Cross My Heart

MR GRAVES: Ryan Joseph Murphy

CHRIS: Jeff Bower

PETER: Nathan Lunsford

Written by Jonathan Inbody

MR. GRAVES: If you’ve stumbled onto this station, don’t attempt to adjust your device. Door creaks, wolf howls and the terror of silence echo throughout the night. This is the program that will send chills down your spine. Step right up and listen in because your horror show is about to begin.

MR GRAVES: Yes, yes very interesting. Will need to file that one away for later. Greetings everyone, and welcome in to Horror Masterpiece Theatre. I as always am your literary scholar Mr. Graves. Today, I’ve been brushing up on my history, specifically the monster kind in preparation for our delightful tale. Due note that our episode today does contain some harsh language and sounds of flesh burning. Listener discretion is advised. You’ll find that I’m trying on a new voice for our show and hopefully it will put you in a more sophisticated mood for our upcoming tale. The reason I’m thinking about monsters and their history is because we rarely get more than one side of these magnificent creatures. Dragons are always burning down villages, giant lizards destroying large cities and gil-men kidnapping helpless women. No, no oh pish posh I say. What if pray tell these creatures just wanted to be understood? That is what will figure out in this chiller that I call, “Cross My Heart”.

CHRIS: Hey, glad you could make it! It’s, uh…Peter, right?

PETER: (with a slight Eastern-European, ‘vampire-y’ accent) That’s right.

CHRIS: And I’m Chris, in case you forgot. (then self-consciously) Not like in a shitty way, just- You know, there was kind of a lot going on, between the truck and the movers, so I… I just figured I’d re-introduce myself. [Beat.] What’s wrong?

PETER: (with a slight Eastern-European, ‘vampire-y’ accent) I haven’t been invited in.

CHRIS: So?

PETER: It would be rude to enter without an invitation.

CHRIS: (chuckling) Oh, uh, alright. Come on in.

CHRIS: The kitchen’s right through here. Don’t mind the boxes; I haven’t had much time to unpack just yet. Have, uh, have you guys lived around here long?

PETER: No, only about… six months or so?

CHRIS: Oh, that’s kind of nice; we’re both new to the neighborhood.

PETER: Yeah.

CHRIS: (realizing) Oh, damn it! I should have asked about dietary restrictions. You’re not vegan, are you? I made beef stew.

PETER: No no, I eat meat.

CHRIS: Do you drink?

PETER: (knowingly) Now and then.

CHRIS: How’s red wine?

PETER: Perfect.

CHRIS: Oh man, great! I’m usually terrible at first impressions, so I’m really happy this is working out. I hope you didn’t think it was rude to leave a note on your door; I hate to knock but I want to be social, you know?

PETER: I understand. One must make it a point to be…hospitable.

CHRIS: (dorky) Exactly. Yeah, it’s so tough now, with e verybody on their phones all the time. Maybe we should try and have a game night sometime, so I can meet your family. Trade off hosting, or…?

PETER: It would be a pleasure.

CHRIS: Hope you don’t mind if I turn my back, I’ve got to stir the soup. (then, speaking a little louder as he faces away) Do you work nights or something? I couldn’t help but notice your house has blackout curtains.

PETER: Yes.

CHRIS: What do you do?

PETER: (ominously) I’m a surgeon… I work nights.

CHRIS: (oblivious) Oh, that must be interesting work.

PETER: It is. And what do you do?

CHRIS: (suddenly serious) Me? I hunt vampires. [Beat.] Nah, I’m just messing with you, man. I work in insurance.

PETER: (Laughing unconvincingly) What a charming joke.

CHRIS: (dorky) Yeah, that’s me. I’m the office cut-up, you know. Always messing with people, doing little pranks…In fact, I’m pulling one on you right now.

PETER: What do you mean?

CHRIS: (suddenly serious again) Well, for one thing this isn’t a soup ladle. It’s a wooden cross. [Beat.] There’s not even soup in here.

PETER: Then what’s in the pot?

CHRIS: Holy water. Just in case you take another step towards me with your fangs out.

PETER: My fangs?

CHRIS: Why don’t you just drop the act? You’re a vampire.

PETER: (unconvincingly) I’m not a vampire.

CHRIS: And I’m not stupid.

PETER: (with menace) Crosses don’t work on vampires, anyway.

CHRIS: (challenging him) Then bite me.

PETER: (slyly challenging back) How would you know if I have my fangs out? You’re not even looking.

