BOGEYS AND GHOULIES
These carefully curated anthology eps are an eagerly awaited annual delve into horror story telling for children, ages 6 and up.
Sarah recommends as parents / guardians you either listen first, or listen with your child just in case it's too scary for them!
There are age recommendations with each episode, so make a nice warm cuppa hot choc, set the fire on or huddle with blankets in the dark and....Listen.
IF
YOU
DARE
SEASON ONE - 2019
MIRROR BOY
|
The Well
|
Little Totem
|
BOGEYS AND GHOULIES - SEASON 2 - 2020
SCARE
|
The Summoning
|
Mask
|
The mirror boy
By Sarah Golding
Narrator
Welcome to our horror story. If you’re under eight years old, maybe get your parent or guardian to listen first to check it’s not too scary for you......and if you’re over eight years old. Welcome, to our short season of Horror Stories.....My name is Boyd and I’m your narrator today. Let’s begin shall we?
MUSIC BED
RAINY EXTERNAL SOUNDSCAPE
To everyone else ten year old Bob spoke a strange language. His mum had got used to it from a young age and was the only one who could fluently understand him...and she could also speak French and German and Mandarin....a clever, savvy woman was his mother. We join Bob in his messy toy infested bedroom. Monday morning, about...7:15am...just after breakfast in Bob’s house.
Boy
(Shouting) Mum! Mum! Nac uoy teg em emos skcos?
Narrator
Which in translation into the English you and I recognise means
Mum! Mum! Can you get me some socks?
Mum
(Shouting) Yep! You done your teeth face and hair?
Boy
(Shouting) Ton tey! Gnoid ti! Nehw ev’I dehsinif gnikam ym ogeL ecaps noitats!
Narrator
Which in translation means Not yet! Doing it. (To himself) When I’ve finished making my Lego space station....
So as you can see. Life was...tricky for Bob. His mother had got used to his backwards speak....did you notice it was backwards speak? Now, He hadn’t always talked like that. No. It was only after his mum and dad had renovated their creaky old countryside house when he was about four years old that he had changed. They’d found a false wall in the old beamed house that was not on any plans, or it seems ever expected to be found, which lead off from his tiny bedroom, and when knocked through made his now bedroom double the size. The only thing they kept after renovating the new found mysteriously blocked off room was a seashell framed mirror which went really well with Bobs pirate curtains and rope handled wardrobe, and one whole wall was a mural of the sea his artist dad had painted for him....so. They kept it. The mirror. It was embedded into the wall anyway and they did try to move it but it did not want to budge one inch, and mum said she didn’t want to get bad luck if they smashed it so, it stayed there. Hanging on the wall. Just hanging. Gnitcelfer. I mean...reflecting....
It was a very very rainy grey school morning. A horrible feeling Monday. Bob was sat on his bed in his rocket pj’s fixing the satellite arms onto his new Lego space station he’d got with his saved pocket money. He loved space. His ceiling was hung with rockets and planets and there were so many posters of astronauts and planets and nebula and rocket ships on his walls now that they completely covered the sea mural. He had recently asked for a room revamp as he really, really wanted to get some rocket wallpaper and curtains with space constellations on them, so he could look at them and learn them all, because, as he said to his mum, he was fed up with pirates for now. He never played pirates anymore. He was too old for pirates. Pirates were for little kids.
Bob
Nom’c! Og Ni!
Narrator
He said to his Lego satellite arm, as it wasn’t clicking into place. Sometimes - like now - sometimes Bob felt he wasn’t in control of things at all. As if what he wanted to do was controlled by some other force he couldn’t see or understand. He thought strange things like that. As he did so, this time, thinking he knew what he wanted to do, but couldn’t quite do it, he looked up across the room and the sea of strewn toys at his reflection in the seashell framed mirror. He could see his posters reflected, and his Lego space station, and his own face in deep focus with a furrowed brow. He continued to try and fix the piece in But, the piece just was not sticking in to where he needed it, and, in a very strange ten seconds, saw his reflection in the mirror get so cross and frustrated that the piece wouldn’t fit, that he threw the Lego space station hard directly at the mirror, and. It cracked. The mirror. It splintered a mini universe shaped crack, right in the centre as the space station too broke up noisily into its component parts.
Bob
Haow.
Narrator
Said Bob. Which meant ‘woah’.
