WTW: Episode 1- A Stranger with a Story
Narration Script
By
SAMUEL GROM

 

SAMUEL [V.O.] 
Oh! Hello there. I'm surprised you 
found me out here. I'll often 
spend days wondering around here 
without running into a sing 
person-not one.

Who am I? Well... I'm no one, truly... 
Just your average outdoorsman 
enjoying the air and the birds.
You can call me Sam if you like. 
Doesn't matter too much to me.
I spend my time out here looking 
for inspiration. I like to tell 
stories and I find that there's 
so much out here that can trigger 
a funny little thought that builds 
into fun fib to tell your friends.
Oh, I suppose I could sit in a 
house thinking and thinking until 
I squeeze something out the 
ol'noggin.
It's just so much easier out here.
Just think. People used to spend 
all their time outside, in the 
woods. People also used to come up 
with wild yarns they'd spin for 
friends and kids.
I'm willing to bet you've grown up 
on one of those stories. Little 
fibs to tell the kids why the 
leaves turn red or why the river 
runs.

OH! Y'know what? I just thought of 
a story... Just now! Really!
Here, sit on this rock, I've 
already called the tree stump.

Here's the story of... Hm...
Oh! I know!
This is the story of the Mushrooms 
Folk...
NARRATOR
Way, wayyy back... before the trees 
first wore their leaves and the 
first fish grew their knees, the 
lands belonged to the Mushroom 
folk.
Heads adorned with great caps of 
many vibrant colors, they trod 
upon the sod without help or 
hindrance.
They ate invisible creatures in 
the ground and air, and in all 
directions their land was 
everywhere.
They danced and they sung, in 
great halls they had fun, and fell 
asleep happily under the slowly 
setting sun.
While the land called them master, 
time would soon bring disaster, as 
great beasts from the seas stepped 
upon them with ease.
Many thought their day done, for 
nowhere could they run, but time 
would soon give them a way to get 
by.
One day, a beast fell, seeming to 
sleep for a spell, but as the 
minutes went on, it was clear 
something had surely gone wrong.
The mushrooms worked quick, and 
while it might make you sick the 
old folk did not have the chance 
to make picks.
In days, the beast was gone, and 
the shrooms carried on, and as 
more beasts fell, they'd fed on 
they heard the mourning dinner 
bell.
Soon great towers of wood came, 
and the shrooms feet soon became,
Like the roots of these newfangled 
friends.
They'd burrow beneath, and perhaps 
sink their teeth- in the meat of 
whomever they meet.

SAMUEL [V.O.] 
There... what do you think of that, 
Hm?
T-too childish? But... that was the 
point!
Huff... well, If you want bare 
knuckles, then the gloves shall 
come off!
Oh know, I'm not going to fight 
you... Attacking a stranger in the 
woods is just about the dumbest 
thing I could do.
No no no, I'm going to tell you a 
new story, one of intrigue, of 
mystery!

This is the story...
Of The Garigton Goatking!
NARRATOR [V.O.] 
150 years ago, the North 
Pennsylvanian town of Gerigton 
began reporting strange sightings 
of a Wildman shepherding goats in 
the woods around them.
A boy named Oscar was the first 
witness. Every day he would come 
home from the town schoolhouse and 
play in the ravine behind his 
mother's cabin.
He would pull sticks from trees 
and break the over the trunks 
until his mother called him for 
supper.
One day, while scraping away brown 
caps from the base of a dogwood, 
he heard a strange sound.
A quiet bleating bounce about the 
gully's stone walls.
"Bah... Bah... Bah"
Young Oscar, being a rascal, 
thought to scare away the bleater 
by throwing a rock against the 
walls.
"Crack, crack, crack," went the 
rock as it fell down the chasm. 
The clangoring so great, it sent 
unseen birds into the air with its 
loudness,
For a time, the boy that his job 
done, and went about tormenting 
beetles.
He'd pluck them of their legs, one 
by one, and watch them wiggle and 
writhe with obscene curiosity.
"Bah... Bah... Bah..."
Said the ravine ones more, giving 
the boy a great start.
This would carry on for some time, 
with the boy tossing another rock 
at every bleat until he'd gathered 
a bundle of sticks and stones and 
sent them all tumbling down the 
gap, filling it with a deafening 
clamor.
He looked down the gorge, ever 
careful not to through himself in, 
expecting an animal to calm 
climbing out from under the 
shadows.
"Bah"
(Man's voice)
The boy screamed and ran all the 
way home and told all he could of 
the voice in the woods.

