All language subtitles for Abattoir

Home.

They say once gone,
you can never return.

But what about those like me?

Born in the dust,
whose home was the road?

No family with whom to share.

Like my family,

taken from me
by those whom I'd deceived.

Tent and totem, I sold them a promise,

and in return they sold me themselves.

You see, orphans without a God

will open their doors
to whomever might knock.

Hammer and nail,
we build our heaven.

Room by room... our hell.

And so now we build.

What a magnificent structure
it will be.

- Look, if this is about my copy...
- It's terrific. You're the best I got.

You write like they wrote
back in the day.

Cigarettes, little brown hats. Things
that say: "Scoop." No, I love your copy.

- So what's this about?
- Your copy.

Jesus, Chester!

I put you on a story about
rising mortgage rates.

You are a real estate writer, Talben,
not Woodward at the goddamn Post.

What I need from you are numbers.

Re-fis, jumbos, rates.
What I don't need is color.

Black's a color. White's a color.
It's all there in black and white.

I'm just trying to make it interesting
for our three readers.

This thing reads
like a murder investigation.

- Then put me on crime.
- Doug's on crime. He's got scars.

You got ambition and perfect skin.

Still no Pulitzer?

They don't give Pulitzers for commercial
occupancy rate reports, Detective.

You don't write, you don't call.

I'd be writing now if I didn't have
a talkative cop giving me grief.

OK.

The least I can do,
after you ate all my breakfast cereal.

That was another lifetime.

- I seem to remember us both there.
- What are you doing here?

Eyewitness sketch for Doug. We're using
the press to flush out a suspect.

How's Charlie doing? Any improvement?

Working on it.

We should catch up.

Coffee? Bourbon?

Raincheck me.
I have dinner at Amanda's house tonight.

The sister who overcooks the vegetables.
Tsk.

See you later.

- There he is.
- Oh, you're home!

Oh, no place I'd rather be.

- Hey.
- Hey.

Dinner's almost ready.
Wanna go wash his hands?

- Sure. Come on, soldier.
- Yes, sir.

- Any response on the story yet?
- Nothing fit to print.

I might have a lead. I got a call from
this adoption agency in the northeast.

The administrator read Charlie's story.

Any luck on the donor list?

Mom's our only hope.

Who abandons their children?

We're gonna find her.

Even if she doesn't wanna be found.
Charlie will be OK.

I promise.

OK. Close your eyes.

Hands out.

- Are you peeking?
- No, I'm not.

- OK. Here.

- But Mom and Dad won't let me.
- That's why it's gotta be our secret.

Hey, look at me.

I'm not gonna let anything
happen to you.

I promise. OK?

Lipstick on the collar is one thing.

But the ink on your fingertips
wasn't all that different.

The paper doesn't let its reporters
get engaged to cops,

especially with a history
as complicated as ours.

It's a fuck-all conflict of interest.

- I have a husband and a six-year-old.

They conflict
with every interest I have.

- Are you two gossiping?
- She's brooding.

- I'm sulking. It's a whole new thing.
- About what?

I'm ankle deep, and I'm going nowhere.

- Doug has crime. I've got nothing.
- That's not true.

You have us. Your family.

Ambition. Your tenacity.
You got your hopes and dreams.

Hell, I'd kill to have
my hope and dream back.

Go start the laundry.

I swear I feel like
I have two children sometimes.

That's why I'm not married.

Are you following me, Detective?

Stakeout.

Following a person of interest.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know.
I shouldn't be here, but...

...I didn't care.

- You're right. You shouldn't be here.
- And I don't care.

Old habits die hard.

I need time, and you need to heal.

You need to stop blaming yourself.

You know, what happened...

It can't...
Couldn't have been prevented.

I sped it along.

Julia, her and I were through
before there ever was a you and me.

- Aargh!

- Charlie?
- Help me! Get off me!

- Charlie?

- No! No!

There's a call for you. Line two.
The guy says it's urgent.

OK. Kyle, I'm gonna have
to call you back in five.

- This is Julia.
- Miss Talben?

Who is this?

I'm afraid
I've have done something terrible.

- I'm sorry?
- So am I.

Gravely.

To whom am I speaking?

I'm the man
who just killed your sister.

- Amanda! She's not answering.

- Amanda!

Jules, wait.

Amanda?

- Charlie?!
- Jules, do not go up those stairs.

Shit. What the fuck did you do?

Only what I had to.

Oh, no.

Amanda? Amanda?

Charlie?!

No...

- Get down! Get down! Don't you move!
- No...

You fuck! Do not move!

