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.
Logline: "A witty, unsettling thriller - former deadly assassin struggles for peace in a world that may not want it."
This film reads like an over-the-top and witty look at global politics and warfare, comparable to a Coen Brothers film or a Doonesbury cartoon. As always, the full script is available upon request.
Note: this excerpt contains ADULT LANGUAGE and VIOLENCE.
PICKING UP THE PEACES 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 #1329562 ECanton@Prodigy.net www.CantonLiteraryManagement.com FADE IN: INT. RIO DE JANEIRO - HOTEL ROOM - DAY (PRESENT DAY) The yellow translucent shades are drawn, sickly hot light filters through to dingy unpainted plaster walls. Bugs scurry, large as mice, aloof as royalty. A slow-revolving ceiling fan, weakly ineffective. Sprawled on the bed, arms behind his head: JOHN FONTAINE (30s), twinkling eyes conceal a tack-sharp mind, easy build hides a lethal talent. But his eyes are not twinkling now. Bustling around the room: LONI EMERY (20s), glorious beauty more worthy of cashmere and pearls. There’s no finery here. She unpacks suitcases, tosses cheap clothes in small piles on a rickety bureau. In the bottom of a suitcase, she finds a small unframed photo of a woman, MAUREEN FONTAINE (30s). She looks over her shoulder at Fontaine, unsure... She lays the picture on the pillow next to him. Fontaine looks at the picture, a deep sadness. LONI It was months ago, John. FONTAINE Not to me. Not to Maureen. Loni assembles weapons and covert night equipment from seemingly innocent plastic parts. Bullets wedged into her purse handle. Telescoping tripods in suitcase edges. Gun barrels inside toothpaste tubes. Her arsenal complete, Loni gives a curt nod of approval. Goes into the bathroom, turns on a decrepit shower. The shower turns off. LONI (O.S.) Ugh. It’s brown. LATER Fontaine lounges on the bed, reads “War and Peace” by Tolstoy. In the original Russian. Loni sits upright at a wobbly desk, thumbs through “Field Manual for Night Combat”. Studies, underlines. A boring day, a boring job. LONI There’s nothing in here about babies. Fontaine looks up, doesn’t know what to say. LONI Well, I guess they can’t do any harm. Fontaine looks down at his book, deep in thought, as if these thoughts are brand new. FONTAINE (whispers to himself) Can’t do any harm. Loni puts her hand over her mouth. EXT. RIO - MARKET - DAY Fontaine and Loni wear bright obnoxious shirts, stroll through the stalls, the American couple on holiday. BAUBLE VENDOR (60s), plump leathery grandma, shoves cheap bead strings in their faces. BAUBLE VENDOR (in Spanish) For you? For the wife? LONI (in English) No, no thanks. BAUBLE VENDOR (in Spanish) The children, you must have children, no? Fontaine, expression strained, looks sick. 2. LONI (in Spanish) No, we don’t have children, you miserable witch. Go away! Bauble Vendor shrugs, cheerful, harasses the next couple. Fontaine and Loni weave their way through the market, dodge vendors, slide behind a stall: piles of refuse and a barbedwire tipped six-foot brick wall. Loni tip-toes through the garbage, backs up to the wall. Fontaine lifts a cell phone, takes several pictures. Loni poses like a ditzy newlywed tourist. They laugh. But the pictures are focused on the giant stone building behind her, behind the wall, just over Loni’s head. INT. RIO HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT The bed is littered with papers and files, schematics of alarm systems, building plans, maps, weapons specifications. One satellite photo features a large stone building, a cloth awning circled in red marker. Fontaine and Loni, no-nonsense, shameless, pull skin-tight non-reflective black catsuits over their naked bodies. No underwear, smooth aerodynamic lines. Loni throws Fontaine a smile, nervous, excited, ready. Fontaine puts Maureen’s picture between his chest and the suit, its outline visible. They slap on dark facepaint. Zip utility belts tight. Slip fearsome knives into sheaths. Yank tight gloves onto their hands. Transformed into warriors. Fontaine jogs in place, gets his heart rate up, psychs himself, floods his body with adrenaline. He swallows down tomato juice, in a small tin travel can. He crushes the can in a steel fist. He picks up a gun. His gun... 3. FONTAINE To war, Peacekeeper. Fontaine kisses the handle, scored with dozens of notches. Loni paces, looks through pictures on an iPhone, mumbles to herself. LONI Vijuan Acedo, five eight, kill on sight... Beatrisa Acedo, five three, kill on sight... Fontaine hears her, an unhappy cloud covers his face. LONI Vijuanito Acedo, two months, dark hair, kill on-- FONTAINE What happens if we split up? LONI Fourth dock from the airport. Fontaine looks at the baby’s picture. With a snarl, he throws the iPhone against the wall, a shatter of electronics. He leaps through the open window, feet first. EXT. RIO HOTEL - NIGHT Fontaine lands on his toes, cat-like, on the top of a delivery van behind the building. He bounces to the ground. Low to the ground, Fontaine lopes into the shadows. Loni climbs out of the window, less sure, dangles, drops. She lands hard. Grunts. Jogs after Fontaine. EXT. MARKET - NIGHT Deserted stalls cast funhouse shadows in the moonlight. Two ghosts flit through the narrow alleys... Loni and Fontaine sneak up to the wall. Fontaine cups his hands, hoists Loni to the walltop. She puts wire cutters to the wire. 4. BZZZZZZZZ. Electrified. The wire cutters bounce out of her hand, clatter to the