Original subtitles

(theme music playing)

NARRATOR: Man lives in the sunlit world

of what he believes to be reality.

But... there is,

unseen by most, an underworld.

A place that is just as real

but not as brightly lit.

A dark side.

("Deck the Halls" playing)

�

Delicious.

Thank you.

Mom, can I watch Gumby's Christmas Carol tonight?

Not tonight, Stefa.

But it's on at 8:00,

and there's nothing else to do.

Dad, please?

Tonight, we're just going to make do with each other.

This is one family that's going to have

an old-fashioned Christmas Eve.

And wait for some old fat man

to get stuck in the chimney, right?

MOTHER: Everyone help to clear, please.

I know there's no such thing as Santa Claus.

That's a wicked thing to say at anytime,

but it's particularly wicked to say on Christmas Eve.

"'Twas the night before Christmas

"and all through the house...

Dad locked up the liquor 'cause Santa's a souse."

STEFA: What's a souse?

MOTHER: You know what that old fat man does to children

who says he doesn't exist

on Christmas Eve?

What?

Flips a switch with your name on it,

and every present you get-- no matter who gave it to you--

that present breaks within a month.

(hissing)

What's that smell?

Did Santa Claus do that

because I said he wasn't real?

It was probably just a warning.

Hey, you might as well finish the job.

(chuckles)

Oh, great!

It was your idea.

If Jimbo gets to open one, I get to open one.

Just one.

I choose.

Let's see...

I choose... this one.

How did you know?

How did I know?

Darling, you wrote out a list of everything you wanted

and you taped it to the refrigerator.

� Good King Wenceslas looked out �

� On the feast of Stephen

� When the snow lay round about �

� Deep and crisp and even

� Brightly shone the moon that night �

� Though the frost was cruel

� When a poor man came in sight �

� Gathering winter fuel...

What's the capital of North Dakota?

Bismarck.

How do you know that?

FATHER: She knows it's Bismarck

because it was named for her Great-Uncle Barney.

Barney Bismarck.

His nickname was Barracuda.

Barney "the Barracuda" Bismarck.

STEFA: You're making that up.

I'm bored.

How can you be bored?

You haven't even tried all your crayons yet.

I'm bored, too.

Tell us a story.

We don't know any stories.

JIMBO: You make up stories all the time.

Are you saying your parents are liars?

No.

We just want a story.

If we can't watch TV.

All right, Christmas Eve story.

No, we know all those stories.

"Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer."

"The Little Drummer Boy."

Tell us a good story.

Maybe I should tell them about the...

(whispering)

Not that one. It's too scary.

We want a scary story.

It might even be dangerous.

JIMBO: Dangerous?

You're right.

Tell us that story.

Please!

Jimbo, open your atlas

and find me the North Pole.

No. No Santa Claus story.

No. No Santa Claus story.

In fact, I'm going to tell you about the most fearsome,

dangerous and appalling creature in the world.

And it's called...

The what?

What's it called?

"The..."

"Grither"?

Grither?

Now you've done it.

Done what?

FATHER: The most awful thing in the world.

You said his name out loud.

(wind whistling)

FATHER: Well, we all know that Santa Claus

has his workshop at the North Pole.

And in that workshop, there are lots of toys

and elves and the smell of Mrs. Claus' cooking.

Mrs. Claus' specialty is lasagna.

She got the recipe from Eleanor Roosevelt.

Mom!

I won't interrupt, I promise.

Now Santa's workshop is located

on the protected side of a mountain at the North Pole.

And it's the warmest, friendliest place there is,

in a place that's not known to be warm or friendly.

Now, here is Santa's workshop.

And on the other side of the mountain

there is a cave.

And it's the coldest, wettest place there is on Earth.

And inside that cave is where the, uh...

Grither!

...makes his home.

This isn't scary.

MOTHER: A little patience, young lady.

Now the, uh...

Grither.

...lives in a wreck of a ship

that somehow got squeezed inside the cave.

Now, he doesn't like to be cold,

and he doesn't like to be wet,

but the thing he doesn't like most of all

is to hear himself talked about.

JIMBO: Why?

Because he's the only one in the world,

and he thinks that he's very special.

Which, of course, he is.

But he can't hear us when we talk about him,

can he?

He has very, very good ears.

And they get a little bigger every time his name is spoken

anywhere on Earth.

(laughing)

Grither. Grither.

His ears are now twice as big

as they were five minutes ago.

And now he knows where we are.

(electrical crackling)

See that? Hmm?

Don't tell this story.

Tell another story.

MOTHER: Too late now.

He's already heard you and Jimbo say his name half a dozen times.

He's probably on his way to our house this very minute.

No!

FATHER: But he's only just started.

And it'll take him a while to get here.

And if I'm very careful,

he won't be able to reach our house before I've finished.

JIMBO: And if we stop saying his name--

Grither, Grither,

Grither--

he'll get lost and he'll have to go home to the North Pole.

I want another story.

Jimbo, do you know why this creature is called the...

...what he's called?

Why?

Because he has fists as big as basketballs,

and arms as long as boa constrictors.

And whenever he finally finds those people

who have been speaking his name in vain,

why he opens up his fists

and he reaches out his arms and he grithers them in!

He grithers them in! (whimpering)

Stop! Now you said his name, too!

(rattling) Is that him?! Is that him?!

Couldn't be the Grither.

Not yet anyway.

It was just the wind.

The Grither's just Bigfoot, that's all.

No.

