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Old 07-11-2016, 02:51 AM   #1
dpaterso
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Default Entries - Bring Me The Head contest

Thanks to all who participated. We have 5 entries:

A Nearly Terminal Case Of Death
Bring Me The Head
Throne Games
Chilled
Leviathan

You know how it goes, PM or email me your 1st, 2nd and 3rd choices, preferably in the format:

1st - title1
2nd - title2
3rd - title3

How about aiming for Saturday? If I receive everyone's votes before then, I'll post the results early.

Edit: I should have said, please don't vote for your own entry. If this was allowed then everyone would do it, so it would just cloud the voting.

If you don't like the code boxes, which preserve formatting, try selecting Thread Tools > Show Printable Version instead.

You're not required to enter the contest in order to vote, all members are welcome to join in the fun.

If you make notes while reading and want to post comments on and/or discuss the entries, you can do this when the results thread gets posted.

For posterity, the contest discussion thread is here and the results thread is here.
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Halloween contest results posted!
And maybe start thinking about a Yuletide contest also!


Last edited by dpaterso : 07-17-2016 at 02:40 AM.
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Old 07-11-2016, 02:54 AM   #2
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Default Re: Entries - Bring Me The Head contest

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A NEARLY TERMINAL CASE OF DEATH FADE IN: INT. DOCTOR'S WAITING ROOM - DAY JONATHAN PIFF, dusty, shriveled, age indeterminate, shambles anxiously, often bumping clumsily into chairs in the small waiting room. He looks at the clock -- half past nine. The receptionist, MISS WHITE, early twenties, prim, greets Jonathan with a sardonic smile when he comes to her desk. MISS WHITE Can I help you, Mr. Piff? JONATHAN My appointment was for nine. It's half past. MISS WHITE Yes, thank you for reminding me, yet again. As I have said several times before, Dr. Inman will see you as soon as he is free. As if on cue, the phone intercom comes to life. DR. INMAN (on intercom) You can send the patient in now, Miss White. She smiles again and points Jonathan in the right direction. When he's at the doorway she notices something on the floor. MISS WHITE Mr. Piff, I think you dropped something. JONATHAN What? MISS WHITE A finger, I think. She retrieves it off the floor and gives him the finger. JONATHAN Pardon me. That's embarrassing. MISS WHITE Yes. When he leaves the room, her smile evaporates the moment the doctor's door closes behind him. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE - DAY The office is large and cluttered -- on one end there's a exam table and on the other a large desk, piled high with file folders and notebooks. Behind the desk, sits DR. INMAN, fifties and fit, a little gray hair and a little tired looking. He writes notes as Jonathan waits quietly but impatiently in front of the desk. Finally, Dr. Inman looks up. DR. INMAN Ah, Mr. Piff, sorry to keep you waiting. Please have a seat. Jonathan sits down as Dr. Inman finds a fresh notebook. DR. INMAN What seems to be the problem? JONATHAN I don't feel good. DR. INMAN Something specific? Jonathan thinks for a moment and silently counts on his fingers, noticing the missing one. JONATHAN I'm falling apart, for one thing. DR. INMAN In what way? JONATHAN Things are falling off of me. I had to duct tape my head back on yesterday. Dr. Inman writes in his notebook. Smiles at Jonathan. DR. INMAN Would you say this problem is getting worse or better? JONATHAN Worse, much worse. Increasingly worse. DR. INMAN I see. Again he writes in his notebook. DR. INMAN Anything else? JONATHAN I don't have much of an appetite anymore. I can't really feel when I touch. I'm forever bumping into things and there's no pain. DR. INMAN Are you active in politics? JONATHAN What? DR. INMAN Are you involved in politics, a regular voter, that sort of thing? JONATHAN Yes, but... DR. INMAN Here, in Chicago? JONATHAN Yes?... Dr. Inman grabs another notepad scribbles for a moment or two. DR. INMAN Would you like me to have Miss White bring in some delicious, fresh, raw, human brains for breakfast? Jonathan glares across the desk, like the doctor grew horns. JONATHAN What the hell! Why would you ask that? DR. INMAN Just a standard question in these situations. Had to ask. Now completely wound up, Jonathan eyes the exit. The doctor finishes writing, leans back in his chair and folds his hands in front of him. DR. INMAN I think I'm ready to make a diagnosis now, Mr. Piff. Jonathan looks over at the other end of the office -- at the exam table. JONATHAN But you haven't even looked at me yet. DR. INMAN I think I've seen enough, Mr. Piff. You're decomposing. We really should get you checked into a facility. JONATHAN A hospital? DR. INMAN No, no, Mr. Piff, a morgue. JONATHAN What?! DR. INMAN You're dead. Jonathan lurches up, causing his shirt and shoulder to tear, exposing bone. JONATHAN Ridiculous! I thought you were a doctor, not a quack. The doctor controls a brief flash of anger and smiles. DR. INMAN Mr. Piff, I'm sorry I'm the one that has to tell you, but you've been dead for quite some time. Jonathan stifles another angry response and sits back down. JONATHAN How long? DR. INMAN May I? He reaches out -- touches the back of Jonathan's hand. The skin