All language subtitles for Lore.S01E03.WEBRip.x264-ION10

AARON MAHNKE:
On June 2, 2009,

Caroline Coffey
and her husband Blazej Kot

went out for a run.

They had recently returned

from their honeymoon
in Costa Rica.

[panting]

Caroline, at 28,

was settling into her new job

as a cancer researcher.

Blazej, 24,

was a failing Ph.D. candidate

working 80-hour weeks
for a startup.

The stress
was taking its toll.

[panting, running footsteps]

As he ran with Caroline
that day,

he was overcome
by the unshakable conviction

that this woman
was not Caroline.

She was someone else,

someone pretending
to be Caroline,

whose intention
was to destroy him.

[panting]

[screaming]

[knife slices]

His defense attorney
told the jury

that Blazej was suffering
from Capgras syndrome,

a rare psychiatric disorder

whose victims
suffer from the belief

that someone they love
has been replaced

with someone
who looks identical,

a deceiver who looks
exactly like them.

Caroline's body was found
the following day.

She had bled to death.

Blazej explained
that he slit her throat

so that she would die quickly
without too much pain.

I still cannot understand

what came over me
to lead me to do this.

But I know I have done
something terrible...

and it torments me
every single day.

Blazej Kot was sentenced
to life in prison

after the jury
rejected his explanation

of that day's events:

that his wife
was not his wife...

but an imposter.

Yet a century earlier,

this explanation was
surprisingly widespread.

But it wasn't that everyone

was in the grips of a
psychological illness.

Rather, society itself was
gripped by a powerful belief,

and its most
chilling instance

lies in the country

of Caroline Coffey's
birth: Ireland.

I'm Aaron Mahnke,
and this is Lore.

When strange things happened
in 19th century Ireland,

people often looked to magic
and superstition for answers.

And they believed that spirit
creatures were the cause.

These creatures
were a type of fairy

called a changeling.

And a changeling could
come and take you away.

There's a superstition

that if the person you love
suddenly seems different,

almost like they've
become someone else,

that it wasn't in fact
your loved one at all

but a replacement,
a doppelganger,

a changeling.

Like many of the people

in the Irish village
of Ballyvadlea,

Bridget Cleary had grown up
with those superstitions.

She may have even
believed some of them,

but, unlike many
of her neighbors,

Bridget was a modern woman,

empowered by the Singer
sewing machine.

Bridget lived
with her husband

in a small cottage owned
by her father Patrick Boland.

Her husband Michael Cleary

was a cooper
for the local creamery.

Bridget's dressmaking
and egg selling businesses

were lifting Bridget
and her husband

above the poverty line
of their neighbors.

Everyone in town knew

that the couple
increasingly depended

on Bridget's rising income.

When I married you, you were
a modest, sweet country lass.

You know who I am.

I am the same woman
you married...

who loves you just the same.

[clock chimes]

Ah.

We can continue
chatting fashion

after me egg deliveries.

[chiming continues]

I'll wake your da.

Oh, let him sleep.

Father's cared for me
enough in a life.

Beside, ah,

the thought of him
trudging up that hill.

Up that hill?

Yeah.

To William Simpson's?

No.

To Cousin Jack Dunne's.

William Simpson's?

Hah.

Shame on you for hearing
such gossip about me.

You should be at home.

I have deliveries, Mike.

Come with me.

I don't work for you.

I have a business...

and a schedule.

You mock, but if you lived
as I, you'd follow my road.

And if you had as many
customers as I,

you'd understand mine.

Mike,

I didn't mean it like that.

Bridgie, I know
since your mommy died

that you've been
going to fairy rings

hoping to see her again,

and we both know
the town still gossips

how often she'd go
to the fairy rings,

that she practiced fairy craft,

and, because
she wasn't careful,

the changelings
almost took her away.

I warn you, Bridgie,

going there is
tempting them take you.

You belong to me,
Bridget Cleary.

No other man, not mortal

nor any man of good people,
shall have you.

Only me.

AARON MAHNKE:
By custom and religion,

an Irish wife
belonged to her husband.

But there was also
a superstition:

the changelings
had the power

to steal her away.

The favorite targets
of changelings were women,

sometimes even children,

and that's because they were
seen as weak and vulnerable.

