COMIC SCRIPT // ABERNATHY CROMWELL AND THE BROWN ACID INCIDENT

This is a script I wrote for a comic book - it would've been the first story in a series featuring an intrepid 'psychedelic detective' called Abernathy Cromwell. Unfortunately it never came together, but it was fun to write nonetheless.

ABERNATHY CROMWELL AND THE BROWN ACID INCIDENT

PART ONE: MIRROR, MIRROR

We open on the image of an old door – one of many along a dingy apartment hallway. Upon the door, hung at a crooked angle, is a sign reading:

‘ABERNATHY CROMWELL ESQ.

Psychedelic Detective’

We enter through the door into a single room; a grey, unkempt apartment which has been somewhat haphazardly converted into a makeshift office. A desk squats in the corner of the room, taking up a fair amount of space and looking rather incongruous.

The apartment is otherwise barely furnished; papers and casebooks are stacked high and some have migrated gracelessly to the floor, left in scattered piles. There are various strange artefacts dotted about and a small mirror on one wall.

Sprawled on the floor in the centre of the room is a man, staring up at the ceiling. He is dressed in a shabby coat; loose tie; pork pie hat; a slightly shambolic Withnail/Tom Baker’s Doctor Who/Philip Marlowe figure. He has a joint hanging loosely from his lips, sending stylised plumes of smoke into the air.

This is of course our boy, the gloriously ignominious Abernathy Cromwell.

(From here, Abernathy’s internal narration, appearing in text boxes, is written as ‘AC INT’. Any actual spoken dialogue by him is written as ‘ABERNATHY’.)

AC INT: ANOTHER DAY WITHOUT A SINGLE CASE.

AC INT: NO CRIME SCENES NEEDING PSYCHIC IMPRESSION ANALYSIS. NO MURDER VICTIMS TO COMMUNE WITH.

AC INT: JUST RAIN. THUDDING RAIN AND THE DULL ACHE OF BEING ALIVE.

AC INT: WHAT I WOULDN’T GIVE FOR A GOOD TELEPATHIC ROBBERY, OR AN UNDERWORLD RACKET RUN BY REANIMATED GANGSTERS, OR… ANYTHING TO KEEP THE DELICATE COGS OF MIND AND BODY TURNING.

Abernathy sits up, takes a huge, final drag on the joint. He then walks over to the open window – it is indeed a grey, rainy, miserable day outside – and stands looking out at a city.

AC INT: HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN SINCE MY LAST JOB? A WEEK? A MONTH?

AC INT: LONGER…?

AC INT: THE DAYS JUST KEEP ROLLING… SPEAKING OF WHICH!

AC INT: THIS ONE’S DONE, I’M AFRAID. TIME TO RELOAD.

He tosses the roach out of the window and we follow it down, down, into the gutter.

Abernathy moves over to his desk, and opens a drawer. He rummages around in there.

AC: (Mumbling to himself) I SWEAR I HAD SOME MORE DOPE IN HERE…

He pulls out a little brown vial instead, and studies it with great care and attention.

AC INT: AH. THE HEAVY ARTILLERY.

AC INT: THE BROWN ACID.

AC INT: I DON’T EVEN REMEMBER HOW I GOT HOLD OF THIS.

AC INT: THAT CHAP DOWN AT THE SCAB AND PIGEON? HE WAS CERTAINLY A SHIFTY

CHARACTER... ALL SWEAT AND BRYLCREEM. I HAVE THE SNEAKING SUSPICION I SCAMMED SOMETHING OUT OF HIM...

AC INT: MAYBE IT WAS THAT NICE YOUNG GIRL FROM THAT JOB ON THE PLANE OF EROS? SHE REALLY WAS GRATEFUL I GOT RID OF THOSE VAMPIRES… THAT WAS A BENDER AND A HALF. HEH.

Abernathy sighs, hunched over. He is burned out and bitter, bored and listless without a case to work on; an adventure, away from the real world, to throw himself into.

AC INT: IT’S ALL A BLUR NOW. EVERYTHING IS.

Abernathy shrugs and uncorks the vial.

AC INT: WELL… A LITTLE CHEMICAL HOLIDAY MIGHT CHEER ME UP. I’D BEEN SAVING IT

FOR A RAINY DAY, AFTER ALL.

AC INT: MAYBE BY THE TIME I COME DOWN IT’LL BE NEXT WEEK AND I’LL HAVE CLIENTS QUEUING DOWN THE HALL.

AC INT: HA!

He takes just a sip.

AC INT: GOT TO BE CAREFUL, OF COURSE. THIS LOOKS VICIOUS.

A beat where Abernathy is allowing the acid to do its thing. Maybe a panel of him just stood there expectantly.

Then… bam. Suddenly the room gets weird.

ABERNATHY: FUCKING CRIKEY

Abernathy is almost immediately blitzed. He looks at the mirror in the corner of the room. There’s something… off about it. Maybe it seems to shimmer, or there’s energy coming off it. Something fucky.

AC INT: CHARON’S BALLS! I THOUGHT THIS STUFF WAS GOING TO STING, BUT…

We slowly move toward the mirror as though seeing through Abernathy’s eyes. Two or three panels showing it shifting and growing, becoming larger – Abernathy-sized, in fact, as though ready to receive him.