crumbles a little. DR. INMAN Probably around three years. Anything traumatic you can remember from then? A few moments pass. JONATHAN Nothing much, other than when my neighbor pointed a gun at me and said he was going to kill me... DR. INMAN There you go. He killed you. Jonathan leaps from his chair again, doing more damage to himself. His left knee bends at a precarious angle. JONATHAN But this just doesn't make any sense. If I'm dead, how can I be standing here, talking to you? DR. INMAN Best guess. You're still a registered voter. It happens now and again. JONATHAN Can anything be done? DR. INMAN I can try to get you off the voting rolls but that's near impossible. Jonathan collapses back into the chair. A little bit of dust rises and falls. JONATHAN Well, this kind of bites. And I do feel a little embarrassed that I couldn't figure this out on my own. DR. INMAN Being dense is one of the symptoms of death, Mr. Piff. Dr. Inman checks his watch. DR. INMAN Is there anything else? JONATHAN No, not that I can think of, but I guess I'm a little dense. DR. INMAN At least you retained your sense of humor. JONATHAN What? DR. INMAN Never mind. There is a moment of awkward silence. Dr. Inman checks his watch again, stands up, looks at the door. DR. INMAN You have a rare opportunity, Mr. Piff. Not many dead people can pick their own burial accommodations. Treat yourself. He walks to the door and opens it, still smiling. Jonathan gets up out of the chair and stumbles on his bad knee. The duct tape around his neck lets loose on one side, causing his head to lean at an odd angle. JONATHAN I think I'll kill my neighbor. DR. INMAN That's not an option at this time. JONATHAN Why not? DR. INMAN You'll soon be immobile and not long after that, skeletal. You should concentrate on finding a comfortable, final resting place. Now near the door, Jonathan's knee collapses completely. He falls hard causing his head to pop off and roll through the door, into the waiting room. INT. DOCTOR'S WAITING ROOM - DAY Miss White types on a computer keyboard when she sees the head roll in. She rolls her eyes and continues typing when it rolls past her. The head stops with a thump when it hits the far wall. DR. INMAN (on intercom) Miss White? MISS WHITE (into intercom) Yes? DR. INMAN (on intercom) Bring me the head of Jonathan Piff. She gets up slowly, straightens her uniform dress, puts on a pair of exam gloves... DR. INMAN (on intercom) ...and some duct tape. FADE OUT:
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Old 07-11-2016, 02:55 AM   #3
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Default Re: Entries - Bring Me The Head contest

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BRING ME THE HEAD EXT. BACKYARD -- DAY Thick clouds, tree branches creaking in the breeze. Red-eyed crows roosting, staring down at a skeletal OLD MAN who is chopping meat on a butcher's block. The Old Man looks up, wipes his brow and sees RANDALL, nine years old, ragged blue jeans and a dirty t-shirt, right hand caked in dry blood, staring intently into the bushes. Wiping his brow and returning to his gory work, the Old Man coughs and rasps... OLD MAN Bring me the head ... FLASH OF LIGHTNING EXT. ALIEN PLANET -- ENDLESS TWILIGHT Ominous swirling clouds, mounds piled high, stretching to all horizons. Zooming in, we see Randall, a tiny spec, crawling over mounds of skulls, millions of them piled high in various degrees of decay. Vacant eyes stare back at him as he moves from one to the next, searching desperately for the right one. The one that was thrown away before "THEY" could suck out its brains. CRACKLING VOICE (O.S.) Bring me the head. NOW! RANDALL I haven't ... I can't ... I ... CRACKLING VOICE (O.S.) Your's will do then. RANDALL (screaming) No! Just one more minute... 30 seconds. Please ... Streaking flashes in the sky. Silent alien ships circling, tightening the noose. Randall tries to burrow in under the skulls, gagging and retching as he forces himself under the putrid mess. They find him anyway. FADE TO BLACK: FADE TO WHITE: INT. MEDIEVAL CASTLE BEDROOM -- DAY Randall, dirty, in rough sackcloth, straw in his hair, stands, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. The room is impeccable. Beautiful tapestry, a frilly four poster bed with shimmering embroidery rustling in the breeze from the open window. Dolls and toys line the walls. The door opens and a beautiful WOMAN enters, accompanied by a GIRL who's Randall's age. She's a small version of her mother in a fancy dress. They both smile and Randall bows awkwardly. RANDALL My lady. The girl laughs at his stiff discomfort, but her MOTHER is more polite. MOTHER Master Randall, this is CAMILLE, she wishes a playmate for this afternoon. RANDALL Yes, my lady. CAMILLE He'll have to bathe, mother. The smell of the stable is stifling. INT. MEDIEVAL CASTLE BEDROOM - LATER The shadows have shifted across the room and the sunset is visible through the windows. What remains of the children's meal, including a cake and pastries, sits on the small table. Randall, now clean and dressed in blue silk from head to toe, looks almost like a doll himself. He's no longer as uncomfortable and listens intently as Camille reads to him from her book. CAMILLE ... And they lived happily ever after. Randall sighs. RANDALL That was a nice story. CAMILLE Yes. I think so. RANDALL It's late ... they'll be expecting me ... Pause. A change in the mood. CAMILLE Unfortunately real stories never end that way. RANDALL They don't? CAMILLE A