THE FIDDLER (Part 1 of 2)
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FADE IN: EXT. LAKE SHORELINE - NIGHT The last gasp of a brilliant sunset slips below the horizon, its magenta halo swallowed by the inky black lake. Tiny ghost crabs swarm the carcass of a fish at the water's edge, picking morsels from its rotting flesh. Waves break against the shoreline, harsher, more urgent than the soft lapping of summer. The beach is desolate, except for a ring of jack-o-lanterns higher up on the dune, where a small group of teens huddles around a bonfire. EXT. BEACH BONFIRE - NIGHT CASEY, 14, a smallish, pimply-faced gamer-geek rocks back and forth on a log. He's fighting a life and death battle on his Nintendo, master of his digital world, until a flaming marshmallow smashes into the side of his head. CASEY Ow, ****! Casey jumps to his feet, Nintendo dropping to the sand. He desperately pulls the hot, gooey mess from his face and hair. TREVOR, 16, a skinny, saggy pants skater boy, high-fives CHUCK, 16, SKULL AND CROSSBONES TATTOO on his shoulder. TREVOR (to Casey) Uh, sorry there little dude, was shootin' for the fire. The teens erupts in laughter, flames casting eerie shadows on their faces. CASEY **** you. Casey snatches his Nintendo and storms off toward the cabin, strings of marshmallow still hanging from his face. On his way to the bonfire, the camp director, MR. SHOTZ, 42, passes Casey, pausing to put his hand on Casey's shoulder. MR. SHOTZ Hey Casey? Everything okay? Casey smacks Mr. Shotz's hand away and runs up the path. Crouched on a log at the campfire, jamming to her Mp3, BETH, 16, a large goth girl, takes a deep hit from a joint Chuck sees Mr. Shotz approaching and tries to warn Beth. CHUCK ****, here he comes. Stash it. Beth rocks on, deaf to Chuck's warning. Chuck swipes the roach from Beth's hand and tosses it into the woods. Beth snaps at Chuck. BETH Hey, what the hell? Chuck points toward Mr. Shotz, who's reached the bonfire. MR. SHOTZ Okay everyone, can I have your attention. No one notices. He smiles and tries to make a joke of it, he taps on his clipboard as if it were a microphone... MR. SHOTZ Hello...is this on? No response. Mr. Shotz reaches for the whistle strung around his neck and blows. Trevor shakes his head and throws a log onto the fire, sending glowing embers toward the black sky. TREVOR Silence, the Fuhrer's here. MR. SHOTZ (to Trevor) That's not necessary Mr. Silva. Okay, before our activity this evening, I just wanted to say hang in there. Most of you have made great progress. Just one more week to go. Mr. Shotz reads from the clipboard. MR. SHOTZ Tomorrow, after our counseling session, we're gonna hike Mt. AuSable. On Tuesday, archery, and -- CHUCK This is so ****ing lame. Mr. Shotz shakes his head, glaring at Chuck. MR. SHOTZ Mr. DeMay, need I remind you that you chose this camp. I can put a call into your probation officer if you'd like to finish your sentence in the county jail. As Casey returns, tromping past the bonfire toward the beach, Trevor can't resist hurling another arrow at his prey. TREVOR Jeez, gone a long time little dude. You bust one off? Casey glares at Trevor, giving him the finger. Mr. Shotz raises his whistle, but then lowers it. MR. SHOTZ Okay, let's move on. In keeping with the Halloween spirit... Mr. Shotz smiles sheepishly, relishing in the pun. MR. SHOTZ We're lucky to have a very special guest to entertain us tonight with his campfire stories and songs. GROANS. Mr. Shotz holds up his hands. MR. SHOTZ Hey, let's stay positive. I hear he's quite good. Beth pulls an earbud from her ear, leans over to Chuck. BETH Did he say songs? Man, there's no effen way I'm singin'! Mr. Shotz glances at his watch. MR. SHOTZ Uh, he should be here any minute now. From the woods, the deep BRUMMMM of a bow drawn slowly across the strings of a fiddle. A TWIG SNAPS. A tall man, gray beard as long as he is old, emerges from the shadows, into the dancing light of the bonfire. He carries a fiddle, eyes hidden by a tattered buffalo nickel hat pushed tight to his head. MR. SHOTZ Oh, there you are. Nice entrance. Everyone, this is THE FIDDLER, storyteller extraordinaire. The Fiddler shuffles toward the campfire, expressionless. Chuck whispers to Trevor. CHUCK Dude looks like my granddad right before he died. Mr. Shotz extends his hand, but The Fiddler moves directly to a stool near the edge of the fire, the flickering light harshening the deep fissures in the mysterious man's face. Another long, slow pull of the bow, BRUMMMMM. The Fiddler locks his gaze on the group of teens. He speaks in a hushed, stark tone. THE FIDDLER Those who've passed from this life have secrets they want heard, lessons to tell...no fairy tales...just stories that stir the soul. Trevor leans toward Chuck, whispering. TREVOR Man, this dude's creepy. Kinda cool though. CHUCK Hey man, can you play some AC/DC on that thing? TREVOR Yeah, like "Highway to Hell." LAUGHS. The Fiddler chins his instrument... BRUMMMMM. Suddenly, a flash of lightning and a chilling gust of wind. EXT. LAKE SHORELINE - NIGHT
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