

Just as well. A nasty shake-up.

BROCK

It wasn’t just the car.

COLLINSON

Oh?

BROCK

(after a moment)

Bloody woman!

He sits frowning. Collinson watches him.

COLLINSON

(carefully)

I’ve only admired her from afar but...

I’d say she’s the type that... hurts

easily.

Brock seems not to hear him. So he goes on pouring out the

drinks.

BROCK

Colly -- were there any rats?

COLLINSON

Where?

BROCK

In the end room?

COLLINSON

No.

BROCK

No sign there’d been any?

COLLINSON

Rats wouldn’t have left that Spam.

They’d have chewed those tins open

in no time.

BROCK

They could do that?

COLLINSON

The teeth of a hungry rat... Here --

He passes Brock his glass.

BROCK

Cheers.

(He glances at

Collinson’s report)

I’ve got some work to finish too. I

might stop over tonight.

COLLINSON

Break in the Director’s suite a bit?

(Brock nods absently.

Collinson drinks and

watches him, noticing

his quietness)

I was up in town last week. Dropped

in on the legal department. One or

two things I wanted to clear up about

the house here -- covenants and so

on. They’ve got boxes and boxes of

stuff -- passed over by the trustees,

I suppose. I brought one back.

(Brock is still showing

no attention.

Collinson digs out

an ancient document

box and squeaks it

open)

One or two curiosities in it. How

d’you like this?

(He takes out a

document)

Application for the holding of a

service of exorcism.

BROCK

What!

COLLINSON

August 1892.

BROCK

Let me see --

He grabs the document. Collinson follows it with a thin

ledger.

COLLINSON

Full record of the alleged haunting.

Evidence, I suppose.

BROCK

Louisa Hanks --

COLLINSON

That was her. There’s even a report

of her death.

He passes Brock a newspaper cutting.

BROCK

1890 --

COLLINSON

Two years before.

BROCK

"Sad mishap at Taskerlands. Louisa

Hanks, an under maid in the employ

of Mr Horace Tasker, yesterday fell

to her death from a flight of steps

while engaged about her duties".

That’s all.

COLLINSON

Pretty good press for an under-maid

in those days.

Brock stares at him.

BROCK

And they thought that she -- ?

COLLINSON

More than thought. They kept a note

of all the times and dates, went on

doing it for ages afterwards. You

see, the ghost-laying didn’t take.

Brock looks from the ledger to the document, to the cutting...

back to Collinson’s steady face.

BROCK

Have you seen it?

Collinson shakes his head.

COLLINSON

Only heard.

BROCK’S SUITE - OFFICE, NIGHT

Brock is walking uneasily about his office. Everything in

him resists the idea. On the other hand --

He goes to the window and looks down into the dark forecourt.

He can see the lighted windows of the caravan. more by way

of fidgeting than from any urgent need to communicate, he

picks up the phone and presses buttons.

BROCK

Christine... look, honey, I’m still

at this place, I won’t be home...

Oh, the move, various buffooneries.

It’s all right, I’ve eaten. All I

should. How’s whatsisname, the

horse... Yes, Chuffy... it was that

hoof? Aha... Oh, good. Love to the

kids, then.

He puts the phone down. And sits frowning. And comes to a

decision. He pulls his jacket on and hurries out.

ENTRANCE HALL AND PASSAGE

The stairway that descends beside the lift shaft is narrow,

lit by temporary fixtures.

Brock comes down. At the foot of the stairs he stands by the

deserted reception desk and listens. Not a sound.

He moves slowly along the dim passage, putting his feet down

as quietly as he can without making a performance of it. The

door of the storage room is shut. He stands by it and listens

again.

For a few seconds there is no sound... then the same rapid

pattering Jill heard, that might come from the feet of a

very small human or a very large rat.

He puts his hand to the doorknob. In the same instant there

is a cry -- again the same that Jill experienced, a hoarse

rasp. It is almost as if he had caused it.

He instinctively takes his hand from the knob for a moment.

Then he grips it firmly... no sound... and throws the door

open. As he fumbles for the light switch there is a little

rush of noises... the pattering, the cry, very faint.

At the click of the switch it all ceases.

He looks round the storage room. He sees nothing move. A

quantity of panelling has been ripped out by the workmen and

left on the floor.

Then the sounds come again. The pattering -- and, curiously

close, the cry: A short, denatured screech, almost in his

ear.

It comes again... and again.

Brock backs away.

THE LABORATORY - DAY

Coloured indicator lamps are flashing on a "breadboard" -- a

rough experimental lash-up of electronic components and

printed circuits. Maudsley is making adjustments to the

controls on a temporary panel, while Dow takes notes.

