by Neil Gaiman
MRS DOWLING
Honey. Look what they used to think dinosaurs looked like. They’re old. And educational.
WARLOCK
It’s dumb.
MRS DOWLING
It’s not dumb, sweetie. It’s a dinosaur.
WARLOCK
A dumbasaur more like. Can we talk about my birthday party? Why can’t we have my party in an escape room?
Mrs Dowling drags him over to the next dinosaur. We pull back to see that Crowley and Aziraphale were both watching.
CROWLEY
Dinosaurs! What normal kid doesn’t like monsters?
AZIRAPHALE
But it’s good he’s not interested in flesh-tearing giant lizards! Isn’t it?
CROWLEY
I don’t know . . . You know, I still don’t understand the point of creating a world complete with ancient dinosaur skeletons.
AZIRAPHALE
Just one of God’s many little jokes. One that the paleontologists can’t appreciate.
CROWLEY
Doesn’t exactly have a punch line, either.
AZIRAPHALE
When’s his eleventh birthday?
CROWLEY
Wednesday. That’s when it begins. Or, if we’ve done our job right, it doesn’t. The hell-hound will be the key. It’ll show up at three on Wednesday.
AZIRAPHALE
You haven’t actually mentioned a hell-hound before.
CROWLEY
Well, they’re sending him a hell-hound, to pad by his side and guard him from all harm. Biggest one they’ve got.
AZIRAPHALE
Won’t people remark on the sudden appearance of a huge black dog? His parents, for a start.
CROWLEY
Nobody’s going to notice anything. It’s reality, angel. And young Warlock can do what he wants, whether he knows it or not.
While they are talking, the camera wanders over various stone shapes: the faces of our Victorian dinosaur monsters.
CROWLEY (CONT’D)
It’s the start of it all. The boy’s meant to name it: Stalks By Night, or Throat-Ripper or something like that. But if you and I have done our job, properly, he’ll send it away, unnamed.
AZIRAPHALE
And if he does name it?
CROWLEY
Then you and I have lost. He’ll have all his powers, and Armageddon will be days away.
AZIRAPHALE
There must be some way of stopping it.
CROWLEY
If there’s no boy, then the process would stop.
AZIRAPHALE
Yes, but there IS a boy. He’s over there writing a rude word on a Victorian dinosaur.
CROWLEY
There is a boy, now. But that could change.
(he waits for the penny to drop)
Something could happen to him.
(another beat)
I’m saying you could kill him.
There’s a pause. Then . . .
AZIRAPHALE
I’ve never actually killed anything. I don’t think I could.
CROWLEY
Not even to save . . . everything? One life against the universe?
Aziraphale is not convinced. He changes the subject . . .
AZIRAPHALE
This hell-hound. It will show up at his birthday party?
CROWLEY
Yes.
AZIRAPHALE
We should be there. Maybe I can stop the dog. In fact . . .
(he’s just had an idea)
I could . . . Entertain.
CROWLEY
No. Please, no.
AZIRAPHALE
(wiggling his fingers)
I’d just need to get back in practice.
Shows a coin. Attempts a French Drop with coin. Drops it. Fumbles around to pick it up.
CROWLEY
Don’t do your magic act. Please. I am actually begging you, and you have no idea how demeaning that is. Please.
Aziraphale reaches behind Crowley’s ear.
CROWLEY (CONT’D)
It was in your finger.
AZIRAPHALE
No, it was in your ear.
CROWLEY
It was in your pocket and then . . .
AZIRAPHALE
It was close to your ear . . .
CROWLEY
It was never anywhere near my ear.
AZIRAPHALE
You are no fun.
CROWLEY
Fun? It’s humiliating. You can do proper magic, you can make things disappear.
AZIRAPHALE
But it’s not as fun.
CROWLEY
I’ll make you disappear.
197EXT. WARLOCK’S PARTY – DAY
TITLE CARD: WEDNESDAY
We are in a huge tent in Warlock’s back garden. It’s a party! Birthday balloons. We have a couple of dozen ELEVEN-YEAR-OLDS, all very well dressed. Warlock is wearing an 11 badge, the kind you get off a birthday card.
We also have some secret service officers. The same ones we saw eleven years ago, just a little older.
We have CATERERS, all wearing white food-serving jackets, even Crowley, who seems to be in charge of them, and is waiting by the cake. There are trifles and jellies and such.
Crowley looks down in embarrassment.
The kids all look bewildered – horrified – saddened. Because, up on a little stage . . .
It’s Aziraphale! Dressed in the style of a Victorian conjurer, top hat and tails and all, in clothes he bought a hundred and fifty years ago and has not worn for fifty, and has never dry-cleaned. Proud as punch.