- Jules?!
- No!

Moving up!

They were a beautiful family.

You're all that I have left.

You know the same is true for me, right?

Come on. I'm driving.

You should eat something.
Why don't we stop at Castles?

Get some of that pecan pie you like.

- I wanna go to Renshaw's.
- Whoa, whoa, absolutely not.

The last thing I wanna do
is bring more crazy into your life.

OK.

I put my sister and her kid
in the ground today.

I need the why.

Renshaw is bat shit.

Guys like that don't give exposition.

No prize, no motive, no connection.

- The bank sold the house?
- You said they were drowning in debt.

I didn't say "drowning."
I said they had bills.

Charlie's treatment is expensive.

Was expensive.

- They didn't own the house.
- The house owned them.

It's been less than a week.

You can't get through escrow that fast.

Not to mention appraisal,
inspection, title, HUD-1 form.

It's just not possible.

Right. A real estate journalist.

Something doesn't feel right.

Huh?

Is somebody in the house?

It sounds like
it's coming from Charlie's room.

- Grady?

Oh, you've gotta be kidding me.

Goddammit.

OK, OK. I know I owe you a call.

Who the fuck buys a house, and cuts
the entire crime scene out of it?

How is that legal?
How do you close escrow in five days?

Give me the buyer.
Give me the information, Kyle.

Or I will have Consumer Affairs
so far up your ass,

they'll be brushing your teeth.

A PO box in town?

You need to start talking.

Charlie's room is ripped
out of the goddamn house.

You coming in here
talking about rooms being taken,

that's like saying Macbeth
to a Broadway actor.

You're gonna tell me a fairytale?
"Once upon a time"?

Realtors are Glengarry guys.

You don't have myths.

Right when I started,
I caught this lead.

Some high rise downtown.

Only hitch was
that it was slightly infamous.

Seems some husband went sideways
on his wife with a kitchen implement.

Ohh!

It was a crime scene?

Oh, he made it one,
that's for damn sure.

Unsellable, right?

Two days later I'm closing escrow

with a guy old enough
to be my great-great-grandfather.

Less than a week later,
the old guy, he flips for a loss.

- One renovation.
- The kill room is ripped out.

Whole fucking room, gone.

Now, you tell this tale,
you hear two more just like it.

And the end of this fairytale
is always the same.

Never heard from the buyer again.
I'd like to keep it that way.

Found this in the closing papers.
That's all I got.

Now wherever this leads,
make sure it's away from my office.

Alright, you got the city records.
I did you a title search.

12 hits on Revelation Holdings
over seven states.

Your bus-bench huckster was right.

Half a dozen properties bought and sold
by Revelation over a 50-year span.

And each one purchased...

After a tragic event
occurred in the house.

All of the homes did some sort of
remodeling after the crime took place.

- And the rooms?
- Taken.

So what's the explanation?

When I moved in,
I didn't even have a roof over my head.

- Why? What used to be up there?
- Vaulted ceiling being reinforced.

Antique chandelier.

- I started hearing noises.
- What kind of noises?

It was in the hallway
across from the master bedroom.

There was an energy.

Family moved in late-'87, early-'88.

Wasn't till three years later
that the tenants did the math.

Points out the obvious.

To hear the neighbors tell it, it was
a speakeasy, a brothel, a drug house,

and who knows what else.

If something could be done
to offend heaven, it was done here.

- What's on the other side of this wall?
- Repairman was working late.

Forgot to cut the power on
the elevator. Crushed the poor bastard.

Damn near broke every bone in his body.

I guess she reckoned she'd rather
go out above the ground than below it.

But I did some research that ten years
before I took over the ownership,

there was a nasty home invasion.

Let us go! Please! Let us go!

Please? Let us go...

Shhh...

Church bought the place back in '82
for a penny and a half.

Poisoned by a competing tycoon.

Someone came in and removed
the whole room, floor to ceiling.

To understand the story,
two days after it happened,

someone offered to buy the building.

Owners wanted out,
didn't want the press, so they sold.

And then someone just scampered off
with the entire ceiling?

Two weeks later, elevator's gone,
and the building is back on the market.

In your email you mentioned
something about Revelation Holdings.

The newspaper did take up the story.

And the day it went into print,
I get a knock at the door.

A man starts asking me questions.

He's more interested in the murders
than the real estate.

Two hours later, gives me a check
for 20 percent more than the value.

And then the next week, I remembered
that I left a box over there.

And the hallway was gone.

So let me get this straight.

- The story bends.
- What do you mean it bends?

Husband slits his wrists
after finding his wife dead in bed.