But before I go on
with Bridget's story...

I need to tell you more about
these mysterious creatures.

[clanging]

[coughing]

Abducted humans would
be taken to wraths,

which, in fact,

were the remains
of Iron Age forts.

On old maps these wraths
were clearly marked

because the local
residents viewed them

as something else entirely.

They were feared to be
portals to another realm,

and they were known
as fairy rings.

It was from these rings

that changelings would
emerge in search of humans.

But don't think Tinker Bell.

Think Body Snatchers.

They could slip
into our world

and transform
their appearance

to look like their victim...

who would then be kidnapped

and held captive
in the fairy realm.

If a child became
sick or ill-tempered,

the explanation
would often be

that a changeling
had taken its place.

Anyone could be replaced,

and a sudden lack of interest
in friends and family

might be a telltale sign.

There were ways
to banish a changeling,

remedies that could cure you

if they didn't
kill you first,

like holding a changeling
over the fire

until it could
no longer stand the heat.

[screaming]

Or using foxglove,
also known as digitalis,

a powerful heart medicine
still in use today.

Children might be bathed
in a solution of foxglove

to purge a changeling.

If that failed,

they'd be forced to drink it,

and foxglove can be lethal.

One desperate family
was driven

to the most extreme cure.

One of their
children suffered

from what we would
surely recognize today

as epilepsy,

but to his distraught mother,

this could only be one thing.

[door creaks]

The way they saw it,

at least there would be
one less mouth to feed.

[screaming]

[rain falling]

[coughing]

[coughing]

Jack Dunne never showed--

[coughing]-- for two hours.

[cough]

The weather turned sour.

I'll put you to bed.

I beg your pardon, sir.

I am a married--

[cough]-- woman.

[coughing]

How do you not know me?

Do you know this man?

[cough]

Maybe she caught a touch
of the brain fever.

How does she not recognize
her own husband and father?

Tell us you didn't go to the
fairy ring to see your mother.

Did you, Bridget?
Did you?

[coughing]

[gasping]

[coughing]

Does she look taller to you?

If it were a fairy stroke,
she'd be having seizures.

She has the shivers,

but she's been
outside in the cold.

[coughing]

Don't. Put it down.

Afraid of the iron.
It's a sure sign.

Oh. I think we better
fetch Dr. Crean.

He should be here tomorrow.

[gasp, coughing]

If what Michael
believed was true,

they had no time to lose

because there's one final
detail I forgot to tell you.

He only had nine days
to rescue Bridget,

or she'd be lost
to the fairy realm forever.

In small town Ireland,

you couldn't keep something
like a changeling

a secret for long.

Uncle.

Doc Crean's inside.

He finally showed up
after a whole week

of me trying
to get him here.

Michael's gone

to lodge a complaint
against Dr. Crean.

If you had told Crean a bottle
of Jameson's needed a doctor.

I've never seen
a changeling before.

I brought iron nails
to protect us.

Why don't you
stay here, brother,

till Dr. Crean leaves?

Dr. Crean.

You're langered.

Even drunk I make
more sense than you.

Old Irishry.

Your home remedies and potions
do more harm than good.

Perhaps if the doctor
responded when called upon.

She's always been healthy,

so no need to be
overly concerned.

Bronchitis, hmm?

She has bronchitis
and nervous excitement.

With some modern medicine
and rest,

she'll be better
in a few days.

See that she takes

two spoonfuls of this
in the morning

and two at night.

Hmm?

Hmm.

Oh, hey. Hey, hey, hey.

Mm-mm.

If I had my mother...

I would not be this way.

I'll nurse you
back to health,

just as she would have.

The doctor says
you need to have this.

Mm.

Mm-- [cough]

I demanded he explain why he
didn't come when sent for.

And very rude in turn,

saying sickly women shouldn't
question their doctors.

I hear Michael
left before sunrise

to lodge a complaint
against Doctor Crean.

[both chuckling]

Ohh.

Mike may has his faults...

but...

how many husbands would
wander the countryside

for days on end...

tirelessly looking for the--
[cough]-- doctor?

[coughing]

Mike-- [cough]-- is not
one to-- [cough]-- ever--

[coughing]-- give up.

