HALLOWEEN: SPIRITS OF THE DEAD
by Matt Anderson & Myron James
(a
fan work copyrighted by authors, based on characters & situations owned by
Trancas International Films)
EXT. FIELD – NIGHT
Fade in to an open, isolated field of swaying tall grass. We slowly pan over
it as we hear nothing but a gentle breath of wind and a subdued chorus of
crickets. A title in white letters slowly fades in at the bottom of the
frame:
OCTOBER 30, 2004
After a few moments more of moving across the field, a second title fades in
below the first:
15.8 MILES OUTSIDE
HADDONFIELD,
ILLINOIS
As
the titles fade away, we begin to hear the faintest noises of grass
crunching under many sets of feet, followed by sounds of a struggle; grunts,
heavy breaths, the continuous noise of feet being dragged over the ground.
Above it all, we hear a MAN’S frantic voice.
MAN
For the love of God, let me go! Who are you people?! What do you want, I’ll
do anything, Christ, just let me go!
The man—a thin, balding, middle-aged individual with a mustache—is dragged
into the frame and has his mouth covered by a hand in a black glove. We now
see that he’s being held captive by a number of figures. There looks to be a
few dozen of them, and they’re cloaked in flowing black robes and clothing,
their faces hidden by both masks and heavy hoods. We hear their unfortunate
prisoner’s stifled scream and see his eyes widen in terror when they carry
him to the center of the field.
From the man’s POV, the camera emerges from the grass and into a wide
clearing, revealing a mound of rocks surrounding what looks like a huge
wooden basket. It’s more akin to a cage, but the crisscrossing boards and
the open top give it the basket-like appearance. There are smaller stones
arranged in a perfect circle around the mound, each one having a different
strange mark or symbol jaggedly carved on its surface. Cut back to the man
as his mouth is uncovered and four of his captors drag him onward while the
rest come to a stop and hang back.
MAN
No…no! Oh God, what’re you going to do?! Just let me go, please, why are you
doing this?! Stop! Let me go!
He
keeps struggling as three of the figures come to a momentary halt, the
fourth stepping back to remove a length of rope from inside his robe. They
then tie the man’s arms behind his back and pull a small door on the side of
the basket open. They stuff him into the basket and slam the door shut
again, then take out a padlock and secure it on the door.
As
the four of them step back and return to their ranks, the whole group slowly
gathers around the mound in a circle. They’re like ghosts as they quietly
drift into their positions and ignore the caged man as he rams his shoulder
against the solid wood.
MAN
Just tell me what you want! Why are you doing this to me?!
The wind suddenly picks up and whips through the dry grass, bending it all
in one direction as a single mass and showering the anachronistic setup with
dead leaves and brown pine straw from the menacing trees with the warped,
gnarled branches that surround the field. An eerie chill ensues, one that
prompts the man to fall silent and stiffen in an ever-tightening grip of
fear. The black specters surrounding him then begin to engage in a low,
disconcerting murmur, but not one of conversation. It sounds like a chant or
incantation, but it’s not together. Their soft, monotone voices drone on in
a language that is alien to him, each one of them motionless and seemingly
in a trance.
The man cringes as a screeching bat flaps by over the top of the basket. He
then looks back at the crowd and sees them slowly begin to part like the
biblical sea before Moses, clearing a path for another dark apparition, a
MAN IN BLACK, to ceremoniously make its way toward him.
When the figure is clear of the others and comes gradually closer, we see
that this one is dressed a little differently from the others. He’s draped
in a long black duster that billows in the breeze like a cape. The collar
stands up around his head, and that, combined with the black fedora tipped
down low over his visage, completely obscures his face in shadow. The silver
tips on the ends of his boots clink like blades striking stone with every
ominous step he takes. The prisoner doesn’t dare say a word, his blood
running cold as the Man in Black finally comes to a gradual stop about three
feet away from the mound. And for a moment, the two only stare at one
another.
