The Sandman (Vertigo)

FADE IN:

EXT. CHURCHYARD - NIGHT

CLOSE ON:
a word carved in stone: 'DREAMS'.

BEGIN CREDITS:

PULL BACK to reveal the full inscription:

'FOR IN THAT SLEEP OF DEATH WHAT DREAMS MUST COME.'

It's carved on a large obelisk grave marker. Beneath the

inscription is a name: THIBAULT, and dates: 1861-1917.

PULL FURTHER BACK: Perched on the marker is a stone effigy of

the angel of death, wings spread wide, half-smile on her

face.

AND FURTHER BACK: Ropes are wrapped around the marker. The

ropes tighten, and the marker is suddenly PULLED OVER, the

CAMERA taking off with it --

The marker is dragged along, through deep grass ... then with

a bump it's on a dirt road, then over a bridge. It's dragged

by a team of horses. Rain starts to fall. The marker pulls

away, continuing on toward --

Burgess Manor, a dark outline against the gray marble sky --

END CREDITS:

INT. BURGESS MANOR - GARAGE - CIRCA 1930'S - NIGHT

The garage was once the carriage house. Several luxury cars,

circa 1930s, fill the bays. The marker lies in an empty one.

Two men stand nearby.

One is RODERICK BURGESS. A commanding presence, radiating a

charisma both disturbing and mesmerizing. He is in his early

twenties, but his soul is much older -- and darker.

The other is SMITH. Middle-aged, face drawn, he peers out of

the garage furtively. He's worried, preoccupied. A white

clerical collar is almost hidden beneath his coat and scarf.

SMITH:

(hopefully)

The rain will wash out the tracks ...

Burgess moves slowly to the marker.

BURGESS:

I've found it. Crowley couldn't. Mathers

couldn't. Only I could.

2.

SMITH:

I didn't see anybody on the

road ...

Burgess isn't listening to him; he's preoccupied with the

marker. He examines it gleefully, reverently.

BURGESS:

Thibault had it stolen from the Vatican

Library -- that's common knowledge. But

then it disappeared. He told Yeats he'd

destroyed it. But he didn't. He couldn't.

And now -- I've found it.

SMITH:

I don't think anyone saw me.

Burgess finally looks at the man. C*cks his head, amused.

BURGESS:

Don't worry, Vicar. No one saw you. No

one knows what you've done -- except you

and me. And God.

(insinuating)

Just like your other little ...

peccadilloes.

The Vicar shuts his eyes in pain.

SMITH:

Please ...

(looks at Burgess)

What they say is true. You are the most

wicked man alive.

BURGESS:

(chuckles)

I've always liked that title.

He grabs up a sledge hammer, startling the other man -- as he

intended. He smiles, and SMASHES the hammer down on the

marker. Another blow. Another --

The marker is hollow. Hidden inside is a large oilskin

bundle. Burgess drops the sledge. Lifts out the bundle.

Burgess unwraps it carefully. Inside is a thick book.

BURGESS:

The Magdalene Grimoire. Finally.

The book is heavy, leather bound, brittle with age. Burgess

pages through it greedily. It is filled with tiny, cramped

writing, arcane diagrams, drawings.

3.

SMITH:

That's it then? You can do it now? You

can ... capture the angel of death?

BURGESS:

Death isn't an angel. She's one of the

Endless ... who existed long before

angels ... and will exist long after the

final cherubim has sung its last hosanna.

SMITH:

Heresy.

BURGESS:

For your sake, hope it's not. The

Magdalene Grimoire is all the Order of

Ancient Mysteries needed. With it, we

will summon and imprison Death.

(beat)

And I will command who shall live ... and

who shall die.

SMITH:

Then ... you'll keep our bargain?

(no answer)

Please -- you'll keep your promise?

BURGESS:

Of course, Vicar. You have my word. You

won't die. And you will never have to

stand in the judgment of your God.

(clasps him on the shoulder; cheery)

Good night.

He exits the garage, for the main house. Smith looks down at

the marker, at the shattered effigy of death.

SMITH:

Thank God --

He catches himself, realizing he shouldn't be praying. His

eyes fill with tears; he slumps.

SMITH:

What have I done?

4.

INT. BURGESS MANOR - CELLAR - NIGHT

Candles burn in the darkness. Robed figures inscribe a large

circle on the floor -- chalk white against the black stone.

Runic characters decorate it.

ACOLYTE:

It is midnight, Lord Magus.

BURGESS:

It is time. Elspeth, love..?

A beautiful YOUNG WOMAN nods adoringly. She crouches on all

fours at Burgess' feet.

Items are placed on her back: a ceremonial bowl, inside which

floats a human heart. A long twisted knife. A feather. Coins.

The Magdalene Grimoire. She is a human altar.

Burgess opens the book. He begins to intone, displaying the

items as he names them:

BURGESS:

I give you coin I made from a stone. I

give you a song I stole from the dirt. I

give you a knife from under the hills.

And a stick I stuck through a dead man's

eye. I give you a claw I ripped from a

rat. I give you a name, and the name is

lost.

He jabs his forearm with the knife. Blood drips onto the

feather.

BURGESS (CONT'D)

I give you blood from out of my vein, and

a feather I pulled from an angel's wing.

He throws the feather into the circle.

BURGESS (CONT'D)

I summon with poison, and summon with

pain. I open the way and open the gates.

Come.

The acolytes echo the word 'Come.'

BURGESS (CONT'D)

I summon you in the names of the old

lords. Namtar. Allatu. Morax. Naberius.

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