CHRIS: Because you’re predictable, ‘Peter.’ Just because you don’t have a reflection doesn’t mean I can’t see right through you. You’re probably trying some mind-control eyes right now.

PETER: Why don’t you turn around and see? (then, noticing) Wait… what’s that in your other hand?

CHRIS: Oh, this? Garlic powder. (Blows powder)

PETER: (Cries in shock) (Furiously starts to cough) (Coughs become weaker and weaker) (Loses Consciousness)

PETER: (Starts to awaken and groans).

CHRIS: Hey, there he is. You’ve been out for a while!

PETER: (groggy) Where…? Who are you?

CHRIS: I told you before, Fangs; I’m a monster hunter. You’re my first vampire though, actually; I mostly deal with a lot of ghosts and ghoulies - things that go bump in the night and all that shit. Had a werewolf a couple of months ago, that one was kind of a bitch. Everybody knows the silver bullet thing, but you’ve still got to be fast enough to hit them. [Beat.] Unless you figure out that a couple of big UV lighting rigs will turn them right back into a regular Joe. Then it’s just Old Yeller, but funnier.

PETER: Am I supposed to be impressed?

CHRIS: I really don’t care what you are, so long as you’re blindfolded and tied to a chair. And for the record, this room is full of crosses, so don’t even think about making a break for it.

PETER: I told you, crosses don’t work on vampires.

CHRIS: They do if you have faith. That’s the rule, right? It’s the belief that matters, not the symbol. To me, you not attacking me in the kitchen proves the cross works, and there’s nothing easier to have faith in than cold hard proof.

PETER: I… That’s not…

CHRIS: Not what? It’s not fair? Fair like flashing your fangs at a dinner party with your new neighbor? That’s not very hospitable. [Beat.] Let’s drop the pleasantries and get down to brass tacks. So far, I know that you need an invitation to enter a house, you don’t have a reflection, you’re afraid of crosses, and I just put you on your ass for… two hours with a handful from my spice cabinet.

PETER: (putting on a brave face) I’m not going to tell you anything.

CHRIS: Kind of thought you might say that. [Beat.] I’ve got to walk across the room quick. If you try to break out of that rope, I will stake you. Understand?

PETER: (hesitantly) Yes.

CHRIS: Good. I’ll add stakes to the list of things that kill you.

CHRIS: (as he walks back) Do they have to be through the heart, or will anywhere in the chest cavity do?

PETER: You can’t make me talk.

CHRIS: Hear that? That’s my pot of holy water. Now, I’m gonna ask you some more questions, and if you don’t tell me what I want to know, then I’m going to pour this holy water into the empty plastic tub your bare feet are in, and we’ll find out exactly how it works together. You feel me?

PETER: I’m thinking! I’m thinking!

CHRIS: Better do it quick. Threeee…twooo…oooooooooo

PETER: No no no! Wait! I’ll talk, I’ll talk!

CHRIS: Good choice, Fangs. Now cheer up, you might live through this.

PETER: How do I know that’s really holy water?

CHRIS: Because I blessed it myself. I know you can’t see it, but crosses aren’t the only thing on the walls in here. I’ve also got about fifteen printed certificates from every religion that’ll ordain you online. It’s a lot easier than you’d think, too; it cost me like thirty dollars. [Beat.] Well, the frames were extra, but it makes it feel official.

PETER: Prove it. Show them to me.

CHRIS: I can’t take the blindfold off and risk the mind-control eyes, can I, Peter?

PETER: You’re just trying to scare me.

CHRIS: Question One: You been doing this a long time? Going from town to town and draining people? (then, proud of himself) Yeah, I read the obits. That’s how I found you. Next time, you might want to impersonate a medical examiner so you can fudge the reports.

PETER: I’ve been doing it… a few lifetimes, give or take.

CHRIS: Except you don’t give; you just take. And you got sloppy, predictable. When I picked up the trail, I thought I was going to take months to track you down, if not years. Took like two weeks. (then, derisively) You and your creepy-ass little murder family.

PETER: (shocked) My… my what?

CHRIS: Okay, now you’re just insulting my intelligence. There’s a whole pack of you over there; it’s kind of hard to miss you guys coming and going, even if you do do it - (then, in a stereotypical Dracula voice) -in the dead of night! (then back to his normal voice) You fucking morons. I mean, you’ve been doing this for decades, maybe centuries, but you didn’t adapt to the times! People can Google how to kill you now! We don’t need to consult the Necronomicon or learn from some wise old Obi-Wan, all we need is a wifi signal. You’re not even scary anymore! We’ve got identity theft, and global pandemics, and microplastics; fucking cable companies are scarier than you! The last thing the modern world needs is a piss-poor bogeyman that scared yokels in the Dark Ages!

