The Evil Within

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Man:
Life is a story.

People think dreams are stories.

They seem like stories,

but they're not.

Misguided, no shape, no form.

No reason.

Like rummaging

through unmarked boxes

in a long-forgotten

storage shed.

You'll think it was a story,

but try telling a friend

of yours what happened

in your dream the next day.

Only then will you finally

realize, wait a minute,

"that wasn't a story at all."

Not all my dreams

were like this.

Some of them

really were stories.

Some of them were like this.

(wind blowing)

Mom takes me

to an amusement park.

It's deserted...

dusty...

lifeless.

Even the barkers pitching

unwinnable games

for Kewpie doll prizes do so with all

the joie de vivre of a cancer patient.

But I'm ecstatic.

No crowds means no lines.

(soft music, wind blowing)

And there it is,

the snow-capped summit

In the topography

of juvenile taste:

The wonderful

haunted house ride.

Its facade promised more

than papier mache monsters

wrapped in derelict-resistant

chicken wire.

Mom, we gotta go.

We gotta go on

the haunted house ride.

Are you sure?

It says right on the marquee,

it's the scariest one

in the world.

Of course, I'm sure.

We have to, have to, have to.

(soft music, wind blowing)

Are you sure you wanna go?

The sign ain't lyin'.

I'm ready.

Are you sure you're ready?

And the car lurched forward

clumsily

and crashed through the doors,

which snapped back.

And into the darkness.

Into the darkness.

Whisking along through

the darkness,

and, crash, out the other side.

No pneumatic hiss pop ups,

no shrill startle bells, nothing, !

not even the faintest attempt.

A con game.

What a rip-off.

We should get our money back.

Mom, we got ripped off

by the idiots who lives here.

You're not gonna

do anything about this?

Mom?

We should get our money back.

She turned to me

very slowly and said,

'What makes you think

the ride's over?

"What makes you think

it's ever gonna end?"

That was the first

of these experiences I had.

I'm still reluctant

to call them dreams.

I had that one when I was four.

Let me show you the one

I had last night.

I can't sleep.

It's this house.

I hate this house.

It won't let me sleep.

Oh, my god, I am asleep,

and dreaming about being

right here in my bedroom,

trying to fall asleep.

I had to open my eyes,

but I couldn't.

I could only open the little

dream eyes inside my head,

because I felt the fear.

I felt the dread, pending,

closing, all around me.

Only one kind of dream

tries to hide itself.

The door is open.

He's already here.

You can't run in a nightmare,

not with atrophied muscles

over tungsten bones,

hot through the gelatinous

atmosphere,

not from him.

(zipping)

I watched my hand draw a row

of faces on my whiteboard

and despite

the childish artwork,

I could instantly

recognize each,

Family friends. ..

I left the room, then blackness.

The next time my senses

returned to me,

I was not before my whiteboard,

I was in a basement,

standing before a mirror,

surrounded by the

miss-en-scene of nightmares.

I was in his world now,

not my own.

And I can't wake up.

I can't wake up.

Oh, my god, I am awake.

Awake in the very location

where my nightmare ended.

This was real.

How much nightmare would

prove to be real?

Did I sleepwalk here?

How could I have pulled

so sadistic a trick on myself?

Especially as I didn't know

where "here" was.

I know this place.

This is my home.

I was just in a room that

doesn't exist in my own house.

First, relief,

then a sobering realization.

As I had fallen asleep

where my dream began

and woke up where it ended,

I could never know for sure

what was a dream

and what wasn't.

Here I am now,

in a much warmer place,

in a much brighter place,

enjoying a picnic with

my brother and his girlfriend.

You're gonna have to get used

to the way I speak out loud,

my inner voice is considerably

more sophisticated.

John, this chicken was good,

but we didn't bring

any ice cream.

I'm sorry I didn't bring any

ice cream on a picnic, Dennis,

but, uh, well, we have cupcakes.

No, I don't want cupcakes.

All I want is ice cream.

We have ice cream at home.

Well, I like the kind

at the store.

We have that kind at home.

Well, it's better at the store.

It's exactly the same.

You just wanna see that girl.

What is her name?

Susan, I think.

Yeah, she's cute.

I think someone has a crush.

No way, all I want is ice cream.

I don't know any girl.

What girl?

- Hey, guys.

- Hi!

It's nice to see you.

Of course, it's nice to see me.

I'm outlandishly hot.

Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough?

You know my flavor.

Of course I do, you're

my favorite customer.

I got ya.

- You ready for this?

- Uh-huh!

You ready, Dennis?

Surprise, Dennis.

M-m-mirror.

I think it'd look good on the wall

there, between the windows.

- Yeah. - Where am I

supposed to put my Habitrails?

Where did you put

all of my stuff?

Where's all of it going?

It's mostly still

in here, Dennis.

No, no, that smelly old box

is where my robots used to be,

and that scary statue

is where I kept my comics.

Well, I had to put one or two things

down in the storage room, Dennis.

You wanna move my Habitrails

into the storage room?

- Well, Dennis...

- Anyway, I don't like this mirror.

And I don't want it

in this room.

Dennis, look at the

shape of this frame,

compared to the shape

of the window.

It's the same kind of wood stained

with the same kind of stain.

It matches the character

of the house perfectly.

It even matches the

motif of the furniture

that you and I chose ourselves.

Use all the big words you want,

you know I won't be able to

argue with all of you big words.

- I've seen this mirror before.

- Well, I doubt that.

- No, I have seen it.

- It's unlikely, Dennis.

It wasn't just locked up

in a vault.

If you surprised us all and

proved yourself a safe-cracker,

you still wouldn't

have found it.

- I know that.

- Well, there's a vault within a vault.

Did you know that?

A prohibition vault.

A place where back in the

day of Prohibition,

when booze was illegal,

people used to hide their booze.

I don't think anyone has

been in that room,

since the original owners,

because what I found

in that room is worth enough

to pay this mortgage for a year.

Well, I've been down

in there and I saw the stuff.

I saw the mirror

and I hated it even then.

Really? Really, Dennis,

Dennis when was this?

- I hated it when I saw it.

- When was this?

Last night.

The mirror wasn't even

in the house last night

it was in town getting

restored for you.

No, it's not for me. You just

want to get rid of my hamsters.

Dennis, your hamsters

really smell bad.

Now, the mirror

really looks good.

Put the mirror in your room.

It's just one week,

that's all I'm asking.

Just... just see if the

mirror grows on you.

No, it's not going

to grow on me.

Because I don't like

anything you put in here.

This isn't my room

anymore, it's your room.

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