AC INT: I’VE ABUSED MY FAIR SHARE OF SUBSTANCES OVER THE YEARS. OF COURSE I HAVE.

AC INT: CAN’T BE A PSYCHEDELIC DETECTIVE IF YOU’RE SOBER.

AC INT: MYSTIC HERBS, GROUND GIANT’S BONES, DEVIL’S NECTAR. THAT WEIRD BIT OF FLUFF I FOUND DOWN THE SOFA. I’M SOMETHING OF A CONNOSIEUR AT THIS POINT

AC INT: I DON’T DO THIS STUFF JUST FOR PLEASURE, MIND YOU. THEY’RE THE TOOLS OF MY TRADE. THIS JOB IS WEIRD, TO PUT IT MILDLY.

AC INT: AND TO WRANGLE WITH WEIRD, YOU HAVE TO GET WEIRD.

Abernathy pulls out a small pipe from his jacket pocket.

AC INT: YOU HAVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING.

AC INT: WELL… THAT, OR AT LEAST FLAIL WITH CONFIDENCE.

AC INT: STUMBLE WITH PANACHE.

He draws on the pipe without even packing it, and upon exhaling, tendrils of multi-coloured smoke reach towards the mirror and disappear inside it, as though inexorably drawn to something beyond...

AC INT: OH, HAPPY DAY! WHAT MAD, WONDERFUL DEVELOPMENT IS THIS?

He studies the mirror intently.

AC INT: AM I JUST INCREDIBLY FUCKED UP RIGHT NOW?

He touches the surface of the mirror, and the tips of his fingers disturb the surface as though it’s water rather than glass.

AC INT: CRIKEY. THIS IS REAL, ALL RIGHT - I’VE TRIPPED ENOUGH TIMES TO KNOW WHEN I’VE GONE BEYOND SIMPLE TRICKS OF THE MIND. THE ENERGY EMANATING FROM THIS THING IS OFF THE METAPHORICAL CHARTS.

AC INT: INTERDIMENSIONAL TOMFOOLERY ABOUNDS.

Tight close up on Abernathy’s grin.

AC INT: LUCKILY, AS TOMFOOLERY GOES, THIS MAY BE MY FAVOURITE KIND.

Abernathy steps through the mirror.

AC INT: THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS, INDEED!

PART TWO: MAKING FRIENDS/A MINOR SCUFFLE

We emerge into a gloomy, abstract dimension. Darkened sky; some marshlands in the distance; some ancient ruins dotted about a desolate plain.

AC INT: CHRIST! WELL THIS ISN’T TOO INVITING.

AC INT: IT’S NEVER A BEACH, OR A PICTURESQUE ORCHARD, OR A SWIMSUIT COMPETITION.

Abernathy turns to see the mirror portal shrink and vanish behind him.

ABERNATHY: INFERNAL BUGGERY! INTERDIMENSIONAL PORTALS THESE DAYS… TOTALLY UNRELIABLE.

Abernathy notices a banner on the wall of one of the nearby ruins; the image of a worm coiled around a sword.

ABERNATHY: HMM.

He walks over to the ruins and studies the banner, before spying some kind of tower on a distant mountain, with a thin beam of energy shooting out of the top, into the sky.

Abernathy drags on his magic pipe and the smoke’s tendrils point towards the mountain. The pipe glows with energy.

AC INT: WELL, NOW. WHATEVER THAT STRUCTURE IS, THE PIPE’S ALMOST BURNING UP FROM THE READING.

Abernathy pulls out a small test tube of glowing liquid and squirts some onto his eyeballs. When he next looks at the beam coming out of the tower, he sees the raw energy signature coming from it.

AC INT: HMMM. A HUGE AMOUNT OF RAW ENERGY… AS THOUGH THE BEAM ACTS AS A BEACON.

AC INT: IT DOES HAVE A STRANGE PULL, ACTUALLY… AS THOUGH IT’S… GOT ME ON A LITTLE STRING… BECKONING ME CLOSE…

AC INT: AN OBVIOUS TRAP, OF COURSE.

AC INT: THE BROWN ACID BROUGHT ME HERE FOR SOME REASON… ACTED AS THE GATEWAY, OPENING UP MY MIRROR AND STRANDING ME HERE.

AC INT: CAN’T SHAKE THE FEELING I’VE BEEN MORE OR LESS INVITED TO THIS PLACE BY… SOMEONE.

AC INT: SOMEONE WHO KNOWS ME… SOMEONE WHO WAS COUNTING ON ME DROPPING THE ACID. IF ONLY I COULD REMEMBER WHERE I GOT THE DAMN STUFF FROM…

Abernathy struggles to think back.

AC INT: I WOULDN’T BE MUCH A DETECTIVE IF MY MEMORY WAS ALWAYS THIS FUZZY… IT’S ALMOST LIKE… INTERFERENCE. JESUS… WHY CAN’T I REMEMBER?

Abernathy snaps out of it and focuses his attention once more on the mountain.

AC INT: OH, BUGGER IT ALL. COME ON, ABERNATHY… FIRST THINGS FIRST.

AC INT: WITH ENOUGH CHEMICAL TINKERING, I COULD PROBABLY ENGINEER THAT BEAM TO TRANSPORT ME BACK. FIRST RULE OF DIMENSION HOPPING: KNOW HOW TO GET YOURSELF HOME AGAIN.

