Original subtitles

A shooting star

crossing the vast, indifferent night sky.

Perhaps carrying an answer to that age-old question,

are we alone in the universe?

Recorded on a modest device,

stained with blood and death,

the answer is a decidedly terrifying... "no."

Our story today is The Autopsy.

And its director David Prior.

What are you doing?

Joe, what the fuck are you doing up there?

You're gonna kill us! Are you fucking crazy?

What the fuck is wrong with you, man?

You trying to kill us?

What the fuck is that?

You're so thin.

They could use you for a whip.

What's your secret?

- Ah, you know, biology. - Hell, Carl. It's good to see you.

- You too, Nate. It's been too long. - Give me that.

Oh.

Ooh. Must be exhausted.

Did you eat? I can send someone.

No, no, no. Coffee is just fine.

How's Emma?

Oh. She's well.

How are the kids?

It's an empty nest almost.

Thank God!

Yeah, and Cindy, she's in love, and...

Nate Jr. wants to be a... a lawyer now.

Oh.

Sure I can't get you something to eat?

Why don't you tell me what's going on?

What did they say in Montague?

Not too much. Ten men dead.

Nine men.

And one inhuman son of a bitch.

What would you call a man who...

As bad as that?

- What's Waddleton gonna do? - Uh-huh.

It is the position of the coroner's office,

workman's compensation law being clear, that death benefits shall only accrue

to dependents of those whose deaths arise out of the course of their employment.

Not merely in the course of their employment.

Death by lunatic does not obtain.

He just about ordered me to find cause for a second autopsy in the city.

Oh, that's Fordham Mutual talking.

Certainly it is, and they've bought every election he's ever stood.

If they had their way, the families wouldn't see a dime

to bury their men with.

It's unconscionable.

What am I gonna find, Nate?

Was there a bomb?

The investigators concluded that there was strong,

presumptive evidence of a bomb.

That's the best they could do?

- Mm-hmm. - Hmm.

- And what do you think? - I think I'm cursed.

Cursed?

Well, for laxity

and uselessness.

The innocent get punished and everything is just dust.

I... I think I'm cursed by the Lord. I truly do.

Nate, I've known you 40 years.

From the bottom of my heart,

you're not that special.

That's ego.

Who are you to claim special qualities of sin from the rest of us?

If you're cursed,

we're all cursed.

And I meant that in the nicest possible way.

You're right. I'm getting maudlin.

Mm.

Carl,

this is one of those nightmare specials.

The kind you never get to the bottom of.

Tell me what happened.

Two months ago...

...a man came up missing.

Ronald Hanley.

Mill worker, family man,

just vanishes without a trace.

About a week later,

the lady who ran the laundromat, she disappears too.

Six people, just over a month,

disappear.

This way!

My deputies and I,

we might as well have stayed in bed, all the good we did.

Nothing from the western leg, even if we pull some volunteers...

Over here! We found something.

Eventually,

we found a body.

Well, open it! What are you waiting for?

Wasn't animal work.

It was knife work.

All the edges butchered clean.

But butchered meat will bleed even after you drain it.

There wasn't one goddamn drop of blood.

It was pale as fish meat.

A cache, then?

Yeah. Yeah.

Like you might put a... a pot roast in the icebox for making sandwiches.

One more.

This arm over here.

That's it.

Okay, wrap him up.

Tie him back up in that tree.

- Yes, sir. - You men, you're hunters?

- Yes, sir. - Yes, sir.

All right. Consider yourself Posse Comitatus.

Whatever left that will be back for it.

- I need one of you, uh... - Jim Dodge, sir.

- Dodge? - Yeah.

Stake out that ridge over there. Will you?

- Yeah, and... - Owens.

- Owens. - Owens.

Uh, we need you to cover that area south there, all right?

Oh, I think the better spot's over there, sir.

It's a better view of the path there.

Yeah, well, okay. Obviously, I've got the right man for the job.

You guys will take first watch.

Lawrence, Davis, give these men your jackets.

It's gonna get cold tonight. Give them a couple radios too.

I took the film to be developed,

gave the prints to Sophie to have them telexed to every county in the state.

Okay, we're going into town.

Anything happens, anything at all, don't do a thing, just observe. Okay?

We'll be back in five hours.

Then a piss and a spit, and went right back.

Owens.

Dodge?

Dodge.

Dodge, can you hear me?

Come in, Dodge.

Motherfucker.

No sign of them at all?

I wanted to chew nails and break necks.

Next morning, I got a call from the sheriff over in Rakehell,

says our corpse resembled a man named Abel Dougherty,

a mill worker over at Conwood.

He'd been missing too.

He was last seen at a bar called Trucker's Tavern

during that onion snow we had.

- Maggie's Farm, my girl. With ice. - Got it.

And a Hamm's to back it up.

