Chris Port, 2009
A multi-role play for four actors
FOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY
(An educational non-profit making adaptation of the short story Gray Matter by Stephen King, 1973, devised and scripted for GCSE Drama)
Characters (in order of appearance)
SAM CHUBB
(A bar fly)
(A bar fly)
TIM SCHOPENHAUER
(A bar owner)
RITCHIE HEDD
(A frightened young boy)
RICHARD HEDD
(A man… changing…)
JEREMY VILE
(A daytime TV chat show host)
A LAYABOUT WHO SLEEPS AROUND
(Self-explanatory)
STUDIO AUDIENCE
(Self-explanatory)
TIM, a bar owner, is having a lock-in with his friend SAM during a heavy snowstorm when a young boy runs in, deathly afraid. The men recognize him as the son of RICHARD HEDD, a local teacher who was stabbed at school some time ago and was given lifetime disability benefit. With no need to support himself, RICHARD became a recluse and started sending his son out to buy cheap beer for him. Until one day he drank a ‘bad’ can and began to change…
(Blackout. Actors make the sound of a winter wind, rising and falling. Lights up. TIM, a bar owner, and his old friend SAM CHUBB are having a lock-in.)
SAM
Wow. Listen to that wind.
TIM
(Forcing a belch / fart). Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that. Meat vindaloo keeps repeating on me.
(To invisible punter offstage). Sorry mate. We’re closed.
(In response to obvious irritation). Private function. Lock-in.
SAM
Yeah. And you’re locked out. (He necks a shotglass of JD, slams it on the bar, looks meaningfully at it, then looks hopefully at TIM). Service here is crap. Refill, bartender, refill.
TIM
Money, barponce, money.
SAM
Haven’t you heard? There’s a recession out there.
TIM
Well don’t bring it in here. Put it on the tab, shall I? (He refills SAM’s shotglass).
SAM
Ah, you’re a lovely man Tim. Despite what everyone else says about you. What’s my tab up to these days, anyway?
TIM
Sitting on the sofa picking its nose, last I heard. (He fishes out a scrap of paper, scribbles a new entry, and does the maths). So that’s why the banks went bust. (He shrugs and puts the tab away again).
SAM
(Necking his shotglass again). Listen, it’s people like me drowning their sorrows that keep people like you afloat.
TIM
(To offstage). Sorry mate. We’re closed. (He frowns). Hold on, that’s Richard Hedd’s son, isn’t it?
SAM
(Giggling). Dick Head. Teacher, wasn’t he?
TIM
Yeah. ‘Til he got stabbed.
SAM
(Giggling). Year Seven out of control again. (Turns round to look offstage). Bit underage to come in here, isn’t he?
TIM
Well, his dad’s gone a bit mental. Won’t leave the flat. Just sends the kid out to get beer for him.
SAM
Huh. Sounds like a good life to me. Got loads of compensation, I’ll bet. Lucky bastard. Don’t serve him. It’s against the law to sell to minors, anyway.
TIM
Haven’t you heard? There’s a recession out there. (Looks offstage). He looks a bit upset. Better see what’s up with him.
SAM
Too much homework, probably.
(TIM goes offstage and lets RITCHIE in. RITCHIE enters, shivering and clearly very frightened by something).
What’s up, Ritchie?
RITCHIE
Mr Schopenhauer, you’ve got to come. You’ve got to take him his beer and come. I can’t stand to go back there. Please.
TIM
Now slow down. What’s the matter? Your dad gone on a bender again?
(SAM giggles at the word ‘bender’).
RITCHIE
He’s been drinking all day. But that ain’t the problem. He’s… He’s… not my dad anymore…
SAM
(Giggling). Had a sex change, has he?
TIM
(To SAM). Shut up, Sam. (To RITCHIE). What, has he been… hitting you? … touching you?
RITCHIE
… No. It’s… worse than that… (He falls into a staring silence).
SAM
(Sobering up). Better get the Old Bill, Tim. Sounds like a job for social services.
RITCHIE
No. They won’t be able to help. Please, Mr Schopenhauer. You’ve got to take him his beer.
TIM
Okay, Ritchie. I’ll take your dad his beer. (He fills a shotglass with JD). But first, I want you to knock this back and tell me the whole story. From the beginning.
SAM
Oh, you’ll lose your licence for sure now.
(RITCHIE takes a swig of bourbon, chokes, coughs, and rubs his eyes).
TIM
Better? (RITCHIE nods). Okay, plenty of time. Tell me the whole story.
(RICHARD HEDD enters silently and sits in his armchair with a blanket draped over him, gazing blankly at the TV).
RITCHIE
It all started back in September. Dad wouldn’t go out anymore. Not after… you know… what happened at school. He just stared at the TV all day, like he didn’t care what he was watching. He even watched Jeremy Vile…
(RICHARD flicks through the channels with a remote).
