Original subtitles

Nothing enrages a scientific mind

more than an opinion that is slightly

different from its own.

Professor Matthew Pawkins,a respected entomologist--

--Professor Paul Hapley, alsoa respected entomologist.

In the, um,specific grouping of leaf miner

moths, a grouping of microlepidoptera,

which I believe should be expanded to include

the Nepticuloidea or--

or pygmy eyecap moth.

And--

Many would expectthe world of research

to be some happy family in which all men

work together peacefully.

It is just not.

It had started as a seriesof minor disagreements.

And the more one reads of Professor

Pawkins' ill-conceiveddocument, the more one is led

to the conclusion that hismicroscope is as defective

as his powers of observation.

Whilst his cataloging system would appear

to be a miracle of ineptitude.

With Pawkins andHapley, it was all out war.

Gentlemen.

Professor Pawkins.

May I compliment you on youraddress, Professor Hapley,

so refreshing to hear a man completely

unconstrained by the facts.

As I was talking about your work, Sir,

an element of fantasy is perhaps inevitable.

Well, much as I'd happily stayhere and correct you all day,

I--

I must return to working on my next paper.

Good day.

I look forward to reading it.

Nothing so invigorates a man as laughter.

When in 1891Pawkins published a study

on the mesoblast of thedeath's-head moth, his health

had been bad for some time.

Consequently, the work was farbelow his usual high standards.

Ah.

Yeah.

He also said the next dimension

that the caterpillar willmolt a total of four times

before it is able to pupate.

And it would seem thisblundering would

have us believe that whenthe death's-head hawkmoth

covered himself with this slime-like secretions--

Hapleypublished a truly damning

indictment of Pawkins' study.

Hapley left no loophole, rather he

left Pawkins covered in shame.

There was naturally a great curiosity

at the Royal EntomologicalSociety as to how

Pawkins would respond.

With Pawkins dead, Hapley

was now the unquestioned authority in his field.

There was no one of equal stature.

He could research and publish his work

completely uncontested.

Privately, he simply couldnot forgive Pawkins for dying.

His work would not flow easily.

Reading or walking would not engage him.

Check.

I don't mind admitting thatthe whole affair has thrown

me out of gear, so to speak.

Naturally.

Not that I feel guilt.

Guilt?

About Pawkins, I don't feel guilt.

Why would you feel guilt?

Exactly.

I, uh-- I don't.

But I do feel--

I feel unableto apply myself to my work.

Surely, there have beenperiods like this before.

Never.

For 20 years, I've worked seven days

a week with microscope, scalpel,collecting net, and pen.

I know withyou, it is a vocation.

Quite.

But I've begun to entertainthe thought that it wasn't

entomology which drove me but the desire

to prove Pawkins wrong.

Oh.

And now, Pawkins is gone.

I see.

Well, properly managed, rivalry can spurn

men on to achieve great things.

Yes, well--

My worry is that I'm no longercapable of great things.

One must rest on occasion--

both the body and the mind.

What about you, Morton?

Are you-- do you everconsider yourself off duty?

Oh, yes, yes.

Now, for instance.

Checkmate.

There's time for another game, if you'd like.

To keep his mind occupied,

Hapley decided he would catalog some old slides.

New genus.

Oh!

Ah!

Ah!

Oh!

Professor, may I be of assistance?

Close the door, damn you!

Oh!

Hapley searchedthe entire house,

but he could not relocate the moth.

New genus, byheaven, and in England too,

within this very house.

If anything could reignitemy passion for my subject,

it's this.

Well, you do seem more your old self.

It's only a pity you weren'table to apprehend it.

True, true.

But I've seen one example.

Therefore, I'm reasonablyconfident I shall see another.

If only Pawkins were alive to see my triumph.

Check.

Whoa.

I'll have you this time.

Ugh, ah!

Blast!

Pawkins?

Within one week, Professor Hapley

saw the strange grey mothon five separate occasions.

Yet, he was unable to catch it.

He gave up trying.

He knew it would not be caught.

All Hapley wanted now wasfor it to leave him in peace.

What happened to your head?

Oh, accident.

I, um, eh, tripped.

Rug, was it?

The rug, yet.

We must be careful.

We only have one body.

Unlike your butterflies an moths,

we cannot shuffle out of a chrysalis

and begin life afresh.

Speakinga fresh life, I wonder,

have you ever given much thoughtto the topic of reincarnation?

No, I haven't.

But might it be possiblethat a man might live his life,

pass away, and then returnas a different being?

No, I think not.

I think it most unlikely.

More unlikely than Christ's resurrection?

Yes, far more unlikely.

Oh!

What's the matter?

That damn moth.

Where?

There?

Where?

Don't you see the moth?

On the edge of the table there.

Certainly not.

The eye of faith is nobetter than the eye of sex.

I don't understand.

Hapley came to welcomethe idea that the moth was

simply an hallucination resulting

from temporary mental stress.

This was something he could understand,

something he could fight.

And so he resolutely determined to erase

the moth from his mind.

You arean insubstantial phantom that

brought about a chemical imbalance in the brain,

or the side effect of someperverse kind of grief,

but you are not real.

Hapley was wholly successful

with expunging thecreature, until, that is,

he felt the moth's touch--

a touch that was cold, clammy, tainted.

Oh, oh, ah!

Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.

Oh!

Ah!

Father Mortonto see you, Professor.

Would you like me to bring some tea?

Eh, do as you wish.

Sir?

My dear fellow, Ihope you'll forgive my arriving

without an appointment,but I couldn't believe it

when I heard of your misfortune, and so soon

after your previous accident.

Quite.

Sounds like youtook quite a serious tumble.

Hm, yes, infuriating.

How did it happen?

It was-- that-- that rug.

Rug?

Rug.

You could have been killed.

That's what he wanted.

Pardon?

Look, I'm fine.

My-- my-- my leg will heal soon enough.

Please don't let me takeup any more of your time.

Could easily have been the end of your.

Perhaps that would have been preferable.

Eh, preferable to what?

To being haunted.

Haunted?

Haunted, taunted, played with.

I don't follow you.

It's him.

He's here.

Who?

Professor Pawkins.

Pawkins?!

But surely you said he died.

He wants to punish me.

He won't rest until he has destroyed me.

Listen, uh, I--

I have no idea what you're alluding to.

But it sounds to me like a matter for the police.

Would you like me to call--

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

Just please go!

Oh, well.

I hope you feel better soon.

If there's anything that I can--

Go!

Uh!

Dame thing.

You're not there.

You don't exist.

You're not real.

No!

No!

No!

No!

You're dead!

Ah!

Gaw, gaw Leave me alone!

Ugh!

Maid, please, please, no, no.

This is unnecessary.

We need you to be safe, Professor.

Open your eyes!

No, no!

No!

No, you can't do this!

Can't do this?

The doctor was a blockhead, a recently

qualified general practitioner, quite

ignorant of mental science.

He simply told Hapley there wasno moth and left it at that.

Oh!

It's Pawkins' ghost, but only a specimen.

You ought to catch him.

Hello.

Professor.

What is is, Professor?

Is there anything I can do?

Moth, get away from me!

Please, Professor-- Ah!

--tell me what I can do for you.

Professor, no, please.

Please--

Dr. Paul Hapley graduated

from Oxford with a first.

He was a member of theRoyal Entomological Society,

enjoyed an international reputation

as a pioneer inresearcher, and published

three highly regarded volumes.

But in the end, the asylum director

classified him aspotentially dangerous to both

himself and others.

It was a very small room, certainly

not big enough for two.