THE AMAZING MISTER FELL AND HIS REMARKABLE FEATS OF PRESTIDIGITATION is painted, Victorian-style, on a peeling old canvas in front of him. He has a little collapsible table, a magic wand, and he’s in heaven. Right now, he’s showing them his ancient top hat.
AZIRAPHALE
Now you sees my old top hat? ‘Where did you get that hat?’ as you young ’uns do say? Well, you also see that there is nothing inside my perfectly normal top hat such as any of you might wear on a trip to the confectioners. But wait! What is this? Could it be our furry friend, Harry the Rabbit?
A rabbit is produced from the hat. The kids are unimpressed.
WARLOCK
It was in the table.
TRIXIE
You said there were going to be a celebrity magician. I had Penn and Teller at my party. An’ I had a silent disco an’ I got a . . .
WARLOCK
You’re rubbish.
TARQUIN
Excuse me. Excuse me. He’s right, you know. You are actually rubbish.
Crowley is looking around for the black hound. He looks at the clock – two minutes to three. Checks his watch: almost three . . .
AZIRAPHALE
(pressing on)
Do any of you young ’uns have such a thing as a thrupenny bit about your persons? No? Well, what’s that behind your ear?
Crowley is counting the seconds now. Five, four, three, two . . .
198INT. ADAM’S HOUSE – DAY
A kitchen. A cake is being iced by Deirdre Young, now eleven years older. The message says HAPPY BIRTHDAY ADAM.
Around the kitchen are all the signs of an eleven-year-old boy in occupation. A drawing on the fridge of aliens attacking, for example. Some toys on a windowsill.
Mr Young, also older and balder, puts his head around the door.
MR YOUNG
He’s not back yet?
DEIRDRE
He’s down in Hogback Wood, playing with his friends. I told him to be home by teatime.
MR YOUNG
Right. Well, give me a shout when he gets back, and we can light the candles.
199INT. WARLOCK’S PARTY – DAY
Crowley’s watch says three p.m. Crowley looks around. Nothing.
AZIRAPHALE
For my next remarkable illusion, I will need a pocket handkerchief. Does anyone have a pocket handkerchief?
Blank kids. They don’t care. Some of
them have pulled out their phones and are playing video games.
AZIRAPHALE (CONT’D)
I really will need a handkerchief. I . . .
He blinks and performs a miracle. Ping! Turns to a secret service agent.
AZIRAPHALE (CONT’D)
You, my fine young jack-sauce. If you look in your pocket, I have no doubt you will find a handkerchief.
SECRET SERVICE AGENT
M’afraid not, sir.
AZIRAPHALE
Actually. You do. Just look. Please look.
The agent reaches into his inside pocket, and looks puzzled. Then pulls out an ENORMOUS lace-edged hankie . . .
Which, as he pulls it out, snags his shoulder-holstered gun, sending it flying out of the holster.
The gun arcs slowly and gracefully and in slow motion through the air. It splashes down in a bowl of trifle near Warlock.
The kids applaud. This is more like it!
TRIXIE
Not bad.
Warlock grabs the gun. Covers the room.
WARLOCK
Hands up, scumbuckets! I got a gun.
A beat. The guards look around, panicky, and aren’t sure what to do . . .
TARQUIN throws a lump of cake at Warlock, who whirls around, and reflexively, squeezes the trigger . . .
FREEZE IMAGE.
GOD (V.O.)
A .357 hollow point cartridge, shot from a Secret Service Sig Sauer P229 at 1,430 feet per second, will normally leave behind a red mist in the air and a certain amount of Secret Service paperwork.
1100INT. WARLOCK’S PARTY – DAY
CLOSE UP on Aziraphale’s face. He does a miracle blink, and . . .
A stream of water comes from the nozzle of Warlock’s gun, and soaks Tarquin. The gun is now a water pistol.
Aziraphale looks rather proud of himself.
And then a huge lump of birthday trifle hits him in the face. Guards are (puzzled) firing water pistol guns. Kids are (enthusiastically) firing water pistol guns.
Perfectly timed lumps of jelly and trifle and cake are being thrown around. IT’S A FOOD FIGHT!
WARLOCK
Best Eleventh Birthday Ever!
1101EXT. WARLOCK’S RESIDENCE – DAY
The street outside. Crowley is standing, looking worried. Aziraphale joins him. He’s reaching into his sleeve.
AZIRAPHALE
It was all a bit of a disaster, I’m afraid.
CROWLEY
Nonsense. You gave them all a party to remember. Last one any of them will ever have, mind . . .
Aziraphale has removed a dove from his sleeve. He’s prodding it, but it’s dead.
AZIRAPHALE
It’s late.
CROWLEY
Comes of putting it up your sleeve.