Right on. Trucker's.

Hey, Travis! Phone!

Sykes?

- Excuse me? - Eddie Sykes.

The hell are you doing here?

You got me confused with some other body. My name's Joe Allen.

The hell it is. You're Eddie Sykes.

We've been working together at Conwood for a coon's age.

Where the hell you been?

You either had too much or not enough, my friend.

Supposed to go angling for steelhead two months ago. You never showed.

Steelhead? I would've showed.

But you didn't.

Who is it you think I am again?

I thought we was friends.

Yeah, course we are.

- Where did you go, Eddie? You just up... - Like I said, I'm Joe Allen.

You're confused.

Why are you doing this?

I'll tell you,

but not here.

Somewhere quiet. We don't want these yokels hearing, do we?

It's a secret.

And we're friends, aren't we?

Good

friends.

I mean, you said so, didn't you?

Maybe we could be best friends.

- I... - Knock your beer onto the floor.

Be sloppy.

Call me your friend.

Ask me to drive you home.

Home?

Do it now.

Shit, man.

Look what you've done. Maybe you need a ride.

- No. - Let's have your keys, you big oaf.

Come on.

I'll drive you home.

Sykes was an itinerant worker.

He was reported missing nine months ago.

Told a buddy of his he was going hiking in the woods.

He wanted to check out a meteor shower.

Never came back to work.

A week later, he shows up in Bailey

under the name of Joe Allen.

I understand you've got a Joe Allen staying here?

Well, yes, he's at work right now, but you're welcome to come in and...

Mr. Allen!

Sheriff's Department!

Coming in!

Hey, didn't your mama teach you to share?

Sorry, not enough for you!

I should pick you dry!

My goodness me!

Yo, that was good.

But I'm still hungry!

Yeah? So am I.

Come to the Honeycomb's hideout!

A giant!

I'm a big giant, and I want a big cereal.

♪ Honeycomb's big, yeah, yeah, yeah ♪

♪ It's not small, no, no, no ♪

♪ Honeycomb's got a big, big bite... ♪

What is this?

I'm sure I don't know.

He said, that his...

I saw him bringing it in, and he said he got it in the woods.

In the woods?

That's right.

He found it during that meteor shower.

I hate it.

It smells and got hairs on it.

I asked him to toss it in the bin, but he gave me such a look.

Isn't there a shift change coming up at Braddock?

About ten minutes.

Lawrence, this is Craven.

Meet me at the Braddock Forks Mine on the double.

Muster whatever deputies you can. And, Sophie, call ahead.

Suspect is a miner named Joe Allen or possibly Edward Sykes.

Soon as you get there,

lay down a perimeter and keep him buttoned the hell up.

You got a Joe Allen on duty here today?

Joe Allen, yeah.

Uh, let's go inside and see what we got for you, Sheriff.

Sheriff?

He's right there, Sheriff.

Joe Allen!

- Hey, you. Freeze! - Hold it. Hold it.

Hey. Hey!

Get him!

Hey! Hey!

Which way?

Hey. What the hell are you doing?

Joe? What the fuck are you doing up there?

Damn! Seal the exits!

Hey. Hey! Stop that damn elevator!

Bring that thing back up here!

They're headed to the 260. I can stop them but not before the 92!

I don't give a shit! Get it back up here!

No way out. How could he get out without coming back up the shaft?

Outta the way!

You think Allen set off the explosion?

He must have.

Maybe it was intentional.

Maybe it wasn't.

Maybe it has something to do with that damn ball of his.

No trace of that could we find, no.

What I can't figure out is how did he know that thing was in my car?

He could've made it to the tree line.

Instead, he fetched that damn trophy of his. Hmm?

Knowing that he was boxed in.

Doesn't make any sense.

Listen, Carl.

I can't ask you to...

How far is the river?

About 100 yards or so.

Good runs this time of year.

I'll take you if you want to go as soon as we get through with this mess.

Yeah.

I'd like that.

Carl,

what's going on?

I have stomach cancer.

Six months left, they say.

Jesus.

It's okay.

That's how it goes.

No point complaining.

You've made your peace with this thing, then?

What's the alternative? Can't do anything about it.

We're all on the same conveyor belt, Nate.

Some of us fall off a bit sooner than the rest, but...

we're all heading for the same destination.

Davis, this is Dr. Winters.

Dr. Winters, Sheriff. Everything's shipshape inside.

How low did we get that temperature?

36. Won't go no lower. Some kind of leak.

That should be cold enough.

Brought a table from the meat plant and gurneys.

Thank you, Deputy Davis. That's just fine.

You can get on back. Be here sunup.

I'm sorry we don't have a real facility.

Brought a generator down from the mine. And some work lights.

I know it's not ideal,

but...

It'll work.

We got you set up as best we could there.

