The Autumn People

Charles Halloway: By the Pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.

Mr. Dark: ..then rang the bells both loud and deep, God is not dead, nor doth he sleep.

CH: The wrong will fail, the right prevails... with peace on Earth good will to man.

MD: It’s a thousand  years to Christmas Mr. Halloway.

CH: You’re wrong. It's here... in this library... tonight. And it can’t be spoiled.

MD: Did Will and Jim bring it with them on the soles of their shoes? Then we must scrape them. Will? Jim? Free rides on the Merry-Go-Round. How would you like to be King of the Carnival, Jim? The ruler of the rides? How would you like to be grown up, Jim? How would that feel? Not to be looked down at. Not to be told to run away and play. To be trusted. To be feared. To know what grown-ups do behind locked doors when children are asleep. Come out to me, Jim. I’m the father you have been waiting for. My son. 

CH: I know who you are…you are the Autumn People.  Where do you come from…the dust.  Where do you go to…the grave.

MD: Yes. We are the hungry ones. Your torment calls us like dogs in the night. And we do feed. And feed well.

CH: You stuff yourselves on other people’s nightmares.

MD: And butter our plain bread with delicious pain. So, you do understand a little.

CH: You are known in this town. My father knew you.

MD: Your father? The preacher? That half man?

CH: Could have done goodness.

MD: Tasteless fair, funerals, bad marriages, lost loves, lonely beds- that is our diet. We suck that misery and find it sweet. We search for more, always. We can smell young boys ulcerating to be men a thousand miles off.  And hear a middle aged fool like you, groaning with midnight despairs from half way round the world. Your books cannot hurt me, old man. Yes, old, because your heart is old. Listen to it. Tell me where the boys are hiding and I can make you young again.