03x09 - Baker's Dozen

[bunniefuu]

[theme music playing]

NARRATOR:
Man lives in the sunlit world

of what he believes
to be reality.

But... there is,

unseen by most, an underworld.

A place that is just as real

but not as brightly lit.

A dark side.

["Deck the Halls" playing]

♪ ♪

Delicious.

Thank you.

Mom, can I watch Gumby's
Christmas Carol tonight?

Not tonight, Stefa.

But it's on
at 8:00,

and there's nothing
else to do.

Dad, please?

Tonight, we're just going
to make do with each other.

This is one family
that's going to have

an old-fashioned Christmas Eve.

And wait for some
old fat man

to get stuck in
the chimney, right?

MOTHER:
Everyone help
to clear, please.

I know there's no such
thing as Santa Claus.

That's a wicked thing
to say at anytime,

but it's particularly wicked
to say on Christmas Eve.

"'Twas the night
before Christmas

"and all through
the house...

Dad locked up the liquor
'cause Santa's a souse."

STEFA:
What's a souse?

MOTHER:
You know what that old
fat man does to children

who says he
doesn't exist

on Christmas Eve?

What?

Flips a switch
with your name on it,

and every present you get--
no matter who gave it to you--

that present breaks
within a month.

[hissing]

What's that smell?

Did Santa Claus do that

because I said
he wasn't real?

It was probably
just a warning.

Hey, you might as
well finish the job.

[chuckles]

Oh, great!

It was your idea.

If Jimbo gets to open one,
I get to open one.

Just one.

I choose.

Let's see...

I choose... this one.

How did you know?

How did I know?

Darling, you wrote out a list
of everything you wanted

and you taped it
to the refrigerator.

♪ Good King Wenceslas
looked out ♪

♪ On the feast of Stephen ♪

♪ When the snow lay
round about ♪

♪ Deep and crisp and even ♪

♪ Brightly shone the moon
that night ♪

♪ Though the frost was cruel ♪

♪ When a poor man
came in sight ♪

♪ Gathering winter fuel... ♪

What's the capital
of North Dakota?

Bismarck.

How do you know that?

FATHER:
She knows it's Bismarck

because it was named
for her Great-Uncle Barney.

Barney Bismarck.

His nickname was Barracuda.

Barney "the Barracuda" Bismarck.

STEFA:
You're making
that up.

I'm bored.

How can
you be bored?

You haven't even tried
all your crayons yet.

I'm bored, too.

Tell us a story.

We don't know any stories.

JIMBO:
You make up stories
all the time.

Are you saying your parents
are liars?

No.

We just want a story.

If we can't watch TV.

All right,
Christmas Eve story.

No, we know
all those stories.

"Rudolph the Red-Nosed
Reindeer."

"The Little Drummer Boy."

Tell us a good story.

Maybe I should tell
them about the...

[whispering]

Not that one.
It's too scary.

We want a scary story.

It might even be dangerous.

JIMBO:
Dangerous?

You're right.

Tell us that story.

Please!

Jimbo, open your atlas

and find me
the North Pole.

No. No Santa
Claus story.

No. No Santa Claus
story.

In fact, I'm going to tell you
about the most fearsome,

dangerous and appalling creature
in the world.

And it's called...

The what?

What's it called?

"The..."

"Grither"?

Grither?

Now you've done it.

Done what?

FATHER:
The most awful
thing in the world.

You said his name out loud.

[wind whistling]

FATHER:
Well, we all know
that Santa Claus

has his workshop
at the North Pole.

And in that workshop,
there are lots of toys

and elves and the smell
of Mrs. Claus' cooking.

Mrs. Claus' specialty
is lasagna.

She got the recipe
from Eleanor Roosevelt.

Mom!

I won't interrupt,
I promise.

Now Santa's
workshop is located

on the protected side
of a mountain at the North Pole.

And it's the warmest,
friendliest place there is,

in a place that's not known
to be warm or friendly.