Eddie Holmes has one eye to an optical tube with many largehandled

but delicate adjusters. It is supported in a frame

that is gripped tight in a vice. A couple of feet in front

of him, clamped to the same frame, is a kind of crystalline

box, a thing of exquisite complexity.

Eddie is peering into the heart of the box.

EDDIE

Try going down two nanoseconds.

MAUDSLEY

Down two.

Eddie’s other eye is open too but trained to ignore that it

sees. It ignores the lab door opening and Brock coming in,

followed by Jill.

BROCK

I’ve got something to tell you all.

(Eddie looks up with

both eyes. He rubs

them. Brock looks

deliberately round

the room, waiting

for faces to lift

from apparatus)

We’ve got a ghost!

For a moment, nobody knows how to take the announcement.

Whether he is expecting a laugh or not.

EDDIE

I’m glad to hear it, Peter.

MAUDSLEY

Every home should have one.

HARGRAVES

Every stately home.

EDDIE

Had me worried, the lack of class.

Collinson comes in. Brock turns to him.

COLLINSON

Not a chance.

BROCK

Talk to them yourself?

COLLINSON

I did. Push it any further and

there’ll be a general walk-out.

BROCK

That’s it, then.

He turns to the others. They are even more puzzled.

EDDIE

What’s this about, Peter?

STEW

Did you say ghost?

BROCK

Silly word, don’t be put off. We

could call it a phenomenon or

something. Anyway it’s real. It’s

got possession of the computer storage

room and it’s stopped all work there.

COLLINSON

The men won’t go back.

STEW

They were going on about something

in the canteen --

DOW

Yes. I thought it was the muck.

STEW

I wondered.

BROCK

Whatever it is in there I’ve heard

it. Colly’s heard it. And Jill’s

seen it.

EDDIE

Jill --

STEW

That what got you?

JILL

Yes.

STEW

What did you see?

JILL

A woman.

MAUDSLEY

Oh, come off it!

EDDIE

She isn’t kidding.

BROCK

None of us are.

They don’t know how to react. Maudsley gives a nervous giggle.

STEW

Let’s go in there

HARGRAVES

Why not? I’m ready --

BROCK

All right. Thanks for the enthusiasm

because I intend to use it.

STEW

Eh?

EDDIE

What d’you mean?

BROCK

They once had a go at it with bell,

book and candle. Well -- we’re rather

better equipped.

(He lets this sink in)

I’m going to chuck the lot at it.

EDDIE

Go after it with -- electronics and --

and --

BROCK

Find out exactly what makes it --

well, it doesn’t tick, it patters

its feet and screeches. Everything

we get Jill’s going to program in

the computer.

EDDIE

Analyse a spook?

BROCK

Say it’s... a mass of data waiting

for a correct interpretation. Nobody’s

ever managed it. I think we might.

Collinson glances at Jill’s tight, strained face.

COLLINSON

Can you spare the time?

BROCK

No choice, Colly. It’s got us stuck...

INSIDE THE STORAGE ROOM - DAY

Something is hurled through from the passage, to land twisting

like a heavy snake on the floor. It is a heavy cable with a

multi-outlet head.

MAUDSLEY

Ta.

He plugs in a large tape-recorder. Nearby, Dow is sorting

out microphones, including a parabolic reflector.

DOW

Which mike, Pete?

BROCK

Stereo.

(To Jill)

Where did you see it?

JILL

Near the top of the steps.

The panelling has been stripped from the end wall, exposing

the steps, and from about half the remainder of the room. It

reveals a bare stone wall with a row of large joist holes

about half-way up.

BROCK

Where she fell off.

JILL

There must have been an upper floor.

Where those holes are. D’you think

she was going up to it?

COLLINSON

No. This was a total ruin when Tasker

bought. It’s all in the deeds. He

just roofed it and patched it and

made it part of his house. A sort of

folly.

JILL

Then -- where was she going?

BROCK

Probably a big aspidistra at the top

and she had to water it.

JILL

And died.

BROCK

Odd, that. You’d have thought she’d

just break a leg or something. It’s

not high enough.

JILL

High enough for poor Louisa. And

then... they panelled the place over.

To hide it all.

They are all watching her. Rational by temperament and

training, they are nevertheless uneasy in this place. There

is something about its atmosphere that disturbs.

EDDIE

There’s a big echo in here. We ought

to measure it. Something to make a

loud noise with?

(At the table)

What’s all this?

JILL

Spam.

EDDIE

Eh? Somebody feeding the ghost?

He grins at her but the idea isn’t funny. It hits her. Items

click together in her mind.

JILL

(almost a whisper)

Perhaps they were.

Eddie thumps a rusty tin on the table but rejects the idea.

He goes on testing possible objects while Dow listens through

his headphones. Hargraves points the parabolic reflector

hopefully at the steps and locks it off.