The Man in Black raises his right forearm to silence the macabre
congregation. All is now quiet as the grave. He then holds his hand out to
his side as if waiting to receive something. Upon seeing this, one of the
cloaked spectators emerges from the crowded circle with a thick chunk of
wood, lighting it into a blazing torch as he comes imperiously forward and
places it in the waiting hand.
After a momentary delay, his shoulders rising and falling slowly…as if with
a heavy sigh…the Man in Black takes a few steps back and touches the torch
to the ground, igniting a trail of gasoline that leads to the mound and the
basket. The flames hungrily engulf the fuel, perfectly following the trail’s
cryptic formation of a vertical line with a sharp triangle pointing out of
its right side; the mark of THORN. The conflagration spreads quickly through
the strange symbol and into the mound, immediately leaping greedily upward
to the dry wood of the basket. The man inside erupts in terrified screams as
it only takes seconds for the whole thing to burn like a marshmallow over a
campfire. As they watch, the Man in Black and his followers remain silent
and unmoving, transfixed with intense concentration on the man they’re
burning alive.
Soon, the shrieks of agony subside. The Man in Black holds the smoldering
torch out for another one of the robed attendees to come forward and take
it. Once it’s out of his hands, all their stares turn to him. They still
don’t move or speak, but it’s no less evident that they’re as anxious and
expectant as a courtroom audience awaiting a trial verdict. When at last the
Man in Black speaks, his voice is deep and prophetic.
MAN IN BLACK
It’s time.
The wind returns, icily slicing through the field and casting more leaves to
the ground as the camera pans up to the sky, embellishing a full harvest
moon. The familiar Halloween theme begins to play when the pan-up starts.
Once the angle comes to rest on the moon, it slowly begins to close in on
it. The opening titles roll as clouds drift by and the moon fills more of
the frame. The music is accompanied with sounds of wind rushing through
trees, dry leaves hitting the ground, owls hooting and wolves howling in the
nearby woods, the symphony of crickets picking up again, and the screeching
of another bat as it flutters past the light orange disc in the sky. The
music dies away when a bigger cloud finally veils the moon and stars,
plunging the screen into total blackness. Against this black screen, we
begin to hear a VOICEOVER, spoken by investigative reporter DAVID LYTENER in
a deep, smooth tone.
LYTENER (V.O.)
There are few things in this world that capture our attention as well as
stories of senseless violence and murder. Now I’m not going to climb onto
some moral high-horse and try to pass judgment…after all, I’m no different.
EXT. ROAD – NIGHT
Cut to a quiet, rural back road surrounded by fields. After a moment, the
headlights of a newer-model red Taurus become visible as the vehicle rounds
a bend, passes the camera, and continues on down the roadway, disappearing
around another curve.
INT. CAR – NIGHT
The lit-up clock display and instruments cast a greenish glow on Lytener’s
rigid features, the driver and sole occupant of the Taurus. As he grips the
steering wheel and struggles to stay awake, we see he’s around his
mid-thirties with an average build. His face is rugged, his angular chin
covered by a close-cropped beard that matches his shock of wavy brown hair.
He repeatedly blinks and widens his bright, keen eyes through a pair of
thin-rimmed spectacles, then suddenly shakes his head from side to side and
sits up straighter. We can tell he’s been on the road for a good while. As
he fights a battle with drowsiness, his narration continues.
LYTENER (V.O.)
I
went to the little town of Haddonfield, IL because of a story I’d heard.
You’ve probably heard it, too. It starts with a little boy named Michael
Myers, who killed his sister on Halloween night when he was only six years
old. He spent the subsequent 15 years locked up in Smith’s Grove
Sanitarium…then he escaped, and went after his other sister, Laurie Strode.