Abernathy looks around him at the desolate landscape.

AC INT: AND JUDGING BY THE LOOK OF THE PLACE, I MAY NOT STICK AROUND TOO LONG.

Abernathy puts his pipe back inside his coat.

AC INT: STILL, THE MANNER IN WHICH I’VE ENDED UP HERE… LIKE A MOTH DRAWN TO A FLAME I COULDN’T EVEN SEE…

AC INT: I SHOULD STICK AROUND FOR A WHILE. INDULGE IN A SPOT OF SIGHTSEEING.

He sets off…

EXT. SWAMP/MARSHLANDS

Abernathy trudges through the knee-deep sludge of a grim-looking swamp, puffing a joint as fist-sized mosquito-esque insects buzz around him.

AC INT: SOME HOLIDAY THIS IS TURNING OUT TO BE. IT’S LIKE A SPRAWLING PUBLIC TOILET.

One of the insects flies close to his head and Abernathy punches it right out of the air.

ABERNATHY: NOT TODAY, YOU ROTTEN LITTLE FUCKER!

It buzzes off, confused, and we follow it as it passes by a small group of GREY FOLK. These are our poor, mindless zombie drones. They are – you guessed it – grey and pallid looking humanoids. They have expressionless faces and long, simian-like arms. They stand (hunched, slack jawed and vacant, totally ignorant of Abernathy) in the swamp and appear to be collecting the sludgy water in buckets.

AC INT: HMM. BETTER HANDLE THIS ONE WITH MY CUSTOMARY CHARM AND REFINEMENT.

He emerges into the view of the grey folk.

ABERNATHY: HELLO THERE CHAPS!

The grey folk continue to ignore him, filling their buckets and beginning to wander off.

ABERNATHY: UH… I SAY, HELLO THERE!

Still nothing. There’s a panel of Abernathy looking expectant, maybe a hand raised in the air in greeting, as the grey folk lumber off without so much as glancing at him.

ABERNATHY: LISTEN, I’M A VISITOR HERE. PERHAPS YOU’VE EVEN HEARD OF ME. I’M

ABERNATHY CROMWELL, PSYCHEDELIC DETECTIVE. ARE YOU BOYS LOCALS?

The grey folk are still walking away. It’s clear they aren’t remotely interested.

AC INT: THIS IS GOING WONDERFULLY.

Abernathy begins to follow, at a respectful distance, still fruitlessly trying to get their attention.

ABERNATHY: LOOK, CHAPS, I’M AFRAID I’VE RATHER OVERDONE THE OLD HALLUCINOGENS AND ENDED UP HERE BY MISTAKE. SERVES ME RIGHT FOR NOT DEALING WITH BOREDOM IN A HEALTHY, CONSTRUCTIVE WAY I SUPPOSE. STILL, I’D REALLY APPRECIATE IT IF YOU COULD --

Suddenly the grey folk halt and appear to stiffen up, suddenly alert. They gather their buckets and disappear into the undergrowth.

ABERNATHY: BLIMEY! BYE THEN…

A growl emanates from some nearby bushes… Abernathy turns and sees why the grey folk bolted so quickly.

AC INT: AH. OF COURSE.

A hideous beast emerges from the undergrowth.

ABERNATHY: WELL I’VE NEVER BEEN ONE FOR IMMEDIATELY NEGATIVE FIRST IMPRESSIONS, BUT I MUST ADMIT… YOU SEEM CATEGORICALLY UNFRIENDLY.

The beast roars in response and charges/lumbers/slithers/ambles over.

A few panels of Abernathy diving; slipping; lunging; avoiding the beast while fumbling in his jacket pocket.

AC INT: COME ON, COME ON… WHERE IS IT…

AC INT: SPIRIT TOTEMS… TAROT CARDS… A SHRUNKEN HEAD (WHY DO I HAVE THAT AGAIN?)… A LITTLE BIT OF HASH… AH! HERE WE GO!

He pulls out a comically large needle from the apparently bottomless confines of his jacket pocket.

ABERNATHY: I KNOW YOU’RE PROBABLY JUST DOING WHAT COMES NATURALLY, MY HIDEOUS FRIEND… CALL OF THE WILD, AND ALL THAT…

The beast charges… Abernathy lances it with the needle, pushing the plunger in with all his strength…

ABERNATHY: BUT I’VE NO INTENTION OF BEING ANYONE’S SNACK.

The beast collapses as cartoonish z’s appear in magical rings around its head. It’s knocked out cold.

ABERNATHY: ANYWAY, I’M FAR TOO STRINGY. TRUST ME, I’VE DONE YOU A FAVOUR.

EXT. A DESOLATE PLAIN AT THE FOOT OF THE MOUNTAIN

Abernathy emerges from the swamp onto a wide plain below the mountain. In the far distance he sees a larger group of grey folk milling about. They pay him no heed either.

ABERNATHY: (shouting impotently into the distance) IGNORANT FUCKERS!

He approaches the foot of the mountain. We see it from his POV – a vast, huge slab of rock. The ominous structure juts out of the peak, appearing distinctly uninviting.

AC INT: FOR MOST, HAVING TO SCALE A GIANT MOUNTAIN WOULD PROBABLY BE A BIT OF AN ISSUE.

He reaches into his jacket once more.

