All language subtitles for The.World.is.Full.of.Secrets.2018.1080p.WEBRip.x264-RARBG

The story you're about to see
will be startling,

but it's based
on a true experience,

something unexplainable
from behind the veil.

You know, the world
of a teenage girl

can be full of wonder
and delight,

but not always.

Sometimes it can become a place
of confusion, terror...

You know like sometimes
people stare at you

like you have horns growing
out of your head or whatever?

Like staring at you
for completely no reason,

and they just
keep looking at you

and you start to, you know,
feel like you're going

to go insane if they don't
stop staring at you?

- Mhm.
- Okay, well, like Wednesday,

I was hanging out with Ella
and Nick or whatever,

and we weren't really
doing anything or anything,

but Ella just started
looking at me that way

like I was some freak
or whatever,

but she didn't say
anything at all,

she was just totally silent.

And I was like, "What?"
and she didn't even...

she just kept looking at me
that way she does, you know?

And listen, okay, sure,
I know I can be

like a total weirdo
or whatever, but I wasn't,

I was just being totally normal

and Nick was being
totally normal.

And it's not even like
I was flirting

with Nick or anything.

I mean, I don't think Ella
even knows about me and Nick,

and anyway, even if she did,
it's not, like, suddenly okay

just to stare at me, right?

And how am I supposed to, like,

articulate this feeling
I'm having to her

in this moment?

I'm just staring back
and totally have no clue

- what to say to her whatsoever.
- It's hard to put in words.

Yeah, maybe it's just
the kind of thing

where there isn't
really an answer, you know?

- Uh-huh.
- And then I just, well,

I sort of bugged out
and, you know, slapped Ella.

It's not like
she didn't ask for it, right?

Like, why didn't she just
say something, you know?

But I really, really wanted her
to stop staring.

Honey, can we go over
a few things?

Yeah, in a minute.

Yeah, I gotta go,
my parents are leaving.

- Okay.
- Okay, I'll talk to you later.

- Love you, bye.
- Bye.

- What's up?
- We're heading out soon.

I just wanted to go over
everything with you.

Dad already
went over everything.

Well, I wanna go over it again.

I know how to run everything
and lock everything.

I'm not going anywhere,
it's not a big deal.

I know it's not a big deal,
it's just, you know, I worry.

It's fine.

All the phone numbers
are on the kitchen table,

there's food in the fridge,
but I left some money

in case you want to order
a pizza or something.

You have some friends
coming over?

Suzie and Mel and maybe Emily.

Okay, yeah, order pizza
for everyone.

It'll be less work.

- No boys, right?
- Mom.

Some friends is fine.

Just try not
to burn the house down

and get some sleep!

We're just gonna watch movies
or something.

- Hey, I'm responsible, right?
- I know, you're responsible.

It's just, when I was your age...

Mom.

I just don't want anything bad
to happen to you.

It isn't something
I talk about.

It was so many years ago,
no one remembers.

Hardly anyone would still care.

A million equally terrible
things have happened

in the decades since.

I never spoke
to the other girls much after.

We all just fell out of touch.

Everybody who knew
anything about it

is out of my life now.

Dead or forgotten.

I'm a different person.

The world is a different place,

and it's very painful
to revisit.

But you've come all this way,

and I can see in your eyes

that you won't take no
for an answer.

So I'll tell you
what you want to hear.

It's no secret what happened.

It's just the kind
of terrible story

that always happens
to someone else.

But it happened to them,
it happened to me.

It happened to us all.

And as they used to say
on the TV,

it's all true.

It was the summer of 1996,

and we were young.

You know, the whole thing
comes right back

to what I was trying to
tell you there in the office.

- Yeah, what's that?
- What do you know about

the phony mystery stories?

Every time there's trouble,
there's a big reason behind it.

- Phony, that's all.
- Yeah?

Sure! This Paul Davis,
for instance.

I guess I knew you'd find out.

I knew this morning
when you picked me up.

I knew you had it figured.

Must've been a big job, huh?

- Finding me?
- Pretty big, Henry, yeah.

A lot of mileage.

- How'd it happen?
- Well, there again,

it's just what I was saying.

There's no reason behind it.

I needed a few bucks
and this Davis came along.

I guess he was it.

You mind passing me the salt?

Mm, yeah.

Where'd you meet Davis, Henry?

While I was hitchhiking
out in Ventura.

Not a dime in my jeans,
I was going up to Maricopa.

Thought I had a job up there.

This Davis came along
and he picked me up.

You ever know him before that?

No, stranger.

Said he was going to Oakdale
and be glad to give me a ride.

When?

Well, I think
we stopped for gas

up around San Fernando,
and I saw that he had

a few bucks in his wallet.

I guess that's when
I got the idea.

- About what?
- Killing him.

Maybe that gives you an idea
what I was talking about.

You don't need any big reason
to kill somebody.

Davis had 18 bucks.

Suppose I told that
to a writer,

somebody killing a guy
for 18 bucks.

Wouldn't make much sense, huh?

He'd tell ya it'd never sell.

You need a million dollars.

Beautiful woman, good motive...

Maybe this seems
insignificant to you,

but the only way I know
to tell you what happened

is to tell you everything
that happened.

We could play a game.

I've got one,
if you guys can take it.

- Blah, blah, blah.
- Okay, let's try.

It's a competition.

What's the worst thing
you've ever heard?

What do you mean,
like the worst sound?

No, like a thing that happened,
a true story.

What's the worst, most awful?

So like a horrible story?

Yeah.

Absolutely vile.

Disgust me.

Terrify me.

It should be brutal.

I know some pretty bad ones.

Okay, bring it on.

Okay, okay, I got one.

Mel went first
because Mel always went first.

She was nearly drowning
in excitement and anxiety.

Always the eager child.

And the warm summer air
enveloped us,

cushioning us from the reality

that was beating
at the edge of our world.

Once upon a time,

in the country
we now call Germany,

imagine a little town
in a valley near a river.

Yellow-green grass,
wildflowers, cows in the fields,

a little dirt road
that carriages run through

on the way to the city.

I have to confess,
I remember her energy

better than her words.

The twitch of her eyes,

the touch of saliva
at the edge of her mouth,

the manner in which
she described entrails

and bones and knives.

It was a story about
how the indifference of man

can turn to brutal cruelty.

The place and the names

and the exact sequence
of events

are lost in a haze.

But what haunts me
about Mel's story

is not the content,

nor the violence
of the narrative.

Instead, it is the childishness
of her face,

the innocence of her gestures
and confused murmurs

and run-on sentences.

What haunts me
is not the story,

but Mel herself
in the last hours

before she would be confronted
with actual

instead of
theoretical violence.

Do you have anything,
you know, to drink?

Uh, my dad's booze, yeah,
but I don't know.

My mom was in, like,
super worried mode,

so I think it's better not to.