She survived, but after hiding himself away for two decades, he came
back…and attacked her again. And again, she managed to escape him…if only
briefly this time. Two years ago, he finally succeeded. Then, after he’d
killed his sister, he returned to his childhood home in Haddonfield and
slaughtered a group of college kids doing a live web-cast there. By the end
of that night, he was thought to be dead. His body was even taken to the
morgue. But by morning, the only corpse to be found there was that of a
young medical examiner. Myers was gone.
Close-up on Lytener’s face as the struggle with sleep gets a little more
difficult. But he stares forward intensely, determined to reach his
destination tonight.
LYTENER (V.O.)
Sound like a peculiar story? Maybe you can understand, then, why I felt
there had to be something more to it. I was right, too. But once you’ve
heard all of it, maybe you’ll understand why I now wish with all of my heart
and soul that I’d been wrong.
He
starts losing the fight. His eyes flutter closed, and his head begins to
droop, but he suddenly snaps awake just in time to slam on the brakes and
avoid rear-ending the car stopped in front of him. He screeches to a halt
and just stares at the car’s rear bumper and catches his breath for a
moment, slowly shaking his head at the close call. At least he’s wide awake
now.
He
sits still to recover, then feels a wave of curiosity. He sticks his head
out the driver’s side window to get a better glimpse of why he’s not being
allowed to move. It turns out there’s not just a single car ahead of him,
but a whole line of late-night travelers that have been brought to an
impromptu stop. But beyond the string of brake lights is something else that
arouses his attention even more. There seems to be a soft orange light
coming from the field just beyond the hills next to the road. The diffuse
radiance is hard to discern, but he definitely recognizes the flickering
reds and blues of police cruisers and fire trucks about a quarter of a mile
down the highway. Adding to it, he sees several vehicles pulled over in the
grass with a few new additions walking up to join a crowd of onlookers
gathered at the top of a hill.
An
instinct kicks in that won’t allow Lytener to leave without finding out
what’s going on. He backs up and brings the Taurus around behind a pickup
truck resting on the grassy shoulder. Gazing across the street at the
waiting spectacle, he kills the ignition and steps out of the car.
EXT. FIELD – NIGHT
Lytener makes his way through the perturbed line of motorists and up the
hill to join the captivated audience, buttoning his tan trenchcoat against
the chilly breeze. He casts his eyes downward with the rest of them, taking
in the sight of the burning field and the firefighters attacking the blaze
with the hose. The police officers behind the barrier of yellow tape
carefully contain those leaning forward and around for a better peek. And
with a sweeping glance at the people surrounding him, Lytener sees that most
of them are middle-aged or elderly couples, many in their pajamas. The looks
on their faces betray senses of dread and trepidation instead of just
casual, inquisitive concern, as one would expect in the face of such an
event.
LYTENER (TO NO ONE IN PARTICULAR)
What happened?
He’s met with silence for a few seconds before a forty-ish WOMAN in a heavy
housecoat gives in and answers him.
WOMAN (WITH A BIT OF A COUNTRY ACCENT)
Someone called 911 a few hours ago about hearing screams. They sent a deputy
out, and he found this field on fire.
LYTENER
Any idea what caused it?
WOMAN (SHAKING HER HEAD)
They don’t know yet.
LYTENER
What about the screams? Did they find anyone out there?
WOMAN (BITING HER LIP IN A TROUBLED PAUSE)
They found a body, but they don’t know who it is yet. That’s what most of us
are waiting for.
Lytener falls silent, unsure of how sensitive she may be and therefore how
to reply. The woman then turns toward him as if to say something else, but
before she can speak, an expression of recognition spreads over her face.
WOMAN
You look familiar. I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before…
LYTENER (A LITTLE EMBARRASSED)
I’m sorry, I haven’t even told you my name. You might recognize me from the
picture next to my articles in the Chicago Sun-Times. I’m David
Lytener.
She nods with a weak, but pleasant smile and shakes his hand.
WOMAN
Right, you do that Mysteries Unraveled section in the paper…all those
investigations and things.
LYTENER
That’s me.
WOMAN
Well, I’m Doris Johnson. Nice to meet you.
