Topic: Hush (A Ghost Story)

FADE IN

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.

MARK
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.

MARK
Shit!

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.

Steam escapes.

His telephone rings.

His soapy hand reaches for the phone, picks up the receiver, retreats into the bathroom.

MARK (O.S.) (CONT'D)
Hello.
Hey. Had the weirdest dream last night. I'll tell ya about it later, I'm in the fricken' shower.
(pause)
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.

PAUL
Good morning.

Mark sits, places his hard hat on the floor. No response.

PAUL (CONT'D)
You look like shit.

MARK
Thanks.

Mark slouches, rubs his head.

PAUL
Headache?

MARK
(nods)
Very.

A brief silence.

PAUL
You sure about this, Mark?

MARK
Yes, dad. This job is not me.

PAUL
What time's your interview with the university?

MARK
Ten. Monday morning.

PAUL
Good luck with that.
(pause)
Never thought you to be a teacher.

MARK
A teacher's assistant.

PAUL
Assistant, teacher, same difference.

MARK
Well, I'm full of surprises.

PAUL
I guess.

MARK
You're pissed?

PAUL
No.

MARK
You are.

PAUL
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.

MARK
I should get going.

PAUL
Enjoy.

Mark rises.

PAUL (CONT'D)
Still coming for dinner tonight I hope.

Mark walks toward the exit, his back to his father.

MARK
Of course.
(turning)
There's something I want to discuss tonight.

PAUL
Money?

MARK
No, Dad.
Something I'd like to tell both of you.

PAUL
Alright then. You catching a ride with me?

MARK
No, I'll head home first.

PAUL
Okay.

MARK
Later.

Mark leaves.

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.

SHELLEY
Thank you.

He leans in, kisses her, places his jacket on an antique hall chair.

SHELLEY (CONT'D)
Why you insist on using the doorbell every time, when you have a key -

MARK
I wouldn't want you barging in on me, mother.

SHELLEY
It doesn't matter. Come in.

Last edited by Shakingman (2007-01-10 14:36:26)

Re: Hush (A Ghost Story)

This is the first 5 pages of a ghost story script I am working on...any comments?

Re: Hush (A Ghost Story)

So far, I like it.  It's very well written.  Keep up the good work.

Re: Hush (A Ghost Story)

It's complete...I didn't want to put the whole script up here, but it is complete. And thanks for the comp! yikes)

Re: Hush (A Ghost Story)

Oh crap, I've been waiting for the rest.  You grabbed my interest anyway!

Re: Hush (A Ghost Story)

Well I have no qualms about adding the rest of the script as it has been copyrighted...so I'll add five pages a week.

This is a cool idea...if there are any objections to this from "People in Charge" (Meh!!!) I'd like permission to do this.
Thanks!

Sha'king'man

Re: Hush (A Ghost Story)

Next 5 pages...Hush by David Martin

INT. DINING ROOM - EARLY EVENING

They enter.

SHELLEY
Help yourself to a drink. I'll put these in water.

She leaves.

MARK
Where's Dad?

SHELLEY (O.S.)
In the study. Business, I presume.

Mark ambles through the room, notices family pictures on a mahogany bar, walks toward them, picks one up - him on a pony - five years old.

SHELLEY (O.S.) (CONT'D)
How's work?

Shelley returns. Mark spins.

MARK
Changing.

The flowers placed, she gazes at him.

SHELLEY
I beg your pardon?

Paul enters, clutching an empty glass.

MARK
Dad.

PAUL
(nods)
Mark.

Paul saunters to the bar, a slight sway, pours himself a scotch.

PAUL (CONT'D)
Having one?

MARK
Uh, sure.

Mark pours a drink.

PAUL
Your future.

MARK
Thank you.

SHELLEY
Dinner is ready. I'll get it. Sit, both of you.

Shelley exits. Paul downs his scotch, pours another.

MARK
Dad, take it easy.

PAUL
(slurring)
I need this, Mark.

MARK
Why?

PAUL
Mother should be the one to tell you.

MARK
Tell me what?
(waits for a reply)
Dad, cut the crap. You're pissed with me. I can tell.

PAUL
I don't give a shit about the job, Mark. The company's not going to fall apart without you.

Shelley returns with a serving tray, roast beef, trimmings. She places it on the table.
They join her.

An awkward silence ensues.

SHELLEY
You two are so quiet tonight, something wrong?

Mark shrugs.

MARK
Frank Pino is a nice guy.

SHELLEY
Who?

MARK
(to Paul)
You haven't told her.

SHELLEY
Told me what?

Paul rises, staggers to the bar, pours another.

PAUL
Tell him, Shelley.

Shelley impulsively reaches for a carving knife.

MARK
Actually there's something I'd like to -

SHELLEY
Can't we just have a nice family dinner here.
Paul, sit down.

PAUL
Family dinner?
(drunken laugh)
There's no family here.

He walks to the table, sits. She slices the roast.

SHELLEY
Hush, Paul.

PAUL
He needs to know, Shelley. Look at him. The headaches, the distractions and now he's quit his job.

A slab of meat slops onto Paul's plate, blood splatters his white shirt.

MARK
Whoa! Wait a minute here! What the hell is going on?

PAUL
Shelley thought it best it remain a secret.
I've never agreed.

SHELLEY
You quit your job?

PAUL
There's a pattern here, Shel...

SHELLEY
I said hush!

There is an awkward silence as gazes are exchanged between them.

PAUL
You've been saying that for 24 years.
(to Mark)
Mark, I'm not your father.

SHELLEY
Don't -

MARK
I'm sorry?

PAUL
I...am not your father.

Shelley rises.

PAUL (CONT'D)
Sit down.

SHELLEY
Go to hell.

She turns to leave.

MARK
What are you telling me?
(to Shelley)
Is this true?

She returns, slithers to her chair, sits, reaches for Mark's hand. He pulls away.

SHELLEY
We couldn't possibly love you
more than if you were our own -

MARK
What...you're not my mother?
(angry)
Okay, what the fuck is for dessert?

SHELLEY
I'm sorry, Mark.

Mark's head pounds, he grasps it.

PAUL
Don't you see, Shelley? His headaches, the -

SHELLEY
Shut up!

Mark, reeling in confusion, rises.

MARK
I've got to go.

He darts out.

SHELLEY
Mark, wait.

The front door slams.

INT. NEIL MURPHY'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

NEIL MURPHY, pleasingly handsome, late 30's, sits at his computer keyboard typing. There is a knock at his door.

He rises from his desk, walks through his split-level apartment, opens the door.

Mark stands outside, dripping wet, shattered.

NEIL
What the hell?

Re: Hush (A Ghost Story)

Got amazing feedback on my script at a workshop I started attending. They are all in agreement that with a bit of editing I have a commercially viable (low-budget) script here!

I am doing a re-write this weekend and re-submitting it! Could be my big break into the horror film world as a writer!

Re: Hush (A Ghost Story)

Great story...I like stories like this..

Re: Hush (A Ghost Story)

Really cool!  So far so good...  I'm looking forward to the next part.

Re: Hush (A Ghost Story)

I'm actually in a re-write right now with an editor and have been asked not to post anymore pages. sad

We're working on a final edit and then going to try and sell it.

Cross your blood drenched fingers for me!

Sha'king'man

Last edited by Shakingman (2007-01-27 06:03:26)

Re: Hush (A Ghost Story)

Good for you man!  Bad for me, now I gotta wait for the movie to find out why he has headaches and bad dreams...

Re: Hush (A Ghost Story)

Thanks, Dog! I'll send ya freebe tickets to the Premier! smile

Re: Hush (A Ghost Story)

S W E E T !