DISCLAIMER:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the characters that appear on the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, the WB and Mutant Enemy, Inc. The Ancient Ones, in particular the entity YogSothoth, as well as the character of Robert Blake first appeared in the Cthulhu mythos stories of the early twentieth century horror writer, H. P. Lovecraft.
SYNOPSIS:
Giles is struck down by an evil force released from one of history's most malevolent books of black magic. But before he passes into a coma, he calls out for the legendary "Guardian of the Watchers."
As the powers of darkness gather for an impending assault on Sunnydale, Buffy is lost and in peril without the guidance of Giles. It is then that the Guardian appears to show her the answers to her struggles lie not in ancient texts but in what is yet to be and within herself.
The Guardian of the Gates of Dawn concludes the trilogy that began with Carpe Diem and continued with "If I should Die Before I Wake." It's a story steeped in mysticism where Buffy and her friends each assume the forces of the past, the present and the future. Only then can they do battle with an evil that exists in all space and time. And Buffy learns she is more than just a Slayer.
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Prologue
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PROLOGUE, Scene 1, INT. A small New England college library. The rare book room. Morning, early spring, 1937.
A tall gaunt gentleman, HOWARD, in his mid 40's is waiting at the desk leading to the college library rare book room. His face is drawn, his brow furrowed and his brown hair is thinning. He wears a long trench coat and holds a floppy hat.
The CURATOR is in front of the cabinets that are kept locked away behind caged doors. He fiddles with his key chain looking for the right key. When he finally finds the one he wants, he bends down to a small, heavy safe on the floor. The Curator inserts the key and turns the latch. The door opens and he draws out a large volume bound in what looks to be a black calfskin cover. The Curator brings book back to the desk where Howard is waiting.
CURATOR
Here it is. I'll tell you, I'm not sorry to see the trustees let it go.
HOWARD
Oh?
CURATOR
Since that fire at the Widner a few years back that destroyed the other copy, we've had a lot of unsavory characters lining up to study this book. Some get positively violent when I tell them they can't take it out, and I have to watch them while they use it.
As the Curator talks, Howard is busy wrapping the book in brown paper. He then inserts it in a box he has brought, seals it with wrapping tape and begins addressing a postal label.
HOWARD
Did they ever figure out how that fire started? Surely wasn't students.
CURATOR
Rumor circulated for awhile that the head librarian himself did it as a cover to destroy the thing seeing as how that copy was the only total loss. The others in the compartment were just singed. Nobody could ever prove anything, though.
Howard finishes packing and addressing the parcel containing the book.
HOWARD
Well, this copy will be safely locked away.
CURATOR
Like I said, glad to see it go. If you'll just sign the ownership transfer sheet here.
Howard takes a deep breath and signs.
CURATOR (cont'd)
All yours. Mind if I ask where the old thing is headed?
HOWARD
I'd prefer not. That's the point, to have it disappear for some time.
CURATOR
I understand. Good luck to you.
HOWARD
Thank you.
Howard turns to leave, the brown parcel tucked under his arm.
CUT TO EXT. In front of the college library. Morning
Howard descends the steps of the college library with the parcel in hand. It is a brilliant early March morning in New England. A cold wind whips across the quadrangle surrounded by dormitories and 19th century classroom buildings. Howard shakes a little with the breeze and pulls his collar tighter around his neck. The brim of his hat flops in the wind. He walks briskly across the quadrangle towards the gate leading to the street.
Once outside he approaches a waiting cab and gets in.
HOWARD
(to the CAB DRIVER)
Just drive around for a few blocks. I want to make sure I'm not followed. Then pull in at the gas station on Main and Chestnut.
The cab pulls out into the street. There is almost no traffic on the small town streets. Howard gazes out the window at the colonial houses beneath lines of towering elms. His face is tired from many sleepless nights. He sighs and looks at the package in his lap. The cab finally pulls into the gas station. Howard gets out and pays the driver.
Waiting nearby is an idling Model A Ford. It's a black convertible with the top a little battered and dings and dents scattered around on the body. Behind the wheel is ROBERT BLAKE, a young man in his early twenties. He's of average height with brown hair and brown eyes. He inconspicuously waves to Howard who walks over to the car.
HOWARD (cont'd)
Master Blake, here's your errand.
Howard hands the parcel to Blake who examines it.
BLAKE
That didn't take long.
HOWARD
They were quite relieved I was taking it off their hands.
BLAKE
(looking at the postal label)
Sunnydale, California? Where the hell is Sunnydale, California?
HOWARD
Nowhere. Has about 500 people. And a very small library. I know the town librarian. It'll be safe there. And Blake . . .(Howard takes Blake's arm) Don't mail it here in town.
BLAKE
I could stop by Innsmouth on the way south.
HOWARD
No! Not Innsmouth! Stay away from Innsmouth. Don't even use the Innsmouth Road! I'd rather you went to Boston with it.
BLAKE
Boston?! Do you know how many people I'm going to have to fight my way through in downtown to get to the the post office!
HOWARD
On this errand, crowds are your friend.
BLAKE
I won't get to Providence until late tonight, if at all!
HOWARD
Small price to protect the future.