HARGRAVES

Now we wait. Think I’ll get my coat.

MAUDSLEY

Get mine, will you?

STEW

(giving them a sour

look)

Oh spare us.

HARGRAVES

What?

STEW

This act, the ghostly shivers.

HARGRAVES

No act.

MAUDSLEY

It’s just -- chilly. Don’t you feel

it?

STEW

Do you mind!

Then he notices Jill. She is trembling, tightening her arms

round herself.

Eddie has improvised a clapper board out of two pieces of

batten from a packing case. He smacks them sharply together.

The percussion echoes through the room.

EDDIE

How’s that?

DOW

Okay, I’ll take it.

(He switches the

recorder on and speaks

into the microphone)

Testing room wavelength. Take one.

Eddie produces another clash of metal... it echoes

noticeably... then, after a few seconds, another percussion.

JILL

Stop it. Oh stop it -- !

BROCK

That’s enough, Eddie.

Through their very voices comes the harsh rasping screech.

It repeats several times in rapid succession.

There is wild excitement. The sound seems to break out in

half a dozen places. They twist and turn to locate it. Then

it is gone -- in a single rapid patter of footsteps.

They are left staring at each other.

HARGRAVES

That was it! That was it!

BROCK

It was by the steps.

HARGRAVES

(pointing down the

room)

No, over that way.

EDDIE

It was by the door.

MAUDSLEY

No, it wasn’t.

EDDIE

Distinctly.

They are all arguing and pointing; almost a nervous reaction.

STEW

What did you hear?

EDDIE

It was over there! I’m not crazy!

MAUDSLEY

You could hardly hear it.

EDDIE

It was deafening!

BROCK

It wasn’t loud.

EDDIE

Not loud? I heard it!

BROCK

Just close.

HARGRAVES

Hi, that’s right.

BROCK

No perspective on it.

STEW

(to Maudsley)

What did you hear?

MAUDSLEY

(shrugging)

Not much.

STEW

I didn’t hear anything.

JILL

I saw her. Again.

This stops the argument.

BROCK

Same place?

JILL

No, there.

(She points to the

middle of the room.

Instinctively they

turn to look at the

spot)

Black clothes.

EDDIE

Solid?

JILL

Yes, quite solid.

BROCK

Was she moving?

JILL

I think so. There was something the

matter. The way she moved --

BROCK

How?

JILL

Sort of -- twisting.

Brock looks at the others. Nobody has anything to add.

BROCK

Let’s hear it again. Cliff --

Dow turns the recorder spools back and switches on.

DOW’S VOICE

(recorded)

Testing room wavelength. Take one.

They hear the test sounds Eddie made and the two other voices

cutting in.

JILL’S VOICE

Stop it. Oh stop it --

BROCK’S VOICE

That’s enough, Eddie.

Then -— silence, apart from small human exclamations.

EDDIE

She’s not there. She didn’t record.

DOW

I heard her in my headphones. I don’t

get this.

EDDIE

Let me check that thing.

He crouches by the recorder. Uneasy glances are exchanged.

HARGRAVES

She got away...

THE LABORATORY - DAY

More apparatus is being wheeled out of the laboratory towards

the storage room: A TV monitor, TV cameras, thermographs.

Jill slumps into her chair at the programming desk. Collinson

is with her.

JILL

It’s the screaming.

COLLINSON

Yes.

JILL

Could you hear it from the caravan?

COLLINSON

No, only if I went to the room. But

I -- well, I just can’t take a woman’s

screams.

JILL

Soft-hearted.

COLLINSON

I was with my wife in a car crash.

JILL

Killed?

COLLINSON

No. We divorced. Might have had

something to do with it. This is

even worse in a way.

JILL

Worse?

COLLINSON

A living person in that pain, you

can try to help them. Here -- you

can’t.

(Jill covers her face)

I’m going to be very old and stuffy

and say drop the whole thing.

JILL

No.

COLLINSON

If you really see something it must

mean -- extra sensitivity.

JILL

I’m a medium?

COLLINSON

That makes it sound --

JILL

Knocks on the table, one for yes,

two for no.

COLLINSON

I’m serious.

She sees the concern in his face. Then Brock arrives with

Stew.

BROCK

(to Stew)

Get all Colly’s data on file. And

stand by to take real time from next

door.

STEW

(switching on his

teleprinter)

Okay.

BROCK

Jill, can you start blocking something

out? Heuristic stuff, really wild?

(He glances at the

tape storage units)

Those won’t touch it. Book time on

the central computer. If you need

it, go through to Chicago. All in

code, Colly, it stays our little

secret.

COLLINSON

Who pays?

BROCK

Himself. Sure held love it if he

knew!

(Collinson passes

Stew the old ledger

and a plastic folder

of neatly typed notes)

Full record of the first five years

from 1890. Also the past six months.

