Charles Ward's escaped.
- How did he get out?
- Looks like he went out the window.
How did he get loose from his restraints?
I don't know, doc.
We got one hell of a mess in there doctor.
I ain't going in there.
There's... There's no way.
For nothing I'm going in there.
- What's the matter with the light?
- Dealing with it right now, sir.
What in the hell happened here?
- What do you have down there?
- It's Ward's suitcase.
Testing...
Testing...
This closes the case of
Charles Dexter Ward.
I'm telling this now, while all the
details are still fresh in my mind.
I don't expect anyone
to believe this, I...
I don't even know if I believe it myself.
I can't trust my eyes anymore,
even when I sleep.
I haven't slept in days,
but when I do, I hate what I see.
Three weeks ago, Providence
was a sane enough place.
It's a smallish city on a small corner
of the smallest state in the Union.
It's inhabitants enjoy
the eastern sea breeze,
except in the summer when
the river starts to smell.
But that smell is historic, having stunk
since the time of the witch hunts.
The whole place reeks of history.
And history, I've learned,
can jump up and bite you.
This piece of history
began simple enough.
Good morning. I'm, uh...
I'm John March.
Claire Ward.
Come in, Mrs. Ward.
Have a seat.
- I'll take that for you.
- Thank you.
- Would either of you like coffee or tea?
- Nothing, thank you.
I'm fine. Actually...
- Some, uh, tea please.
- Yes, sir.
You were recommended to me, Mr. March,
by my friend Elaine James.
Formerly Mrs. Arthur James.
Oh yes, uh, please say hello
to Elai, uh, Mrs. James for me.
Elaine said that you
were highly capable.
She also said that I could
trust your discretion.
Thank you.
My husband has moved
out of the house.
The police came to our house last night.
They asked me questions.
About what?
About... contraband that they
found in Charles' possession.
What sort of contraband?
Apparently...
remains from a cemetery.
Do you mean human remains?
I see. And how did your
husband explain that?
I don't know.
I haven't spoken to him
for more than two weeks.
I've... tried to reach him, but
he seems to be avoiding me.
Our wedding anniversary
is coming up, and...
Do you mind?
It's just a tool of the trade.
Why did Charles move out?
I uhm... I suppose I drove him out.
It was the night of October 1st,
and we were hosting a fundraiser
for Senator O'Neil's re-election campaign.
Half way through the evening,
Charles said that
he had work that couldn't
wait, and just left.
Hey, stop. What's going on?
Darling, there's some work I have to do
that simply can't wait.
- Now?
- Yes, now.
In the middle of party with all these
guests here, you can't just leave now.
Well, I'm sorry. Please offer
my apologies. Tell them I'm sorry.
I had to go. Alright?
And left all those people standing there
and went out to the carriage house.
He'd built himself a laboratory out there.
A laboratory?
My husband is the head of chemical
engineering for Belmont Cosmetics.
Long after everyone had left,
he was still carrying on in there.
- What do you mean, "carrying on"?
- I don't know what he was doing.
There were awful smells
coming from the carriage house.
A lot of noises. Loud shouting.
Shouting?
All I know is that
I wanted him to stop.
I, uh...
I guess I lost it.
I screamed at him that he'd have to
find another place for whatever
it was he was doing.
You're going to have to
find some other place
to do whatever it is
you're doing out there!
The next morning, I saw him loading
his equipment into a van.
And then I saw
he was with that man.
That Dr. Ash.
Who's Dr. Ash?
I don't know, somebody Charles met.
I've found a better place to work.
I'm sorry it took so long.
Sorry about last night.
You've been so patient.
Charles, what is it?
What are you working on?
I promise...
I promise I'll tell you
everything when the time's right.
Trust me?
Do you trust him?
He's my husband.
And I love him.
And I believe he's sincere.
How did the police get involved?
A man named Lucius Fenner called me.
He's an old, retired gentleman who
lives directly across the River Road
from where Charles set up shop.
