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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Death · #2159357
Patricia is forced into helping her boss track down a serial killer.
Monthly Scriptwriting Contest (May) — Prompt: Horror/Mystery


"Round One"




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
                             can we?

                             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.






GRAHAM ROBERTS (40), African American, 6' tall, broad shoulders, fit, dark hair, detective, leans back in his office chair as a KNOCK is heard.

                             C'mon in.

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
                             one victim—

                             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.

                                       (jaw drops)
                             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

                                       (licks lips)
                             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.


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