(TIM and SAM become a TV programme in front of RICHARD. The Jeremy Vile Show. SAM becomes A LAYABOUT WHO SLEEPS AROUND, sprawled legs akimbo on a chair. TIM becomes a self-righteous JEREMY VILE, crouched on the floor with his studio mic, poised to attack. RITCHIE watches irately as a member of the studio audience).
And this morning, on the Jeremy Vile Show, we have Dave - A Layabout Who Sleeps Around.
SAM / LAYABOUT WHO SLEEPS AROUND
Well, the birds jus’ keep coming on ta me, know-wha-ah-mean?
RITCHIE / STUDIO AUDIENCE
Boo! Get a job you layabout!
And have you got a job, Dave?
SAM / LAYABOUT WHO SLEEPS AROUND
Nah. ‘Aven’t you ‘eard? There’s a recession out there.
So I’m paying for you to sit around on your lazy arse all day and have sex with lots of women?
SAM / LAYABOUT WHO SLEEPS AROUND
Nah. You don’t pay me nuffink.
(Firing himself up into a self-righteous rage). What do you mean, ‘Ah don’t pay you nuffink.’ I pay my taxes. (He gestures at audience). These good people here pay their taxes. To subsidise social parasites like you.
RITCHIE / STUDIO AUDIENCE
(Clapping enthusiastically). Go on, Jeremy! Humiliate him!
SAM / LAYABOUT WHO SLEEPS AROUND
Well… not my fault ah ain’t got a job, is it?
Well whose fault is it then? I mean, have you actually got up off your backside and looked for a job?
SAM / LAYABOUT WHO SLEEPS AROUND
Well… ah went dahn the job centre once. But they didn’t ‘ave much call for film stars.
(Seething with sarcasm). Oh, and you’ve trained as an actor, have you?
Yeah. Ah was always acting the fool at school, know-wha-ah-mean?
RITCHIE/STUDIO AUDIENCE
Boo! I pay taxes to keep scum like you alive!
And all these women who find an unemployed layabout so attractive? When you have sex with them, do you take precautions?
Precautions? Yeah. Always give a false name and address.
RITCHIE / STUDIO AUDIENCE
(Thrusting onto stage, clutching pregnant belly). I’m carrying your child! You bastard!
(RITCHIE / STUDIO AUDIENCE goes to attack SAM / LAYABOUT and is physically restrained by TIM / JEREMY VILE).
(Taunting). ‘Ow’d ya know it’s mine, you slag?
(To audience). Ladies and gentlemen, did this once great nation of ours fight two world wars to put up with dirty parasites like this? A Final Solution must be found, once and for all!
RITCHIE / STUDIO AUDIENCE
(Screaming hysterically). Exterminate him, Jeremy! Exterminate them all!
(RICHARD switches off the TV. The actors slump into neutral, heads down).
RICHARD
Oh god. I think I’ve lost the will to live. (He takes a swig from a beer can, realises that it’s empty, and crushes it slowly without enthusiasm. To RITCHIE). Ritchie, fetch me another beer, would you?
(RITCHIE fetches a beer can. He pops it open as he takes it to his dad. He explains to the audience).
RITCHIE
(To audience). So I got him another beer. I always popped them open for him. Something I used to do since I was little. But as I was taking this one to him, I thought I noticed a funny smell. You know sometimes you can get a tiny hole in the can? So small that the beer doesn’t dribble out? But the bacteria get in. And beer’s good food for some of those bugs.
(To RICHARD, sniffing beer as he passes can over). Dad? I don’t know if this beer smells right.
RICHARD
(Taking can). Who cares? Nothing’s right in this world, anyway. (He takes a long swig, then chokes, coughs, and rubs his eyes). God, that’s the worst taste I ever had in my mouth since your mother’s cooking, god rot her soul in hell.
RITCHIE
(To audience). Just to explain, my mother ran off with another teacher after dad’s stabbing. Said she was too embarrassed to live with a man who couldn’t handle a class of Year Sevens. I used to stay with her every other weekend… until she ran off with a city banker… (To member of audience). I said banker… Said she couldn’t stand to live with a teacher, fullstop.
RICHARD
(Groaning). I’m gonna puke. Get a saucepan! (RITCHIE runs to get a saucepan and hands it to him. RICHARD pukes his guts up into it then hands it back). Thanks.
RITCHIE
(Looking at contents of saucepan). What do you want me to do with it now?
RICHARD
(Groaning). Send it to your mother. Tell her it’s better than her cooking. (Looks at his watch). Isn’t it a school day?
RITCHIE
It’s alright. I’m only bunking Drama. All we do is play stupid concentration games and explore people’s feelings. If you ask me, that Elephant Man deserved to be bullied. Ugly looking freak. They showed us a photo of him last week and I thought I was going to throw up.