BLAKE
All right, Boston it is, then. But I won't be able to start researching the old Federal Hill church until Wednesday.
HOWARD
Robert, wait for my return on that.
BLAKE
But, Howard!
HOWARD
I will only say this once. You don't know that city as I do. Do not climb Federal Hill after sunset and under no circumstances are you to attempt to enter the old Free Will Church until my return. Is that clear?
BLAKE
Yes, sir.
Howard turns to walk away from the car.
BLAKE
(calling after him)
Howard, where are you going?
Howard looks up at the sky and sighs.
HOWARD
(quietly)
" . . .over the mountains of the moon,
into the valley of shadow . . ."
BLAKE
(recognizing the lines from "Eldorado")
That's Poe, sir. You're doing this more and more lately, disappearing and all. You didn't answer my question.
HOWARD
Sorry. I'm staying here tonight. You had better be off.
BLAKE
Okay, I'll see you back in Providence soon.
Blake drives off leaving Howard standing alone in the empty lot of the gas station.
HOWARD
(quietly to himself)
For that I would pray . . . God speed, Robert.
* * *
PROLOGUE, Scene 2, INT. The rare book room of the college library in Scene 1. Night.
The library is closed for the night. One small lamp is lit near the exit. The cages in the rare book room are in almost complete darkness. Outside a breeze is steadily rising. The leafless branches of a tree clatter against an outside window. The wind grows stronger with each passing minute and the twigs slash wildly against the glass. A ROARING SOUND, almost like the breathing of some invisible giant creature, joins the rush of the wind and the beating of branches against the library walls.
Suddenly, a window breaks sending glass cascading down on the bookshelves in the main library. Below where the window has broken, papers on library tables begin blowing off onto the floor in a straight path leading to the rare book room. By the dim rays of the exit light, the air appears to shimmer in a formless shape moving by the desks.
The locked door to the rare book room turns and opens of its own accord. Inside, the door on the small safe on the floor gently swings open. The safe is empty. A ROAR OF RAGE overwhelms the sound of the rushing wind.
All at once, bookshelves are toppled over sending volumes flying across the room. Library desks are crushed in the middle as if smashed by falling giant fists. In the rare book room, the cages all rip wildly out of the walls and the ancient volumes are shredded to pieces as they fly through the air.
With an enormous WHOOM, the windows in the library explode outwards sending shards of glass piercing the trees and the walls of the surrounding buildings.
CUT TO INT. A small room in a local inn. Night.
Howard, still wearing his trenchcoat, is seated in a ladderback chair before a cramped writing desk. His floppy hat hangs on the chair post. The room is illuminated by one lamp with a green glass shade on the desk. Across the room on the outer wall is a floor to ceiling window. Howard is writing rapidly on a sheet of paper. He stops, reads what he has written, then signs his name at the bottom.
He carefully folds the paper and inserts it into an envelope, addresses it and puts on a stamp.
HOWARD
(to himself)
At least now the other Watchers will know.
Outside the window, the trees begin to sway in a gathering wind. Howard looks up from the desk. His face is stern but resigned. He stands up from the desk and speaks to the storm building outside the closed window.
HOWARD (cont'd)
You don't need to put on the grand performance. It's not like we've never met.
The window slides open and a shimmering distortion in the light in the shape of a formless being pours in through the opening. It wavers in the air in front of Howard's desk. A deep, evil VOICE, not the result of any organically produced sound of this world, speaks slowly from out of the form to Howard.
VOICE
Where is it?
HOWARD
Gone.
VOICE
Where?
HOWARD
For an entity that supposedly coexists in all space and time, you see little and understand less.
VOICE
Where is it?
Howard does not answer. He glares at the being swirling before him.
VOICE (cont'd)
I will have it. You stand alone.
HOWARD
Today, yes, I am alone.
VOICE
You will die.
HOWARD
(quietly with conviction)
I have held you back for ten years. And I swear, from this day forth I will stand as a guard for the Watchers until you and all your kind are forever cast back into the void from which you came.
VOICE
Threats?
HOWARD
No. Truth. And something else you cannot see in the darkness of your existence.
Howard walks past the invisible form swirling in front of the desk and stands at the open window. He gazes out at the wind whipping the trees.
HOWARD (cont'd)
The breaking dawn. Your own future. I will not always stand alone.
The invisible entity wavers for a moment, then begins to grow larger. Howard turns to face the being.
HOWARD (cont'd)
A Guardian more powerful will join me.
The Gates of Dawn will open,
and others, as well, will stand beside me . . .
They will confront you in the past,
they will confront you in the present,
they will confront you in the future.
Your existence in all time will be your undoing.
VOICE
You will die . . . now.
HOWARD
My physical ending will seal your final defeat.
VOICE
Where is the book!
HOWARD (whispering)
. . . nowhere . . . and tomorrow . . .
VOICE
Riddles! Die, Man!
Howard clutches at his chest. At the same time he begins to gasp for air. Howard drops to his knees.
HOWARD (as he struggles to breath)
One more riddle, Ancient One . . . we will meet again . . . when the Gates of Dawn swing wide onto the Mouth of Hell.
Howard drops to the floor. For a moment, the entity looms over his body, then vanishes. The winds cease. Howard lies still where he has fallen.
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