AC INT: FORTUNATELY, I’M QUITE WONDERFULLY GIFTED.

Abernathy pulls out a mushroom which he immediately masticates.

AC INT: ALL RIGHT… MORE LIKE WELL PREPARED.

AC INT: IN A BAD SITUATION, WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE?

The mushroom takes effect as Abernathy conjures up a spectral ladder extending itself vertically up the mountain. All around him as he climbs are abstract images of general weirdness – the mountain perhaps seems to melt slightly, the sky changes colour, maybe there are laughing faces in the sky taunting him as he climbs.

He’s tripping balls, basically, although the shroom has done what it needed to and he makes it up the mountain… or at least, about two thirds of the way.

ABERNATHY: FLAMING TITS OF APHRODITE!

AC INT: THIS IS AS FAR AS I GO ON THE OL’ SPECTRAL LADDER. THE REST OF THIS CLIMB

WILL HAVE TO BE UNDERTAKEN THE OLD FASHIONED WAY…

He climbs off the ladder onto a handy plateau on the mountain and stands, bewildered, looking at the frozen wastes around him. He is unaware of a figure – slightly blurred and indistinct in the fierce tundra winds - emerging behind him…

AC INT: I WONDER WHAT WILL COME FIRST… DEATH BY FROST?

The figure moves closer…

AC INT: STARVATION?

Closer…

AC INT: PERHAPS I’LL MEET ANOTHER MONSTROUS FRIEND…

We see Abernathy from the shadowy figure’s POV as he approaches the unaware detective, a hand outstretched…

PART THREE: ON TOP OF THE WORLD

INT. HERMIT’S ICE CAVE

We’re in a small cave that’s been carved into the side of the mountain. We follow a trail of smoke down from the ceiling to its source; another of Abernathy’s joints. He’s sat peacefully next to an OLD HERMIT; your typical bearded mystic type, dressed in shabby rags.

We see the cave is simply furnished with a rug on the floor, a hammock, some candles, various books lying around. The following exchange happens as Abernathy and the hermit puff and pass the joint back and forth. We catch them mid-conversation…

HERMIT: …SO I’VE BEEN HERE FOR… I DON’T KNOW HOW LONG NOW. YEARS.

HERMIT: TIME HAS BECOME… FLUID.

ABERNATHY: RIGHT.

ABERNATHY: ICE CAVE.

ABERNATHY: FOR YEARS.

HERMIT: IT’S PREFERABLE TO BEING OUT THERE. YOU’VE MET THE LOCAL WILDLIFE.

Abernathy puffs deeply on the joint.

ABERNATHY: YOU MIGHT SAY THAT.

ABERNATHY: LISTEN, THANKS FOR THE HOSPITALITY. THE THOUGHT OF FREEZING TO DEATH ON THE SIDE OF A MOUNTAIN IS… WELL, IT’D BE SUCH A MUNDANE WAY TO GO.

ABERNATHY: SO WHAT DO I CALL YOU ANYWAY?

HERMIT: HEH. I HAVEN’T HAD A NAME IN A LONG TIME. NOWADAYS I AM A SIMPLE

HERMIT, LIVING A SIMPLE LIFE. YOU’RE THE FIRST PERSON I’VE SPOKEN TO IN MANY A YEAR.

ABERNATHY: “A SIMPLE HERMIT”. RIGHT.

HERMIT: I’M JUST GLAD I FOUND YOU BEFORE YOU GOT INTO ANY MORE OF A STATE.

ABERNATHY: WELL I HAVE TO SAY, OLD BOY, IT’S NICE TO FINALLY MEET SOMEONE FRIENDLY IN THIS PLACE. THOSE PALE ZOMBIE-LIKE FELLOWS OUT THERE WOULDN’T EVEN ACKNOWLEDGE ME.

HERMIT: AH, IT’S NOTHING PERSONAL. THEY LOST THEIR MINDS LONG AGO…

HERMIT: TEA?

The hermit waves his hands and conjures a spectral-looking teapot and two cups out of the air.

ABERNATHY: I’D LOVE A CUPPA. CHEERS.

The hermit pours and passes Abernathy a cup.

ABERNATHY: THAT’S A NICE TRICK.

HERMIT: ONE OF MANY, MY LAD.

ABERNATHY: YOU WERE SAYING, ABOUT THE GREY FOLK?

HERMIT: AH, YES. UNFORTUNATE SOULS, CHAINED IN SERVICE TO THE ONE WHO CALLS HIMSELF KING OF THE MIRROR REALM.

ABERNATHY: THE MIRROR REALM… THAT’D BE THIS PLACE?

HERMIT: YES… THIS CURSED REALM… A DESOLATE KINGDOM OF THE DAMNED. A REFLECTION…

HERMIT: AND A WARNING.

ABERNATHY: A WARNING?

HERMIT: INDEED. THIS WHOLE REALM… THIS AWFUL PLACE… IS WHAT COULD BE.

A beat as Abernathy sips his tea.

ABERNATHY: YOU MENTIONED A KING… I’M ASSUMING HE’S THE ONE LIVING IN THAT RATHER UNINVITING STRUCTURE AT THE TOP OF THIS MOUNTAIN.

HERMIT: YOU ASSUME CORRECTLY.

ABERNATHY: NOT A FRIENDLY SORT?

