New horror/weird-shit script

[krakenslayer]

I started working on a new script today. It's kinda partially inspired by Nthan Schiff's The Long Island Cannibal Massacre but it's really it's own beast. It doesn't have a title yet and it's very, very rough (consider it more of a treatment than a script). But here are first few pages: Ext – Evening – Seaside We view the scene down the viewfinder of a zoom lens camera. A car park by the sea, illuminated by the sickly-yellow glow of a streetlamp. The camera shutter snaps as a hooded yob smashes the side window of a parked car, reaches in and begins clearing out the glove compartment and working on removing in-car-stereo. VOICE (o/s) Same place as yesterday. You are very careless. The camera captures numerous images of the emaciated junkie as he goes about his illicit business. We leave the shutter POV. The cameraman is a scruffy looking young man huddled under a gorse bush on a hillside, some two hundred yards distant from the car park. He lowers the camera, revealing a pair of hazy, deeply sad eyes. His mouth curls into a satisfied smile, but the pain in his eyes remains. YOUNG MAN I’ll see you tomorrow, friend. CUT TO: Ext - Dusk - Seaside Car Park One day later. The car park is basically a large patch of gravel bordered on three side by tall sawgrass, sand on the other. A man emerges from a car, followed by his dog, gambolling at his heel. They walk off towards the beach. Close up on the junkie’s hooded face hidden in the thick undergrowth, peering out. Satisfied that the driver is gone, he scrambles through the grass towards the car. He reaches the vehicle and, with a heavy stone clutched in his fist, pulls back his arm to smash the driver’s side window. An unexpected thud – the sound of a car door slamming, perhaps – startles him at the last moment and he drops to his haunches, looking around him with shifty eyes. There is only one other vehicle in the car park – a beat up old banger at the far side. He gets back to his feet and walks cautiously towards it. His eyes light up when he sees that the rear boot is hanging wide open. He nonchalantly drops the stone into his pocket and, satisfied there is no one around, jogs towards the old car. We see from his POV as he approaches, looking into the open boot with tense anticipation. What meagre riches might his serendipitous discovery hold? We shift to a shot looking backwards from just above the car’s trunk. The junkie appears above us and we see his wide-eyed eagerness give way to disappointment – the boot is empty. He leans forward to peer in closer, as if he may have missed something… Behind him another figure emerges from the sawgrass, rushing towards him, face hidden by a black balaclava. The junkie hears the rustle of plants crushed underfoot and begins to turn… Too late. A heavy duty club-hammer slams into the back of his skull. He is staggered by the blow and begins to slump forward. Immediately a clear plastic bag is pulled tightly over his head. The junkie tries to gasp for breath, succeeding only in sucking the front of the bag in and out of his gaping mouth in a frantic, instinctive attempt to gulp air. His limbs flail spastically and he almost succeeds in pulling free of his attacker, but the masked man sweeps his legs from underneath him and slams his bagged head against the edge of the boot, twice, hard. The junkie slips into unconsciousness. The attacker holds the bag tightly over his head for a minute more, till his victim’s limbs have stopped twitching. He then grabs the junkie’s legs and tosses the lifeless body into the trunk, which is lined with thick plastic wrap. The masked man slams the boot shut, and walks around to the driver’s door. We notice that the licence plates of the car are splattered with mud. Int – Dusk - Car The killer climbs in and slumps into the driver’s seat, closing the door and removing his balaclava. The scruffy kid looks for a moment into the rear-view mirror, into his own sad eyes. He guns the engine and drives off. Ext – Night – Dark Road Rain has begun to fall. The car swishes along the dark country highway. Int – Night – Car (Dark Road) Killer’s POV. The road emerging from the darkness ahead, into the bright illumination of his headlamps, and swallowed up under the hood of the car. Mesmerising. Close on killer’s face. Staring out at the road ahead. The lights of passing cars flicker across him. Suddenly, a muffled groan and series of loud thuds. JUNKIE (muffled) Hmmmphfff, hmmah, HMMMPHHAAH! The killer winces and shakes his head pitifully. KILLER Aw don’t do that, man. Ext – Night – Track The killer steers the car off the highway, onto a farmyard track leading off into the bleak countryside. He drives a few yards until he is safely out of sight of the main road, behind a thick hedgerow. He climbs out and walks around to the boot. He tightly grips the handle of the hammer and takes a deep breath… and pops the lid of the trunk. The junkie bellows incoherently and tries to sit upright. He has managed to partially remove the plastic bag from his head, allowing him to breathe. The killer swings the hammer, ploughing it into his victim’s face, shattering his jaw and