stable boy becoming a prince? How absurd! RANDALL I ... uh ... CAMILLE Oh, I'm sorry. How tactless of me. Camille smirks. Randall shifts nervously. As if remembering something, Camille claps her hands loudly. She claps twice more and then ... CAMILLE You haven't seen my collection! RANDALL Collection? CAMILLE Come! She grabs Randall's hands and pulls him along to the closet. She opens the door dramatically. Shelves and shelves ... Randall's eyes take a minute to adjust to the dim light. Rows and rows of young boy's heads mounted on poles, their eyes open, staring vacantly. CAMILLE (smiling sweetly) Aren't they lovely? Randall screams and tries run. Two burly men, one carrying an ax, are standing behind him. CAMILLE Bring me the head. FADE TO BLACK: FADE TO GREEN: EXT. LUSH JUNGLE -- DAY Randall, in khaki explorer pants and shirt, is staring intently through a magnifying glass. Looking through the glass, he sees a tiny purple PREYING MANTIS with a bright red head. It appears to be waving at Randall. It makes a tiny, tiny sound by rubbing its legs together. EXT. LUSH JUNGLE -- LATER A much bigger version of the same creature. Nearly the size of Randall's palm. This one makes a distinctive "chirping" sound while it waves. Randall cocks his head side to side, trying to decipher the language. EXT. LUSH JUNGLE -- EVEN LATER The shadows have deepened. The sky is red in the western sky. Randall nervously approaches a very large version of the creature. It stands two feet high. It's definitely trying to communicate, repeating the same sound over and over again. Randall is frustrated ... and a bit spooked. EXT. LUSH JUNGLE - EVEN LATER THEN BEFORE Randall stares nervously. The jungle has closed in around him. He turns on his heels. Starts walking, then stops. Turns on his heels. Turns around again. Stops. Slumps to the ground, lost. EXT. LUSH JUNGLE - NIGHT Dim moonlight. Randall is surrounded by preying mantises of all sizes. They are all making the same, undecipherable noise in unnerving unison. Then they suddenly go silent. An eerie pause. Then ... Crashing through the jungle SOMETHING huge pushes its way nearer. The preying mantises fall back, opening a path ... It's a huge version of the mantises, fifteen to twenty feet tall. It stares down at Randall with its two huge, unblinking eyes, cocking its head. The other preying mantises look up to it ... waiting. It "speaks" by rubbing its legs -- four grating, mechanical syllables ... HUGE MANTIS Bring - Me - The - Head. The mantises move as one body towards Randall. Randall momentarily smiles. RANDALL Finally! (then...) Oh, no. FADE TO BLACK: EXT. BACKYARD - MOMENTS LATER OLD MAN Randall? Hey, snap out of it. Storm's coming. Got to get this done. Randall turns, blinks. OLD MAN Bring me the head of lettuce so I can get the salad made while the steaks are broiling. Randall stares blankly. RANDALL The ... lettuce? OLD MAN (shaking his head) Never mind. You're in la la land again. (noticing the hand) What did you do to your hand? You better wash it before it gets infected. The Old Man, Randall's GRANDFATHER walks into the house. EXT. BACKYARD -- MOMENTS LATER A wee cough from the bush. Randall turns, looks into it. A small GNOME stares back at Randall. GNOME C'mon, boy. Bring me the head. RANDALL No. GNOME He's old anyhow, boy, be reasonable. RANDALL I can't. He's my grandpa. GNOME Look, boy, we have ways of making you do what we want. Ways of getting inside your head. Randall has backed up to the butcher's block. He's holding something behind his back. The Gnome is too caught up in his haranguing to notice. GNOME We'll get to you. It's just a matter of time. Randall nears. RANDALL How would I do it? ... If I wanted to? GNOME (crooked smile) Come here, boy, I'll explain it to you. It'll be easy. Randall suddenly lounges, grabs the gnome by its hair and chops its head off with a meat cleaver. RANDALL Yep. Easy. EXT. BACKYARD - MOMENTS LATER Randall's grandpa emerges from the house with the head of lettuce and the salad bowl. Randall draws his attention to bush. RANDALL I got me another one, grandpa. GRANDPA No ... Really? RANDALL Yep. GRANDPA Well, bring me the head. We'll burn it like the rest RANDALL Okay. GRANDPA Just put the body on the compost heap. It won't come back to life without the head.
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Old 07-11-2016, 02:56 AM   #4
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Default Re: Entries - Bring Me The Head contest

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THRONE GAMES OVER BLACK Distant sounds of SAWING and HAMMERING. INT. PRISON CELL - DAY A filthy medieval hellhole. The tiny room contains a low cot, upon which an unshaven figure lies. This is ROGER, a handsome nobleman, now a prisoner. He stares at the ceiling while he listens to the hammering. INT. TOWER STAIRWAY - DAY Heavy boots clump up the stone steps, followed by a pair of sandal-wearing feet, flopping. The sandals are too big for the feet. INT. TOWER LANDING - DAY A hand inserts a big key into a lock and turns it. CLICK. INT. PRISON CELL - DAY Roger sits up on the cot, wary. The door CREAKS open. A helmeted SOLDIER gives Roger a gap-toothed smile. SOLDIER Wakey wakey, rise and shine, "my lord." Sarcasm drips when he says the title. SOLDIER (CONT'D) You've got a visitor. The soldier steps aside to reveal a robed MONK who is bent over with age and sports a wispy white beard. SOLDIER Five minutes, no longer. MONK Thank you, my son. The monk steps into the cell, the soldier