Now, here is Santa's workshop.

And on the other side
of the mountain

there is a cave.

And it's the coldest,
wettest place there is on Earth.

And inside that cave
is where the, uh...

Grither!

...makes his home.

This isn't scary.

MOTHER:
A little patience,
young lady.

Now the, uh...

Grither.

...lives in a wreck
of a ship

that somehow got squeezed
inside the cave.

Now, he doesn't like
to be cold,

and he doesn't like
to be wet,

but the thing he doesn't like
most of all

is to hear himself talked about.

JIMBO:
Why?

Because he's the only one
in the world,

and he thinks
that he's very special.

Which, of course, he is.

But he can't hear us
when we talk about him,

can he?

He has very, very good ears.

And they get a little bigger
every time his name is spoken

anywhere on Earth.

[laughing]

Grither. Grither.

His ears are now
twice as big

as they were
five minutes ago.

And now he knows where we are.

[electrical crackling]

See that? Hmm?

Don't tell this story.

Tell another story.

MOTHER:
Too late now.

He's already heard you and Jimbo
say his name half a dozen times.

He's probably on his way to
our house this very minute.

No!

FATHER:
But he's only
just started.

And it'll take him
a while to get here.

And if I'm very careful,

he won't be able to reach
our house before I've finished.

JIMBO:
And if we stop
saying his name--

Grither, Grither,

Grither--

he'll get lost and he'll have
to go home to the North Pole.

I want another story.

Jimbo, do you know why
this creature is called the...

...what he's called?

Why?

Because he has fists
as big as basketballs,

and arms as long
as boa constrictors.

And whenever he finally
finds those people

who have been speaking
his name in vain,

why he opens
up his fists

and he reaches out his arms
and he grithers them in!

He grithers them in!
[whimpering]

Stop! Now you said
his name, too!

[rattling]
Is that him?!
Is that him?!

Couldn't be the Grither.

Not yet anyway.

It was just
the wind.

The Grither's just Bigfoot,
that's all.

No.

He's not Bigfoot.

And he's not the
Abominable Snowman either.

The only people who have
ever seen the Grither

are the people the Grither
has eaten up.

Then how do you know
what he looks like?

Because
I heard him.

And he sings a song
about himself.

You didn't hear him.

MOTHER:
That's right.

Your father didn't
hear the Grither.

Uncle Michael heard the
Grither singing his song.

It's a song he
couldn't forget.

So he taught it to me,

and I taught it
to your father.

Can you sing it?

[clearing throat]

Um, I think so.

[begins playing
"O Come All Ye Faithful"]

[clears throat]

♪ Oh, I am the Grither ♪

♪ You cannot escape me ♪

♪ For pleading
is useless ♪

♪ And so are your prayers ♪

BOTH:
♪ The Grither is greedy ♪

♪ For only one thing ♪

♪ To keep you from taking ♪

♪ To keep you
from taking ♪

♪ To keep you from taking ♪

♪ His name in vain. ♪

[piano stops]

You made that up.

It didn't even rhyme.

Monster songs
never rhyme.

There are other verses and
they tell what he looks like.

He's tall as a poplar.

But he can bend all the way over
and touch the ground.

He looks like a road map.

His skin is
very, very white.

And all the blue and
red veins show through.

The-the blue is for fear.

And the red is for rage.

[wings flapping]

[bird chirping]

That's the sound
of his wings.

He can fly?!

Well, you remember when Dad
said that his ears grow bigger

whenever we
mentioned his name?

Yes.

MOTHER:
Well, by now,

his ears are so big that
he can use them as wings.

Which means he'll be
here all the faster.

Where is he now?

FATHER:
Bangor, Maine.

He's headed south, and
he's taking shortcuts.

Stop! Don't tell any more!

Oh, no, it's-it's cheating
not to finish the story.

And you have to finish it
before the Grither arrives

or-or else...

Or else what?

Or else he
comes anyway.

Hurry! Finish
the story!

