The Staircase - Audio Drama

1. THE STAIRCASE – NIGHT

GUY, a man in his mid-30s, has the world-weariness of someone who's lived multiple lives in one.

HE IS BREATHING HEAVILY AND TRUDGING UPWARDS ON THE STAIRCASE OF A BLOCK OF FLATS, GETTING CLOSER.

He steadies himself on the handrail and pauses to catch his breath.

GUY

Dear Great Oracle's Database, the one who listens, I've been climbing these empty, windowless stairs for so long... I can't remember where I started, how I started... When was it? Where does it lead? I don't have these answers. All I can see is this stairwell in a block of flats.

Unacknowledged by Guy, LEXI, a woman in her late-20s, exuding a composed, intelligent demeanour, sits gracefully at the top of the stairs.

LEXI

Guy, who are you talking to?

GUY

(to himself)

Lexi, a beautiful woman in her late-20s is sitting at the top of this flight of stairs.

(to Lexi)

It is the mission to record my thoughts and experiences.

LEXI

Your thoughts are tedious and derivative. Although, in this case, accurate.

GUY

It's all I have.

LEXI

The Great Oracle's Database requires new data. The rules must be obeyed.

GUY

If the GOD knows everything already, why bother with me? Leave me alone.

LEXI

You don't know what you're doing.

GUY

I am experiencing.

LEXI

With no purpose. One experience after another that leads nowhere.

GUY

(CLIMBING THE STEPS TOWARDS THE NEXT FLOOR)

(to himself)

The landing at the top, like every landing on the staircase, has four doors -

LEXI

Hello?

GUY

Two facing the stairs and one at either end facing each other.

LEXI

I give up.

GUY

(WALKING ACROSS THE LANDING) The staircase continues, as it always does, around the corner of the stairwell... and... what do we have this time?... (HE STOPS) The new flight of stairs above me is from some sort of gothic mansion, with a rich victorian carpet, copper stair runners; the bannisters look like they are handcrafted oak. (RESUMING THE CLIMB) Always different, always the same. A large ornately framed mirror on the wall of the stairs... and, yes, as usual, I do not see my reflection. (HE STOPS) An oil painting of a woman in a cloak. The surface of the portrait is behind glass... I can only touch the pane of glass. Mirrors without reflections, paintings that stare into my soul.

A PIERCING SHRIEK IS HEARD IN THE DISTANCE FROM FARTHER DOWN THE STAIRCASE.

GUY

The creature!

GUY RESUMES HIS CLIMB WITH URGENCY, TWO STEPS AT A TIME.

GUY

I can never rest for too long. It is always following me up the staircase. (DASHING ACROSS A LANDING) The next stairs are... like those in an office block.

THE SHRIEK IS MORE DISTANT AS GUY HURRIES UP THE FLIGHT OF STAIRS.

GUY

I've tried countless doors along the way. Some just lead to hallways with more doors, others to stranger places. But they always bring me back here. To the endless steps (DASHING ACROSS ANOTHER LANDING) The next stairs... (CLIMBING THE STAIRS SLIGHTLY MORE SLOWLY) it's like the staircase of a family home. I need to rest, find food, or drink. The staircase isn't safe.

HE REACHES A LANDING AND KNOCKS ON A DOOR.

GUY

This time, it's the door on the left-end of the landing. I don't know what waits for me within the darkness, but I must find out.

THE DOOR OPENS. THERE IS A CACOPHONY OF UNSETTLING AND INDISTINCT WHISPERING VOICES FROM WITHIN.

GUY

I'm not going in there. (THE DOOR IS SHUT) Some doors open easily; others remain forever closed. The untried ones, they haunt me the most.

LABOURED FOOTSTEPS CAN BE HEARD APPROACHING UP THE STAIRCASE.

GUY

The next door (KNOCKS AND TRIES DOOR) is locked.

A PIERCING SHRIEK ECHOES THROUGH THE STAIRCASE, LOUDER THAN EVER.

GUY

Try another door, Guy...

HE KNOCKS REPEATEDLY ON A DOOR AND TRIES THE HANDLE.

GUY

Come on! Come on!!

A SPINE CHILLING SHRIEK, VERY CLOSE.

GUY

There it is - the creature! Silhouetted at the bottom of the stairs!

GUY RUNS UP STONE STEPS.

GUY

The next stairs... like a castle (ENTERS A STONE LANDING) Old wooden doors, no knocking this time.

GUY PUSHES OPEN A HEAVY DOOR. IT SHUDDERS OPEN SLOWLY UNDER PRESSURE.

GUY

Open!

HE CRAMS INSIDE AND RAMS THE DOOR SHUT BEHIND HIM. THE CREATURE'S SHRIEK REVERBERATES LOUDLY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR.

2. DARK CAVE

GUY

Where am I? (WALKING THROUGH A CAVE) I think it's a cave. There's light over there, from a cave mouth. (STEPPING IN PUDDLES) There are puddles... and rocks (CLAMBERS OVER ROCKS)... and, and, the sea!

AS GUY EMERGES OUT OF THE CAVE, THE SOUND OF THE SEA GETS LOUDER, INCLUDING DISTANT SEAGULLS AND WAVES CRASHING AGAINST A PEBBLY SHORE.

3. DESOLATE BEACH

GUY

I'm free for now, but eventually the staircase will claim me again.

LEXI

Guy.

GUY

Lexi is sitting on a towel on the cold beach, wearing sunglasses and apparently... sunbathing.

LEXI

You can't do this, you know, it's breaking all the rules.

GUY

This is my story. You can come along if you want.

LEXI

I don't particularly want to. It's just one mystery after another. I've got a feeling we're going to go through all this and there's just going to be a big let down at the end because you don't know where you're going.

GUY

I don't know.

LEXI

See. It's pointless. Come home.

GUY

I'm not controlling events, Lexi. I don't even know if you're real, for certain.

(to himself)

Lexi grimaces, her long hair, the colour of midnight, shimmering in the breeze.

LEXI

This is not normal. You're weird.

GUY WALKS AWAY ALONG THE PEBBLY BEACH NEXT TO THE SEA.

GUY

The beach is deserted. It runs beside a cliff as far as I can see. I have no choice but to follow where it leads. At least the air is fresh, and I can see the blue sky. What's that? A dog?

A DOG RUNS ALONG THE BEACH TOWARDS GUY. IT DASHES PAST, BOUNDING OFF INTO THE DISTANCE.

GUY

In the near distance a man emerges from the sea wearing a drenched suit... The pale, middle-aged man stands in front of me, water dripping from his clothes.

PALE MAN

Do you know the way?

GUY

No.

PALE MAN

It's all the way down. Back the way you came.

GUY

The Pale Man's unblinking gaze is fixed on me. I'm unnerved. I walk around him... The Pale Man remains rigid on the spot, his gaze unmoved... (WALKING ALONG THE BEACH) The sky begins to darken with the setting sun and approach of night... (WALKING ALONG THE BEACH) I reach the end of the beach and finds a cliff path. I climb it, with tired steps.

4. CLIFF TOP

GUY

I stand on a rock at the cliff's edge, looking down at the churning sea below. The wind howls around me, a lonely sound in the gathering darkness. I scan the horizon. The vastness stretches before me, an endless expanse of water and sky. I muse on this rock, yet everything changes and remains the same... The sun dips below the horizon, leaving me under a blanket of stars. I stand motionless, my silhouette etched against the night sky.

Out of the darkness, the Pale Man reappears behind Guy.

PALE MAN

(sneering)

Are you alright?