HERMIT: CORRECT AGAIN. HE DULLS THE MIND OF THE GREY FOLK, PUTTING THEM TO WORK AS SLAVE LABOUR FOR HIS GLORY. THE KING HAS GROWN MONSTROUS… POWERFUL DARK RITES CORRUPTED HIS MIND, AND THEN HIS FLESH FOLLOWED.

HERMIT: HE WAS... TRANSFORMED. CHANGED INTO SOMETHING VILE; SOMETHING WHICH MUST BE STOPPED.

ABERNATHY: HMMM. I’LL BE HONEST WITH YOU… I REALLY JUST WANT TO GET BACK HOME.

ABERNATHY: I WAS HOPING THAT ENERGY SPIKE COMING OUT OF THE TOP OF THAT LAIR OF HIS MIGHT BE ENOUGH TO DO THE JOB, PROVIDING I CAN SNEAK PAST HIM, MAKE FRIENDS WITH HIM, OR STRIKE SOME KIND OF BARGAIN.

HERMIT: HA! NONE WHO SET FOOT IN THE MIRROR REALM ESCAPE HIS GLARE, AND HE IS NOT ONE FOR FRIENDS. YOU SEEK TO BARGAIN WITH HIM? WELL…

HERMIT: THE BROWN ACID. YOU ONLY TOOK A SIP, DIDN’T YOU? YOU STILL HAVE SOME?

ABERNATHY: YEAH, I’VE GOT A LITTLE LEFT…

A beat as Abernathy stops cold, suddenly suspicious. He silently eyes the hermit.

ABERNATHY: HMM…I DON’T REMEMBER MENTIONING ANYTHING ABOUT ACID, BROWN OR OTHERWISE.

A panel of the hermit sighing, catching himself in his fuck-up and immediately resigned to it.

He waves his hands once more. Mystical energy begins to swirl around Abernathy.

HERMIT: THERE IS NO TIME. I KNOW MORE THAN YOU COULD POSSIBLY UNDERSTAND AT THIS POINT, MY BOY.

HERMIT: IN FACT, I KNOW YOU… QUITE WELL.

The energy morphs into a bubble around Abernathy and lifts him off his feet, suspending him in the air.

HERMIT: DON’T BE ALARMED.

ABERNATHY: HEY…

HERMIT: YOU MUST REACH THE TOP OF THE MOUNTAIN. YOU MUST BRING DOWN THAT FOUL MONSTER.

HERMIT: USE THE BROWN ACID, ABERNATHY.

ABERNATHY: WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? THAT’S WHAT GOT ME INTO THIS MESS!

ABERNATHY: PUT ME DOWN, YOU CRUSTY SOD!

HERMIT: LISTEN TO ME, BOY! THE BROWN ACID IS THE KEY. THE BROWN ACID!

HERMIT: MAY YOU SUCCEED WHERE I FAILED, SO LONG AGO…

HERMIT: FOR BOTH OUR SAKES...

The energy engulfs Abernathy as he is folded into the portal the hermit has created and disappears.

We stay with the hermit for one panel as he looks up at the spot where Abernathy has just vanished.

His rags, apparently just a disguise, start to mystically unravel… revealing that underneath, he is wearing the same clothes – only dirtier and more dishevelled, and sans hat - as our intrepid wreckhead detective...

HERMIT: GOOD LUCK, YOU YOUNG IDIOT.

PART FOUR: LAIR OF THE WORM KING

INT. THE WORM KING’S LAIR

Darkness.

AC INT: OUCH.

AC INT: MY HEAD… THAT MAD OLD FUCK HAS RATTLED MY PRECIOUS, PSYCHOTROPICALLY ENHANCED BRAIN.

Abernathy is sprawled on the floor of the room he has been transported to, having been unceremoniously dumped there by the teleportation spell. It appears to be a dungeon; cages and instruments of torture abound.

AC INT: THE FELLOW IN CHARGE HERE EITHER HAS SOME MORBID TASTE IN INTERIOR DECORATING…

A couple of close-up panels of the various instruments lying around.

AC INT: OR HE REALLY IS A NAUGHTY BUGGER.

AC INT: MAYBE THE HERMIT WAS RIGHT… I’M OBVIOUSLY DEALING WITH A RATHER NASTY SORT HERE.

AC INT: ALTHOUGH A SOFTER LANDING WOULD HAVE BEEN APPRECIATED. MAD OLD GIT.

Abernathy creeps towards the door leading out of the dungeon.

AC INT: MAY AS WELL AT LEAST TRY IT…

To Abernathy’s surprise, the door actually opens.

AC INT: RESPLENDENT!

AC INT: WHOEVER THIS LORD AND RULER IS, HE’S EXCEEDINGLY COCKY. NOT EVEN A LOCK ON HIS DUNGEON.

Abernathy creeps out into a hallway and steals along, stealthily.

AC INT: NO GUARDS, EITHER… STRANGE…

Turning a corner, he arrives in a wide, open space; what appears to be a great hall. Statues line the edge of the room and there are unlit torches on the wall. The place is devoid of life.

AC INT: OK… NEW FEELING…

AC INT: I’M SLIGHTLY CONCERNED BY THE ABSENCE OF MINIONS, HENCHMEN, SLAVERING BEASTS, ETC.

AC INT: THERE’S A DISTINCT LACK OF THINGS TRYING TO KILL ME.

