MRS ORMEROD
Yes, Ron?
And the room fills with ectoplasmic bursts and light as Ron says . . .
MADAME TRACY/RON
Shut up.
And he’s gone. Madame Tracy as Aziraphale snaps her fingers and the lights go back on.
MADAME TRACY/AZIRAPHALE
Wasn’t that touching? Right. Lovely meeting you all. Out. Show’s over. World to save. Can’t lollygag.
MR SCROGGIE
That was very good value. Very entertaining.
And now Madame Tracy/ Aziraphale is pushing them into the hallway . . .
MRS ORMEROD
You haven’t heard the last of this. And neither has our Ron.
The door slams behind them.
530INT. MADAME TRACY’S KITCHEN – STORM, DAY
The kettle is whistling. Madame Tracy walks past a mirror on her way to turn it off.
From her POV: Aziraphale is in the mirror, copying her every movement.
She stops. Walks back to the mirror. Looks in it. Aziraphale from the mirror smiles sheepishly and wiggles his fingers at her in a hello.
Madame Tracy pours tea from a comedic teapot into two cups. She puts two sugars into one of the cups. Then hesitates.
MADAME TRACY/AZIRAPHALE
No sugar for me, please.
She sits at the kitchen table, props up the mirror in front of the teapot. She takes a slurp of the tea with sugar. Then in the mirror we see Aziraphale, looking expectant.
MADAME TRACY
Right. I want an explanation. And it had better be good.
531EXT. TRAFFIC JAM – STORM, DAY
TITLE CARD: 1 HOUR AND 43 MINUTES TO THE END OF THE WORLD
GOD (V.O.)
Crowley is currently stuck in a traffic jam as he tries to get out of London to find Adam.
The rain is pouring down so hard that we can barely see out. Horns are sounding. Gardeners’ Question Time is on the radio . . .
RADIO VOICE
Gardeners’ Question Time coming to you from Tadfield Gardening Club. Last here in 1953, and as the team will remember it’s a rich Oxfordshire loam in the east of the parish, rising to chalk in the west, the kind of place I say, don’t matter what you plant here, it’ll come up beautiful . . .
Crowley isn’t listening. And then Hell takes over the radio . . .
BEELZEBUB (V.O.)
The war has begun, Crowley. We note with interest that you avoided the forces we empowered to collect you.
CROWLEY
Possibly a slight mix-up . . .
BEELZEBUB (V.O.)
We will win this war. And as long as there is one demon left in hell, Crowley, you will wish you had been created mortal. Mortals can hope for death. All you can hope for is the mercy of Hell.
CROWLEY
Yeah?
BEELZEBUB (V.O.)
Just our little joke.
The blaring of horns gets louder . . .
532INT. POLICE CAR ON MOTORWAY – STORM, DAY
A police car. One of our police is talking to base . . .
POLICE #1
I know what it sounds like. But we have to close down this whole stretch of motorway. At least as far as the Tadfield junction . . . I TOLD you. It’s raining fish . . . No, that’s not an expression like ‘raining cats and dogs’ . . .
As LIVE FISH FALL FROM THE SKY onto the windscreen.
533INT. BENTLEY – STORM, DAY
Crowley is in his Bentley. HE KNOWS. It is happening.
RADIO VOICE
It’s official. This is the biggest traffic jam in England’s history.
CROWLEY
Why?
In memory he hears:
SATAN (V.O.)
What you did to the M25 was a stroke of demonic genius.
CROWLEY
No! Oh no. No no no no no no no!
GOD (V.O.)
The traffic jam is being caused by problems on the M25, the freeway that circles London. Crowley had a lot to do with the design of the M25 back in the 1970s.
534FLASHBACK. EXT. A MUDDY FIELD – NIGHT – 1970s
Crowley is in wellies. He’s also dressed like it’s the seventies. It’s night. He’s got a piece of paper on a clipboard, along with a compass.
He picks up a flag, and hauls it across the field. Checks with his clipboard. Moves it a final couple of inches, lining it up exactly. We see a diagram of M25 Odegra on his clipboard. Then he grins.
M25, you are now going to be the dread sigil, Odegra. It means, ‘Hail the Great Beast, Devourer of Worlds’. And you’re a motorway. Brilliant.
535INT. MADAME TRACY’S FLAT, BEDROOM – STORM, DAY
Shadwell’s eyes open. He takes in the mirrored ceiling, the stuffed animals, the fluffy pinkness of it all.
536INT. MADAME TRACY’S FLAT
Shadwell wanders, looking lost, through the flat, following voices towards the kitchen.
He stops at the kitchen doorway, flattens himself against the wall, hand making a gun with his two fingers, and listens.
We can hear two voices: Madame Tracy’s and Aziraphale’s.
MADAME TRACY (O.S.)
So what exactly do you propose we do about this?
AZIRAPHALE (O.S.)