silencing his scream. The bag falls back over the junkie’s head. Tears well up in the killer’s eyes as he brings the hammer down time and time again on the unfortunate in the trunk, battering him back into unconsciousness. Unrelenting, he continues to pound on his victim’s skull. The head of the hammer crushes the junkie’s eye socket, embedding itself in his head. He yanks it free and the inside of the bag begins to fill up with blood. Two final, furious blows crush the victims face altogether, knocking the last of the gurgling out of the pitiful creature. The killer drops to his knees in the rain, exhausted and weeping. After several beats he composes himself and reaches into one of the large, deep pockets inside his trenchcoat, producing a small Mag-Lite torch. He inspects the head of the hammer. No blood, the plastic bag has acted as a prophylactic between the heavy copper block and the bloody pulp of his victim’s skull. He reaches back into his coat and swaps the hammer in his hand for a roll of duct tape, and grips the handle of the flashlight between his teeth. He looks over into the trunk and begins to tape the bag tightly closed around the corpse’s neck, sealing in the blood that continues to ooze out of the shattered skull, then pulls the victim’s hood back over his head. He steps back and examines his work. The remains of the junkie’s face are almost totally obscured by the thick crimson foam trapped inside the bag, but virtually none of the blood has escaped the polyurethane sheath. The killer stares down at the corpse. He wipes tears from his eyes, then is motionless for a long moment. Finally, he speaks, in an unexpectedly warm and friendly tone. KILLER Hey, you want to ride up front? CUT TO: Int. – Night – Car (Dark Road) The killer drives. Sitting next to him, slumped in the passenger seat, is the dead junkie. With his hood pulled forward, both the plastic bag and his horrifically mutilated features are hidden. To a passing motorist, he would appear as simply a sleeping passenger. KILLER (sheepish, to corpse) Look here man, I know it sucks to be you right now, but I… I don’t do this because I like it. You know? A long awkward pause. KILLER (cont.) I know you’re probably thinking I’m some kind of crazy human being who enjoys this sort of thing. But I really don’t. ‘Cuz… I’ve read about those guys that hurt you people or even kill you just because they think it’s fun… or sometimes because of, you know, sexy stuff. But honestly, that’s really not me at all. Another long silence. The killer glances over at the corpse with a concerned expression. KILLER (cont.) Look… you people eat meat, right? You like animals, but… you know… you wanna eat them too. It’s a problem. So someone, somewhere, has to do the dirty work and kill those cute little sheep and cows and stuff and stuff. Maybe that someone doesn’t LIKE doing what they do…. but do it they do… because that’s what they do… and someone’s gotta do it… right? Well, that’s just like me. Silence. The killer reacts as if the corpse has replied. KILLER (slightly heated) Yeah? Let’s face it, friend – if your people knew all about my people, they’d do a heck of a lot worse in return. It’s you… or us! It’s just the way of nature, man. The killer look hard out at the road ahead. He sighs, then looks ashamed. KILLER (cont.) Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get pissy with you. I’m just a little bit… uptight. (pause) I’m Ed, by the way. FADE TO: Ext. – Dawn – Motorway Several hours after the preceding scene. Ed’s car’s approaches the city limits as the sun comes up. FADE TO Int. – Day – Ed’s Flat – Hallway His home is messy and dimly lit. Daylight peeks in from between curtains half-closed, a bag of household garbage sits by the door. A discarded dirty sock on the floor by his bedroom door, its mate balled up six feet away at the front door. Ed enters. He drags the partially-stiffened corpse alongside him, supporting its weight with a strong arm around its back and under its armpit. He has slung the left arm of the dead junkie over his own shoulder to give the impression of a man leading a drunken friend home. ED (straining) Welcome to my humble abode. Ed closes the door behind him and moves across the hall towards the bathroom. The junkie’s feet drag over the rubbish bag, bursting it open and littering the floor. ED Aw jeez… watch your step there, this place is a shithole. I need to clean it up. Int. – Day – Ed’s Flat – Bathroom The bathroom is filthy. Ed dumps the corpse into the scummy bathtub. He looks exhausted. ED (sighs) Okay, I’m just gonna grab a… He looks at his watch. ED Oh NO! Ed bolts out of the room and, moments later, scurries back in, pulling a blue fast-food uniform over his grubby t-shirt. He grabs his toothbrush, knocking the soap dish into the sink, and begins to brush his teeth hurriedly. Still scrubbing, he turns back to the sprawled corpse in the bathtub, and speaks through a mouthful of toothpaste. ED (muffled) Gotta go to work. Stay… He interrupts himself and turns back to spit the toothpaste into the sink. He grabs a can of spray deodorant and begins to douse himself in it. Ed (cont.) …stay here until I get back.