STEW

What about the bit in between? The

odd eighty years?

BROCK

We’ve got a witness...

HALF AN HOUR LATER IN THE STORAGE ROOM

Alan is standing in the doorway of the storage room. He looks

thoroughly bewildered. The room seems to be full of apparatus.

Blank monitor screens flicker. Eddie and the others are

tending and adjusting and improvising.

ALAN

Cameras? What’s all this stuff? What’s

it for?

BROCK

I told you -- ignore it.

ALAN

I didn’t want to come.

BROCK

A few simple questions. That won’t

take long.

(Alan doesn’t move

from the doorway)

Remember this room?

ALAN

I was just a kid.

BROCK

YOU did come in here?

ALAN

I suppose so.

BROCK

You’re not sure?

ALAN

Well, I did, then

As if to prove it, he comes forward now.

BROCK

How often?

ALAN

(evasively)

We -- we knew we weren’t rightly

meant --

BROCK

How many times?

ALAN

I dunno.

BROCK

In a year, say?

ALAN

Ten times. A dozen.

BROCK

You said between 1952 and 1955.

ALAN

Yes.

BROCK

Maybe a total of thirty visits?

(Alan nods. Brock

turns to the nearest

microphone)

Get that, Stew?

INSIDE THE LABORATORY

Stew and Jill are working at the computer. Stew leans across

the teleprinter desk to a microphone.

STEW

I got it.

BROCK’S VOICE

(through speaker)

Fills in the model a bit.

The teleprinter keys rattle beneath Stew’s fingers.

INSIDE THE STORAGE ROOM

Brock turns back to Alan.

BROCK

And you heard -- rats?

ALAN

Sometimes.

BROCK

Only sometimes?

ALAN

Nearly every time, if we waited.

INSIDE THE LABORATORY

BROCK’S VOICE

(through speaker)

Nearly every time.

Jill looks at Stew. He nods and keeps on typing it in.

INSIDE THE STORAGE ROOM

ALAN

We made these dares out of it, see?

Old rats are dirty customers. They’ll

go for you. We used to fool about

all over this house. Smash it up a

bit you know.

BROCK

You’re a country lad. You know the

sound rats make.

ALAN

(ignoring this)

I reckon we must have bust all the

windows. Real bad, we were. Used to

see who could find a pane of glass

still whole and -- smash! Cost you a

lot to put them back, did it?

(He is talking faster,

suddenly urgent)

I better go now. There’ll be trouble

if I don’t get back. That old cow

down there, she --

(He breaks off,

listening. The others

notice something

too. Maudsley shivers.

Dow tenses and makes

a dive for the

parabolic reflector.

All of them sense

the chill: Brock...

Eddie... Alan)

I reckon I’ll just get along.

But he has hardly turned to go when there is a rapid

pattering... a single rasping cry.

INSIDE THE LABORATORY

No sound comes through the speaker but Jill reacts.

JILL

(turning to Stew)

It’s there! Can’t you hear it?

INSIDE THE STORAGE ROOM

The screech comes again and again.

Alan stands paralysed as Eddie and the others try to bring

their apparatus to bear. Cameras are swung on their tripods.

Microphones scan the room.

Alan stands staring at Brock. Suddenly he cracks. With a

strangled exclamation he turns and bolts. He collides with

Maudsley. He pushes Dow out of his way, trips over a cable

and falls against a thermograph tripod. He goes down with

it. Then he is crawling towards the doorway, frantic with

terror.

THE ENTRANCE HALL

Alan drags himself along the passage, trying to regain his

feet But blood is spilling from a cut above one eye and he

looks half stunned -- only driven on by animal fear.

As he sways against the wall Jill throws the lab door open.

He jerks away from the sudden movement. He stumbles past the

reception desk and the pop-eyed sergeant -- and drops to his

knees, trying to wipe the blood out of his eyes. As Jill

catches him up he peers round to see who or what it is.

ALAN

Don’t want to be -- like Jackie --

Brock appears in the passage, to find Jill crouching by Alan

and the sergeant running to help.

BROCK

All right. It’s over.

SERGEANT

What happened, sir?

BROCK

Get some water -- whisky -- anything --

(As the sergeant

hurries off, he makes

for Alan)

You never went into that room. Did

you?

ALAN

I did.

BROCK

You’re lying.

JILL

Peter --

BROCK

You stayed at the door and listened.

You knew what it was.

JILL

Leave him alone!

BROCK

You were afraid of it.

JILL

Why not? Why shouldn’t he be? It’s a

normal human reaction. He’s the sane

one! We’re the freaks!

Brock turns quickly down the passage.