Mr. Fenner was complaining that
Charles was working all night
and keeping him awake,
receiving deliveries at all hours.
But apparently, Charles
ignored his complaints,
until Mr. Fenner's fighting
nature was aroused.
And Fenner called the cops.
Yes, and they showed up just as Charles
was receiving another shipment of
those long boxes.
I want to know what he's doing.
Mrs. Ward, you wouldn't happen to have your
husbands social security number, would you?
What are you going to do, audit him?
No, no, it's just the way
we work today.
But that one number
gets me his entire life.
There's a lot of shoe leather.
Well I can get it for you.
Does that mean
you'll take the case?
I'll tell you what.
I'll take a drive out,
to see what Charles is up to.
Doesn't look like
it's on the level, well...
We'll discuss my taking your case.
How does that sound?
- I appreciate it, Mr. March.
- My pleasure.
And don't forget, your husbands
social security number.
I won't.
- Not too shabby, boss.
- Take it easy, Lonnie.
So, what did "Miss" Manners want?
Oh, same old story.
Husband dabbling in grave robbery.
What?
I don't know, that's why I'm a detective.
To find out all about what I don't know.
Well, are you going to take the case?
Softly softly catchie monkey. OK?
Lonnie, uhm...
Call your contact at the PD.
Find out what really happened
out at the Ward place.
Pawtuxet Valley.
Sunday.
OK?
- You got it, boss.
- Thanks.
- Jesus, she was pretty.
- Polly, she is a client.
I'd spent the better part
of my life in Providence,
but I'd never ventured out
to the Pawtuxet valley.
You always got a strange feeling when
you met somebody from the valley, like,
like maybe they were hiding something.
Hello?
Anybody here?
You're standing in dogs blood.
Dang mutt,
ran into the truck out front.
Splattered everywhere.
Last few weeks we had
a lot of trouble with
wild dogs around here.
Running into trucks,
wrapping themselves around axles.
What a mess.
Hey?
- Could I have some gas if you don't mind.
- No problem, come on.
Listen, I'm looking for the Ward place
out on, uh, River Road.
Couldn't find it on my map.
Could you point me
in the right direction?
Ward, huh?
Could you be a little more specific?
I've been driving for almost two hours.
Just keep your window down, the smell
will take you right up the driveway.
The smell? What kind of smell?
Like that dog.
Smells like death.
Thanks.
No mail box, no address.
1.6 miles south east of the gas station,
just past the cemetery.
You start to smell it half a mile away.
You'd have to pay me, uh,
five figures to go there after dark.
Hank O'Hara, fire inspectors office.
We've got a report that some flammable
materials are being stored here.
We'll need to inspect the premises.
Are you, Mr... Mr. Ward?
I see.
Then could you call Mr. Ward
to the door please?
Raymond.
I'm Charles Ward,
what can I do for you?
Fire inspectors office.
We got a call from the police about
some hazardous chemicals being
stored here without a permit.
All that business was
taken care of yesterday.
- I see. Do you mind if I look around?
- Yes. I do, I mind very much!
Do you have a warrant?
Uhm, actually I'd like to know
what kind of research
you might be doing out here,
what kind of chemicals
you might be using.
I noticed a very peculiar smell.
The smell is from the remains of lab
animals that I haven't cremated yet.
When I do, I assure you
that it will be in
a small incinerator with
every precaution
respectfully taken.
One more thing, sir.
Do you mind telling me what was
in those long boxes of yours?
I'm afraid that's none
of your business.
Good day.
So, Charles Ward pulls up stakes and
moves to the country. So what?
Maybe he does need
time to himself.
Maybe Claire's driving him crazy.
- What you want on your dog?
- I'd like, uh...
Thanks.
VANDALISM AT CEMETERY
- Hello?
- It's me.
Lonnie, what have
you got for me?
Yeah, about the raid
on Wards place.
Yeah, the raid. You mean
the police?
That's the one.
You ready for this?
The cops found eight, count 'em,
eight boxes of human remains.
Nothing fresh mind you, old bones.