AC INT: THIS IS A FORTRESS, ISN’T IT? AN EVIL FORTRESS. A LAIR.

Unbeknownst to Abernathy, the eyes of a nearby statue begin to glow. Its head turns to follow him…

AC INT: SO WHERE’S THE WELCOMING BRIGADE?

Abernathy pulls out his pipe, which is now glowing with an urgent intensity. Small sparks of energy are flying out of it.

AC INT: CROMWELL, YOU MORON, YOU’VE WALKED STRAIGHT INTO AN AMB--

Suddenly the room appears to flip upside down and invert. Abernathy is suddenly falling through empty space… and then thuds yet again onto a stone floor.

ABERNATHY: ONE THOUSAND TORN ARSEHOLES! DAMN THIS PERPETUAL ABUSE!

Abernathy picks himself up… and realises he is in the same room he was just in. However, it’s looking rather different to how it was a second ago.

He is surrounded by grey folk, all stood away from him quite passively, but in a circle denying him escape. The torches on the walls are lit and the walls are lined with the banners – the image of the worm and sword - Abernathy saw in the ruins earlier.

VOICE OFF-PANEL: WELCOME, LITTLE TRAVELLER…

The voice comes from the head of the room, and the one new detail within it; a giant, ghastly throne.

On the throne, Abernathy now sees the naughty bugger himself, ruler of the mirror realm; the WORM KING.

He’s a large, monstrous worm/centipede-esque creature with a vaguely humanoid (but fucked up) face. He is draped in a ragged robe and wears a jagged, spiked crown on his deformed head. Grey folk on leashes are tied to the foot of his throne, kneeling and holding up buckets of rotten fruit and the grimy water from the swamp – the Worm King’s dinner.

WORM KING: WELCOME TO THE LAIR OF THE WORM KING!

WORM KING: I AM MASTER OF THE MIRROR REALM! SUBJUGATOR OF

ALL WHO SET FOOT IN MY DOMAIN! WHEN YOU SEE THE SUN BLOTTED OUT IN THE CRACKED, OBSIDIAN SKY; WHEN YOU FEEL YOUR BREATH TIGHTEN IN YOUR LUNGS AT DEATH’S TOUCH; THIS IS BY MY WILL.

WORM KING: I AM KING HERE. YOU WILL KNEEL.

A beat of Abernathy just looking at him.

WORM KING: I… WHAT IS IT?

ABERNATHY: NOTHING AT ALL. VERY STIRRING.

ABERNATHY: I MEAN, UH, SCARY. VERY SCARY.

WORM KING: DO YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY, FLESHLING?

Abernathy pulls a joint out of his coat.

ABERNATHY: WELL, IT’S JUST… REFERING TO YOURSELF IN THE THIRD PERSON LIKE THAT… TO BE HONEST, OLD BOY… UH… OLD WORM. WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU ARE…

Abernathy lights the joint.

ABERNATHY: IT’S QUITE A PRETENTIOUS HABIT, WOULDN’T YOU SAY?

More awkward silence. A panel of the grey folk looking around at each other uncomfortably.

WORM KING: WELL, I…

WORM KING: YOU… YOU LITTLE…

He rises up in his throne, a display of intimidation, revealing several feelers/arms under his bulk.

WORM KING: IMPUDENT STAIN! I WILL CRUSH YOUR VERY SOUL!

Abernathy casually puffs on the joint.

ABERNATHY: YEAH, ALL RIGHT.

ABERNATHY: LOOK, I’M NOT HERE TO SCRAP. I’M JUST TRYING TO GET HOME. I SAW YOUR TOWER, AND THE ENERGY SOURCE BLASTING OUT OF YOUR CHIMNEY, AND I RECKON I COULD CONFIGURE IT – DON’T WORRY, PERFECTLY SAFE, ONE TIME USE – TO TRANSPORT MYSELF OUT OF HERE.

ABERNATHY: I WONDERED IF YOU’D BE INTERESTED IN STRIKING A DEAL.

The Worm King smiles and we see his mouthful of mangled, broken teeth.

WORM KING: HA HA HA! A DEAL!

WORM KING: MOST AMUSING, LITTLE ONE. YOU ARE IN MY KINGDOM. HERE, I HAVE

TOTAL CONTROL OVER THE VERY FABRIC OF REALITY. THE ENERGY SOURCE YOU HAVE NOTICED IS SIMPLY A BEACON; A TEAR IN THE RIFT OF ASTRAL SPACE, A TRACTOR BEAM ANCHORED TO --

ABERNATHY: YEAH, I’VE FIGURED ALL OF THIS OUT ALREADY, YOUR LIEGE. I WAS DRAGGED THROUGH THE FIRMAMENT OF SPACE AND TIME AND PLONKED HERE, TRAPPED AND... WHAT, HELPLESS? IS THAT WHAT YOU THOUGHT?

ABERNATHY: I IMAGINE YOU’VE BEEN DOING THIS FOR A WHILE, EH? ALL THESE MINDLESS, WRETCHED SLAVES… ONCE ASTRAL TRAVELLERS THEMSELVES, I TAKE IT; LURED HERE, TORTURED, IMPRISONED, TRANSFORMED.