I feel like she's gonna
check the bottles

when she gets back.

Yeah.

But maybe we could have a drink,

like a shot.

Uh, yeah, I guess, probably.

I bet Becca
brings something anyway.

- Yeah.
- She just asks her brother

to get her something,
and it always works.

He's like 22,
so he can get whatever,

but to be honest,

it's not hard to steal
from your parents.

I take wine from
my dad's basement all the time.

Never noticed, ever.

Yeah, why are yours so strict?

It was the summer,

the summer,

and we were seeped
in that feeling of summer,

enveloped in the fever
of the season,

which causes all sense of time
to vaporize

and leaves one
with a dazed indifference

to all action.

The absence of Clara's parents
only magnified the sensation.

Not only could we do anything,

but our position in the world,

young enough, rich enough,
made us confident

that no matter what,
nothing truly bad

could happen to us.

It's the last summer
that any of us

ever felt that way.

Okay, what do you think
of there?

- Yeah.
- Don't just do it, let me see.

- Great.
- Okay, hold still.

- Mel, do you have that needle?
- Yeah, one minute.

Disinfecting.

You have to put fire on it?

- Yeah.
- Yeah.

It's just a little hot, one sec.

Can you feel it?

Yeah, that's still
a little warm.

Okay.

All right, Suzie,
hold still, okay?

I'm holding still.

Let's do Emmy next!

Oh, um, my dad would kill me.

Whatever,
he wouldn't even notice.

- There, okay?
- Yeah, fine.

Okay, so we'll leave it in
for an hour or whatever,

and then we'll take it out
and put the stud in.

For better or worse,
Emily's story

is more crystalline in my mind.

Later events made it impossible
for me to forget

much of anything
that she uttered that night.

Whether you believe it
to be true or not,

I think the story has merit,

and I know
Emily would have wanted you

to know it in full.

My story is even older.

It happened in the Roman Empire
over 1,000 years ago.

Agnes was young.

She had just turned 12
when the trouble began.

She was from a well-off family.

Her father was a merchant
and had made a small fortune

dealing in silks
and other exotic fabrics

brought in from the Far East.

Agnes was always beautiful.

By the age of eight,
it was clear

that she was something special.

Her physical appearance
was so perfect,

so radiant that it was
impossible not to notice her,

even in a large crowd.

Her hair was long and amber.

It fell almost to her knees.

Her eyes were large and rounded,

her skin was fair,
but it didn't burn nor freckle.

It seemed immune
to the elements.

Women would,
almost without meaning to,

reach out and run their hands
through her long, shining hair.

Young boys would stare,
wide-eyed.

Men would look at her
in a different way.

Her parents had converted
from the Roman religion

to Christianity
before Agnes was born.

She had been raised Christian

and had never known
another faith.

Christianity in those days
was still a secret thing.

It was not outlawed,

but it was better not to speak
of one's faith in public.

There was a great deal
of anger, hatred,

and fear towards the Christians.

Neither Agnes' mother nor father
spoke of Christianity

outside of the house.

They kept their small crosses
hidden from view.

Sometimes, when pressed,

Agnes' father would utter
a prayer to the Roman gods.

He paid his tributes
to the emperor

and went on his business.

His faith was his own.

Agnes was too perfectly innocent
to live in this way.

She regularly let
her small gold cross

hang openly on her neck.

Her mother would scold her.

"Agnes, you didn't
wear that out, did you?

Don't you know
what could happen to you?

That you could be beaten
or arrested,

taken away from us, or worse?"

But Agnes couldn't
hide her faith.

To her, Christ was love
and she couldn't think

of a single reason
to hide her love of Him

from the world.

Her parents' warnings
fell on deaf ears.

They lived in a beautiful villa
in a rich area of Rome.

Their servants, of course,
all knew of their Christianity,

but most kept it a secret
as they were kind employers

and paid well.

One of their employees,
Agnes' nanny,

was in the process
of converting to Christianity

along with her daughter,

who had become
Agnes' best friend.

I can't remember
the name of the friend.

It is long, old, and complex,

but I remember it reminded me
of my own name,

and so I will call her Emily.

Agnes and Emily spent long days
walking and playing together.

Emily had been raised a Pagan

but, through the influence
of her life with Agnes' family,

had started
the conversion process.

Questions of this new

and, to her,
quite secret religion

burned in her mind.

She would ask Agnes
to explain to her

how she should behave
as a Christian

and how her life
would be different.

"You need do nothing
but put your love

and faith in Christ,"
Agnes would tell her.

"It couldn't be
more simple than that.

Promise yourself to Christ
and He will care for you."

Emily, having lived
so long with Pagans,

was friends with many
who said awful things

of the Christians,

things she knew were not true.

But she feared
losing these friends,

and particularly a young boy
who she had grown near

and who she imagined
as her love and future husband.

"Would you... could you ever marry
one of the Roman faith?"

Emily asked Agnes.

"It is impossible,"
Agnes replied.

"So you'd only marry
another Christian?

Must it be so?"

"I can never marry any man,
Christian or Pagan.

I have promised my hand
to Christ,

He can be my only husband."

"It sounds like a lonely life."

"I am never lonely.

I can never be lonely.

Christ is always with me."

We were all bored
at this point.

Don't worry, it's coming.

In the Rome of those times,
a girl would usually marry

around the age of 15,
but a younger marriage

was not unheard of.

Agnes was so clearly desirable,

beautiful, chaste, kind, rich

that shortly after
her 12th birthday,

men began to approach her father

with serious proposals.

He continued to laugh
and turn them away.

She was too young, he said,
not yet ready to give her hand.

But then more
and more important men

began to show up,

men who it was harder
and harder to turn away.

When the son of a local prefect,

a kind of mayor
in charge of an area of Rome,

came to ask for her hand,

Agnes' father
didn't know what to do.

He must at least consider
this man's proposition.

The prefect's son was handsome,

in his mid-20s,

a high-ranking soldier
slated for success and power.

He had fought far from Rome
on a front of imperial expansion

fighting the barbarians.

He had returned home to Rome

and he sought whom he had heard

was the most beautiful girl
in Rome.

"Clearly, you would be
a great match, sir,

but I think
she is not yet ready,

and I in good conscience
cannot force her."

He smiled.

"Let me speak to the girl,"
he said,

"and see if I cannot
change her mind."

Agnes was called for
and brought first to her father.

He tucked her small cross
into her dress

so it could not be seen.

"Please, Agnes,
be polite to this man.

He is not someone
we can afford to offend."

Agnes was brought
to see the prefect's son.

"Seeing you up close,

you are even more beautiful
than I thought," he said.

"Thank you, sir."

"I seek your hand in marriage.

I have spoken to your father
on this issue,

but he feels
you are not yet ready to wed.

Is this the case?"

"Thank you, sir,
but I cannot marry."

"You will be a rich
and powerful woman.