ground. Loni teeters but maintains her balance. They freeze, expecting a response. No one comes. Fontaine hands the wirecutters back up. Loni takes off one of her black gloves, lays it across the wire, cuts the wire through the gloves. Just a minimal smothered spark. Loni cuts the rest of the wire in the same way, uses the glove to gingerly push the wire aside. She jumps over the wall. Splat. Fontaine, already tense, leaps up the wall, looks over. FONTAINE’S POV Loni sheepishly looks back up at Fontaine from the middle of a shallow koi wading pool. WALL Fontaine puts finger to lips. Shhhh. EXT. ACEDO COMPOUND - NIGHT The central stone mansion towers like some ancient god, squat, heavy, forbidding. Lights peep through basement windows, but the rest of the structure is dark. The large lush backyard central mansion pulses with a shadow civilization, reflected light and music. Loni and Fontaine slither towards the house, skirting pools and water fountains and benches and statues and tennis courts. Fontaine and Loni peer in a basement window. FONTAINE’S POV Looks down on several lazy BODYGUARDS playing a board game, Monopoly. Dozens of bottles of alcohol. Bodyguards seem to be arguing over the placement of a hotel on the board. 5. BACK TO SCENE Fontaine looks in a dark first floor window. He shakes his head, points at the window. Loni nods. Loni pulls a tiny jar of dark jelly from her utility belt. With a tiny Swiss Army Knife Trowel, she spreads the dark stuff all across the window. Simultaneously, Fontaine swings up to a cloth awning over a porch, quickly cuts a large square of cloth out with a sharp knife. He drops to the ground. Fontaine puts the cloth on the sticky window, presses on the cloth to ensure total adherence. Loni holds two corners of the cloth... Fontaine swings his elbow at the cloth, hard, fast. The window shatters, but noiseless. Loni pulls the cloth free, dozens of window shards stuck to it, lays it on the ground. They climb through the broken window. INT. ACEDO MANSION - KITCHEN - NIGHT Dark. A large kitchen, gorgeous granite and marble, all the latest appliances. Fontaine and Loni tip-toe past a hanging rack of sparkling sleek steel knives. Fontaine pauses to admire them, takes one down. The overhead light flicks on. Loni panics, falls flat on the floor. Fontaine ducks behind an island counter. BEATRISA ACEDO (17), the most innocent face this side of the Virgin Mary, plods sleepily towards the refrigerator, rubs her eyes. Barefooted, nightgowned, she breastfeeds a gurgling infant, VIJUANITO ACEDO (2 months), juggles him as she opens the fridge door. Loni scrabbles backwards, crab-like, unfolds the tripod underneath her silenced handgun pointed up at Beatrisa. She sets up a perfect shot. 6. Fontaine is mesmerized, stares at the baby, the tiny wrinkled crossed feet, the inoffensive tiny fingers, the gentle little neck craned back for food. Fontaine looks disarmed, nothing warlike about him at all. Loni looks to Fontaine for permission to fire. Fontaine shakes his head. Beatrisa drinks down a half-empty bottle of milk. She murmurs a lullaby under her breath. Loni glares at Fontaine: “Are you crazy?” Loni points the gun at Beatrisa again. Fontaine scrambles across the floor, pounces on Loni, holds her gun down. Loni wriggles under him, tries to get free, makes noise. Beatrisa looks down, sees them on the floor. Face goes ashen. BEATRISA (in Spanish) Holy Virgin, protect me. Fontaine waves at her: “Go away, get out of here.” Beatrisa vanishes, slips out. Turns out the light. Loni jumps to a crouch, juts her jaw into Fontaine’s face. LONI (hiss) I had a perfect... Let me do one! Fontaine puts his hand over her mouth, thumb on one side, fingers on the other, grips her cheeks. FONTAINE What’d that baby ever do? He stands, brings her to her feet, releases her face. She rubs her cheeks. Fontaine raises another finger: No more talking. The light flicks on again. No time to duck. 7. A dark figure stands in the doorway, holds a silenced gun in each hand, pointed at Loni and Fontaine. This is AMNUL DEMIDOV (40s), Russian killer, eyes of death, lips of honey. A standoff. Loni’s gun is in a lowered hand. Fontaine’s knife hand is behind the island counter, out of Demidov’s sight. Demidov smiles, enjoys the sight of two burglars discomfited in the kitchen. He shakes his head, “tsk-tsk”. FONTAINE (in Spanish) We’re here for the dishwasher. Fontaine bends over the appliance, pretends to examine it. DEMIDOV (in English) And I am Vladimir Lenin. Fontaine, confusion, hears the accent. FONTAINE You’re not a bodyguard. DEMIDOV Depends on whose body. Now that body... Demidov gestures at Loni. FONTAINE You’re him. Loni looks at Fontaine, her eyes wide open. FONTAINE You’re Demidov. Demidov, a slight, mocking bow. DEMIDOV Orders are orders. A pity about your wife, she was-- A pig squeals in a hallway. Voices coming near. DEMIDOV (in Russian) Oh, fuck. Demidov turns off the light switch with an elbow, dives for the island counter. 8. Fontaine throws a knife at the diving shape... And hits a miniature pot-bellied pig instead. The pig appears in the doorway, its feet slipping on the slick tiled floor, and takes a knife dead between the eyes. The pig falls with a surprised, and somewhat disappointed, grunt. Fontaine and Loni drop to the floor behind the counter. LONI I think you got him. BODYGUARD #1 flicks on the light, sees the butchered animal. Demidov shoots Bodyguard #1, a perfect forehead hole. DEMIDOV You kill a pig, I kill a pig. Demidov dashes to the light switch, covers the kitchen with his guns, turns the lights off. DEMIDOV Where is Acedo? LONI Downstairs. No answer. Fontaine peeks his head around the counter. No one there. Fontaine jumps out the broken window, Loni at his heels. EXT. ACEDO COMPOUND - NIGHT Fontaine scoots around the house, peeks through every basement window he can find. Loni tags behind like a bewildered puppy. LONI (whisper) But I thought... And what’s Demidov doing here? Fontaine freezes. Points through a basement window. 