[capncnut]

Pretty good, Krackers. Pretty neat. I get a wee feeling though, forgive my observation, that this cool little splurt might be better realised as a book. But yeah, good atmosphere.

[krakenslayer]

Pretty good, Krackers. Pretty neat. I get a wee feeling though, forgive my observation, that this cool little splurt might be better realised as a book. But yeah, good atmosphere. Observation noted. I think you might be right, but on the other had - wait for the perverted flesh eating subterranean mutants and whacked out Deadbeat At Dawn-esque gorefest I have planned for the finale... BTW, what's the Jim Morrison connection? *headscratch*

[capncnut]

Deadbeat At Dawn Kfghkfghwhrrrr... you cunt, now I have to watch it!!! BTW, what's the Jim Morrison connection? *headscratch* The quote 'pretty good, pretty neat'. It's from the American Prayer version of Roadhouse Blues, or, if you kick ass, The Doors Live in Detroit, 1970. Longest and best gig they did.

[Philly_SWAT]

I enojyed it thus far, although I must admit that I have no idea what a "balaclava" is.... EDIT: I just looked up "balaclava". File this under 'learn something new every day'.

[krakenslayer]

I enojyed it thus far, although I must admit that I have no idea what a "balaclava" is.... No worries, I think you people over there call them ski-masks. A balaclava (pronounced /ˌbæləˈklɑːvə/), also known as a balaclava helmet or ski mask, is a form of headgear covering the whole head, exposing only the face or upper part of it, and sometimes only the eyes. The name "balaclava" comes from the town of Balaklava, near Sevastopol in Crimea, Ukraine. During the Crimean War, knitted balaclavas were sent over to the British troops to help protect them from the bitter cold weather. They are traditionally knitted from wool, and can be rolled up into a hat to cover just the crown of the head

[krakenslayer]

