Original subtitles

People ask, where do you get your ideas?

Well, right here.

All this is my Martian landscape.

Somewhere in this room is an African veldt.

Just beyond, perhaps, is a small Illinois town where I grew up. And I'm

surrounded on every side by my magician's toy shop.

I'll never starve here.

I just look around, find what I need, and begin.

I'm Ray Bradbury, and this is...

Well then, right now, what shall it be?

Out of all this, what do I choose to make a story?

I never know where the next one will take me.

And the trip?

Exactly one half exhilaration, exactly one half terror.

I'm on the Orient Express heading north from Venice to Paris to

Calais.

Is it all my year as a train nurse that causes me

to wonder at this most strange, most peculiar thing?

This strange, most peculiar.

And the most familiar thing is a terribly old, terribly sick man

I describe as the ghastly passenger.

He's a traveler, obviously dying of some dread disease.

Beg pardon, but where is that poor man going?

To Calais in London, madam, if God is willing.

He jumped off the balcony and started to fly.

I don't believe it.

Neither do I.

I've got a better one.

Don't start.

Oh, dear.

I believe.

It's the old man, right?

The man just now in the dining car.

The same.

I'm on earth.

Thank God. Please.

Just a minute.

Oh, God.

Dead.

If I need you.

I'll call.

Listen very carefully, yes?

I know who you are and what you are sick from.

You suffer from a deed of people.

Hmm.

The people on this train are your affliction.

They are killing you.

Yes.

Yes.

You're from another country, yes?

Somewhere where the nights are long and when the wind blows...

People listen.

But now, things have changed.

People do not listen anymore.

How do you know this?

I'm a special nurse with a special memory.

Someone like you, when I was six.

So?

Met?

In Ireland.

At my uncle's house.

Far out.

In the country rains and mists.

And we're frogs.

was on the roof, and the wind wanted to hold.

Late one night, a shadow walked in my room.

The shadow sat on my bed.

It was so cold.

He made me cold.

And the shadow that sat on my bed and whispered to me,

was much like you.

Eh?

And... Who?

And what am I?

Eh?

You're not sick.

You're not dying.

You are ready.

I'll go.

Yes.

Yes, yes.

Are you the... May I?

The last rite?

Yes. Oh, I had my last rite years

ago.

It's not necessary. Thank you.

You must let me help you.

How can you help me?

You are going to Calais and on to Dover, no?

And then to a castle north of England where I can safely hide forever.

Oh, that's almost impossible.

No, no.

I didn't mean... Listen, impossible without me.

Me?

Ah, I will go with you to make sure you safely across the channel.

Why? You do not know me.

I saw you in the rain when, as a girl, I searched the

moors for the Baskerville hunt.

You see, I do know you.

You're not English. Where are you from?

My mother was French and my father English.

And I believe...

You now.

Who exactly are you?

Oh.

I live near Vienna phone.

Two hundred years.

I have hid from atheists and non -believers in libraries and dust -filled

where I made breakfasts of spirit myths and graveyard tales.

I have survived phantom horses, baying hounds, dreadful cats, crumbs

shaken from tomb lids.

But one by one, all around me, my friends of the unseen world vanished.

My phantom compatriots were thrown out of great homes and dark castles when

they were rented out. Rented out for bed -and -breakfast tourists whose only

belief was a drunken tongue and a full belly.

So, with the...

With the population and the unbelievers doubling by the day, all of my spectral

friends fled north.

I am the last.

And your name?

A thousand fogs visited my family vault. A thousand rains

washed my tombstone.

My name has been erased by time and the weather.

The name is vanished.

The flowers, the dust.

Why... Why are you helping me?

Why?

I never in my life had a lark.

Lark?

I'm something of a ghost myself.

Oh, Lord.

What a challenge.

I will run with you to fail people.

Help you through the Paris crowds, the stations, to the sea, to

England.

It will indeed be a... Luck.

Luck.

Now rest.

Please.

You must be strong when we arrive in Paris.

Paris? I do fear that.

Paris. Oh, Paris. The crowd.

Their disbelief will destroy me.

Come on. We have time.

I know a nice place to hide.

Where are we?

Fair Lachaise Cemetery.

All the famous people are here.

Oh, much thanks, kind lady.

So quiet here, so serene, eh?

Michel Verbeer.

Oh, an atheist.

No, no, no, no.

Jean -Michel Harkin. A friend of Jean -Paul Sartre. An

existentialist. But this one.

A writer of mysteries who loved knights and folks.

Chopin.

Do you hear the music?

No.

If these people make me afraid, I'll never reach Dover, you know. You will.

here are my weapons against them.

Oh, Edgar Allan Poe.

The Hound of the Baskervilles.

Hamlet. Hamlet.

Alas, poor Yorick, a new immigration, a

fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his

a thousand times.

Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft.

No place to hide on board.

There is.

Trust me.

It's cold.

A ghost story?

Would you like that?

Oh, yes!

You do believe in ghosts?

Oh, yes!

Please. For the children.

I shall tell you a terrible, a frightful, a rain -filled, fog

-bound, thunder and lightning story about a real ghost.

The last ghost.

This is my story.

Now, children.

You really believe this?

Come on, children.

Time to go.

You need help?

It's all right. It's the first time in years.

Yes. Oh, yes.

See?

I do.

Passengers for the 1645 local service to land in Victoria should board from

platform three.

Ah.

Safe and safe, then.

Get the doctor.

Be here soon.

Oh,

kind

lady. For a moment, just for a moment.

I thought I would not have a chance to thank you for your dear attention.

Or to say farewell, then.

No need for thanks, and not farewell.

I'm going with you.

I have nowhere else to go now.

Move along.

Move along.

Tell me, who was she?

I never knew, really.

Might be a kind thing.

No?