9. FONTAINE’S POV A movie projector and a giant screen. VIJUAN ACEDO (50s), a petty kingpin, more grease than hair on his head, sits in an armchair ten feet from the screen. Surrounded by dozing Bodyguards. The movie: a terrible B-grade love story. BACK TO SCENE Loni sucks a sturdy stick of chewing gun, softens it. Fontaine pieces together a silenced sniper rifle from plastic components stored in his utility belt. She takes a diamond ring off her finger, makes a tiny circle in the window with the diamond, cuts it like silent butter. She plunks the gum onto the glass circle. She tugs the piece out. Fontaine puts the rifle into the hole, rests the end on the cut glass. He takes Acedo into his sight. FONTAINE’S POV Demidov enters his field of view, stealthy, stalking Acedo from behind, creeping through the sleeping Bodyguards, gun drawn. Fontaine pulls the trigger. Acedo slumps to the side, a perfect shot through his temple. Fontaine shifts his sight to Demidov... Demidov, angry, swings his gun to the window, fires. BACK TO SCENE Fontaine pulls the rifle out of the hole, throws himself backwards, knocks Loni down. They are unhit. INT. ACEDO MANSION - BASEMENT - NIGHT Demidov wanders around, casual, puts bullets in each Bodyguard’s head. He stares up at the window, peeved. Unclips something from an inside pocket. 10. EXT. ACEDO COMPOUND - NIGHT A large grenade crashes through the window, lands on the grass beside Fontaine. Fontaine and Loni scramble to their feet, race in opposite directions. Fontaine trips and falls over something sticking out of the ground, a thick three-pronged small vertical wire. A bounding mine shoots out of the ground between his legs, pops several feet into the air. Fontaine curls into a tiny ball. The bounding mine explodes. Tiny bits of razor-sharp shrapnel fly in all directions. Except straight down. Which is where Fontaine is. The shrapnel peppers holes in the stone mansion. Fontaine breathes, amazed he’s still alive. He sits up. Demidov’s grenade explodes. It’s a sting grenade, sucks all of the air out of Fontaine’s lungs, pelts him with hard rubber balls at high speed. Fontaine falls over, pain... unconscious... EXT. ACEDO COMPOUND - NIGHT Fontaine wakes up, winces, skinsuit tattered, Maureen’s picture torn and visible. Demidov stands over him. DEMIDOV I wonder why we are not allies. We are wanting the same blood. Fontaine blinks. Looks around the compound. FONTAINE You take Loni, too? DEMIDOV It is a good job. Demidov beams a charming smile. Fontaine makes a sudden lunge at Demidov’s throat, bounces his whole body up off the grass. 11. Demidov whips a shrapnel shard, no larger than a pinky nail, up to Fontaine’s approaching neck. Even a splinter can cut a throat in the right hands. Fontaine stops on a dime, frozen in an awkward back-bending crouch, his fists clenched so tight, his rage palpable. Demidov’s smile vanishes. DEMIDOV Down. Demidov catches him by surprise with a kick to the groin. Fontaine doubles up. Demidov backs away, about to say something, chooses not to, slips around the mansion towards the front. An engine starts, sounds like a nice sports car, zooms away. Fontaine climbs to his feet, races after Demidov. FONTAINE Loni? Loni? No response. Distant sirens approach the front of the compound. Fontaine stops. He smashes a fist against the stone mansion, bloodies himself. He looks to the sky with an anguished, unspoken fury on his lips. EXT. MARKET - NIGHT Fontaine rockets over the wall, vaults to freedom. He lands, cat-like, on feather toes. Flits off, disappears. EXT. RIO - STREETS - NIGHT Fontaine sprints for the ocean, oblivious to the crowds of PEDESTRIANS, oblivious to traffic lights. EXT. GUANABARA BAY (RIO) - NIGHT Fontaine races to the shore. A normal man would stop. He hurtles bodylong into the water, disappears. ONLOOKERS shrug, look away. Just another night in Rio. 12. EXT. RIO - DOCKS - NIGHT Fontaine clings to the underside of a wooden pier. He shivers, soaked. Only upper-body strength keeps him afloat. He waits. Maureen’s picture melts into a pulp. EXT. JOBIM INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT (RIO) - DAY A figure stumps across the tarmac, coming from the sea. It is Fontaine, and he is dripping wet. And alone. He’s rolled the skinsuit down to his waist, looks like a scuba-diver. Fontaine shouts something under the screaming engines to a group of BAGGAGE HANDLERS near a standing airplane. Baggage Handlers stalk off to the terminal, argue amongst themselves. Fontaine slips up into the luggage hold. INT. AIRPLANE - LUGGAGE HOLD - DARK Fontaine roots among the luggage, finds a giant steel trunk at the bottom, a paid shipment with stickers. Fontaine spins combination locks, opens the trunk. INSIDE THE TRUNK - LATER Engine noise. Unbearable. Fontaine has put on street clothes, wraps blankets around himself to stay warm. Holds an oxygen mask to his mouth. A second oxygen mask, unused. He looks asleep, but his eyes are open. Open and melancholy. Shivers in the cold. His