Patricia is forced into helping her boss track down a serial killer.
|Monthly Scriptwriting Contest (May) — Prompt: Horror/Mystery
EXT. — CENTRAL PARK, NEW YORK — EVENING — 8PM
MORRIS GRAVES (25), muscular, attractive, dark hair, dark eyes, cruel, watches as a LARRY ADAMS (30), short, bald, overweight, and his wife ROSE ADAMS (30), tall, skinny, short-cropped hair, walk through the park, arm-in-arm.
Just a little closer—
The woman's laugh turns into a shriek as Morris steps out of the shadows.
It—it can't be!
(leans close and raises an eyebrow)
Did you think I would not find you?
Did you believe a mere mortal
could escape the clutches of
(hides behind Larry)
If this is a joke, it's not funny!
(sighs and crosses his arms over his chest)
You could have made this easy,
Larry. But now? Now I'll have
to take Rose, too.
(shakes his head)
Sorry, toots. It's not your time but
we can't have any witnesses, now
There's gotta be something you
want! I'll give you anything!
There's nothing I want from
you Larry. Nothing but your
soul, that is.
Look, I'm sure we can come up
with some kind of arrangement.
I—I'll pay you! Just let us go!
Morris pulls back his black trench coat. Larry flinches and Rose screams as Morris pulls out a torch. The torch bursts into life. Flames flicker, casting shadows that writhe and twist across the ground.
(tsks his tongue)
Bribery might have saved your
rear when you were alive, Larry,
but it doesn't work that way this
side of the grave.
This side of the grave?
Morris turns his torch upside down and the flames disappear. He points at a spot behind Larry and Rose. The couple cautiously turn and find their lifeless bodies lying on the park's path.
You're mine, now!
Morris drops the burned-out torch next to the Adams' bodies. Stepping forward, he places one hand on Larry's shoulder and the other on Rose's elbow. The three vanish.
INT. — OFFICE — MORNING
GRAHAM ROBERTS (40), African American, 6' tall, broad shoulders, fit, dark hair, detective, leans back in his office chair as a KNOCK is heard.
PATRICIA ALLAN (32), Native American, long dark hair, glasses, intelligent, Graham's secretary, pokes her head into the office.
You told me to let you know
if another one was found, boss.
Who is it this time?
(plops a folder on the desk)
Two of'em this time, boss. Larry
and Rose Adams. Husband and
(frowns and picks up folder)
Two? He's never taken two at a
time before. Did he leave—
A torch? Yes, sir.
(scans the papers in folder)
Same calling card but more than
Are you sure it's the same guy, boss?
(clenches his teeth)
Oh, I'm sure.
Graham taps a picture of the torch in the folder with his index finger.
This isn't just his calling card. He's
calling me out. Taunting me. But
he's not going to beat me this time.
I've got his number, so to speak.
Graham stands and walks across his office, where a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf stands. He reaches for a tome, pulls it out, and blows dust from the top. He flips open the book and turns several pages before stopping.
Behold, our criminal!
(squints at the page)
Thanatos? Sir, this is Greek
Mythology. Thanatos isn't
He goes by Mors in the land
of the living.
Sir—we're looking for a serial
killer. Not a Greek god!
How quickly you mortals scoff!
Patricia steps back a pace from her boss.
Sir? You're scaring me—
(rolls his eyes)
I'm going to need some help
tracking Mors down and capturing
him. I'd hoped to do it on my own
but the world has changed too much
since the last time Mors and I
For souls. Except this time
Mors has taken it too far. He's
strictly forbidden to take a life
before its time is up. He's
cheating, and I've got to stop him!
I know this case has you worked
up, boss, but—
(shakes his head)
You creatures are so skeptical
without your proof, aren't you?
(puckers lips in disgust)
I suppose I'm going to have to
prove I know what I'm talking
Patricia presses her back against the office wall when Graham stands in place and begins to spin. As his black coat twirls, his body transforms. His flesh melts away until a dark skeleton is left. In one bony hand, he holds a scythe.
You—you're the Grim Reaper!
Scythe and all. Though I have to
say, it's much more unwieldy than
my gun. Some of these modern
advancements have been a huge
Graham twirls again. The scythe disappears and his tendons, blood, and skin grow in layers before Patricia's eyes.
I've been watching you, Allan,
and after all our years working
together I've learned to trust you
well, with my life.
I don't believe this! My boss is
the flippin' Grim Reaper!
We don't have time for hysteria,
Allan. I need your help catching
What if I say no?
Then I'll have to kill you and find
someone else to assist me.
Patricia gasps. Her face turns white and Graham laughs.
That was a joke. I can't kill you,
Allan. You're not scheduled to
leave this side of the grave until—
(tsks his tongue and wags his index finger)
Almost got me there. But
revealing the date of a mortal's
death is strictly forbidden. Almost
as bad as taking a soul before its
Patricia smiles weakly as Graham moves to stand directly in front of her.
Come, Allan. We're going to a
(wrinkles her sweaty brow)
Larry and Rose Adams', of course.
Mors will be waiting for me at the
He'll want to rub my nose in the
fact that he's ahead in our little
game. He'll feel secure, assuming
I can't touch him. That's where
you come in.
Graham reaches out and places a hand on Patricia's shoulder. She flinches as he grins into her frightened face.
You're my secret weapon, Allan.
Of course I am.
Graham stalks from the office. Patricia hesitates before following him. With trembling hand, she shuts the office door behind her.
END ACT ONE