Pretty stale too.
Ward said it was all a shipping mistake,
but here comes the good part.
Somebody down the precinct remembers
this tip they got about drug smugglers,
smuggling corpus dilecti's
along with their dope.
They ran a check through Interpol.
Turns out they've had a rash of
tomb snatchings over in Europe.
38 in one month.
Honorius I, Cosimo Ruggeri,
Walter Bauld, Nickolai Simanof
and a bunch of other names
I can't even pronounce.
You wanna guess what all
these individuals had in common?
They're all dead?
They were all wizards, magicians,
or occult scholars.
What's the street value
of wizards bones?
How 'bout this?
Maybe somebody out there's collecting
them like baseball cards.
And maybe,
Ward is the man to see.
Are the cops going to do
anything about it?
Nah.
The guys clean as a whistle and
connected as hell. Old money.
Anything else?
Else?
What the hell else you want
for one afternoon? Jesus!
How long have you and
Charles known each other?
Not long. A few months.
Mr. March, are you trying
to prepare me for something?
If so, I wish you'd just come out
with it, I want the truth.
Okay, here's what I have so far.
A truck drops some bones off
at your husbands place.
Your husband claims its
a mistake, but if so,
why does he sign the shipping order
and still have the cargo
in his possession 2 days later
when the police arrive?
Plus the sender turns out
to be a dummy company.
My guess is, it wasn't a mistake.
What possible use could Charles
have for human remains?
When did he first begin acting strange?
When?
When that trunk arrived, uhm...
6 months ago, that shipping trunk.
You see, he'd been contacted by
an attorney who was settling an estate.
He'd been mentioned in the will
of some obscure relative.
He'd never been what I'd call passionately
interested in his family roots before, but
he found something
interesting in that trunk.
What was in the trunk?
Family papers, wills, family trees,
letters, genealogies, old bibles.
Stuff like that.
It seems that all these
old papers made mention of a man
that was referred to as
the true father of Jacob Ward.
What was this guys name?
- Joseph Curwen.
- Who was he?
He was reputed to be
some sort of magician.
And the documents said he had
some farmhouse in Pawtuxet Valley
so we drove out there
to see if it was still there.
It didn't seem that the house
had been lived in for a long time,
so Charles went ahead and broke in.
Hand me that flashlight will you?
I think you'd better stay there
for a minute, honey.
Alright.
Now that's a little strange.
What?
Why would someone put wallpaper
right over a mantle?
Something...
Holy...
He brought it home and had it restored.
It was uncanny.
It could have been a portrait
of Charles himself.
What do you mean?
I mean Curwen looked
exactly like Charles.
What?
You can see it if you like,
it's in the house.
Yeah, I'd like to see it.
That's when he set up that lab in
the carriage house, and became secretive.
When I asked him what he was doing,
he said he'd found some more old papers
that contained remarkable secrets of
early scientific knowledge,
or something to that effect.
There it is.
- Can I get you something?
- Uh, no thanks.
Two months before the wedding.
First time I saw that smile
I was done for
couldn't take my eyes off him.
It was at the marina.
He didn't say anything,
he just smiled at me.
Great teeth.
When you smile, Mr. March, it's like
you're holding something back.
I'd like to see the carriage house
if you don't mind.
That's the trunk.
Yeah, this is John March.
Any messages?
Yes, Mr. March, you received
a call from a Lucius Fenner.
Fenner? Fenner called me?
Yes, sir.
He left his phone number and address,
and he said it was an emergency.
Give me the phone number.
555-1330.
Thank you.
We're sorry, this number
is temporarily out of service.
John March, P.I.
What's going on?
Wait here, sir.
Sure.
- What brings you out this way, Mr...
- March, John March.
Lucius Fenner called me.
What happened?
What's your interest in Mr. Fenner?
Well he's connected to
a case I'm investigating.
I have no specific interest
in Fenner himself.
What happened here?
Come with me, Mr. March.
We got a call from a neighbor.
Said she heard a lot of
loud noises over here.