Bob got up off his bed and went to the mirror to examine the crack - the splintered crack he had created - or watched his reflection create - on the middle of the mirror looked soooo coooollllll. It made his reflection all strange and a little distorted as the mirror glass seemed to concave too. Bob and his reflection stared at each other for a second, then at the same time, reached to touch the strange dark hole in the centre of the crack. And...
Bob
I nac leef rouy regnif. I...Nac...I.....s’taht driew.
Narrator
I can feel your finger. I can....That’s weird ...said Bob, recoiling from the mirror. A drip of blood fell from the tip of his index finger in the reflection. But not from his own.
Bob
s’taht drieW!
Narrator
Bob said again. He could not believe what had just happened. He thought...he believed he had actually felt the finger tip of his reflection. Not mirror. Not crack. Not cold glass....But flesh. Soft. Warm finger tip. Curious. He wanted to check again, in case his brain had been tricking him. He felt that force beyond his control again. The reflection that stared back seemed to nod at him as if to say yes! Do it!
He tentatively reached out...and yes, his finger touched flesh again....but...this time....suddenly...his finger....felt a tug! Yes!
Bob
On! Pots!
Narrator
‘No! Stop’ he cried. And felt his hand being pulled through the mirror. It was violently pulled through up to his wrist. The reflection smiled. Bob knew that he, himself was not smiling. Not smiling at all....
Bob
Mum! Mum! Pleh! Pleh!
Mum
I’ve got your socks, come and get them!
Narrator
Shouted his mum still downstairs.
The reflection seemed to be grinning wildly at him but he knew his own face was a grimace of pain, worry and confusion.
Bob
On! Pots! Tel og! TEL OG,
NARRATOR
But the reflection would not let go and soon Bob’s whole right arm was through the mirror. A small piece of the glass got stuck in his forearm, as his wrist was quickly yanked hard again, so his head was now up against the mirror, his left ear to the glass. There was another solid pull. His arm was right through the mirror now up to his elbow!
Bob
On! Pots! Tel. Em. Og!
Narrator
‘Let me go!’ He managed, and with his ear pressed up against the glass as he said it, he heard his reflection.
boB
Let me go! No! I want to be you. We need to change back now. We need to. It’s for the best. We need to change back.
Narrator
With that there was a big smash sound as Bob surged through the mirror. His whole self pulled through...head, sockless feet and all. He fell onto the floor of his reflected bedroom, and on top of some piled soft teddies and clothes - the soft landing welcomed, his face, buried in the belly of a big fluffy bunny he’d been given for his third birthday by his uncle. He lay there, for A good few seconds, panting, scared, fluff in his face, and not wanting to look up. How had his reflection pulled him? Why? What did he mean by what he said? ‘We need to change back now’. He pulled himself up, watching as a small trickle of blood from the mirror shard in his arm dripped onto the carpet. He pulled out the mirror piece with an ‘Wo’ and rubbed the wound.
Bob
Wo! Mum! Mum!
Narrator
He called. There was no answer. Slowly, he turned himself over and sat up. Where was his reflection? The boy who had pulled him through? In the same room? What had happened? He looked around. And his mouth opened in surprise. It came as a huge shock to him but....All the letters on his posters were....backwards. All the things he thought were one way....were...the other. It said bOB on his door. Small b, o, Capital B but on his door it read Capital B, small o, small b....and...the door in front of him opened the other way to how he was used to...the mirror on the other side of the room.....everything....seemed...reflected. It was at this point that Bob realised he had been pulled into his reflected bedroom.
He turned to face the mirror, and, well, I’m sure it’s no surprise to you that it had almost completely smashed, leaving a strange set of chalked symbols on the space behind. Apart from a small corner bit still attached in place on the bottom near the floor, the rest of the mirror lay in big and teeny pieces on his messy carpet around the bottom of the mirror. He crawled over to the only remaining mirror piece, moving stray shards of mirror glass out of his way...and looked...at....his smiling reflection. He waved with his left hand and his reflection waved back with his right. And....somehow...this felt....right..somehow...he felt good and wanted to smile back. He had a vague recollection....a thought from the back of his mind that something like this....something very much like this had happened before? Yes. Yes when he’d banged the bottom of the mirror with his truck after his fourth birthday and...yes he remembered now, it had caused a very small crack just at the bottom of the mirror....you wouldn’t notice it unless you knew it was there. And. It was. Still there. Right at the bottom. He was about to try and touch it with his finger when Into view in the reflection came his mother’s feet. He expected her to shout at him. Scream about the mirror. The broken shards all over the floor. But no. No. We’ll leave you with the words she said and let you think about what’s happened here today.
