Wes Craven’s New Nightmare Page #17

CLOCK 12:
30AM

CU PAN OF BOOKS:

Chilton on Childhood Diseases, Barton & O'Neil's text on

Pediatric Schizophrenia; Xeroxes from Scientific American,

the Journal of the AMA, Lancet, Journal of the American

Psychological Institute.

CU HER FINGERS:

tracing complex paragraphs.

XCU OF TEXTUAL FRAGMENTS

SARA:

...incipience of aphasia commonly

preceded by periods of acute

irritability...delusional accounts of

shadow figures... hearing of voices...

seizures, nausea and emesis...

INTERCUT WITH CU OF HEATHER'S EYES

reading, reacting subtly as the fear and awful doubts mount.

Then she loses her grip momentarily on the book, and several

pages turn. She tries to find her place. Then straightens.

XCU NEW TEXT:

under a heading of SLEEP DISORDERS, the words 'many of the

symptoms of schizophrenia are duplicated in children

suffering from sleep deprivation.'

XXCU THE WORDS "SLEEP DEPRIVATION"

CU OF HER HAND REACHING FOR HER CUP OF COFFEE, stopping

inches from the cup.

XCU HEATHER'S EYE, shifting to the cup.

XCU COFFEE CUP, the black surface of the coffee radiating

concentric rings, subtle at first, then larger and larger

until the fluid is sloshing over the brim.

HEATHER:

goes rigid, braces looking around. There's a distinct LOW

RUMBLE BUILDING now, with a responding CREAKING COMPLAINT

from the timbers of the house.

Then the TV IN HER ROOM BLINKS ON, at first silently, so that

she's not even sure she's heard its subtle 'blink'. Then the

volume comes up, and she finds herself watching a newstory on

the days earthquake, FOOTAGE (STOCK) of brick walls atop

smashed cars, freeway overpasses cracked and closed off.

ANNOUNCER (TV/VO)

A six-point quake on the Richter Scale,

bringing scattered destruction throughout

L.A. Basin...

HEATHER fumbles in the drawer of her bedtable and finds the

remote, aims and fires and the

TV BLINKS OFF. BEAT. THEN BLINKS BACK ON.

HEATHER:

just stares at it. What is going on, here?

She's about to beep it off again when she stops, the story is

segueing to:

ANNOUNCER (TV/VO cont'd)

The world of horror films suffered its

own terror today, as two of Hollywood's

best-known special effects technicians

were found dead in a vacant field.

THE TV SWITCHES to a late-night NEWSCASTER with the SUPER-

IMPOSED LOGO of FREDDY'S CLAW and the TEXT: REAL-LIFE HORROR.

ANNOUNCER (TV/VO cont'd)

Terrance Feinstein and Charles Wilson,

two special effects artists reputedly

working on a top-secret project for the

makers of the Freddy Krueger films, were

found brutally slashed to death early

this.

Heather beeps it off, and the TV stays black. She breaths a

sigh of relief, badly shaken. Then it comes back on.

ANNOUNCER (TV/VO cont'd)

Freddy's glove was missing, and police

are speculating whether the murders were

the result of a botched theft of...

GZZZTTT!!! The picture contorts, goes to snow and dies.

There's an interior, bluish flare inside the TV, and a wisp

of smoke. Then silence.

Then the phone rings. Heather just stares at it.

IT RINGS AGAIN. Then her answering machine picks up

downstairs.

SARA (FILTER)

Heather? This is Sara. Um, sorry to

call so late, but...this is kinda hard...

I don't know if you've seen the news,

but... we just are thinking we might

shelf this new Nightmare project for a

while, and wanted you to know. Call.

Bye.

CLICK.

Heather leans back against her pillows. Closes her eyes and

takes a deep breath. Just the sound of the WIND now. Her

head falls slowly sideways.

Then the first plate falls in the kitchen, then another, a

sharp, harrowing CRASHING of crockery. And Heather dives out

of bed, stumbling for the doorway as the full force of the

earthquake hits!

KABLAM! Heather braces in the doorway, gritting her teeth as

things throughout the house topple now, something big in the

living room, both lamps off the bedside tables, this is the

worst quake yet!

Then the LIGHTS GO OUT. Heather lets out a cry of terror and

adrenaline. At last, it's over.

A moment's silence. Then one final CRASH. Glass from the

sound of it. Then utter, preternatural silence.

Heather holds, waiting for the aftershock. But there is

none. Then she starts to wonder about that last crash.

There's enough moonlight to tell the direction of it, the

closet.

She looks. The rest she can guess, but what the hell was in

the closet? She crosses and opens the door, looking down to

see

The broken remains of her coffee pot. She looks back to her

bedside table. The coffee pot is gone.

The merest sound brings her head around, and she finds

herself looking into a face not ten inches from her own, a

dark, scarred figure, face contorted with menace, eyes

catching the scant light just enough to glint incredible

hatred and energy.

Heather lets out the scream at the same second he strikes,

lunging forward and driving her backwards over the bed,

landing atop and pressing his ugly face right into hers. Now

there's enough of the moonlight to glimpse the pocked and

crisped skull.

FREDDY:

Naaaaancy!

XCU TWO SHOT:

and he drives down hard, but as he does, the bed suddenly

twists up and over at the same instant, and the AFTERSHOCK

HITS! Heather is thrown to the side at the last possible

second. The blades slashing past her throat and hitting her

up-thrust arm, a split second before she careens out of bed

entirely.

Hitting the floor hard, knocking herself out cold. As the

quake's last RUMBLES shake the room, then fall away.

CLOSE ON HEATHER

on the deck. Shaking herself back to consciousness. Looking

around in shock.

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