Given the circumstances, we are both going to have to be extremely flexible . . .
Shadwell has heard enough.
537INT. MADAME TRACY’S KITCHEN – STORM, DAY
Shadwell bursts into the kitchen to defend Madame Tracy’s honour.
SHADWELL
Get your hands off her, you . . .
He looks around. There’s nobody there. Only Madame Tracy, looking at a mirror propped up on her table, in which we see reflected Madame Tracy.
SHADWELL (CONT’D)
Where is he?
MADAME TRACY
Who?
SHADWELL
Some southern pansy. I heard him. Making lewd suggestions.
Madame Tracy’s POV: Aziraphale is in the mirror.
MADAME TRACY/AZIRAPHALE
Not just A southern pansy, Sergeant. THE southern pansy.
The voice is 100% Aziraphale’s. Shadwell is shaken. But he points his hand at her, like a gun.
SHADWELL
Demon? You know what this is? Four fingers. One thumb. Now you get out of this gud woman’s head before I blast ye to kingdom come.
MADAME TRACY
That’s the trouble, Mr Shadwell. Kingdom come. It’s going to. Mr Aziraphale has been explaining it. Now, you have a nice cup of tea, and listen to him.
SHADWELL
I’ll no listen to a demon’s hellish blandishments!
Madame Tracy reaches out and pats his shoulder.
MADAME TRACY
You old silly. Nine sugars, isn’t it?
Shadwell, slowly, lowers his finger.
538EXT. M25 TRAFFIC JAM – STORM, DAY
GOD (V.O.)
As Adam came into his power, the world welcomed him in ways not even Crowley had expected.
On the M25 motorway, cars are stopped in the storm. A car door opens . . .
HORACE
I can’t hold it in!
NORA
Well, what if the traffic starts moving again? It’s the M25. You can’t just stop and have a widdle by the side of the road.
HORACE
I can and I will. Hail the Great Beast.
NORA
What did you say, Horace?
HORACE
Hail the Great Beast . . .
NORA
Devourer of Worlds . . .
The noise of honking horns and cars and people shouting out of their windows begins to form words. A low repeated chanting.
CHANT
Hail the Great Beast, Devourer of Worlds. Hail the Great Beast, Devourer of Worlds . . .
Pull back: the surface of the M25 is a bright red, burning vision of Hell.
GOD (V.O.)
The M25 had become, unexpectedly, a burning magical
ring of fire that surrounded London. Nobody was getting in or out. Crowley had made it. Now Crowley was trapped inside it.
High aerial shot of London: we can see the M25 around it, and then it ignites: it’s a glowing symbol . . .
539INT. BENTLEY – STORM, DAY
Crowley. He’s angry. He’s frustrated. And he’s figuring this one out . . .
CROWLEY
Right. M25 is now an impassable burning ring of infernal fire. And that’s my fault. Come on. Tadfield. Tadfield. Tadfield. I can do this. North. Pick up the M40 at Denham.
540EXT. TRAFFIC JAM – DAY
The Bentley pulls out of the traffic onto the hard shoulder.
541INT. TELEPHONE SALES OFFICE – STORM, DAY
A telephone marketing company call centre. Rain is flooding down the windows. At each desk is a human being with a headset and a computer making the calls. We move down a line of them. Then we meet LISA. She’s having a bad day . . .
LISA
Mr Biggs, I’m calling about the car accident that was not your fault that you were involved— bugger.
(next call)
Mrs Blore, I’m calling about the car accident you were recently involved in. You are eligible for compensation. Oh for Heaven’s sake . . .
On her desktop screen, we can see little pop-up texts turning up: Got one out of the bath! And: He’s Swearing Now . . .
They hang up. She starts again . . .
And now Lisa’s screen, which is throwing up the names of people being called, says on it, Anthony Cowwley, London, W1.
542INT. CROWLEY’S OFFICE – STORM, DAY
We see Crowley’s desk. The phone rings, once, twice. And the black answering machine appears to catch the call . . . The red light is flashing . . ..
HASTUR (V.O.)
(whispery)
Yes?
543INT. TELEPHONE SALES OFFICE
Lisa goes happily into her spiel . . .
LISA
Hello, Mister Cowwley. We are calling about the accident you had . . .
HASTUR (V.O.)
(whispery)
It wasn’t an accident, Lisa. And this isn’t Crowley.
LISA
Um. How do you know my name?
HASTUR (CONT’D)
I know lots of things, Lisa. I should be grateful to you for setting me free, shouldn’t I? I should thank you personally and meet your friends . . .
LISA
I’m . . . I’m putting the phone down.
HASTUR
Too late . . .
It’s been getting darker and darker in the space. And now something comes out of her phone headset.
It’s a MAGGOT.
It falls on the desk, onto a piece of paper, and wriggles. Another few maggots fall.
Zoom in on Lisa’s face as she screams . . .
