PLAYHOUSE OF
THE DAMNED
"The
Writer"
by Richard Nathan
The spotlight is up on our host, GUS THE GHOUL, while the set for the next story is prepared. This story takes place in two locations, the office of THOMAS TAYLOR, a publisher of horror stories, and the study of BILL RADFORD, a writer. Taylor’s office is the smaller area, and it should have an office-type chair. Radford’s study should have a more comfortable chair, and perhaps a desk.
GUS
Our next story features two of the most
repulsive types to be found in the entire
realm of horror.... a writer and a publisher.
The publisher’s name is Thomas Taylor,
and this part of the stage represents his office.
The writer’s name is Bill Radford, and his
study takes up the rest of the stage. We
call
this piece, "The Writer." Most writers aren't
really appreciated until they're dead. If
you've ever met a writer, you understand why.
Gus exits. The spotlight goes out. During the blackout, THOMAS TAYLOR enters and sits down in his chair. The lights come up on the area of Taylor’s office. Taylor studies a manuscript. His assistant, JANET HENDERSON, enters carrying another manuscript.
TAYLOR
You ever get hold of Bill Radford?
HENDERSON
He hasn't answered the phone all week.
I even went to his house twice, but no one
came to the door.
TAYLOR
(sarcastic)
Great! He's disappeared!
HENDERSON
Relax; this came in the mail this morning.
She hands the manuscript to Henderson. He notices the brown stains on several of the pages.
TAYLOR
You spill coffee on it?
HENDERSON
It came like that.
TAYLOR
It isn't poetry, is it? I told him I wasn't going
to print any more of his poetry.
HENDERSON
It's got some poetry in it....
TAYLOR
Aw, Jeez....
HENDERSON
Some of our readers like his poetry.
TAYLOR
Some of our readers like "Playhouse Of The
Damned." That doesn't mean
it's any good!
HENDERSON
Anyway, it isn't like his usual poetry.
I think
you'll like it.
TAYLOR
I doubt it. Let's
see....
Taylor
begins to read the manuscript aloud.
TAYLOR
"The Writer.... by Bill Radford and Friends."
What's that supposed to mean?
HENDERSON
He's being cute.
You'll see.
TAYLOR
I don't like it already.
He
begins to read again.
TAYLOR
"Bill Radford perched behind his desk,
pen in
hand...." He's writing about
himself
again, huh?
HENDERSON
You're in it, too.
TAYLOR
What?
HENDERSON
Keep going.
TAYLOR
"Bill Radford, perched behind his desk, pen
in
hand, determined to extract the bright
essence of his soul, ....”
HENDERSON
It gets better, I swear!
TAYLOR
".... essence of his soul, to capture it upon a
page, to see that page printed time and time
again, and to feed those printed
pages to a
hungry world starved for truth, for beauty, and
for October.
Buzzzzz! The doleful
doorbell
buzz-bombed his thoughts...."
TAYLOR & RADFORD
Just a minute, Tom . . .
TAYLOR
. . . said Radford.
The lights go completely out in the area of
Taylor’s office. Taylor and
Henderson exit in the darkness. When
Radford opens the door to his study, Taylor is there behind it.
Taylor enters Radford’s office.
RADFORD
Hello, Tom. What
brings you to my quaint
abode?
TAYLOR
Hi, Bill. I
thought we might talk about the
piece I commissioned for the anniversary
issue.
RADFORD
Funny you should mention that.
I've got a
gem of an idea for a poem orbiting around
in my mind, concerning
an astronaut who sails
his ship into the eye of God....
I mean literally
into God's eyeball!
TAYLOR
No, Bill. I
told you, no poetry.
RADFORD
But poetry is what I do best!
TAYLOR
No it isn't! What
you did best were all those
wonderful little horror stories you used to
write for me forty years ago, with the great
twist endings.
RADFORD
Oh come on, Tom.
I admit my early stories
were pretty darned good, but what made them
good was my use of language, of metaphor, of
simile.
TAYLOR
I don't want to argue, Bill.
I'm just telling you
what I want.
I want the kind of stories you
collected in "The Dead Leaves of
Autumn."
RADFORD
My first book.
TAYLOR
And your best, for my money.
Will you just
try to write a simple horror story?
For me?
RADFORD
No. It's
not that I don't want to. I just
don't
think I can write stories about Martians and
homicidal killers and
witches anymore. I've
grown so
far beyond that. Let me read you
this
poem....
TAYLOR
No! I've
read your poems!!! I don't like
your
poems!!!
RADFORD
You hurt me, Tom.
It hurts to see a friend who
won't open himself up to the beauty in my
words.
TAYLOR
Bill, please, do me a favor.
You must have a
copy of "The Dead Leaves of Autumn" around
here. Sit down and read it.
Then try to write
just one more story like the ones in that book.