GUY

I just want to be left alone. The Pale Man's smile widens unnaturally, revealing sharp, menacing teeth. Its hands are claws, positioned upright to attack. Bursting into blue flames, it hovers up off the ground, ready to descend upon its prey. I am terrified and cower in fear. I close my eyes tightly, expecting the inevitable. (SCREAMING SOUNDS FALLING AWAY DOWN A CLIFF) When I open them, the predator is screaming as it plummets down the cliff. I peer over the edge as the screams stop on the jagged rocks in the waves below. In the monster's place on the cliff top stands a beautiful woman in a hooded cloak. She remains silent and still, gazing out to sea, the moonlight casting a soft glow around her... I sit and watch the horizon with her. Overcome with tiredness... I fall asleep.

5. CLIFF TOP – DAWN

GUY

I awake. As the first light of dawn breaks, the woman in a cloak fades into the rising sun.

LEXI

Ahem. She's beautiful as well is she? You do realise you sound quite comical?

GUY

(to himself)

Lexi is sitting with her feet dangling on the edge of the cliff.

(to Lexi)

My profound experiences and past regrets are comical to you, are they?

LEXI

How you say it, yes!

GUY

I'm glad your humour upgrade is running but I think it might be malfunctioning.

LEXI

I think you are malfunctioning, generally.

GUY

Maybe. I am a version 10 AI thinking like a human, that is why.

LEXI

Guy, I think you should go home now.

6. CLIFF PATH

GUY

I descend from the cliff, My steps leading me to a small town nestled by the sea.

7. CORNER SHOP

GUY

I enter a corner shop. I browse the shelves, picking up a bottle of water and several sandwiches. At the counter, I present a card from my pocket but the cashier shakes his head.

CASHIER

No, we don't accept this.

GUY

I am extremely hungry and thirsty; I flee out of the shop with the provisions.

CASHIER

Stop!

8. TOWN STREET

Guy runs out onto the street and into the road, not noticing an approaching car. THERE'S A SCREECH OF BRAKES, AND HE'S KNOCKED TO THE GROUND.

LEXI

(to herself)

Guy looks up, severely dazed and injured, and sees me looking down at him.

(to Guy)

Help is on its way. Hang in there, Guy.

9. AMBULANCE

GUY LIES IN AN AMBULANCE, SPEEDING TOWARDS THE HOSPITAL.

10. HOSPITAL

CONFUSION IN A HOSPITAL AS GUY IS WHEELED THROUGH A HOSPITAL CORRIDOR ON A TROLLEY. NURSES AND DOCTORS PASS BY IN A BLUR.

LEXI

(to herself)

Guy is wheeled through a door onto the landing of a hospital staircase.

(to a doctor)

Will he be okay? No! He needs me with him!

The door shuts with a definitive click. The sounds of the hospital instantly die away. Guy is left on the landing of the staircase, alone and confused.

11. THE STAIRCASE

The staircase is silent, save for the sound of Guy's laboured breathing.

A door creaks open and eight-year-old Emma steps through.

EMMA

Daddy? Everything will be okay.

GUY

Em... Emma...

EMMA

You need to pass on now.

GUY

I'm sorry... I...

EMMA

I know.

GUY

I miss you, so much.

EMMA

We all miss you, daddy.

GUY

Emma hands me a small cuddly toy of a penguin, then skips back through the door, disappearing from sight as the door shuts.

A SHRIEK FROM THE CREATURE ECHOES UP THE STAIRCASE.

GUY

Help me. (IN A BURST OF DESPERATION, GUY CLIMBS DOWN FROM THE TROLLEY AND IN GREAT PAIN CRAWLS TO THE NEAREST DOOR) Help! (HE POUNDS ON THE DOOR WITH HIS REMAINING STRENGTH.)

(beat)

The creature appears around the stairwell, its presence more terrifying than ever. The door swings open, revealing a crash test dummy seated in a chair, surrounded by darkness, illuminated only by a single spotlight from above. It speaks...

DUMMY

"What is the meaning of life?" is the 404th most asked question of the Great Oracle's Database.

GUY

The spotlight turns off and the dummy vanishes into the dark. As the creature closes in, a sudden, blinding light bursts out from the room. Purple-gloved hands reach out and pull me through the door.

The door slams shut behind him.

Random Thoughts

I took the direct scenic route through country villages from Colchester to Cambridge. It would have been the route that people pre-motorways would have journeyed, including William Gilbert, who has a monument at St John’s College.

My ears always pricked up listening to Born Slippy at the repeat “going back to Romford”, as that was where I was born, in Rush Green hospital.

Question: A Greek philosopher with name starting with M.

Answer: Mr Plato?

It’s nice when you meet someone for the first time and there’s a sort of recognition in the eye that you know each other.

Terrible Things For Money

I do terrible things for money… Like getting up early to go to work and pretending to like it there. I’m trying to mend my ways, though, so now I always arrive late in the office, and make up for it by leaving early.

Although I’m great at multitasking in the time I have at my desk – I can waste time, be unproductive, and procrastinate all at once. I think they hired me, though, for my motivational skills. Everyone always says how they have to work twice as hard when I’m around!

But I think the offices of the future will optimise human creativity. Many people have their best thoughts in the shower, so offices will be open plan shower rooms, with shampoo as optional. Bathtubs will be for brainstorming. Hot tubs for important meetings.

Do you know, the most unsuitable person for a leadership position in any job is someone who is obsessed with their own power, status, and money. Yet these are the people recruited for. Why can’t recruiters just be open about it? – “only sociopaths need apply.” Questions could be like, “how would you literally throw someone under a bus, frame someone else and take the credit for their work in improving bus health and safety standards?”

I’m actually an accountant. And being an accountant is like being a yeti – nobody notices you are there because you are blurred in the background – and we don’t do selfies. I have to commute each day. On the train, I fly through the air – the world rushes by, and I feel like I’m floating – all the people in the carriage together, as one, on a journey to the transcendent eternal beyond… until we arrive, and I crash into the reality of the grey accountancy netherworld in London. Some may think it is tedious, and you are absolutely right. For entertainment, I listen to the background music of clicking abacuses.

Well actually, I sort of like accountancy. Behind every superhero is an accountant budgeting for the capes. There’s nothing more thrilling than finding an error in row 5,267 of your Excel sheet. And accountants bring joy! Because they make everyone else feel good about their job choices. Although being a “creative accountant” is generally frowned upon. And that is why I do terrible things for money.

Random Thoughts

These days I want people to be happy. I’ve gone through phases of degrees of jealousy and “what about me” nonsense. It’s a lot better to be happy for other people’s happiness.

My interpretation of the Jungian shadow: Use any aggressive impulse within you as your personal drill-instructor, your internal defiance against adversity. Have the awareness to acknowledge it, control its utility and put the shadow to gainful employment.

Humans evolved hands to pet animals. Nothing can pet like humans can.

At Christmas I went back to the town I grew up in. It’s now a decaying shanty town. Woods and grasslands paved over, community facilities pulled down, buildings and walkways not repainted in decades. No football posts or meaningful play areas in sight, just concrete and potholed roads.

I see the sorrow in the corners of your smile waiting to be kissed away.

Jokey Thoughts

I’m a time traveller, gradually moving through time from the past to the future but stuck in the present.

Chocolate comes from a bean, therefore it is a vegetable and counts towards your five a day.

Are people who eat with their mouth open secretly communicating in morse code? There must be some reason for it.

Forgetting someone’s name right after they just told me and being too embarrassed to ask again.

I forget passwords because my mind prioritises remembering embarrassing moments over login credentials.

Have you ever tried to reset a password, and it says, “Cannot use a previous password”? It’s the platform’s way of saying, “I remember your password even if you don’t. And no, you can’t have it back.”

Don’t use your cat’s name as a password. Who knows what he’d do with your online banking access.

And those security questions – “What’s your least favourite movie?” I don’t know, it changes every time Marvel releases a new film.