RICHARD
(Groaning). Feelings… Don’t talk to me about feelings… Go to school… And hand me back that saucepan…
RITCHIE
(To audience). So I went to school… (Starts to leave). And when I came home (does quick about turn) he was still sitting under that blanket in front of the TV. Every curtain in the flat was drawn and the place stank like cat piss.
(SAM becomes a cat. He miaows, rubs himself against RITCHIE’s legs, then squats in a feline position. He makes a ‘Pssss’ sound with a grin on his face and licks his paws).
RITCHIE
(To audience). Only we didn’t have a cat.
SAM
(To audience). Sorry. Just trying to get back into the story.
RITCHIE
(To audience). The place was so gloomy I went to turn on the light. And dad said…
RICHARD
… Turn off that bloody light!
RITCHIE
(To audience). So I turned it back off. And then dad said…
RICHARD
… Go out and get me some beer. I don’t feel like going out. Money’s on the table.
RITCHIE
(To TIM). That’s when I started buying under-the-counter take- outs from your place, Mr Schopenhauer.
TIM
(To audience, finger on lips). Shush. And not a word to the licensing people. Haven’t you heard? There’s a recession out there.
RICHARD
(To RITCHIE). Thanks, son. I’ll take it from there.
(To audience). Well, I’m getting bored just sitting under this blanket while everyone talks about me like I can’t hear!
It went on this way for a couple of months. Until one day, Ritchie came home from school and said…
RITCHIE
Dad. I’m worried about you. The flat stinks and all you do is sit in the dark and watch TV. (To audience). And dad said…
RICHARD
Turn on the light.
(RITCHIE turns on the light and turns to face his dad).
RICHARD
Look.
(One hand creeps out from under the blanket. It is covered in something slimy).
RITCHIE
Dad? What's happening to you?
RICHARD
I don’t know. But it doesn’t hurt. It feels… kind of… nice…
RITCHIE
I’m going to call the doctor.
RICHARD
(Trembling under blanket). Don't you dare. If you do I’ll touch you and you’ll end up just like this. (He reveals himself to RITCHIE but holds the blanket so the audience don’t see).
TIM
(To RITCHIE). What’d you see?
RITCHIE
(To audience). I could still see my dad. But it was like he was buried in grey jelly… And it was all kind of mashed together. His clothes were all sticking in and out of his skin. Like they were melted to his body.
SAM
(To audience). This is getting a bit spooky.
RITCHIE
(To audience). This went on for a few more weeks. ‘Til one day I came home from school. I was just about to put the key in the lock when… I heard… something… moving… inside the flat. It sounded… squishy… So I turned the key very slowly… and opened the door very quietly… I pushed the door open just a bit to look inside…
TIM / SAM
(Together). And what did you see? What did you see?
RITCHIE
(To audience). This grey… lump. Not like a man at all. And it sort of snaked out an arm… (RICHARD snakes out an arm from under the blanket). Or something like an arm… (It is covered in goo)… And it took out a cat… (A stuffed toy cat is taken out from under the chair)… A dead cat… All swollen stiff… And there were little white things crawling all over it…
TIM/SAM
(Together)
And what did he do with the cat? What did he do with the cat?
RICHARD
(To TIM and SAM). I ate it.
(He takes the cat under the blanket, buries his head, and makes terrible eating sounds).
RITCHIE
(To audience). That’s when I ran here. (To TIM). Could I have another drink, please, Mr Schopenhauer?
TIM
I think we could all use a drink after that.
(He pours a round of shots. They chink glasses).
SAM
Cheers, everyone.
(They all knock back their shots).
TIM
Right. Time to take Mr Hedd his beer.
RITCHIE
I don’t think I can go back up there, Mr Schopenhauer.
TIM
Quite right, son. I think you’ve done enough for one performance. You go and find your mother and her city banker… (To audience)… I said banker… (Back to RITCHIE). And we’ll take your dad his beer.
RITCHIE
Thanks, Mr Schopenhauer. (Starts to leave). I want my mummy… (Exits. From offstage). Mum, your cooking isn’t as bad as dad’s…
TIM
(To SAM). Right. Let’s take Mr Hedd his beer.
SAM
Why do I have to come?
TIM
After what you’ve heard, would you want to go on your own?
SAM
Fair point, well made. Tell you what, if you write off my tab, I’ll even carry the beer for you.
TIM
Good. That’ll leave my hands free.
SAM
Free for what?
TIM
This. (He pulls out an automatic pistol).
SAM
(Startled). Jeez. What do you keep that for?
TIM
Saturday nights. As Elton John said, they’re alright for fighting. Haven’t you heard? There’s a recession out there.