Pull back, and there are skeletons in the seats, where there were people.
And a huge single MAGGOTTY THING, that BELCHES.
And becomes Hastur, but a slimier, more goopy Hastur.
HASTUR (CONT’D)
I needed that.
544INT. MADAME TRACY’S LIVING ROOM – STORM, DAY
Madame Tracy is talking to Shadwell, who is drinking his tea with condensed milk. He is sitting at the table where she had the seance. She is standing.
When we are looking from Madame Tracy’s POV we can see Aziraphale reflected in the mirrors, standing next to Madame Tracy.
From Shadwell’s POV, the mirrors show only him and Madame Tracy.
SHADWELL
So there’s really an Antichrist?
MADAME TRACY/AZIRAPHALE
The Antichrist is alive on earth at this moment, Sergeant. He is bringing about Armageddon. I am sure that you can see that the imminent destruction of the world is not something any reasonable person would permit. Am I correct?
SHADWELL
Aye.
MADAME TRACY/AZIRAPHALE
The Antichrist must be killed, Sergeant Shadwell. And you are the man to do it.
SHADWELL
I don’t know about that. The Witchfinder Army . . . we just kill witches.
MADAME TRACY/AZIRAPHALE
And I am sure you’ve killed lots of them.
SHADWELL
We . . . lll . . . Early days. This Antichrist of yours. How many nipples does he have?
MADAME TRACY/AZIRAPHALE
Oh. Um . . .
We see Aziraphale crossing his fingers under the table.
MADAME TRACY/AZIRAPHALE (CONT’D)
Oodles of them. Pots of nipples. Nipples everywhere.
SHADWELL
Then I’m your man.
MADAME TRACY/AZIRAPHALE
What weapons do you have, Sergeant?
Shadwell holds up his fingers.
MADAME TRACY/AZIRAPHALE (CONT’D)
Anything more substantial?
SHADWELL
I’ve got pins. And the Thundergun of Witchfinder Colonel Dalrymple. It’ll fire anything. Silver bullets.
MADAME TRACY/AZIRAPHALE
That’s werewolves.
SHADWELL
Garlic.
MADAME TRACY/AZIRAPHALE
Vampires.
SHADWELL
Bricks.
MADAME TRACY/AZIRAPHALE
That should do nicely.
Shadwell wanders off.
MADAME TRACY/AZIRAPHALE (CONT’D)
Now. We need to get to Tadfield. I trust you have a reliable mode of transportation.
MADAME TRACY
I do indeed.
Madame Tracy goes to the kitchen cupboard. Pulls out two ancient motorbike helmets. She puts on the pink one as Shadwell reappears, holding a huge, ancient blunderbuss gun we’ve seen on the wall in a display case in his flat.
MADAME TRACY (CONT’D)
You don’t point that big thing at me, dear. Now, pop this on.
Holds out the green helmet.
545EXT. SHADWELL’S FLAT – STORM, DAY
The door to the flat opens, and Madame Tracy manhandles an ancient scooter, like a Triumph Tina, out onto the street.
MADAME TRACY
You’ll have to hold on to me very tight. Won’t that be nice? Oh, I am naughty.
SHADWELL
De’il ding a divot aff yer wame wi’ a flaughter spade.
MADAME TRACY
I don’t think there’s any call for language. Right. Hold tight.
And she starts the scooter. It is not made to carry two people. It goes PUTT-PUTT-PUTT-PUTT and carries them extreeeeemely slowly off down the street.
Madame Tracy’s POV: she looks into the bike’s mirror. And there’s Aziraphale, with a pink motorbike helmet looking back at us.
And we PULL BACK and up from Madame Tracy into an AERIAL SHOT OF LONDON . . .
The M25 is a giant, burning ring of pure, demonic light around the city.
And we head down . . .
546EXT. NEAR WALL OF FLAMES – STORM, DAY
The Bentley is covered with dust from the fire.
Crowley has pulled up the Bentley on the hard shoulder beside a traffic jam that stops at a simple wooden NO ENTRY roadblock. Beyond the wooden roadblock is a curtain of light that’s glowing with evil energy.
547INT. BENTLEY – STORM, DAY
In the car. Crowley is frustrated . . .
CROWLEY
Come on. Come on. There has to be a way across it.
He grabs The Nice and Accurate Prophecies, starts flicking through it.
CROWLEY (CONT’D)
Burning roads? Did you predict this, Agnes? Why isn’t there an index?
He turns a page . . .
A hand reaches out, takes the sunglasses from Crowley’s face and breaks them in half.
Without any effects or fanfare, Hastur is sitting on the seat next to Crowley.
HASTUR
You’ll never escape London. Nothing can.
CROWLEY
Hastur. How was your time in voicemail?
HASTU
R
Joke all you like. There’s nowhere to run, Crowley.
Crowley starts driving forward. Slowly at first . . .