You will be safe
from all criticism,

and you shall be given
everything on Earth

that you desire.

If you come to my house,

you will eat only
the finest foods,

be waited on
by the finest servants,

and no work
shall be asked of you.

I offer you a place
in paradise, my beauty."

"Thank you, sir,
but I do not need

your offer of paradise.

It is very kind of you,
but I cannot marry."

"Be reasonable.

I know you are young.

I will not rush you

and I will not
be hard with you.

I will return to the front
in a few months' time.

If you accept my offer,

you can live on
with your mother and father

until you feel comfortable
moving in to my bed.

I'm a kind man,
and I will treat you

with love and respect."

"Thank you, sir,
but I must repeat

what I have already told you.

It is impossible, I cannot wed."

"If I may ask, why not?"

Agnes knew this man
was very powerful,

could ruin
her father's business,

and her family's life
if she misspoke.

But Agnes could not lie.

"I am already promised
to another, sir."

"Another? Some school boy?"

"No, sir."

"Some local man
or another soldier?

If you give me this man's name,
I will speak to him,

and you will be released
from any commitment

you think you may have."

"There is nothing
that can be done.

I am committed
and nothing will change that."

The prefect's son
was becoming annoyed.

He was not used
to being refused what he wanted.

In a sudden rage,
he reached out

and grabbed Agnes' arm,
shaking her.

As he did so,
her small, golden cross

fell out from her dress.

"A Christian?"

"I am, sir."

"This is why you deny me?"

"I have pledged myself
to Christ.

He can be my only husband."

The prefect's son's eyes
filled with disgust.

"I should report you
to my father.

He has no patience
for Christians.

But, because I'm kind,
I will give you one more chance.

Renounce your faith
and accept my offer

and you will have
a life of plenty.

Refuse me, and I cannot
be held accountable

for what will happen to you."

"I can never accept you
nor renounce my faith."

Agnes went home.

In fear, she told her father
nothing of the encounter

other than that
she denied the offer.

The next morning,
four guards came to Agnes' home

to take her before the prefect.

He condemned her
without hesitation

over the pleading of her parents

and the protests of Emily
and her mother.

He said simply
that she would be shown

the error of her faith.

A guard grabbed her
by that long, shining hair

and forced her face
into the dirt.

Agnes closed her eyes
and thought of Christ.

Pulling her hair taut,

he began to drag her
through the streets.

Soil filled her mouth

and small rocks cut
her cheeks and face.

A crowd followed, watching,

but no one intervened
on Agnes' behalf.

The word of the prefect
was final.

Agnes' head was lifted

and she looked
at an opulent building

with a balcony
overlooking a square,

surrounding in marble sculpture
and potted plants.

"Do you know
what this place is?"

The guard whispered in her ear.

"No, I have never seen
this place in my life."

"You will learn."

Agnes felt herself being lifted,

then carried across
the threshold of the building.

An older woman,
a worried look on her face,

watched the guards bring her in.

"What is this?"

"A Christian."

The woman's look of concern
disappeared.

A smile spread across her face.

I should explain something.

In those days, under the rule
of the emperor Diocletian,

Christianity was increasingly

being made illegal
in the Empire.

Many were purged.

Christian soldiers were removed
from their post

and many imprisoned or killed.

Christian men were removed
or fired from their positions.

Christian women were safe

if married to
an established Roman citizen,

but if they were unmarried,

they were deemed
a potential threat.

Avowed virgins
were considered radicals

and were systematically ordered
to be married off,

made into prostitutes, or raped

to remove any special status.

Agnes, of course, was a virgin,

and by force of law,
was taken to a brothel.

The madam took her
from the guards

and washed the blood
from her face.

She comforted Agnes.

"There, there, my dear,
all will be well soon."

She was taken to the balcony
overlooking the square.

A crowd gathered, looking up.

She stood at the edge,
her face stinging,

her eyes full of tears.

A young soldier was brought
to the balcony with her.

Two young women
lay a clean white duvet

out in front of them.

The young soldier lay a hand
on Agnes' arm

and looked tenderly
into her eyes.

"Kiss me.

Make this easier on yourself."

Agnes shuddered.

"I would never profane myself."

With that, the young soldier
brought the back of his hand

against her face hard.

She fell, blood spattered
against the duvet.

The crowd applauded.

The young soldier
looked down on her

and said with a smile,

"It makes no difference to me,
Christian."

With that,
he threw himself on her.

He was hard,
pressing against her leg.

She barely even knew
what was happening.

He tore at her gown,
shredding it,

her small breasts
exposed to the air.

He bit one hard.

Blood seeped out from the wound,
filling his mouth.

He pulled himself out
and, clutching her throat,

prepared to penetrate her.

He shoved himself against her,
but she twisted to avoid him.

As she felt him
begin to enter her,

Agnes reached up
to his face calmly.

She thrust her fingers
into his eyes.

His blood poured down onto her.

Her naked skin was covered
in the red liquid,

hiding her from
the hungry gaze of the crowd.

The youth screamed out,
falling off of her.

She rolled away
from his quivering body,

pulled herself up to her knees,
and began to pray.

"Our Lord who art..."

The rough arms of the guards
grabbed her again,

dragging her out of the brothel
and into the street.

Her naked, bloodstained body
was thrown into the sand

at the feet of the prefect.

"Before, I found you
only insolent.

Now you are
a full-fledged criminal

and a danger to the state.

There can be only one sentence:

Death."

Agnes' mother cried out,
but was held back.

Her father was silent
and looked to the ground.

Agnes herself looked up
to the prefect and smiled.

He spat in her face.

Her gown was torn off of her

and a guard kicked her
to the ground.

Iron shackles
were put on her arms,

and she was dragged
through the street

to another square where
the execution would take place.

Her small wrists strained
against the metal.

Her flesh wore down,

and eventually she slid out
of her constraints entirely.

The shackles were not made
to hold such small hands.

Panting, humiliated,
naked, and bloody,

she tried to stand.

She could not.

Calmly, the guards
rebound her with rope

and continued to pull.

At the square
where executions were held,

a large wooden stake
was already put in place.

Agnes was to be burned
at the stake.

Her body was unbelievably light.

The guards lifted her

as if she was no more
than a feather

or a mannequin in the shape
of a human girl.

Her undeveloped body
was fully exposed,

coated in both her own blood

and that of the youth
from the brothel,

covered in hundreds
of cuts and bruises

from the transit
from one location to another.

Her hair was no longer shining.

It was matted with blood
and soil.

Ropes were drawn tight,

binding her in three places
against the stake.

On her neck, across her breasts,

and across her thighs.

The ropes cut her skin further
and grew red with her blood.

Kindling was set around her.

A guard approached with a torch

and thrust it into the wood.

Either by chance or by miracle,
the wood would not light.

It was a little thing,
but in that moment,

it seemed miraculous.