Mum
Bob. Bob! Era ouy ko? Bob. Bob! Er’ouy gnideelb! Ho ym ssendoog! Ereh emac. Emoc ereh!
Narrator
And with that, Bob was the happiest boy in this world. Eyb Eyb. Rof Won ! Knaht ouy rof gninetsil!
MUSIC
CREDITS
SARAH
This was a Horror Story Short for kids from Quirky Voices
Starring Boyd Barrett as the Narrator
And Sarah Golding as Bob boB and Mum.
Music was by Sarah Golding
Please share with your horror loving pals and look out for more stories coming soon, and, if you want to write us a horror story, with just two or three characters, do send it to QuirkyVoices@gmail.com - we would love to make your story come to efil...I mean...life! Happy listening horror lovers. Mwahahahhahahaaaaa
By Sarah Golding
Narrator
Welcome to our horror story. If you’re under eight years old, maybe get your parent or guardian to listen first to check it’s not too scary for you......and if you’re over eight years old. Welcome, to our short season of Horror Stories.....My name is Boyd and I’m your narrator today. Let’s begin shall we?
MUSIC BED
RAINY EXTERNAL SOUNDSCAPE
To everyone else ten year old Bob spoke a strange language. His mum had got used to it from a young age and was the only one who could fluently understand him...and she could also speak French and German and Mandarin....a clever, savvy woman was his mother. We join Bob in his messy toy infested bedroom. Monday morning, about...7:15am...just after breakfast in Bob’s house.
Boy
(Shouting) Mum! Mum! Nac uoy teg em emos skcos?
Narrator
Which in translation into the English you and I recognise means
Mum! Mum! Can you get me some socks?
Mum
(Shouting) Yep! You done your teeth face and hair?
Boy
(Shouting) Ton tey! Gnoid ti! Nehw ev’I dehsinif gnikam ym ogeL ecaps noitats!
Narrator
Which in translation means Not yet! Doing it. (To himself) When I’ve finished making my Lego space station....
So as you can see. Life was...tricky for Bob. His mother had got used to his backwards speak....did you notice it was backwards speak? Now, He hadn’t always talked like that. No. It was only after his mum and dad had renovated their creaky old countryside house when he was about four years old that he had changed. They’d found a false wall in the old beamed house that was not on any plans, or it seems ever expected to be found, which lead off from his tiny bedroom, and when knocked through made his now bedroom double the size. The only thing they kept after renovating the new found mysteriously blocked off room was a seashell framed mirror which went really well with Bobs pirate curtains and rope handled wardrobe, and one whole wall was a mural of the sea his artist dad had painted for him....so. They kept it. The mirror. It was embedded into the wall anyway and they did try to move it but it did not want to budge one inch, and mum said she didn’t want to get bad luck if they smashed it so, it stayed there. Hanging on the wall. Just hanging. Gnitcelfer. I mean...reflecting....
It was a very very rainy grey school morning. A horrible feeling Monday. Bob was sat on his bed in his rocket pj’s fixing the satellite arms onto his new Lego space station he’d got with his saved pocket money. He loved space. His ceiling was hung with rockets and planets and there were so many posters of astronauts and planets and nebula and rocket ships on his walls now that they completely covered the sea mural. He had recently asked for a room revamp as he really, really wanted to get some rocket wallpaper and curtains with space constellations on them, so he could look at them and learn them all, because, as he said to his mum, he was fed up with pirates for now. He never played pirates anymore. He was too old for pirates. Pirates were for little kids.
Bob
Nom’c! Og Ni!