Along comes an old man, buys the house,
rips out the murder room.

Contractor shoots the carpenter
eight times in the head with a nail gun

before putting a nail into his own eyes.

- Nice touch, tools of the trade.
- Christmas morning, 2004.

A husband and wife are opening presents
when their landlord axes them both.

- And get this...
- Takes off with the murder room?

Yes.

Color me intrigued,
but that's about all.

Fucked-up people
collect fucked-up shit, right?

Part of his collection
happens to be my family.

Which is horrible, but it's faded news.

You can't rewrite that story.
It's already gone to press.

Rewrite it?
I haven't even finished a rough draft.

I get it. It's stranger than strange.
It's fucking nuts.

But these are all solved murders.

Cases of people taking out
their loved ones, and then themselves.

We had your guy in a padded cell.

He's facing triple murder. That's it.

Case open, case closed.
There's no mystery.

You don't have to protect me, Grady.

I won't break.

- I want to see him.
- No.

- Yes.
- No.

You don't get to make that decision.
I want to see him.

Look...

I know you're trying to make this right.

But whatever it is you're doing,
it's not gonna bring them back.

I just need to see him.

If I don't see him
I'm gonna be asking these questions

that I'm never gonna
have the answers to.

So, please, help me. Please?

Alright.
I'll... I'll make some calls, OK?

You'll make some calls?

You're a cop.

You're my cop.

And that was my sister.

Get me in front of him.

Shit. Fuck.

The adoption agency.

Mother: Eulalia Howard.

New English.

Some people can't do what you're doing.

Believe me, I know what you're doing.

43 stories I can confirm.

The earliest one going back to 1953.

My family's death was not random.
It's connected.

Each time a shell company.

No picture, no face.

The guy's a ghost collecting ghosts,
and one of them is my sister.

And this is where I warn you.

You're getting too close
to this one, kiddo.

And this is where I ignore you,
and chase it anyway.

This came for you in today's mail.

New English?

"Always forward never reverse."

I don't need to see anymore of this,
and nor do you. Who sent this?

New English?
Renshaw's last address was New English.

There's no such thing as a coincidence.

The world broke, and you broke with it.
This is your head cobbling the pieces.

That repairman Brent Johnson,
who was crushed.

Guess where he was from? New English.

The Bathtub Murders? New English.

Guess where I was born?

There's a connection.

Look at the evidence and do the math.

That's my sister and her family
on that tape.

You have the monster behind bars
who did this. I am owed this, Grady.

- What?
- The walls.

What?

Give me this.

Look. Look at the walls.
They're not connected.

The walls are not connected.

Wing's under construction.
I had him moved here for you.

A little more private, a lot more safe.

Listen, he gets weird, you get scared,
I'll be right...

- I'm fine.
- Don't get too close.

Could I talk to him alone?

- That ain't happening.
- Please? Just for a few minutes.

I'm fine.

Best I can do is down the hall.

I don't remember the last time
I slept so well.

You fucking monster.

I am. And I feel terrible
about what befell your kin.

I feel worse knowing
what will soon befall you.

I'll watch you burn in hell
for what you did to them.

I deserved that, and much worse.

- That tape you sent me...
- I didn't send you any tape.

Liar! Do not lie to me!

I might have caused its creation,

but I had no part in making it,
or sending it to you.

I'm under lock and key here.

- Her room was...
- Was taken.

Like so many before it.

I have made a barter with him.

And now I have a room he cannot take.

He who? Crone?

- Why did he take her room?

Amanda's room fits into his puzzle.

One more tragedy
to add to his collection.

And some souls don't go above a level.
They're stuck.

When a person dies unexpectedly,

they leave behind a tear in the fabric
of our world like a fracture.

You put enough cracks together,
like rooms in a house,

all the pain, all the fear,
all the emotions

left behind after death...

...they start to turn acidic.

And they echo on themselves
until finally it all collapses.

Knock a hole in a prison wall,

and walk out with all the prisoners.

I'm sorry for what's coming.

God, make it stop!
I have done a horrible thing.

- Ow!

- Agh!

What is he building?
Please just tell me what he's building!

The miracle of New English.

Listen to me.
I know the sky is falling for you.

But you need to back off,
and let me do my job.

Go home.
I'll be five minutes behind you.

Shit.

License and registration.

That's real clever. I like that.

Care to put your feet up in our
well-appointed lounge while you wait?

- Are you OK?
- Do I not look OK?

Actually, no.

If you're looking for service,
you have to go back

about four miles in the other direction.

Well, I'm actually just passing through
on my way to New English, Officer,

or is it Trooper?

