A hand reaches into shot and turns the TV off —
Joy WAKES WITH A START and sees George standing in the room…mostly. He’s leaning RIGHT THROUGH THE WALL to shut the TV off—and here he stands caught in the act, literally half-in and half-out of the room.
Joy SCREAMS and pulls the covers up around her in a slightly absurd protective gesture. George flinches, starts to retreat. But then Joy POINTS at him, terrified but now also indignant, like someone catching a pet doing something naughty.
JOY (CONT’D)
Don’t you dare move! You stay right where you are!
George does, looking both upset and bemused.
JOY (CONT’D)
What are you doing?
GEORGE
Turning off the TV. It wastes energy.
JOY
I mean what are you doing in my room?!
GEORGE
It’s a long story.
JOY
(beginning to get it)
You’re—you’re a ghost! You’re a real English ghost!
GEORGE
I don’t know if ghost is the word.
JOY
Will you please either come in all the way or get out?
(hurried beat)
Never mind “out”, just get in here!
George steps all the way in, abashed.
JOY (CONT’D)
You really are a ghost! Oh my gosh —what do I — Do you need me to do something so you can rest?
GEORGE
I am resting. Thirty years, I worked for Bletchley and Coone. You want punishment, try forty years of being a chartered accountant! Hardly any holidays! No pension plan! Now I finally get to relax, and it’s very nice, thank you.
JOY
But you’re dead.
GEORGE
It happens to the best of us.
JOY
But most dead people don’t—stay.
GEORGE
Some do. Hardly anybody notices.
JOY
I guess not. You don’t look transparent or anything.
(suspicious but interested)
What kind of ghost things can you do? Go invisible or something!
GEORGE
You mean turn myself off like a lightbulb? That’s just fairy tales. Some people see us. Some can’t until someone convinces them to. Some never can at all.
JOY
Are there a lot of you?
GEORGE
Here? Twenty rooms… eighteen “ghosts.”
JOY
My gosh. No wonder this place looks so…
GEORGE
“Dead?” Yes.
(beat)
I must say, you’re taking this very well.
Joy jumps up out of bed, throws a robe on over her pajamas.
JOY
No I am not! As soon as I can get in touch with my husband —
GEORGE
(not provocative: just sad)
— and tell him that the hotel is haunted —
Joy stops and looks at him.
JOY
You said “eighteen ghosts”.
GEORGE
You and your husband are the only “live ones” at the moment, yes. Except for my wife.
JOY
Gunter…
GEORGE
Gunter’s been around this neighborhood since August 1940. The bomber he was flying crashed just a few streets from here.
Joy is flabbergasted. Then the reaction turns to anger.
JOY
You just get out of my room. And stay out of my way. I need to have a talk with your wife.
INT. ORMONDE HOTEL LOBBY DESK—NIGHT
Joy’s finger pressing down hard on the RING HERE FOR SERVICE bell, with the associated strident RINGING. After a few moments, Doris appears, looking sleepy and confused.
JOY
I want you to find me another place to stay. Right now.
DORIS
(not sure what’s wrong)
Why, if there’s something wrong, do let me —
JOY
I met your husband.
DORIS
(uneasy)
And…?
JOY
He’s dead! And so is everyone else here but us!
DORIS
Uh, yes.
JOY
And you let them stay here!
Doris comes out from behind the desk and starts unnecessarily “tidying” the front of the reception area. She’s becoming annoyed in a way she can’t usually allow to show.
DORIS
Well, of course I do! Everybody has to have somewhere to stay! Do you think I want them to have to live in the street in cardboard boxes, like homeless people?
JOY
Boxes is where they belong!
DORIS
Not if they’re not properly dead.
JOY
Well, why aren’t they?
DORIS
How should I know? Some people just don’t go…wherever dead people go. They wind up wandering around alone, hiding in shadows, lying in doorways, and people don’t even see them, the way they don’t “see” the homeless. It’s not right!
Finally Doris stops tidying and sits down on one of the chairs. She’s less vehement now, and sadder.
DORIS (CONT’D)
When George died after he retired, and he didn’t go on…we had to move out of the hotel we were running in the Midlands: the neighbors would have noticed. We came down here and started running this place… and we found so many others who hadn’t gone on, either. They had nowhere else. I had to give them somewhere to stay. Surely you understand!
Joy is caught between astonishment and growing pity, and the “common sense” reaction, which asserts itself —
JOY
I understand that I’m not staying another night in a shabby old hotel full of corpses!
DORIS
(indignant)
They’re not corpses! They’re very clean. It’s just hard to afford help to keep the place up.
JOY
I guess with all your rooms full of the undead all the time, you don’t get a lot of paying guests.
Doris gets twitchy again, GETS UP to straighten things on the reception desk.
DORIS
Well, no! And I can’t ask the others to pay. What have they got to pay with? You try keeping your bank account after you’re dead. Or your credit card.
JOY
No, I guess Visa might not understand.