Narrator
He said to his Lego satellite arm, as it wasn’t clicking into place. Sometimes - like now - sometimes Bob felt he wasn’t in control of things at all. As if what he wanted to do was controlled by some other force he couldn’t see or understand. He thought strange things like that. As he did so, this time, thinking he knew what he wanted to do, but couldn’t quite do it, he looked up across the room and the sea of strewn toys at his reflection in the seashell framed mirror. He could see his posters reflected, and his Lego space station, and his own face in deep focus with a furrowed brow. He continued to try and fix the piece in But, the piece just was not sticking in to where he needed it, and, in a very strange ten seconds, saw his reflection in the mirror get so cross and frustrated that the piece wouldn’t fit, that he threw the Lego space station hard directly at the mirror, and. It cracked. The mirror. It splintered a mini universe shaped crack, right in the centre as the space station too broke up noisily into its component parts.
Bob
Haow.
Narrator
Said Bob. Which meant ‘woah’.
Bob got up off his bed and went to the mirror to examine the crack - the splintered crack he had created - or watched his reflection create - on the middle of the mirror looked soooo coooollllll. It made his reflection all strange and a little distorted as the mirror glass seemed to concave too. Bob and his reflection stared at each other for a second, then at the same time, reached to touch the strange dark hole in the centre of the crack. And...
Bob
I nac leef rouy regnif. I...Nac...I.....s’taht driew.
Narrator
I can feel your finger. I can....That’s weird ...said Bob, recoiling from the mirror. A drip of blood fell from the tip of his index finger in the reflection. But not from his own.
Bob
s’taht drieW!
Narrator
Bob said again. He could not believe what had just happened. He thought...he believed he had actually felt the finger tip of his reflection. Not mirror. Not crack. Not cold glass....But flesh. Soft. Warm finger tip. Curious. He wanted to check again, in case his brain had been tricking him. He felt that force beyond his control again. The reflection that stared back seemed to nod at him as if to say yes! Do it!
He tentatively reached out...and yes, his finger touched flesh again....but...this time....suddenly...his finger....felt a tug! Yes!
Bob
On! Pots!
Narrator
‘No! Stop’ he cried. And felt his hand being pulled through the mirror. It was violently pulled through up to his wrist. The reflection smiled. Bob knew that he, himself was not smiling. Not smiling at all....
Bob
Mum! Mum! Pleh! Pleh!
Mum
I’ve got your socks, come and get them!
Narrator
Shouted his mum still downstairs.
The reflection seemed to be grinning wildly at him but he knew his own face was a grimace of pain, worry and confusion.
Bob
On! Pots! Tel og! TEL OG,
NARRATOR
But the reflection would not let go and soon Bob’s whole right arm was through the mirror. A small piece of the glass got stuck in his forearm, as his wrist was quickly yanked hard again, so his head was now up against the mirror, his left ear to the glass. There was another solid pull. His arm was right through the mirror now up to his elbow!
Bob
On! Pots! Tel. Em. Og!
Narrator
‘Let me go!’ He managed, and with his ear pressed up against the glass as he said it, he heard his reflection.
boB
Let me go! No! I want to be you. We need to change back now. We need to. It’s for the best. We need to change back.
Narrator
With that there was a big smash sound as Bob surged through the mirror. His whole self pulled through...head, sockless feet and all. He fell onto the floor of his reflected bedroom, and on top of some piled soft teddies and clothes - the soft landing welcomed, his face, buried in the belly of a big fluffy bunny he’d been given for his third birthday by his uncle. He lay there, for A good few seconds, panting, scared, fluff in his face, and not wanting to look up. How had his reflection pulled him? Why? What did he mean by what he said? ‘We need to change back now’. He pulled himself up, watching as a small trickle of blood from the mirror shard in his arm dripped onto the carpet. He pulled out the mirror piece with an ‘Wo’ and rubbed the wound.
Bob
Wo! Mum! Mum!
Narrator
He called. There was no answer. Slowly, he turned himself over and sat up. Where was his reflection? The boy who had pulled him through? In the same room? What had happened? He looked around. And his mouth opened in surprise. It came as a huge shock to him but....All the letters on his posters were....backwards. All the things he thought were one way....were...the other. It said bOB on his door. Small b, o, Capital B but on his door it read Capital B, small o, small b....and...the door in front of him opened the other way to how he was used to...the mirror on the other side of the room.....everything....seemed...reflected. It was at this point that Bob realised he had been pulled into his reflected bedroom.