Screams, furniture breaking,
that kind of thing.
She got worried, seeing as how
Fenner lives here by himself.
There's Fenner.
We think it was an animal attack.
Could be wild dogs,
but I don't buy it.
Would you excuse me?
John? Did you sleep here?
John, you're not going
to take all of those!
Holly, I've already had
one mother. Yeah?
Do you think you could
make some coffee, please?
Right away.
- Quit smoking.
- Lonnie, that's wonderful! Good for you!
God, your clothes won't smell bad anymore,
and you're going to live longer.
You've just done a
wonderful thing for yourself.
Tell me, is it difficult to do?
Nah, when I make up my mind
to something, I just do it.
Good luck.
- Quit smoking.
- Why?
My girlfriend was on my case.
You look like you slept here.
Give me a minute and
I'll be my usual, debonair self.
- Yuck! Get out of that filthy shirt.
- Some coffee, please.
Yes, I can't make the
water boil any faster.
- You're helping?
- Yes.
You take the top,
I'll take the bottom.
Would you like me to leave?
Take that one off,
and put this one on.
You're going to have to wait
out in the reception area.
It's okay, Holly.
- Sorry about my appearance.
- Just had to stop by to give you this.
Come on, have a seat.
- Would you like some coffee, tea, anything?
- No, nothing, thank you.
- I guess you've heard about Fenner.
- Mr. Fenner. What about him?
- He was killed last night.
- My God. How?
Well, they're not sure, they think...
They think an animal did it.
- What's on the tape?
- It's Charles.
Claire? Claire?
It's Charles, are you there?
Honey, if you still love me,
please be there.
I need help, Claire.
I think I made a mistake.
A terrible mistake.
I'm scared.
I'm scared for you!
So you gotta listen to me.
Whatever happens,
keep away from Dr. Ash.
Don't let him in the house,
don't even talk to him. He's...
Remember me, the fire inspector?
We're here to see Mr. Ward.
Don't give me that crap!
This is his wife, she wants
to see her husband.
Charles!
- Open the door, Spike.
- Let them in, Raymond.
We may as well talk now, as ever.
Charles.
You must excuse my speech.
I'm grown phthisical
from this cursed river air.
I suppose you've come
to see what ails me.
I trust you'll find
nothing to alarm you.
Charles, we have to get you to a doctor.
I'm already under the care of Dr. Ash.
He is the most able.
Where is this Dr. Ash?
I'd like to meet him.
He had business to attend to, elsewhere.
Sweetheart, it's not too late for you
to come back with me,
before something terrible happens.
Do not fret my dear.
There is no evil in what I do
so long as I do it rightly.
Sweetheart,
do you know what Saturday is?
- It's our anniversary.
- How thoughtless of me.
It appears you have
married an oaf.
But you know,
I'm on the threshold of great things.
And the bigness of them, leaves room
for little else in my thoughts.
I need to know what is
so incredibly important out here.
If you'd have the goodness
to wait six weeks,
I will show you,
what will pay your patience well.
You can't expect us to leave here without
some explanation of what you're up to.
It is nothing less than
the interrogation of matter!
The proper pursuit of which requires
unbending concentration and solitude.
Thank you for your patience
and for your solicitude.
That's not my husband.
Has he ever talked that way before,
you know, using antiquated language?
No.
Have you ever heard about those uh...
What do you call 'em, "trance channelers"?
People who claim that
the dead speak through them.
Yeah.
I read once about a kid
up in New Hampshire
who took on the personality
of his dead grandfather.
I mean he talked like him, thought like
him, knew things only he would know.
- Are you saying that Charles is possessed?
- No, no, no. It's a...
I think he's convinced himself
that he's possessed
by the ghost of Curwen or
whatever you want to call it.
Either that, or
somebody's got him talked into it.
Some third party, like
this Dr. Ash for instance.
Do you have any suggestions?
Yes, I do.
But you're not gonna like it.
I don't like any of this.
There was no question in my mind,
that Charles had gone over the edge.