SAM
(To audience). So I carried the beer…
TIM
(To audience) … And I carried the gun…
SAM
(To audience) … And between us we were tooled up for the worst recession…
TIM
(To audience) … Or Saturday night…
TIM / SAM
(Together)… Imaginable.
(They creep round the stage until they reach RICHARD’s front door).
SAM
Wow. Smell that smell.
TIM
(Forcing a belch / fart). Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that. Meat vindaloo keeps repeating on me.
SAM
Worse than cat piss.
TIM
(Looking around, hopefully). Here, puss puss…?
SAM
They haven’t got a cat, remember?
TIM
Well, not a live one, anyway. (He raises his pistol and mimes knocking on the door). Mr Hedd? It’s Tim Schopenhauer here. I’ve brought your beer.
RICHARD
(Face mostly hidden by blanket, voice horribly monstrous). Where's Ritchie? Where’s my boy?
SAM
(Calling out, helpfully). He’s gone to stay with his mum.
TIM
(Quietly, to SAM). Actually, that’s not very tactful, given the circumstances.
SAM
(Quietly, to TIM). Oops. Sorry. (Calling out, helpfully). The banks have all gone bust while you’ve been hidden away in there. So she’s probably left that city banker… (Pause). I said banker…
TIM
(Calling out). Your son needs feeding up though, Mr Hedd. He looks very underfed. Thin as an alley cat, you could say…
SAM
(Quietly, to TIM). Oh that’s very tactful…
RICHARD
(Face still mostly hidden by blanket, voice horribly sly). The door’s on the latch. Push it open and push that beer through. Only pull all the ring tabs first… I… can’t…
TIM
(Calling out). In a minute. What kind of shape are you in, Mr Hedd?
RICHARD
(From under blanket, rising eagerness). Never mind that. Just push in the beer and go!
TIM
(Calling out). It’s not just dead cats any more, is it, Mr Hedd?
SAM
(Quietly, to TIM). What do you mean...?
TIM
(Quietly, to SAM). Last night’s Evening Echo. Two Year Seven’s and some city banker… (Calling out through door)… I said banker… (Quietly, to SAM)… have disappeared in town during the last three weeks or so… All after dark…
RICHARD
(From under blanket, impatient). Send it in… Or I’ll come out and get it.
TIM
(Calling out through door). I think you’d better come out, Mr Hedd. Recession or not, you can’t hide in there forever…
(RICHARD slowly emerges from under the blanket. His face and hands are covered in shiny goo, glistening under the stage lights. He moves in a slithery fashion to the door and mimes slowly opening it while the others make the sound of a long, horror film ‘CRRRRREEEAAAKKK’).
RICHARD
(Politely). Recession?
SAM
(Nervously). Yes. Haven’t you heard? There’s a recession out here.
RICHARD
(Politely). I wouldn’t know. I don’t get out much. Well, apart from the murdering…
TIM
(Nervously). But you watch TV, don’t you?
RICHARD
(Politely). Well, after watching Jeremy Vile, you don’t want to know too much about other people’s problems. A recession, you say? Sounds awful.
SAM
(Depressed). Yes. It is.
RICHARD
(Politely, gesturing behind him). Look, I know I’ve let the place get a bit rancid, what with all the dead cats and… ahem… other bits and bobs… but you’re welcome to come in for a beer or two… If you like… I don’t get much company these days…
TIM
(Looks over RICHARD’s shoulder at the squalid mess). Well, we wouldn’t want to impose ourselves. (Turns to Sam). I don’t know. What do you think?
SAM
(Shrugging). We’re bachelors. We’ve lived in worse.
RICHARD
(Looking at TIM’s gun. Politely). What’s the gun for?
TIM
(Embarrassed, whipping the gun behind his back). It’s a dangerous world out there.
SAM
Sounds much safer in here. And we’ve got beer. What more could we ask for?
RICHARD
(Smiling). Well, what are wasting valuable drinking time for? (Gestures for them to enter). Please, come in.
(TIM and SAM enter in the manner of all guests trying to make polite conversation).
TIM
(Looking around, trying not to look at dead bodies). Nice place.
RICHARD
(Apologetic). Please excuse the mess… And the… err… bodies…
SAM
(Gingerly stepping over body). Nice… Cosy…
(RICHARD slowly closes the door behind them. TIM and SAM repeat the horror film ‘CRRRRREEEAAAKKK’).
RICHARD
Bit small, I know. Not enough room to swing a dead…
TIM
(Helpfully)… Cat…?
RICHARD
(Smiling)… I was going to say child…
(RITCHIE re-enters . SAM passes out the beer cans).
SAM
Let’s agree on city wanker.
ALL
(To audience, together). You heard!
(They all raise their cans to the audience).
ALL
(To audience, together). Cheers!
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