Was Agnes' God preventing
the flame from catching

or merely the wind?

Agnes lifted her eyes
to the crowd.

All of her friends,
her family, her servants,

they all stared back at her.

None dared step forward.

Emily trembled and reached out,

but Emily's mother
pulled her away harshly

from her old friend.

"You know not what you do.

I forgive each
and every one of you.

I feel no pain, I feel no fear."

The guards were shaken,
some backed away.

The prefect's son
stepped forward,

reaching a hand up to Agnes.

Grasping her hair,

he pulled her face up
to meet his.

"Guard, bring your sword."

One guard stepped forward,
his sword in hand.

He raised the tip of his blade,

setting it against Agnes' heart.

"Girl?" the guard asked.

"Yes, sir?"

"I ask you honestly: Marry me.

Save yourself from this fate.

You are young and good.

You need not die this way."

She stared at him,

her round, childish eyes
full of wonder.

"Please, marry me."

"It would be an injury
to my spouse

to look on anyone
as likely to please me.

He who chose me first
for Himself shall receive me.

Why are you delaying,
Executioner?

Let this body perish
which can be loved

by eyes which I would not."

And with that,
the guard leaned forward.

The slight pressure on the blade

pushed it through Agnes' breast
and into her heart.

Was there room for such a wound
in that small body?

Her blood poured onto the dirt.

Her body fell limp
against the bindings.

Still, she was breathing,
smiling slightly.

"Our Lord who art..."

The guard lifted the sword
and brought it down

against the back of her neck,

severing her head from her body.

It rolled across the ground,

her muddy amber hair
spilling out on either side.

They buried her in a ditch

in an area reserved
for those executed by the state.

There were no markings.

In the hours
after the execution,

Christians would go
to the square

and soak bits of fabric
in Agnes' blood.

After she was buried,
Emily was found praying

near her friend's
unmarked grave.

A crowd stoned her to death

and left her for the crows
and vultures.

Everyone else merely went on
with their lives.

Don't let the pictures

of Emily's
little face fool you.

She always had
to be number one.

She had to know
she had reached

a state of perfection
that we would never achieve.

Having already demonstrated
a moral superiority,

she undertook
to dominate us intellectually,

leading us on a lengthy quest
through musty pages

to find a fragment of writing
that would, in her mind,

prove some abstract point.

What we found instead
was totally unintended.

What's that?

"Long Island girl, 15,
found strangled in Frisco."

"The strangled and battered body
of a 15-year-old

Port Washington, Long Island
schoolgirl

has been found in a park
in San Francisco,

where she'd gone
during Easter break

to visit her half-sister.

Missing since Monday afternoon,

when she failed to show up

at Golden Gate Park
Riding Stables,

Marissa Harvey
was found dead Tuesday,

her fully clothed body
left in underbrush

a half a mile away
in Sutro Park.

San Francisco Police said
Miss Harvey was last seen alive

by a friend of her half-sister's

who dropped her off
near the stables,

but they had not been able
to determine

where she had been murdered.

As yet, they have neither
suspects nor solid leads.

A freshman
at St. Dominick's High School

in Oyster Bay, Long Island,

Miss Harvey was
on the West Coast

to visit Miriam Wadeiff, 26,

her only living blood relative.

The two had met
for the first time

last December 23rd.

Born 11 years apart
to different fathers

and to a New York model

who died when Miss Harvey
was an infant,

they had grown up separately,

unaware of
each other's existence

until last fall,
when the family lineage

was traced in the probate
of the estate

of a maternal relative
in Belgium.

Marissa had been adopted
by Gary and Mariguette Harvey

of 200 Park Lane,
Douglaston Manor, Queens.

When they divorced,
she went to live

with her adoptive mother
and her husband,

Howard Schultz
of 33 Harvard Road,

Port Washington.

While Schultz was
in San Francisco yesterday

to identify her body,
Gary Harvey talked about

the 'just delightful' girl
he remained close to.

'She was a very happy child,

not aggressively friendly,
but very responsive, '

said Harvey's current wife Ruth.

'If someone spoke to her,
she would always answer.

She never put anyone off
with a snub.'

She said Miss Harvey
and Miss Wadeiff,

a graduate student
and instructor

at the San Francisco Institute
of Fine Arts,

had hit it off well
in their Christmas meeting

and couldn't wait
to get together again

during the spring vacation.

Though petite, 5'2",
and under 100 pounds,

the teenager was
an accomplished horseback rider,

said Miss Harvey,
and had won several ribbons

in Long Island jumping events.

Miss Harvey's body
will be returned

- to Port Washington."
- Oh, my God.

- Your dad totally killed her.
- Huh?

I mean, it's your dad's book,
right?

Yeah, but he probably got it
at a garage sale or something.

Uh-huh.

Do you think
it was the killer's book?

Do you think it's, like, cursed?

Why not?

It could've been her grandma
or her mother's.

Yeah, but then
wouldn't they have

like a normal picture of her,
not a creepy newspaper cutout?

Yeah, and didn't she, like,
not have any parents

or blood relatives or anything?

She had parents.

She was adopted,
but she still had parents.

Rebecca.

I loved her most of everyone
I knew in those days.

Uh, yeah.

Uh, yeah, two large pizzas.

Cheese.

It looks great.

Thanks, Clara did it.

Eventually, she disappeared,

just like all the others.

I don't have a clue
what happened to her,

but I always imagined her
getting married, growing old,

and having lots of children.

She would've hated that.

Clara, do you have any candles?

Yeah, I think so.

And a mirror.

- Like a hand mirror?
- Yeah.

Go get them.

Okay.

Who wants to see their husband?

Who ever even
gets married anymore?

Emily, give me the candle.

Clara, the mirror.

Mel, get the light.

Okay.

Suzie.

Now, take the candle

and illuminate your face with it

and look into the mirror.

This is the absolute
stupidest thing ever.

What's the matter, Suzie?

Are you scared, Suzie?

No, I just don't want to be
the fall guy

for another one
of your dumb tricks.

It's not a dumb trick.

Of course it's a dumb trick,

it involves a candle
and a mirror.

Come on, guys.

I'll do it.

Whatever.

Great.

It's good to see that bravery
still exists in this world.

Okay.

Clara, carefully walk backwards
up the stairs.

Don't close your eyes.

Don't even blink.

Look directly into the mirror.

With each step,
you have to chant,

"Let me see, let me see."

Then what'll happen?

- Nothing!
- She'll see...

She'll see, if she doesn't
wimp out or cheat,

one of two things:

her future husband or a skull.

- A skull?
- Death.

If she sees a skull,

we know she'll die
before she marries.

Okay, well, let's try.

Let me see, let me see.

Let me see, let me see.

Let me see, let me see.

Let me see, let me see.

Let me see, let me see.

That's bad luck.

Right.

What did you see?

My hand just slipped.