He turned to face the mirror, and, well, I’m sure it’s no surprise to you that it had almost completely smashed, leaving a strange set of chalked symbols on the space behind. Apart from a small corner bit still attached in place on the bottom near the floor, the rest of the mirror lay in big and teeny pieces on his messy carpet around the bottom of the mirror. He crawled over to the only remaining mirror piece, moving stray shards of mirror glass out of his way...and looked...at....his smiling reflection. He waved with his left hand and his reflection waved back with his right. And....somehow...this felt....right..somehow...he felt good and wanted to smile back. He had a vague recollection....a thought from the back of his mind that something like this....something very much like this had happened before? Yes. Yes when he’d banged the bottom of the mirror with his truck after his fourth birthday and...yes he remembered now, it had caused a very small crack just at the bottom of the mirror....you wouldn’t notice it unless you knew it was there. And. It was. Still there. Right at the bottom. He was about to try and touch it with his finger when Into view in the reflection came his mother’s feet. He expected her to shout at him. Scream about the mirror. The broken shards all over the floor. But no. No. We’ll leave you with the words she said and let you think about what’s happened here today.
Mum
Bob. Bob! Era ouy ko? Bob. Bob! Er’ouy gnideelb! Ho ym ssendoog! Ereh emac. Emoc ereh!
Narrator
And with that, Bob was the happiest boy in this world. Eyb Eyb. Rof Won ! Knaht ouy rof gninetsil!
MUSIC
CREDITS
SARAH
This was a Horror Story Short for kids from Quirky Voices
Starring Boyd Barrett as the Narrator
And Sarah Golding as Bob boB and Mum.
Music was by Sarah Golding
Please share with your horror loving pals and look out for more stories coming soon, and, if you want to write us a horror story, with just two or three characters, do send it to QuirkyVoices@gmail.com - we would love to make your story come to efil...I mean...life! Happy listening horror lovers. Mwahahahhahahaaaaa
S.C.A.R.E.
Written by Carla Quelch
Voice Over (Male or Female) – Straightforward bit of introduction
Dorothy, A Witch (Female) – The cackling hag stereotype
Daphne, A Ghost Bride (Female) – Sentimental and prone to weeping
Max, A Werewolf (Male) – More canine than human, excitable
Gareth, A Zombie (Male) – An IT guy with a penchant for brains
Voice Over: Good evening and welcome to Monster Therapy. In tonight’s episode, we listen in to a meeting of the Sinister Coalition Against Random Evildoings – or S.C.A.R.E. as they are more widely known. Taking part will be Dorothy – a cursed witch, Daphne – the ghost of a young bride killed on her wedding day, Max – a werewolf, and Gareth – a zombie
Wolf's howl is heard from nearby.
Voice over: We join them now, as they arrive to the therapy session.
Thunder SFX. Witch cackles, Werewolf howls, Zombie moans and mumbles/whispers 'brains', and Ghost sobs, wails, screams, etc. An ominous hush descends and the thunder abates.
Witch: When shall we four meet again, in thunder, lightning, or in rain?
Ghost: Any of those is fine by me.
Werewolf: Yeah, although I'd rather not do rain if possible cos it plays havoc with my fur.
Zombie: Well I can't do Tuesdays.
Witch: Why can't you do Tuesdays?
Zombie: I said I'd go to salsa classes with that banshee from admin.
Ghost: Oh, you mean Sheila? How's that going?
Zombie: Yeah, alright. She has got this really annoying habit of screaming in my face every now and then, but, you know...
Ghost: Nobody's perfect, are they?
Zombie: Well, that's what I keep telling myself.
Witch: Um..excuse me...much as I'd like to hear about Gareth's love life, we're not here to talk about that, are we?
Zombie: Actually, now I come to think of it, I'm really beginning to think she might be the one...
Ghost: Awwww! Don't, you'll start me off in a minute. (Holding back tears)
Witch: Shall we make a start on more serious matters?
Ghost: What's more serious than love?
Werewolf: Yeah, who died and made you the boss, anyway?
Witch: Mustapha The Mummy – he got caught on some barbed wire last night and slowly unravelled across the common. (She cackles)
Ghost: (Starting to cry) Oh, how can you laugh about something so tragic?! Poor Mustapha! (Crying increases)
Rumbling or rattling sounds of the poltergeist activity from Daphne, as she is so upset...
Werewolf: Look out!
Something flies across the room and crashes due to her poltergeist powers being triggered
Zombie: There, there, Daphne, calm down. You'll have someone's eye out if you're not careful.