INSIDE THE STORAGE ROOM

Dow is playing a tape recording back and getting only a

confusion of bumps and scuffles and shouts. He looks up as

Brock returns, and shakes his head.

Eddie is watching a wildly swinging playback image on a

monitor screen.

EDDIE

(turning to Brock)

Nothing.

Alan’s panic has brought something to the surface in them

all. He has acted out the secret fear they suppress, and it

needs more effort to keep a rational view of this unrecordable

thing.

THE ENTRANCE HALL

The sergeant had brought water in a jug, and a glass. Alan

has drunk some. Jill is washing the cut on his face.

JILL

What happened to Jackie?

ALAN

Eh?

JILL

You said just now --

ALAN

We never done nothing to him. It was

the door got stuck. That door.

JILL

He was inside the room?

ALAN

(nodding)

We never meant -- we couldn’t help

it, could we?

(His face is suddenly

suffused with guilt)

He’s all right, old Jackie.

JILL

Did he... see it?

ALAN

(after a moment)

He made out it spoke to him. And

then... the others come.

JILL

(chilled)

Others?

ALAN

Just his talk, see.

JILL

What happened to him?

ALAN

He’s all right. Got this job, hasn’t

he?

JILL

Can I meet him?

ALAN

What for? He don’t remember.

(She stares at him)

They took him up the County.

JILL

Where?

ALAN

The County. You know. They put him

right. They can do that. He don’t

care a button, he just laughs. All

the time. He’s all right.

She can say nothing. Seeing Brock returning, Alan moves off

abruptly and heads for the outer door.

BROCK

(calling)

Wait a minute -- I’ll get a car to

take you --

JILL

(fiercely)

Let him go!

Then Alan has gone. They look at each other. Brock is showing

the same strain as the rest of his team.

The phone rings on the reception desk, grating raw nerves.

SERGEANT

(answering it)

Reception... Yes, he is.

(To Brock)

Mr. Ryan’s office.

It is like a cold douche. Brock takes the phone.

BROCK

Brock... Oh... Helen, my love, how

are you?... Yes, we’re settling in

nicely...

(Alarmed)

McAlister? But -- that’s all been

settled, there’s no question of --

there’s no room for him here!...

(Alarm subsiding)

Talk to him? Well... I just don’t

want to see the man, I’m in the middle

of an experiment. Look, is he there?

(He manages a grisly

jocularity)

Himself, th’ould grey widow maker?...

I see, when’s he back?... All right,

then, under duress. Tomorrow. ’Bye.

(He puts the phone

down)

Hell!

JILL

Experiment...

THE LABORATORY - DAY

A display screen flickers. Tiny flicks of blue light jump up

and hold, building into an irregular graph-like pattern.

JILL

I don’t know what you’d call that.

The time since she died.

BROCK

Quasi-life.

JILL

All right, her quasi-life. During it

she must have made eight thousand

appearances, minimum.

BROCK

Sound only?

JILL

Yes. In vision, about a tenth as

many.

Eddie and the others are gathering round to watch. There is

a curious tension growing in them, a sense of the rational

put under severe strain.

EDDIE

Sounds a hell of a lot.

JILL

Spread over all those years, it isn’t.

And there’s a cyclic factor. Bursts

of activity.

She indicates the peaks of the display.

BROCK

1905 looks a good year. All round

there.

JILL

The time of the letter.

BROCK

Yes... it could have been.

STEW

What letter?

BROCK

One to Father Christmas except that

it wasn’t.

JILL

From Martin Tasker aged 8. Later to

die a recluse.

Brock moves aside for the others to inspect the display.

BROCK

See them? Patches of concentrated

haunting.

EDDIE

Let’s scrap that word.

BROCK

Haunt?

EDDIE

Yes.

MAUDSLEY

It blows Eddie’s mind.

EDDIE

It gets in the way. Like the jokey

talk.

MAUDSLEY

Saw a ghost eating toast

Halfway up a lamp post!

EDDIE

(rounding on him)

Shut up!

The tension has thickened.

BROCK

Eddie’s right. Let’s cut out all the

loaded words. Ghost... spook...

apparition... phantom.

EDDIE

Supernatural.

BROCK

Yes, that’s a beauty. Spectre...

wraith... spirit.

HARGRAVES

Like a rollcall.

BROCK

This isn’t a little shade that

couldn’t get into heaven because the

pearly gates were shut. It’s something

else, something interesting.

A tiny silence.

JILL

You don’t want her to be alive.

EDDIE

Do you think it is?

JILL

No.

EDDIE

Well, then --

JILL

I might be wrong.

BROCK

Is anybody religious?

JILL

I don’t mean that. Just -- respect.

For her, I suppose.

MAUDSLEY

Old Louisa?

JILL

She wasn’t old, she was nineteen.

Brock gives her a long hard look.

