April Fool
By Kimberly Weiss

The scene opens up in England, February 1708. We walk along the cobblestone roads of London to a house with the name Partridge on the nameplate out front.
Caption: London. February 1708.

We go into the house, and into the studio of the owner in question, a man named John Partridge. He is sitting at his desk with is leaden with odd looking instruments. The desk is near a bookshelf with odd sounding titles. The man sitting at the desk is an astrologer, a well known astrologer. He is reading the newspaper. The man has read something in the newspaper that has insulted him. He slams the newspaper down on the desk angry.
Partridge: What is the damned Times playing at? Jeeves!

An older gentleman dressed as a butler comes into the doorway.
Jeeves: Yes, Mr. Partridge?
Partridge: Jeeves, have you read the evening edition?
Jeeves: No sir.

Partridge hands the newspaper to the older man, who takes it and reads:
Death of Famed Astrologer Predicted
Isaac Bickerstaff, a London astrologer, released an almanac today that predicts the death of reclusive astrologer John Partridge by fever on March 30th 1708. The upstart has much to prove with the audacious claim. In an interview with the Times, Mr. Bickerstaff seemed to be saddened by his own prediction claiming that by losing one such as Partridge “the astrological society would be losing its mind.”
Partridge: It’s absolutely ridiculous. Who do they think they are to report such rubbish as news.

Jeeves lowers the newspaper and watches his master pacing the room in a fit.
Partridge: I shall have to write the editor. It’s such a damned nuisance. Who the hell is this Bickerstaff, anyway? I’ve never heard his name in the astrology circles.
Jeeves: Would you have me fetch a pen and paper, sir?
Partridge: Yes, yes, of course.

The pen and paper fetched, Partridge sits and writes a scathing letter to the Times editor.
Dear Editor,
The prediction of my imminent death in your paper must have been some sort of ruse which I am sure you now understand and plan to retract in a later issue. I would not take much stock in Bickerstaff’s predictions as I assure you he is the worst sort of charlatan who makes a mockery of the science and art of astrological prediction. The man is no sort of man at all but a cheap fraud whose reputation will be tarnished by no act of my own on the first of April when it is learned that I am still among the living.
Yours,
John Partridge

Jeeves is sent with the letter to the postal office, as Mr. Partridge can not wait for the post to take it. Jeeves walks through the London streets passing all manner of people, and finally handing the letter in person to the editor.

It is a few months later. Once again, we are in the studio of John Partridge, and he is reading the newspaper. Once again, John is in a state, and once again he slams down the newspaper.
Caption: March 30th 1708.
Partridge: Now they’ve gone too far!

Jeeves appears in the doorway once again.
Partridge: Apparently, I’m dead.
Jeeves: Sir?

Partridge hands the newspaper to the man.
Bickerstaff’s Prediction True
In an amazing turn of events, it has just been learned that John Partridge is dead. The famed astrologer died this morning from a fever, just as predicted in February by new astrologist Isaac Bickerstaff.

Once again, the pen and paper is brought out and Partridge writes a scathing letter to the editor of the Times.
Dear Editor,
I really must encourage you to check your facts before you publish such ridiculous trash. As I can very well guarantee, I am still alive and well, and it is obvious that this Bickerstaff, realizing his prediction to be wrong, sent you a false report of my death to suit his own ends. I really am disappointed with the Times, not only for believing such a charlatan as Bickerstaff, but also publishing such drivel as comes out of his mouth. Please retract any statements that I am dead, for I am very much alive.
John Partridge

Jeeves leaves the house with the letter and hands it to the editor. We can not hear what is being said, but Jeeves gets upset and the editor hands him a slip of paper. The paper is a coroner’s report and Jeeves hands it back to the editor shaking his head. The editor crosses his arms and Jeeves walks out the door.
Back at the house, Jeeves walks through the door and puts his own jacket away. John accosts him.
Partridge: Did you take care of it?
Jeeves: Yes, sir, but -
Partridge: I really can’t understand the Times. They used to be such a prestigious newspaper, now they’ll print any old rubbish. I really must find a different newspaper to publish my predictions as I can no longer trust the quality of the Times.
Jeeves: Yes, sir.

The next day, Partridge is woken up by the clanging of the doorbell. He throws his robe on and walks out to the living room.
Sound Effects: Ding-Dong

As he gets to the living room he sees a very distraught Jeeves shutting the door.
Partridge: Who is calling this early in the morning?
Jeeves: That was - ah. That was the sexton, sir.
Partridge: The sexton? What for?
Jeeves: He wanted to know if you had left any orders for your final sermon, sir.
Partridge: My what?!

In his pajamas, John runs out the door and through the streets. People that he meets are holding newspapers with the headline: Astrologer Partridge Death Foretold. The date on the paper being April 1st 1708. He snatches the paper from a terrified man.
Partridge: I’m not dead. Can’t you see that, you fool?
Man: Oh God help me! A ghost!

Partridge throws the paper in the mud and storms to the editor’s office.
Partridge: I demand to see the editor!
Man: Right away, sir, what is your name?
Partridge: John Partridge.

The man turns pale.
Man: But - but
Partridge: Get him out here, now!

The editor looks at the man frightened.
Editor: Who - who are you, sir?
Partridge: I am John Partridge, I am the man who writes your astrology section, and I demand that you retract your statement that I am dead.
Editor: But, sir, you can’t be John Partridge, he’s dead, I have the coroner’s report right here.
Partridge: It’s a fake! A hoax! A lie!

Partridge runs out into the streets and starts screaming at the people passing by.
Partridge: I am alive, I tell you. I am alive. Why won’t anyone believe me?

We are now in the studio of another man reading the newspaper. He leans back and laughs and as he laughs we can see the headline that he is reading.
Famed Astrologer Partridge Death Foretold

A man, dressed as a butler, enters the room with the man’s tea.
Butler: Mr. Swift, don’t you think you should write to the newspaper and tell them it was all a joke? That poor man must be a lunatic by now.
Jonathan Swift: Ah, no. I’ve done Society a favor by killing John Partridge. Hah!
Caption: Happy April Fool’s Day!