Oh, I suppose we better
if we want to be alive

to open our presents
in the morning.

Why, he's probably by
New Hampshire by now.

I suppose, uh,
you're wondering where...

[phone ringing]

Don't stop!

[phone ringing]

Would you get that?

I want to finish that yellow
patch in my tapestry, hmm.

BOTH:
No!

STEFA:
You finish!

Oh, I can't.

The person who starts the story
has to finish it.

[man talking indistinctly
over phone]

No, we're all here.

[piano playing
"Jingle Bells" slowly]

[flat note, piano stops]

F sharp.

[continues playing]

Where is he now?

Still on the telephone.

Not Dad.

The Grither-- where is he now?

New York City.

Philadelphia,
if the wind's with him.

Dad!

Here I am.

I wasn't gone too long, was I?

Finish telling the story!

MOTHER:
Who was that?

FATHER:
I don't know.

He knows who we are.

He was wondering if we're all
going to be home tonight,

and I said of course we were.

Was it the Grither?

I don't know.

I never thought of that.

You were on the phone
a long time.

Well, he kept asking questions.

But he never said who he was.

[clattering]

Washington D.C.

He's over our nation's
capital by now.

Please finish
telling the story!

Well, the Grither was born
on a sailing ship

that got lost in the Arctic Sea.

They drifted about for weeks
and never saw anything

but glaciers
and icebergs.

Some of the passengers
on board drowned,

some froze to death,
some starved

and some committed suicide.

And the Grither was born
out of the fear and rage

of all those people.

But why does he
k*ll people?

Nobody knows.

Is that all?

Richmond, Virginia.

Now he's heading west.

Is that all?

Is that the end of the story?

No, no, my dear, not quite all.

You see, they say
that the only way

this creature
can be k*lled is...

[knocking]

No, don't answer it!

MAN:
♪ Oh, I am the Grither ♪

♪ You cannot escape me ♪

Get him away!

Away!
♪ For pleading is useless ♪

Go away!
Get him away!

♪ And so are your prayers ♪

[shivering growl]

Get him away!

Get him away!

Oh, Stefa, it's not the Grither.

It's Uncle Michael.

Hey, I didn't scare you,
did I, big fella?

[chuckles]

[chuckles]

FATHER:
It was Uncle Michael
on the telephone.

I taught him the song.

But I thought Uncle Michael
taught you the song

and you taught it to Dad.

I think we adults ought

to go into the kitchen
for a little while.

Good idea.

There's something going on here
I-I don't quite understand.

[chuckles]

STEFA:
Where is the Grither?

The real Grither.

You didn't finish
the story,

so he's still
on his way.

You started this.

You finish it.

I hope neither one of you
really believes in the Grither.

You don't, do you?

Because the Grither is
no more real than Santa Claus.

You don't believe
in Santa Claus, do you?

No.

Stefa?

Good.

Santa Claus is no more real
than the Grither is.

Santa Claus is just
a nice story,

[rips paper]
and the Grither is just
a nasty story.

I believed in the tooth fairy
until I was 15 years old.

Oh, shh!
[chuckles]

No one is as tall as a poplar.

No one has fists
as big as basketballs.

And no one lives
at the North Pole.

Not Santa Claus,
not the Grither.

Because neither one is real.

And neither one is coming
to this house tonight.

But you didn't finish
the story!

Stefa.

[wind whistling]

He's here!
He's here!

[bangs piano keys]

[phone ringing]

[phone stops]

[wind stops]

Jimbo.

Stefa.

It was the Grither!

Oh, honey, of course not.

It was the wind.

[loud roaring]

[screaming]

[screaming]

[groans]

[screaming continues]

[bones crunch]

[bones crunch]

Oh, my God in heaven.

What was that?

It was the...

No, don't say
his name!

It wasn't Santa Claus.

["Silent Night" playing softly]

NARRATOR:
The dark side is always there.

Waiting for us to enter.

Waiting to enter us.

Until next time, try
to enjoy the daylight.