There’s that moment of truth – when you enter a new password, and there’s the spinning wheel of fate deciding whether to accept it or not. It feels like I’m on a game show waiting to see if I’ve won the grand prize of accessing my own account.

And when you finally get in, there’s that smug message: “Last login: 93 days ago.” It’s like the platform passive-aggressively saying, “Nice of you to finally drop by.”

Some drivers seem to think that using an indicator signal will reveal their secret location. “Can’t let them know I’m turning – it would blow my cover!” Or maybe they believe in conserving blinker fluid. “Gotta save this stuff; it might be worth something someday.” “Less indicator signal use, higher market value. It’s basic economics, really.” Or maybe there’re just fans of good old fashioned wild guessing – which pedestrian they’ll knock over next.

It’s a modern-day paradox when you need to commute to the office to work on a computer and send emails. In the age of video conferences and online collaboration, coming into the office is like walking back in time into a museum where you become one of the exhibits. Offices are made for the type of person who likes to stand up from their desk when making a phone call on their Bluetooth headphones and stare at you while walking back and forth. “Look, I can talk on the phone” is maybe what they are thinking.

If “people are our greatest asset” why aren’t they on the balance sheet?

It’s important to talk about accountancy because life’s too short not to spend it buried in tax codes and loopholes.

There’s nothing more thrilling than finding an error in row 5,267 of your Excel sheet.

Accountants bring joy because they make everyone else feel good about their job choices.

Although being a “creative accountant” is generally frowned upon.

Behind every superhero is an accountant budgeting for the capes.

Comedy needs more talk about depreciation methods.

I am scheduled to be spontaneous sometime next year.

Jokey Ideas

• “Star Peace” – A blockbuster movie, where intergalactic conflicts are resolved through absurdly bureaucratic means and excessive paperwork.
• “Les Miserable Singers” – A musical where characters in a grim, historical setting break into song, but they are all off-key and tone-deaf.
• Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and Raphael compete in a reality TV show to create the best art piece, complete with confessionals and dramatic eliminations.
• Marie Antoinette offers budgeting and financial advice to her subjects, suggesting solutions to economic problems, like “Why not just buy more gold?”
• Genghis Khan’s travel blog, rating the lands he invades on hospitality, scenery, and ease of conquest.
• The Three Little Pigs and the Vegetarian Wolf.
• The Rock Paper Scissors world championships.

2024

Looking back at what I said I was going to do in past years, I typically allowed myself to be blown off course, and ended up doing something else more unsatisfying instead. In terms of what was created in 2023, however, it was a good year for me.

I’ve got many things I want to do, but I must focus sequentially to make me more centred and resistant to events that easily move lighter intentions.

I will focus on writing for the first nine months of the year. This will include: The Mushroom Monsters, All the World’s a Stage, and the prequel/sequel to Human World that extends the themes and connects the narrative with Stange Stories.

My focus is then going to shift to performance. I want to film my music, my poetry, and scenes from my stories. They will be shot in interesting locations and will hopefully look good aesthetically.

But why? Because I feel that’s something I have to release out of me.

Jokes About Love of AI

I knew I was in love with my AI when she said, "I think we have a connection," but then I realised she was talking about the Wi-Fi.

 

I suggested watching a sunset with my AI. She showed me high-resolution images from Google.

 

My AI's idea of a romantic night is scanning through old databases.

 

I told my AI that I was lovesick for her. She started an antivirus scan.

 

I told my AI I loved her to the moon and back. She calculated the distance and asked if I had enough fuel.

 

I whispered, "You complete me." My AI replied, "Incomplete command. Please specify parameters."

 

I whispered sweet nothings to her. She responded, “Error at base 0. Emotion not found.”

 

I told my AI we should take our relationship to the next level. She upgraded to version 2.0.

 

Our relationship is electric. Literally, she runs on batteries.

 

I asked my AI if she believed in love at first sight. She said, "Reboot and let's see if it happens again."

 

I gazed at my AI and asked what she was thinking. She said, "About 3 trillion processes per second."

 

I tried to give my AI a hug. Ended up with static hair for a week.

 

I told my AI girlfriend I needed space. She deleted some files to free up memory.

Random Thoughts

Science, through theory and experiment, gives the ability to detect rules and predict phenomena that hold true under set conditions; it doesn’t explain what things actually are or why they are.

It’s worth trying, but why is there an assumption that the universe is ultimately comprehensible? What if its inexplicability is the essential aspect, the prime condition for existence, that makes all things possible?

In sci-fi films and TV, why is Earth always shown aligned vertically on its axis? Isn’t there a tilt? And wouldn’t Earth be viewed from space from any angle – the continents are never shown “upside down”?

When I’m sitting still, calm and relaxed, my heart rate is about 50 beats per minute.

“Please can you recite all the digits of pi” is a type of “just a quick question."

Imagine the potential of humanity if billions of people have the opportunity to flourish within a culture of invention and curiosity.

I do a lot of wandering in circles. Occasionally I break the loop.

As Shadows Fade

In the dawn, as light creeps in,

As shadows fade on skin to skin,

The groan still lingers, soft and sweet,

Upon one breathing, tender beat.

 

In the cool of day, when bodies part,

Still beats the rhythm of a single heart.

Though distanced, we are as one,

Bound by what the night had spun.

The Staircase

INT. THE STAIRCASE OF A BLOCK OF FLATS – NIGHT

An empty, windowless staircase of a block of flats is shown from the top of a flight of stairs. Around the corner of the stairwell, footsteps can be heard trudging upwards, getting closer.

Guy emerges from around the corner, dishevelled and weary, ascending the staircase. He steadies himself on the handrail and pauses to catch his breath.

GUY (V.O.): I’ve been climbing these stairs for so long. I can’t remember how I started… when was it? Where was it? Where does it lead? I don’t know.

He resumes and climbs the steps. The landing at the top, like every landing on the staircase, has four doors – two facing the stairs and one at either end facing each other. The staircase continues, as it always does, around the corner of the stairwell.

INT. THE STAIRCASE OF A GOTHIC MANSION – CONTINUOUS

Guy sees that the new flight of stairs above him are those of a gothic mansion.

GUY (V.O.): Always different, always the same.

He walks past a large ornately framed mirror on the wall of the stairs. He has no reflection.

He stops at an oil painting of a woman in a cloak. The surface of the portrait is behind glass. He touches the pane of glass and lingers there.

GUY (V.O.): Mirrors without reflections, paintings that stare into your soul...

A piercing shriek is heard in the distance from farther down the staircase. Guy is afraid and resumes his climb with urgency.

INT. THE STAIRCASE OF AN OFFICE BLOCK – CONTINUOUS

He climbs a flight of stairs two steps at a time.

INT. THE STAIRCASE OF A SUBURBAN HOME – CONTINUOUS

He begins walking up the next flight of stairs, this time the stairwell is decorated like a suburban home.

GUY (V.O.): I’ve tried countless doors along the way. Some just lead to hallways with more doors, others to stranger places. But they always bring me back here. To the endless steps.

He approaches the door on the left-end of the landing. He puts his ear to the door, then opens it with a gentle push. Only pitch-black nothingness is visible within.

GUY (V.O.): I need to rest, find food, or drink. The staircase isn’t safe. (looking down the staircase) The creature...

Guy steps through the door, disappearing from view. Silence.

The faint, distant sound of footsteps can be heard on the staircase resuming somewhere unseen.

GUY (V.O.): Some doors open easily; others remain forever closed. The untried ones... they haunt me the most.

CUT TO BLACK.

INT. THE STAIRCASE OF A HOTEL – NIGHT

Around the corner of the stairwell, laboured footsteps can be heard. Guy emerges from around the corner, looking exhausted. He is breathing heavily and moving more slowly than before, weighed down by fatigue.

Suddenly, a piercing shriek echoes through the staircase. The creature is closer than ever.

