Topic: Hush (A Ghost Story)
INT. MARK'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
MARK BEST, 24, gruff, unshaven, tired, stumbles over a stray construction boot, opens his hide-a-bed.
He strips down to boxers. Lean and fit.
He tosses his clothes blindly, contributing to the mess of his one room apartment.
Sits on his bed, reaches for his clock, sets it and lies.
A quiet lull - he enjoys the peace - focusing - he frowns - the haunting drone of his refrigerator aggravates him.
Shut...the fuck up.
He sits up, surveys the mess, finds his construction boot and hurls it. It slams into the fridge, the humming stops.
He lies again. Light from his bedside lamp shines into his face.
He clicks it off. Darkness looms.
INT. BARN - LATE AFTERNOON - DREAM
A sledge hammer sweeps through the air, crashes onto a rusted rail spike. Metal on metal. Bone cracks. Blood splashes. The spike pins a hand to the plank of a barn floor.
A wail, the victims, succumbs to the shrill of a woman's scream.
Startled pigeons flutter above rafters.
The victim ogles his riveted hand, his eyes roll, he shivers, convulses.
Thin chicken wire anchors his neck to the floor, slashing his throat, blood oozes. His eyes open, cold, vacant.
CHARLIE LAWRENCE viciously spreads the man's legs apart. He brutally kicks him in the groin.
MARGARET LAWRENCE, bruised, bloody, slides to the floor, screaming, madness.
An elongated shadow approaches, looming over her. She shields her face. The sledge hammer raises.
INT. MARK'S APARTMENT - MORNING
Alarm buzzes - 5:58 AM.
Mark's eyes spring open. Sweat blankets his brow. He slams his alarm off.
He rises, contends with the morning glare streaming through his window, scans his heap of neglect.
The refrigerator hums.
He yawns, languors toward the kitchenette, kicks the fridge. The humming stops.
He enters an adjoining room - a toilet flushes, succeeded by a surge of water pelting his tub. His boxers flop onto the floor.
His telephone rings.
His soapy hand reaches for the phone, picks up the receiver, retreats into the bathroom.
MARK (O.S.) (CONT'D)
Hey. Had the weirdest dream last night. I'll tell ya about it later, I'm in the fricken' shower.
Yep, today's the big day I tell them.
EXT. BEST CONSTRUCTION SITE - MORNING
Mark enters, punches his time card, grabs a hard hat from a shelf and walks toward the site office.
INT. OFFICE - MORNING
PAUL BEST, early 50's, greying, dressed in a moderately expensive suit, sits on his desk flipping through a Building Code Manual.
Mark enters. Paul smiles.
Mark sits, places his hard hat on the floor. No response.
You look like shit.
Mark slouches, rubs his head.
A brief silence.
You sure about this, Mark?
Yes, dad. This job is not me.
What time's your interview with the university?
Ten. Monday morning.
Good luck with that.
Never thought you to be a teacher.
A teacher's assistant.
Assistant, teacher, same difference.
Well, I'm full of surprises.
Your replacement is in the coffee lounge. His name is Frank Pino. A god damn wop, but comes highly recommended. Bring him up to date.
Mark just nods.
I should get going.
Still coming for dinner tonight I hope.
Mark walks toward the exit, his back to his father.
There's something I want to discuss tonight.
Something I'd like to tell both of you.
Alright then. You catching a ride with me?
No, I'll head home first.
INT. BEST'S DINING ROOM - EARLY EVENING
SHELLEY BEST, elegant, middle-aged, flawed only by her rigid demeanor, meticulously sets her dining table.
The doorbell rings. She drifts toward it.
INT. FOYER - EARLY EVENING
Shelley opens the door. Mark offers flowers: Calla Lilies.
He leans in, kisses her, places his jacket on an antique hall chair.
Why you insist on using the doorbell every time, when you have a key -
I wouldn't want you barging in on me, mother.
It doesn't matter. Come in.
Last edited by Shakingman (2007-01-10 14:36:26)