Ghost:I'm sorry, you know my poltergeist abilities get out of control when I get emotional.
Witch:Yes, well, we're here to work on that, aren't we. Now, let's see how everyone's been getting on, shall we? Gareth – have you got the minutes from the last meeting?
Zombie:Oh no! I've left them in my grave. I'll just pop back and get them, I won't be a tick.
Witch:Oh honestly, Gareth, you'd forget your head if it wasn't stuck on with super-glue.
Werewolf:(Excited) Can I come Gareth? I could do with the exercise. Have you got a ball, we could chuck it about a bit. Or a stick? I love sticks.
Witch: Max – sit! Now calm down. Bad Max.
(Sits down and whimpers)
Zombie::I won't be long.
Witch:Right. We'll just have to carry on without him. Daphne – could you start us off please?
Ghost: Right. (She stands). Hello. My name's Daphne, and it's been 8 weeks, four days since I scared any humans to death.
The others applaud and shout words of encouragement.
Witch: Well done, Daphne. Now, how are you getting along with the methods we gave you to try last week, in order to help keep your emotions in check?
Ghost:Well, I've had moderate success with the yoga and meditation, but I'm afraid the herbal tea you made just goes straight through me. No offence, Dorothy.
Witch:Yes, well, it's an acquired taste. Moving on. (She stands) Good evening, my name's Dorothy, and it's been 3 months since I used magic to fatally curse or mortally wound a human being.
Polite applause, etc. as before. Scratching noises.
Witch: will you please stop scratching?
Werewolf: I can't help it. I think I've got fleas.
Zombie returns
Zombie: Right, I've got them. Sorry about that, everyone.
(leaping up and trying to lick Zombie's face, etc) Gareth's back! Gareth's back, everyone! Max, get off me!
Witch:Max – get down! Sit, Max, sit! Good boy.
Werewolf:I just get so excited to see people sometimes. It's not my fault, it's a side-effect of my condition. I've calmed down now.
Witch: I believe it was your turn next?
Werewolf: Who, me? (Jumps up) Hello. My name's Max and it's been one month since I viciously savaged a human, killed them and ate them.
Applause, etc. as before.
Witch: Hang on a minute, I'm not sure there's anything to applaud here. One month you say?
Werewolf: Yeah about that, give or take a couple of days.
Witch: So about the time of the last full moon then?
Werewolf:And your point is....?
Witch: Do I really have to spell it out for you? Max, seeing as you only have to fight your urge to savage humans when there's a full moon, you haven't really been very successful at all, have you?
Werewolf:Well there's a full moon tonight and I haven't killed anyone yet, as far as I know.
Witch:In that case one of us needs to escort you home after the meeting and make sure you're securely locked up in your cellar until morning.
Ghost: Didn't you employ that nice man called Steve to do that? How did you persuade him to let you out to come here?
Werewolf: Well I didn't want to miss the meeting did I? (Pause) Alright, I may have eaten him on the way here!
Ghost: (Starting to wail again) You ate Steve? But he had a wife and child.
Zombie: There, there, Daphne, don't get upset again – you know what happened last time. Do you mind if I go next? There's something I need to get off my chest.
Werewolf: Well Gareth, if it's an excess hair problem, I'm your man. Sort of.
Witch:(holding up a biscuit) Look what I've got here, Max!
Werewolf:Ooh, biscuit! (He gets down in front of Witch and begs) Please can I have it, please, please, please, please......
Witch:(Giving Werewolf the biscuit) There we go. That should shut him up for a minute or two. You were saying, Gareth?
Zombie:Right, thanks. (He stands) I don't have a problem with excess hair, by the way, I just wanted to make that clear. Remind me to put that in the minutes, Daphne, because I don't want Max here saying anything to Sheila and ruining my chances.
Witch:Do get on with it, Gareth. And anyway, an overly hairy chest isn't exactly the end of the world, is it? Look what I have to put up with! A hooked nose, wrinkles all over my face – I’m only 32 - and a decidedly sickly green skin pigmentation. And don't even get me started on the warts!
Ghost: Have you considered plastic surgery?
Witch:Have you considered not opening your mouth, you will-o'-the-wisp! And don't start your wailing again, you're giving me a migraine.\
Ghost:I was only trying to help. Go on Gareth.