LYTENER
Too bad it’s under these circumstances.
DORIS (SHRUGGING LIGHTLY TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT)
So
what mystery are you here to solve, Mr. Lytener?
LYTENER
Actually, I’m just passing through. I’m on my way to Haddonfield.
Doris suddenly grows quiet.
LYTENER (A LITTLE EXCITEMENT SHOWING)
There’s a story there I’ve been wanting to do for almost my whole career.
DORIS
The Halloween killer.
LYTENER
Right…Michael Myers.
DORIS (HER TONE A LITTLE COLDER)
Honestly, is that really a story?
LYTENER (CONFUSED)
I’m sorry?
DORIS
Those poor people have been terrorized by that monster for so long now. Do
you really need to go down there and rub their faces in it?
LYTENER
Well, I-
DORIS
There’s no mystery there. They’re just trying to live out their lives like
normal people. Don’t you think they worry enough about that maniac without
you reminding them?
LYTENER
I
just want to tell their story…
DORIS
No, you want to tell his story. You want to glorify a murderer and
get famous for it.
LYTENER
Mrs. Johnson-
DORIS
Why do you do it? You don’t feel the least bit guilty exploiting those folks
and everything they’ve been through?
LYTENER
It’s my job to-
DORIS
To
what? Profit off other people’s pain?
LYTENER
No, I’m just-
DORIS
I’m sorry, but I just have to say you make me sick. Without your kind, the
world wouldn’t be the sort of place it is. Maybe if you had to see some of
the things those people in Haddonfield have seen, you’d think twice before
doing something like this.
Doris turns her back and walks away. Lytener gazes after her with
frustration for a moment, then takes a look around and notices that everyone
is staring at him with scorn and contempt. He’s obviously no longer welcome
here.
Before leaving, Lytener takes one more glance at the field below. But
something odd catches his eye, something off to the side of all the
activity, where the flames have already been put out. The whole blanket of
grass is scorched, but one particular spot is almost devoid of it
completely, burned all the way down to the dirt and making it stand out from
the rest. It creates a very peculiar shape; a straight line with two sides
of an equilateral triangle jutting out of its middle.
Lytener commits the formation to memory and starts back down the hill to
head for his car. The people gathered behind the police tape still have
their eyes on him, but one MAN in particular is staring after him with a
look of anxious interest. The man has dark, graying hair combed back from
his face and enough wrinkles in his visage to suggest an age of at least
sixty. The look in his clear, ice-blue eyes says he’s here for a very
specific reason. He glances nervously, seemingly almost paranoid, at the
faces around him, then looks back at Lytener’s retreating form, obviously
taking note of who he is and to keep track of him.
Cut down to the field with the fire in the foreground. We pan over to the
firefighters, then off to the side, where a paramedic zips up a body bag
containing a charred, twisted corpse.
INT. HOUSE – NIGHT
Cut to blackness and fade in to the dark, dingy interior of an obviously old
house. We sweep through the abandoned, neglected rooms on the lower level
with ragged, dusty furniture, peeling walls, cracked floors and cabinets,
and broken and boarded windows. As we go through the family room to the
kitchen, we begin to just barely hear the sounds of breathing. They become
more prominent as the light thumps of footsteps join them, growing heavier
and deeper, but sounding as though they’re meeting with resistance…like
passing through holes in a mask. The breaths echo and grow louder as we
travel up a staircase.
Flash-cut to a side view of the stairs as a shadowy, severed head with
short, blonde hair tumbles down to the floor below. Flash-cut again to the
nondescript SHAPE of a man’s torso coming slowly up the stairs, its head and
legs cut off by the frame. Flash-cut again to a young black man screaming in
pain and terror as a hand buries a third knife into his chest and secures
his impalement against a door. Sounds of more horrendous, cacophonous
shrieks then join the still-present breathing and footsteps as we flash-cut
back to the Shape, its details obscured in shadow, reaching the top of the
stairs and turning to walk down a hallway. As the Shape advances towards the
room at the end with the symphony of deafening sounds, more flash-cuts
strike in with images of a pair of hands crushing a dark-haired young man’s
skull, another young man with a bloody, lifeless look on his face dangling
upside down from an attic hatch, and a redheaded young woman stuck stiffly
against an iron gate with a gnarled, broken bar jutting through her stomach.