slams the door shut. The key rattles in the lock. ROGER You're wasting your time, Father. I turned my back on God long ago. MONK When was this, my son? ROGER I can't remember. The monk stands at the door, patiently waiting. Roger becomes irked. ROGER Wasn't so bad when the war began. We were fighting the Blackharts on the battlefield. It was man against man. The strongest arm and the keenest blade deciding who lived and who died. Roger stares at the floor. His voice grows bitter. ROGER (CONT'D) Then the butchering started. Didn't matter who they were. Women, children. They were given no mercy. It's a war to the finish now. The Montfalcons against the Blackharts, the Larkins against the Grints, the Woosters against the Flintpoles. We're all going to keep playing this bloody game until there's only one butcher left alive to claim the throne. MONK Then let's make sure it isn't a Blackhart, a Larkin, a Grint, a Wooster or a Flintpole. Let's make sure a Montfalcon sits on the throne. Roger stares at the monk, bewildered. The monk tears off his false beard and straightens up, he's a young man. ROGER Henry! Roger leaps up and embraces the monk, who is hereafter known as HENRY. MONK/HENRY I had to wait until I was sure that bastid couldn't hear us. ROGER It is good to see you. But you have placed yourself in much peril. HENRY I hope not! Hear me, little brother, I have brought a dozen trusted swords with me. They're holding a side gate open for us. Had to cut a few throats on the way in, but it's no more than the bastids deserved. Fresh horses stand waiting outside the walls. We ride hard for Castle Montfalcon! There we shall gather our forces and plan our revenge against the Blackharts. ROGER Sounds good to me! But how will we get out of this cell? Henry grins and pulls the key out of his robe sleeve and shows it to Roger. HENRY Come, we must be swift, your jailors are already gathering below in the courtyard to witness your execution. Henry listens at the door. He inserts the key and turns it. CLICK. He pulls the door open an inch, looks out. HENRY (CONT'D) All clear! Follow me! INT. TOWER LANDING - DAY Henry cautiously steps out onto the landing. He starts downstairs, but realizes Roger isn't following him. He turns and hurries back to the cell door. INT. PRISON CELL - DAY Henry stands in the doorway, looking puzzled. Roger's sitting on his cot again, staring at the floor. HENRY What madness is this, are you not coming with me? Roger turns his head and looks at Henry. His expression betrays his sadness and regret. ROGER I am sorry, brother, truly I am. Heavy footsteps echo as SOLDIERS rush upstairs, swords drawn. Before Henry has a chance to fight he's grabbed, his arms are pinned. An OFFICER pushes through the soldiers. OFFICER Henry Montfalcon, known as "The Bloody," by the authority of Lord Blackhart you are charged with murder and reaving most foul. Henry stares at Roger with disbelief. HENRY You would betray me? When I risked all to rescue you? ROGER I wasn't sure if you would come. HENRY Of course I would! You are my brother, damn you! ROGER I was your brother. Until you put innocents to the sword. Until you ordered wholesale slaughter and impaling. You have stained the good name of House Montfalcon. HENRY You stupid little twerp. A good name gets you nothing. You take what you want in this world, and you keep it by killing those who would take it from you! That's the Montfalcon way! OFFICER Enough! The executioner's axe awaits you, Henry the Bloody. Make your peace with your gods, if they will listen to you. (to Soldiers) Take him away. The soldiers bundle Henry downstairs. Roger watches them go. The Officer remains. OFFICER (CONT'D) If it were up to me, you'd be joining him on the platform. Roger stares at the floor, not reacting. OFFICER (CONT'D) But my lord gave you his word, and he will keep it. A servant will come for you soon and show you to the stables. You must ride from this castle and never return. The Officer exits downstairs, leaving the door open. Roger leans back against the wall and closes his eyes. Loud cheers and cat-calls reach him from outside. A long silence. Then Henry shouts: HENRY (O.S.) YOU WERE ADOPTED! The THUNK of an executioner's axe. A huge CHEER goes up. Roger sighs. ROGER Forgive me, brother. But I promise you I shall restore House Montfalcon to its former glory. WHUNK! A crossbow bolt goes through Roger's neck! His eyes widen in shocked surprise. Roger slowly keels over sideways on the cot, leaving blood spatter on the wall. Standing in the doorway, the ARCHER who fired the bolt casually leans his crossbow against his shoulder and grins. ARCHER What, you thought you was gonna get to walk away from this? Nah, that just doesn't happen, mate. The Archer exits downstairs, whistling. Roger's open eyes stare into eternity. Pull back. The ghosts of Roger and Henry stand looking down at Roger's body. Henry is headless, he holds his own head under his arm. HENRY So much for getting revenge on the Blackharts. ROGER I believed he would keep his word. HENRY As only an idiot would! Ghost Henry puts his other arm around Ghost Roger's shoulders. HENRY (CONT'D) Come, brother. Let's go haunt the bastids. We'll give them cause to fear the Montfalcons yet! The two ghosts turn and exit... through the wall. FADE TO BLACK ROGER (O.S.) Was I really adopted? HENRY (O.S.) Yes. Cue rousing theme tune, roll credits. FADE OUT
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Last edited by dpaterso : 07-14-2016 at 07:26 AM.