Here's a little more, please have a read and let me know what you think. Feedback, good, bad and indifferent, helps to spur myself on and keeps me on track. Sorry, about the centred dialogue, but the forums doesn't like tabbed text for some reason. CUT TO: Ext. – Fast Food Joint – Day Ed jogs towards his workplace – Big Buns - a McDonalds-esque chain restaurant. He hurriedly buttons up his shirt as he goes. He still looks dishevelled. FADE TO: SERIES OF SHOTS – MONTAGE OF ED AT WORK – ALL SHOTS INTERCUT TO MUSIC a) CLOSE UP of a food preparation board, in FAST MOTION a burger is composed from the bottom-up, then another, then another. Bread… greasy grey meat… plastic cheese… blood-red relish… An assembly line of junk food. b) CLOSE UP of Ed’s face as he works… exhaustion and alienation… a thousand yard stare. At the edges of the frame, out of focus, we see the figures flit around quickly like pedestrians in an old silent movie. Ed, lost in his repetitive, monotonous task, appears almost totally motionless. c) CLOSE UP of a burger being wrapped in FAST MOTION, we drop out of fast motion and TRACK to show it being placed on a shelf, where, in FAST MOTION AGAIN, it is quickly joined by more. d) Ugly CLOSE UPS of customers chewing, slurping and munching. Relish and grease sticking to chubby faces. e) CLOSE UP of hands immersed in filthy water, scrubbing food residue off trays. f) EXTREME CLOSE up of a clock on the wall. The second hand ticking slowly towards the end of his shift. Finally, Ed sees that the hands on the clock are beginning to creep towards five. He turns back to his task. Suddenly, a hand is planted on his shoulder. CUT TO: Int. – Fast Food Joint (Manager’s Office) – Day Ed is led into a bland office. Inane motivational posters and corporate bumph decorate the walls. The store manager, a sarcastic-looking, jumped-up kid of about twenty-three, ushers him in and then takes a seat behind a cheap pine desk. A small plastic statuette of “Big Buns”, a cartoon chef holding two burgers, sits on the desk. MANAGER Sit down Ed, and don’t look so suicidal, we’re just going have a little chin-wag about your performance and… to see how you feel about how things have been going lately. Ed sits. MANAGER We’ve not really had much of a chance to chat since I took over from Mr Burns… phew, almost a month ago now! You’ve worked here for over two years, is that right? Ed nods. MANAGER (cont.) So it was Mr Burns that hired you, initially? Ed nods. The manager nods back in acknowledgment and begins scribbling something on a sheet of paper. MANAGER (cont.) Cuuule… The manager notices Ed looking nervously at the form on the desk. MANAGER (cont.) Don’t worry about this, Ed… He points at it with his pen. MANAGER (cont.) It’s just a little record of meeting. It’s for your file, just for future reference, in case we need to look back at anything we agree on here today. The manager looks up at Ed. Ed doesn’t reply. There is a brief awkward moment. MANAGER (cont.) So I really just wanted to hear from you, as a long standing member of staff, about how you feel things have been since I took over. I mean, do you have any issues you would like to bring to the table? Is there anything I could be doing to help you do your job better? Ed begins to speak, shyly, tentatively. He seems like a completely different person to the dangerous murdering blabbermouth we’ve seen so far. ED Well.. MANAGER (laughs, interrupting) Aha! So you do have a voice! (beat) Sorry, sorry, go on. ED Well, Mr Lewis… MANAGER It’s Steven. ED Well, Mr Steven… MANAGER My first name is Steven. Call me Steven. ED I have no problems at work… Steven. There is a slightly desperate lilt to Ed’s voice. Like a child pleading to go to the bathroom. Steven moves to pick up his pen once more, but seems to reconsider. He rubs his hand against his chin and ponders Ed. STEVEN And… what about your personal life? Is there anything at home causing issues? He turns back to his form and starts writing something. Ed frowns. He sees what’s happening here. He can see something is wrong with Ed’s world, and now he is prying. STEVEN (cont.) Maybe like… I dunno… a death or something? Ed struggles to contain his horror but he doesn’t do a very good job. STEVEN (cont.) A family member maybe? Or do you have… Ed relaxed but Steven glances up and catches the tail end of Ed’s shocked expression. STEVEN Oh, I’m sorry, if there’s something you don’t want to talk about, I certainly respect that. The pre-fabricated false sympathy in his voice drips with greasy slickness. ED Am I in trouble for something? STEVEN No, Ed, but to be honest, I am concerned. He is in trouble then. STEVEN I will be very blunt… if you’ll let me, of course… Ed clearly has no say in the matter. STEVEN What I’ve seen and heard about your performance… in your role with us… ever since I started here, has been less than impressive. A lot less