The trick was, proving it to Claire.
She just wasn't ready
to accept the truth.
What, is that unusual?
...they've obviously been down it again
and then right through here.
Right onto your property?
Yes, right onto my property.
They were all placed by
that fella with the eye.
Can I see that?
Doesn't this seem like an awful
lot of meat for just 3 people?
I'll tell ya, it's more than we ship
to most restaurants in a month.
And nobody orders
fresh blood but him.
We got a truck dialed-in special
from New Jersey slaughterhouse.
Lonnie, what's the story
on Mister uh... Eyeball?
His name is Raymond Chang.
Cheap muscle from Hong Kong.
Doesn't speak a lot of English.
See the tracks on that guys arms?
He was a low-level drug runner
before he went to work for Charles.
Tell him about the bank.
- Oh, yes. The bank called.
- What about?
Charles' cheques.
The signatures look like forgeries.
- Doctor Ash.
- Apparently not.
The bank sent a man out to the
farmhouse to ask Charles about it.
Charles claims that's some
nervous problem with his hands.
It's a nervous problem all right.
Lonnie, what is this here
you wrote about tunneling?
Yeah, that's Mrs. Bishop.
She said she found what looked like
a couple of collapsed tunnels
on her property.
But that's coming from a lady
who's blottoed by 10:00 am.
What about Dr. Ash?
We're learning more about the
meat industry than we are about Dr. Ash.
Look Mrs. Ward,
we're just detectives.
Your husband needs intervention.
It'd only be a temporary step,
say 30 days.
And what if it's not temporary?
Mr. Ward!
- Check that out there, Kirk.
- Yes, sir.
Mr. Ward!
Scott, you take that room.
The rest of you, come with me.
- Allow me to go first, sir.
- Be my guest.
Oh, Charles.
- Is this Ward?
- No.
Who the hell is this guy anyway?
A druggie who works for Ward.
Get the cuffs on him and
let's get him out of here.
Watch the steps here.
Careful with him.
You were warned.
I'd put that down if
I were you, Mr. Ward.
And don't... Don't hurt Claire.
Careful, March.
You can walk. You can go free.
Just give me the scalpel.
Jesus! You gotta get that looked at.
Crazy son-of-a-bitch!
C'mere, come on over here.
Ye have made the
most damnable mistake!
Hold him still.
This is Dr. Lyman, Charles.
She's going to ask you
a few questions.
Your cooperation
would be appreciated.
Hello, Charles.
How are you feeling?
Unspeakable.
Maybe if we speak about it,
you might feel better.
There's a note here, Charles. It says
you didn't eat your dinner last night.
Was there a problem with it?
Problem?
I must have raw meat.
Not disgusting, seared, burnt flesh.
It is the blood, I must have the blood.
Your kitchen drains
the blood from the meat.
Are you in control of your body?
For the present, yes.
But I warn you,
once the hunger grows
my control will surely weaken.
And if it weakens,
what is it you think might happen?
It will be a damnable mess.
Now in regards to Charles,
the curious physical details,
the abhorrent metabolism, the uneven
respiratory and cardiovascular patterns,
the excessively dry, flaking skin.
These are all explainable on the basis
of autonomic, and hormonal dysfunctions.
Secondary to his
anxious obsession with his
dead relative that you've spoken of.
Less easy to explain, is his peculiar
fixation he has on blood, and raw meat.
What are you saying here, doctor?
Is the man curable?
About the best we can hope for at
this point, is to somehow diminish
Charles' homicidal and
cannibalistic impulses.
- What are you doing here?
- I couldn't sleep.
I think I've found something here.
What is it?
Diary of Ezra Ward, 1771.
So let me get this straight.
Joseph Curwen comes to Pawtuxet,
nobody knows from where, in the 1700s.
Before the revolution.
Yeah, he was a real "founding father".
Okay.
He sets himself up in the
shipping business and gets rich quick
but nobody likes the guy
'cause he's got a reputation
for hanging around local grave yards.
The word witchcraft comes up a lot.