PRIEST:
Per istam sanctam Unctiónem

et suam piisimam
misericórdiam.

Last rite?

Now don't be alarmed.

I do this often, Michael.
It's just cautious.

The distance, should...

there be a problem
and I can't get here in time.

Father,

will you make a sign of
the cross over this cure?

Cure?

Is that
Dr. Crean's medicine?

I was given this by
a fairy doctor in Fethard.

The Seven Sisters
Kill Or Cure.

So you went to see
this fairy doctor

before or after you went to
fetch Dr. Crean in Fethard?

I don't know what you believe.

We can't all be right.

But I know
that you must forget

the superstitions
of the old Irishry.

I do, Father,
I surely do, but...

if the changelings
have taken Bridget,

we've only nine days
to get her back,

or we lose her to
the other world forever.

This is--

This may be day 7.

There are only two days,
or my Bridget is gone.

Then you must put
your faith in Christ.

I do, but, you see,
with my faith in Christ,

Dr. Crean's
modern medicine,

and the Seven Sisters
Kill Or Cure,

every-- every possibility
is attended to, you see?

And, Father, everyone knows

that a priest
and the power of his cross

is stronger than the fairies.

So this is sure to work.

Father,

in my time I've seen
what fairies can do.

I have yet to see
what Christ can.

[door opens, closes]

MAHNKE: Strong...

independent...

seductive...

empowered.

These Victorian-era
photographs

depict women who,
like Bridget,

possessed qualities
that could be threatening

to the men in their lives.

In fact, they were often
considered deviant behavior.

They're the work of
Julia Margaret Cameron.

At the age of 48 she was
given a camera as a gift,

and she became
a photographer,

a rare vocation
for a woman in 1863.

This man was also
a photographer.

Dr. Hugh Welch Diamond
was the superintendent

of the Female Department
at the Surrey County Asylum.

The women he photographed
were his patients,

and he photographed them
during their confinement

in English mental hospitals.

The women who couldn't
or wouldn't conform

to the constraints
of Victorian social rules

ran the risk of being
declared insane.

Men had the right

to have their wives
committed to an asylum.

If a husband or father
could persuade two doctors

that a woman was insane,

that's all it took
to send her to the madhouse.

It wasn't hard to do, either.

Moral insanity,

another term for infidelity,

was just one cause
for being committed.

Hysteria, a frequent
diagnosis, was another.

It's a term
derived from "hystra,"

the Greek word for "womb."

In other words,

a mental disorder
unique to women.

Some were given
mercury chloride,

also known as Calomel,

to treat their
emotional outbursts,

which is ironic
because we now know

that mercury can cause
actual insanity.

There were those, of course,

who would be considered
mentally ill

even by today's standards.

But that only made it harder

for the women
who really weren't.

Dr. Diamond had
a therapeutic reason

for taking these photographs.

He believed that the site
of their own faces

would have a healing
effect on the women.

Although the intention was
to save them through science,

in the end they were
as powerless as Bridget

to control their own fate.

Out of desperation,

Michael called
for the assistance

of Bridget's cousin
Jack Dunne.

Being disabled, he couldn't
work in the fields.

He spent years
learning the secrets

of fairy lore
and magical incantations.

Before we begin,

I'm afraid, Michael,

I bring sad news from your
family in Killenaule.

Your father has died
two days ago.

The death of our family
often occurs

during the nine days
of a changelings abduction,

to distract the bereaved
family members

from getting those
taken by the changelings

back in due time.

I hear them, Han...

talking about me.

Jack Dunne's out there.

Don't mind them.

You don't believe them,
do you?

I don't mind them none.

I fear...

Mike is trying to make
a fairy of me now...

and in every way.

That fear goes away
if you just get better.

I wasn't sure about my wife.

But my dad's death,

the timing of it,
it being the eighth day...

It's too much coincidence.

Promise me...

not to tell this to anyone.

He almost burned me.

Once back,

he'd heard I had
gone to the fairy fort.

He said that...

I had to do as he told me.

That he forbid me to go...

and I needed to listen...

like when we were first wed.

But you did go.

Being Bridget Cleary,

you did
because he said not to.

I hoped to see my mommy.

Aye.

Mike followed me.

Saw me.