than impressive. Then today, you showed up late. Nine o’clock is three hours later than your normal start, I don’t see how you could be late today. ED I… I was in before nine, but I had to go to the bathroom. So I couldn’t clock in till I got out, by then it was two minutes past. Steven grins harshly and raps the table with his finger. The gesture of a man veiling genuine ire behind a mask of comic frustration. STEVEN (crocodile grin) But the start of your shift is when you’re supposed to be all set and ready for work, not when you come running in the door bursting for a slash. (beat) And setting that aside, you don’t look so hot today. Were you hammered last night? Ed shakes his head. Steven scribbles. STEVEN (serious) What about today? If I search your pockets will I find a hip flask? A moment of charged silence. Steven looks up from his paper and laughs suddenly. STEVEN (laughing) I’m just kidding! Steven’s smile fades and his index finger pops up. STEVEN Here, I want to look at this with you. Steven reaches into a drawer and pulls out a small, round package and plops it down on the table in front of them. It is a cheeseburger wrapped in white wax paper. He unwraps it. STEVEN (crocodile grin) Can you guess who made this one? ED Me? STEVEN Right. And how do you know that? ED Because you’re about to tell me what’s wrong with it. Steven laughs. STEVEN (patronising) You think sideways. That’s good. (beat) Do you know how I know it’s yours? Steven removes the top bun and gestures at the contents, now deadly serious. STEVEN (cont.) What’s wrong with this picture? Ed considers the burger for a moment, then shrugs. Steven’s grin of concealed anger returns. He reaches down and peels off the sheet of partially-melted processed cheese, revealing a small lake of red sauce. STEVEN The cheese… is on top… of the relish. Why is that? ED (shyly) Well, I… I find if you put the sauce on top of the cheese, it runs off the smooth surface and falls into your lap when you’re eating it. And it soaks into the bun… makes it soggy. Steven stares at Ed, one eyebrow raised, hands pressed together. ED (cont) If you put the cheese on top of it, it melts over the relish and seals it in. STEVEN That’s pretty clever. Thinking outside the box again, I must say I like that. Ed begins to smile. STEVEN (cont.) …But Big Buns doesn’t. Ed stares at Steven then glances meaningfully down at the Big Buns model on the desk. He looks back up at Steven and raises one of his own eyebrows as if to ask: “imaginary friend?”. STEVEN (serious) I’m talking about the company, Ed. The guys who pay your wages. We have fifty outlets, sell millions of these every year, and every single one has the relish on top of the cheese… except yours. Every one of these things has to be identical, made to the same formula, by the same method. Otherwise, how does a customer know what he’s going to get when he orders a cheeseburger? We can’t have staff just making up their own recipes. ED (quietly) Sorry… Steven shakes his head apologetically. STEVEN It’s not just that, mate. It’s… well… it’s your whole attitude. We’re a close team here at Big Buns, the whole company has to be on the same page, moving in the same direction at all times. Unfortunately, I don’t really see you getting along well with any of your colleagues, despite the fact that you’ve worked here for some considerable time; I don’t see you using your initiative to take on problems when they arise, and I have never once seen or heard of you taking part in group activities with the team. Now, my problem is: I’ve only been here a short while, I have no real way of knowing if these issues are a new development or if this is something that’s been going on since you started here. Steven begins to tap his pen on the desk. STEVEN (cont.) I know that my… illustrious predecessor was a rather kind and… um… tolerant manager. He pronounces “tolerant” with a sarcastic twist. STEVEN (cont.) …But the unpleasant fact of the matter is that, given the current climate, we are no longer strong enough to be carrying dead weight. Do you understand what I mean by that? Ed nods. Steven acknowledges this and begins writing again. ED I’m sorry. I’ll get better, I’ll change. STEVEN (writing) You’d better. Steven realises he has let too much of his dislike of Ed show through. Fearing disciplinary action himself, he quickly backtracks. He flashes his crocodile grin again. STEVEN (looking up) Actually, no. You will. I know you will. I believe in you Ed. Hey – you see this? He points over Ed’s shoulder at a cheeseball motivational poster pinned to the far wall. Underneath a photograph of a brightly-coloured butterfly emerging from its cocoon are emblazoned the words “CHANGE: Be willing to surrender what you are, for what you could become”. Steven gets up from his chair and walks over to it. STEVEN Do you like it? ED Yeah. It’s a nice… butterfly. STEVEN (patronising) Yes, it is a nice butterfly, isn’t it? And you see this? It says: be willing to surrender what you are, for what you could become. ED Yes… I do see that. STEVEN (patronising) Well, those are words for you to live by. In fact, I’m gonna give you this. He starts to unpin it from the wall. STEVEN (cont.) This is my gift to you, to help you. You stick this on your bedroom wall and look at it every morning when you wake up. Get yourself into the right mindset. Will you do that? ED Sure. Steven rolls up the poster and snaps an elastic band around it. He walks back over to the desk, patting Ed on the shoulder as he goes. STEVEN I know you’re a good guy, Ed. He places the rolled-up poster on the table in front of Ed, returns to his seat and picks up the pen once more. STEVEN Okay, where were we? Oh yes. (reading) I met with Ed today to discuss… yadda yadda yadda… Ed agrees that his performance and conduct have been unsatisfactory, and will take the following steps to correct this. He slides the form across to Ed. STEVEN I want you to pledge to take at least three steps to turn things around. Just write them in there at the bottom. ED What should I write. STEVEN That’s not my decision, man, there’s no right or wrong answer, it’s completely and freely up to yourself. ED (sullen) Okay, well… (writing aloud) I will… strive… to become a… team player…? STEVEN Good… ED (cont.) …by using my… initiative… to support the team… at every opportunity. STEVEN (smiling) That’s fantastic, you’ve got it. ED (cont.) And the second step… (writing) I will… um… STEVEN Lateness. ED (cont.) Oh yeah: (writing) I will strive to avoid lateness… by… arriving before my start time. STEVEN Great ED (cont.) …And for the third one I’ll… STEVEN Write about the burgers. ED (writing) And I promise to always put the relish on top of the cheese. STEVEN Perfect! Now sign it. Ed signs it. STEVEN Fine, so I suppose it’s about your finishing time. I’m glad we’ve had this little chat, I do feel we’ve made some progress. Steven extends his hand for Ed to shake. Tentatively, Ed does so and gets up to leave. STEVEN (cont.) So enjoy your week off. I hope you’ve got something nice planned. Ed gives a wan smile and leaves. Steven sits back in his chair and sighs, rubbing his temples. STEVEN (quietly) Creep. He opens a bottom drawer and removes a small mirror with some lines of cocaine laid out on it. He also removes a tiny metal cylinder from his shirt pocket. He is about to consume a nostril-full when Ed unexpectedly re-enters the room. Steven bolts uprights and tries to pull the mirror out of sight. STEVEN (surprised) Jesus, Ed! The out-rushing of air from Steven’s exclamation blows his line into a cloud of airborne dust. The rest of the coke slips off onto the floor when Steven tries to surreptitiously plant the mirror back in the drawer and drops it. There is a long embarrassing moment. ED I forgot my poster. Steven grits his teeth to near shattering point. STEVEN (gritting) Fine, yes, take it. Ed picks it up. He goes to leave, but turns back with just the tiniest hint of a smile. ED Well, bye… STEVEN Yes, yes… Steven makes a sweeping gesture that pretty much says “get the fuck out before I throttle you”. Ed nods and makes his exit. CUT TO: Ext. – Fast Food Joint – Evening Ed leaving his place of work, crossing the street. Ext. – Motorway Underpass – Evening SERIES OF SHOTS: a) VERY VIDE SHOT: Looking up at a raised walkway. Ed is visible from the waist-up through the railings, walking. b) VERY WIDE SHOT: Ed wanders home across a desert of grey paving blocks, under vast concrete pillars. Rush-hour traffic rolls by, beside and above him, thousands of people in their cars, but Ed is the only human figure we can actually see. c) WIDE SHOT (i.e. close enough to see the whites of his eyes): Much closer to Ed now. He looks exhausted. His gait could almost be described as lethargic, he stoops as he walks. Yet he never drops his thousand-yard-stare. Tired as he is, he is sharply focused on something in his mind, a problem, or perhaps just the general misery of his life. d) VERY WIDE SHOT: Ed walking away from us into the distance. He looks like a very small feature in a very large and inhuman landscape. Int. – Ed’s Flat (Hallway) - Dusk Ed enters. Dragging his feet, he walks down the hallway to the kitchen. As he goes, he unbuttons his work shirt and tosses it over a coat-hook Int. – Ed’s Flat (Kitchen) – Dusk Ed opens the fridge. In the dark room, the glow from the fridge is the only thing illuminating his face. It’s casts an eerie light. He picks up a carton of orange juice and takes a long gulp, before replacing it. He turns and looks back towards the hallway. He sighs and moves to leave the room, closing the fridge door as he goes. The fridge light is obscured by the closing of its door. Darkness. Int. – Ed’s Flat (Utility Cupboard) – Dusk POV from inside dark