Well yeah, you can traffic in
a lot of nasty stuff
with your own shipping business.
Anything you want.
There was a lot of smuggling
going on back then.
You know, rum, other contraband.
It was the patriotic thing to do.
So, talk to me about this diary.
Ezra Ward was Charles'
five times great grandfather.
- He lived at the same time as Curwen.
- What else does it say?
It says that Curwen stole Ezra's girl.
- No kidding.
- Yeah. Listen to this.
6 October.
Over the last few nights,
I've ventured out to Curwen's farm house
in the hope of proving
the vile rumor is true.
From Eliza's letters I am convinced
that her heart belongs still to me.
It is only the fiend's wealth
and her father's greed
that have gained him such a wife.
That, or the infernal power
of his black arts.
7 October. Curwen was gone to port.
I met Eliza, as we had planned.
Ezra, I must tell thee.
I'm fearful Joseph is truly
practicing the black arts,
as is said in town.
What has thou seen, Eliza, tell me.
Lately, he's been receiving
strange cargo's from the Indies.
And four nights ago,
he came up from the cellar
with the most dreadful
wound on his arm.
Joseph?
Joseph, what has happened?
Thou art bleeding.
I must fetch Dr. Hopkins.
No!
It is to be expected.
The dead take much blood.
11 October.
I have spent three sleepless
nights to make my case against Curwen.
After what I have viewed,
I am convinced
that Joseph Curwen, is indeed
practicing witchcraft.
I counted two deliveries
made on the ninth.
The first was a load of slaughtered cattle,
directly to the front door.
- Are they fresh?
- Yes sir, yes.
Each night thereafter,
more cattle were delivered
by the Negro they called "Old Ezza".
The next delivery came in
the boat of two Chinamen
who brought with them what
could only have been coffins.
But it was in the morning of
the 3rd day that I discovered
the door by the riverbank
below the Curwen's house
leading to what subterranean catacomb,
I know not.
12 October.
I wasted no time in
assembling the town fathers.
While they deliberated, heavy rains washed
away large sections of the riverbank.
What followed will
not be soon forgot.
That abomination, or devil,
was burnt by the high sheriff.
Plans were laid for Curwen.
At 10 in the night,
on Friday October 13,
the year of our lord 1771,
a company of 100 privateers,
led by some of the
most learned men in town,
marched on Curwen's farm.
Ezra, I'm afraid.
I have his child within me.
That's where it ends.
What?
...or begins.
Wait a minute,
you mean that's it?
What about the raid?
What happened to Curwen?
Oh shit, that's frustrating.
Why the hell would he stop there?
So Curwen is the real great, great, whatever
grandfather of Charles, and not Ezra.
Looks that way, doesn't it?
And he was a monster maker?
In local news today, another gruesome
murder has thrown the state into panic.
Police officials are still hunting
the person, or persons, responsible
for last nights killing of Mrs. Anna Bishop
at her home in Pawtuxet.
It was the night for bizarre violence
in the city as well,
in what appears to be a
related case of animal attack,
a man has been found brutally slain
in Town Street Park.
The victim, who's body
had been partially eaten,
was identified as
a local drug dealer.
Take a bite out of crime.
Maybe it's time we went
to the police.
And tell them what?
That Charles was making monsters
at the farmhouse?
No, I don't want to see you
spend the rest of your life
being hounded by
a bunch of tabloid reporters.
Someone should clear out
the farmhouse and destroy
whatever Charles was working on.
Blow it up, you own it.
I know a guy who works for
a construction firm. Boom!
Well maybe we will, but not before
we know what's down there.
Alright.
Let's do it.
- Easy there, boss.
- Right, okay?
Since when did you
start smoking again?
Since I quit.
You really gonna let her
go down there with us?
I don't know, got any ideas
on how we can stop her?
Hey, you're the man.
Just tell her she can't come with us.
Right, well you tell her.
What? What's up? Huh?
Nothing. Nothing.
I just thought I, uh...
Thought I saw something, that's all.