It's Sheriff.

This is not a town you "pass through".
It's barely a town that you live in.

What brings you
to this part of the world?

I'm a real-estate reporter.
Just doing a little house-hunting.

Well, here's some free reporting.

Nothing's been built, bought,
or sold in New English in decades.

All the houses are family-owned,
and passed down.

And if it wouldn't be for that,
you'd be walking through a ghost town.

My advice? Act as if you were.

Miss Talben, if I seem inhospitable,
take it for hospitality.

This is a small town.
They don't take much to strangers.

Why's that?

They're strange.

Excuse me?

Hello?

Excuse me?

We close in five minutes.

Good day.

I just need
archived birth and death records.

You might actually know the person
I'm trying to find.

Eulalia Howard?

I don't know her.

Never heard of her.

OK.

How about local newspaper archives?
Town records?

Local histories?

Alright. Thank you for your help.
I'm just gonna show myself around.

Well, as long as you show yourself
out that door in four minutes.

That's my car!

Goddammit!

OK, Howard...

Jesus! You scared me.

I have that effect on people.

Alicia.

Call me Allie, or I will grimace!

- Julia.
- Oh.

Julia.

I don't meet many strangers.

Oh.

You are making me uncomfortable, Julia.

Oh.

I'm sorry. I was starting to think that

no one in New English
had any social graces.

This town soured
long before you were born, dear.

I could tell by the warm welcome.

Frigid, right? Well, fuck 'em!

Town this small, this old,
you can measure its age in secrets.

Like the rings on a redwood.

What brings you to me?

Eulalia Howard.

She was my mother.

Julia.

Hate to be the one brings you this news.

But cancer took Eulalia
about 30 years back.

I bought her property back in '85.

You knew her?

In passing.

A town this small,
everybody knows everybody.

Well, I think it's time you headed back
to where you come from.

I'm sorry?

Best thing you could do
is put this town in your rear view.

Now go.

I buried my sister
and her entire family last week.

So, I will leave your porch,
but I am not leaving New English.

Oh, Julia.

Your face, as pretty as it is,

it might be the last new thing
that I ever see.

So, a blanket and a bed,
that's the least I could do, right?

Come on in.

After you, milady.

So...

At one point,
this was a bed and breakfast.

That being said, you are my first guest.

All these vintage things.

It's like the inside of my head.

Remind me to clean this place.

Oh, forget that.

You'd do better out here with a tin can
and a really long piece of string.

- So, no-go on cellular, huh?
- No-go, no-go, no-go.

No cable, no gridlock, no fast food.

And no deal till you drink with
the town witch. Come to poison you.

- How do you like your whisky?
- In a glass.

Perfect.

Thank you.

- Cheers, Julia.

Cheers.

So are you from New English, Allie?

Mmm.

Born, raised, and surely will die.

Are they doing construction
out on the forest?

- Cut right to the chase.
- Help me fill in the blanks, please.

You should have seen this town
in its day.

Now it's dying by decades.
Year by year.

It's shrinking like the skin
on my bones. I'm an old woman now.

Old face, old hair, old hands.

Big veins, feet that feel like
they're a thousand years old.

Wasting away just like this town.

Allie, who's Jebediah Crone?

What's the point of having secrets...
if you got no one to share them with?

Terrible thing to die before your time.

The only thing worse
is dying on your feet.

That was us back then.

But worst of all...

...is watching your children
die before you.

You remember how
the Dust Bowl preachers of the 1930s,

they came into the wasteland,
and they gave people God?

The Grapes of Wrath. I read the book.

Well, Jebediah Crone...

He came from the wasteland,
and he took God from us.

For a moment of his glory, this.

There's the public record
you can see at the library.

And then there is my record.

There's things that I save.

Things that this town...
might wish lost.

Should have burned this. Surely
would destroy a lot of people's lives.

Here.

Allow me.

I love old things.

Then you're gonna love New English.

When the town fell, we all fell with it.

We got broke. We got sick.

We blamed each other.
We blamed ourselves.

Then came Crone with an answer.

He said: "Blame God."

So much has been taken from you,
from this town.

- From God-fearing people.

To understand Jebediah Crone,
you can't hear just about the man.

You have to hear the man himself.

False scripture you have in your hands.

Make a testament
to what you hold most dear.

The loved ones,
your homes, your children!

Write it down. Put it on parchment.

Hold it high
for this counterfeit God to see!

Hallelujah!

Now, my children,
in this time of destitution...

...tainted by ruin...

...we have struggled,
and been stolen from.

