KING: White noise, yeah I know what white noise is, now let go of—
PRINCESS: (slowly adult) That’s what becomes of my life Stephen. That’s what fills my days and nights. White noise. Can you blame me for running into another man’s arms? Can you blame me for wanting to feel attractive and useful and interesting and to be the Donna I was; because I was interesting and fun and lovely goddamnit, I wasn’t just some lowly housewife stuck with a kid and being there for a husband who’s preoccupied with his fucking career… Jesus Christ!
KING: Come on calm down, let me go will ya?
The dogs start barking again
PRINCESS: (building into foaming frenzy) Oh Stephen help me out please. Before it gets to that point, just help me out. Teach me to be content and happy and completely satisfied with the husband who cares for me and provides for me and the kid who I do adore, I do, I do adore, I do, I do, but if I fuck up and if I let myself do that with him, that fucking man that fixes something inside of me, God knows why but he does, he just makes me feel alive again but its wrong; oh and if it continues then please, please I beg of you to let that rabid dog teach me a lesson. Let that rabid dog tear into my flesh with its foaming mouth and bloodstained teeth and may the hydrophobia run rampant through my veins! Call him something memorable! Call him something that will haunt me forever, call him something that will remind me that I ruined something that was truly wonderful and warm and safe!
King breaks from her grasp and types dramatically:
KING: (singing) C-U-J-O! And Cujo was his name-o!
Princess is calm. She smiles at him
PRINCESS: Perfect.
She kisses him on the cheek
PRINCESS: Happy writing.
The others circle him
MR KNIGHT: A dead cat comes back to life…
PRINCETON: A psychic who helps the fuzz track down some psychopath…
QUEENIE: I’ve always loved the movies of Bert I. Gordon. He did all those big monster movies.
PRINCETON: How about a writer who’s trying to do something different but he just can’t because he’s so well received in a particular style of…
PRINCESS: And the kid is like floating in mid air and tapping on the window…
MR KNIGHT: All work…
QUEENIE: A circle of circumstance all leads up to one event…
PRINCETON: Every body’s scared of clowns for fuck’s sake; I mean look at ’em!
PRINCESS: …and the kid is tapping on the window saying “Let me in, the master commands it”…
MR KNIGHT: No play…
PRINCESS: …but the weirdest thing about that is that the kid has been dead for like a week…
PRINCETON: What about werewolves?
QUEENIE: Religious sects?
MR KNIGHT: Greasers?
PRINCETON: Monsters in the closet?
QUEENIE: How about linking the stories? Two characters from two separate novels mention the same hotel they once stayed at…
MR. KNIGHT: Necrophilia? Rape? Incest? Pedophilia? Scatology?
PRINCETON: Bad dreams?
PRINCESS: Bad parenting?
QUEENIE: Bad acid trip?
MR. KNIGHT: Bad writing?
PRINCETON: Helping out a friend the best way you can…
PRINCESS: Being punished for the mistakes you’ve made…
PRINCETON: Coming home to write a novel…
PRINCESS: Channeling your secret gift…
MR KNIGHT: Jack’s a dull boy.
Queenie breaks out of the moment and resumes her old persona; that of the assistant. She looks concerned with King and approaches him:
QUEENIE: Steve? Steve you ok? (beat) Have you heard from Tabitha and the kids?
KING: Nope. Not yet. I’m sure they’re doin’ fine.
QUEENIE: You need anything?
KING: Yeah.
QUEENIE: What is it? What can I get you?
KING: I need a drink.
He pours himself another drink
QUEENIE: Look after yourself. I’m off for the rest of the day.
KING: Toodles.
Queenie is enveloped by darkness
Mr. Knight stands over King’s shoulder as he drinks and slowly types
MR KNIGHT: Hi.
KING: Who are you?
MR KNIGHT: The door was left open so I just thought—
KING: You thought wrong buddy get lost.
MR KNIGHT: Well I really wanted to talk to you Mr. King.
KING: I ain’t interested. I’m working here.
MR KNIGHT: Well that’s the reason I turned up. That’s what I want to talk to you about. Your work.
KING: I’m gonna call the police.
King goes to the phone. Mr Knight stops him with:
MR KNIGHT: The work of a writer is like nobody’s whore.
KING: What?
MR KNIGHT: That’s just something I wrote. I’m somewhat of a bedroom novelist.
KING: You’re lying.
MR KNIGHT: No I ain’t lying. I’m deadly serious.
KING: Who are you?
MR KNIGHT: (sadly amused) Who am I? That’s not important. Sadly, it’s not important at all. But it could have been. I could have been the well known much loved writer everyone raves about. But I’m not. I’ll always be the bedroom novelist. Stuck in his house writing stuff that’ll never be read by the likes of anyone.
KING: Look I’ll give you three seconds to get outta here—
MR KNIGHT: (dead seriousness) I wrote “Carrie”.
KING: You what?
MR KNIGHT: I was the guy that penned that classic.
KING: What are you talking about?
MR KNIGHT: I wrote the first draft of “Carrie” and you found it and you ripped it off.
KING: You’re crazy.
Mr Knight turns menacing
MR KNIGHT: Oh I can be. You want me to go crazy? I can get as fucking crazy as Jack… you know? From “The Shining”?
KING: Let me guess, you wrote that too?
MR KNIGHT: Damn fucking straight!
KING: Get lost.
MR KNIGHT: I wrote these stories and you stole them off me! you made millions from ’em and I still live alone in that fucking project—
KING: (counting fast) One two three, you’re out.
He picks up the phone quickly but Mr Knight as this crazed man lifts up a gun, aiming it straight at him:
MR KNIGHT: Put the phone down Mr. King.
KING: What the fuck?
MR KNIGHT: Put the phone down and pick up a pen and do the best writing you can do.
KING: What do you want from me?
MR KNIGHT: I want you to write me a cheque. A cheque for five million dollars. It ain’t too much to ask for seeing as you ripped me off for everything I wrote.
KING: You’re deranged.
MR KNIGHT: All work and no play made me that way. Now write!
King goes to his desk and slowly gets a cheque book and starts to write
MR KNIGHT: How you can sleep at night knowing that those stories you sold weren’t really yours. My God…
KING: Who do I make it out to?
MR KNIGHT: What?
KING: Who do I write the cheque for? What’s your name?
MR KNIGHT: My name?
KING: Yes, you’re name!
MR KNIGHT: I—It’s not important.
King’s fear turns to puzzlement. Before he can react Princeton approaches; he’s the errands boy from earlier. He sees the situation and wrestles Mr Knight to the ground