Flash-cut back to the Shape carefully opening the door at the end of the
hall. It enters a room that seems completely out-of-place; a bedroom with
white walls and carpet, clothes and stuffed animals scattered on the
furniture, and a bed with flowery blankets. This room isn’t in any state of
decay and even appears to have someone sleeping underneath the sheets. A
head of black hair is just visible above the blanket and against the pillow.
And it’s not until the Shape raises a gleaming butcher knife over the
unfortunate sleeper that we finally see its face, or rather, the mask that
conceals it. But even if we could see its real face, it somehow doesn’t seem
that it would be much different. The pale skin is as white as bone, the
emotionless expression enough to send ice running through our veins. Its
dark hair is dementedly tousled, and the eyes are nothing but empty black
voids that are bleak windows to a soul born in hell…eyes that know no love,
hate, fear, joy, compassion, or remorse. The uncaring eyes of Death.
The knife plunges downward, and the slumbering young woman, SARA MOYER,
bolts upright in her bed with an ear-wrenching screech of terror. She leaps
out of the mass of blankets and throws her back against the far wall of the
bedroom we just observed. She screams again, scrambling into a corner with
her eyes still wide and terrified. There’s nothing else in her room, the
breaths and footsteps are gone, and the only screams are her own.
The door of the bedroom suddenly bursts open, and her father, GIL MOYER,
charges inside in his cotton pajamas. He bewilderedly searches the room with
his eyes for any possible threat, then fixes his gaze on his petrified
daughter and rushes over to grip her shoulders.
GIL
Sara! Sara! It’s all right, there’s no one here, there’s nothing to
be afraid of!
Sara still screams, but a little quieter and less urgent now. Her eyes
finally start to clear as she slips out of the dream state, but her
breathing is still labored, and she still trembles uncontrollably.
GIL
Calm down, sweetheart, it’s just me. There’s nothing to be scared of, it’s
okay. You’re safe, you hear me? It’s all right, you just had a dream.
There’s no one here, take it easy.
She slowly calms down in her father’s arms. She’s stopped screaming, but she
begins to break down in sobs as she shakes and rests her head against his
shoulder.
GIL (SOOTHING)
Shh, it’s okay now. Don’t worry, baby. Let’s just get you out of here and go
downstairs. Come on.
Reluctantly breaking the embrace, Sara tries to control herself as Gil leads
her out of the room. When they emerge into the hall and start down the
stairs, we see that her dream was obviously combining a number of elements,
as dreams tend to do. As Gil passes the lights and flips them on, it’s shown
that the Moyer residence is bright and cozy, nothing like the ramshackle
hovel we saw a few moments ago.
Cut to the well-lit, homey-looking kitchen with a woman in a white
housecoat, DONNA MOYER, Sara’s mother, standing in front of the stove. She
has a pleasant face with graying brown hair extending almost to her
shoulders. When the tea kettle in front of her whistles, she turns off the
stove and carries it over to the counter next to the sink, where a small
‘HAPPY HALLOWEEN’ banner is hung in the windows above. After she prepares
the tea in a coffee mug, she sets it over on the black and orange checkered
tablecloth. She then pours herself a mug and takes the first sip.
Gil enters the kitchen and gently guides Sara to a seat at the table. Donna
hurries over with a blanket she’d retrieved from the living room to drape it
around her shoulders.
DONNA
Here you go, hon, I made you some tea. Is everything all right, do you need
anything else?
Sara shakes her head with a dead look in her eyes. She fragilely grasps the
mug and brings it to her lips, seemingly oblivious as her mother strokes her
hair and continues to try to comfort her. Gil watches them as he leans
against the pantry, seeing that his wife’s having little to no effect.
Sara’s calmed down, but she’s obviously still a wreck. It’d be
understandable for anyone who’d just woken up from such a bad dream, the
only thing is that he hasn’t seen her look any better or happier than this
in a very long time.
GIL
Donna, let’s leave her alone for a second. Just let her relax a little bit.
Donna’s reluctant to follow his request, glancing momentarily between him
and Sara. But she then gives their child a quick, reassuring smile.
DONNA
We’ll just be in the other room, okay?
Sara nods weakly as Donna shuffles out of the kitchen with her tea in hand,
Gil following her with a final look of concern and shake of his head in
Sara’s direction. Once they’re out of sight, the young woman tries to down
more tea with the same drained expression on her face. She gets a small
start when a cold breeze stings her skin, her face turning frightened again.
Her head snaps to the right and sees it’s just the wind flowing in through
the open window above the sink, the small, thin curtains in front of it
fluttering like ghosts. The shadow of a jagged, bare tree branch waves
threateningly as the breeze dies down. Sara brings a hand to her forehead
and sighs heavily…wondering how much longer this is going to last.
EXT. STREET – MORNING
Cross-dissolve to a road lined with houses, sidewalks, and trees for as far
as the eye can see. It’s a dim, cloudy morning as the camera pans around to
see parents dropping their kids off at the bus stop, dull-colored leaves
falling off the trees and drifting through the air, unlit jack-o-lanterns
sitting on porches, and skeleton and witch decorations on most of the
houses. As the view works its way around, a title in white letters fades in
at the bottom of the screen:
HADDONFIELD
The camera begins to elevate as it completes its pan-around, settling at an
angle about even with the roofs of the houses and looking down the street as
it stretches into the distance. Once it comes to a stop, the title subtly
cross-dissolves into another word:
HALLOWEEN
Cut to another street in Haddonfield’s “downtown” section, with the camera
crawling slowly and horizontally down the facades of several little shops
and a drug store. It comes to a stop on a motel where the parking lot is
largely deserted, save for Lytener’s Taurus.
INT. MOTEL – LYTENER’S ROOM – MORNING
The electronic ring of a cell phone sounds as we cut to Lytener asleep on
the bed, still in his green button-up shirt and black slacks from the
previous night. The cell phone sits on the nightstand. He stirs as the ring
comes again, then, with his eyes still closed, he reaches over, turns it on,
and brings it to his ear after three more rings.
LYTENER (GROGGY)
Hello?
The voice on the other end is the gruff and demanding one of his BOSS.
BOSS
Lytener, did I catch you sleeping?
Lytener suddenly snaps to his feet with his eyes open as though his superior
can see him.
LYTENER (SCRAMBLING)
No—well, uh—I mean…I had a long drive last night…
BOSS
Enough with the excuses. You can sleep when you’re dead.
LYTENER
Right. Gotcha.
BOSS
How’s the article coming?
LYTENER
Good. It’s moving right along.
BOSS
Better be. This Myers story is huge, Lytener. I’ll be sending Harding and
Jameson down to take pictures, too.
LYTENER
Both
of
them?
BOSS
My
best photographers and my best reporter. Like I told you, you’re getting a
full page here. I want something really good.
LYTENER
Oh, it’ll be good. Trust me.
BOSS
I
am trusting you. That’s why this is your ass. If I don’t get what I’m
expecting, you’ll be writing about aliens running brothels in Philly for
The National Enquirer.
LYTENER
And if I deliver? As you know I will?
BOSS
Maybe I’ll promote you to my personal coffee-retriever.
LYTENER
My
dream come true.
BOSS
Just get your ass out there and bring me my story, Lytener. Then we’ll talk.
LYTENER (WITH A CONFIDENT SMILE)
I’m on it.