utility cupboard. Two thin, vertical glowing beams appear towards the edges of the frame, caused by the light from the hallway shining between the cracks at the cupboards door frame. The door opens, revealing Ed. He reaches in, past our viewpoint, and removes a heavy canvas bag from a shelf. As he lifts the bag, metallic objects clink and clank inside. He also removes a plastic packet bearing the branding “Tyvek”. He closes the door, leaving us in darkness. Int. – Ed’s Flat (Hallway) – Dusk Ed approaches the door to his bathroom. He is now wearing a disposable one piece coverall that makes him look like a hazmat operative. He stops there for a moment, as if momentarily overcome with squeamishness. He closes his tired eyes and massages the insides of the sockets, at the bridge of his nose, with his fingers. Then he steels himself, forces a grin and pushes through the door. Int. – Ed’s Flat (Bathroom) – Dusk Ed hits the light. The corpse still lies there, soaking in the tub. He crosses the room. ED (cheerful) Howdee. He drops the bag on top of the toilet and unzips it, revealing an ominous collection of hardware, including, but not limited to: hammers, chisels, pliers, scissors, a cordless drill, razor blades, a hand axe… and a hacksaw which he now takes in hand. He turns and faces the corpse with a tired, apologetic smile. ED Time to get down to business, friend. SERIES OF SHOTS – INTERCUT TO THE SAME MUSIC AS THE “WORK” MONTAGE a) EXTREME CLOSE UP of a hacksaw blade sawing through skin, flesh, gristle, sinew. Blood doesn’t pump (no pulse) but oozes from the lacerations. b) EXTREME CLOSE UP of a chisel, wedged in a gorge of exposed tissue, being pounded into a shoulder socket. c) EXTREME CLOSE UP of Ed’s face. Concentration, beads of sweat on his forehead. Hard physical work. The sounds of sinews tearing and bones snapping. d) CLOSE UP of a severed forearm being wrapped in a black bin bag, we TRACK to show it being placed carefully on the lino floor. e) EXTREME CLOSE UP rivulets of blood and matter swirling down the plug hole. f) FAST MOTION: the bagged arm is joined by other bags with contents of varying size and shape. g) EXTREME CLOSE UP of a razor blade splitting a wall of muscle tissue, revealing coils of red intestines. A yellow-gloved hand digs in and pulls out a handful of guts. h) CLOSE UP of organs being dropped into black bags. i) EXTREME CLOSE UP on the drain. The small stream of blood has become a thick flow of blood, urine, faeces and bile, all spilling forth from the rapidly diminishing carcass. The montage ends on a CLOSE UP: The corpse’s decapitated skull being bin-bagged and placed in a huge sports equipment bag, already containing the remainder of the corpse, each piece individually wrapped. Ed sits down on the toilet set, pulls off his bloody gloves and tosses them into the bath. He wipes his brow and mops tears from his eyes with the palm. He sighs and reaches forward to close the zip on the sports bag. It won’t close. The severed head creates too much of a bulge at the top of the already-stuffed bag. Ed pushes down hard on it. ED Come on, get in there! He thumps it with the heel of his hand. It budges a little. He tries the zip again. It sticks on part of the head. He rips back a small amount of the plastic over the offending part. It is the torn remains of the junkie’s nose, broken into a crooked sideways slant by Ed’s hammer blows, but still pointing up enough to prevent him closing the bag. ED Alright, dammit! Ed picks up a pair of bloodied gardener’s clippers resting with some other tools on the side of the bath. Holding the nose straight out with his left hand, he bends down and positions the clippers with his right. He clamps the levers shut, but instead of snipping off the offending piece, they blades skite over the exposed bone and close on the tender flesh between Ed’s left thumb and forefinger. He yelps and stands bolt upright. Cupping his mouth over the bleeding wound, he angrily stomps his foot down on the protruding nose, crushing it flat. He zips the bag shut with his free hand and turns around to the sink. He turns on the cold tap and holds his injured hand under the flow of water. The sink turns pinkish-red. He grimaces. ED Shit… He looks over at the sports bag and smiles thinly. ED I suppose you’d be laughing your ass off if you still had one. ---------- Post added at 04:31 PM ---------- Previous post was at 04:14 PM ---------- I've written more but I'm wondering whether or not its wise to post too much of it online before its done...

[Yojimbo]

REPO MAN meets HENRY THE SERIAL KILLER. Nice job, brother!

[krakenslayer]

REPO MAN meets HENRY THE SERIAL KILLER. Nice job, brother! Thanks dude! I'm having a lot of fun with this script: there are supernatural, romantic and revenge elements coming up too...

[krakenslayer]

It's still coming along, albeit slowly - up to 30-some pages now.