Joy sits down where she was, makes a pretence of looking at one of the magazines on the nearby table while the dialogue continues… then tosses it away. Doris frowns and comes over to straighten up the pile again.
DORIS
And it’s not like they can just go out and get a job. Things are hard enough for live people these days.
JOY
Yes….
DORIS
They just need someone to take care of them, that’s all. Their families won’t do it. One little girl who got killed in the Blitz, she tried to go home and they exorcised her! Others… all the people they knew are dead, and gone on. They don’t know the way to wherever the next thing is. There’s nowhere else for them.
Joy gets up, hesitates, her face unrevealing. Doris studies the face, sees no sympathy there, turns away and goes back behind the desk.
DORIS (CONT’D)
I’ll call around and see what I can find for you.
Joy says nothing.
George comes out of the little office. Joy looks at him and Doris. Doris holds out a hand to him. George looks at her in some confusion. Wordlessly, Doris insists. George reaches out to her, as if to take her hand. His hand GOES THROUGH hers.
Joy sees this. A moment’s beat as she registers the painful look that passes between Doris and George. This would seem to be an old story: they keep trying…but it never works.
GEORGE
(to Joy)
You see how it is. We can touch things. But not the living.
/> (to Doris: dull sorrow)
Not each other.
JOY
Oh… oh dear. I see.
DORIS
(to George)
Where’s the hotel list, love?
GEORGE
Second drawer down in the desk.
Doris gets up, goes back into the little room. George just looks at Joy: then gets up and goes off toward the front door. Joy stands there a moment, stricken.
In the little office, Doris is dialing. She waits.
DORIS
Yes, reservations, please… thank you. Michael, this is —
From behind, Joy’s hand reaches to the phone and pushes the hang-up button.
JOY
No.
DORIS
But you said —
JOY
Forget what I said. I’m sorry.
DORIS
But don’t you want —
JOY
Probably I should get some sleep. So should you.
(beat)
Does he? Sleep?
DORIS
Oh yes. And he snores.
A slight smile—they really do like each other, these two women, despite the shocks of the moment.
Joy heads for the lift, passing George as she goes. A look between them: nervous, on both sides. But Joy likes him too.
JOY
I’ll leave the TV off.
GEORGE
(for more than that)
Thank you.
Rubbing her head like a woman who has an Excedrin headache coming on, Joy gets into the lift and goes upstairs.
EXT. STREET OUTSIDE ORMONDE HOTEL—NIGHT
Joy at her window. She looks out: hers is the only light on. A detector van of the kind we saw earlier PULLS UP outside the hotel on the opposite side of the street, SHUTS OFF lights and engine. Joy shuts her curtains: her room lights GO OUT.
INT. DETECTOR VAN—NIGHT
Like something the CIA would love to be able to afford—crammed with high-tech monitoring devices, video and audio. Two men, FIRST TECH and SECOND TECH, are inside. They look rather blue-collar: the second one is reading the News of the World (the headline says DWARF RAPES NUN, FLEES IN UFO).
FIRST TECH
Mike was right. We’ve got a nice strong multiple reading in there.
SECOND TECH
How many?
FIRST TECH
At least ten. All self-aware and better than level six.
SECOND TECH
Right.
(peers at his buddy’s reading)
We’ll come back with a test matrix set for one. If the quality’s good we’ll bring another matrix tailored for twenty and make a clean sweep.
The First Tech adjusts one of the pieces of machinery: it emits a soft HUM which we will hear again later under other circumstances. He adjusts it again, and the hum softens down.
FIRST TECH
Why not just sweep it now?
SECOND TECH
Without a quality assay? No way. Remember Geoff on the day shift?
FIRST TECH
Yeah.
SECOND TECH
He was surveying over by Bishopsgate —found three hundred residuals in a single batch. Geoff thought he was in for a fat productivity bonus, and grabbed the lot without assaying a sample first. When they were decanted, the whole load turned out to be leftover loonies from Bedlam. Didn’t even know they were dead. Useless.
FIRST TECH
Bloody hell. What happened to Geoff?
SECOND TECH
They reassigned him to Customer Service.
FIRST TECH
‘Strewth. Right, let’s wait till tomorrow.
They drive off.
INT. ORMONDE HOTEL BREAKFAST ROOM—MORNING
Joy eats her breakfast while reading the paper. George passes by her table, purposely “walking small” and trying not to be noticed.
JOY
George —
He pauses, tense.
GEORGE
Mrs. Collins?
JOY
Your people are strange.
GEORGE
My people —
JOY
The English.
The tension lessens. Joy points at the paper with a piece of bacon she’s holding.
JOY (CONT’D)
This lord of yours says his estate is being ruined by UFOs leaving crop circles all over his fields. Lord —
(pronounces it as spelled)
Cholomondeley.
GEORGE
“Chumley.”
JOY
What?
GEORGE
It’s pronounced “Chumley”.