WORM KING: NOT QUITE. MOST OF MY SLAVES ARE THE PREVIOUS INDIGENOUS POPULATION OF THIS REALM. ANY TRAVELLERS I ENSNARE ARE PURELY FOR… ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES.

WORM KING: MOST OF THEM END UP IN ONE OF THESE BUCKETS.

He gestures to the buckets at his throne. One of the grey folk spoons some of the contents into the Worm King’s mouth.

WORM KING: I ADMIT YOU IMPRESS ME, LITTLE ONE. MOST OF YOUR KIND KNOW NOTHING OF ASTRAL TRAVEL.

ABERNATHY: I’M A PSYCHEDELIC DETECTIVE, WORMY. I KNOW SHIT.

WORM KING: A “PSYCHEDELIC DETECTIVE”! HA HA! WONDERFUL. I WONDER WHAT A PSYCHEDELIC DETECTIVE LOOKS LIKE WITHOUT SKIN.

ABERNATHY: WHAT ABOUT OUR DEAL?

WORM KING: HMM… TRULY, I AM CURIOUS. YOU HAVE SHOWN YOUR SPINE SIMPLY BY COMING HERE; I WOULD HATE TO SNAP IT BEFORE AT LEAST HEARING YOUR OFFER.

ABERNATHY: I’M THRILLED.

Abernathy pulls out the vial of brown acid from his coat.

ABERNATHY: NOW I IMAGINE YOU’VE AMASSED ABOUT AS MUCH POWER AS YOU CAN IN THIS PLACE. YOUR OWN TOWER, YOUR OWN SLAVE ARMY… VERY IMPRESSIVE, IN A FUCKED UP, MORALLY DESTITUTE WAY. BUT WHERE’S THE FUN?

ABERNATHY: GRANTED, YOU SEEM LIKE A GUY WHO SKINS AND EATS PEOPLE FOR A LAUGH, BUT DOESN’T THAT GET OLD? I MEAN, HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN DOING IT? A LONG, LONG TIME. YOU HAVEN’T EVEN LEFT YOURSELF ANY COMPETITION – THE REAL DRAWBACK OF ACHIEVING TOTAL POWER; NOBODY CAN KEEP UP WITH YOU.

ABERNATHY: AM I WRONG?

WORM KING: (muttering, in smaller case lettering) IT DOES GET A BIT DULL SOMETIMES…

ABERNATHY: OF COURSE IT DOES. BUT I’VE GOT SOMETHING FOR YOU. A LITTLE TONIC, IF YOU WILL…

He holds the vial up for the Worm King to see.

ABERNATHY: AND I THINK YOU WILL.

ABERNATHY: LOOK, THIS HERE IS THE FINEST ACID IN ANY REALM, ANYWHERE. I’D BE WILLING TO PUT MONEY ON THAT, AND BETWEEN YOU, ME AND ALL THESE POOR, PALLID HUSKS… I’M A BIT OF A TIGHT-ARSE.

WORM KING: WELL, NOW… THIS IS AN INTERESTING DEVELOPMENT. IT’S BEEN A

THOUSAND YEARS SINCE I TASTED GOOD ACID…

ABERNATHY: IT’S GOOD, WORMY. THE BEST.

WORM KING: I AM NO FOOL, FLESHLING. MANY MEN HAVE ATTEMPTED TO POISON ME. WHY DON’T YOU DRINK SOME FIRST? PROVE YOURSELF BEFORE THE WORM KING!

Abernathy shrugs and knocks a little bit back. Then he offers the vial.

WORM KING: HA HA! I THINK I MAY ACTUALLY TOLERATE YOU, LITTLE ONE. PASS THAT SHIT.

One of the grey folk takes the vial from Abernathy and holds it up to the Worm King’s lips. He drinks deep, and greedily; taking more than he should.

WORM KING: WUUUUUH.

ABERNATHY: YEAH. “WUUUUUH”.

The Worm King emanates an aura of colour as the acid takes hold of his diseased brain. He begins to babble to himself, frothing at the mouth.

WORM KING: …AND CHEW AND GRIND AND REND AND CUDDLE AND RUN A NICE HOT BATH.

The Worm King is stunned at himself.

WORM KING: I MEAN, UH…

ABERNATHY: FEELING IT, EH? PROBABLY SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SO GREEDY, FRANKLY… DRUGS ARE DANGEROUS IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING.

WORM KING: I’M FINE… I JUST… I FEEL…

ABERNATHY: A GENERAL SENSE OF PEACE AND UNSELFISH LOVE SUPERCEDING ALL CRITICAL THOUGHT AND FILLING YOUR HEAD WITH MULTIVERSAL AWARENESS? YEAH, OK, FLOWER CHILD.

ABERNATHY: YOU WANT TO LET ME GO, DON’T YOU? YOU WANT TO LET ME DO MY BUSINESS WITH YOUR LITTLE ENERGY BEAM AND LEAVE.

AC INT: HA! HE’S REALLY OFF HIS ROCKER NOW. CAN’T HANDLE HIS SHIT. HE HAS NO IDEA WHAT’S GOING ON –

WORM KING: YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON HERE, MAN? I GET IT.

For a second, Abernathy thinks he’s been rumbled.

AC INT: OH BOLLOCKS.

AC INT: ALTHOUGH… “MAN”?