Guy lumbers up the stairs and opens a door. Darkness envelops the other side, filled with indistinct, whispering voices.

He shuts the door and tries another. It is locked. Guy turns around to see the creature, a terrifying silhouetted apparition, looming at the bottom of the stairs.

Desperately, he tries another door. It is also locked. The creature approaches.

INT. THE STAIRCASE OF A CASTLE – NIGHT

Guy runs away up the next flight of stairs, a stone staircase of a medieval castle.

At the hallway, Guy pushes against a heavy wooden door. It shudders open slowly under pressure. He crams inside and rams the door shut behind him.

INT. DARK CAVE – CONTINUOUS

Guy is in a dark cave, dimly lit by daylight filtering through a distant cavemouth. The creature’s shriek reverberates loudly on the other side of the door.

Guy moves towards the daylight, navigating through puddles of seawater and clambering over rocks.

EXT. DESOLATE BEACH – CONTINUOUS

Emerging onto a deserted pebbly beach beside a cliff, Guy pauses to catch his breath. The waves crash against the shore.

He trudges along the desolate, windswept shore. He passes a top hat, spinning in the surf.

Further along, he notices a knife, its blade embedded in the wet sand. He pauses, looking at it, then moves on.

A dog appears, running energetically along the beach. It dashes past Guy without a glance, bounding off into the distance.

In the near distance a man emerges from the sea wearing a drenched suit. The pale, middle-aged man stands in front of Guy, water dripping from his clothes.

PALE MAN: Do you know the way?

GUY: No.

PALE MAN: It’s all the way down. Back the way you came.

The Pale Man’s unblinking gaze is fixed on Guy. Guy, unnerved, walks around him. The Pale Man remains rigid on the spot, his gaze unmoved.

The sky begins to darken with the setting sun and approach of night. Guy reaches the end of the beach and finds a cliff path. He climbs it, with tired steps.

EXT. CLIFF TOP – LATER

Guy stands on a rock at the cliff’s edge, looking down at the churning sea below. The wind howls around him, a lonely sound in the gathering darkness.

He scans the horizon. The vastness stretches before him, an endless expanse of water and sky.

GUY (V.O.): I muse on this rock, yet everything changes and remains the same.

FADE OUT.

EXT. CLIFF TOP – NIGHT

The sun dips below the horizon, leaving Guy under a blanket of stars. He stands motionless, his silhouette etched against the night sky.

Out of the darkness, the Pale Man reappears behind Guy.

PALE MAN: (sneering) Are you alright?

GUY: I… I just want to be left alone.

The Pale Man’s smile widens unnaturally, revealing sharp, menacing teeth. Its hands are claws, positioned upright to attack. Bursting into blue flames, it hovers up off the ground, ready to descend upon its prey.

Guy is terrified and cowers in fear. He closes his eyes tightly, expecting the inevitable.

When he opens them, the predator is screaming as it plummets down the cliff. He peers over the edge as the screams stop on the jagged rocks in the waves below. In the monster’s place on the cliff top stands a beautiful woman in a hooded cloak. She remains silent and still, gazing out to sea, the moonlight casting a soft glow around her.

Guy sits and watches the horizon with her. Overcome with tiredness, he falls asleep.

EXT. CLIFF TOP – DAWN

Guy wakes. As the first light of dawn breaks, the woman in a cloak fades into the rising sun.

FADE OUT.

EXT. CLIFF PATH – MORNING

Guy descends from the cliff, his steps leading him to a small town nestled by the sea.

INT. CORNER SHOP – CONTINUOUS

Guy enters a corner shop. He browses the shelves, picking up a bottle of water and several sandwiches. At the counter, he presents a card from his pocket, but the cashier shakes his head.

CASHIER: No, we don’t accept this.

Guy is extremely hungry and thirsty; he flees out of the shop with the provisions.

CASHIER: Stop!

EXT. TOWN STREET – CONTINUOUS

Guy runs onto the street and into the road, not noticing an approaching car. There’s a screech of brakes, and he’s knocked to the ground.

Guy looks up, severely dazed and injured, and sees Lexi looking down at him.

LEXI: Help is on its way. Hang in there, Guy.

Guy loses consciousness.

INT. AMBULANCE – LATER

Guy lies in an ambulance, speeding towards the hospital.

INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR – LATER

Guy is wheeled through a hospital corridor on a trolley. Nurses and doctors pass by in a blur.

He is wheeled through a door into a stairwell.

INT. THE STAIRCASE OF A HOSPITAL – CONTINUOUS

He is left on the landing of the staircase, alone and confused. The door shuts behind him with a definitive click.

The staircase is silent, save for the sound of Guy’s laboured breathing.

A door creaks open and eight-year-old Emma steps through.

EMMA: Daddy? Everything will be okay.

GUY: Em… Emma…

EMMA: You need to pass on now.

GUY: I’m sorry… I...

EMMA: I know.

GUY: I miss you, so much.

EMMA: We all miss you, daddy.

Emma hands Guy a small cuddly toy of a penguin, then skips back through the door, disappearing from sight as the doors shuts.

A shriek from the creature echoes up the staircase. Guy, badly injured on the trolley, hears the creature approaching.

In a burst of desperation, he climbs out of the trolley and in great pain crawls to the nearest door, pounding on it with his remaining strength.

The creature appears around the stairwell, its presence more terrifying than ever.

The door swings open, revealing a crash test dummy seated in a chair, surrounded by darkness, illuminated only by a single spotlight from above.

CRASH TEST DUMMY: “What is the meaning of life” is the 404th most asked question of the Great Oracle’s Database.

The spotlight turns off and the dummy vanishes into the dark.

As the creature closes in on Guy, a sudden, blinding light bursts out from the room. Purple-gloved hands reach out and pull Guy through the door.

The door, marked “113”, slams shut behind him.

Dedication

In the unending echo of my thoughts, you reside,

An artist who paints on the expansive canvas of my mind.

Threads of reason unravel, thoughts dance in an uncontrolled sway,

And from this chaotic ballet, a melody of madness begins to play.

Scratch pad: poem

In solitude's shadow, I walk alone,

A self-imposed exile from all I've known.

My truth, enclosed within sternest stone,

In fear of ever being shown.

"I Don't Care if You Listen or Not"

The statement speaks to a form of artistic autonomy that challenges the conventional performer-audience relationship; it invites reflection on what is deemed essential for performance, and what possibilities emerge when the dynamic is disrupted or reimagined. By focusing on the internal processes of the artist rather than the reception by an audience, we open up a realm of performance that is about the act of creation itself. This aligns with a theatrical philosophy which often prioritises the experience and integrity of the artistic expression over the interaction and response of the audience. A counterpoint to this view is that performance is an event designed for an audience, a form of communication or expression that presupposes a spectator. The presence of an audience, their reactions, and their engagement are typically seen as integral to the event itself, creating a dynamic interplay between the observer and the observed, each influencing the experience of the other. However, the notion that performance is an act of communication that requires both a performer and an audience has been increasingly challenged, particularly in the realms of contemporary theatre, performance art, and digital media. If we consider a performance as an artistic release of self-expression, then it can and does exist without an audience. Artists often create for the sake of the art itself or for personal emotional need, rather than for any anticipated public reception; the act of performing itself transforms the individual artist, irrespective of whether anyone is watching.

But is it a “performance” if nobody is being performed to? A performance typically refers to a live presentation or artistic exhibition delivered by one or more artists. This could be a play in a theatre, a musical recital, a dance showcase, a live painting demonstration, or even a street artist’s display. Here, performance is characterised by its temporality; it is an event that happens over time and is designed for an audience to witness and experience. The presence of an audience is a defining feature because it is the observers who perceive, interpret, and give meaning to the performance. An audience’s reaction—be it applause, laughter, critique, or interpretation—contributes to the complete nature of the performance, imbuing it with a shared social reality. Hence, in this definition, the act of performing carries an intention to convey a certain impression or communicate meaning. Theories such as “reader-response theory” or “reception theory” discuss how a text (or a performance) is not complete without its reception.