I just don't think
it sounds that scary,

that's all I'm saying.

Suzie, you started this.

Show Becca how it's done.

With pleasure.

My story I remember perfectly,
word for word.

It's not an easy story
to forget.

I'll tell it to you now

just the way I told it
to them then.

This one happened
just a couple years ago.

It's about a group of girls
around our age,

a little younger actually.

Marianne was the youngest.

She was 12 years old,
only child.

She lived a pretty normal life.

You know, nice girl,
nice mom, nice dad.

Smart kid, did well in school.

But she had one quality
that proved to be

a bit of a problem for her.

She was a flirt.

She didn't always mean
to be one,

she was just friendly,
smiley, loving.

She was the type of girl

who didn't even realize
she was flirting,

she just thought
she was being nice.

She had blonde, curly hair,

big teeth, thick lips.

She seemed to be
constantly blushing slightly.

One day, she got
into an argument

with another girl at her school

that was a little older
named Jane.

It was over nothing,
something trivial.

After the fight,
Marianne apologized.

She was nice.

She flirted.

Marianne and Jane
became close friends.

Very close.

One day, a few girls
saw them kissing

in the back of
an empty classroom.

Jane had previously been
in a relationship

with a girl named Miranda.

They had broken up like months
before Jane met Marianne,

but Miranda's jealousy flared

every time
she saw the two together.

Jane and Marianne
on a swing set,

Jane and Marianne eating
together in the cafeteria,

Jane and Marianne
at the school dance.

Miranda was very, very jealous.

One day,
Miranda approached them,

shoving Marianne
and grabbing her by the hair.

She said to stay away from Jane,

to keep her hands off Jane,
that Jane's hers.

"Jane's mine!

What right do you have?

Who are you?

Jane's mine."

Sometime that winter,

Miranda started talking
to her friends

about hurting
or even killing Marianne.

Sometime after Christmas.

No one thought much about it.

Miranda was the type of girl
who got angry

and you didn't really
pay attention.

Marianne certainly didn't think
much of any of this.

Her friendship with Jane
continued.

It was mostly
completely innocent.

One night,
Miranda was driving around

after a concert
with three of her friends,

Faith, Lily,
and an older girl, Amy.

It was Amy's car.

None of the girls
really knew Amy that well,

but she made them feel
a little older,

a little cooler than they were.

Amy had a bunch of beer,
and they were all drinking.

Miranda was fuming,
talking about that little bitch

and how awful Marianne was.

Lily said, "When are you ever
going to shut up about her?"

And Miranda said,
"When she's dead and buried!"

And Amy said,
"So what are we waiting for?"

They made a plan.

Miranda would hide
under a blanket

on the floor of the car.

Lily knew Marianne
and she knew Jane really well,

so she would go
and invite Marianne

to meet Jane somewhere.

Once Marianne was in the car,

Miranda would jump out
and scare her, torment her,

and get her revenge.

They talked about it
and laughed.

Faith and Lily could tell
Amy thought it was hilarious.

They wanted Amy
to like them more,

so they egged Miranda on.

Miranda just got angrier,
and angrier,

more, and more excited,

and all the others
laughed harder, and harder.

It was gonna be so funny,

the look on Marianne's face

when Miranda popped out
with a knife in her hand.

All the girls probably...

probably thought that was
all that would happen.

It's not really clear
what they thought or expected.

Maybe they weren't
thinking much at all.

They cruised by
Marianne's house slowly,

circled around,
then parked across the street.

Lily made Faith come along
with her to the front door.

She was scared to go alone.

They ring the doorbell.

A man came to the door.

"Hello, how may I help
you young ladies?"

"Is Marianne home?" Lily asked.

"Yes, of course,"
her father replied.

He called her,
and Marianne came running.

"Hi, Lily.

Hey, what's up?"

"We're gonna go meet Jane,
she said to pick you up."

Marianne looked confused.

"Jane, tonight?

But she said she had to study."

"She finished early.

She said we should go get you."

"Oh, well,
I can't go out tonight."

"Come on, why not?"

"I have to ask permission
in advance."

"Oh, well,

can you tell your parents
it's, like,

a special location?"

Marianne glanced around

to see if her parents
were listening.

"I don't think that
would go over so well."

"Well look, Jane really wants
to see you, like, really bad.

She said it was important
that she sees you tonight."

"Can't we try to meet tomorrow?

Can I talk to her?"

"She isn't with us,
she said it has to be tonight.

That it's really special,

a surprise," said Faith.

Marianne looked confused,
and increasingly worried.

"How about this," said Lily,

"we'll tell Jane
you can't come out now,

but we'll get you later.

Does that work?"

"But how?" asked Marianne.

"Sneak out."

Marianne thought.

A little smile crept her face,

and for a moment,

she didn't look so innocent.

"Okay.

Make it around 11:00.

They'll be asleep by then.

Drive by the front window,
and flash your lights.

I'll come out,
and meet you around the corner."

"Great," said Lily, "we'll
see you in a couple hours."

"Who's your friend?"
asked Marianne.

"Oh, this is Faith.

Um, she's in high school."

"Cool," said Marianne.

The two girls
went back to the car.

Marianne watched them
for a moment,

then closed the door.

It was the kind of cold night

that you usually spend indoors,

but the girls
couldn't be bothered

with any of their
parents or anything,

so they just drove around
a little while,

listened to music on the radio.

They stopped and stole
some beer from a 7-Eleven,

and kept drinking.

After another two hours,
they were pretty drunk.

Amy drank, but it didn't seem
to have any effect on her.

Around 11:00 PM,

they drifted back
through the streets

of Marianne's neighborhood.

They drove past
the front of the house.

They flashed the headlights.

The four girls waited
in the car at the corner.

Miranda was already
crouched under her blanket

on the floor of the front
passenger's seat.

The front door of Marianne's
house creaked open,

and her tiny figure emerged,

bathed in light from the house.

Carefully...

she closed the door,

walked down the steps,

down her driveway,

onto the sidewalk,

towards the car.

With each step,

her fate became more definite.

Later, Faith would say...

she felt something leave
her body in those moments

as Marianne walked to the car.

She couldn't explain it.

She felt absolutely,
just, empty.

As she came closer,
Lily opened the back door.

"Hey, come on in."

Lily stepped out,
and let Marianne climb in

taking the middle seat
in the back.

Um, Marianne was wearing

a purple polka-dotted
turtle neck,

um, this white sweater,

and black jeans.

"Hey," said Amy.

"Where's Jane?" asked Marianne?

"She's waiting
at the witches' castle."

- The witches' castle?
- It was an old,

burnt down stone building

out in the countryside.

Supposedly, a group of witches
used to live there.

They'd actually founded
the town through black magic,

and gained all this wealth.

But, ultimately the town
turned against them,

and burnt them
along with their home.

Was it?

Owned by witches?

Well, that's what everyone said.

