Wes Craven’s Page #9

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HEATHER:

Right.

She leaves, closing the door, and Dylan says quietly to the

night.

DYLAN:

It the birds don't eat them first.

EXT. CHASE'S PICKUP - NIGHT

As it roars down a highway cutting through a bleak desert

moonscape.

INT. CHASE'S PICKUP - NIGHT

Chase, face marked by concern and fatigue, picks up his

mobile phone and dials. Gets nothing but STATIC. Swears and

tosses it down. Squints his eyes against oncoming brights

and shakes his head, suppressing a yawn.

HIS POV:

the road. White lines strobing hypnotically.

CLOSER ON HIS FACE

eyes bloodshot and drooping.

WIDER:

he shakes his head again. Turns on the radio. STATIC.

Pushes SEARCH. One HORRIBLE BLAST OF STATIC after ANOTHER.

Then a distant station.

NEWSCASTER (FILTER)

...tectonic nightmare...fault line

hitherto unknown seems to be spread

(STATIC) so extensive that (STATIC)...

RADIO:

Chases hand punches it off.

SILENCE. Just the PLOC, PLOC of rubber over expansion

joints.

CHASE'S EYES

drooping further.

EXT. ROAD AND PICKUP'S WHEELS - CONTINUOUS

LOW ON THE TIRES. Oh so gradually crossing the flash of

white line. OMINOUS MUSIC creeps in.

INT. CHASE'S PICKUP - NIGHT

CHASE:

snapping awake again, shaking his head. The MUSIC disappears.

CLOSE ON HIS HAND

scratching his leg, rubbing sore muscles.

REFOCUS TO SEAT BETWEEN HIS LEGS.

Music sneaks back, and with a barely audible RIP, something

shiny and sharp pokes up through the fabric. Then another

and another, bright spikes of steel. At first just tips,

then longer and longer. Until four long claws are thrusting

up. Straining to break out of the fabric.

ON CHASE'S FACE

singing somberly to himself to stay awake.

CHASE:

This is meeee, losing myyyy religion.

Look at meee, losing myyyy...

Reaches down.

HIS HAND:

enters FRAME AT CROTCH LEVEL. Rearranging things with a

quick adjustment, and the claws weave just out of the way

until the hand is gone.

CHASE (cont'd) (O.S.)

Religion...

CU CHASE:

taking deep breaths. Rubbing his face. Then noticing

there's a torn piece of upholstery clinging to one finger.

He tosses it away. Stares blearily back to the road.

And as he slides deeper and deeper towards sleep. The clawed

steel hand from Heather's opening nightmare RISES INTO FRAME.

Just beneath his chin now. By his jugular.

Until Chase falls asleep. His eyes closing for good. Head

falling forward on a slack neck.

Instantly the claws strike upwards, hard and jerk down

through his body. His shirt flies open. The claw buries

itself into his crotch as CHASE'S DEAFENING SHRIEK CARRIES

OVER INTO:

INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Heather wakes up screaming! MUSIC VANISHES. Heather bolts

upright on the couch. Staring around. Seeing

DYLAN:

watching her solemnly from the doorway near his room.

DYLAN:

Mommy scared?

Heather's still half asleep and disoriented. Tries to put

calm into her voice.

HEATHER:

Mommy's fine, Dylan. Just had a bad

dream. What're you doing out of bed?

DYLAN:

Rex woke me up. He was fighting.

Before she can respond, the DOORBELL rings. Heather shrugs

off the last of the dream. Stares at the door. Who the hell

at this hour?

HEATHER:

Dylan, you go back to sleep now.

DYLAN:

Not sleepy.

She looks through the peep hole. Reacts. Turns to Dylan,

her voice suddenly flat.

HEATHER:

Dylan, go back to bed. I mean it.

Dylan looks at her a moment longer, then obediently goes into

his room. By now Heather's shaking so hard she can hardly

work the bolt on the front door.

When she opens it to face TWO HIGHWAY PATROL OFFICERS.

HIGHWAY PATROLMAN #1

Heather Langenkamp?

HEATHER:

Yes?

HIGHWAY PATROLMAN #1

Is Chase Porter your husband?

HEATHER:

Yes.

HIGHWAY PATROLMAN #1

I'm afraid there was an accident. It

appears he fell asleep while driving,

ma'am.

She reaches out, steadies herself with a hand to a wall. For

the first time she notices the patrol car parked in her

drive.

HEATHER:

Is he...I mean, was he hurt?

HIGHWAY PATROLMAN #2

I'm afraid it's worse than that, ma'am.

Heather weaves in the night air. Her voice hardly

perceptible.

HEATHER:

Is he dead?

HIGHWAY PATROLMAN #2

Yes ma'am.

HEATHER:

Are you sure it's him? I...

HIGHWAY PATROLMAN #2

We have his effects, you can confirm from

that.

He hands over a clear plastic bag with a wallet, watch and

some money. Heather doesn't even take them.

HEATHER:

I want to see the body.

HIGHWAY PATROLMAN #1

No, you don't, ma'am, it's not necessary.

HEATHER:

I want to see for myself.

And the way she says it rules out any possibility that she

will not do exactly that.

INT. LA COUNTY MORGUE/BASEMENT CORRIDOR

HEATHER:

her feet echo on the cold marble walking down a hall lined

with gurneys holding bodies under sheets. From O.S.

one direction can be heard the distant sound of a WOMAN's

single, gut-deep WAIL. Then from the other, male laughter,

chat and the SOUND of an ELECTRIC TOOL whizzing away at

something.

INT. MORGUE - NIGHT

Heather ENTERS. At the rear of this very large room two MEN

are eating lunch out of paper bags. A THIRD is working at a

body, lifting something dark and wet onto a scale.

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