What did you think you saw?
Nothing. I'm just tired, you know.
Claire.
I don't think it's such a hot idea
for you to come along on this.
You can't stop me.
This is it?
There are enough explosives in there
to give Mount Rushmore a headache.
Okay, let's do it.
- Cellar?
- It's there.
Can I have a flashlight, please?
Let's go.
Watch this, it's steep in here.
Light switch is here.
- What are we looking for?
- Some sort of access down.
I don't see shit, boss.
What's that?
This thing moves, John.
This end.
Just pull. Gimme a hand.
Curiouser and curiouser.
- Jesus!
- Oh, my God!
Smells like Charles' experiments.
Stark descent.
Gentlemen...
Boss...
Easy, easy.
Alright.
Claire, be very careful,
it's slippery.
Where's that light?
Thank you!
Throw me the flashlight.
You know, we really
could've used two of these.
Hey, it's not getting any lighter
down here. Come on, drop it.
- Ok?
- Right. Now come on down.
Hand me the shotgun
when you get to me.
Got it?
I think so.
All right, here's your gun.
Guess we're going down.
Watch your head here.
This is unbelievable.
Great, a lantern.
Lonnie, Lonnie, get me a light.
Here, hold this.
Stick it up here.
Any preference?
Left's my lucky side.
The river?
Ezra's door.
So I guess we're going
the other way, huh?
- Watch it, it's slick.
- You be careful.
Here's a door.
Another one here.
They all must be sealed.
What is it with this place? Is it coming
down around our ears, or what?
It's been here 200, it'll probably be here
another couple of hours. Come on, let's go.
You go on ahead.
Hey, Lonnie, give me a hand here,
let's knock this down.
Let's knock this son-of-a-bitch down,
come on. 1, 2, 3.
John?
John!
What the...
My God!
Holy shit!
Look at this.
Oh, shit.
What d'ya got?
Journal and notes of Joseph Curwen.
Gentleman of Pawtuxet plantation.
To him who shall come after, and how
he may get beyond Time and ye Spheres.
What does that mean?
August the 4th: I am no longer
a slave to history and to time.
I have finally conquered
the last extremity - death.
Very large quantities of meat
and blood are required.
However, everything depends
on the completeness of remains.
No part must be missing if
the finest effects are to be had,
for there is naught but liveliest awfulness
at what came up from imperfect salts.
Refluxing the elixir in the albe...
alembic hath proven the way.
The success depending on
the control of the fire.
Beware the marriage of the flesh,
for that
which is taken hath
a desire of it's own return,
even if it be sucked
from the operators very bones.
When suddenly the
skeleton is reconstituted,
the operator
is pulled asunder as the flesh
u... useth to restore himself
returneth to it's rightful owner.
What's he talking about?
He's talking about bringing people
back from the dead.
John. That's fuckin' insane.
Ballpoint?
At last the method is learnt.
Shit, John,
you don't believe this, do ya?
What are these urns?
Honorius I,
Cosimo Ruggieri,
Robert Fludd,
Nicolas Flamel.
What is that shit?
Human remains.
That bastard wanted to live forever,
and this is his immortality lab.
Yeah, right.
Don't you understand what's
going on down here, Lonnie?
He beat death!
Look.
You know what that means?
Huh?
Let's see how it works.
- Hey, wait a minute, boss.
- John.
Just a pinch.
Now you're shitting me.
That's it then.
It's real.
Let's see what else this
place has to offer.
Come on, Lonnie.
Oh, shit!
What's this place?
You okay?
Sure?
What's that?
Anybody know Latin?
Who built this place?
Slave labor?
God.
Mistakes and screw-ups.
- Ready to leave yet?
- Yes.
Come on.
Don't move!
- Lonnie, Lonnie!
- I'm lookin', where are they,
where the fuck are they?
- John?
- Where are you?
Over here.
Lonnie, Lonnie, your matches!
- Claire?
- This way!
Just watch your step.
Jesus! John! Oh, God!
- Gotcha, come on.