gun, Peacekeeper, alone and small on the floor. EXT. CHICAGO - SMALL HOUSE - DAY An old, run-down semi-urban neighborhood. Houses right on top of each other. Chain-link fences. A small frumpy old car chugs at double the residential speed limit, pulls up, parallel parks perfectly the first time. 13. Fontaine gets out, slips around the back of the small house. INT. SMALL HOUSE - BASEMENT ENTRY - DAY Fontaine plods down the back steps, ducks into the entry, his path blocked by a flat cement wall with a small heavy door. He puts his thumb on a bio-reader, types a several-digit code into a security box. Click. Fontaine grasps the door, pulls it open with a soft hiss. INT. SMALL HOUSE - BASEMENT - DAY A simple square table. Four computers, one in each direction. Three computers occupied by three COMPUTER USERS (30s), frumpy, pudgy, parted haircuts, tapered dark blue jeans, colorless buttondown shirts. Bland tapioca triplets stare like automatons into loving data-covered monitors. Fontaine pulls the door tight. No one looks up. Fontaine plops down at the empty computer, logs in, opens a word processing program. A small can of tomato juice waits for him. He drinks it down. COMPUTER USER #1 Had a job proposal from Apple. COMPUTER USER #2 The Apple of Apple, Apple? COMPUTER USER #1 But no offer of combat pay. Fontaine types: “Agents John Fontaine, Loni Emery. Mission Report #47722. Mission Successful.” COMPUTER USER #2 It’s the little things. Fontaine looks at his hands. Closes his eyes. He types without looking: “Encountered Amnul Demidov. Agent Emery missing.” COMPUTER USER #1 Apple frowns on forgeries, too. Fontaine bites his lip. A tear forms in one eye... 14. THE REMAINDER OF THIS SCRIPT IS UNAVAILABLE FOR PREVIEW. PLEASE CONTACT THE AUTHOR FOR THE FULL SCRIPT.
Logline: "Compelled by an unrelenting past, a mysterious recluse protects an Old West town unaided -- but the arrival of a vicious gang of outlaws unearths secrets and sparks a war."
This Western is filled with rich descriptions of the era and location, and some extreme but believable personalities who might have peopled it. A reluctant and complicated hero. A beautiful, adventurous tomboy. The evil villain with a simple selfish cause. All the ingredients of great literature.
The prize portion of the script is a lengthy action set piece at the climax of the script (which is not included in this preview due to spoilers), which involves some Western action that I have never yet seen portrayed on screen.
THE SEVEN DEATHS OF LIGHTHOUSE by Kyle Patrick Johnson Represented by: Canton Literary Management (CLM) Contact: Eric Canton (866) 429-3118 ECanton@Prodigy.net www.CantonLiteraryManagement.com Registered with: Writers Guild of America, West, Inc. Registration #1321460 2. FADE IN: EXT. WEST NEBRASKA TERRITORY - PAINTER’S JUNCTION - EVENING Foreground: the little white cross on top of the little white church. Background: acres and acres of wheat fields, swaying in the hostile wind. Deep background: Mount Lighthouse, the only modulation of the surrounding terrain, a giant fist on vast forever flatness. The sky is deep gray, angry, stormy. With every crack of lightning, the wheat fields turn into waves on a troubled sea. Cries of sailors and cowboys mix in the distance. FADE TO BLACK. EXT. MOUNT LIGHTHOUSE - SUMMIT - DAY A lone wide peak, Mount Lighthouse is covered with rocks, thick underbrush, hardy evergreens. The north side of the mountain is almost vertical, a cliff. The summit is slightly rounded, mostly flat, treeless. A small, handbuilt, porchless cabin just below the summit. Crude. Lacks windows. The only sign of life at the cabin is a tiny wisp of smoke coming from a rudimentary chimney. One small spring bubbles out of the ground behind the cabin, feeds a small stream that meanders down the mountain. JOHN ELDRIDGE (30s), sad, stooped, weathered, stands on a tall rock at the summit, looks over the terrain with a spyglass. He wears working clothes: thick shirt, khaki overalls, tired hat. Eldridge scans, looks three miles to the southwest at the onestreet, six-building hamlet called Painter’s Junction. His eyes narrow, his jaws clench. He straightens. He turns, runs to his cabin. THROUGH DOOR A modest, one-room square. The only light streams through the door and small chinks in the walls. Yanks open the door, goes in... Doesn’t like what he sees. 3. Eldridge strips off his working clothes, revealing long undergarments underneath. Throws on a black suit in an instant, black boots. Covers his face in a white mask. a black wide-brimmed hat. He strides quickly towards the door. Dons Beside the door are two pegs driven into the wall, about head height. A set of saddlebags hang from each peg. As he exits, Eldridge smoothly whisks the saddlebags off the peg further from the door. EXT. CABIN Eldridge steps out of the cabin directly onto the rocky ground. He whistles. Two horses approach. Pilot is a short, roan mare; Admiral a towering, handsome white stallion. Eldridge speaks with a clean, clear, clipped East Coast accent. ELDRIDGE Your turn, Admiral. Pilot. Stand watch, Eldridge swings the saddlebags over the large white horse. He goes back into the cabin, emerges with a fantastically ornate European saddle. Quickly fits it on the horse. Admiral does not wear reins. Eldridge returns to the cabin once more and emerges with a gunbelt and revolvers around his waist, bandolier across his torso, rifle in his right hand, shotgun in his left. He slings the rifle into the saddlebags, securing it. Eldridge grasps the pommel, swings himself up into place. Places the shotgun in front of the pommel and pulls it towards the saddle, steadying himself. He leans low over the horse’s neck. Whispers strongly. ELDRIDGE We have work. Go, Admiral! Admiral takes off at a dead run, racing down a slender, winding trail on the mountain’s face. EXT. MOUNTAIN FACE - SOUTH SIDE Eldridge and Admiral plummet down the mountain, weaving and spinning on the trail like a graceful ice skater. 