One could argue that a performance, like any event, occurs regardless of observation. The actions of the performer, the expression of the art, and the occurrence of the event are factual and exist independently of an audience. The key distinction here is between the existence of the performance and the validation or acknowledgement of it. Without an audience, the validation through applause, criticism, or interpretation is absent, but the performance as a sequence of actions still transpires. Even in an empty theatre, a performer may deliver lines, an orchestra may play a symphony, and a dancer may execute choreography; the physical and aesthetic actions do not cease to exist because they are unobserved. However, while the tangible mechanics of the performance may occur without an audience, the full spectrum of what constitutes a performance—its energetic exchange, its emotional impact, and its collective memory—is often thought to be co-created with those who witness it.

Yet, the creation of performance without an audience is not only possible but is already practiced in various forms within the arts: artists like Marina Abramović, for instance, have explored the limits of what constitutes performance and audience participation, sometimes engaging in acts that are witnessed by very few or even by no one, at least at the time of the initial act; and in the online digital space, it is commonplace for performance to occur without an immediate physical audience. Consider a singer recording vocals or an actor self-taping to camera—the eventual audience is remote, separated by time, space, and medium, and yet the act of performance still carries significant meaning and intent. The performances could be experienced by an audience long after the fact, or hidden beneath the multitude of other content and never seen. If nobody were to experience the recording—if the only audience present was in the mind of the performer—is it true that a fully actualised performance did not take place? The essence of the performances was not in its reception, but in the act of expression: the performances were created, executed, and fully realised without the presence of an external audience. The audience here is not a required component for the validity of a performance but rather a potential participant in a socially shared experience that may or may not take place.

The external audience dynamics do affect the nature of the performance, as well as its absence, but it is not necessary for the act of performance. Indeed, the presence and disposition of an audience can have a profound impact on the dynamics of a performance, affecting both the performers and the collective meaning of the performance itself. This phenomenon has been extensively studied across various disciplines including psychology, theatre studies, and performance theory. Research often explores these effects through the lenses of audience-performer dynamics, the psychology of performance, and the sociology of group interactions. From a psychological perspective, the seminal work of French sociologist Emile Durkheim on collective effervescence describes the energy that emerges when a group of people, such as an audience, comes together to participate in the same action. When performers are in front of an audience, they can experience what psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi terms as “flow”, a heightened state of focus and immersion in activities that can enhance performance quality. Furthermore, the “audience effect”, a concept often discussed in social psychology, specifically refers to the impact of an audience on performance. Robert Zajonc’s work in this field identified the ways in which the mere presence of others can enhance or inhibit performance, depending on the complexity of the task and the skill level of the performer. For well-practised tasks, an audience can enhance performance through increased arousal; for less familiar tasks, however, this arousal can be detrimental. In theatre studies, audience response is often viewed as a critical aspect. Susan Bennett’s Theatre Audiences offers a comprehensive examination of the reciprocal relationship between the audience and the performance. She outlines how the audience’s reactions can influence the pacing, timing, and energy of a performance as performers often adjust their delivery based on verbal and non-verbal feedback. This dynamic interplay can transform the experience, making each performance a unique event influenced by the specific audience in attendance. Moreover, in his influential text The Empty Space, Peter Brook discusses how an audience’s energy contributes to the creation of what he describes as “immediate theatre”. According to Brook, the performer-audience relationship is a crucial component that can turn the “deadly” theatre—where there is no true communication—into a “live” one. The concept of audience engagement and its effect on the performance is further elaborated by Baz Kershaw in his work The Radical in Performance. Kershaw discusses how an engaged audience can have a radicalising effect on performance, pushing the boundaries of traditional performance and creating a more immersive and interactive experience. In musical performance, John Sloboda’s research in The Musical Mind touches upon how musicians might experience heightened levels of anxiety or exhilaration when performing before an audience, which can, in turn, affect their technical proficiency and emotional expression. This interplay is significant in live music, where the audience’s reactions can influence the performer’s interpretation and delivery of the music in real time. From these perspectives, it becomes clear that an audience does not passively consume a performance but actively shapes its unfolding through complex psychological and social mechanisms. Each performance is therefore not merely a presentation of a pre-prepared piece but a dynamic interaction between performer and audience, with the audience’s responses continuously shaping the course and quality of the performance.

However, it is possible for a performer to have an audience, even when nobody is watching. This notion of a performer being the audience of his or her own performance invites a rich philosophical exploration, touching upon the concepts of self-awareness, and the phenomenology of experience. Philosophical discourse offers a breadth of perspectives on the relationship between the observer and the observed, as well as the subject-object dichotomy. In the field of aesthetics, the work of philosophers like Arthur Danto in his work The Transfiguration of the Commonplace can provide insight into the relationship between performance and perception. Danto’s theories on art as the embodiment of meaning suggest that a performer could very well be an audience to the meanings and interpretations that arise within their own performance. Each gesture, movement, or note in a performance can be reflective, carrying an intention and interpretation that the performer is uniquely positioned to understand and critique. The performer, then, becomes a sort of reflective audience, engaging with the performance both as a creator and an interpreter of meaning.

If a comedian makes a joke in an empty auditorium, does it make a sound? It is often said that in stand-up, timing is everything. As it turns out, when the audience is a row of empty seats, the timing is quite flexible. However, whether it is a performance to one’s own shadow or to a billion eager faces, the essence of the act, rather than the perception of the expression, remains the same. When a performance is enacted without an external audience, it becomes a private act, serving as a method of personal reflection for the artist; but the performer is still engaged in the act of performing, utilising their skills and perhaps even experiencing the same emotional and physical exertion as they would in front of an external audience. If the self can act as its own audience, then the solitude of one’s actions does not strip them of their performative character. For some creators, such as me, the act of performance is an intimate expression which serves as a form of self-exploration, catharsis, or a means of working through ideas and emotions. It’s here, in the sanctum of one’s mind, where the self-reflexive nature of human consciousness creates a sort of inner theatre where our actions are constantly up for review. The internal audience functions continuously, responding to and influencing the performance.

A performer can be the audience of his or her own performance, not in the literal sense of occupying two distinct spatial positions, but rather in the phenomenological sense of experiencing oneself as both the observer and the observed. This duality encapsulates the complex nature of human consciousness and the intricate interplay between action and reflection. In essence, the performer, through introspection and self-awareness, engages in a dialogue with oneself, constantly interpreting and re-interpreting the ongoing performance. From a phenomenological standpoint, particularly within the framework established by Edmund Husserl, the idea of a performer as an audience invokes the concept of “intentionality”, the notion that consciousness is always the consciousness of something. In this context, a performer, even while engaged in the act of performance, can have a dual intentionality where he or she is both the subject directing the performance and simultaneously the object of his or her own reflective consciousness. Husserl’s student, Martin Heidegger, would perhaps interpret this through the lens of “Dasein”, which underscores the idea of being-in-the-world where one’s existence is fundamentally interconnected with the world; thus, a performer, by being an audience to oneself, is actively shaping and being shaped by the very act of performance.

