A Fantastic Fear of Everything Page #7

It's destiny.

No!

(JACK IN DISTANCE)

No! No! No!

(BREATH ES HEAVILY)

Listen, your mother, she gave up

on herself, not on you.

You don't make the same mistake.

We can do it together.

Come on, we have to try

and reason with him.

There's always hope.

I don't even know your name.

Sangeet. My name is Sangeet.

Sangeet.

That's a very beautiful name.

Sangeet, do you think

if all this blows over,

you and I might perhaps

get some dinner or...?

That's the spirit, John.

(DOOR OPENING)

He)'-

Call me Jack.

(MUSIC;

EUROPE'S THE FINAL COUNTDOWN)

Those about to die, we salute you.

# It's the final countdown

# The final countdown

# on, hey #

What's wrong? Not your cup of tea?

But how can you not like this?

This is top-notch.

This is classic rock.

Er, no.

Technically, this is '80s hair metal.

What?

Right.

I'll have you know that

that track was number one

in 25 separate countries in 1986. 25.

Now, I think that qualifies it as

an all-time rock classic. Don't you?

Yeah. Well, we had

different childhoods, mate.

While you were jumping around

in your bedroom to men in tights,

I was keeping it fresh,

rolling with the brothers,

you know what I'm saying, y'all?

- Dusting off my AK, motherf***er.

- Well, you missed out.

You don't know

what you're talking about anyway.

I used to lie over there, on my bed

with my headphones on.

And I'd just disappear

into my imagination.

Gran always said

I had a very vivid imagination.

Oh, I could be anyone.

Sometimes I'd be this rock star,

half man, half elf,

with this great mane of golden hair,

down to my waist

and all the girls would be yelling,

"Oh, Tony. Let me touch it, Tony.

Let me touch it. Let me touch it."

This was your bedroom?

- Eh?

- You had a bed down here?

Oh, mate.

Me and this launderette go way back.

(KILLER) You see, my mum died

when I was quite young

and I didn't have any other family,

so I was sent to live with my gran.

At the launderette.

She took me in, bless her heart,

and looked after me,

but she decided

there wasn't enough room

for two people upstairs in the flat.

So she made me a room down here.

Down in the cellar.

It was, well...

It took a bit of getting used to.

But she only locked the hatch

very late at night.

And I was allowed out,

to see the people coming and going.

To watch them wash.

You.

Oh, Tony, you poor thing.

What do you mean? Poor thing?

You were abandoned, Tone.

Mate, I had this whole

massive bedroom to myself.

This is a cellar, Tone. A cellar.

- But...

- Look, it's Dickensian.

- How big was your f***ing bedroom?

- That's not the point.

Jesus. What kind of woman

keeps a child in a cellar?

Hey, don't you say a word

about my gran.

My gran was a very special person.

That's the kid talking.

Any mother, even a twisted hag b*tch

of a mother is better than no mother.

Come on, Tone. You were dumped.

Alone. In a cellar.

Yeah, all right, thank you very much,

Sigmund Freud.

You're the one tied up in a basement.

I'm the one feeding the press.

Baffling the police.

I'm conducting the whole thing

like an orchestra.

I'm like the Andr Previn

of serial killers.

Mate, I have studied serial killers

and you are not it.

- A serial killer is an artist.

- Hey, I'm all about elegant design.

Tell them, Gran.

I am an artist, aren't I?

I'm like a sculptor,

sculpting in crime.

Don't tell me you've got your bloody

grandmother down here too.

Well, of course I have.

I'm a serial killer, aren't I?

It's been done, mate!

Come up with something original.

I did the Hanoi Handshake!

Sounds like two Vietnamese gentlemen

in a public convenience!

He's right. It does, actually.

"Can I give you a handshake?

I give you handshake."

Please! Have some bloody respect,

will you?

That's it.

- Spin's started.

- (SANGEET) No!

- (SANGEET) No!

- Don't!

(TONY) Shut it! Shut up! Shut up!

- (SANJEET) No!

- Try making fun of this, dead man.

Say hello to my bowie knife.

I call him Dave.

David the Bowie Knife? Sounds like

a character from my stories.

- Dave doesn't like you.

- (JACK SOBS)

He's telling me to do it.

I'm gonna do it.

New movies, and multiple Links

You can't reason

with a serial killer.

(TONY GROANS)

- Oh, Jack.

- Just go, go, go. Please go, go, go.

Go on, go. Go get help.

Hop. Hop! Hop.

Hop. Hop. Hop.

Run!

- (SCREAMS)

- Sorry. I am sorry.

(DISTANT SCREAMING)

- (JACK) No, Tony.

- (TONY) No, I can't let you go.

I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.

This is how it has to end.

- Tony, please, leave her alone.

- Sorry, mate, she saw me with you.

- No turning back now.

- Jack. Jack.

- Do something. Please.

- What? What?

You're a writer, aren't you?

Tell him a f***ing story.

- A story?

- Right, this is it.

No, wait. No, she's right.

Let me tell you a story.

- A story?

- Yes, please.

It's a dead man's last wish.

It's a story to end the cycle.

- How long's it going to take?

- Not long.

- Because I haven't got long.

- Neither have I.

(BOTH CHUCKLE)

Oh, all right, dead man.

But make it good because it's

the last thing you're gonna write.

- Yeah, yeah.

- No pressure, though.

Okay. I have to start

right at the beginning.

Once upon a time,

there was a hedgehog

whose name...

A hedgehog?

Yes. Yes. Whose name...

You're about to die and you want

to tell a story about a hedgehog?

Mate, please, just bear with me.

Okay, you sitting comfortably?

Once upon a time...

not so long ago...

there was a hedgehog...

whose name...

was Brian.

Brian lived in a cave

deep in the forest,

a dark and terrible place

called the Wyrd Wild Wood.

After dark, the forest would echo

with howls and screams.

And sometimes it seemed to Brian

as if even the moon

conspired against him.

But the more afraid Brian became,

the angrier he got,

until one night,

frightened out of his wits...

he turned himself

into a terrifying monster.

He put on weight, painted his face

and started insisting on being

addressed as Balthazar the Berserker.

But then a strange thing happened.

Brian received an unexpected visitor.

"Come any closer

and I'll scratch your eyes out."

He snarled angrily

at the ickering eyes in the trees.

"Brian?" Whispered a voice.

"Is that really you?"

"Who the f*** are you calling Brian?"

said Brian,

as menacingly as he could manage.

"Why, Brian, it is you."

It was Harold, his brother,

last seen by the road,

walking with mother a long time ago.

He said, "I'm so happy

I found you, Brian, old chap.

"I've been terribly lonely

and fancied a chat."

But Brian had crossed that road

and never looked back.

He'd erased the memory

and his soul was now black.

"Harold, mate. I hate to be blunt.

But look in the mirror,

you prickly idiot.

You're a worthless, pathetic,

sniveling fool.

"I'd rather spend time

with the worms in my stool."

With that he chased him into the

trees and over the dells, screaming,

"I'll eat you for supper

or meet you in hell."

(SPAGHETTI WESTERN TYPE MUSIC)

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