Emily Brontë is My Personal Enemy by Letty McHugh

LETTY MCHUGH:                                   Have you ever found yourself staring out at the night sky, pondering how you’re going to fix the very common, and totally relatable problem that you’re being haunted by Emily Brontë?

EMILY BRONTË:                                    Ah, I’m not sure how much I like the term haunting, really. I’m helping, advising, coaching—

LETTY MCHUGH:                                 Please, please, stop talking! My name is Letty McHugh. I’m an artist, and a writer. I’m trying to write a book right now, but as I say, I’m being haunted by Emily Brontë. EMILY BRONTË:  It’s Bront-AY. With an ‘AY’. You always miss the accent. LETTY MCHUGH: That is not an accident. I’m morally opposed to the accent, I miss it out deliberately. I think it’s pretentious. EMILY BRONTË:  You are just deliberately uncooperative. I’m trying to help you better yourself**—** LETTY MCHUGH: —and who are you to better me anyway? You grew up in Haworth same as I did. You’re not as fancy as you think you are, you know. My Grandma worked in Mary Firth’s dress shop at the top of Haworth Main Street in the 1980’s and this man used to come in, old Fred and he was in his 90’s and he always said that his grandma, knew a woman, who was a servant to your family, and you all had this dead superior air about you.

LETTY MCHUGH:                                   “That lot up the top o’ the hill, they all think that they’re fancy but they are no better than the rest of us,” is what my grandma said, Fred said, his grandma said, the servant said.

EMILY BRONTË:                                     Oh. No. Such a concise and cutting insult. How will I ever recover.

LETTY MCHUGH:                                   You’re very opinionated for a sentient patch of uneven paint on my bedroom ceiling.

EMILY BRONTË:                                     And you’re very opinionated for a Haworth yokel who hasn’t left the house in a month.

LETTY MCHUGH:                                   She’s like this all the time. Rude. Unhelpful. Unpleasant.  When one of my literary heroines possessed a patch of paint on my bedroom ceiling and offered to be my writing mentor, I imagined it to be more long productive chats about my career— [VFX: dreamy musical sting]

LETTY MCHUGH (DREAM) That last stanza scans beautifully!

EMILY BRONTË (DREAM):   Yes, Letty, you are so clever.

LETTY MCHUGH (DREAM): Thanks.

EMILY BRONTË (DREAM):   And your writing’s very funny!

LETTY MCHUGH (DREAM): I know, right?

[LETTY and EMILY giggle]

EMILY BRONTË (DREAM):   And it’s so interesting how you relate everything back to historical facts about obscure Northumbrian saints! Oh, let’s go collect your latest trophy. And then I’ll catch you up on salacious village gossip from the last two hundred years!

[LETTY and EMILY laugh haughtily]

LETTY MCHUGH (PRESENT): —and less— EMILY BRONTË (FLASHBACK) PIGS! You and your filthy family stink like pigs!

LETTY MCHUGH (FLASHBACK):          Only YOU could ruin a lovely moment and bring it back to my family pig thing!