Zombie:Hello, my name's Gareth and it's been (looks at watch) about five minutes since I ate a human's brains.
Witch:Oh, really, Gareth! I don't know why we bother with these meetings, there's a distinct lack of commitment in the room.
Ghost:But we organised for the butcher to deliver you a dozen sheep's brains every Thursday. Don't they fill you up?
Zombie:Well he only made the one delivery. If a steak approaches you with a couple of sausage rolls you're just going to eat the steak, aren't you!
Witch: Alright, Gareth I do see your point. Perhaps we can all put our heads together...not too close to Gareth’s.... and come up with some suggestions. Right, tea break, everyone....Max, did you eat all the hobnobs?
Werewolf: (Mouth full of biscuits) No, it wasn’t me Fade out on the group as they continue to chat
Voice over: That’s all we’ve got time for this week. Tune in next week for more.... Monster Therapy.
Written by Carla Quelch
Voice Over (Male or Female) – Straightforward bit of introduction
Dorothy, A Witch (Female) – The cackling hag stereotype
Daphne, A Ghost Bride (Female) – Sentimental and prone to weeping
Max, A Werewolf (Male) – More canine than human, excitable
Gareth, A Zombie (Male) – An IT guy with a penchant for brains
Voice Over: Good evening and welcome to Monster Therapy. In tonight’s episode, we listen in to a meeting of the Sinister Coalition Against Random Evildoings – or S.C.A.R.E. as they are more widely known. Taking part will be Dorothy – a cursed witch, Daphne – the ghost of a young bride killed on her wedding day, Max – a werewolf, and Gareth – a zombie
Wolf's howl is heard from nearby.
Voice over: We join them now, as they arrive to the therapy session.
Thunder SFX. Witch cackles, Werewolf howls, Zombie moans and mumbles/whispers 'brains', and Ghost sobs, wails, screams, etc. An ominous hush descends and the thunder abates.
Witch: When shall we four meet again, in thunder, lightning, or in rain?
Ghost: Any of those is fine by me.
Werewolf: Yeah, although I'd rather not do rain if possible cos it plays havoc with my fur.
Zombie: Well I can't do Tuesdays.
Witch: Why can't you do Tuesdays?
Zombie: I said I'd go to salsa classes with that banshee from admin.
Ghost: Oh, you mean Sheila? How's that going?
Zombie: Yeah, alright. She has got this really annoying habit of screaming in my face every now and then, but, you know...
Ghost: Nobody's perfect, are they?
Zombie: Well, that's what I keep telling myself.
Witch: Um..excuse me...much as I'd like to hear about Gareth's love life, we're not here to talk about that, are we?
Zombie: Actually, now I come to think of it, I'm really beginning to think she might be the one...
Ghost: Awwww! Don't, you'll start me off in a minute. (Holding back tears)
Witch: Shall we make a start on more serious matters?
Ghost: What's more serious than love?
Werewolf: Yeah, who died and made you the boss, anyway?
Witch: Mustapha The Mummy – he got caught on some barbed wire last night and slowly unravelled across the common. (She cackles)
Ghost: (Starting to cry) Oh, how can you laugh about something so tragic?! Poor Mustapha! (Crying increases)
Rumbling or rattling sounds of the poltergeist activity from Daphne, as she is so upset...
Werewolf: Look out!
Something flies across the room and crashes due to her poltergeist powers being triggered
Zombie: There, there, Daphne, calm down. You'll have someone's eye out if you're not careful.
Ghost:I'm sorry, you know my poltergeist abilities get out of control when I get emotional.
Witch:Yes, well, we're here to work on that, aren't we. Now, let's see how everyone's been getting on, shall we? Gareth – have you got the minutes from the last meeting?
Zombie:Oh no! I've left them in my grave. I'll just pop back and get them, I won't be a tick.
Witch:Oh honestly, Gareth, you'd forget your head if it wasn't stuck on with super-glue.
Werewolf:(Excited) Can I come Gareth? I could do with the exercise. Have you got a ball, we could chuck it about a bit. Or a stick? I love sticks.
Witch: Max – sit! Now calm down. Bad Max.
(Sits down and whimpers)
Zombie::I won't be long.
Witch:Right. We'll just have to carry on without him. Daphne – could you start us off please?