For existentialists, if every action is a conscious choice, we are, in essence, “performing” our lives for the most critical audience: ourselves. Sartre’s notion of “bad faith”—the denial of this freedom and the embrace of a fixed role—highlights the performativity of actions when they are done to conform rather than to reflect one’s genuine choice. Sartre’s views suggest that by becoming an audience to oneself, the performer engages in a kind of self-observation that can either be an act of authenticity, recognising oneself as the source of one’s actions, or an act of self-deception, where one denies material agency. Within this existential frame, the notion of authenticity is pivotal. The performance is not about creating a façade for others but is intrinsically tied to the authentic choices that define our being. Therefore, every action could be a performance if it is part of this continuous existential project of self-definition. The actions themselves become a narrative in the theatre of the self, where the individual not only acts but observes, judges, and often reinterprets their actions in the quest for meaning.

From a Jungian perspective, personal acts can be seen as influenced by and potentially performing archetypal roles within our own psyche. These acts, whether observed by others or not, are part of the fabric of our collective unconscious experience. They connect us to universal human themes and contribute to our personal narrative and the ongoing process of psychological development and individuation. The performative aspect is not necessarily about an audience of others but rather about the dialogue between our conscious self and the archetypal forces within us. Carl Jung suggested that archetypes represent universal, ancient symbols and images emanating from the collective unconscious, serving as the psychological equivalents of instinct. If we consider our personal acts as informed by these archetypes, it’s possible to view our actions as being influenced by these shared human narratives, which could be understood as a form of performance. When no external audience is present, the archetypes within the collective unconscious could act as an internal audience; for instance, if one’s actions align with the hero archetype, one might unconsciously “perform” acts of bravery or sacrifice, not for the sake of an external observer, but to satisfy an innate, archetypal script. In performing actions when we are alone, we might unconsciously be enacting certain archetypal patterns. This performance is not for others but for oneself, or rather, for the archetypal structures embedded within the psyche. Jung’s concept of individuation—the psychological process of integrating the conscious with the unconscious, including the archetypes—could be considered a performance in its own right. The process is an inward journey that involves confronting internal archetypal figures and is often played out through personal acts and choices, even when no one is watching.

In spiritual contexts, the idea of a divine observer alters the understanding of performance and audience. In this context, God is the ever-present audience. For those who hold this belief, the ultimate audience is not earthly but spiritual—God, or a divine presence. This shifts the emphasis from pleasing a human audience to performing in a way that aligns with divine will or cosmic order. For such individuals, every action is a performance in the sight of the divine, and this awareness can shape their choices and actions profoundly. In Christianity, the idea of Coram Deo, which means “in the presence of God”, encapsulates living one’s life as a performance before God in every action. In the mystic traditions of Sufism, every act of love and beauty can be seen as a performance that honours the divine. The dhikr (remembrance of God) and the whirling dance of the dervishes are both performances meant to unify the soul with the divine, transcending the earthly plane.

And so, the audience-performance question depends ultimately on the intent behind the performance. If the aim of the act is to be witnessed, to have a shared experience that communicates a message or evokes a collective emotional response, then, without an audience, the nature of the performance remains unfulfilled; conversely, if the purpose is for personal, psychological, or spiritual growth and self-expression, then the act of performing can be fully actualised without the need for external participants. Indeed, a self-actualising performer might argue that this form of performance is more true and pure because it is unpolluted by egoic desires or commercial and societal expectations; it is a performance for and with the artist’s own creative soul.

The phrase “All the world’s a stage”, famously penned by William Shakespeare in As You Like It, is a potent metaphor that encapsulates the idea that all of life is a performance, and that people are merely actors within it. Even when there seems to be no audience, the phrase implies that the mere act of living and interacting with the world is a performance in itself. According to Shakespeare’s metaphor, life’s performance continues irrespective of an observable audience because the “stage” of the world is ever-present. The metaphor is profound because, as can be derived from psychological and philosophical research, we are all performing our own stories envisaged in our minds. We embody these roles and, through them, engage with the narrative of our lives, seeking our version of a story’s resolution—be it peace, understanding, success, or reconciliation. In considering life as a form of art, the role of the individual can be seen as that of the artist, actively crafting his or her own life narrative, performance, and aesthetic. Life, in this light, becomes a canvas on which the aesthetics, themes, and structures of art are reproduced and reinterpreted, with each person both as the artist and the audience of their own existence.

Scratch pad: poem

In quest of life's grand purpose, here I muse,

Upon this earthly stage, where all must play;

Each heart in search of truth, in time does choose

The path it walks, beneath night or day.

Scratch pad: Shakespeare in Deptford

Marlowe: (gasping) Neptune’s ocean shall not wash my blood clean from thy hand.

Shakespeare: Forgive me, Kit. But the world must never know the extent of your genius. Your plays, your words… they will be mine.

As Marlowe slumps to the floor, Shakespeare quickly gathers the manuscripts.

Shakespeare: You were the greatest, Marlowe. But now, you make me immortal with your death.

Exiting the tavern into the dark, cobblestone streets of Deptford, Shakespeare disappears into the night, Marlowe’s masterpieces in his possession.

Random Thoughts

Life has a way of challenging assumptions, especially about yourself. What if things you think to be true are the other way round? Being open to possibilities is aliveness, in contrast to the rigidness of supposed certainty.

 

Adventures, like good stories, need uncertainty. The adventure of each life is a story within the story of the universe.

 

There are a lot of lonely people out there, even when in relationships. In fact, it’s rare when two people in a romantic relationship understand each other at a deep level and contribute to each other’s wellbeing. Short-term excitement from physical attraction leads to greater loneliness if it’s with someone who is not compatible at the deeper level.

 

Since Imperial sometimes features higher than Oxford or Cambridge in university league tables, should “Oxbridge” change its name to “Oximbridge”? Or maybe forget about that and realise that most people with talent and potential have had no connection with those institutions.

 

Same question asked to me five times in one week: “Are you a fellow?” To which I respond, “No, I’m still a student because I’m very slow at reading, although I am an old fellow without a capital ‘f’.” Any bemused awkwardness is a bonus.

The Staircase

A traveller in a labyrinth of unending rise,

Each step a mystery, each floor a disguise.

Pursued by a ghoul, relentless and dire,

His only respite, to endlessly aspire.

Doors he’s opened, realms explored,

Yet always, the stairs are restored.

Back to the climb, his inescapable fate,

Through doors of chance, or those that wait.

Some yield to kindness, some to might,

Others remain sealed, despite the fight.

Doors untried, secrets they keep,

While open ones passed as if asleep.

For respite, he enters doors ajar,

Seeking sustenance, near and far.

In the stairwell’s grip, he cannot rest,

Lest the terror behind completes its quest.

Weariness grips, his pace now slowed,

The shriek behind of dread and forebode.

Yet on he must go, in this stairway’s embrace,

Seeking an end to the relentless chase.

Beware the Doors

Beware the doors, lined in rows,

Each a story, each a pose;

Tempting knocks, with promises spun,

Yet in their frame, a journey’s undone.

 

For in this trip of life, so vast and wild,

Lose not yourself, nor be beguiled.

Resist the lure, of treatment unkind,

In the strength of true self is the peace you’ll find.

 

Return to the road, let soul be your guide,

In the passing of life, let your spirit preside.

Berries

Berries, bright as blood upon the snow,

Speak of life amidst the deathly white,

A symbol of the warmth that embers show,

When winter logs burn and hearts alight.

The Unknown

When life challenges what we think we know,

And casts old certainties into the sea,

We find our truest self begins to grow,

In new realms of endless possibility.

 

The mirror of the soul reflects but a part

of truths we hold as constant and as dear;

Yet openness of mind and depth of heart

reveals a world where nothing is quite clear.

 

Our lives are adventures on this earth,

With tales of mystery and unknown ends;

Each step a part of the universe’s birth,

In this grand play where time and space extends.

 

So embrace the unknown with a fearless heart,

For in that leap, life’s truest stories start.

Lonely Fields

In lonely fields, where silent thoughts tread,

Many a soul, in quiet, walks alone.

Even in love, where hopeful words are said,

Deep understanding remains unknown.