Uh, phone's not hooked up,

but there's a pay phone down at the gas station.

I couldn't have asked for anything more, my friend.

You, uh... ready to see 'em?

Yeah.

I told my deputies to give you a head start

with the clothes.

In fact, they only got as far as the boots, I'm afraid.

I'll have to thank them.

All except this guy.

No one wanted to touch him.

Fucking animal.

I'm having crazy thoughts with this thing, Carl.

Let it lie, Nate.

You need to go sleep.

- Yeah. Maybe you're right. - Mm.

I don't know. I just didn't want to leave you with this.

- Are you sure you're up to this? - Take off the badge and lie down.

I'll be lucky to get through more than just a few of them tonight.

I'll press you into service in the morning.

Okay.

Good night.

This is Dr. Carl Winters,

reporting pathologist for the Montague County Coroner's Office,

recording my preliminary remarks

on the ten decedents of the Braddock Fork Mine incident.

This recording's for you alone, Nate.

My typed report will serve as the official record.

The main cluster of decedents was uncovered 30 yards from suspect Allen.

Decedents Jackson and Brady were found proximate to Allen.

A man named Miller was found alone between the two groups.

If any of the bodies contain bomb fragments,

it would be this one. I'll start with Miller.

Come on.

♪ ...have a pocketful of starlight ♪

♪ Catch a falling star And put it in your pocket ♪

♪ Never let it fade away ♪

♪ Catch a falling star... ♪

I apologize for the indignity, my friend.

If it's any comfort, I'm right behind you.

♪ For love may come And tap you on the shoulder ♪

♪ Some starless night ♪

♪ And just in case You feel you wanna hold her ♪

♪ You'll have a pocketful of starlight ♪

♪ A pocketful of starlight ♪

♪ Catch a falling star And put it in your pocket ♪

♪ Never let it fade away ♪

♪ Catch a falling star And put it in your pocket ♪

♪ Save it for a rainy day... ♪

Me again, Nate.

Despite autolysis and putrefaction,

I see signs not inconsistent with asphyxial death.

I'll also examine him internally to establish a baseline.

If I see anything anomalous on the other externals,

well, we'll cross that bridge if we come to it.

♪ Catch a falling star And put it in your pocket ♪

♪ Never let it fade away ♪

♪ Catch a falling star And put it in your pocket ♪

♪ Save it for a rainy day... ♪

There is blood-tinged mucus,

expressed no doubt during his final agony.

Dirt under the fingernails, split,

presumably from clawing at the earth.

My apologies, Mr. Miller.

♪ Spirit in the wood, take away the pain ♪

♪ Make the body ripe and alive again ♪

♪ I similau ♪

♪ I similau ♪♪

♪ I similau ♪

♪ Spirit in the heart Make the blood flow fast ♪

♪ Spirit in the heart Make the beauty last ♪

♪ Keep the hope alive When the youth go past... ♪

The lungs exhibit subpleural ecchymosis

consistent with extreme blunt force trauma,

probably from the explosion.

The right half of the heart is distended and engorged with dark blood,

along with the right coronary artery.

This is good, Nate.

I see signs of respiratory distress, concussive trauma,

but nothing says "bomb" to me,

nothing to prevent a finding of death by crush asphyxiation.

Nothing for Waddleton to salivate over.

♪ Somewhere there's music ♪

♪ How faint the tune ♪

♪ Somewhere there's heaven... ♪

♪ How high the moon ♪

Run. Get out. Now.

Run from what?

New external, Nate.

One Walter Lou Jackson.

Per your photos, Jackson was unearthed next to Allen.

Nate, I keep thinking...

What if the explosion wasn't a botched escape attempt?

What if that sphere wasn't a bomb?

What if the sphere's destruction was Allen's actual aim?

Not escape?

I found a small wound at the bottom of Jackson's sternum.

It's deep.

Seems to curve through the diaphragm...

...toward the heart.

Forgive me, friend. My curiosity necessitates opening you up.

Oh.

The track of the wound does lead to the heart.

The lungs and heart are shrunken and abnormally pale.

Completely drained of blood.

There's no blood in Brady either.

Jackson, Brady...

Allen.

I'm thinking crazy thoughts, Nate.

I'm thinking...

I wonder if all that blood's in Allen's stomach.

I'll examine him.

Help me.

Trapped in this...

flesh.

Starving.

What are you?

I'm a traveler.

- Not of Earth. - I don't...

My true form is small.

Shape...

hideous to you.

I feared death.

The cave-in.

Death was your escape.

Maybe you don't need oxygen.

A lesser component of our metabolism.

Was the sphere...

My ship?

Its destruction is our first duty facing discovery.

There was no chance to re-enter. Leaving this takes too long.

So in the shaft was my only chance.

Why must your ship be destroyed?

We must not be understood.

Why not?

Put down the knife.