Ghost: Right. (She stands). Hello. My name's Daphne, and it's been 8 weeks, four days since I scared any humans to death.
The others applaud and shout words of encouragement.
Witch: Well done, Daphne. Now, how are you getting along with the methods we gave you to try last week, in order to help keep your emotions in check?
Ghost:Well, I've had moderate success with the yoga and meditation, but I'm afraid the herbal tea you made just goes straight through me. No offence, Dorothy.
Witch:Yes, well, it's an acquired taste. Moving on. (She stands) Good evening, my name's Dorothy, and it's been 3 months since I used magic to fatally curse or mortally wound a human being.
Polite applause, etc. as before. Scratching noises.
Witch: will you please stop scratching?
Werewolf: I can't help it. I think I've got fleas.
Zombie returns
Zombie: Right, I've got them. Sorry about that, everyone.
(leaping up and trying to lick Zombie's face, etc) Gareth's back! Gareth's back, everyone! Max, get off me!
Witch:Max – get down! Sit, Max, sit! Good boy.
Werewolf:I just get so excited to see people sometimes. It's not my fault, it's a side-effect of my condition. I've calmed down now.
Witch: I believe it was your turn next?
Werewolf: Who, me? (Jumps up) Hello. My name's Max and it's been one month since I viciously savaged a human, killed them and ate them.
Applause, etc. as before.
Witch: Hang on a minute, I'm not sure there's anything to applaud here. One month you say?
Werewolf: Yeah about that, give or take a couple of days.
Witch: So about the time of the last full moon then?
Werewolf:And your point is....?
Witch: Do I really have to spell it out for you? Max, seeing as you only have to fight your urge to savage humans when there's a full moon, you haven't really been very successful at all, have you?
Werewolf:Well there's a full moon tonight and I haven't killed anyone yet, as far as I know.
Witch:In that case one of us needs to escort you home after the meeting and make sure you're securely locked up in your cellar until morning.
Ghost: Didn't you employ that nice man called Steve to do that? How did you persuade him to let you out to come here?
Werewolf: Well I didn't want to miss the meeting did I? (Pause) Alright, I may have eaten him on the way here!
Ghost: (Starting to wail again) You ate Steve? But he had a wife and child.
Zombie: There, there, Daphne, don't get upset again – you know what happened last time. Do you mind if I go next? There's something I need to get off my chest.
Werewolf: Well Gareth, if it's an excess hair problem, I'm your man. Sort of.
Witch:(holding up a biscuit) Look what I've got here, Max!
Werewolf:Ooh, biscuit! (He gets down in front of Witch and begs) Please can I have it, please, please, please, please......
Witch:(Giving Werewolf the biscuit) There we go. That should shut him up for a minute or two. You were saying, Gareth?
Zombie:Right, thanks. (He stands) I don't have a problem with excess hair, by the way, I just wanted to make that clear. Remind me to put that in the minutes, Daphne, because I don't want Max here saying anything to Sheila and ruining my chances.
Witch:Do get on with it, Gareth. And anyway, an overly hairy chest isn't exactly the end of the world, is it? Look what I have to put up with! A hooked nose, wrinkles all over my face – I’m only 32 - and a decidedly sickly green skin pigmentation. And don't even get me started on the warts!
Ghost: Have you considered plastic surgery?
Witch:Have you considered not opening your mouth, you will-o'-the-wisp! And don't start your wailing again, you're giving me a migraine.\
Ghost:I was only trying to help. Go on Gareth.
Zombie:Hello, my name's Gareth and it's been (looks at watch) about five minutes since I ate a human's brains.
Witch:Oh, really, Gareth! I don't know why we bother with these meetings, there's a distinct lack of commitment in the room.
Ghost:But we organised for the butcher to deliver you a dozen sheep's brains every Thursday. Don't they fill you up?
Zombie:Well he only made the one delivery. If a steak approaches you with a couple of sausage rolls you're just going to eat the steak, aren't you!
Witch: Alright, Gareth I do see your point. Perhaps we can all put our heads together...not too close to Gareth’s.... and come up with some suggestions. Right, tea break, everyone....Max, did you eat all the hobnobs?
Werewolf: (Mouth full of biscuits) No, it wasn’t me Fade out on the group as they continue to chat
Voice over: That’s all we’ve got time for this week. Tune in next week for more.... Monster Therapy.