Denied ourselves and been left empty.

Send up a prayer, like a child's
balloon, like prideful Icarus,

and watch it burn before heaven.

But bury it deep in rot, in filth,
and watch it take root in hell.

He'd opened our eyes,
and blinded us at the same time.

Gave us control without morals.
Or mercy.

It's unspeakable, the things
a person will do not to feel powerless.

So imagine what
a thousand might do together?

That sacrifice is required.

This ailing boy, so undeserving,
can indeed be healed!

As this town can be made whole again
by power and pleasure!

By wealth and dominion!
But first, lambs must rise to lions!

Beg miracles from murder!
For hell demands a sacrifice!

- You, boy! You with your camera!

Filming, judging, offering nothing.
Stealing souls one frame at a time!

You wait here.

Oh, God, please! Christ, no!

- May I help you?
- Is Julia here?

Julia who?

I know she's here.
Are we gonna play this game?

Grady.

- A friend of yours?
- Yeah.

Call me if you need me.

Jesus Christ. What happened to you?

I've been trying to call you
for six goddamn hours.

You're a writer.
Write me a list of your friends.

Not your sources, or contacts,
but your friends.

I bet you it's a really short one.
Am I even on it?

You're the last one.

- How did you find me?
- Welcome to the 21st century.

- I'm a cop and you're an open book.
- I'd make an awful criminal.

Yeah. Well, you'd make
an even worse victim.

Listen to me.

No matter how many times you leave,
or how far you go,

turn around and look behind you,
that shadow's gonna be me, OK?

Now, can I come in,
or do I have to go scare up a warrant?

Please, join us.

- Mister...?
- Detective Declan Grady, ma'am.

Cut out the "ma'am" shit.

My name is Allie. And this is my house.

Now, if you'd like to come in.

This way.

Hey, this dance we're doing
has a pretty short song.

Comes a time, we don't move forward,

we're just gonna be two people
standing in the dark, OK?

I need you to show you something.

Get off me! Christ, no!

God doesn't come.
Your savior doesn't save!

You're in His house,
and yet he turns His back.

You call His name
and He does not answer.

Darkness, grant life from life,
blood from blood

that this useless flesh might yield
useful hands and do your work.

- Will you fall with me, children?
- Yes!

Will you rip from this boy
as you would from the world?

- Yes!
- So be it!

Ah, Jesus!

Was nowhere to be found that day.
Or any day that followed.

Jebediah Crone had been to hell.

And he brought back with him...

...some of his secrets.

Stand, son.
Receive the blessing due you.

Sacrificing that man
gave a cripple the ability to walk.

And it was through sacrifice
that we would rebuild New English.

Let this be a testament
to the power of self.

Now that you have seen this power,
know this:

if heaven is a house of many rooms,
we shall build a hell of many more.

To restore New English,
we shall build a great monument.

Tall and terrible and absolute.

That would make God writhe in awe,
and Satan weep with envy.

That will memorialize ourselves
in life and death.

Are you willing to build this
foundation on the bones of angels?

Anoint yourself. Deliver yourself.

What the hell is this?

It's the miracle that Jebediah Crone
provided to New English.

Better living through sin and sacrifice.

- The town killed the man.
- And many more after that.

The town made a pact with Crone.

We all did, but we pledged more
than we had the power to give.

Oh, Julia. I've seen and done
far worse things than you.

But I have lived past giving a shit.

But this town has not.

It's fearful.

And there's nothing more dangerous
than something that's afraid.

Hey.

Put this on. You must be freezing.

Do you believe me now?

I always believed you.

- Thought you didn't have service.
- I don't.

- Just press play.
- Jules, I've already seen this video.

I'm still trying to forget it.

Please, watch it again.

What am I looking for here?

The walls were already bloody
before the attack.

The room, it doesn't look right.
It doesn't look the same.

It's like it's... staged.

Alright, look. I did make some calls.

Pulled some favors
and wound up with this.

"Dorothy and Cecelia Crone were laid
to rest in Brookline Cemetery today.

Survived by Reverend Jebediah Crone,

still in a critical condition
at Mercy Falls Hospital."

- How did I miss this?
- Now get this fascinating little extra.

Crone died twice.

Flat-lined from a gunshot before
his ticker starting beating again.

- What the fuck is that?

Jesus Christ!

Anyway, somebody didn't like
the snake oil the old man was selling,

and he capped the whole fucking family
in front of him.

What?

That's what Allie said.

"He went to hell,
and he brought back its secrets."

You gotta be kidding me.

Grady?

Shall we finish what we started?

Allie?

