Freddy vs. Jason Page #2

NEWS REPORTER:

(filtered)

As the sun rises on yet another

morning, still no end in sight for

the standoff between police and the

mysterious group known only as the

"Freddy" cult who seized the abandoned

house behind me just thirteen days

ago. These cultists -- mostly run-

away teenagers -- have managed to

keep police at bay for almost two

weeks while inside they take mind-

altering narcotics in order to

communicate with their god --

Freddy.

The reporter babbles on as Meagan enters the kitchen

where MEAGAN'S MOM is sitting watching the TV, gulping

down orange juice. Across from mom is MEAGAN'S DAD,

who is having coffee, reading the paper. Meagan pours

herself a cup and sits.

MEAGAN:

Morning.

Meagan's mom grunts, transfixed on the news. Dad

looks over his paper long enough to smile and say,

just a little too cheerfully:

MEAGAN'S DAD

Morning, Meagan.

Meagan looks over at her mother, then back at her

father, mouthing the words "How's mom?", when suddenly

Meagan's mom bellows:

MEAGAN'S MOM

(calls upstairs)

Lizzy! Get down here! Breakfast

is almost ready!

Meagan turns back to her dad but he has ducked back

into his paper. Meagan sighs and sips her coffee.

ANGLE ON TV -- a police booking photo of FRED KRUEGER.

NEWS REPORTER:

Alleged child murderer Fred Krueger

was released on a legal technicality

but later burned to death at the

hands of a vigilante mob of grieving

parents. Some years later, a rash

of bizarre and unexplainable teen-

age deaths began leaving many in

the area to wonder... is Freddy

really dead?

Meagan's younger sister -- LIZZY -- comes down to

breakfast. The microwave DINGS and Meagan's mom

pulls out three Pop Tarts, dealing them out to her

family like playing cards. Lizzy picks up her Pop

Tart, whining.

MEAGAN'S MOM

Hurry up and eat. You don't want

to be late for special school.

MEAGAN:

Mom! Don't call it that!

LIZZY:

I hate that school. The other kids

are mean... and they're all re-

tard-ed!

Meagan snickers.

MEAGAN'S MOM

We don't use that word. They're

"special" children just like you're

"special".

Dad looks over at mom, who shoots him an angry look.

Dad takes a bite of his Pop Tart, sinking back behind

the paper.

ANGLE ON TV --

NEWS REPORTER:

The cult members have declined to

an on-camera interview but did send

out a note with a message. The note

-- which, by the way, appears to

have been written in blood -- reads...

(reads the note)

To the parents of Springwood --

Freddy lives! Soon he will come and

take one of your children as his

virgin bride. Then Freddy will -BEEP-

and his -BEEP- upon her -BEEP- and

-BEEP- and behold, a soulless child

shall be born. The vessel for Freddy

to rise and rule the darkness forever

and ever.

A horn TOOTS outside.

MEAGAN:

That's Jesse. Let's go, Lizzy.

Meagan collects her books and her sister. This is

dad's cue to look at his watch and say:

MEAGAN'S DAD

Oh, look at the time! I've got to

be going... anyone need me to bring

anything home tonight?

MEAGAN:

I need an alarm clock.

MEAGAN'S DAD

What's wrong with your old one?

MEAGAN:

Broke.

Meagan kisses her dad as she and Lizzy hurry out the

door. Meagan's dad looks over at his wife, who says:

MEAGAN'S MOM

We're almost out of vodka.

EXT. MEAGAN'S HOUSE - MORNING - CONTINUOUS ACTION

Meagan and Lizzy climb into JESSE's car.

JESSE:

Good morning! Hey, what's the matter?

MEAGAN:

My mom...

JESSE:

And...?

MEAGAN:

I had another dream last night...

JESSE:

Was I naked?

MEAGAN:

No. You were Jason.

JESSE:

Jason? Oh, yeech...

(then)

Was I any good?

Meagan playfully smacks him as Jesse's car ROARS off.

INT. KITCHEN - SAME TIME

Meagan's dad hesitates at the front door, clutching

his keys and briefcase as he musters the courage to

say something.

MEAGAN'S DAD

Do you have to watch that crap all

the time? Months and months of the

O.J. Simpson trial, and now this...

Mom reaches over and switches off the TV. Dad smiles

slightly and exits. Mom waits until the door closes,

then takes a bottle of vodka and pours a goodly bit

into her orange juice. She takes a deep drink and

switches the set back on.

CLOSE ON TV as the news reporter interviews CAPTAIN

RENTON MURDOCH -- State Trooper.

NEWS REPORTER:

I'm standing here with State Trooper

Captain Renton Murdoch, the man the

Governor has called in to deal with

the cultists because of his past

experience with occult-style

murderers. In fact, Trooper Murdoch

is the only law enforcement officer

ever to survive a one-on-one encounter

with notorious Camp Crystal Lake

killer -- Jason Voorhees.

(to Murdoch)

You received some pretty nasty

injuries in your battle with Jason,

didn't you, Captain?

MURDOCH:

Nothing serious... just a few

stitches.

NEWS REPORTER:

What about these so called "Freddy"

cultists? They seem like pretty

tough customers. Think you'll have

any trouble getting them out of

there?

MURDOCH:

No. Now that the Governor has given

me complete authority to deal with

these punks I should be putting an

end to their situation pretty quick.

Unless of course their attorney is

able to get them to come out peace-

fully... but I don't hold out much

hope for that.

NEWS REPORTER:

(to camera)

Captain Renton Murdoch, ladies and

gentlemen. A tough cop... for tough

criminals.

CUT TO:

EXT. "FREDDY" CULT COMPOUND - MOMENTS LATER

Murdoch gets into the command car, sitting down next

to the S.W.A.T. COMMANDER sitting behind the wheel.

MURDOCH:

Damn media... oughtta be a law.

(gestures to house)

Is that shyster still in there

trying to talk them out?

S.W.A.T. COMMANDER

Yeah... he's making them some kind

of deal.

MURDOCH:

Damn lawyers... what a bunch of

a**holes. Shakespeare was right --

kill all the lawyers. Then we could

kill all the punks with no hassles

and the world would be a safer place.

S.W.A.T. COMMANDER

Smaller anyway.

MURDOCH:

Ahhhhh... what did Shakespeare know?

Long-haired, English freak. He was

probably a punk.

INT. CULT COMPOUND - SAME TIME

Meanwhile, inside the house... the cult's sleazy LAWYER

is sitting on a crate in the middle of a dark room.

He is surrounded by CULTISTS -- heavily-armed teenage

punks in red and olive sweaters and Fedoras ala Freddy.

They stare out at him through sunglasses with red

flashing diodes that barely hide their burned and

disfigured faces.

The lawyer shifts uncomfortably on the crate as he

takes a deep snort from inside his briefcase held

neatly on his lap. Then he lifts his head, wiping

his nose nervously as he speaks:

SLEAZY LAWYER:

So, as I explained to you before,

the revenues between the TV movie

deal and the book sale should be

adequate to fund your joint-defense.

And I think with my mass media

hypnosis argument I could get each

of you a reduced sentence on appeal

-- say... twenty years each. Out

in fifteen with good behavior?

Hmmmmm?

HARD CUT TO:

EXT. CULT COMPOUND - MOMENTS LATER

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