Another was the account of a 
basket weaver. An elderly widow 
who'd go down to the wetlands to 
weave baskets from old reeds for 
her five pregnant daughters.
She would hike the long 
journey to the marches every day to collect 
materials. She'd trek over stone 
and hill with her aching legs just 
to get a bundle of cattail reeds.
One day, she found a goat resting 
in the marches, cooling off in the 
shallow waters. After plucking her 
quarry, she gave the old goat a 
soft, sugary-bread roll.
The next day, she made the long 
journey once again, this time 
finding two goats resting in the 
waters.
She collected her reeds and fed 
each their own bread roll.
This would go on for three weeks. 
She would walk with a reed basket 
of freshly baked bread to the 
marshes, collect her new reeds, 
and would find a new goat joined 
the originals posse until she had 
fed a whole party of goats with 
sweet bread.
One day, the old woman woke with a 
fever, and could not make the 
day's journey.
Once her children had all left 
her in the midday to work, she 
heard a knocking on the back door. 
She opened it to find a stack of 
baskets woven from powerful 
wines. In the highest basket sat 
25 bottles of pure white goat's 
milk.
That night, all 8 of her children 
came over for dinner, and each 
would say the milk tasted as sweet 
as their mother's sweetbread.

Eventually, the hunters of the 
town formed a posse, somehow 
convinced the mysterious figure to 
be an outlaw held up in the 
wilderness and hinting all their 
game.
The elders warned against such a 
venter, armed with stories from 
the old country, but the young 
hunters refused their advice.
For the five long days, the 
hunter's wives waited for them, 
with every night filled with 
shouts and gunfire in the 
distance. On the sixth day, the 
hunters returned.
Not a one would speak a word of 
what they saw, only that the 
sightings would end.
They brought now outlaw bound in 
restraints, but instead a sack 
filled with four things. Two 
hooves wearing chaps, a grey goats 
eyes, and a man's yellow tooth.

SAMUEL [V.O.] 
What do you think of that?
Hm, a suppose everyone's a critic.
Hey, y'know... it's getting awful 
late. You should head out before 
it gets dark.
I wouldn't say its too terribly 
dangerous per say, but it 
certainly isn't as safe as the 
day.
Oh, no, I'll be fine, I'm... I'm 
going in the other direction 
anyway.
I hope to see you around!

NARRATOR [V.O.] 
Jamison sat in the captain's 
chair, listening to the sound of 
rain pounding against the roof of 
his fishing boat's enclosed 
bridge.
Three days off the coast of Rhode 
Island, and still his nets were 
empty.
He took a long drag off his 
cigarette, filling his lungs with 
burning ash. He was desperate.
"Mr. Jamison, I'm sorry, but if 
you can't pay your debt in time. 
We'll need to take your house, 
that's just the way it is."
He watched as the embers climbed 
up to the filter. He picked the 
butt out of his mouth, and crushed 
it with his foot.
"Don't even got no bed in here."
It's not like he'd lived in the 
house much, spending all his time 
in the boat just to pay it off, 
but the sting was no less 
bothersome.
The boat swayed back and forth in 
the mildly tumultuous sea. He 
hadn't even docked it, hoping to 
at least catch something while he 
slept.
He'd even preyed for a catch that 
morning, a new method he thought 
of trying. It didn't bring much 
more than bottle caps and plastic 
rungs though.
"I'd prey to anything at this 
point," he chortled before dosing.
Suddenly, he woke to the sound of 
sea spray crashing against the 
window.
"Wha?! Its supposed to be mild 
showers dammit!"
He charged through the door bucket 
in hand and bolted for the water 
pooling I'm the deck.
He tossed bucket after bucket 
overboard, desperately working to 
save what he had left.
The rain pelted his body as waves 
tried to tackle him to the floor.
He'd scoop
He'd toss
X2
All just for the water to return.
Thunder rolled across the sky as 
lightning filled the night with 
blue light.
Soon Jamison found himself staring 
out into the ocean greeted with a 
bizarre vision.
The siluette of a woman was 
defined by the storm's light. 
Great and terrible in stature and 
clothed in stormy clouds, she 
hovered just before the ocean 
surface.
Jamison froze, bucket falling into 
the water as his eyes beheld the 
giant.
"anything?"

The next day, the whole town 
gathered at the docks to see a 
strange yet dazzling catch.
Jamison, in his nearly sunk 
fishing boat stood before them all 
with nets filled with gold.
Statues of great fish and other 
sealife shone with the morning 
sun's light with near blinding 
clarity.
"Where did you go?"
One fisherman asked
"What bait did you use?"
Asked a little boy.
"All I had to do was prey," he 
would say, all while hiding a 
strange set of slits on his neck.