He's not Bigfoot.

And he's not the Abominable Snowman either.

The only people who have ever seen the Grither

are the people the Grither has eaten up.

Then how do you know what he looks like?

Because I heard him.

And he sings a song about himself.

You didn't hear him.

MOTHER: That's right.

Your father didn't hear the Grither.

Uncle Michael heard the Grither singing his song.

It's a song he couldn't forget.

So he taught it to me,

and I taught it to your father.

Can you sing it?

(clearing throat)

Um, I think so.

(begins playing "O Come All Ye Faithful")

(clears throat)

� Oh, I am the Grither

� You cannot escape me

� For pleading is useless �

� And so are your prayers

BOTH: � The Grither is greedy

� For only one thing

� To keep you from taking

� To keep you from taking �

� To keep you from taking

� His name in vain.

(piano stops)

You made that up.

It didn't even rhyme.

Monster songs never rhyme.

There are other verses and they tell what he looks like.

He's tall as a poplar.

But he can bend all the way over and touch the ground.

He looks like a road map.

His skin is very, very white.

And all the blue and red veins show through.

The-the blue is for fear.

And the red is for rage.

(wings flapping)

(bird chirping)

That's the sound of his wings.

He can fly?!

Well, you remember when Dad said that his ears grow bigger

whenever we mentioned his name?

Yes.

MOTHER: Well, by now,

his ears are so big that he can use them as wings.

Which means he'll be here all the faster.

Where is he now?

FATHER: Bangor, Maine.

He's headed south, and he's taking shortcuts.

Stop! Don't tell any more!

Oh, no, it's-it's cheating not to finish the story.

And you have to finish it before the Grither arrives

or-or else...

Or else what?

Or else he comes anyway.

Hurry! Finish the story!

Oh, I suppose we better if we want to be alive

to open our presents in the morning.

Why, he's probably by New Hampshire by now.

I suppose, uh, you're wondering where...

(phone ringing)

Don't stop!

(phone ringing)

Would you get that?

I want to finish that yellow patch in my tapestry, hmm.

BOTH: No!

STEFA: You finish!

Oh, I can't.

The person who starts the story has to finish it.

(man talking indistinctly over phone)

No, we're all here.

(piano playing "Jingle Bells" slowly)

(flat note, piano stops)

F sharp.

(continues playing)

Where is he now?

Still on the telephone.

Not Dad.

The Grither-- where is he now?

New York City.

Philadelphia, if the wind's with him.

Dad!

Here I am.

I wasn't gone too long, was I?

Finish telling the story!

MOTHER: Who was that?

FATHER: I don't know.

He knows who we are.

He was wondering if we're all going to be home tonight,

and I said of course we were.

Was it the Grither?

I don't know.

I never thought of that.

You were on the phone a long time.

Well, he kept asking questions.

But he never said who he was.

(clattering)

Washington D.C.

He's over our nation's capital by now.

Please finish telling the story!

Well, the Grither was born on a sailing ship

that got lost in the Arctic Sea.

They drifted about for weeks and never saw anything

but glaciers and icebergs.

Some of the passengers on board drowned,

some froze to death, some starved

and some committed suicide.

And the Grither was born out of the fear and rage

of all those people.

But why does he kill people?

Nobody knows.

Is that all?

Richmond, Virginia.

Now he's heading west.

Is that all?

Is that the end of the story?

No, no, my dear, not quite all.

You see, they say that the only way

this creature can be killed is...

(knocking)

No, don't answer it!

MAN: � Oh, I am the Grither

� You cannot escape me

Get him away!

Away! � For pleading is useless

Go away! Get him away!

� And so are your prayers

(shivering growl)

Get him away!

Get him away!

Oh, Stefa, it's not the Grither.

It's Uncle Michael.

Hey, I didn't scare you, did I, big fella?

(chuckles)

(chuckles)

FATHER: It was Uncle Michael on the telephone.

I taught him the song.

But I thought Uncle Michael taught you the song

and you taught it to Dad.

I think we adults ought

to go into the kitchen for a little while.

Good idea.

There's something going on here I-I don't quite understand.

(chuckles)

STEFA: Where is the Grither?

The real Grither.

You didn't finish the story,

so he's still on his way.

You started this.

You finish it.

I hope neither one of you really believes in the Grither.

You don't, do you?

Because the Grither is no more real than Santa Claus.

You don't believe in Santa Claus, do you?

No.

Stefa?

Good.

Santa Claus is no more real than the Grither is.

Santa Claus is just a nice story,

(rips paper) and the Grither is just a nasty story.

I believed in the tooth fairy until I was 15 years old.

Oh, shh! (chuckles)

No one is as tall as a poplar.

No one has fists as big as basketballs.

And no one lives at the North Pole.

Not Santa Claus, not the Grither.

Because neither one is real.

And neither one is coming to this house tonight.

But you didn't finish the story!

Stefa.

(wind whistling)

He's here! He's here!

(bangs piano keys)

(phone ringing)

(phone stops)

(wind stops)

Jimbo.

Stefa.

It was the Grither!

Oh, honey, of course not.

It was the wind.

(loud roaring)

(screaming)

(screaming)

(groans)

(screaming continues)

(bones crunch)

(bones crunch)

Oh, my God in heaven.

What was that?

It was the...

No, don't say his name!

It wasn't Santa Claus.

("Silent Night" playing softly)

NARRATOR: The dark side is always there.

Waiting for us to enter.

Waiting to enter us.

Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight.