Soft

Zombie movies have never been my cup of tea. I've never understood why they attract such a mass audience. So the best way to understand their appeal, I figured, was to try my hand at one.

Warning: Language alert.

Taggered

A prolific young filmmaker named Robbie Comeau is running an informal screenplay contest with some of his fellow writers. Looking to film a screenplay, but with only the first scene set in stone, he asked some of us for our ideas on where to take the rest of the script.

So, the first half of the first page is Robbie's work, and the rest is mine. I thought his idea, though dark and rather twisted, had flashes of genius and visual interest, so I continued in that vein.

How to describe this work? Think "Type I Diabetes meets Alfred Hitchcock" and you're almost there. :)

WARNING: This gets rather dark, so if you're not into nasty psychological pieces, you might want to go to the right sidebar and click on "Comedy" instead.

TAGGERED
by Kyle Patrick Johnson
Represented by: Registered with:
Canton Literary Management (CLM) Writers Guild of America,
Contact: Eric Canton West, Inc.
(866) 429-3118 Registration #1394569
ECanton@Prodigy.net
www.CantonLiteraryManagement.com
FADE IN:
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
An assortment of kitchen knives, big and small, gleaming,
spread across the counter top.
Each knife has a price tag tied to it.
WRIGHT, 40’s, stands in front looking in the mirror.
His baggy eyes and bed-headed hair shows that he’s half
awake.
He looks down, scans the knives from left to right.
He notices a small plastic shaver and picks it up.
He tests its weight, watches the light play on the thin steel
edge.
Then, confident, quick, no hesitation, slides the shaver to
his Adam’s apple.
He applies pressure, slides the razor blade across his throat
slowly. Thick dark blood pours down his neck.
WE MOVE out of the bathroom, down the hallway, into an opened
door bedroom to see WRIGHT, sleeping in his bed, writhing...
BEDROOM
PUSH IN on Wright’s face: he looks uncomfortable as his
nightmare continues...
He suddenly wakes up, sits up in sudden panic.
WRIGHT’S POV
The room goes hazy, fuzzy, fades out...
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
Wright stares at his haggard reflection in the mirror. He
reaches one hand to his mouth, pulls his cheeks up into a
hideous, cheerless smile.
He lets go of his face. His cheeks flop back down into jowls.
He looks down at the counter...
No knives. No shaver.
He looks down at his feet.
A price tag tied to his left big toe.
IN THE MIRROR
Wright’s downturned face... but his eyes flick up at the
mirror, menacing, dark, eery, creepy...
WE MOVE out of the bathroom, down the hallway. SOUNDS of
glass breaking, the bathroom mirror smashing.
BEDROOM
Wright gasps for air in his sleep.
PUSH IN on his face: his eyes pop open, pupils dilated to
bursting.
He sits up in bed.
WRIGHT’S POV
The room goes fuzzy, woozy, again...
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
Wright stares himself down in the mirror, unblinking.
The knives are on the counter, price-tagged and shiny new.
Wright’s hand moves for a large cleaver, as if beyond his
control.
He fights his own hand, forces it back to his side with his
other hand.
His eyes never leave the mirror.
An intense struggle, inside his head, inside his body.
A THIRD HAND sneaks in FROM OFF CAMERA, a wrinkled, elderly
hand.
The Third Hand picks up the shaver from the shower stall,
carries it over, places it gently in Wright’s shaking hand.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Drink some juice, all right? Just
drink it. Man! Why you got to be
so... so... man!
2.
Wright’s eyes shiver in place, oscillate... he’s trying to
look down at the third hand.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Oh, now you don’t want to?
Sounds of a struggle, sounds of overpowering, sounds of
gagging and gurgling.
Wright tears his eyes away from the mirror, looks down.
The third hand has disappeared.
But the shaver is in Wright’s hand. His eyes flick back to
the mirror, a new desperation, a new purpose.
He raises the shaver to his Adam’s apple.
WE MOVE out of the bathroom, down the hallway, turn the other
way, away from Wright’s bedroom, into another open door...
SECOND BEDROOM
An ELDERLY COUPLE sleeps in a wide bed, plush comforter
almost to their noses.
PUSH IN on ELDERLY MAN’S face, wrinkled...
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s our only kid. Is being normal
too much to ask, really? Man!
PUSH IN on ELDERLY WOMAN’S face, faded, worn...
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s just diseased, and there’s
nothing to be done.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Well, he came outta you. I ain’t
gonna pay for fixing him.
PULL BACK to an upper corner of the room. Elderly Couple
looks smaller and smaller and non-threatening.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s diseased, and... son, Wright,
are you there? Wright?... I thought
I heard something.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Sneaky retard. Man!
3.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
There’s nothing wrong with his--
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Cost a fortune. Man!
PAN TO HALLWAY. Wright’s boxer shorts and legs disappear,
crawling down the hall.
WE MOVE TO FOLLOW Wright down the hallway, as he army-crawls
to the...
INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT
Wright, using every last bit of energy that he doesn’t have,
struggles across the floor to the refrigerator...
The looming refrigerator...
Wright reaches a trembling hand to the door, his hand slips
off the handle.
He swallows hard, breathes deep, sweats, trembles all over.
He reaches up again for the handle, the effort like climbing
Kilimanjaro.
The refrigerator door cracks open, opens wide.
The white-hot light inside the fridge momentarily blinds
Wright, but he fights through the light to grab something,
something hidden in the white light...
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Sell the hunting cabin? You crazy?
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
You can’t put a price tag on
Wright’s health.
Wright pauses, as if to catch his breath, rests.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Oh, is that what you’re calling it
now?
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
His health?
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s diseased, remember?
4.
Wright withdraws his hand, a tiny child-sized purple juicebox
in his palm.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
I’ll tell you what. I’ll buy his
juice with my food stamps.
Wright, a trembling hand, jams a plastic straw into the juicebox
on the third try.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
(resigned)
He’ll need his juice.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Now can I go to sleep? Man!
Wright slurps the juice, purple streaks run down his wobbly
chin.
He sits back against the open refrigerator, closes his eyes,
visibly regains energy.
His trembling stops, he relaxes... dozes off...
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
Wright stares into the mirror...
Price tags hang from his body like branches from a willow
tree. He is covered in strings and tags.
He raises his arms, his body shaped like a “T”. Price tags
dangle from his arms like a fringed cowboy suit.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
You know how much you cost me, boy?
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He couldn’t move out on his own.
Wright mouths the word: “Yes.”
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s a... a... sponge. Man!
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s helpless.
Wright mouths the word: “No.”
Wright looks down at the counter, the bare knives laid out,
the small shaver next to them.
5.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s helpless.
Wright picks up the shaver.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s helpless.
Wright saws at the price tags all over his body. The razor
seems dull, won’t cut through a single one.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s helpless.
Wright hacks at the tags, the strings, his eyes grow more and
more desperate as he stares into the mirror, anguished...
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s helpless.
Wright screams, throws the shaver at the mirror.
WRIGHT
No!
Wright whips the largest kitchen knife up to his Adam’s
apple.
His eyes, enraged, cornered...
WE MOVE out of the bathroom, down the hallway, to the...
INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT
Wright wakes up. He’s cramped and freezing cold, leaning back
into the open fridge.
He stands up, tosses the juice-box into a garbage can full of
other empty purple juice-boxes.
He rubs his frozen back.
He looks inside the fridge, the bulb burned out. It’s empty.
Not a thing inside it.
Wright walks down the hallway, still stretching and rubbing.
INT. SECOND BEDROOM - NIGHT
Wright stands in the open doorway for a moment, staring in at
the Elderly Couple in bed.
6.
He tip-toes across the room, around the other side of the
bed.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Next thing you know, the kid’ll
want an allowance for doing
nothing.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
That’s not the worst idea.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Man! What would he do with money?
On the other side of the bed, Wright bends down, out of
sight, stands up again with a wooden box in both hands,
carries it out, quiet as a mouse.
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
Wright looks into the mirror, his quiet eyes drained of will.
The wooden box sits on the counter, two feet wide.
Wright’s eyes slowly track down the mirror, come to rest on
the wooden box.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Probably just buy candy. Come on,
he’s worthless.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
It might teach him responsibility.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Are you kidding... Man!
Wright’s hands caress the wooden box.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
It’s time Wright learned about the
world.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Then make him get a job.
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
That’s moving too fast.
Wright cracks the wooden box, opens it slowly, dark inside.
7.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
If he ain’t gonna earn it, he ain’t
gonna get it. He’s got nothing to
spend it on. Serious. What would he
do with money?
Inside the wooden box: a brand new set of kitchen knives,
price tags still on them.
Wright lays the knives out on the counter, one by one, each
one placed perfectly straight, parallel to each other, long
rows of gleaming new stainless steel.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
What would he do with money?
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s helpless.
Wright closes the wooden box.
He runs his hand across the variety of knives, almost
playful, but not playful, almost carefree, but not carefree.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
What would he do with money?
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s helpless.
Wright’s eyes flick up at the mirror. He mouths: “No.”
The Third Hand sneaks INTO CAMERA, picks up the shaver, puts
it gently into Wright’s hand.
Wright tests the shaver’s weight, watches the light play on
the steel.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
What would he do?
FEMALE VOICE (V.O.)
He’s helpless.
Then, confident, quick, no hesitation, slides the shaver to
his Adam’s apple.
He applies pressure, slides the razor blade across his throat
slowly. Thick dark blood pours down his neck.
His dark eyes, haunted, stare at his eyes, not at his neck.
WE MOVE out of the bathroom, down the hallway, into...
8.
INT. SECOND BEDROOM - NIGHT
WE CIRCLE the bed, look at it from a new angle, from the far
side of the room...
A thick red streak runs vertically down the comforter, as if
from the neck of Elderly Man.
PUSH IN on Elderly Man. He’s grayer than before, as if his
blood is all drained from his body.
The sheets around him are stained red.
SINK THE CAMERA to the floor: a credit card, bloodstained red
along one edge.
FADE OUT.
THE END
9.

Nocturne

I wrote this script in an effort to give a different kind of face to the generic alien abduction/invasion story. It was, in large part, inspired by the song "Lion Tamer" from the musical "The Magic Show" by Stephen Schwartz.

NOCTURNE
by Kyle Patrick Johnson
Represented by:
Canton Literary Management (CLM)
Contact: Eric Canton
(866) 429-3118
ECanton@Prodigy.net
www.CantonLiteraryManagement.com
SOUND FADES IN:
A carousel and crowds. Children laugh.
WOMAN’S VOICE (V.O.)
You’ve never cared about me or
anybody else. It’s just you and
those damned ca--
Loud explosion.
Running. Agonized breaths.
LEO (V.O.)
Nocturne. Nocturne!
SOUND FADES OUT.
FADE IN:
INT. BUBBLE ROOM - NIGHT
At the bottom of the dark sphere sprawls LEO (50s), in a
shredded black tuxedo and top hat. Unconscious.
The walls glow red from nearby explosions.
INT. BUBBLE ROOM - DAY
The curved walls are milky white, semi-transparent. Outside
part of the room, water laps against the bubble’s equator.
Constant rumbling explosions shake the room.
Leo, terror-eyes, scrambles up the walls, slides back down.
He punches the wall, but it bows out around his hand like
spandex, snaps back into place, jams his wrist.
He winces in pain, shakes it off.
He slumps to the floor.
Leo looks inside the hat. A photo of a woman taped inside the
flat top. She has a beard.
His shoulders shake, he weeps inside.
He subsides, lays down hammock-like on the convex floor.
He blinks his eyes dry, whistles a broken classical tune.
An intense, low, menacing growl echoes throughout the room.
Leo freezes. His eyes dart to all sides.
He whistles the tune again.
Another growl.
Leo climbs to his feet, wary. He holds the hat in one hand
like a shield, the other fist pulled back. He revolves, ready
for anything, from anywhere.
But nothing happens. He’s alone.
Constant explosions.
A splash outside.
Leo dashes to the opaque wall, peers through it.
A body of a woman surfaces, face up. She has a beard.
Leo clutches his mouth, falls on all fours, vomits.
He rips at the wall like an animal, blurry pumping arms. The
wall tears into thin strips that heal instantly, too fast for
him to put his arm through.
A back-and-forth mosaic, the woman’s body vivid then cloudy.
Leo screams, an anguished primal yowl.
A long blue finger touches his back.
Leo whips around, ready for a fight, but not ready for...
An alien queen, KEHNIKKQ, tall, slender, blue-skinned, two
large blue eyes, two green eyes where her ears should be. A
regal red robe with a myriad of sequins flows to her feet.
Kehnikkq floats in the middle of the bubble, flanked by two
smaller blue ALIENS.
Kehnikkq points a long arm at Leo, touches his cheek.
Leo swats her hand away, snatches up his hat-shield.
Kehnikkq draws back, no expression. She brings her long
finger to her side, presses a sequin on her left hip.
A hiss of gas. Leo grabs at his throat, unable to breathe. He
drops to his knees, turns as blue as Kehnikkq herself.
Kehnikkq and Aliens float placidly above his struggling form.
2.
EXT. BUBBLE ROOM - DAY
A rush of gas out through the walls, a fine mist scatters in
all directions.
The room is just one of a massive honeycomb of bubble rooms.
The giant white vessel floats in New York Harbor.
The Statue of Liberty cut off at the knees.
Distant gray explosions rock the horizon, rubble of New York.
INT. BUBBLE ROOM - DAY
Leo’s eyeballs bulge out of his head, about to burst.
Kehnikkq takes her finger off the sequin. Gas rushes in.
Leo gasps, intakes a huge amount of air. He gulps the oxygen
with alien-forgetting delight, intent on the pleasure.
Kehnikkq touches a sequin on her right shoulder.
Leo rises off the floor like a marionette, propelled to face
her.
Kehnikkq touches more sequins, forces Leo to gaze into her
mesmerizing blue eyes.
LEO
Fuck you.
Leo tries to look away. He can’t.
Kehnikkq touches a large sequin over her abdomen.
Leo’s body, racked in agony. Red and white blood cells burst
out of his skin, suspended in mid-air.
Aliens lean towards the cells, study, examine.
Faraway explosion-clouds seen through the translucent walls.
Kehnikkq touches a sequin on her right arm.
Leo drops to the ground, falls hard. He can barely move, the
pain overwhelms him.
He struggles to contort his bruised face. His cheeks puff
out, every movement a study in torment.
He whistles the classical tune.
3.
A low growl echoes in the room.
Kehnikkq and Aliens don’t seem to notice.
Leo whistles once more, exhausted by the effort.
A loud growl, an enraged snarl.
An internal white wall indents, as though a large object was
hurled at it from beyond. The wall snaps back into place.
The growl takes on a life of its own.
Leo closes his eyes.
A huge slash appears in the wall behind Kehnikkq. And heals.
Kehnikkq and Aliens are absorbed by the red blood cells,
cannot hear, do not notice the theatrics behind them.
A sharp, curved claw pierces the wall. Another next to it.
The two claws draw apart as a large black head thrusts
through the wall between them, forces the hole wider.
A huge pure black jaguar with glowing yellow eyes.
The jaguar shoves its lithe bulk through the tight hole,
little by little.
Kehnikkq presses a sequin. The red blood falls to the ground,
spatters on Leo and the white floor.
She begins to turn around.
The jaguar is almost through, just hind legs to go.
Leo, in an agonizing motion, racked with pain, waves his arm.
Distracted, Kehnikkq turns back to Leo.
LEO
Can’t you hear this?
Leo whistles a new tune, more modern, harsh.
Kehnikkq makes no sign of recognition.
LEO
For Arturo the Knifeman... Fuzzer
the Clown... Bearded Lady...
Leo whistles, harsh, gives it everything he’s got. He points
at Kehnikkq.
4.
The jaguar gets all the way through, slides down the wall,
scrabbles for a foothold.
The jaguar pushes off the curved surface, launches towards
Kehnikkq from behind and the right, sharp white teeth gleam.
An inhuman scream from the cat’s throat.
Kehnikkq sees it coming with her side green eye, the lunging
predator reflected in her shiny cornea.
But the jaguar reaches her before she can push a sequin...
And tears out her alien throat.
Kehnikkq falls, dead, onto her left side.
The Aliens collapse with her, bound to her life force.
Kehnikkq’s lifeless finger, trapped under her body weight,
presses against the sequin on her left hip.
The gas escapes from the bubble room.
The jaguar, muzzle painted with blue blood, gags in the
vacuum.
Leo gasps, turns blue.
The jaguar creeps to Leo’s side, inch by painful inch.
LEO
Good... girl... Nocturne.
The jaguar lays a massive black paw on Leo’s cheek.
They die.
The explosions cease.
FADE OUT

Sweet Dreams

This script is a foray into a new type of genre for me, but I hesitate to give too much away. We'll let the story speak for itself. Enjoy!

SWEET DREAMS by Kyle Patrick Johnson Represented by: Canton Literary Management (CLM) Contact: Eric Canton (866) 429-3118 ECanton@Prodigy.net www.CantonLiteraryManagement.com FADE IN: EXT. WOODS - NIGHT A heavy sedan parked in low grass. A front door magnet sign: “Redemptor Omnis Church.” Just beyond, a roaring campfire shoots sparks to the sky. AGNES PARKER (70s), perched on a log like a gnome, knees by her ears, tosses the last bite of a hot dog into her mouth. PARKER Marshmallows, anyone? COLE (9), nods, furious up-and-down head pumps. The third person at the fire, ESTHER TAYLOR (70s), rumples Cole’s hair. She waddles to the car, blue hair shining. TAYLOR I’ll get them, Mrs. Parker. PARKER If there is one thing Pastor does well, it’s stock marshmallows for our youth mini-trips. Taylor hauls a half-ton bag of marshmallows from the trunk. PARKER Thank you, Mrs. Taylor. COLE Gee, I bet the other kids wish they coulda come. This is great. Taylor smiles. She heaves the bag to Cole. He tears into the bag, skewers several marshmallows with a long, sharp stick. Holds the white puffs over the flames. COLE Do you know any stories? PARKER Stories? Why, I’m a walking library, Cole. I could tell you stories all night long... but I’m sure you want to sleep sometime. Taylor smiles. 2. COLE No, no. Tell me. PARKER How about Creation, boy? You know that story? COLE (disappointed) Yeah. Cole examines his marshmallows. Not done yet. PARKER Do you? Were you there for it? Huh? COLE PARKER I was there. COLE You’re not that old. Parker and Taylor sit on the far side of the fire, unblinking faces surrounded by flames, stare at Cole. PARKER In the beginning was the dark. And the dark was the funhouse of the Employer. We call the Employer by many names now. The whole universe was asleep in him, for in the dark there was no need for wakefulness. Cole’s mouth drops open, the marshmallows forgotten. PARKER In fact, no creature in the universe even had eyes. There was no need to see, for the Employer was our light and our joy. He would visit us in our dreams, you know, and tickle our fancies with his wit and his gaiety. Oh, yes, he is really something once you have a relationship with him. Cole’s marshmallows catch on fire. Unnoticed. PARKER And the Employer was undisturbed. 3. Until... TAYLOR PARKER Give me time, Mrs. Taylor. I want to give the boy a sense of the peace we felt. Cole’s eyes dart back and forth between them, uncertain. COLE You’re not that old. PARKER In perpetual sleep, there the Employer would mold us to his will, and the universe was in harmony under him. Until the Other appeared from some unbalanced cosmos beyond. The Other. TAYLOR Taylor spits into the flames. PARKER The Other brought evil, terrible things to us. Shape, flesh, blood, excrement, all some damnable plan to absorb the Employer’s power. TAYLOR And the light, Mrs. Parker. PARKER Yes, Mrs. Taylor. That which keeps us from our sleep. We hate the light. For without sleep, there are no dreams. Without dreams, the Employer has no gain. Now, we even forget our dreams when we are awakened by the light. COLE You mean God? Taylor and Parker look at each other, back at Cole. PARKER Light is evil. With a woosh, the campfire extinguishes completely. Total and utter darkness. 4. Parker flicks a flashlight on. It shines into Cole’s eyes, a distance of mere inches. He squints. COLE How’d you... where’d that... TAYLOR He is not listening, Mrs. Parker. PARKER Boy, pay attention. Taylor claps her hands near his ear. He winces. PARKER It is in your dreams that you will find fulfillment and peace. When you surrender yourself in slumber, then the Employer can make something useful out of you. You want to be useful, yes? COLE Yes... I wanna go home. PARKER Your home is in the Employer’s bosom, boy. Taylor creeps behind Cole, ties his hands together in a sudden, quick gesture. COLE Help! Help! Parker stuffs marshmallows into his mouth, stops his screams. Cole’s cheeks bulge as Parker, relentless, shoves them in one after another, no respite, impossible numbers. Cole gags. PARKER When you go to sleep tonight, you will be nine years old, nine months old, nine days old. With no moon. TAYLOR Light is evil, Mrs. Parker. PARKER (cackle) The Employer will have no trouble attending the boy’s dreams this night, no trouble at all. 5. Cole’s eyes, wide with fear. The flashlight falls, lights a crazy angle on the ground. PARKER Can you lift him, Mrs. Taylor? TAYLOR If you take his head, Mrs. Parker. Parker and Taylor carry Cole to the car. Cole looks up at Parker, her head upside down to his view, lit from the grounded flashlight, ghoulish. PARKER Your offering will make the Employer very pleased with us, boy, so, when you meet him, best manners, please. COLE (muffled) Mom... Dad... Cole wriggles, but Parker clenches his head with vise-like fingers. PARKER They won’t miss you. We will see to that. You will have no more desires for family, nor for sport, nor church, nor school, nor any of the activities which you have been deluded into thinking were good. The Employer comes, and he will teach you the way of righteousness. Taylor opens the trunk. TAYLOR That he will, Mrs. Parker. Parker and Taylor toss Cole into the car. PARKER Sweet dreams, Cole. Taylor smiles as Parker closes the trunk. FADE OUT.

Lightener

In response to a filmmaker's call for a horror short script featuring a monster, I sat down and wrote this little ditty. I thought five pages was just too short to set up adequate psychological suspense required for a classic type of horror monster, so I went with something somewhat grittier. Enjoy!

LIGHTENER by Kyle Patrick Johnson Represented by: Canton Literary Management (CLM) Contact: Eric Canton (866) 429-3118 ECanton@Prodigy.net www.CantonLiteraryManagement.com FADE IN: EXT. WOODS - DAY One hairy leg, standing. Scratches against a tree. A rumble. A hairy arm rubs a hairy belly. EXT. WOODS - NIGHT One hairy leg, lying down. Far off, searchlights in the woods, sounds of SEARCHERS. EXT. WOODS - DAY One hairy leg, raises off the ground. Drops back to the ground. Raises off the ground, drops back down, rhythmic. EXT. WOODS - NIGHT One hairy leg, digs deep into soft loam, excavates a foxhole. Searchlights getting closer. EXT. WOODS - DAY One hairy leg, one foot in a high-strapped leather boot. Hops between the trees. EXT. CHAIN LINK FENCE - DAY A space of perhaps ten inches gapped between high fence and gate, padlocked shut. Barbed wire at the top. One hairy leg hops to the gap, crashes into the gap. Tries to squeeze through. No such luck. EXT. WOODS - DAY One hairy leg, raises and drops, up and down, faster rhythm than before. EXT. WOODS - NIGHT One hairy leg, lying down. An insistent belly rumble. 2. A groan of hunger. The searchlights are almost overhead. Pounding throb of helicopters brush the treetops. Voices filter through the trees, dogs, soldiers. The leg scrambles along the ground, slips into the foxhole. Grated breathing. Dirt falls over the foxhole, covers the leg, buries it. Flashlights play over the foxhole, around the woods. Dogs sniff the area, bay insistently. Several laser pointers zoom in on the foxhole. Guns click. A stomach rumble. A groan: despair. The foxhole explodes: the leg bursts out of it, vanishes OFF CAMERA. Sounds of ripping, guns firing in every direction, dogs squealing and going silent. Bullets tear into the ground. CAMERA FALLS OVER on its side, lens smashes. FADE TO BLACK. EXT. WOODS - DAY A bloody dog carcass, stripped of meat. One hairy leg, knee bent, as if a person sits on the ground. One hairy arm rubs a stomach. No longer growling. A moan, an anguished sigh. One hairy hand smashes into the ground. Sounds of sobbing and weeping. The sobs die off. A nose is wiped. An intake of breath, a decision. The leg stands up, rises off the ground, up and down, faster, faster, faster, faster, never stopping. Faster, faster, faster, pump, pump. PULL BACK SLOW TO FLASH REVEAL our MONSTER: it’s a man, dressed in a soldier’s shirt and boot. But he’s extremely hairy, and his one leg comes from his trunk dead center, as though he’d never had two legs, a monopod. 3. Monster does pull-ups on a tree branch, his back to CAMERA. EXT. CHAIN LINK FENCE - DAY Monster smashes into the gap. Tries to squeeze through. Not slim enough. He measures his waist, a few more pounds to lose. Monster punches the fence. Tries to untwist the chain-link, but it is remarkably strong, resists him. EXT. WOODS - NIGHT Monster’s stomach rumbles. He’s digging more foxholes with his foot. Monster dumps bodies of MEN and DOGS, their throats torn out, into the foxholes. Covers them with dirt. His stomach rumbles again. Monster looks hungrily at a Man’s carcass, licks his lips. He holds his stomach, quickly covers the carcass. Jumps to a branch, more pull-ups. Searchlights through the trees. Monster pulls up, faster, faster, faster, faster. Monster hops off through the trees. Two SOLDIERS burst into a small clearing just as Monster disappears. They give hand signals to each other, race off through the woods after Monster. Monster hops, deceptive speed, a zigzag pattern. The two Soldiers tail him, eyes on him, rifles to their eyes, wait for a shot. Laser pointers play through the dark woods, sweep over Monster’s back. A searchlight beams down through the trees, helicopter sounds. Monster jumps into a small ravine. Soldiers jump into the ravine. 4. Monster waits for them. Tears out their throats with his mouth as he holds them in the air. We see how massive his arms really are. This Monster is a super-killer. He hops off, climbs a tree with his strong arms, catapults up the tree like a long-limbed monkey. CAMERA remains on the ground, watches him go. Growls, screeches of metal, the searchlight goes cockeyed. Sounds of the helicopter going down. An explosion shines through the trees. A metal rotor whizzes by CAMERA. One hairy leg smashes into the ground, right next to CAMERA, Monster has jumped down. His stomach rumbles. Monster hops off through the trees. A SQUAD of ten soldiers creep through the trees behind him. Follow him. EXT. CHAIN LINK FENCE - NIGHT Monster hops up to the gate, a hopping start, turns sideways, tries to slip through the gap. Almost! His hips get stuck, somehow he slides his head and one thick arm through. He scrapes his arms, trunks, leg, terrible bleeding. He yanks, tugs, pushes himself through, regardless the cost. He’s a mess. Almost, almost, almost there, just have to get those hips... The Squad emerges from a treeline behind him. Their laser pointers zoom in on his foot. Monster wiggles his foot, tries to shake off the lasers. The Squad opens fire, aim for that foot. Bullets zing into the ground by the hundreds. Monster screams, an unintelligible, raucous shriek, no words. He wiggles his foot desperately, somehow unhit. 5. Squad inches closer, second by second, unceasing hail of fire. Now the foot is hit, pummeled by bullets. It appears indestructible, no blood. Monster’s face is contorted in massive pain. He pushes against the fence, sucks in his abdomen. One final push. As Monster leaps through, his foot gets stuck in the gap. Explosion. His foot explodes. Looks like a napalm fireburst. The Squad is thrown backwards, killed. Monster, footless, bleeds from his leg stump, weeps on the ground on the other side of the fence. Two signs on the chain-link fence are illuminated: “Military Training Facility - Keep Out” and “Your Genetic Future”. Monster drags himself across the ground, away from the fence. His stomach rumbles. FADE OUT. 

Stage of Grief

Most of my scripts contain embedded heaploads of my personality, usually perceptible as strange or over-the-top humor. I decided, for this short script, to forgo my normal writing style as an experiment of humorlessness (but I couldn't help myself: there are several Kyle moments hidden in these pages).

If you enjoy dark suspense, this story is for you.

STAGE OF GRIEF by Kyle Patrick Johnson Represented by: Canton Literary Management (CLM) Contact: Eric Canton (866) 429-3118 ECanton@Prodigy.net www.CantonLiteraryManagement.com 2. FADE IN: EXT. BUSY CITY SIDEWALK - NIGHT (MOS) Hordes of pedestrians stream in spiderweb directions. WOMAN IN RED (40) strolls with two GIRLFRIENDS under the neon signs, laughs and points and chats and enjoys life. A tan Buick sedan accelerates, drifts towards the sidewalk. Unseen driver. Brakes screech, Buick skids out of control. SERIES OF SHOTS (SLOW MOTION) The Girlfriends throw themselves backwards, but Woman In Red appears rooted to the spot. Her smile fades. The Buick slams into Woman In Red, full force, knocks her to the ground. Her head bounces off the concrete pavement. The Buick panics, reverses, peels off down the street, muddy license plate. The Girlfriends gape after it, in shock. One pulls out a cell phone, still staring, dials. An ambulance arrives, red lights flash. Two PARAMEDICS jump out. A police car arrives, blue and red lights flash. Paramedics blow into Woman In Red’s mouth, pump her chest. Shake their heads to a POLICEMAN. Paramedics drape blankets over the Girlfriends. Cell Phone Girlfriend dials again. INGO GUNNARSON (45) drives up in a truck, jumps out, wears a doctor’s white clinic jacket, name stitched on. He looks at the Girlfriends, who weep mascara down their cheeks. Ingo kneels beside a filled body bag. He throws himself across the body bag, hugs it, screams his grief to the sky. Policeman opens a bright yellow pad. A traffic citation. He writes: “Unknown Person, tan sedan, hit and run”. Ingo, eyes running rivers, looks up at Policeman and the yellow pad. Policeman shrugs, a lame consolation. FADE OUT. INT. DENTIST’S OFFICE - DAY SUPER: “ONE WEEK LATER” 3. Wall plaque: “State’s Finest Dentist: Customer Service 2008”. Posters of teeth and open mouths. Framed portrait of Woman In Red on the desk. Ingo slumps, head on hands, eyes an inch from the photo. His eyes are sad, his posture broken. Without moving his eyes, he reaches an arm above the desk to a bookshelf, brings down a hefty textbook. Opens it. The pages are glued together, cut out, hiding place for a flask. He takes a swig. Stares at the portrait. An intercom buzzes. He replaces the flask with apathy, thuds the book back onto the shelf. Shuffles across the room, past a central dentist’s chair. He opens the door. Sees: NADIA TORNOW (80), curly blue hair, frozen in place as she pops a doughnut hole into a circular mouth. She chews. INGO Nadia, Nadia. Healthy breakfasts, right? Nadia bows her apology, mouth spilling crumbs. She hands Ingo her patient file, plunks her purse on his desk, sits in the dental chair, tries to swallow the doughy lump. Ingo brushes powdered sugar off the file. Half-hearted smile. INGO Let’s rinse, shall we? Open up. Nadia opens her sugar-coated mouth. Disgusting. Ingo sprays her teeth clean with a miniature hose. Puts a loud-sucking vacuum tube under her tongue. INGO Bogdana using that litterbox yet? Nadia nods. Mumbles something unintelligible. INGO I thought so. Takes a few weeks. Her cat was about a month before she figured it out. Nadia mumbles something, a surprised tone. 4. INGO Oh, I’ve had lots of practice. She used to say I couldn’t