At any rate,

it was a place kids went
to do drugs, or have sex,

or just scare each other.

Wasn't, like, a totally
normal place to go,

but wasn't impossible
for girls to be going there

after sneaking out of the house.

Marianne certainly
didn't think it was odd.

Later on, Faith would say

that after Amy said

"She's waiting
at the witches' castle,"

Marianne simply said,

"Oh, cool."

They were driving
on an empty country road now.

Driving fast.

Suddenly, Miranda popped up
from underneath her blanket.

Marianne's eyes filled

with stupid terror.

"Was she sweet to you?

Did you like
the way she tasted?"

Then lunged onto Marianne,
knife in hand,

screaming obscenities.

Marianne started to scream,

and in that tiny car
it was deafening.

Lily and Faith grabbed
Marianne's hands,

and pinned them down.

"Shut her up," Amy said,
as she opened another beer.

"Be quiet!"

"Yeah, shut up!"

"No one can hear you anyway."

Miranda brought a knife
to Marianne's throat,

and said, "Quiet,

or I'll slit you open."

And that pretty well did it.

Marianne stopped screaming.

She sputtered

out a nervous question,

"Wh... wh... why?"

"This is what happens
when you take a girl's girl."

Amy started laughing so hard
she almost spilled her beer.

"We're here," said Faith.

They pulled
to the side of the road.

"Tie her hands
before we get out," said Amy.

The other three took some twine,

held Marianne down,

and bound her hands
behind her back.

Miranda stuffed a sock
into her mouth.

They got out of the car,

and walked through the woods
to the burnt stone rubble

of the witches' castle.

They came to a clearing...

near the old fireplace,

where the living room
must have been once upon a time.

Miranda shoved
Marianne from behind,

and she fell to her knees,

skinning them
on the hard gravel.

Marianne coughed, spitting
the sock out of her mouth.

"Please, don't do this."

- "It's a little late for that."
- "Yeah, it's a little late."

Lily kicked at one
of Marianne's legs, she fell

unable to catch herself.

All the girls
started kicking her,

and spitting on her.

Faith was hesitant at first,

but after a minute
she got into it.

"Please! Please! Please!"

Marianne kept repeating
over and over again,

like a broken record.

Over and over,
"Please! Please! Please!"

Not even, like, "Stop,"
or "Help me,"

just "Please! Please! Please!"

Ugh, okay, it's hard
to listen to something

once it gets repeated
too many times, you know.

It's hard to listen
to that sort of thing.

So after a bit, Amy said,

"Hold her down a minute."

Faith and Lily held Marianne
down flat on her back.

Lily held her
legs and her ankles,

and Faith held her
arms down at the shoulders.

Amy straddled Marianne...

leaning down,
and looking into her eyes.

"You know why
we brought you here?"

"Please! Please!"

Amy slapped Marianne's face.

"Do you know?

Do you understand?"

"No, no,
I haven't done anything."

"I don't care about that.

You are here

for one reason."

Marianne was silent.

Tears running down
her dirty face.

The tears and the dirt
created this muddy paste

that, that coated her skin.

"Human sacrifice."

Miranda started laughing.

It was a completely
normal laugh.

Just like one you might hear
after someone told a great joke.

"Give me the knife," Amy said.

Miranda passed it over.

Amy ran the knife
across Marianne.

First, around her face,
gently, not cutting or anything.

From the tip of her chin,

straight down her throat,

until it rested on her breast.

"Do you know

how many gallons of blood
you have in you?"

Marianne shook her head,

"No."

"Me either," said Amy,

and that got
Miranda laughing again.

Lily started laughing, too,

and before you knew it,

Faith was laughing.

Sorry, I'm sorry.

They were all laughing,

then Amy got serious again.

"I'm going to let you in
on a little secret, Marianne.

Miranda said she
was upset about Jane,

but that's not really it.

See," Amy leaned in,

putting her mouth
up against Marianne's ear.

"See, we're witches.

We're the reincarnation
of the witches

that used to live here.

Our restless spirits struggle
from body to body,

and the only way we can
make it in this world is...

blood,

virgin blood,

spilled on the spot

where we were burnt to death.

So, little Marianne,

I have a very
important question."

Marianne was crying.

"Marianne! Shh!

Can you understand me?"

Marianne kept sobbing.

"Marianne!

Say, 'I'm listening.'"

Marianne barely mumbled,

- "I'm, I'm listening."
- "Great.

Are you a virgin, Marianne?"

"What?"

Marianne's eyes
were wide with confusion.

Then she started
to nod her head.

"Ye... ye-yes, of course."

Amy leaned in

less than an inch
from Marianne's face,

the knife pressed flat against
the younger girl's throat.

"We're happy to hear that

because if you weren't a virgin,
it wouldn't do us any good

to slit you open here,
would it?"

The girls started
laughing again.

Marianne closed her eyes

waiting for the knife
to cut her.

Amy stood up, and passed
the knife back to Miranda.

"She's all yours."

Miranda was almost crying.

It was all so funny.

She could barely
even hold the knife.

At that moment,

Marianne kicked
with all her strength,

pulling her legs
out of Lily's grasp.

And in one motion,

rolled over, stood up,
and began to run,

bolting blindly into the night.

Marianne run... ran forward,

her arms bound behind her,

her... mm, her sweater
was all filthy now,

and her hair was matted

filled with blood
and dirt from the beating.

It was like watching
a wounded doe

try to run after being shot.

You almost thought
she could make it,

but her legs weren't
working right anymore,

and she kept getting caught in
the thick brush of the forest.

They all started throwing rocks
at her as she ran.

Faith hit Marianne
in the back of the head

with a jagged stone,

even though she was...

hardly even trying.

The rock made a thick thud
against her skull,

and Marianne fell down.

A car drove by in the distance.

You could see
the headlights moving down

the country roads
through the trees.

Didn't stop.

No one was laughing.

For a moment,

it was almost completely silent.

"Hey, let's get out of here,"
said Lily.

"Yeah, okay," said Amy,
"let's hit the road.

Go get her."

Marianne was unconscien...
unconscious.

They took her to the car.

They bound her ankles,

and stuffed the sock
back into her mouth,

and wrapped duct tape
around it to keep it in.

That should keep her quiet.

They tossed a blanket over her,
and everyone piled into the car.

They drove around for a while,

listened to some music
on the radio.

Most everything
was pretty shitty,

so they just kept
changing the station.

"Don't you have any tapes
or anything," Miranda asked Amy.

"Not really."

"What are we gonna do,"
asked Faith.

No one responded.

"Let's get some gas,"
said Amy.

So, they drove
to the nearest gas station,

and everyone
threw in a few bucks.

"Let's get some more,"
said Amy,

"for later."

Amy casually opened the trunk.

The pile under
the blankets was still.

She pulled out
a red plastic tank,

and handed it to Miranda.