Lytener turns off the phone, sets it down, and starts changing his clothes.
But he only manages to replace the shirt he’s wearing with a black dress one
before his phone rings again. He sighs with a slightly perturbed look on his
face, then sits on the edge of the bed and answers it.
LYTENER (WITH MILD ANNOYANCE)
Yes?
The soft, feminine voice that answers him belongs to DANA, his wife.
DANA
Sorry, is the big-shot reporter too busy for me? Should I go through his
secretary?
LYTENER (SMILING)
Yes, he’s on a very big story at the moment. You might want to leave a
message with one of his aides.
DANA (PLAYFULLY)
Well, if that’s the case, just tell him he’ll be sleeping on the couch when
he gets back.
LYTENER (LAUGHS)
Never mind, he just walked in.
DANA
I
thought he would.
LYTENER (AFTER ANOTHER CHUCKLE)
What do you need, babe?
DANA
Do
you really need to spend two days out there?
LYTENER (SIGHING TO SIGNIFY THEY’VE BEEN THROUGH THIS)
That’s how long it’s gonna take to do all the interviews and research and
put everything together, hon. Can’t do it any quicker than that. But I
promise I’ll be back tomorrow as soon as I’m done.
DANA
Why do you have to go over Halloween, though? You know, I’ve finally got a
weekend off. I thought we’d be able to spend some time together.
LYTENER
Dana, you know I’d much rather be there with you. But this story revolves
around Halloween. I’ve gotta be here now to catch the human element. See how
the people in town handle it.
DANA
So
you’re leaving your new wife alone over Halloween with nothing to do?
LYTENER
You could wear the world’s most hideous mask and scare all the
trick-or-treaters who come to our door.
DANA
They don’t make masks of you, though.
LYTENER (SMIRKING)
My
sides are splitting.
DANA
I
try.
LYTENER (AFTER A PAUSE)
Look, I’ll be back as quick as I can. I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?
DANA (HOPELESSLY)
All right.
LYTENER (PAUSE)
I’m sorry, but-
DANA
It’s your job. I know.
LYTENER (SIGH)
Yeah. Well, I love you, kiddo.
DANA
Love you, too.
Lytener turns off the phone and stares at it for a moment, sighing again in
thought. After a minute, he glances at the clock and shakes Dana from his
mind. He finishes changing his clothes and throws his trenchcoat on, then
pockets his phone and a tape recorder, pen, and notepad from his overnight
bag. Then he’s out the door.
EXT. MOTEL PARKING LOT – MORNING
Lytener emerges from the front doors of the motel and heads for his Taurus.
As he unlocks the door and slides into the driver’s seat, we slowly pan
around to the other side of the street, coming to rest on a black Honda
parked in front of a nearby ice cream shop. We cut to a view that looks in
through the windshield to see that the man sitting behind the wheel is the
same dark-haired, blue-eyed man we saw take notice of Lytener the night
before. He stares with intent, but also with the same level of anxiety as
last time.
When the red Taurus starts up and hits the road, the black Honda quietly
slips out of its parking space and follows a careful distance behind it.
EXT. PARK – DAY
Cut to a bleak view of a wooded area that’s one of the oldest parts of
Haddonfield’s local park. It’s nothing but open hills with masses of trees
in the background beneath a heartless, steel-gray sky. The autumn day is not
bright and beautiful, but instead cold and cheerless, promising an early
winter. Even the brightest of the leaves are dark and subdued.
The camera slows when it reaches an old playground setup. The equipment
consists of only a slide, monkey bars, a see-saw, and a jungle gym. But most
of the wood is split and almost black with rot, the metal is dull in luster
and splotched with rust. Weeds and kudzu threaten to smother all of it. The
end of the see-saw sitting on the ground has almost disappeared into a sea
of leaves and stems. The jungle gym looks ready to collapse under the weight
of all the plant growth on top of it. Somehow, it all looks to be a fitting
place for Sara.