WORM KING: YEAH, MAN, I GET IT. WE’RE ALL CONNECTED, YOU SEE. SHIT, IT’S SO OBVIOUS… I DON’T KNOW WHY IT’S TAKEN ME SO LONG TO SEE IT. THE WORLD, YEAH, IS LIKE THIS BIG… BALL OF LOVE. A BALL OF ENERGY. A FOOTBALL. A BOWLING BALL. LOVE. ENERGY.

AC INT: FUCKING HELL, HIS BRAIN IS ALREADY TURNING TO MUSH. I’LL HAVE TO BE QUICK ABOUT THIS.

ABERNATHY: THAT’S, UH… THAT’S RIGHT, WORMY. GOOD… THOUGHTS, THERE.

ABERNATHY: NOW IT’S REALLY TIME I WAS LEAVING…

Abernathy strides over to the energy beam and rummages in his coat pocket. He pulls out a complicated-looking handheld device.

AC INT: GOOD OLD QUANTUM DESTABILISER. PERFECT FOR DISRUPTING ASTRAL ENERGY AND REVERSING ITS POLARITY. ALSO PERFECT FOR CONVENIENT LAST-MINUTE SAVES FROM HAIRY SITUATIONS.

AC INT: I DON’T KNOW HOW MANY TIMES THIS LITTLE GEM HAS AIDED ME IN AN IMPROMPTU ESCAPE… THE PARTICULARS OF HOW IT ACTUALLY WORKS ARE OVER MY HEAD, BUT BY BUGGERY, IT'S A FINE TOOL INDEED.

Abernathy fiddles with the quantum destabiliser.

AC INT: COME ON, BABY. YOU’VE NEVER FAILED ME BEFORE…

The device spits out an ineffectual shower of sparks and dies in his hands. Abernathy just stares at it.

AC INT: *SIGH*

WORM KING: THERE’S SO MUCH LOVE, MAN… PEACE AND LOVE WRAPPED UP IN THIS BIG BALL… LIKE A PLANET… IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL.

WORM KING: WHAT AM I EVEN DOING HERE, MAN? THIS PLACE… IT’S SO MISERABLE. GLOOMY. I WANT TO GET OUT… FEEL THE FRESH AIR ON MY FACE… HOLD SOMEONE IN MY ARMS…

WORM KING: …WELL, UH, METAPHORICALLY.

WORM KING: THESE GUYS… THESE GREY GUYS… THEY’RE MORE LIKE GREY-T GUYS, HA HA! GOOD, SOLID SERVANTS, NEVER COMPLAINING… OF COURSE, THEY DON’T HAVE THE OPTION OF COMPLAINING, BUT STILL. SO GREAT.

WORM KING: I… I LOVE YOU GUYS! YOU KNOW THAT, DON’T YOU? WE ARE ALL ONE, MY FRIENDS. WE ARE ALL ONE.

AC INT: HE’S COMPLETELY ZONKED. MAYBE I’M GETTING OUT OF HERE AFTER ALL…

ABERNATHY: UH, LISTEN, WORMY…

WORM KING: OH, YEAH MAN, HOW YOU DOING… GREAT TO BE HERE WITH YOU…

ABERNATHY: WELL THAT’S THE THING, WORMY, OLD MUCKER. IT’S BEEN LOVELY MEETING YOU AND BEING PRESENT FOR THIS SPIRITUAL AWAKENING AND ALL THAT… BUT ABOUT ME GETTING HOME…

WORM KING: OH, YEAH MAN, NO PROBLEM. TAKE CARE OF THESE GUYS FOR ME, WILL YOU? I… I’M GOING TO MISS THEM…

ABERNATHY: WAIT, WHAT? I’M GOING HOME, WORMY. LET THESE CHAPS GO, IF YOU LIKE, BUT I NEED TO USE THE LITTLE ENERGY BEAM YOU’VE GOT HERE, REMEMBER?

WORM KING: SURE, MAN, SURE… BUT PROMISE ME. SAY YOU’LL DO IT.

ABERNATHY: I, UH… YEAH, SURE. OF COURSE. WHATEVER YOU WANT. NOW CAN YOU REVERSE THE POLARITY OF THE –

WORM KING: YEAH, YEAH… COOL… TOTALLY COOL…

The Worm King glows with the same energy coming out of the beam, as though he and it are physically linked. He rises up out of his throne… the ceiling starts to split… the beam and the energy surrounding the Worm King change colour as the Worm King rises, writhes, continues to ascend towards the ceiling of his throne room…

The energy grows and fills the room with blinding light. Abernathy covers his eyes as the beam expands and sweeps him up…

The Worm King finally breaks out of his crumbling tower, eager to see the sun under the influence of this powerful chemical mind-bender. The tower collapses… and the Worm King disappears into the blinding light filling the panel.

EPILOGUE: A FINE MESS/SHADES OF GREY

EXT. CITY ALLEYWAY

We’re back in ‘the real world’, in a grey, unremarkable alleyway.

Abernathy is, much as we first saw him, sprawled on the floor. He sits up and looks around.

We ‘pan out’, as it were (two or three panels gradually pulling back perspective) to see that he is not alone.

The grey folk were apparently flung into the Worm King’s energy beam also… and there are now dozens of them crowded in the street. They are all staring at him.

Abernathy doesn’t bother standing.

ABERNATHY: BOLLOCKS.

THE END…?