BROCK

You’ve demolished her! I know you,

love, I know how your mind works.

You’re on the track of something

that serves her up as a very dry

dish indeed -- and you feel funny

about it. Come on. Give!

JILL

(hesitantly)

It’s just the first rough model.

(She flips a switch.

A wide coil of paper

chatters and spills

from the line printer)

I took the sudden coldness as basic.

A temperature drop of at least three

degrees or we wouldn’t notice it.

EDDIE

Fair enough.

JILL

Taking the volume of air in that

room -- and varying times from ten

to ninety seconds -- what we get is

a power flow between 20 and 200

kilowatts a minute.

EDDIE

A heat pump.

STEW

A furnace in reverse!

Brock studies the print-out.

JILL

Peter you see what’s coming out there?

Heat drawn rapidly from the

surroundings and concentrated.

EDDIE

Ionisation?

BROCK

Hot spots forming in the air.

EDDIE

Like -- fireballs.

BROCK

Converting into other forms of energy --

sound waves -- light...

(doubtfully)

It’d be quite a process. Crude energy

forming itself into regular,

recognisable patterns. I don’t know...

EDDIE

Let’s make a practical start. Search

for these -- hot spots, see if they

exist.

STEW

(amused)

Hot spots.

MAUDSLEY

Ay, ay, Eddie.

DOW

Dirty old man.

EDDIE

(eagerly)

We’ve got heat sensors -- we can do

it. Two stages -- a wide scan, then

home in. It’s the crossover stage --

we can improvise there --

(Already on the move,

he turns impatiently)

Come on, then!

DOW

(as he follows)

Hot spots.

MAUDSLEY

Carry me to the Kasbah.

Jill watches them go.

JILL

Well, Eddie buys it...

INSIDE THE STORAGE ROOM - DAY

A thermograph detector is being slowly panned on a tripod by

Maudsley. Eddie and the others are setting up black boxes

improvised out of used canteen containers, with trailing

wire and small lamps sprouting. Eddie places one on the top

step.

EDDIE

Early warning. Any quick temperature

change -- this lamp comes on. Half a

dozen altogether, that should cover

the --

Turning to point the others out to Brock, standing below, he

nearly slips off the worn steps.

BROCK

Watch it!

EDDIE

(steadying himself)

Following in Louisa’s footsteps!

BROCK

One’s enough...

INSIDE THE LABORATORY

Stew and Jill are working slowly through a data routine.

STEW

I don’t buy it either. I’ve never

felt cold in there.

Jill breaks off and swivels to face him.

JILL

Never once?

STEW

Not a goose-pimple.

JILL

But -- you’re skinny. You’re a natural

shiverer.

STEW

Yeah. Wrap up warm, Stew, me mum

always says.

(He frowns at his

work)

Struck another bug.

JILL

Okay. Re-run.

Stew presses keys. The teleprinter starts typing out its

data so far. Brock comes in.

BROCK

How’s it going? Trying more variables?

JILL

There are some we missed.

BROCK

Such as?

JILL

The strength of people’s reactions.

BROCK

To it?

JILL

Everybody’s is different. One hears

hardly at all. Why?

BROCK

It’s what you’d expect. Strength of

eyesight or hearing.

JILL

What about Stew?

STEW

I still don’t get a thing.

BROCK

Okay, you’re ghostproof. Like

colourblind.

JILL

Good. I’m running a fresh program.

I’m going to put him in it.

BROCK

What?

JILL

I’m running Stew in it as a parameter.

STEW

Fame at last.

BROCK

What’s the idea?

JILL

He’s significant.

BROCK

How?

STEW

Don’t mind me.

But Jill’s intensity grips Brock.

JILL

Suppose... Stew was your only witness.

In that case, would she... walk?

D’you see what I mean? Would -- she --

walk -- for -- him?

Brock begins to get it...

INSIDE THE STORAGE ROOM

Rapid footsteps patter in the storage room. This time they

seem to run the whole length of it.

Maudsley swings a thermograph scanner wildly, trying to follow

the sound. Eddie scrambles to help him.

Dow is aiming the parabolic microphone in another direction.

Brock and Hargraves are busy with more thermographs. But all

the monitor screens fed by these machines remain blank.

Jill comes into the doorway with Stew.

A harsh rasping squeal. The footsteps break into half a dozen

crossing patterns

Suddenly Jill sees it: A black figure at the foot of the

steps, clawing its way up as if in slow motion, somehow almost

paralysed.

JILL

Look!

Hargraves sees it too.

HARGRAVES

(pointing)

There it is!

(Brock abandons his

thermograph. He sees

nothing. The steps

are empty)

It was there! Right there! Sort of

creeping! You must have seen her!

He runs to the spot as if he expects to find some trace and

turns to them, baffled.