"Fill it up."

Miranda did.

They put the tank back
in the trunk, and closed it.

"I'm thirsty," said Lily.

So they bought some cokes
at the gas station.

"Let's go to my place
for a bit.

I think my Mom's at her
boyfriend's," said Amy.

So they drove to Amy's place.

On the way there,

they heard a sound
coming from the trunk.

Kind of muffled yelling.

Amy pulled over, went back,
and opened the trunk.

Sure enough,

Marianne was partially untied,

trying to claw her way out.

They were pretty far
out of town at this point,

and no one was around.

Amy took a tire iron,

and gave Marianne
a few good whacks.

She fell back down
and was quiet.

They kept driving.

"Were you serious

about all that
witch stuff?" asked Faith.

"I was just messing with her.

Why, do you believe in witches?"

"I guess," said Faith,

"I mean, I've always, like,
wondered about them,

'bout, like, the occult."

"I've got some, like, books
on them and stuff," said Lily.

"Like, how they do
different rituals and stuff."

"Let's get them," said Amy.

So they turned around,
and went to Lily's place.

She snuck into
her house real quiet,

and got her books,
and some stones that

a friend of hers from
the city had gotten for her.

These stones with runes on them

that were supposed
to help you see the future.

And then, they went to Amy's.

She didn't have much food,

but they just, like,
ate crackers and cheese,

and flipped through the books.

"Let's try these," said Miranda
about the rune stones.

So, they started
throwing the stones,

reading the symbols.

Trying to make sense
of what the combinations meant,

and how they related to what
they were reading in the book.

None of them really
knew what they were doing,

except for Lily a little bit,

but she'd only sort of read
the book for herself,

so it was all pretty vague.

But it was fun,

and they were all having
a pretty good time,

and Amy had some pot
that they smoked,

and everything just got
funnier, and funnier.

And every now and then,

Miranda would
bring up Marianne.

"Can you believe

she's still
in that trunk right now?"

And that would
start Amy laughing,

and Lily would start laughing,

and it was pretty hard
for Faith to not laugh...

even though she thought
it was all a little bit scary.

Faith started wondering about

when they were gonna let
Marianne go,

and when they did
what she would do.

It seemed like it would be
a big problem, for instance,

she decided to tell anyone
what they had done to her.

Suddenly...

...there was
a knock at the door.

Amy's mother.

They hid the pot
and the rune stones,

and tried to act
calm and normal.

Amy's mother bitched them out,

asked them why
they were up so late.

Amy apologized halfheartedly,

and said she would
drive the other girls home.

They piled back into the car.

"So...

what are we going to do?"

- asked Faith.
- "About what?" said Amy.

"You know, about her?"

Amy started the car,
and they kept driving.

"You've gotta finish it."

No one else spoke.

Miranda sat up,

and looked
at the knife in her lap.

"We'll find a nice spot,"
said Amy.

Lily started laughing again,

but no one else did.

The fields passed...

on either side.

It was flat, it was so flat.

You could see forever.

The little twinkling lights
of the town in the distance.

Amy kept turning
on country roads,

and after a little while,

you couldn't see
the lights at all anymore.

It was all black...

except for the stars
and the moon.

Amy pulled over
and cut the engine.

"Let's check on her."

They all got out
and opened the trunk.

She was in there, all right.

And her eyes were open.

Wide awake.

Amy said, "Hit her!"

and handed
the tire iron to Lily.

"Why me?

We've all got to do this,

so none of the others
can turn the others in."

Lily hit Marianne
in the face a few times.

Blood poured down her face,
she screamed through the gag.

"Ugh, let's get her out,"
said Amy,

"don't wanna stain the trunk."

They picked her up together,

and carried her out into
the field as far as they could.

The air was cold.

The kind of cold that
really gets into your bones.

"We really should be in bed
right now," thought Faith.

She didn't say anything though.

They stood in a circle

around the sobbing girl.

"Okay, give Faith the knife,"
Amy said to Miranda.

Miranda handed it over.

Faith looked at it

feeling stupid.

"Go for it."

- "Go for it?"
- "Stab her!"

Faith was trembling,
and she felt like

her grip wasn't
really good enough,

like, even if she
had tried to stab her,

she would just, like,
drop the knife.

"Look, if you don't do this,

we're gonna have to do you too."

"Okay, okay," said Faith.

She kneeled down
and stabbed twice, quickly,

not very well.

Amy took the knife from Faith.

Then lifted up, giving a long...

uh, a long, deep stab
into Marianne's stomach.

A wheezing scream
came through the gag.

"Now you, Lily."

Lily took the knife,

and looked down
at Marianne's body.

Her clothing was...

...entirely soaked in blood.

Lily put the knife
against her tiny body,

and pushed forward,

slightly, slowly...

feeling it...

move past her rib cage,

and into her organs.

Marianne started
struggling again,

kicking, a new burst
of strength.

Lily, shocked, stepped back.

Marianne started crawling
with her knees and elbows.

The knife fell out of her
onto the ground.

It was sad

watching her struggle to move.

A wounded bird trying to fly.

She had no hope, of course.

Miranda grabbed her,

rolled her over,
and pinned her to the ground.

Amy said, "Hey, Lily, Faith,

come on, help me at the car.

Miranda can keep an eye on her."

The three of them
went back to the car,

the younger girls
following the older.

Lily and Faith

carried the can of gasoline.

Amy got her cigarettes
and a lighter.

No one knows
what happened between

Marianne and Miranda
during that time.

There was a lot
of blood on Miranda.

Guessed it must have
all been Marianne's.

The body lay there, limp.

"Is sh... Is she dead?"
asked Faith.

"Marianne?" asked Lily.

As if in response,
Marianne sat up.

Her eyes were rolled back

so you could only really
only see the whites,

and she had chewed through
the gag at some point,

and her mouth hung open,
and she moaned this strange,

weird sound that none of us
had ever heard before.

Miranda took the gasoline can,
and opened it.

She splashed gasoline
all over Marianne.

Marianne started shrieking,

as best as she could,

as it ran through her cuts
and into her body.

Amy lit a cigarette,
took a drag,

and tossed it on
the bloody, whiny mess.

She went up like a bonfire.

The four girls stepped back,
and watched while

the mass struggled,
went limp...

and burned.

Eventually,
the flames went down,

and it grew dark once more.

They took turns

poking the body with a stick

to be sure she was dead.

Seemed like she was.

They got back to the car,
drove around for a little while

trying to find
a good station on the radio.

The sun crept up over
the flat line of the horizon.

Faith said...

she found that light puzzling,

strange, and just unexpected.

She expected the dark

to last forever.

Miranda said,

"I'm hungry."

So, they went to McDonald's.

It was early, but they just
started serving breakfast.

Lily opened up her McMuffin,

and stared at the sausage.

"Oh, my God," she said.

"What?"

"It looks just like Marianne."

