Garth Marenghi's Darkplace

"Something was pouring from his mouth.

He examined his sleeve. Blood?

Blood. Crimson, copper-smelling blood.

His blood. Blood.

Blood. Blood.

And bits of sick."

Greetings, traveller.

I'm Garth Marenghi, horror writer.

Most of you will probably know me already from my extensive canon of chillers,

including 'Afterbirth', in which a mutated placenta attacks Bristol.

Back in the 1980s, I wrote,

directed and starred in 'Garth Marenghi's Darkplace',

a television programme so radical, so risky,

so dangerous, so goddamn crazy,

that the so-called "powers that be" became too scared to show it

and gipped me, much in the same way that women have done

ever since they sniffed out my money.

Only now in the worst artistic drought in broadcast history,

does the channel come crawling back,

cap in hand and suitably ashamed,

asking if your humble fabullist

could once more retrieve 'Darkplace' from the boxes in his spacious basement

and let it loose on its unsuspecting public.

That's you!

Naturellement, I relented

and spent over three hours of my life knocking together

some interviews with the key players in this historic programme,

namely myself and my publisher, Dean Learner.

So, finally, here is 'Darkplace',

for the first time on British television,

it had a brief run in Peru.

Sit back, dim the lights, or switch them off if you don't have dimmers,

put conventional logic to one side, and enjoy.

Well, I say enjoy.

I'm Garth Marenghi,

author, dreamweaver, visionary, plus actor.

You are about to enter the world of my imagination.

You are entering my Darkplace.

Just leave!

Funny, that cat just told me to leave.

Hi. I've come to apply for the doctor's job.

I can assure you, my credentials are top notch.

I've just graduated from Harvard College, Yale.

I aced every semester and I got an A.

Well, that sounds excellent.

Our last doctor only just recently died

in horrific circumstances. Can you start immediately?

Sure, do I have time to go to the toilet?

Not really, I've already paged Dr. Sanchez

who should be here any minute now.

I'm Dr. Sanchez. You're a woman.

Yes, I hope that's not a problem.

Not at all, there's plenty of skirt on the ward.

This is the 20th century after all,

though some don't like to admit it.

Welcome to Darkplace, Liz.

My hand!

Whoa, are you alright?

Not really.

I'm one of the few people you'll meet

who've written more books than they've read.

I felt I'd taken the novel as far as it could go.

I guess it was inevitable that my imagination would make the move to television.

I got a script, read it,

scared me senseless, comme d'habitute,

and I said to Garth, I looked straight into his face...

I've never been afraid of holding a man's gaze, it's natural.

...I said, this is going to be the most significant

televisual event since 'Quantum Leap'.

And I do not say that lightly.

My name is Dr. Rick Dagless M.D.

I got the call too early to grab a shower

so I had to make do with a quick rinse round the key areas.

Some little Missy had taken a nosedive in reception

so muggins was meant to haul ass down there and kiss it better.

But first I had to visit a very special friend.

Is my daddy gonna be alright?

Your daddy is very sick, champ.

Is he going to die?

We're doing all we can

but I'm not Jesus Christ. I've come to accept that now.

I've got to get this.

Son of a bitch!

That's my boss. I've gotta go.

They work you too hard here.

They should pay you a hero's wage.

You're a good kid.

And you're a great doctor.

Never take drugs!

Dean's not an actor.

I warned Garth. I said, I'm not an actor.

And he said, I'll always remember this,

that he didn't want an act, he wanted the truth.

So here is Dean Learner,

playing Thornton Reed,

not putting on an act but putting on the truth.

Listen up, ladies, we've got a situation.

A little lass has just cracked her nut

and if she croaks, my arse is grass.

That was Thornton Reed, my boss.

Head of the department. A ball buster.

But then, he had to answer to Won Ton.

She's here on the express say-so of Won Ton.

A star pupil you might say,

and one that Darkplace has high hopes for.

So far we've given her some Lucozade and that's helped,

but she says she's having visions. Blood, guts, a real horror show.

That's Dr. Lucien Sanchez. Hotshot surgeon.

He's a good buddy, though we sometimes have punch-ups.

Is that why you called me in? As far as I can tell,

some dame's just banged her bonce. Qu'est-ce que le diff?

Wait, I have more things to say.

Go on. Sorry for the interruption.

Don't mention it.

She's saying there's something supernatural going on.

It's witchy woman witterin' and it wants snuffin' out at the wick.

This is a place of science after all.

I need panic in the wards like I need a hole in the head.

Something supernatural, you say? Sounds bang up your alley, Dag.

Aren't you an expert in the arcane and black arts?

That was a long time ago, Sanch. Got my fingers burnt.

Well, you can count me out, Reed,

it's all voodoo nonsense as far as this cat's concerned.

Fair enough. You take the reins on this one, Dag.

But make sure your methods are orthodox.

Don't worry, Reed. This sounds routine.

I'm sure nothing untoward will happen.

I hope he heeds my words about dealing with this in an orthodox manner.

He will. He's the best damn doctor on the wing, or on any other wing.

- He's a wild card. - But I'm glad he's in our deck.

- Let's hope he plays a fair hand. - He'll come up trumps.

If it's not a joker in the pack. And sometimes there is.

Jim?

Can you get 2ccs of 0.2% saline chloroxicide into bed 33?

Then I need Neurology to get their butts in gear with that cardiogram.

Tell them the endotrachial ring is clogged.

Come on, let's move it, people.

- Dr. Liz Asher? - Dr. Rick Dagless M.D.

- You've heard of me? - Who in the field of medicine hasn't?

Well, you shouldn't believe everything you read in the medical magazines.

Welcome to Darkplace. I've seen more auspicious starts.

I wasn't planning on falling on my fanny, Dr. Dagless.

I had a vision. I'm a psychic.

- And I'm Bo Derek. - No, you're not.

You're right, I'm not.

I guess I use sarcasm as a defence.

- I see the past, the present and the future. - Tough gig.

Stop being sarcastic.

Maybe if everyone who'd ever been close to you had died,

you'd be sarcastic, too.

Yes. That makes sense.

Come on, I'll lend you money for a coffee.

We ended up going to the staffroom.

There's access to a clean sofa and the coffee's complimentary.

Sanchez, my buddy, joined us.

When he heard what Liz had to say, he nearly split a log.

Slops!

So let me get this straight. When you crushed my hand

you had a vision that something terrible has either happened,

is happening, or will happen to a patient in Darkplace.

That's about the size of it in a nutshell.

Well, have you got a name or a room number?

Room 213.

That's where Renwick is.

Who's Renwick?

Err, no one. Forget it.

I know you're lying to me, protecting me.

But I'm a big girl now.

In a year's time I'll be a woman. Come on, who's Renwick, Rick?

- I don't know what you're talking about. - Yes, you do.

You're right. I do.

Larry Renwick was admitted here last week.

The guy went axe happy on a trout farm.

He killed 60 fish.

- You knew him, didn't you? - You really are psychic.