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Old 07-11-2016, 02:57 AM   #5
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Code:
CHILLED FADE IN: EXT. MAIN STREET, TALKEETNA, ALASKA - DAY A thick coat of snow covers every visible inch of this sleepy town. The Sun kisses the horizon at the end of the street as- BOOM! Nestling blackbirds break from the far trees and disperse. Silence seeps back in, but a thread of smoke trickles up from where the birds just vacated. In moments the thread has bloomed into a dark cloud, lit by the glow of an unseen flame. BAM! The wooden door of a nearby building nudges open against several inches of snow. A CLOSED SIGN rattles on a nail in its upper center. MAN (O.S.) Aw hell. BAM BAM! The door presses out further, enough so that- JACOB YAZZIE (50s), a stubborn, honest veteran peaks his silver-stubbled face into the crisp morning air. Specks of loose gutter snow drip onto his bald head. He wipes it away and looks to the smoke. Frowning, he spits in the snow and disappears back inside. INT. YAZZIE'S BAR - DAY Jacob stands in his checkered long johns in the entrance of a modest, faintly lit BAR. Overturned chairs cover the half dozen circular wooden tables before him. One table is missing a chair, which is currently occupied by NAOMI YAZZIE (22), at least as stubborn as her old man. She's smothered in a navy blue cardigan and lime green sweatpants. JACOB It's daylight robbery. Literally. NAOMI They looked honest enough- JACOB Whatcha mean honest enough? You're either honest, or you ain't. Naomi rises from the chair, bending at the waist to stretch. JACOB (CONT'D) And they ain't. NAOMI They can't have gotten far, we'll get it back. JACOB Lady luck agrees. But there ain't no we in this. You brought them here, you can bring it back. She stands upright, her left arm stretching across her chest as she peers past him at the bright whiteness out the window. NAOMI Fine. But I'm taking the cat. INT. JAZZIE'S GARAGE - DAY Naomi flicks on the overhead garage light to reveal- An orange BOBCAT 610 FRONTLOADER, chains wrapped around the four sizeable tires. Naomi, now dressed in a thick parka and canary beanie, crosses the shed and slides open the wooden doors. The short steel spikes on her boots click on the concrete floor. She slips on some dark snow goggles to shield her eyes and strides back past the bobcat, kneeling beside a wooden workbench. Her gloved hands stretch into the shadows, emerging with- An overweight GINGER CAT, aptly named BOB. She plucks a pair of swimming goggles from her pocket and plants them over the cat's eyes. He's too lazy to care. NAOMI We're in this mess together chubs. Naomi climbs into the bobcat, with Bob the cat, and starts the engine. It roars to life and the unlikely duo plow through the snow and onto the street. EXT. MAIN STREET, TALKEETNA, ALASKA - DAY Snowflakes drift from the heavens as the bobcat trundles through the pale mush, wet white waves billowing in its wake. As the curious pair roll to the end of the street, they're greeted by a wall of white as far as the eye can see. NAOMI Well, ****. Thoughts? Naomi looks down at Bob, whose tongue is forming an intimate bond with his scrotum. NAOMI (CONT'D) Insightful as ever, Bob. She wipes condensation from her goggles and scans the horizon. There- The smoke cloud is just visible to their left. NAOMI (CONT'D) Fire in a blizzard. Brilliant. She guides the bobcat to the left and carries on her merry way into the storm. EXT. FOREST - DAY A charred, flaming husk is all that remains of an overturned PICKUP. The fire licks at the lower branches of the nearest yellow-cedar, adding to the dark smoke cloud. Parallel pairs of footprints lead away from the wreckage. The crackling fire is soon joined by the whir of Naomi's bobcat as she clears a path straight for it. NAOMI Hold tight, Bob. Instead of slowing, she plows straight ahead, quite literally, and SLAMS into the blazing truck. A wave of snow plumes forward, smothering the bulk of the flame. Naomi looks down at Bob, who dangles face first over the front of the seat. He looks up at her through his foggy goggles. Naomi beams. NAOMI (CONT'D) Right? Naomi laughs aloud as she reverses the bobcat. She spots the footprints and stops the bobcat. NAOMI (CONT'D) Still fresh, Bob. She reaches into a storage container and removes a rugged backpack, opening it for Bob. He just stares up at her. NAOMI (CONT'D) You didn't think I'd leave you here, did you? Nothing. NAOMI (CONT'D) Tough, you're coming. She grabs him by his haunches and forcibly shoves him head- first into the backpack. He finally shows signs of life, rumbling inside his new home until his head pops out. NAOMI (CONT'D) See? You're snug as ****. She swings the backpack over her shoulders, now resembling Luke Skywalker with a furry ginger Yoda on her back. She removes a PISTOL from the storage container, plucks the keys from the bobcat, and drops into the knee-high snow. NAOMI (CONT'D) Game on. With a small flame still flickering from the charcoal pickup, they follow the footsteps into the trees. EXT. FROZEN RIVER - DAY Naomi and Bob step out from the trees to see- A wide, crystalline river. A trio of shadows are visible through the snowflakes - two tall, one short and round. Naomi lifts her pistol and aims at one of the tall shadows. She squints and exhales, her breath hanging mid-air. NAOMI Ten... She steps out onto the river, her hand steady and true. NAOMI (CONT'D) Nine... She picks up her pace to a soft jog. NAOMI (CONT'D) Eight... Faster she goes, her steel spikes gripping the ice nicely. NAOMI (CONT'D) Seven... She sprints now, the tall shadows slowly forming into humans. The short shadow isn't yet discernible. NAOMI (CONT'D) Six! The tall shadows turn to face her- Mister left is CURTIS ROGERS (20s), a misguided hipster with more beard than sense. Miss right is his selfish hipster wife, TRINITY CURTIS (20s). They recognise Naomi. They see her gun. They run. Curtis loses his feet and bails hard. His right wrist breaks his fall with a sickening CRACK. He screams like a little bitch as Trinity runs past him. NAOMI (CONT'D) Five! Naomi reaches Curtis, pistol aimed at the back of his head. NAOMI (CONT'D) Four. Curtis rolls onto his back. Tears pool in his beard. CURTIS Please, we didn't mean no harm. BLAM! A crimson halo pools around his head. Naomi looks past him toward Trinity, who slips her way across the river. NAOMI Three. She runs after Trinity, who reaches the edge of the river and stops to catch her breath against a tree. She steals a glance back and- POP! Her right knee erupts and she crashes sideways, sinking into the soft powder. NAOMI (CONT'D) Two! Trinity gasps a muffled scream then crawls into the forest. It's agonizing, and utterly pointless. Naomi leaves the river and follows Trinity's scarlet trail through the trees, stopping before her. She lowers her pistol at her final target. Trinity keeps her head down. TRINITY You don't have to do this. NAOMI One. She steadies the gun and- BOB Mew. Naomi's grip loosens. NAOMI Not now Bob. She takes a breath. TRINITY It's not like we hurt anyone. BOB Meeew. Naomi drops her hand to her side. NAOMI Goddamit Bob. You're killing the moment. BOB Meew. Meeeew. Naomi slips one strap off her shoulder and swings the backpack around, plopping it next to Trinity's head. She unzips the bag and waits. Bob stares at her, not moving. NAOMI Every time. She zips him up and swings the bag back over her shoulders. TRINITY I'll say Curtis died in the crash. I'll help you burn his body and everything. Naomi takes aim again. TRINITY (CONT'D) Just leave me at the edge of town, you'll never see me again. NAOMI One. BOB Mew. Naomi throws her hands up. NAOMI ****, Bob! Do you want to be next? BOB Meew. NAOMI No, Bob. You're not ruining this for me. She aims again. TRINITY I swear- NAOMI One. BOB Meeeew. BANG! NAOMI Eat ****, Bob. INT. YAZZIE'S BAR - DAY Jacob works beneath the bar, a toolbox by his shoulder. THUMP! Jacob ducks his head out, wrench in hand. JACOB Mi, that you? Something rolls across the floor, unseen. Something heavy. Naomi's boots click after it. Jacob props himself up and stands to see- A sweating STEEL BEER BARREL, scratched and dented. JACOB (CONT'D) Took you long enough. She rolls it past Jacob and beneath the bar, snatching his wrench as she goes. In a few moments she has it connected. NAOMI Glass. Jacob collects a pint glass from a tray and slides it across the bar. She catches it and tips it beneath the tap. Foam sputters from the tap, evolving into a stream of amber beer. She fills the glass, leaving a sizeable head as she stops. She lifts the foamy beverage to her lips and downs it in one. Jacob gives her a knowing nod, which she returns. EXT. YAZZIE'S BAR - DAY Jacob forces the door open again. More snow drops on his head and he scowls. Across the road, a pair of ELDERLY MEN take a tentative step toward him. He nods at them and flips the closed sign to OPEN. END
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Old 07-11-2016, 03:03 AM   #6
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LEVIATHAN BLACK SCREEN The sounds of LIGHT WIND through long grass and GENTLE WATERS lapping on a shore. SUPER: "In that day the Lord with His severe sword, great and strong, shall punish Leviathan the twisted serpent" ~ Isaiah 27:1 FADE IN: EXT. MARSHLAND - DAY Mist creeps in from the sea. A pale sun setting on a broad no-man's-land of reed beds, dank ditches and dark pools. SUPER: GRAVEWICK, ENGLAND, 1535 The deep distant call of Bitterns -- BHOOOW! -- BHOOOW! -- BHOOOW! -- haunt the gloaming. EXT. CREEK ROAD - DAY The rutted track runs through wetlands alongside a dead- straight waterway. Out of the mist appears a cloaked and HOODED MAN, stout staff in hand, his clothes sodden. He hurries past a small and deathly silent stone church -- and disappears farther into the grey fens. A raven watches, hunched atop a roadside gibbet with its hanging corpse not yet picked clean. The fast dying light a pressing deadline -- the Hooded Man quickens his pace. Stopping abruptly, he peers along a side path. Lowering his hood reveals the stern face of ADAM SPEEDWELL, 42, a trusted serjeant-at-arms of the county. His keen eyes spy yellow glimmers through the mist. KAAARR! KAAARR! -- The raven strikes Speedwell's head. He cowers as the large black bird circles back and strikes again. It turns and dives for a third strike -- but Speedwell stands tall, swiftly scythes his staff through the air and smacks the cursed creature to the ground. The stricken raven flaps and squawks. Calmly, Speedwell pile-drives his staff straight down on the raven's head, killing it outright. Raising his hood, Speedwell steps onto the side path in the direction of those faint yellow lights. EXT. 'THE SUN' ALEHOUSE - DAY Set aside from a huddle of grim dwellings, the squat public house, thatched with rushes, is marked by a crude painted helios above the door, lit up between two burning torches. The noise of REVELRY ebbs and flows from inside. Speedwell scans the neighbourhood -- nobody in sight. He unfastens the front of his cloak, revealing the hilt of his longsword, and strides to the alehouse door. INT. 