The Woman in Black Page #3

- I thought you

- Heard you yelling for me.

Don't worry, I'd not have left

you. Better get in, then.

Going back again?

I'm... I'm not sure when.

Gimme a call.

They all know Keckwick.

Edmund Toovey.

Died 27 of April, 1910.

Aged 4 years. Always in our hearts.

Mr Toovey, I am sorry to interrupt.

Yes, this isn't really a convenient

moment, Mr Kidd.

We are conducting business.

How did you get on?

I think you may be able to guess.

I trust you were able to find the papers

you needed and make a useful start.

Oh yes. Mr Pepperell, I saw her again.

- Who?

- That woman.

And there was more.

All right. It's all right.

I am sorry, Mr Toovey.

We'll go over theses clauses some

other time. It's a bit late.

Yes.

Mr Kidd. I'll be glad to offer you supper.

I think you need it.

Throw him down, Mr Kidd.

Doesn't he love you?

I've never seen him make

such a fuss of anyone.

He knows your nature, you see?

- What's his name?

- Spider.

Wasn't that a dreadful name

to put on him? Spider.

It was my husband's idea.

Well, as a pup he looked like one.

He was little

a little hairy thing, all legs.

Oh, look at that.

- Do you have children, Mr Kidd?

- Yes, two.

Yes, I was sure you did.

What are they?

Boy and girl. Three and no,

four and nought.

And what are they called?

Boy is Eddie, Edward that is,

only we don't call him that.

And the girl?

She is Wyn. Wynifred.

She is not quite six months, so we're

just beginning to get to know her.

She is a she looks a lot like my wife.

I hoped she would.

- They drive you mad sometimes.

- Oh yes.

But I But we weren't blessed.

- Were we, Sam?

- No. We weren't blessed.

Supper is served.

Come along, Mr Kidd.

Can you guess how much

I've gathered up out there?

Nine farms.

Big and small.

12,600 acres.

Half a dozen faithful tenants.

God knows how many labourers.

And I'm not gonna stop now.

I've heard it said you'll own

half the county.

I might at that.

Why do I do it?

I don't know. Why do you?

I don't know. No reason, except

to go on and on.

Doing it becomes its

own reason, you see.

And in the end

there's no point at all.

It's like all hobbies.

Essentially pointless.

Will you agree, Margaret?

My territorial ambitions

are singularly pointless?

If you'll excuse me, Mr Kidd.

I enjoyed meeting you so much.

Good night, Mrs Toovey.

Well.

Let's talk. In there.

But the worst part, the hardest

to take, that is was the noises.

The pony and trap in the

marsh, and the screaming.

Right, now, I'll be devil's advocate.

Suppose I suggest a perfectly

commonplace explanation.

You can try.

- There were dense patches of sea fog.

- Yes.

Now, those can distort sounds.

Blanket some off and let

others through.

Suppose what you heard was Keckwick's

trap on the far end of the causeway,

on his way back.

- But the screams?

- Sea birds.

- No.

- Ah, you're a townie.

You don't know what a gull

can sound like.

They can make cries you'd

swear came from, say, a cat

or a baby.

I wish I could believe that.

- Do you believe in ghosts?

- Never have.

- Why not?

- They were just stories.

- Made up?

- Yes.

So, you're a sceptic.

Well, I was until today.

She was quite real, I felt I could have

walked up to her and touched her.

- Did she see you?

- Eh?

See you. Did she?

Like I am seeing you now.

Yes. I'm sure.

It was her eyes.

She wasn't just looking,

she was hating.

You could tell?

It was somehow like hunger.

Kind of

dreadful mad hunger that

has all turned to hate.

- Against you?

- It felt like that.

There was a

sort of power coming from her.

And that's why you ran.

You were scared.

She neither spoke nor came

near me.

If she was able to make me

afraid, well, that was all.

- I'm going back.

- To London?

- No, to the house.

- You shouldn't go there.

Mr Toovey, I've been entrusted

with a job, and I've hardly begun it.

You shouldn't go there alone.

- I can find no one to go with me.

- No. Nobody will.

You're a brave young fella,

and no doubt of it.

But after what you've told me tonight,

you're not brave enough.

Nobody could be.

Well, if that old woman could

stand it all those years

Or perhaps she went out of her mind.

I'll find out, I want to hear

her voice on the machine.

Don't do it, Arthur.

Thank you for a splendid meal,

Mr Toovey,

it's helped me no end,

and now I must say good night.

- You're set on it then.

- I am.

Out there, on your own?

If if I see her again, I won't

be afraid, I promise you.

Take the dog.

I'm sorry?

You'll need a companion.

But would he come?

Ask him.

Would you come, Spider?

A bike? Uh, I reckon so.

Well, he can have a lend

of it, can't he, Albert?

Thank you.

And I can take some provisions,

enough for a couple of days.

- Bread and a few tins.

- Well, fair enough.

So, you will not be needing

the room again?

No.

You'll stay there?

Eel Marsh House?

I'll say good night, then.

Come on, Spider.

Come on. Come on.

Come on, Spider.

Spider. Come on.

Spider, go on.

Good dog, good dog!

Go back! Go back!

Spider! Go back!

No! No! No!

Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!

It was exactly the same sequence

of sounds as the previous time.

A pony and trap going into the marsh,

getting stuck and sinking.

Every detail as if it was

somehow recorded.

Like the machine I'm speaking into now.

It would be a great relief

to know that's all it was.

But the voices,

particularly the child, screaming

That was two hours ago, and

there's been nothing since.

I'm in the study, I've made up

a bed here and lit a fire.

I'm going to work on now.

The dog is a great comfort.

It's all right, Spider, it's just

to keep you warm.

Quiet.

Quiet

What is it, Spider?

Hello!

Hello!

Spider!

Spider! Spider!

Spider!

Spider, here, boy!

The dog is gone.

I've not the slightest doubt that he

was enticed to his death in the marsh.

Before that

something occurred.

So strange that

Spider!

No! No! No!

Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!

Stop it! Stop it, stop it,

stop it, stop it!

September the 9th.

Keckwick brought the heavy

cart with things for winter:

oil and coals and food in tins.

He is a good man

and I pay him well, too.

Last night she was troublesome

all about the house.

But I do not mind her.

I will not. I will not Last night I was

wakened before my clock struck three.

Much tumult in the other rooms.

I called out using her name,

but no answer.

I think she cannot answer.

When she came last night,

I mocked at her.

I will not be feared of my own kin.

My own kin

She has become wicked.

And worse.

She has found ways to make me hear

their calamity in the marshes.

That poor

Arthur Kidd! Are you in there?

- Oh, thank God!

- You all right?

I thought

- I keep hearing the the drowning

- Steady, lad!

- I didn't know it was you.

- I brought the wagonette.

The motor's too heavy for the causeway.

Spider came home.

You... You mean he is alive?

He's filthy, half drowned

been in the marsh, poor thing.

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