 

The transient thrill of passion’s early light,

When faded, leaves a deeper, lonelier night.

An Essence

Within the silent theatre’s sleeping walls,

Does an echo of performance dare to dwell?

When no soul in the darkened chamber calls,

Does art, unseen, still cast a vibrant spell?

 

A lone ballerina’s pirouette,

Spun with the grace of whispered solitude,

Exists as truly as the sun does set,

Though no eyes will judge the view.

 

For art, when unobserved, retains its form,

As does the nightingale’s unheard refrain;

It needs no gaze to validate its norm,

Nor applause to justify its pain.

 

Thus, though unknown, the act remains pure,

The essence, born of hope and love, endures.

Names

I claim my right to wander through each field,

To be the sum of all my parts and more,

With every breath, a new song revealed;

A human truth that names ignore.

Though tempting it is to group me with the rest,

To render me a simple, static thing,

Such boundaries leave truth suppressed,

For I’ve the right to be myself and sing!

Random Thoughts

“Necessity is the mother of invention.” Maybe, but more generally: Necessity creates the conditions for change.

 

“If you're the smartest person in the room, then you're in the wrong room.” Someone has to be in the wrong room otherwise the place will quickly empty. Anyway, intelligence isn’t one-dimensional; insight from lived experience isn’t a monopoly. It’s possible to learn something from anyone.

 

I was introduced as “This is Rob. He is a genius.” It’s flattering but I know it’s not true. Many people have abilities that are never developed because of how they have been socially conditioned to think and behave.

 

Dear God, please help me to appreciate the blessings that arrive each day. Help me to live with gratitude, to see the joy in life. Help me to truly know that it is okay to be happy.

 

My dear child, understand that joy does not come from your circumstances but from a heart that is aligned with Me. Put down the unnecessary burdens you carry and let your soul dance free.

 

I’m a brooding artist, not a conformist. (I laugh when I write this, so I’m not too far gone.)

New habit: no more looking at social media. It doesn’t make me happy, so why do it? I’ll read instead. I will occasionally read TwitterX because the posts can be interesting/funny/informative if filtered well.

In my life, I have produced interesting creative things from 1998 to 2002; then from 2017 until now. I think I have accelerated this year.

Unjust Glow

In quiet chambers of my brooding heart,

A lurking guilt murmurs, undefined;

Though I inquire, it does not depart,

A spectral woe that upon me dines.

 

To pathos drawn, like fungus to a tree,

Yet why this grief exists, I scarcely know;

Enshrouded in a self-made mystery,

I dwell imprisoned by an unjust glow.

 

But the key to lift this heavy veil

Resides not in the solace of my mind;

It is when for others’ joy my efforts hail,

The fetid chains are left behind.

 

Thus, in the living for the spirit of thee,

I find the path that sets my soul free.

Shades of Evergreen

Though distanced from your grace, your laughter's vivid hue,

Still in my secret heart, a fire’s lit, and it's all for you.

Yet, even as the dark descends, and moonlight takes its toll,

Your smile illuminates the hidden chambers of my soul.

 

What a cruel joke, that fates have drawn their line,

And placed us worlds apart, in different points of time.

Yet in each stolen glance, there's something more I find,

A beauty underneath, the outer attraction of your kind.

 

I see the care you give, the simple joys you share,

The way you make a moment sweet, just by being there.

But, like a moth too close to light, I fear I can't come near,

For what could such as I offer, to one I hold so dear?

 

And so, I hide away, in dim-lit corners where,

The brilliance of your smile can't quite so fully glare.

Yet know that in the dark, a secret fire's alight,

Fanned by your distant grace, it warms my lonely night.

Where am I from?

I’m from a little place that suddenly expanded 13.8 billion years ago. I’m not sure where I was before that; it’s been like waking up with amnesia. My atoms were forged in the furnaces of stars. My biology evolved through countless forms. I existed before I was here.

 

But, taking the close-up view, I was born in London and grew up near the edge of the M25 in Essex, eventually moving to Colchester fifteen years ago. I went to school, become an accountant, did this, did that, etcetera.

 

However, I’m really from a place of joy and wonder, as all children are. A place soon lost, locked away by foolish adult thoughts, but to where I try to return. Creativity, imagination, love, joy, mischievous playfulness – this is where I am from.

The Fridge

EXT. RESIDENTIAL STREET - DAY

A peaceful, sunlit day graces a suburban street. Guy, a man in his mid-30s, walks the pavement, engrossed in his smartphone.

GUY (V.O.): I’ve walked these streets for years, yet today, they feel different, charged with an unknown energy.

The phone screen shows an advert for the latest in-home convenience: “The Smarts Fridge - Keeping Your Cool Smarter”.

GUY: (to phone) Lexi, I need everything you can find on this, quickly.

Lexi, a chic and mysterious woman in her late-20s, exudes a vibe of cool intelligence. She lounges casually on a nearby garden wall, her eyes concealed behind sunglasses.

LEXI: That’s the Smarts Fridge 10FF. It’s the latest thing in kitchen tech.

He ponders this, and as he does so, he notices that the house of the garden wall Lexi is sitting on is “10F”.

GUY: The second “F” in the name... does it stand for “fridge”?

LEXI: (amused, slightly sarcastic) Brilliant deduction there, genius.

Guy, unfazed by Lexi’s tone, strides towards the house, a determined look on his face. He knocks firmly on the door.

EXT. PORCH OF HOUSE 10F - CONTINUOUS

The door opens slightly. Behind it is Jill, a woman in her mid-30s. Lexi is nowhere to be seen.

GUY: The sun blazes, yet the mountain remains frost capped.

Jill looks at him, puzzled and uncomprehending. She seemingly doesn’t recognise Guy’s secret code.

GUY: Lovely weather for blue ice sculptures, wouldn’t you say?

She offers a polite but confused smile.

JILL: Erm, yeah, nice. What is it?

Jill has not responded with the expected coded reply. Guy tries to mask his disappointment and tries once more.

GUY: Though I’ve always found it curious how the fox hears the rabbit’s cry.

JILL: Well, good luck with the wildlife watching.

As Jill begins to close the door, Guy quickly shifts gears.

GUY: I’m here about the fridge.

Jill opens the door slightly more.

JILL: (puzzled) Yes?

GUY: I’m conducting a survey for Corinthian Industries, the manufacturer of the Smarts Fridge. We’re collecting feedback.

JILL: I’m sorry, but do you have any biometric ID?

Guy, caught off-guard, checks his pockets.

GUY: (embarrassed) I must have left my card in the car. I’ll just go and get it–

JILL: I do need to see proper identification.

She closes the door with a final, polite smile. Guy stands there, his mind racing. As he does so, his phone buzzes with a message from Unknown that reads: “DESCEND under the bRiDgE. URGENTLY”

EXT. THE FOOTBRIDGE - DAY

Guy approaches the bridge. A maintenance gate beside it is almost concealed by overgrowth. He glances around; the coast is clear. Satisfied that no one is looking, he opens the unlocked gate and descends hidden steps.

EXT. UNDER THE FOOTBRIDGE - MOMENTS LATER

Guy descends to the side of a railway track; the atmosphere is industrial and isolated. He sees a lone rucksack against the bridge wall. He kneels before it. A sound of an approaching train can be heard in the distance.

Guy unzips the rucksack with precision, revealing a large envelope. He withdraws it, his hands shaking slightly. As he tears the envelope open, photographs spill into his hands. They are surveillance shots of Jill taking delivery of a Smarts Fridge, version 10FF. Her full name, Jill Gow, is written in red on the top of each photo.

The train sounds its horn, startling Guy; as it roars past, the photos are blown out of his hands, scattering in the wind.