- Pull me up!
My leg. My leg!
Lonnie!
The matches, Claire.
Light another one.
Damit!
C'mon, come on!
Claire, hang in there.
Oh, no!
What about Lonnie?
There's nothing we can do.
Wait.
That's Charles' suitcase.
Better bring it.
It's following us.
- Come on, John.
- God damit!
Okay.
Let's go!
Okay. Come on.
She has a mild concussion.
She may not remember much.
Well hopefully she won't
remember anything.
Did you know she's pregnant?
Thanks Dave,
I'll call you if I need you.
I won't hear ya,
you'll have to hit this button.
Recognize this?
My memories not as it should be.
The doctors here say
I suffered a severe depression.
But you and I
know differently, don't we?
See your problem is, you're not even
Charles Dexter Ward, are you?
No. You're just plain old Curwen.
- Superstition.
- Impersonation. Murder.
You know nothing.
I know plenty.
See, I just just got back
from your catacombs.
And how fares my domain?
I blew it up.
'fraid so.
I blew the shit out of it.
And if you ever want to go home again,
you're gonna have to do it with a shovel.
Now this is Charles.
And the way I see it, nobody,
I mean, nobody, is ever
gonna let you out of here.
Mr. March.
Let me put you a question.
Suppose you were a physician, or a constable
and someone came to you and said:
Charles Ward isn't really
Charles Ward at all,
he's Joseph Curwen,
who is 250 years old and
looks exactly like him.
What would you say?
Take my point.
I don't give a rats ass.
You killed Charles, didn't you?
Young master Charles
was a headstrong lad.
Inquisitive but... principled.
It was he who raised me up, you know?
As planned.
Knowing my demise imminent,
I paid handsomely,
the local undertaker.
Thus ensuring my remains
to be properly preserved.
Of course, you couldn't go around
together like that, could ya?
Would've raised eyebrows.
Indeed.
And so the inestimable
physician was born - Dr. Ash.
A most clever creation, don't you agree?
And he sneaked you
out of the house back then.
It would have been better for me
to make an appearance
as some kinsman from afar, but
young master Charles would not have it.
He developed qualms.
Charles and I soon disagreed
on the disposition of flesh.
His, specifically.
Charles simply couldn't reconcile himself
to the resurrective hunger.
Give me the satisfaction
of some answers.
- What are you doing?
- You are the detective, Mr. March.
What do you think?
I think you've found
a way to live forever.
But it's messy.
That is just the beginning.
I have struck depths that your
little brain cannot fathom.
My researches have led me
far beyond eternity.
I have drawn down
demons from the stars.
I have harnessed
the shadows that stride
from world to world,
to sow death and madness.
I have designs whereby the earth,
nay, the very stars themselves
can move at my command.
Time and Cosmos belong to me,
Mr. March.
The destinies of all things,
living and dead, are mine.
But, as you say, it is messy.
Truly,
the curse of the
formerly dead is the hunger.
And it will not be denied.
Much... better.
Are you trembling?
Oh, there'll be no point in that.
There'll be no salvation for thee.
For you see, Mr. March...
May I call you John?
I feel that I know you.
Strong as my hunger
for knowledge may be
my hunger for food
is so much stronger.
Hey!
And as for thee.
I shall strip thy flesh from
thy bones like a suckling pig.
But because I'm a madman,
they will do nothing to me.
Such are the customs of
this enlightened century.
Then, in due time, and under the
guidance of the learned Dr. Waite,
I shall make a full recovery,
and win my release.
Mrs. Ward will be pleased. Yes?
Especially when my teeth are fixed.
So, you have the reflux?
And what will you do with that,
little man?
Corwen!
Now the whole story is down on tape
just in case the police
ever get curious.
I'm guessing they'll buy my version.
How's he doin'?
Resting quietly.
There was nothing I could do
for Lonnie, or the orderly.
But there was something
I could do for Claire.
I made it look like Charles had escaped.
I wanted to spare her the truth.
The truth. Whatever that means.