And when I got home...

he held the poker
from the fireplace

this far from my face.

He told me that the fairies
fear nothing more than fire.

So I had to stand there...

and not be afraid.

But inside--

[shuddering]

That thing in there
is not my Bridgie.

And if we don't get her
back by midnight,

I lose her forever.

I don't give a devil about
my father, dead or alive.

He never cared for me.

I care about
my father-in-law

Patrick.

And we need to get his girl
back from these creatures.

Now I want to tell you
something.

And please,
keep it between us.

Huh.

I know you do believe.

But as for me,
I do not believe.

There are no such things
as fairies.

And if Ireland is ever going
to become a part of the world,

they need to go away.

And it's up to us to make them

by trusting in the priests
and the Lord and each other,

not in the old ways.

The only good people
I believe in

are people like you.

I have brought with me
no more powerful a cure.

Nine In One.

It's nine times more powerful

than the Seven Sisters
Kill Cure.

It can only be used
on the brink of the ninth day.

Once we get this down her,
no doubt she'll be cured.

It's bitter and foul.

These herbs have been
mixed with urine.

It purifies.

Jim, Pat,

you boys will
have to hold her down.

[Bridget screaming]

Open
the creature's mouth!

Swallow it, devil!

No! No!

Don't! Mike, no!

This is your wife!
This is your wife!

- I love my wife.
- No!

- I'm trying to bring her back.
- No!

Go about your business.
You know nothing of this work.

Michael! [shouting]

- [pounding at door]
- BRIDGET: No!

[shouting]

If you don't want to be hurt--

- [Johanna shouting]
- ...let her go!

Drink the cure
and bring her back!

Dad! Why are you
doing this to me, Dad?

Because I love me daughter
and I want her back.

- Don't talk to it. It lies!
- Father, please! Father!

Father, please!
Please, Father. Aah!

[sputtering]

The creature knows that
the cure will cast it out.

Three is a holy number
to the fir bolgs.

Three times the changeling
will deny our questions.

In the name of the Father
and the Son of the Holy Ghost,

I command you!
Tell us your name!

- [screaming]
- Answer him!

JACK:
Open the creature's mouth!

Aah!

Is your name
Bridget Boland Cleary?

Aah!

See how it feels to answer!
That's twice!

- Aah!
- Ohh! Hold the bitch
down, Michael.

- Michael!
- JACK: Don't listen to it!

- I just want my life back.
- Michael!

Fifteen minutes to midnight.

We'll have to use
the final remedy.

[breathing heavily]

Bridget.

Bridget.

Michael?

They're gone.

Let me go.

You didn't answer
when I said your name.

I don't know who you are.

You took my Bridget
away to the other world.

You're right, Mike.

You are right.

They took me
in the fairy ring.

They took me
to the other world.

Your mother was there.

I saw your mother Bridget
with the fairies.

She wants you to know
that she's happy.

You know how she went
to the fairy rings
when she was alive?

I saw her there.

But she knew.

She knew I wanted
to be only with you...

to go back to our home.

And so she let me go.

She let me
return to her son.

And now I'm back, Mike.

I'm back for good.

The old Bridget...

the one you married.

[whimpering]

[deep sigh]

It was the rare man
in Bridget's time

who could handle
a strong woman.

No one understood that better

than sharpshooter
Frank Butler.

Frank traveled
throughout the Midwest

betting town folk

that he could beat
the best among them.

He rarely lost.

When he arrived
in one small Ohio town,

Butler later recalled
that everyone seemed

a little too eager
to bet against him.

And they didn't tell Butler
that his competitor

would be 5-foot-tall
15-year-old girl.

Taking her on
in direct competition

was a risky choice.
How would it look

if a professional gunslinger
lost in a showdown to a girl?

After all,

Butler's reputation
was his livelihood.

The girl never missed a shot.

[gunshots]

But here's the thing.

Butler wasn't humiliated.

He was in love.

He was beaten and smitten
all at the same time.

The girl's name
was Annie Oakley,

and she was smitten, too.

Frank and Annie
were soon married.

They became a husband
and wife team

on the vaudeville circuit.

Frank quickly learned

he was no match
for Annie's shooting.

He hung up his gun,

and he became her assistant.