'THE SUN' ALEHOUSE - NIGHT The place is cramped, packed with commoners of every age, shape and size. A central fireplace boils pots of stew and roasts swine. Maids fill wooden mugs with flat brown beer. The patrons' carousing hushes to a murmur. Speedwell stands at a table occupied by three motly fellows. They know him and clearly resent his presence. SPEEDWELL Indictments have come from the King's Counsel. The abbot Edwin Morton is named. He'll have no trial, nor torture. He's to die in Lychmere Abbey. DANIEL BALHAM, 55, a mild stout man, puts down his mug. BALHAM Our debt is paid, Speedwell. You've no more claim on us. Sat beside Balham is BEN PERRY, 22, a ruddy hefty man. He grins, but his expression stays the same. SPEEDWELL By law, your probations hold just such a claim ... less you wish to contest your liberty with the magistrate and a noose. Sat opposite Perry, THOMAS LOCKE, 37, a wiry rogue, sucks his teeth, disgruntled. A black dog, SHADOW, 4, lean and mean, slumbers at his feet. LOCKE So, Serjeant, when do we crucify this papist antichrist? Come next Good Friday? Speedwell eyes Locke with weary disdain, then catches the arm of a passing maid. SPEEDWELL Beer, bread and meat, good lass ... and no damned eels. Speedwell sits down on the bench next to Locke. SPEEDWELL The cross will never expel Satan from these Lateran cenobites ... nor fire purge them. His head must be severed. Balham and Locke exchange uneasy looks. SPEEDWELL (removing gloves) We leave at daybreak. EXT. CREEK ROAD - DAY Fog lies heavy on the marshes, no sun to be seen. Speedwell leads the way ... Balham and Perry follow ... Locke trails behind, eating an apple. BALHAM Where be your horse, Serjeant Speedwell?! Balham smirks and Perry sniggers. SPEEDWELL She is lost! Drowned in the mire between Feversham and Gravewick! Shadow scours waterlogged ditches for carrion. LOCKE Shadow! ... Shadow! Get up here! EXT. COAST ROAD Mid-morning, clear and bright on the high-banked road dividing marsh and tidal waters. KYOW! KYOW! -- gulls reel and squabble way overhead. Across the estuary's wide mouth, on the coast of another county, black smoke rises from a church. Balham, Perry and Locke sit on the roadside, sharing food parcelled in cloth and drink from water skins. Shadow paddles ashore, scrambles up the bank, and shakes himself dry right beside Locke. Speedwell stands apart, pissing, and gazes towards the distant walls and bell-tower of Lychmere Abbey, which sits back from the coast on the far side of a vast lake. EXT. ABBEY ROAD JUNCTION A branch off the Coast Road leads around the lake to Lychmere Abbey. PEEE-WIT! PEEE-WIT! -- a flock of Lapwings flitter over mirror-bright waters. Speedwell strides onward, but the three fellows hesitate before taking the turn. The fly-blown corpse of a horse festers on the verge. Locke calls Shadow to leave it be. EXT. ABBEY WALLS A towering spur of black cloud reaches over the darkening sea towards the monastery, and flashes with rumbles of thunderous lightning. Around the base of high stone walls, a wretched sprawl of half-derelict shacks, seemingly abandoned. Speedwell walks on, but the three fellows loiter. Shadow sniffs through scattered rubbish. Balham kicks at a dead camp-fire, exposing charred bones. BALHAM Where in God's name are the beggars? Does this damned abbot do no charity? Shadow WHIMPERS at a broken doorway. Locke investigates. INT. SHACK - DAY Locke peers inside the shambolic murk. A pitiful child, in rags and filth, cowers alone. Locke reaches out. LOCKE Hey, don't be afeared. The waif recoils, HISSING wildly. Locke warily backs out. EXT. ABBEY GATEHOUSE A huge pair of solid gates hang open, unmanned. Speedwell leads his recruits into the abbey grounds. Watching from the bell-tower is a young NOVICE MONK with cowled head and a solemn stare. The bell TOLLS six times. INT. ABBEY REFECTORY - DAY Tall double doors open inward and the Novice Monk, BROTHER ENOCH, 14, leads Speedwell and the others into the high- vaulted dining chamber. Half-light from quarter-foil windows scarcely illuminates the long rectangular dining-table at the centre, with seven dour monks seated each side and a superior either end. At the end nearest Speedwell broods PRIOR RANALD, 47, a sour second-in-command. He turns, looks sharply, and moves to stand, but Speedwell places a firm hand on his shoulder. In a dark corner, Brother Enoch ducks out through a doorway beneath a macabre crucifix. At the far head of the table presides the ABBOT MORTON, 89, a withered husk of incumbent piety. He lifts his hairless head and stares down at Speedwell, a steel glint in his still bright eyes. Speedwell returns the abbot's gaze. SPEEDWELL Somewhat early for supper, Abbot Morton? ABBOT MORTON The feast day of Saint Anthony the Great. It would be a grave sin to let the bounty of our Lord's mercy go unconsumed, would it not? Speedwell slowly paces down one side of the table, scanning the laden silver platters. He stops halfway. The monks' meal is almost entirely steaming dishes of weird meat. Perry glances at Balham and screws up his nose at the odious smell. Shadow follows close behind Locke as he examines the religious riches around the room. ABBOT MORTON The fruit of our garden is truly divine ... (offers up his goblet) ... can I not tempt you, Adam? Abbot Morton's inscrutable smile lingers. SPEEDWELL Speak my Christian name a second time, deceiver, and I'll feed your forked tongue to that faithful dog. ABBOT MORTEN But why should a sovereign's loyal servant fear to learn of truths unholy? SPEEDWELL I was taught such truths well enough by your Catholic sisters ... and their ready whip-hand. ABBOT MORTON And yet, your righteous thirst persists. SPEEDWELL Shut up your venomous pit. We come with proper warrant to depose its perverted capital. Speedwell nods to Balham and Perry in the direction of the abbot, and they approach him from either side of the table. Abbot Morton stands and drains his goblet. As Perry reaches out first to seize him, the abbot spews a mouthful of foul liquor in his face. Shadow BARKS then quails behind Locke. Perry staggers back, eyes shut tight, frantically wiping his face with bare hands. PERRY Jesus, it burns! Balham punches Morton hard in the face ... but the old abbot still stands. LOCKE I bloody knew it. The papist kunt drinks from the serpent's cup. Prior Ranald and several other monks stand up. Speedwell reaches for his longsword. SPEEDWELL Sit you down, brothers! ABBOT MORTON Please, brothers, be not disturbed. It is gospel to