4. INT. PAINTER’S JUNCTION - DOOLEY’S DRY GOODS STORE - DAY The store serves as a dry goods marketplace, post office, and temporary bank. It is simply a large square, with cans and sacks heaped on shelves on every wall. A small safe squats in a back corner, behind a glass counter display of brand-new 3 cent Pony Express postage stamps. The windows are blackened with creaky old shutters. lanterns are lit. No RICH DOOLEY (50s), the optimistically weatherbeaten Irish proprietor, hunches behind the counter, bowed in fear. TIN TOP (30s) and ROSCOE (20s), two luckless ranchers, gently kick Dooley’s ribs, encouraging him. TIN TOP Come on, come on. DOOLEY It won’t work. Leave me-- ugh. Roscoe leans down, taps a six-shooter on Dooley’s head. ROSCOE Friend, you’ll open it, or we’ll open it. Better if you do. Dooley spreads his hands, frustrated, pleading. DOOLEY I don’t know the lock, I tell you. The Pony boys do. I don’t. We don’t keep no money in there. TIN TOP I don’t want no money. I got nothing against you, Dooley. Just open it. Roscoe steps back and takes aim at Dooley, who cowers. TIN TOP No! Shoot, you’ll bring every farmer with a gun on top of us. OK. ROSCOE Gimme the TNT, Tin Top. TIN TOP You got the TNT. 5. Naw. ROSCOE TIN TOP I gave it you. ROSCOE It’s in yourn saddlebag. TIN TOP No, tisn’t. Oh, yeah. ROSCOE Tin Top clucks his tongue, gives Dooley an apologetic look, indicates Roscoe is unworthy of such a noble partner. Tin Top holsters his weapon, walks out the front door. Roscoe keeps his six-shooter trained on Dooley, idly whistles “She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain.” Tin Top returns with a satchel of TNT. TIN TOP Roscoe, it was in yours, shuttlehead. ROSCOE They look alike. Tin Top tosses the TNT to Roscoe who catches it gingerly, dropping his revolver. Blow it. TIN TOP ELDRIDGE (O.S.) (commandingly) Well, blow me down. Roscoe drops the dynamite, terrified. ELDRIDGE (O.S.) Leave it on the deck. Eldridge opens the front door in his persona as Lighthouse, an impressive figure. His white mask seems to glow in the shadowed room. Tin Top pulls out his revolver and points it shakily at Eldridge, who pierces him with steely soulful eyes. 6. With his head, Eldridge motions for Dooley to scoot out the front door. Dooley does, using Eldridge as a shield. ELDRIDGE I think it’s time you abandoned ship, boys. You’re outgunned. Both Tin Top and Roscoe drop their eyes to Eldridge’s bandolier and weaponry. TIN TOP Yeah, but I’m holding mine. Eldridge sighs. ELDRIDGE So are they. Eldridge jerks his thumb over his shoulder. Tin Top’s view of the street is obscured by the masked intruder, so Eldridge politely steps out of the way. Across the street, all seven men in town are lined up with guns of every size and variety pointed at the little dry goods store. Tin Top gulps. Oh, God. TIN TOP ELDRIDGE Don’t ask him for help. He’s a great one for taking away. TIN TOP (to Roscoe) How’d they know we was in here? closed the windows. Yup. Huh? ELDRIDGE That’s how. ROSCOE We ELDRIDGE Dooley loves the sun. He’d never batten his hatches in the daylight. Tin Top steps forward, teeth gritted. 7. TIN TOP All right then, Mister No-Face, you’re mine. Tell ‘em to put down their guns and let us ride out of here. Eldridge laughs. Puzzled, Tin Top stops advancing. ELDRIDGE I’m proud of you. That’s probably the first brave thing you’ve ever done. You keep walking forward, it’ll be the last. Roscoe, dripping with sweat and anxiety, makes as if to lunge for his gun on the floor. Eldridge checks him with an unbelievably fast double draw. Eldridge points one gun at Roscoe, one at Tin Top. Roscoe gapes at Eldridge with genuine admiration. Wow. ROSCOE ELDRIDGE No reason to be frightened. I’ll deal with you fair. I’ll shoot you if I have to. TIN TOP (to Roscoe) If I shoot him, he’ll mightn’t hit us. See, if he falls back and jerks around, he’ll hit the ceiling, maybe, or a shelf. I think I’ll be all right. Roscoe keeps his eyes locked on Eldridge. ROSCOE (to Tin Top) I ain’t worried about you right now. To their astonishment, Eldridge puts both his guns back into his holsters and turns his back on the outlaws. He stands full in the doorway, faces the street. ELDRIDGE (to the posse) All right, men, these boys don’t want to die. They’re coming out. 8. Taking advantage, Tin Top scoops up the dynamite, shoves it into the handle of the safe. He lights a match by scraping it along the roughened surface of the TNT itself. In a flash, Eldridge turns, draws one gun, shoots the match cleanly out of Tin Top’s hands. EXT. STREET - THE POSSE Rises with a roar and, as an enraged bull pounds towards the matador, rush at the store with heads lowered, guns raised. INT. STORE Eldridge dashes inside the store, closes the door, sealing the darkness. Tin Top and Roscoe are rendered blind. Eldridge, having seen their positions, jumps forward in the dark and hits them both squarely over the head with his drawn gun. The mob bangs on the door in a fury. Eldridge holsters his gun, picks up Tin Top’s senseless body in a fireman’s carry on