AZIRAPHALE
No. The hell-hound. It’s late.
Crowley irritably snaps his fingers at the dead dove, which flutters and flies off. He reaches into the Bentley and turns on the radio. It’s Just a Minute . . .
NICHOLAS PARSONS (V.O.)
And you have just a minute to tell us all about fish fingers, starting – Hello Crowley. Is something wrong?
CROWLEY
Um. Hi. Who’s this?
NICHOLAS PARSONS
Dagon. Lord of the Files. Master of Torments.
CROWLEY
Yeah. Just checking in about the hell-hound . . .
NICHOLAS PARSONS
He was released minutes ago. He should be with you by now. Why? Has something gone wrong, Crowley?
CROWLEY
Wrong? No . . . Nothing’s wrong. What could be wrong? I can see it now. What a lovely big helly hell-hound. Hey, great talking to you.
He turns off the radio.
AZIRAPHALE
No dog.
CROWLEY
No dog.
AZIRAPHALE
Wrong boy.
CROWLEY
Wrong boy.
There’s a gunshot.
AZIRAPHALE
(not swearing)
Oh sugar! I must have missed one.
CROWLEY
Armageddon is days away. And we’ve lost the Antichrist. Get in.
Aziraphale just stands there, shocked.
AZIRAPHALE
I don’t understand. How could we lose the Antichrist?
1102EXT. TADFIELD – DAY
Still a beautiful little village in England. We are moving through it. The clock on the village steeple is striking three.
1103EXT. TADFIELD: THE ROAD TO HOGBACK WOOD – DAY
Look! This is Hogback Wood. It’s a perfect place for kids to play. An area of natural beauty that adults have forgotten. And there’s a lane above it.
Birds are singing. A lazy bumble bee buzzes in the flowers at the side of the lane.
Down in the wood we can see CHILDREN, four of them, all about eleven, playing.
They are a gang of four. They look harmless and sweet and VULNERABLE . . .
PEPPER, a girl, has a wooden sword, and is battling BRIAN, a grubby boy with a toy crown.
WENSLEYDALE, a thoughtful, bespectacled boy, has a battered book of 1001 Scientific Things a Boy Can Do. He is weighing a potato against a stone on an improvised scales, adding stones to the pan to get them to balance . . .
And one of them, who has been up in a tree, comes down a rope: golden-haired, glorious, the ultimate eleven-year-old. It MUST be ADAM.
GOD (V.O.)
The right boy was playing in the woods with his friends. After all, it was his birthday. Hogback Wood was their Eden where they could play unbothered by adults. The children called themselves The Them. Pepper and Brian. Wensleydale. And the birthday boy, their leader, who found their den and invented the best games of all: Adam.
And now we hear something, as the last of the bell chimes fades away. Something metallic and disturbing, rumbling and nightmarish.
A ripping, rumbling noise, and now, LOOK! There’s a beat, and in front of us, on the lane, appears, from Hell . . .
The HELL-HOUND.
It’s huge: a terrifying monster of a dog. The Hound of the Baskervilles would take one look at this brute and flee, whimpering.
It looks at the kids in the woods below, hungrily and evilly . . .
And it opens its mouth and growls terrifyingly, showing huge and awful teeth.
We want to shoot this sequence like a horror movie, from the point of view of the monster: we KNOW these kids are soon going to be munchies . . .
We slowly hear their conversation, as if it’s been going for a while, and the hell-hound is listening.
ADAM
It’s my birthday, of course I’m going to get a dog.
PEPPER
Nobody actually said you were going to get a dog, Adam.
(to Brian)
Have at thee alien fiend!
BRIAN
Your dad’d be complaining about buying dogfood.
(to Pepper)
I’m not an alien. I’m a barbarian.
WENSLEYDALE
(without looking up)
They eat privet.
BRIAN
Dogs don’t eat privet, Wensley.
WENSLEYDALE
Stick insects do. They’re very interesting, actually. They eat each other when they’re mating.
PEPPER
That’s praying mantises.
ADAM
What’re they praying for?
PEPPER
Praying they don’t get married, I expect.
Pepper strikes, and Brian falls back. He drops.
BRIAN
You win, Pepper, oh mighty warrior. I give you my crown.
PEPPER
So are you a barbarian king or an alien one?
And now the hell-hound is padding down into Hogback Wood. The kids are getting up from whatever they’ve been doing around the wood, and are getting ready to go home . . .
The hell-hound! Its eyes are red. Saliva slathers down from its jaws and burns the leaf mould.
PEPPER (CONT’D)
They never get you what you want. I wanted a bike, and I asked for it, and I told them I wanted a razorblade saddle and twelve gears and everything, and do you know what they got me? A girls’ bike. With a basket.