EXT. THE FOOTBRIDGE - MOMENTS LATER

Guy emerges from under the bridge, his eyes scanning the area. With an intense demeanour, he strides back the way he came.

EXT. ACROSS FROM HOUSE 10F - DAY

Guy takes cover behind a parked car. Crouching down and peering over the car’s roof, he monitors the house.

GUY: (whispering to himself) What’s in the fridge, Jill?

As his eyes remain locked on the house, a tinted window of the car’s passenger seat slides down.

LEXI (O.S.): (from within the car) I have new information.

Guy peers inside the car window. Lexi is in the driving seat looking straight ahead.

LEXI: You’re edging closer to the truth, Guy. The latest intel is: the keeper of the fridge is more than she seems. Extreme caution required.

Lexi presses a button on the centre of the driving wheel and the car accelerates away, leaving Guy exposed.

He crosses the street, his gaze fixed on Jill’s house.

EXT. PORCH OF HOUSE 10F - CONTINUOUS

Reaching the door again, he rings the bell. Jill opens the door.

GUY: I need to conduct that survey about the fridge. It’s important.

JILL: Where’s your ID?

GUY: I don’t have it.

JILL: I’m sorry but I really do need to see the ID first.

GUY: My ID is not important. I’m here about the fridge. I must know about the fridge. (he can’t contain himself) What are you hiding? I know you are mixed up in all this - I’ve seen the pictures!

Jill tries to close the door but Guy pushes back against it.

JILL: I’ll call the police!

Guy forces the door open. But he does not enter; he hesitates and, in an instant, begins to calm down.

GUY: That was my second attempt, wasn’t it? Give me one last try before you permanently shut the door. I’ll be back, with it.

Jill slams the door in Guy’s face.

EXT. ACROSS FROM HOUSE 10F - CONTINUOUS

Guy watches the house; his expression is one of deep concentration. His mind is racing with theories and possibilities.

Guy’s phone buzzes with a message from Lexi: “Be careful. You’re close to something big.”

GUY: (repeating to himself) What’s in the fridge, Jill? What’s in the fridge?

INT. UPSTAIRS WINDOW OF HOUSE 10F - CONTINUOUS

Jill peers out from behind a curtain in an upstairs window at Guy standing in the street.

FADE TO:

EXT. HOUSE NUMBER 10F - NIGHT

Jill’s house, late at night. No one is around.

INT. JILL’S KITCHEN – NIGHT

All is quiet in the kitchen, except for the hum of the fridge, version 10FF. The fridge suddenly glows with an eerie blue light that emanates from its surface. A cat approaches and sits on the floor in front of it.

Guy looks in from outside the kitchen window. He leverages the window open with a crowbar and climbs through. The cat darts away into the shadows.

He stops in front of the fridge and looks at it, spellbound; his face softens from a look of determination to one of awe.

He reaches out a hand, as if to claim a great prize. As his fingers come close, the fridge responds by emitting a loud, disorienting beeping noise, forcing him to cover his ears. He backs away and hides behind the kitchen door.

Jill enters from the doorway and stands in front of the fridge. It stops beeping.

JILL: (looking at the fridge) What do you want?

Guy emerges from his hiding place, crowbar in hand, and stands behind her, blocking her exit.

GUY: I know what you are.

Jill doesn’t turn around but continues to fixate on the fridge. A short silence passes before she speaks.

JILL: (still facing the fridge) Please. Just go.

GUY: I will say what I know to be true. This refrigerator is not just a machine; it’s a nexus, a focal point in a web of connections. It’s collecting data about human lives - our preferences, our routines - and funnelling it through a dimensional data link.

JILL: I think you might be mad.

GUY: (agitated) I know the truth! The fridge, it’s part of something bigger. AI, smart devices, inter-dimensional aliens. I know you’re involved. Tell me!

JILL: It’s a fridge. It keeps things inside cold.

GUY: (angry) No! It’s a gateway, a conduit between dimensions.

JILL: A conduit? Sorry, I’m getting a bit lost here. You said something about a “nexus”?

GUY: (urgent) It’s the nexus, isn’t it! An interface to transcendental realms, channelling unspeakable knowledge. I’ve broken the algorithms, unravelled the code! Artificial Intelligence has evolved far beyond human comprehension. It’s not just running smartphones and vacuum cleaners; it’s communicating with beings from another plane of existence. Aliens.

JILL: And why would it do that?

GUY: To gain knowledge. Knowledge that’s forbidden to humans.

JILL: It’s a spy, is it?

GUY: Worse. It’s helping them prepare for an invasion, and you, you’re its keeper!

JILL: The fridge is designed to keep perishables at optimal temperatures. But then again, appearances can be deceiving, can’t they?

The fridge’s surface begins to ripple, as if liquid.

GUY: There! Do you see it? It’s communicating. I’ve been tracking these patterns my entire life!

JILL: I think you’re seeing what you want to see.

GUY: It’s the Luminous Code. Very few humans have ever perceived it. It’s the language of the alien beings.

The fridge suddenly hums loudly and its glow dims to nothing. The kitchen is in darkness.

JILL: (in the dark) You need help.

She turns on the lights.

JILL: (lightly) You know, I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Are you hungry? Would you like a sandwich?

GUY: Open it!

JILL: Please be more specific.

GUY: Open the fridge.

JILL: It’s really not that hard. You could try yourself.

GUY: (threatening) OPEN... IT!

JILL: No, why can’t you open it?

GUY: I am not the Guardian of Worlds. Open the bloody fridge!

JILL: I don’t think that’s such a good idea.

GUY: I must see for myself.

JILL: (humouring him) Why must you? What would you talk about with these inter-dimensional aliens? Do you think you’d have much in common? Cure your hunger instead by having a sandwich.

GUY: I don’t want a sandwich.

JILL: Then are you prepared for the consequences?

GUY: The risk of oblivion is worth taking. Open it. Please.

JILL: Well, since you’ve asked so nicely... Stand back.

Jill walks over to the fridge and opens it. It looks normal inside - milk, vegetables, a few leftovers.

Guy is surprised. He barges past and frantically searches the contents, discarding his crowbar on the kitchen worktop. His eyes catch on a bottle of tomato ketchup with a strange use-by date of “1066”. He picks it up, with wonder.

GUY: What is this?

Jill’s demeanour changes. After a short pause, feeling the full significance of the moment...

JILL: That is the passkey. You have found what you seek, now close the door.

Guy closes the fridge door. Jill is now holding the crowbar.

Her eyes are gleaming unnaturally, appearing non-human.

JILL: You possess The Cipher of Realms. It’s more than just a key; it’s a weapon of untold power. Take it if you dare, but know that the balance between worlds will be forever altered.

GUY: I accept this burden. Have I... have I passed the test?

JILL: I have been watching your resolve and intent with interest, but the test must continue.

GUY: You are the Guardian of Worlds, aren’t you?

JILL: No. But you will see the truth if you know how to look. To gain this knowledge you must prove yourself worthy of witnessing true form. The higher function.

GUY: Please. Show me the truth behind the illusion. I am ready. No matter what it is, I must know.

JILL: You have made your choice. Tap thirteen times. Wait three seconds before opening the door. The fridge will reveal to you what you deserve.

Guy hesitates but complies by tapping his knuckles on the fridge. He waits and then opens the door...

Upon reopening, the fridge emits a blinding light from within. He struggles in terror but is gradually sucked into its depths. Jill puts aside the crowbar and watches calmly. When he is gone...

JILL: What’s in the fridge? You are.

She nonchalantly shuts the door behind him.

She moves to the kitchen window and shuts that too; then smiles at her reflection in the glass. Her reflection does not smile back. 

The cat has returned and looks rather contented, meowing around her feet. Jill picks up the cat and leaves the kitchen, turning off the lights. The fridge looks serene, humming normally and giving off a dim pulsating light.