his right shoulder, hoists Roscoe onto his left. He stumbles quickly towards the back door. EXT. STREET The seven man mob crashes into the surprisingly sturdy wooden door of the general store. Dooley stands in the street behind them, confused, concerned. HENRY WILE (20s) and BILLY CUNNINGHAM (20s), overeager cowboys, get a bright idea and leap to the shuttered windows. They raise their rifle butts, as if to shatter the shutters and glass. Dooley, at the last moment, intervenes. DOOLEY No, no! Those windows cost me five dollars apiece! I can make a new door. The mob continues to batter at the door like waves crashing into a solid bulwark. The door splinters and bows. A voice behind Dooley stills them at an instant. ELDRIDGE If the brig is ready, these men are willing. The mob turns and beholds Eldridge in the street, with Tin Top and Roscoe sprawled unconscious at his feet. 9. Eldridge holds up his hands, palms outward, beseeching the mob’s patience. Use mercy. ELDRIDGE 10. An excerpt from page 20. EXT. SUNSET RIDGE - SUMMIT - DAY SNAKE JACK (60s), a mysterious leader of men, stands at the top of Sunset Ridge, looking due east, dull eyes glower under the brim of his large hat. Wispy gray hair blows forward in the strong wind. Several paces behind him, SMALLSON (20s), his vast, chiseled lieutenant, lingers patiently, arms folded. The rest of Snake Jack’s gang of thugs huddle around their horses and a piteous fire. They are STEUBEL (30s), kindlylooking German; MALLORY (20s), attention-deficit disordered gunslinger; ERNIE (20s), conversational bore, wizard with a rope; O’HEARN (20s), Irish beanpole; and CHEZET (20s), heartless French killer. Snake Jack finishes his survey of the land, turns at last, joins Smallson. SMALLSON Hell of a way to retire. Isn’t it? SNAKE JACK SMALLSON The marshals’ll never find us away out here. Snake Jack motions to his men to mount their horses. Smallson do the same. SNAKE JACK The Pony boy’ll be by here tomorrow morning, if the Injun were right. We’ll ride below, camp there. Snake Jack leads a deathly procession down the ridge. EXT. MOUNT LIGHTHOUSE - SLOPE - DAWN Eldridge slowly rides down the hill on Pilot, who picks her way carefully over every stone. He wears his John Eldridge costume, slumps over a dull, plain brown leather saddle. His three pelts peek out of his unadorned set of saddlebags. He slowly munches on the last bit of his meat jerky, pulling it out of his He and 11. EMPTY JERKY POUCH EXT. PLAINS - MORNING PONY EXPRESS BOY (15) trots quickly across the plains, not wishing to injure his horse by galloping the whole way. He looks up, enjoying the endless sky. radiates a zest for life and the West. His whole demeanor EXT. SUNSET RIDGE - FOOT OF THE RIDGE - MORNING Snake Jack sits on a rock in the morning sun. The gang is sprawled out around him, munching a sparse breakfast. O’Hearn, on the highest rock, looks down at Snake Jack casually. O’HEARN He’s out there. Snake Jack motions for his men to rise. Like lightning they leap to their horses. They mount, still hidden from the plains. O’Hearn remains on his rock, calling softly to Snake Jack. O’HEARN I’d say he’s about a mile away. Not much dust this morn. Moving at a quick trot. Call it three or four minutes, Snake Jack. Snake Jack nods, perpetually melancholy. EXT. PAINTER’S JUNCTION - DAY Crazy John Eldridge enters the small street that is Painter’s Junction. Pilot plods along slowly, putting one foot in front of the other in monotonous succession. Approaching the town from the east, from Mount Lighthouse, the first building on the right is a little white church with no name. Next is the sheriff’s office, doubling as a tiny two-celled jail. The third and last building on the right is a large livery stable. The first on the left is Dooley’s store, which serves as the all-purpose general store, dry goods store, post office, and bank. The second building is an unimpressive two-story hotel with a greasy restaurant on the first floor. 12. The third and last building, Chester’s, is the most eclectic: a combination doctor’s office, barbershop, and tavern all in the same room. Eldridge pulls up outside Dooley’s, wraps the reins on a hitching post. He takes hold of his pelts, and enters. EXT. PLAINS - DAY Pony Express Boy nears Sunset Ridge, looks up, alerts as he looks for the pass and his distant trail. Suddenly... A seven-man gang materializes out of the rocks ahead, surrounds him in the blink of an eye. He checks his horse and holds his arms out immediately. PONY EXPRESS BOY Hey, whoa! I’m with the Pony Express! I got no gun, no money. Ernie, dead ahead of the boy, pulls out a rope lasso, carelessly flicks it over the boy’s head, pinioning his arms to his side. PONY EXPRESS BOY What the blazes? Mallory looks around, attention flicking from one thing to another. Steubel leans over and taps his shoulder, jerking him back to the moment at hand. Chezet leans forward in his saddle, long-barrelled revolvers in hand. He eyes the boy with a devil’s glare. Snake Jack, without moving his head or even his mouth, finally speaks for the gang. SNAKE JACK What town you come from? Chicago. PONY EXPRESS BOY SNAKE JACK No, just now. PONY EXPRESS BOY This morning? Yeah. SNAKE JACK 13. PONY EXPRESS BOY Painter’s Junction. SNAKE JACK Painter’s Junction. Is it nice? What? PONY EXPRESS BOY SNAKE JACK Is it nice? PONY EXPRESS BOY Yeah, it’s nice. How big? SNAKE JACK PONY EXPRESS BOY How big is what? The town. Not big. SNAKE JACK Painter’s Junction. PONY EXPRESS BOY SNAKE JACK How many people there, boy? PONY EXPRESS BOY Not many. They got a livery, that’s all. That’s why we stop there. SMALLSON That’s it, Snake Jack. Junction for us. Painter’s SNAKE JACK No, I wanna know how many people there. Chezet leans forward, looking for the kill. PONY EXPRESS BOY I don’t know. Fifty? SNAKE JACK PONY EXPRESS BOY Less than that. Whaddya want from me, anyhow? 