JOY
Where’d all the other letters go?
GEORGE
Maybe we lost them during rationing?
(smiles)
Truthfully? I haven’t a clue.
JOY
Weird. But not as weird as this naked lady on page three. And what’s this “Mrs. Collins” stuff?
GEORGE
I’ll bring you a newspaper without the naked lady… Joy.
JOY
Cut it out, George. This one’s fine.
He MOVES OFF. Joy bites into the bacon… with the same kind of results you might get from biting a rubber band. Finally she puts it down. George comes by again with some used dishes.
JOY (CONT’D)
Oh, and George? What’s the van with the antenna on it that comes by at night? Somebody else here looking for UFOs?
GEORGE
Van? Oh, probably you saw a TV license van.
JOY
TV license? You have to have a license for a TV here?
(completely bemused)
Next you’ll be telling me the authorities prowl around and ticket you for viewing while under the influence.
GEORGE
Not quite. They do scan for illegal TV’s, though.
JOY
Illegal TV’s. What a place…
George goes off, looking amused and relieved.
Gunter PAUSES by Joy’s table. She gives him a long look, working out her own reaction. Gunter WAITS. Finally Joy points at the chair. Gunter sits down: she puts the paper aside.
JOY (CONT’D)
And as for you. Why didn’t you tell me?!
GUNTER
What? That I was dead?
JOY
Yeah, well, all right.
(beat)
You just look so normal.
GUNTER
I was normal. Most of us look the way we looked just before. A few look younger, or some other way they like to look, if their will’s strong enough.
JOY
But how —
(embarrassed)
I’m sorry. I’m so nosey. It’s just —
GUNTER
You’ve never talked to any dead people? I do not talk to that many “live ones,” myself, as a rule. One does not desire to, well, attract attention, when one legally does not exist.
(beat)
Come meet the others. They are curious about you too, you know.
Joy gets up, and they EXIT SHOT.
INT. ORMONDE HOTEL LOUNGE—MORNING
Amid yet more of the sixties-tacky decor, HOTEL GUESTS sit reading papers, etc. As Joy and Gunter pause in the doorway, everyone looks at Joy, curious and nervous.
GUNTER
Come on. They won’t bite.
JOY
(nervous)
No, that’s vampires, isn’t it…
Near the door is SARAH (blond, fourteen, an innocent Alice-in-Wonderland face). Her clothes are old-fashioned looking on such a young girl: dark dress, white blouse.
GUNTER
Joy, this is Sarah. She lived around the corner in the mid-1800’s.
SARAH
Oh, are you really an American? I’ve got so much to ask you! I always wanted to visit the frontier, before.
She won’t finish and say “before I died”. Once again Joy almost reaches out to her, then sto
ps. She’s learning.
JOY
Yes. It’s very nice to meet you.
SARAH
I’d love to see a Wild West show! Do they do them where you live?
JOY
I’d have to check.
Then they come to PARIO (dark, mid-thirties, wearing oversized T-shirt and jeans), reading the daily racing form. He kisses his fingers amiably to Joy as she’s introduced.
GUNTER
And this is Pario.
PARIO
Ah, che bella dom’na, falÈ!
JOY
You’re Italian!
GUNTER
Pario was a race driver.
JOY
Isn’t that exciting!
PARIO
(casual)
It was a living.
GUNTER
He was touring the racing circuit in 86 AD when his chariot went over in the London arena, and an opponent’s horses trampled him.
JOY
Oh no!
Pario SHRUGS at Joy, SMILES, goes back to his racing form.
JOY (CONT’D)
This is where George gets his hot tips?
GUNTER
Pario knows a good horse when he sees one.
PARIO
(from behind his form)
After two thousand years, I ought to.
GUNTER
Pario’s tips bring in a lot of the money we need to keep the place going.
They move on to LORNA (tall, slender, elegant, in subdued turn-of-the-century clothes). Her demeanor is very grand, like a retired duchess or actress.
GUNTER (CONT’D)
This is Lorna. She did music-hall work just before the Great War.
JOY
(confused)
Which one is that?
LORNA
Why, the war to end all wars, my dear.
JOY
Oh. Yes. Nice to meet you.
They move away, pause to look out the breakfast-room window into the little garden—postage-stamp size, a few flowers in a tiny bed, garden gnomes with peeling paint, walls on three sides: not much else.
JOY (CONT’D)
(sotto)
How do we tell her it didn’t work?
GUNTER
We don’t. Some of the residents don’t really want to be in this century, so they don’t notice it. It’s just as well. None of us have anywhere else to go.
JOY
You seem to do okay.
GUNTER
(shrugs: a little sad)
I was always adaptable. That didn’t change. But for us, nothing does.
Joy glances at the clock, looks concerned.
JOY
Oh, wow, I’ve got to get a move on. Harry’ll be waiting.
GUNTER
Are you going to be busy for lunch?
JOY
I don’t know…I’m not sure how long this thing goes on.