PETER: (flatly) Are you done?

CHRIS: I… Shit, sorry, I don’t mean to rant and rave at you. I should’ve kept this professional; my dad would’ve killed me for talking this much. He was a hunter too, and his dad, and all the way back. Family business. And my understanding is that it used to be a pretty good gig. Respectable, you know? Van Helsing locking horns with Dracula… and now it’s pest control. Now it’s this; now it’s you.

PETER: How do you think I feel? We used to be counts, aristocrats - the thin upper crust feeding on the caviar of the peasantry! We had your kind domesticated; you were livestock before you were men, and you were ours! We owned you, kept you, only took what we needed to survive and let you thrive unbothered! (with rising anger) Now look at you! You’re out of control children, setting fire to the world and killing each other with idiotic glee! You needed us to control you; to curb your savage nature and remind you of your place! (then, sadly) And now…Now, I am nothing. The descendent of kings, reduced to a rodent fleeing from the light of civilization. So don’t tell me that I don’t understand…I understand it all too well.

CHRIS: (long sight then with reflection) God… It’s all so disappointing, isn’t it?

PETER: (offering) It doesn’t have to be.

CHRIS: What do you mean?

PETER: So the roles have changed. My kind no longer owns the planet; I can accept that. Now we run, and you chase us: cat and mouse. Your kind and mine each have our roles…ignominious though they may be. But do you know what ratcatchers used to do in the Middle Ages?

CHRIS: What?

PETER: (manipulative) They would keep a few rats alive, just in case the peasants started to believe they didn’t need them anymore. And if they stopped paying, well…How can the ratcatcher help it if a new infestation begins? He is not the king of the rats. They only do what is in their nature…and all he has to do, on very rare occasions, is stand back and let them.

CHRIS: (considering it) It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Should I assume you want to be that rat?

PETER: I think it’s time to remind the people how much they need you again.

CHRIS: (Thinks it over) Can I have a guarantee that you won’t come after me?

PETER: (smugly pleased) Of course…I give you my word.

CHRIS: I don’t want your word; I want collateral. (then, offering) How’s this? You and your fucked-up little family keep living next door - close enough for me to watch you. And you reign yourselves in; no women, no kids. As of right now, your favorite food is child molesters. Are we clear?

PETER: As crystal.

CHRIS: And if you fuck with me on this, I call the cops and your little Manson family gets dragged out into the sunlight, and they wouldn’t much like that, would they? Much less survive it. They’d probably go up like a match, right? (then playfully) Or does sunlight not work on vampires?

PETER: (moving past it) You drive a hard bargain.

CHRIS: You’re goddamn right. We got a deal?

PETER: I believe we do.

CHRIS: Alright, go ahead and get up. I heard you cut through the rope a couple of minutes ago, during your little ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ speech. I should have thought to put mittens on you or something; those little fingernail claws are sharp.

PETER: (STRETCHES THEN LETS OUT A SIGH OF RELIEF) Well, Chris, you were a worthy opponent. But I’m glad cooler heads prevailed. (then, surprised) Oh wow, you really do have framed certificates.

CHRIS: Don’t push your luck. Get out of here, before I change my mind.

PETER: (overlapping the sound effect of the door swinging open) With pleasu- What? No! No, you-!

PETER: (Grits teeth and gasps in pain)

CHRIS: (flatly sarcastic) Oh wait, did I say that garlic powder knocked you out for two hours? I meant more like ten. Just in time for sunrise.

PETER: (pained and genuinely offended) You bastard, you - You cheat!

CHRIS: That’s me all day, neighbor. You can make all the deals you like, but it’s not in your nature to stick to them. At the end of the day, do you wanna know the difference between you and a rat?

CHRIS: A rat doesn’t expect the exterminator to play fair.

CHRIS: Shoulda brought marshmallows. Goddamn. (then, with a hint of quiet regret) And you probably thought you were coming over for dinner. Hell of a world, huh?

MR GRAVES: Well, wasn’t that delightful and illuminating? I do believe we all learned something today about not judging a book by its cover. Specifically that Chris really didn’t have a STAKE in that relationship (BAD BRITSH LAUGH) Or I suppose that Peter finally got a nice TAN (BAD BRITSH LAUGH) Well all this delightful laugher is getting my quite weary. I think I need to hit the old coffin for a bit of shut eye. Do remember to tune in next time for next installment of , “Your Horror Show.”