He's usually
portrayed in history

as a jealous husband,

envious of his wife's
talent and fame.

But nothing could be
further from the truth.

There's no evidence that he
was anything but proud.

He called her his angel.

Nobody in the late
19th century

was more famous
than Annie Oakley.

She was America's
first female superstar.

Her career lasted decades,

and Frank was always
there by her side.

Annie passed away in 1926.

Frank,

broken without
his dear Annie,

stopped eating...

and died 18 days later.

In nominae Patris et Filii
et Spiritús Sancti.

Father Ryan showed up
the next day

to check on Bridget.

He performed Mass
for the couple

and continued to urge them

to reject the superstitions
of the Old Irishry.

[coughing]

[knock on door]

PATRICK: Bridgie,

Han and James
are here to see you.

I'll take my leave.

It would be nice...
to get some air.

Put your clothes on.
It's cold outside.

Here.

Thank ye.

[door opens]

Oh! Glory be!

Ha ha ha! Bridgie!

You're a vision!
Oh, welcome back.

[laughing]

Is there anything
you need, me daughter?

Hmm.

What's this, Da?

Did the dog
get the best of you?

Yes.

- Hello, James.
- Bridgie.

[chuckling]

Ah, you're-- you're a sight.

I'd like to go outside.

Have some tea and jam first.

Get your strength up.

Hmm.

Here.

- Exactly what I need, Han.
- Hmm.

[chuckling]

Three pieces.

You broke the bread
into three pieces!

I didn't notice I had.

Are you Bridget Cleary?
My wife?

In the name of God!

- Michael!
- Quiet!

I am...Bridget Cleary.

- Eat!
- What are you doing?

She spat out
her communion wafer.

What?

I've had bronchitis
for a week, Mike!

I've been coughing for a week!

You yourself said
she was back last night.

Jack Dunne agreed.

He went home,
he was so sure.

I don't need
Jack Dunne to know!

My wife does not wear

red knickers
and black stockings.

Are you Bridget Cleary,
my wife,

in the name of God?

Yes.

I am...

Bridget Cleary.

You know who I am, Michael?

I'm the woman you married,
and I always will be.

Swallow it.

I'm not a changeling

or a dog or a slave to you!

Or to anyone!

If you don't swallow it,

I know exactly
what you are!

Aah!

[shouting]

Swallow it!

Is it down? Is it down?

Stop him, please.

- [grunt]
- Pull him off!

Oh, Michael! Michael,
don't hurt her no more!

Michael, she's your wife.

Bridget is gone!

This is an old deceiver
sent in place of my wife.

Even fooled the priest
today, she did.

But the bitch won't fool
anyone no more.

No! Oh! Oh! Oh!

Michael, stop!
Oh, my God!

PATRICK: Michael,
don't hurt her anymore!

JOHANNA: Stand away
from her this minute!

JAMES: She's your wife!

You'll soon see her
up the chimney.

JOHANNA [sobbing]:
Michael!

- PATRICK: No, Michael, no!
- JOHANNA: Aah!

[screaming]

- [Patrick wails]
- JOHANNA: Michael!

Michael. Michael.

[breathing heavily]

- [sobbing]
- No. No.

MAHNKE: "Are you a witch
or are you a fairy?

Or are you the wife
of Michael Cleary?"

A jump rope rhyme
you can still hear

in the schoolyards
of Ireland today.

Michael Cleary was tried
for Bridget's murder.

The public devoured
the strange tale

which newspapers
dubbed The Fairy Trial.

Bridget's murder played into

the most insidious British
stereotypes of the Irish:

that they were savages

and incapable
of ruling themselves.

I'm gonna wait here
for her, Father...

at this fairy ring.

And in three days,

a white horse will
appear from over there.

They'll have her
in her fairy shackles.

I'll break her bindings
with my black knife.

And it'll be me. [sniffle]

It'll be me.

I'll be the one to bring my
beautiful Bridgie back home.

Sometimes
we don't want answers.

We want to reaffirm

the world is how
we want it to be.

And in the face
of a changing world...

Michael Cleary needed
to believe in changelings.

Officer.

Over there.

Bridget was buried
in a shallow grave...

a cloth sack over her head,

still wearing
her black stockings.