- Grady?
- Shh. You stay here.

Allie? Allie?

- Allie? Shit!

She stole my fucking car!

Shit.

Hey, you!

Don't move! Oh, God! Shit!

Get back in the house. Go! Now!

Grady?

We have to get out of here.
Get away, get home, now.

I can rain my own hellfire
on this place. SWAT, Feds, whatever.

I can swing a big fucking hammer,
but not with you still here. Let's go.

Who doesn't have a goddamn phone?

Somebody that doesn't wanna be found.

What's wrong? What?

You know this person?

Look at that woman.

- Is this Allie?
- And Amanda, and me.

She lied to me. She's my mother.

OK, look, we gotta go now.
Alright? Let's go. Come on.

Jules...

What kind of paper stops publishing in
1981, and then starts back up in 1987?

No clue.
Can we talk about it on the way out?

The school fire. It happened
two weeks after Crone showed up.

February 11th, 1981.

All of the kids died,
and there were no survivors.

He collects tragedies.

This entire town is a tragedy.

Renshaw said Crone
was collecting cracks.

"Put enough cracks together,
and they turn acidic."

Fucking Renshaw.

He said knock a hole in the prison wall,
and walk out with the prisoners.

- How old was Amanda in '81?
- I don't know. Seven? Why?

Old enough to attend that school, right?
If you match the dates.

Amanda should have died in that fire.

Alright, listen to me.
The town's three miles away.

We're getting out, and I'm calling it in.
Let's go. Come on.

I think my dad was onto something.
He tried running. Got us both out.

- Out of New English?
- Yes, out of this town.

No, dear. He was running from me.

Fuck!

Allow me to introduce myself.

My name is Jebediah Crone,
and this is my card.

One inch forward, six feet down.
You understand, old man?

Oh, I've been there before.

Minor inconvenience, death.

Make no mistake,
I will shoot you in the fucking head,

and sleep like a baby tonight.

I enjoy your writing, Miss Talben.

Especially the lovely tale
about the mother of the afflicted child

searching for her birth parents.

Made my heart weep.

You collect words
the way I collect rooms,

and the damned that wander them.

We are, both of us...

...clear in our pursuits.

We both want a reunion
with those close to our hearts.

I just have to go further to get mine.

Tell me, dear, have you found
what you're looking for yet?

- I'm excited to know.
- You took them from me!

I took nothing from you, Miss Talben.

Just purchased a piece of real estate.

- No crime in that.

- Don't you move.

Amanda's death itself, a tragedy.

True. Tragic.

But a promise fulfilled.
A debt collected.

Don't you dare say her name.

Ah, family is truly the only real
heaven you'll ever know.

I'm gonna find out
what you're doing, I promise,

and I'm gonna burn it
to the fucking ground.

Oh, I know a few things about fire,
Miss Talben.

Spent time in the flames.

Watched as they flickered
and danced and consumed things.

Fire has a way of... motivating you.

What kind of hold do you have
on these people and this town?

I'm sure you've heard the old saying:
"Tragedy brings folks together".

I can assure you the verity
of that statement.

It was the tragedy that bound this town.

It is one last tragedy
that will set them free.

If it brings you any comfort,
Miss Talben,

know that Amanda and Charlie live on,
and Felix, too.

- But you've seen the video.
- What the fuck did you just say?!

Weapon on the deck! Now!

Hands high, fingers spread,
so I can see 'em.

- Do it, slick!
- I'm a cop, goddamn it!

What'd you do? Call in reinforcements?
I thought I asked you to leave.

Sheriff, you're harboring a criminal
who's just run off into the woods.

The woods around these parts
tend to take more than they give.

What do you two hope to accomplish?

Aren't you the goddamn law in this town?
Huh?

They're constructing something
in the forest.

But you already know that, don't you?

This town and its wellbeing
is my concern, not yours.

And that out there...

...that's the past unburying itself.

And you do not lend it a shovel.
Do you read me?

- Do you read me?
- Yeah, I read you.

Alright.

Eddie'll be here in about 45 minutes
to unhook you.

Get your car. Be on your way.
Get out of town.

Not later, not in a few hours. Now.

I promise you, if I see you again
you'll be wearing handcuffs.

Has anyone ever found this thing?
Whatever the fuck it is he's building?

Do you think
you're the first one to look?

First one to hear a rumor,
stretch a tall tale?

Some folks come out,
their eyes all glassed over.

Some folks come out
and put a bullet in their mouth.

Most just come out
with a bad case of poison sumac,

and they itch like the very devil.

I'll keep an eye out for your car,
Detective, but don't hold your breath.

