KING: Cheap kids, cheap thrills.
PRINCETON: No one for the local art teacher?
PRINCESS: There’s one guy that hangs around. But he’s ancient history now.
PRINCETON: Really?
KING: Small towns have their secrets.
PRINCESS: Oh he gets lonely now and then and I—well I help him out…
PRINCETON: A living breathing cure to the small town blues huh?
PRINCESS: Hardly. Everything is done out of boredom here.
PRINCETON: And that’s ninety nine percent of the reason why I became a writer Miss-?
PRINCESS: Norton. Susan Norton.
PRINCETON: Oh Doctor Norton’s girl?
KING: Old friends. Old ties.
PRINCETON: I wonder if he’ll remember me.
PRINCESS: Daddy never forgets a face.
KING: Tell her about the house kid. The house from your childhood. The main reason you’re back in town.
PRINCETON: Do you know the Marsten house?
PRINCESS: Who doesn’t?
PRINCETON: That notorious huh?
PRINCESS: Definitely. Every town needs a haunted house. It keeps the local kids occupied. It’s either that or cheap boxed wine and pot.
KING: I need another drink.
PRINCETON: I was one of those curious kids. I was dared to go in there.
PRINCESS: It gives me the creeps.
PRINCETON: I saw unspeakable horrors in there Susan… stuff that stays with you forever.
KING: The beauty of east coast New Englanders can easily be forgotten but images of death and decay can scar you for life…
PRINCETON: Who owns the place now?
PRINCESS: Some antiques dealer.
PRINCETON: An out of Towner?
KING: Definitely. Way out of town.
PRINCESS: Judging by his suits and the shipments I’d say he’s of good stock so yes, an utter stranger to these parts. His business partner is due to arrive anytime soon too. I think they’ll be living together in the Marsten house. I hope they’re gay, it’ll add some spice to this dull ole town and give the local gossips something to whisper about. Not that they don’t whisper ‘bout anyone else; especially those who aren’t yet married or with a decent trade under their belt—hey hang on a second, is the Marsten house the reason why you’re here? Are you writing about it? You gonna tackle some kind of horror story? A contemporary American gothic chiller by Ben Mears?
PRINCETON: (he’s become smitten by her) Hey can we do dinner? I’m staying at Eva Miller’s boarding house. There’s a kitchen there and hopefully the local drunk is out for the night—
KING: So many secrets. Small towns are prone to secrecy.
PRINCESS: Oh Weasel. He’s a drunk but he’s a darling. He and Eva Miller used to date. Can you believe that?
KING: And they will be married. In the after life.
PRINCESS: I can do better than dinner at Eva’s boarding house. How about dinner at my place? Daddy will want to see you again and I’d love mother to meet a published writer. She thinks the arts are a waste of time.
KING: This town will soon know darkness…
PRINCESS: Then once dinner is done I can show you what the local high school art teachers do for fun. There’s a couple of bars ‘round the place as you’d recall, the movies in Bangor—
PRINCETON: How about the lake?
PRINCESS: Mr. Mears how direct. You know the lake…?
PRINCETON: The lake is something I remember all too very well.
PRINCESS: The lake it is then.
KING: The prodigal son returns.
PRINCESS: Well Mr. Mears—
PRICETON: Ben. Please.
PRINCESS: Well Ben I think there’s nothing more to say than: welcome back to ‘Salem’s Lot.
They kiss
KING: Everything will stay the same forever in ‘Salem’s Lot. You’ll see.
A telephone rings. It is piercing and annoying. It causes some dogs to bark. They bark loudly and angrily
This is the first time King gets up and moves to it. It is sitting on top of the filing cabinet
He is the only one lit
KING: (into phone) Yeah? Hang on I can’t hear you. (calling out to dogs) Quiet babies daddy’s on the phone! (back into phone, they start to settle) Yeah? Hey, yeah, how you doin’? Of course I’m ok, why does every one insist on asking me that for Chrissake? (a beat)Yeah sure come on over, they could do with the exercise and I ain’t got time at the moment, I’m stuck in the middle of a fucking forest and the thickets are big and black that I need a proper sword to cut my way through if you catch my drift however the fuck you catch drifts; yep, I’ll see ya in a bit. Bye.
He hangs up and staggers back to his god. He looks over his pills and carefully selects a bottle, prying it open and swallowing a couple. He washes it down with one of Mr Knight’s beers
Princess approaches, chipper, very alive, like a ray of sunshine; its as if she doesn’t stop to breath when she talks:
PRINCESS: The door was right on open so I just came through Mr. King but you ought to be careful ‘bout that kind of thing I mean so many crazy people are out there that they would just walk right inside just the way I did but instead of being here to walk your dogs they’d be here to steal from you or beat you up or kill you or something along those lines…
KING: The dogs are waitin’ for ya.
PRINCESS: I read somewhere that dogs can sense people approaching from long distances and the way they can tell that people are approaching is just from the scent in the air…
KING: You want a sedative?
PRINCESS: Oh no no, Mr. King I’m perfectly fine, plus its nearing exams time and I really have to be on top of my game even though its always fun to blow off steam and binge drink and the like but I can’t be partied out too much these coming weeks…
KING: What do you plan to do with your future?
She’s suddenly stumped:
PRINCESS: What?
KING: Your future? Got any plans?
PRINCESS: Plans?
KING: College? A job?
PRINCESS: Oh Christ, I haven’t really thought about any of that…
She sits down, slumped, now depressed
KING: Well, dogs will always need to be worked.
King sits down. He starts typing
PRINCESS: Yeah. They will.
KING: I wouldn’t stress sweetheart, there’s plenty of time. Hey look I was starving and barely surviving for years, it wasn’t until my mid thirties that I started to reap in the goods. You got shit loads of time. Enjoy it.
She grabs his fingers and stops him from typing
PRINCESS: (suddenly deathly serious) When I reach my thirties I’ll become invisible. There won’t be any reason for me to exist really. I’ll start to miss college and miss being single and miss not being a mother. Oh what a thought. What a horrible thought. To resent your own baby, to look at the child you’ve given birth to with great disdain and annoyance, a living annoyance, a living reminder that everything is not the same and that you’re no longer the Donna you knew but some alien deathly bored outta her wits sod known only as mamma or mommy or ma.
KING: I gotta keep working, ya mind letting my hand go?
PRINCESS: It’s that white noise. Can you hear it?
KING: The what?
PRINCESS: You know when a television set is on somewhere in a room but the sound is down and you can’t see it though; like you’re in the kitchen and the TV is in the living room and its on but you cant hear it but you can—do you know what I’m trying to say…?