BROCK

Just you and Jill.

EDDIE

(bitterly)

No warning!

(He snatches up one

of his black boxes

and breathes noisily,

angrily, on the

element. It instantly

lights up)

Oh, it works now!

He shakes the thing until the contents rattle.

Brock looks round. Stew is still standing in the doorway.

Meeting Brock’s eyes, he shakes his head. Brock turns to

Jill. She is standing stiffly, controlling herself with an

effort.

JILL

I saw her face this time. She’s

frightened...!

BROCK’S SUITE - LIVING QUARTERS, NIGHT

Jill sits hunched over a drink. Brock is getting one for

himself.

JILL

She’s running from something.

BROCK

The footsteps.

JILL

Always running.

BROCK

Probably old Tasker coming to pinch

her bum. Three times round the table

and the girl is mine, ha, ha.

JILL

(emotionally)

She died!

BROCK

It’s really getting to you.

(That does it. She

rubs and dabs at her

face as tears start

streaming)

...Jill.

JILL

Oh, Peter -- to be afraid like that!

He sits and pulls her to him. She is shaking.

BROCK

Are you afraid? Of all this?

JILL

No. I don’t think so --

BROCK

What, then?

JILL

(with difficulty)

It’s -- the thought of it. Of there

being nothing left of you but --

just enough to repeat the worst moment

of your life over and over again!

BROCK

That doesn’t happen.

JILL

But if it did -- if she knew --

BROCK

Look, love, we talked about it. We

all agreed --

JILL

Could there be anything there that

knows?

BROCK

Not in my book.

JILL

Just -- a dead mechanism?

BROCK

That’s all that’s left.

JILL

It’s horrible. But it’s better than

knowing. I couldn’t bear it if she

knew!

He strokes her, gentling her.

BROCK

All right, love.

He kisses her but she is still tense and obsessed.

JILL

To be so alone --

She looks at him with horror behind her eyes.

BROCK

(firmly)

All right, that’s it. You’ve said it

and got it over. Your moment of

superstition.

JILL

It wasn’t.

She is calmer now. For a moment or two longer he keeps his

arms round her. The tension is lessening, but slowly.

BROCK

What you need is another drink.

(He picks up her empty

glass. As he goes to

fill it the phone

rings)

Oh, hell!

(He tries to ignore

it but it goes on

ringing. He answers

it)

Hello? Christine, darling, I meant

to ring before but you know --

problems. Well, something slightly

interesting for once. I’ll tell you

all about it when I... Probably

tomorrow.

(Jill is on her feet.

He flaps a detaining

hand at her)

Kids in bed are they? ...Is she?

Give her my biggest kiss... A what?

A drawing? I can’t wait.

(Jill makes for the

door. His back is

turned and he doesn’t

notice)

Listen, about Chuffy... was it inside

the hoof?... What did the vet say...?

Jill slips out.

THE STORAGE ROOM - NIGHT

Jill slowly opens the door of the storage room. A face turns

to her. It is Stew, sitting there alone by the dim flicker

of blank monitor screens. Keeping a self-imposed watch.

He shrugs.

JILL

(after a moment)

She’s about. I can tell...

BROCK’S SUITE - OFFICE, NEXT DAY

The Sergeant opens the door.

SERGEANT

Mr. McAlister, sir.

McAlister comes in -- a tall, talentless mechanic of

relentlessly honest demeanour.

MCALISTER

Hello, Brock.

(The hand he extends

is, disturbingly,

bright scarlet. So

is his other one)

Excuse the red hands, I’ve been doing

dye tests, in very inadequate

conditions.

(They shake, very

briefly)

You’ve never been to my place at

Slough. Hardly more than a shed.

Brock indicates a chair. McAlister sits -- sinking down and

down almost to floor level.

MCALISTER

(cannily)

The interview chair.

BROCK

Do the tests yourself?

MCALISTER

All of them.

BROCK

Is that so?

MCALISTER

(proudly)

I make it a rule.

BROCK

Never delegate?

MCALISTER

Responsibility? Never.

BROCK

No.

MCALISTER

I’m a plain nuts-and-bolts man.

BROCK

A what?

MCALISTER

My own hands.

BROCK

(thoughtfully)

Held like that.

MCALISTER

Who?

BROCK

Old Patrick. He was a... nuts-andbolts

man himself once. Started with

electric irons.

MCALISTER

I know.

BROCK

Of course you do. A good ploy.

MCALISTER

I don’t like that word.

BROCK

Gambit, then.

MCALISTER

(guardedly)

He said we should have a talk.

BROCK

We’re having it.

MCALISTER

Meaningful.

BROCK

No.

MCALISTER

Eh?

BROCK

Not meaningful. Since we’re being

fussy about words, that’s not one he

uses.