Follow the highway home.
Live a full life.

Don't come back to New English.

Thanks for the tip.

Jerk-off.

They're hiding something.

This entire town.

You know what? It's time we found out
what Jebediah Crone is building.

I don't know if it's the fact
I don't know the difference

between an oak or an elm,
or a Rockefeller Center Christmas tree,

or that we walked into the forest
version of the Bermuda Triangle.

OK. Stop.

What is this?

"I pledge my son, Charles Eaton."

"I pledge Penny Marie Goodwin,
my daughter."

"I pledge my daughter, Lexi,
and my son, Jeremy."

"I pledge Lance Luther, my son."

Grady, the school fire.

Crone talked of sacrifice in that sermon.
This town pledged their kids.

- This is awful.
- Jules, Jules...

"I pledge Amanda Howard, my daughter."

No. No!

- Jules, what can I do?

What is this?

His collection.

Grady, look at this.

Look at all these rooms.

Look at this.

- Julia...
- Her room is out here somewhere.

Argh!

- Grady, behind you!
- Drop the weapon! Drop it!

- The trigger...

- Go! Go!

What is this? No!

- Grady!
- That! That! What the fuck was that?

Let's go! Let's go!

Where's your boyfriend?

- Where is he?!
- Right behind you, asshole.

- Grady!

Grady!

Tell me what the fuck is going on
in New English.

- If I tell you, he kills me.
- If you don't, I will.

Fuck!

- Hey. Here. Put these on for me.
- You fucking kidding me?!

Shut up! Put 'em on!
Put 'em on right now!

- Julia, get in the car.
- What?

Get in the car! Put 'em on!

So tell me,
what the fuck is going on here?

And I don't believe in ghosts.

I gave you every opportunity to leave,

and you had to kick over
the goddamn hornet's nest.

- Fuck you. Book us.
- Afraid that option's off the table.

Just do what he says, OK?
Just do what he says.

Get out. Out.

- Get the fuck off me!
- No, no, no, no!

I stayed away from those woods half of
my goddamn life like a frickin' plague.

Kids burning alive in a school building.
Tell me what happens next.

What happens next? You have no idea
what this town was promised,

or why we did what we did.

I came all the way out here to die.
Just talk!

- Get down on your knees.
- It wasn't an electrical fire, was it?

You sacrificed your kids to him?
And for what?

The miracle of New English?
Show me the miracle of New English.

Show me the miracle of Jebediah Crone,
you stupid man.

The ground needed to be consecrated.

The foundations need to be laid.

It started with a tragedy,
and it's gonna end with one. You...

- No, no...
- You and your sister are leaving.

It symbolized the one thing
that he was trying to remove: hope.

Please don't do this! Please!

No, I'm gonna spare you both
from a very unfortunate life there.

No!

No, no, really.
I'm doing you a great kindness here.

I don't expect you to understand,
but this is probably the last good deed

I'm gonna do with my wretched life.
Believe me,

the alternative they got planned for you
out in the forest is much, much worse.

Julia Howard, this town
has awaited your return

like lambs to the slaughter.

The two that got away.

The only blood in New English
that survived.

Well, I'm gonna give you an out
that I couldn't give your sister.

You just consider this bullet
to be the savior

of what's waiting for you out there
in that forest.

Because you can't build
a room out of water.

- I wish you a peaceful, always forward.
- No.

- No!
- Julia!

Grady! No!

This way...

Grady?

This way...

Welcome, my dear.

Please, allow me to offer you a deal.

A compact, let's say.

One time only.

You can walk away.
Tell your story to the whole world.

Oh, what a captivating story
it would be. What a scoop.

Plucky writer exposes
some supernatural malefactor

who makes a collection of ghosts,

who opens a portal
to some fearful netherworld

that exploits the denizens of a town

that sacrifices their children.

Front pager, for sure, but...

...one without an ending.

Or you may enter my house
upon your own free will.

See your loved ones once again.
Be united.

But that choice is entirely up to you.

- The video of Amanda?
- Taken in this very house.

They await you inside.

- What did you do with Grady?
- He's alive.

But that is neither here nor there.

Decide, please.

Forward... or reverse?

Your sister awaits a reunion.

As they say in the south: "Come on in."

Forgive the disorder.

They're unaccustomed to guests.

Daddy dearest... did everything he could
to save his daughters.

Only to have them to return to me.

There was a time I thought
you burned with the rest.

Clever that one.

Years I spent wondering
where I went wrong.

Never realizing the two that escaped.

What do you want?

Merely for you to listen.