Miranda started
laughing uncontrollably.

And pretty soon they all were.

You know, it was
pretty funny at the time.

In the end,

Faith couldn't
keep her mouth shut.

She told Jane,
who told her parents,

and some farmer
had come across the body,

so everyone connected
the dots pretty quick.

I guess they're all in jail now.

Yeah, I mean,

that's messed up,

but it's not really scary.

Whatever.

I'd like to see you
tell something scarier.

Forget telling,

I can show you
something scarier.

Just don't lose it, okay?

It was my grandmother's.

Don't worry.

I'm not gonna lose it.

None of us believed her,
of course,

but we were curious to see
what she might pull off,

how she might trick us,

what kind of rush of fear
she could provide.

Becca was more animal
than the rest of us.

And while we got lost
in out minds and emotions,

she was able to function

on pure instinct.

And so, knowing nothing
good could come of it,

we followed her into the woods.

So, you really know
how to do this?

I know, I've done it before.

- And it worked?
- He came.

- Bullshit.
- Hey, don't believe me,

you'll see.

And he'll what,

answer our questions?

He'll answer our questions
in exchange for an offering.

He'll perform actions,
or give us powers,

but the offering has become

- much larger.
- Why?

Why would he bother?

His powers are very
limited without humans.

He has to act through us.

If we're careful,
there's no real danger,

but he'll try to
get more than we offer.

He's greedy.

So, will we see him,
or just hear him?

I don't know.

He always acts
different every time.

You can't predict.

Do you wanna try?

Together?

Okay.

Do exactly what
I tell you to do.

Listen carefully,

and repeat after me.

Whatever you do,

after it's begun,

don't leave the circle.

I am Rebecca Webber, 16.

I am Melanie Todd Mackenzie, 15.

I am Suzanne Levinton, 16.

I'm Emily Milay, 14.

I'm Clara Brooks, 15.

Oh, tenebrous,

DA, Lukes, Knox,

Oh, Lucifer,

princeps madness,

accept this offering.

Oh, tenebrous, DA, Lukes, Knox,

oh, Lucifer, Princeps Madness.

- Accept this offering.
- Oh, light bringer,

show us what we cannot see.

Oh, light bringer,
show us what we cannot see.

Hello?

- Oh, my God, you guys!
- God, screw you!

You totally fell for it.

You aren't being funny.

What, if you had gotten me,
you'd be laughing.

- You're so lame.
- Come on, it was funny.

I was just joking.

I didn't know you were gonna
act like little kids about it.

Where the hell is my ring?

My Mom's gonna kill me
if I lost that ring.

- I don't care about your ring.
- Why didn't you grab Suzie?

Can we just, like, appreciate

- how funny that was?
- I called bullshit,

I told you before that it wasn't

- gonna be real.
- Nobody is laughing right now.

Nobody is, like,

can somebody please laugh?

That was so funny.

Can't we do anything
but just stand here?

Isn't there any way
of fighting back?

- Only one.
- What?

I'm feeling kind of dizzy.

You want some fresh air?

I don't don't
use them until our

- very souls are...
- Sure.

Okay.

...as effectively
as it would stop for Carter,

and alter time and space.

Hey.

Can I have one
of your cigarettes?

Yeah, um, there's one
in my purse.

Thanks.

Once breaks into the circle.

If we once catch sight
of his face.

Tired?

I guess.

Did you see a skull?

Huh?

In the mirror,

did you see a skull?

I don't know, it was,

like, a trick
of the lighter or something.

Anyway...

maybe you just won't
have a husband

then, if you saw
a skull or whatever.

It doesn't necessarily
mean anything.

Probably nothing bad
will happen to you or anything.

Do you believe in magic?

No.

And God, and the Devil,
and whatever?

Not really.

I do.

I know.

Does that make me stupid?

No, it doesn't make you stupid.

Can I try that?

You don't have
to breath in so deep.

Don't worry about
the other girls,

and their stories,
and games, and whatever.

- They're just messing around.
- I know, but...

those stories are real.

Those things happened.

It's like Suzie said,

those people exist.

I don't wanna be like them, I...

I wanna be like Agnes.

You mean, like, have faith?

I wish I was there with
those girls and Marianne.

Even if they killed me too,

I wish I could have been there
to stand up to them.

- Oh, my God!
- What?

My ring!

I knew you'd find it.

I don't understand
how it got over here.

You never told a story.

Seems silly now.

Why?

It's just the two of us.

You could still tell me a story.

I don't have any stories.

Not like the ones you guys told.

Then read to me.

Bring the light up
so I can see.

What should I read?

Anything.

"'Tis the year's midnight,

and it is the day's,

Lucy's, whose scarce
seven hours herself unmasks;

the sun is spent,
and now his flasks

send forth light squibs,
no constant rays.

The world's whole sap is sunk;

the general balm
th' hydroptic earth hath drunk,

whither, as to the bed's feet,
life is shrunk,

dead and interr'd;
yet all these seem to laugh,

compar'd with me,
who am their epitaph.

Study me then,
you who shall lovers be

at the next world,
that is, at the next spring;

for I am every dead thing,

in whom Love
wrought new alchemy.

For his art did express

a quintessence
even from nothingness,

from dull provisions,
and lean emptiness;

he ruin'd me,
and I am re-begot

of absence, darkness, death:

things which are not.

All others, from all things,
draw all that's good,

life, soul, form, spirit,
whence they being have;

I, by Love's limbec,
am the grave

of all that's nothing.

Oft a flood of we two wept,

and so drowned
the whole world, us two;

oft did we grow
to be two chaoses,

when we did show

care to aught else;

and often absences
withdrew our souls,

and made us carcasses.

But I am by her death

of the first nothing
the elixir grown;

Were I a man,

that I were one,

I needs must know,

I should prefer,

if I were any beast,

some ends, some means;

yea plants, yea stones detest,

and love;

all, all some properties invest;

if I an ordinary nothing were,

as shadow, a light
and body must be here.

But I am none;
nor will my sun renew.

You lovers,
for whose sake the lesser sun

at this time to the Goat is run

to fetch new lust,
and give it you,

enjoy your summer all;

since she enjoys
her long night's festival,

let me prepare towards her,
and let me call

this hour her vigil,

and her eve,
since this both the year's,

and the day's deep midnight is."

What happened next
is well-known.

It's a matter of record.

And if you want
all the ugly details,

you can look them up,

along with the pictures
to prove it.

I don't want to remember.

Some things are too awful
to speak about.

I didn't know that then,

but I do now.

I don't know there
is anything to learn

from the events of that night,

other than sometimes
it's best to be silent.

It's late.

I hope you got
what you came for,

even if it wasn't
quite what you expected.

Now I'll say goodnight,

and let you try
to find your way home

while I try my best to sleep.

The car's still over there,

and then the footprints
leading up to here.

And then nothing.