She lights the cigarette in her lips as she leans against the massive trunk
of a tree. Her eyes are empty, their once bright green hue seeming to have
now faded to a melancholy gray. Against the setting, with her dark clothes
and pale complexion, the shot almost seems black-and-white. Color has
drained from her as life has.
After a few moments, her eyes begin to brighten ever so slightly as she
stands and gazes at the playground, the subtlest hint of their former
sparkle beginning to return. She obviously sees something in the playground
that we can’t, something that mercifully takes her to another time and
another place…another life. It’s almost enough to raise the corner of her
mouth in a smile. But she’s reminded that she’s the only one who still
carries whatever memory she’s experiencing. She’s the only one in it who’s
still alive.
The hint of a smile quickly disappears. Her eyes return to the color of ash.
She brings the cigarette back to her lips as the faint sounds of feet
crunching over the leaves begin to fill the background. She already knows
the footsteps most likely belong to her friend KRISTY CARTER.
KRISTY (STEPPING IN FROM AROUND THE TREE)
Thought I’d find you here.
Sara doesn’t give her any real acknowledgment, but Kristy doesn’t look like
she was expecting much anyway. She’s a fairly stark contrast to Sara, her
lively chestnut hair flowing past her shoulders and away from her pretty,
youthful face. Her skin is much the same color as the small tan jacket she
wears, and she obviously dresses to call attention to her attractive form,
unlike Sara, who hides hers beneath a bulky leather jacket and black
sweater. But despite their differences, we can tell right away by the look
in her eyes that Kristy knows Sara pretty well and has a good idea of why
she’s here.
KRISTY
Little cold for this, isn’t it?
SARA (IGNORING THE COMMENT)
See that see-saw over there?
KRISTY
Yeah.
SARA
That’s why we used to be known as the playground terrors. Rudy was notorious
for making a catapult out of it.
KRISTY
How’d he do that?
SARA
Well, he needed Jen’s help. He’d start out just sitting on it by himself,
then when a smaller kid finally got on with him, he’d give Jen the signal to
jump on his end in front of him, and together, they’d launch a five-year-old
like a cruise-missile.
KRISTY (WITH A SMILE)
It
actually sounds like they were the playground terrors, and I’m
betting you were the one standing off to the side telling them to stop.
SARA (SHRUGS AND TAKES ANOTHER DRAG)
They never listened to me anyway, so I just lump myself in there with them.
(PAUSE)
Maybe if they had listened to me for once…
KRISTY (HER SMILE INSTANTLY FADING)
Sara, don’t.
SARA (SMILING HOPELESSLY)
Sorry…looks like not even reminiscing really helps anymore.
Sara steps away from the tree, brings the cigarette back to her lips, and
starts for the leaf-covered walking path. Kristy stares after her for a
second, trying to decide what to do or say, then jogs to catch up with her.
They then walk in silence for several seconds, Kristy repeatedly glancing at
the hollow, pallid expression on her friend’s face. Eventually, she sighs
and comes right out with what’s on her mind.
KRISTY
Sara…I want you to answer a question for me.
SARA (SIGHS AS IF SHE KNOWS WHAT’S COMING)
What is it, Kristy?
KRISTY
How much longer are we gonna do this?
Sara doesn’t answer. She keeps walking and brings the cigarette up for
another puff, but Kristy steps around in front of her and blocks her path.
They stop and gaze at one another.
KRISTY
I’m serious. You act like it’s no big deal, but this is eating you alive.
You’re getting worse, Sara.
SARA (PAUSE)
I’ll live with it. I have for the past two years, haven’t I?
KRISTY
Sara, dividing all the time you spend out of your house between here and the
cemetery isn’t a life.
Sara says nothing.
KRISTY
You should at least try to do something with yourself…maybe go back to
school, get a job, go out once in awhile, associate with some people…
SARA
I’m associating with you.
KRISTY
Only because I came out here after you. If it was left up to you, we’d nev