I'm a man of words after all.
Tongue tipped in silver.

And I do not enjoy being misunderstood.

When we first spoke,
I told you about the fire.

I gather you figured out
how I got there.

You killed innocent children,
and you corrupt an entire town. Why?

I was a swindler swindled, Miss Talben.

That's a quote. You can quote me.

One curries no favor with the devil.
It all truly is just flames.

Divine irony.

But like Christ,
the great deceiver, I ascended.

You live amongst the shadows
of the past

with your typewriter
and snappy repartee.

You carry your dearly departed around

like... Atlas bore the weight
of the world.

I have seen what awaits on the other
side, and I have become proactive.

You have hopes and dreams.

Turn around. Walk away.

Bother us no more.

You killed my family. You poisoned them.

Where did you put him? Where is he?!

Would you like to see
my collection?

Death and re-death
for the rest of all eternity.

Why?

I'm just connecting the dots.

To combine these tragedies,
and create a discordancy.

A crack within cracks.

I'm a collector, Miss Talben,
and this house is my collection.

Small pieces combined
to form a greater whole.

Each death collected,
one step closer to breaking the wall

between this world and after.

Goodbye, Miss Talben.

I hope you find what you're looking for.

This way...

Charlie!

Charlie!

Charlie!

Charlie? Amanda?

Amanda? Charlie?

Please help us!

Julia!

Julia!

Julia!

This way...

Charlie?

Julia!

Charlie?

Julia!

Where the fuck is she?

Before you enter,
of your own free will, dare I say,

let me offer you a comeback, a bargain.

- No strings.
- What?

You may walk away, right now,

as you have suggested yourself,
so many times before.

Live your life fully and freely.

Or you can continue to follow the woman
who has brought you nothing...

- Shut the fuck up.
- ...but grief.

Hasn't she brought you
enough pain already?

It would be a tragedy
to go one step further, Detective.

Learn from your past mistakes.

The future is that way, son.

There's nothing in this house,
but the past.

Oh, my God.

Hey! Hey, you!

- Oh, my God!

Help!

No! No!

No, no, no!

- No, no, no, no! No!

- No!

No!

Grady!

Fuck!

Julia!

Mommy! Help me, Mommy! Help me!

Mommy, help me! Help me!

Mommy, help me!

- Guys.

Charlie? Charlie?

Charlie? I'm here, Charlie.

This way...

- Help!
- This way...

No, no.

Ahhh...

This way...

This way...

This way...

Charlie.

No!

No...

- Charlie?
- Charlie? Charlie?

Julia!

Julia!

Julia, we've gotta go! Come on!

Julia!

Julia! Julia!

- Julia!

Grady, no!

Grady! What do I do?

I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.

No, this isn't happening.

Touching, really.

Poor Miss Julia Talben.

- One so easily played.

Julia Talben,
all ambition with nothing to lose,

perfectly inclined
to be my willing guest.

This house of a thousand tragedies
required only a single tragedy

all its own to become complete.

- Julia Talben...
- Grady.

...murderess.

Killed the man she loved.

The only one in this world

capable of loving her in return
just for who she is.

I gave him every chance to walk away,
as I did you.

I would never turn my back on my family.

Nor me, mine.

You did all of this for them.

They were the first.

The anchor to my abattoir.

Your wife and daughter?

Still in the flames.

Paid the price for my sins.

Burned because of my indiscretions.

Sentenced to an eternity of suffering,
forever and ever indeed.

You see, you and I are not so different,
Miss Talben.

You would brave a hell
for your loved ones.

I would construct one for mine.

And you are my final tragedy.

The capstone to my foundation.

Your sacrifice is what unlocks it all.

You were pledged at birth,
and belong to this house.

The final drop of blood
born from New English.

My final stray come home at last.

What did he have to do with your plan?
Why him?

His blood is on your hands.

The only family you have
is now at home with me.

Think on it. Ponder it.

Then spend the rest of your short life
regretting it.

This is not real.

You are just a nightmare.
This is just a nightmare.

You're not real. You're not.

It's too late for that brand
of histrionic denial.

I pledge my daughter, Julia Howard.

I'd love to stay,
and delve in this longer, Ms Talben,

but I cannot permit my family
to suffer one moment longer.

Go.

They're waiting for you.

Go.

Adieu, Ms Talben.

Every house is haunted.

Every man a ghost.

Downstairs are very best.

Upstairs are worst.

We are often enough born in our homes,

and in the end we die,

and in between we live,
if we are lucky.

It is said that one
can never go home again.

But I wonder, do we ever truly leave?