Do it now.

For we are friends, Doctor.

Livestock must not understand what devours it?

Oh, fret not. You will understand what devours you.

That is essential.

I can smell your cancer, Doctor.

It is delicious.

Come, let me rid you of it. I will love you.

That body will be your coffin. I'll see you buried in it.

It's rotten blood.

Thin nourishment.

Animating this and synapsing with you is high cost.

Once you and I are one, I will be near starvation again.

But you are a prize host, Dr. Winters.

Through you, I can feed even when killing is too dangerous.

Meals are delivered to you still warm.

What the hell are you doing?

Well, we mustn't raise suspicion. The cut must be forensically correct.

Have to be careful of the pectoral muscles or I'll lose the use of these arms.

Why is my arm free?

Final neural splicing requires a sensory-motor standard

to perfect my brain's fit to yours.

The rest of you is paralyzed, but once this is done I will unbind you,

and we will be free together.

You're going to transfer yourself

from Allen into me?

Correct.

How?

Well, normally via the alimentary canal.

You see, over eons,

we have become perfectly streamlined to facilitate our entry into other beings.

As a larva, I entered Eddie Sykes' mouth as he slept.

But I've grown since then.

Oh, how I have grown.

We will have to make an incision.

You're going to use your puppet there to pluck you out.

But once he's dislodged you,

won't he go limp and drop you?

I am quite more familiar with your physiology

than even you, Doctor.

I know what I can and cannot cut.

The most supreme adaptations are purchased at the cost of inessentials.

Our hosts already carry structures for sight, sound, smell, locomotion.

It'd be quite redundant to carry those capacities ourselves.

So we travel light.

No quaint fins or stalks or feathers

terminating in hooks or...

suckers or little digits.

We've no use for any of it,

for we have transcended.

Have I amused you, Doctor?

You are truly self-deluded.

You're stalling for time.

It's already too late.

You really don't see it, do you?

- See what? - You're jealous.

Absurd.

You have no senses of your own.

You have to steal them from others.

We have inhabited men for millennia.

We have caused great nations to fall.

- We have shaped– - You've stolen everything you ever had.

You're nothing but a thief and murderer. A parasite. You're pathetic.

You're nothing but cancer with a big mouth.

Your friend, the sheriff, will come soon.

Sunup, I believe.

He will make a fine first meal for us.

His flesh will nurture our body,

and your anguish as we consume him will nurture my soul.

To say nothing at all of his.

Now where will we begin?

You know, it's a curious problem.

With careful flensing of the superior and inferior extremities,

leaving the primary arteries intact, a man can live for hours.

Oh, you can harvest meat all the way to the coxal region before he dies.

He offers up his pain

along with his protein.

Finally, we can harvest the arteries at our leisure.

But of course, the, uh, flesh of the extremities is tough.

Now aside from the rump,

the organs are most toothsome,

but bring death much faster.

You think about it. Let me know which you prefer.

Either way,

as I use your hands to haul forth his smoking entrails,

and your mouth to guzzle them down,

the repeated orgasms that we will have with your loins will be astounding.

You called yourselves our livestock,

but you're so much more.

I could've eked two weeks out of Brady and Jackson if that was all.

But I reinvested half the energy their blood gave me

to keep their brains alive.

That way I could whisper directly into their eighth cranial nerves.

Just to make sure they understood everything that I was doing to them.

And Eddie Sykes?

Oh, yes. He is here with us right now.

Mute and powerless

as I disembowel him.

You're forgetting something.

I forget nothing.

Your arrogance makes you stupid.

What have I forgotten, sweet doctor?

Never mind.

I will know every thought in your head in just a few moments,

all your memories, your senses.

And your fear.

Your suffering...

all mine.

All mine.

All mine.

Sykes knew you'd be blind and deaf once you were out of him,

you sadistic bastard.

Oh!

Here.

There must... there must be a way.

Not to survive, but...

What have you done?

We're communicating through my eighth cranial nerve now, right?

Where am I?

You are in your new home, but you won't be occupying it for long.

There's been some vandalism, I'm afraid.

The lights don't work.

You'll also find the neighborhood a bit quiet.

I can still make you move.

We will await your friend's arrival.

And when he comes close, I will...

I should mention the plumbing has a terminal leak.

You only have a few more minutes before I bleed out.

I will live.

I will live.

Wouldn't you like to know what you forgot?

The whole time you were forcing poor Sykes to slice himself up,

you were being recorded.

No.

My tape machine was running.

Oh no, no, no, no.

The tape ran out a while ago,

but I'm sure the portion that's left

will make for interesting listening when my friend arrives.

Let me out!

Carl.

This is Dr. Carl Winters,

reporting pathologist for the Montague County Coroner's Office.

I'm leaving this recording for you alone, Nate.

My typed report will serve as the official record...