understand her because there was nothing in her mouth. I’d say that’s why our arguments weren’t my fault. She’d laugh. Ingo turns his head away, macho, misty-eyed. He swallows. He turns off the hose, withdraws it and the vacuum. Props her mouth wide open with lip retractors. Approaches her teeth with a tiny mirror and pick. Taps on each tooth. INGO This just a routine check? Nadia mumbles something, tongue immobile. INGO Oh, this one here? Ingo taps on a molar. Nadia gives a little scream of pain. Bites down. INGO That’s her. Tongue down, please. Ingo works in silence. Scrapes the tooth. Examines his handiwork. Digs at the tooth some more. Starts up a whiny cordless dentist’s drill. Moves the drill around inside her mouth. Grinding. Nadia’s eyes, full of fear. INGO It’s all right, Nadia. I won’t hurt you. Done this a million times. Nadia attempts a stretched lips smile, mumbles something. Ingo stops, motionless, the drill whirs without effect. INGO No. Thanks. I needed to get back to work right away. I’m sorry, too... Ingo begins to weep. The drill drifts, touches a tooth, whirs. Nadia winces, a little cry of pain. 5. Ingo pulls the drill out of her mouth, turns it off. INGO She was everything... Gone just like that. I don’t even know who... Doc Vern says I’ve already passed through denial, anger, bargaining, straight to depression. Why not? Nadia’s eyes tear up. She mumbles more. INGO Yeah. I need one, don’t I? Maybe next month. Ingo stands, composes himself. Walks to the window. Looks through it, deep breaths in and out. The drill in his right hand. INGO’S POV - THROUGH WINDOW A parking lot. Empty. Except for a tan Buick sedan. BACK TO SCENE Ingo turns pale. Double-takes at the car outside. He sidles over to his desk, talks to cover his movement. INGO The Godlessness of it all. All those people on the street, all those people on the sidewalk. That car only hits one. Why her? Why that moment? Of course I still believe. I believe He’ll lead me to the one who took her from me. He gets to the desk, looks down at Nadia’s purse. A bright yellow slip sticks out the top. A series of emotions flash across his face: Confusion. Remembrance. Decision. Anger. Coldness... INGO I know why you came to see me. Nadia mumbles something, a long phrase, whimpers with pain, almost crying. She points to her molar. Ingo’s back is to her, doesn’t see her. 6. WHIRRR! He flicks the drill on. INT. RECEPTIONIST’S DESK - DAY A door behind the desk opens. Ingo’s head pops through. His breathing is slow, normal. Blood spattered cheek. INGO Margret, call 911. An accident. MARGRET (20), flustered receptionist, fumbles with the phone. EXT. STRIP MALL - DAY A squad car squeals into the parking lot, lights and sirens. Jolts to a stop in front of “Ingo Gunnarson, Dentist”. INT. DENTIST’S OFFICE - DAY Ingo slumps, head on hands, eyes an inch from the photo of Woman In Red. He smiles. He kisses the picture. He stands, crosses to Nadia’s purse. Pulls out the bright yellow slip with wet red fingers. Blood smears on the paper. INSERT - BRIGHT YELLOW SLIP Reads: “Meter Violation -- No Parking Zone -- $35 Fine.” BACK TO SCENE Ingo trembles, shakes his head, drops the paper. INGO No. No, no. Nonononononononononono. Ingo rips the purse apart, flings stuff all over the office. The door bangs open. POLICEMAN #2 points a gun inside. Ingo looks up, wild look, blood all over his face and white coat. Policeman #2 looks at Nadia’s mutilated body, gulps. MOMENTS LATER Ingo lays facedown, hands cuffed behind him. Policeman #2 kneels on his back, searches him. INGO But... you don’t understand... she told me... I heard her... she confessed... FADE TO BLACK.