14. SNAKE JACK What you had to give, boy, you’ve given. Smallson, come on. Snake Jack rides off to the east, the direction that the boy had come from. Smallson follows him, as do Steubel, Mallory, and O’Hearn. Ernie tightens his grip on the lasso. up. Chezet backs his horse The boy shows his youth, breaks down into a frightened jelly. What? PONY EXPRESS BOY What’s gonna happen? ERNIE Don’t fret. He’s just givin’ hisself a challenge. It’ll be quick as it comes. Chezet continues backing up, pulls his hat down over his eyes. Without being able to see the boy, Chezet shoots him in the chest with both guns. The boy topples to the ground. Ernie drags his lassoed body, bumping over the dusty ground, dumps it behind the rocks. Chezet retrieves the boy’s horse, ties it to his own. Chezet and Ernie ride after the rest of the gang. 15. An excerpt from page 50. EXT. PAINTER’S JUNCTION - ST. DUSTIN’S CEMETERY - THAT NIGHT Eldridge dismounts Admiral, quietly hitches the horse to the inside of the cemetery fence. He pats the horse soothingly, murmurs to him. Eldridge pulls a large dark blanket out from below the saddle, drapes it over Admiral, blending the white horse with the solid black moonless night. Eldridge slips away from Admiral, hunched at the waist. He glides like a silent ghost, slips towards the dark town. EXT. STREET Eldridge moves deliberately, smoothly down the left side of the street, looking in every window, gaping for a sign of life, any sign of life, any hint of massacre, any clue. He reaches the end of town, eerily silent. He lopes across the street, looking around himself furtively, alertly, walking as though on glass marbles, always ready. He works his way back up the right side of the street, still finds nothing. He approaches the little white church. The tiny whisper of a far-off voice. He presses close to the church wall, peeks in a window, cannot see through shutters. He moves rapidly around the church, but every window is barred and door bolted. He circles around to the front door. He tries to look through the doorjamb, sees nothing but a small crack of light. One voice still speaks in a murmur. Eldridge feels exposed. He redoubles his vision about himself, glancing every way, back and forth. And then... The front door to the little white church bursts open with a flood of light. Eldridge, slammed in his side by the door, flies off the step, scrambles around the side of the church. The entire gang saunters out of the church, unaware of Eldridge’s presence. 16. They stand in the center of the street, illuminated only by the light from the church. They hold water canteens. MALLORY This town’s too small to be shooting it up. May be a greener pasture down the road? STEUBEL Snake Jack says it, it goes. MALLORY But there ain’t no women nor entertainment. O’HEARN I’d not be talking outa turn, Mallory. Snake Jack has a tendency, he has, to make his own entertainin’. SMALLSON The time he gunned down two marshals on the street. Chezet holds his arms out like a cross, both hands grasping canteens, pretends to shoot in opposite directions. SNAKE JACK Cunning and courage. We have no home, no wife, no fear of loss. Eldridge creeps back into the shadows, goes around the back of the little white church. SNAKE JACK We’ve wandered the West and had all we could have, and for what? To wander some more. MALLORY Life on the road, Snake Jack. trail for me. Snake Jack turns on Mallory, snarling. SNAKE JACK Then take it. Mallory juts his jaw angrily, mostly bluffing. STEUBEL Peace, men, peace. The 17. SNAKE JACK We have a home now. This is it. Eldridge glides swiftly behind the church, moving towards the street beyond the sheriff’s office. The gang’s voices ripple clearly towards him. CHEZET And Lighthouse? Are you not going to kill Lighthouse? SNAKE JACK When he comes. I happen to like lighthouses. They warn you of a storm. ERNIE I saw a storm once. The summer of ‘46 in Indiana. The clouds came up in the sky, just like that -Ernie is ignored and interrupted, as usual. CHEZET If this is his territory, he’ll come soon. I would. Then -SNAKE JACK He Eldridge steps out into the street, ghostly, barely seen. interrupts Snake Jack. ELDRIDGE You men are out of your waters. The gang wheels to face him, taken by surprise. they look down for their guns. To a man, Only Snake Jack and Chezet wear revolvers, and Chezet’s hands are both full of water. As Eldridge speaks, he very slowly moves toward the gang, hands at the ready. ELDRIDGE What’s your purpose here? SNAKE JACK This is our town by right of force. ELDRIDGE These people bought their land. 18. SNAKE JACK And they’ll stay on it. work for us, now. ELDRIDGE Oh, I see. Your slaves. not a slave territory. They’ll This is SNAKE JACK No. It’s mine. And if you want to live in my territory, you’ll drop your guns where you stand. Eldridge stops his approach. He cocks his head at Snake Jack, measuring him. He nods slowly, unbuckles his gun belt, dropping it to the street. Snake Jack pulls his own gun out, seizing his advantage. Eldridge continues to walk forward slowly, inevitably. ELDRIDGE Leave in the name of justice. SNAKE JACK Justice is a weighty mistress. She’ll crush you, fighting for her. ELDRIDGE I have not yet begun to fight. Snake Jack cocks his revolver as Eldridge comes within touching distance of him. Snake Jack rests the barrel of his gun against Eldridge’s chin. SNAKE JACK One chance. Go away and leave us in peace. Or I will kill you. In fascination, Chezet has not put down his canteens. CHEZET Why haven’t you killed him already? SNAKE JACK I like his... passion. He reminds me of myself, when I was young. Eldridge stares deep into Snake Jack’s murky soul-less eyes. ELDRIDGE Where are the people? 