forsake me ... and the serjeant's vulgar treatment shall prove itself an ill remedy. Abbot Morton sits, and the other standing monks follow his lead. Speedwell lets go his sword's hilt. The abbey bell TOLLS six times. INT. ABBEY CRYPT Deep gloom. Echoes of FLOWING WATER. Brother Enoch kneels, head bowed, WHISPERING a recitation. Rosary beads run through his clasped hands. Before him, in an arched alcove, is a small and strangely protean figurine that holds something like a cruciform trident. EXT. MONASTERY COURTYARD - DAY An inner square with east and west archways. Along each side, rows of columns support the dark cloister's sloping roof. The court is wide open to the blackened sky and torrential rain. Speedwell strides from the east archway to the centre of the courtyard, plants his staff in the soft ground, and looks skyward. The downpour washes over his face. Balham and Perry bring Morton. Balham appears anxious, but the abbot is calm. Perry seems oddly unsteady. He winces as rain splashes his bloodshot eyes, a spidery white stain in the pupils. Locke and Shadow wait by the archway they all came through. Speedwell nods to where he wants the abbot. Balham and Perry oblige, then back away on opposite sides. SPEEDWELL By my grace, you may speak your Pater Noster. ABBOT MORTON And, by my eternal vice, may your Vicar General's putrid seed quench your thirst in hell. The old abbot, already drenched, kneels and bows his head with his arms down-stretched sideways. Speedwell crosses himself and draws his longsword. The abbey bell TOLLS six times. Balham and Locke look upward, unsettled by the bell's third time of tolling. Two handed, Speedwell raises the severe blade to the raging heavens -- mouths a brief lament -- and brings it down hard and fast. SHWOOOTH! -- a clean cut. The abbot's severed head hits the ground, but no blood flows. Instantly, the headless Morton grabs hold of the blade with both hands and, rising to his feet, wrenches the sword from Speedwell. Using the butt of the hilt, headless Morton strikes his executioner an almighty blow to the gut. Speedwell flies backward across the courtyard, slams against one of the cloister's stone columns, and lies unconscious. Balham and Perry step back from headless Morton. Locke dashes to Speedwell's aid, with Shadow close by him. Brother Enoch darts out from the cloister, grabs Abbot Morton's head, and hurries back into the darkness. Morton's body convulses. Bent double, his backbone protrudes from arse to vacant neck, then ruptures into a bony ridge that rips through his habit. From his neck stump, the severed end of spine jerks out several inches. Then again and again -- SHLOK! -- SHLOK! -- ratcheting longer and longer -- a thick twisted root of wedge-sharp vertebrae, flexing more like cartilage than bone. BALHAM Holy Mother of Christ! PERRY I can't see ... I'm blind. Perry staggers, terrified, both eyes completely white. The tip of headless Morton's snaking backbone slows and stops in front of Perry's face -- stabs into his slack mouth -- and bursts out the back of his head. Balham looks in horror. BALHAM Ben! Headless Morton's lethal spine jolts out from Perry with a spray of blood. Perry's lifeless body drops to the ground. Balham dashes towards his fallen friend, but headless Morton's serpentine spine -- now twenty feet long at least -- whips around and slices through Balham's neck, lopping his head clear off. Balham's headless body runs on a few feet, stumbling to the ground, blood gushing from its ragged neck. Headless Morton's open gullet throbs and peels apart, deforming into a monstrous gaping mouth studded with row upon row of barbed teeth. His torn habit hangs down, baring unnaturally sleek skin with an almost metallic glaucous sheen. Speedwell comes round, much to Locke's relief. Monstrous Morton lurches towards them, his searching spine reaching out for more. LOCKE Have at him, boy! (Continued in next post!)
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Old 07-11-2016, 03:04 AM   #7
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LEVIATHAN ...continued. Shadow bounds SNARLING at monstrous Morton. Concealed in the cloister lurks Prior Ranald. PRIOR RANALD (chanting) The power of the Beast corrupts thee ... the power of the Beast corrupts thee ... Shadow slows to an amble, ignores monstrous Morton, pads into the cloister, and lays at the feet of Prior Ranald. Monstrous Morton's spine coils tight around Speedwell's legs and waist, and drags him closer. Locke grasps hold of Speedwell, but Morton's protracted backbone hoists Speedwell up into the air, flinging Locke aside. Monstrous Morton's spine retracts into his gigantic jaws, hauling in Speedwell. Mid-air, he lunges sideways and grabs his upright staff from out the ground. His feet already inside, Speedwell thrusts the staff deep into Morton's cavernous throat, but the countless rasping teeth shred it to splinters. A rapid heave and Speedwell's body is devoured whole. The giant mouth contracts fast around his neck, crushing all life from him -- his deceased head now in place of Morton's With furious contortions, the grotesque figure reforms itself into a replica of Speedwell. The Leviathan's deception is complete again. Renewed as Speedwell, naked and with longsword in hand, his eyes open and glare at Locke. LOCKE Shadow! Shadow! Get here, boy! Locke turns and flees alone. INT. MONASTERY - DAY Locke dashes through darkest corridors, desperately seeking an exit. He turns a corner and at the end of a passage is an outside door, slightly ajar. Locke races towards his escape. From a side chamber, Brother Enoch steps in his way. Locke freezes. With outstretched arms, Brother Enoch holds up the old abbot's head -- a scowling skull draped in sallow skin. Locke is paralysed, and his painfully mortified face quickly starts to decay. FADE OUT. THE END
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