Try. For me.
RADFORD
All right, Tom.
I'll read it. It should be
fun to
look in on my old creations, and see how they're
doing.
TAYLOR
You do that.
Taylor
exits through the door. The
lights fade out on Radford’s study and fade up on Taylor’s office, where
Taylor sits in his chair. Henderson
stands beside him.
HENDERSON
Is that the way your meeting really went?
TAYLOR
Exactly! But
what’s the point of this story?
HENDERSON
Read on.
The lights go out on Taylor’s office and come up
again on Radford’s study, where Radford is reading a copy of his book,
“The Dead Leaves of Autumn.” As
the lights fade on Taylor’s office, Taylor resumes reading the manuscript
that came in the mail.
TAYLOR
“Radford took out the treasured copy of his
book,
and soon he was lost in its enchanted
pages.
He welcomed back his friends from
long ago.”
RADFORD
(to himself)
I'd forgotten how good my early writing was.
My characters really take on a life of their own....
MARTIAN
Hi, Bill!
WITCH
Good evening, Mr. Radford. It's been a
long time. We
weren't sure we'd ever see
you again!
MANIAC
What have you been up to?
Radford looks up from his book and speaks to his creations.
RADFORD
The most wonderful thing. I've been writing
poetry.
MARTIAN
That's nice.
WITCH
It sure feels good to get out of that book!
RADFORD
Would you like to hear one of my poems?
Here's one called "The Griffin."
Radford
starts to recite one of his poems from memory.
RADFORD
The Griffin sings to the lonely wood, and
the moonlit
gravel peacefully lies. The stars
above sing a song of fire....
MARTIAN
Write one about us, Bill!
RADFORD
I'm not sure I can.
You see.....
WITCH
Don't you like us anymore?
RADFORD
Of course I do!
You're my children! Let me
see....
He does his best to create a poem.
RADFORD
The witch of children tells youthful lies, of
running
fields and buttercups. The
Martian
from the fishing creek....
MARTIAN
I have a poem! I
wrote it myself!
Noses are blue.
Eyeballs are red.
You'd look better
Without your head.
RADFORD
That's a very interesting poem, but it isn't the
kind
I like to write. My poetry soars
on the
wings of transcendent imagination.
It rises
like a phoenix from the ashes of....
MANIAC
I don't like your poetry.
RADFORD
That's because you're a warped homicidal
maniac.
You're not supposed to like poetry.
That's just the way I created you.
WITCH
I have a poem.
I'd love to take a shiny knife
And stab you through the heart,
And end your stupid little life
By cutting you apart.
I'd stretch your neck inside a noose
And skin you for a coat.
And then I'd pluck your eyeballs out
And stuff them down your throat!
RADFORD
Isn't that a trifle gruesome?
WITCH
Of course it is!
I'm gruesome! You created
me gruesome!
RADFORD
But I don't create gruesome things anymore!
A poet's job is to create beauty.
In the years
to come, people probably won't even know
I ever wrote
horror stories.
MANIAC
You mean they'll forget about us?
RADFORD
I'm afraid so. You'll
blow away like chaff,
while the wheat of my poetry will remain.
MARTIAN
Are you sure about that?
RADFORD
I'm certain that when I'm dead, it is my poetry
for
which I'll be remembered.
WITCH
Let's find out!
The
witch, the Martian, and the maniac all pull out huge knives and advance on
Radford.
RADFORD
Now just a minute!
You're my creations!
You
can't attack me!
WITCH, MANIAC &
MARTIAN
We have a poem!
We were your creations,
But on us you turned your back,
So we'll give you the sensations
Of a fatal knife attack!
Poems are made by tiresome fools,
But we like goblins, ghosts and ghouls.
The
witch, the maniac and the Martian all stab Radford to death.
Then the witch steps forward and speaks directly to the audience.
WITCH
Bill Radford wasn’t able to finish this story,
because we finished him off first. We
hope
you liked our ending.
The
lights fade out on Radford’s study and come up on Taylor’s office.
Taylor looks up from the manuscript he has just finished reading.
He turns to look at Henderson.
HENDERSON
See. I
told you.
TAYLOR
You're right. It's
the best thing he's written
in years.
Blackout. Everyone on the stage exits. A spotlight comes up on GUS THE GHOUL.
GUS
Someone better call a hearse!
Radford's gone from bad to verse.
We know he didn't write that story.
He was far too dead and gory!
This forgery was shammed
In the Playhouse Of The Damned!
THE
END
Click here to go to another PLAYHOUSE OF THE DAMNED story
© 2000 by Richard Nathan. All rights reserved
The author grants all internet uses to print these scripts for their own, personal, non-commercial use. No other use may be made without the author's permission. Without limiting the foregoing, the plays may not be staged without the author's express permission.
Send e-mail to the author at Richard-Nathan@att.net.