19. SNAKE JACK They’re mine. ELDRIDGE You’re beyond reason, aren’t you? SNAKE JACK They’re mine. Eldridge nods softly. Eldridge uncoils with graceful lightning. SLOW MOTION While springing sideways to the left, he lowers his head in a violent nod, redirecting Snake Jack’s gun downwards and to the side. Snake Jack involuntarily pulls the trigger, winging Chezet in the forearm. In the same moment, a derringer springs out of Eldridge’s coat sleeve into his right hand. Still drifting with his bodily leap, he fluidly swings his right arm up under Snake Jack’s chin, loosing two bullets into the gangster’s brain. Snake Jack falls backwards, his hat flying off his head. Eldridge soars through the air, landing against Steubel. With an innate and misplaced sense of decency, Steubel catches Eldridge, braces his fall. Eldridge continues his right arm swing, strikes the top of Steubel’s head. Steubel drops, unconscious. The rest of the gang stands for a fractional instant, stunned. Chezet buckles, grasping his bloody arm. Eldridge makes a second leap toward the little white church, disappears completely in the deep dead black of night. BACK TO SCENE Smallson roars unintelligibly, races up the steps into the church, emerges immediately with an armful of guns. He throws the guns onto the street, reserves a shotgun. Mallory, O’Hearn, and Ernie each take up a weapon as Smallson joins them in the street. They take aim at the prairie beyond the church and begin firing wildly after Eldridge. ELDRIDGE crawls towards the cemetery frantically on his stomach, breathing heavily and pumped full of testosterone and fear. 20. MOUNT LIGHTHOUSE - SUMMIT - REBECCAH Rebeccah sees the gunflashes from her place of vigil, hears the thunder of the weapons and Smallson’s anguished bellows. She bites her lip, clasps her hands. Oh, God. SMALLSON runs out of shotgun shells. for more. He scrabbles in the dirt, looks REBECCAH Oh, God. Oh, God. Violently, he flings away the shotgun and grabs a nearby revolver. Without aiming or even looking up, he fires off all six bullets into the prairie. He throws the empty revolver through Dooley’s beloved store window. He grabs another weapon from the ground, fires it until it clicks futilely. He continues, desperately wasting the gang’s ammunition. ELDRIDGE crawls into the cemetery. Admiral stands patiently, unharmed and unperturbed by the target practice. Eldridge creeps around Admiral, shielding himself with the horse. He climbs up onto Admiral, leaving the dark blanket draped across the horse’s white flanks. He kicks Admiral. Admiral bolts for the mountain. SMALLSON is out of guns and ammunition. look to him for guidance. O’Hearn, Mallory, and Ernie SMALLSON Well, see if they’re alive, goddammit. Mallory rushes to Snake Jack’s side and looks for life. After a moment, he fearfully looks up at Smallson, shakes his head. Ernie slaps Steubel’s cheeks. Steubel soon stirs. O’Hearn helps Chezet to his feet. For all his cruelty, Chezet’s relatively minor wound causes him to blubber and moan in a most unmanly fashion. 21. The gang ushers their wounded into the little white church. INT. LITTLE WHITE CHURCH The brightness of twenty lanterns cascades from the front of the church, illuminating the tied and trussed figures of the townspeople, sprawled across the floor. Billy, Henry, Dooley, Chester, Grossman, Roscoe, Tin Top, Padraig, the PREACHER (50s), the PREACHER’S WIFE: all are tied up, some motionless. Some writhe in pain and hunger. The gang enters the church. Smallson, the last one in, closes and bars the door behind him. Steubel, holding his head, sits in a nearby pew. Chezet, still whimpering, is laid in a pew by Ernie and O’Hearn. Mallory checks all the windows and doors, secures them. Smallson stands by the main door, hands on hips, looks down at the body of Snake Jack. O’HEARN What an ending. Smallson turns on O’Hearn fiercely. SMALLSON End? End?! Ain’t nothin’ been ended. O’HEARN Taking this town and retirin’ quietly within it was Snake Jack’s dream, Smallson. We who live are free to find our own. SMALLSON Snake Jack is here, but his idea ain’t cold and buried. Look! Smallson points at the prisoners. SMALLSON He wants us to keep on. While Smallson and O’Hearn glare at each other, Ernie drones in the corner. ERNIE I knew a fella oncet who had a big dercision to make. He had a gel in the East, beautiful gel, who wanted him to come back ’n’ marry her. 22. ERNIE (CONT'D) But he had a big ol’ hoss of a gel out West who he was livin’ with. You know what he did? He stayed with the big ol’ hoss of a gel, ‘cause he feared her more. He wrote that Eastern gel back and tol’ her that -- SMALLSON (to O’Hearn) We stay. Find a lock for that door. O’Hearn shrugs his shoulders in a carefree manner. Ernie leans over Chezet’s wound, shakes his head, studying it. Without hesitation, he reaches his dirty fingers into the wound, searching for the bullet. Chezet roars.
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