A tiny unstated bluff is being called. It has to do with who

knows Ryan better. It is resolved by McAlister suddenly

looking humbler.

MCALISTER

Brock -- I need more working space.

This place is enormous. Now if I

could just look round it --

BROCK

(stiffening)

I’m sorry.

MCALISTER

Some rooms you’re not using --

BROCK

Not a chance.

MCALISTER

Look -- let me tell you about my

project, then you’ll see --

BROCK

I know. The world’s machine.

MCALISTER

Domestic --

BROCK

Domestic. The first to sort its own

wash and program itself. The first

to sniff out items with nonfast dye

and reject ’em. Etcetera, etcetera.

MCALISTER

(red hands raised)

It’ll do all that!

BROCK

When it works.

MCALISTER

It will!

BROCK

When it does... that triumph of oversophistication

will cost nine hundred

nicker per machine! Just to make!

MCALISTER

That’s a lie!

BROCK

I’ve seen the costings.

MCALISTER

Where? Who showed them to you?

BROCK

Guess.

(Brogue)

Ah, we’ll not beat ould Nippon with

the like of this, at all, at all!

MCALISTER

(choking)

He wouldn’t say that.

BROCK

He did. He saw the point. This place

is for fundamental research, not for

patching duds.

MCALISTER

He -- he wouldn’t have sent me down

here --

BROCK

For me to tell you. Yes, he would.

He’s got a kind heart. I haven’t.

Right -- chat over.

He goes to the door.

MCALISTER

No, listen to me --

BROCK

No more time.

MCALISTER

Please --

He follows Brock out.

THE ENTRANCE HALL

McAlister follows Brock down the stairs.

MCALISTER

You can’t possibly use all this --

BROCK

I can. I need every inch.

MCALISTER

It’s like Buckingham Palace --

BROCK

For a top-class research team. You

see, I’ll delegate everything to

them. They’ll carry out all tests.

That’s the right way.

(He glances down the

passage. The door of

the storage room is

shut and Eddie is on

guard outside it,

ostensibly unpacking

something)

Now, you’ll excuse me if I don’t

show you to your car. Sergeant, will

you please --

As if under escort, the glowering McAlister makes for the

front door with the sergeant. Brock turns to the lab. Eddie

joins him.

THE LABORATORY

An expectant group is already gathered round the computer,

where Jill is completing her first model of the new program.

JILL

The nature of observed reality. That’s

what this program takes in.

MAUDSLEY

Old philosophy stuff.

JILL

It might apply to her.

BROCK

How does that rhyme go...?

"There once was a man who said, God

Must think it exceedingly odd

That the sycamore tree

Continues to be

When there’s no one about in the

Quad."

EDDIE

Does she walk when there’s nobody

there?

BROCK

That’s it.

EDDIE

Makes a hell of a difference to the

number of times. All those years

when the house was empty.

Jill flips the switch of the line printer. It spills out its

high-speed report.

STEW

Version with added Stewart.

Brock and Jill study it. Almost immediately something strikes

him. He points it out to her, then relates it to a second

item.

JILL

Oh no.

(Brock rips the roll

off I to study it on

his own)

-- I didn’t spot that. I should have

done. I just didn’t spot the

connection.

EDDIE

Let’s have it.

BROCK

(excitedly)

If this means anything --

JILL

Let’s start again.

BROCK

Why?

JILL

It’s wrong.

BROCK

Why?

JILL

It must be.

BROCK

No. I like this. It’s got the makings.

It has.

(To Jill)

It’s what you really wanted. You

shaped it this way.

JILL

I didn’t --

BROCK

You couldn’t help it, love. The old

intuition -- right on the button.

EDDIE

For pity’s sake --

BROCK

Beautifully simple.

JILL

I’ll run it again.

EDDIE

Peter!

BROCK

It’s the room.

EDDIE

What?

BROCK

Just the room itself, nothing else.

Yes, this is better, it has to be

right.

EDDIE

Peter, d’you mind telling --

BROCK

There is no... ghost.

A small burst of surprise, even indignation.

THE OTHERS

But it’s there! I heard it! I saw

it! What’s he mean?

BROCK

Try this for size. It holds an image --

and when people go in there they

pick it up. What you hear or what

you see is inside your own brain!

EDDIE

(frowning)

Oh no --

BROCK

That’d be why the sounds don’t echo

and we can’t locate them. That’d be

why they don’t record. No machine

hears them.

DOW

I got them in my headphones.

BROCK

You got them in your head.

EDDIE

What about the hot spots?

BROCK

Forget them, Eddie.

EDDIE

I mean, the whole temperature thing --

BROCK

There isn’t any.

EDDIE

Look, I know when I’m cold --

BROCK

The body’s reaction -- li