Monkeybone Page #13

The lower chart shows a JAGGED SPIKE virtually identical to the one on

the upper chart. JULIE pauses for effect - then pulls on the edge of the

lower chart, OPENING IT UP like a gatefold -

The onlookers GASP. Opened accordion-style, the lower chart shows the

SAME SPIKE recurring again and again, TEN TIMES OVER!

HUTCH:

Holy sh*t.

JULIE:

He's stuck in a loop - a nightmare loop.

(beat)

Anybody here know what Oneirix is?

CLARISSA:

Sure - it's an enzyme. The brain secretes it

during violent dream activity...

HUTCH:

It's nightmare juice. Julie and I were on the

team that learned to synthesize it. If those

charts are right, Stu's swimming in the stuff.

(puzzled)

Are you thinking we can decrease the levels?

JULIE:

No. I want to give him more. I want to give him

a massive dose.

HUTCH:

That's not going to stop his nightmare -

JULIE:

I don't want to stop the nightmare, Hutch. I

want to crank it up. I want to take it right off

the charts. I want to scare him awake.

The group exchanges nervous glances: it's risky. JULIE claps her hands:

JULIE:

All right! We have a plan. Let's move!

As the group swings into action, HUTCH pulls JULIE aside.

HUTCH:

You know, Julie, even if this works - which it

probably won't - that stuff is tricky. You don't

know what it'll do to his brain.

JULIE:

What'll it do if they pull the plug?

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. LAND OF DEATH - NIGHT

A PANORAMIC VIEW of an impossibly grand, Gilded-Age TRAIN STATION. A

central turntable is the hub for dozens of TUNNELS, which converge like

the spokes of a wheel, disgorging long trains full of DEAD PASSENGERS

from all over the world.

Far above, in the dizzying reaches of the vaulted DOME that crowns the

station, REAPERS on FLYING BICYCLES spiral about like mosquitos,

bringing dead souls to their final reward.

This is Thanatopolis - land of Death - truly the end of the line.

A WET SQUEEGEE scrapes across the frame - wielded by a GRIM REAPER in a

jumpsuit bearing the logo of "LAND OF DEATH WINDOW WASHERS, INC." The

noise is irritating, so a REAPER on the inside snaps the venetian blinds

shut, cutting off our view.

CAMERA PULLS BACK, and we realize we've been seeing all this through the

wall-to-wall windows of...

INT. DEATH'S OFFICE - NIGHT

It looks like the observation bridge in the nose of the Nautilus; the

decor is ornate, and the office equipment - vacuum tubes, pipe

intercoms, etc. - is on loan from the Jules Verne Museum of Defunct

Technology.

REAPERS are bustling about everywhere. One of them pushing a HAND TRUCK

laden with oversized crates bearing the label "DEAD SOULS."

REAPER:

Batch of souls - just back from Processing.

DEATH'S ASSISTANT

Put them over there with the others.

He unloads the crates in a corner of the room, where SCORES of crated

souls are already piled up.

DEATH'S ASSISTANT

Your Grimness? We have a new shipment -

DEATH (o.s.)

Yeah, yeah, yeah... I'll get to it...

We can't see DEATH himself - just the back of a tall swivel chair. With

much creaking, it rotates around - bringing us face-to-face with...

CLOSEUP - DEATH

He's not at all what you'd expect. He's a chubby-cheeked, bespectacled

ACCOUNTANT TYPE...a harried bureaucrat, just trying to do his job.

There's something sweet, almost avuncular about him.

There's an open crate of DEAD SOULS on his desk. Dead souls take the

form of PERFORATED PAPER DOLLS...two-dimensional, underwear-clad,

usually wearing expressions of shock. DEATH pulls a sheet from the box,

detaches the dead soul, and outfits it with a cut-out TOGA.

Now he places it in a big diorama - with OODLES of toga-clad souls

staring up at a scale model of an active volcano. He throws a switch and

BEAMS as the volcano spits BLOBS OF KETCHUP into the air.

DEATH:

Last Days of Pompeii...now there was a Great

Moment in Death.

DEATH'S ASSISTANT

If I may point out...it is 12:05...

DEATH, grumbling, digs into the box and pulls out another soul. His eyes

light up. He clutches the sheet with trembling hands.

DEATH:

I can't believe - oh, man, I - SINATRA!! Do you

know how long I've been waiting for this?

Sure enough, the doll on the sheet is Ol' Blue Eyes. DEATH digs in a

desk drawer and pulls out a SHOEBOX DIORAMA...DINO and SAMMY standing at

microphones, with a third, center mike conspicuously open.

DEATH'S ASSISTANT

Make that 12:
07, your bleakness...the dispatch

team is waiting...

Grumpy, DEATH shoves FRANK, DEAN, and SAMMY back in the drawer.

DEATH:

Okay, okay, send 'em in. Jeez.

INT. DEATH'S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS - DAY

A FLUNKY opens the office door, and a long line of REAPERS glides in.

DEATH lugs an enormous musty leather-bound BOOK over to a long table. He

snaps his fingers and WHISTLES.

His pet HELLHOUND - a tiny plump weiner dog, with a HORNED DEATH'S HEAD

for a face, comes skittering across the office floor and jumps into his

lap. Meanwhile, the ASSISTANT turns on a chugging, card-shuffling UNIVAC

COMPUTER, which spits out a length of TICKERTAPE.

ASSISTANT:

Chakasandra Singh, New Delhi. Snakebite.

DEATH checks the name against the master list in his big ledger. He

pulls out a document and puts his STAMP on it - the DEATH WARRANT. This

he gives to the REAPER at the head of the line.

ASSISTANT:

Mulrooney, Lavinia P., Dearborn, Michigan. Head

crushed in a pants press.

As the line moves along, we notice an odd-looking REAPER nearing the

desk. His gait is wobbly. His head bobs independently of the rest of his

body. There's a big, luminescent STAIN on the front of his shroud.

DEATH:

YOU!!!

EVERYONE FREEZES as DEATH points a bony finger DIRECTLY AT the wobbly

REAPER with the iridescent stain.

DEATH:

You're the customer, okay? You're about to die.

It's a big occasion. A formal occasion. And as

you shuffle off this mortal coil, the last thing

your eyes behold is a Grim Reaper covered

with...

(sputtering)

What the hell is that??

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