October 9, 2014
Man for the Job

By D.C.Walliman


INT. MILITARY COMPOUND - CORRIDOR – NIGHT


Deep inside a U.S. military compound, a decorated MAJOR storms down a corridor followed by some important looking NSA agents and military bodyguards. The MAJOR looks angry and focused. Dramatic music throughout.


CUT TO:


INT. MILITARY COMPOUND - BASEMENT


In a dimly lit room, a topless, incredibly muscular SOLDIER works out. Beading with perspiration, we see the muscles of his back ripple as he does pull ups. His face is always in shadow.


CUT TO:


INT. MILITARY COMPOUND - CORRIDOR


The MAJOR bursts through a double door, followed by his lackeys. They turn a corner and head down some metal stairs.


INT. MILITARY COMPOUND - BASEMENT


Cut between a training montage of the SOLDIER working out, and the MAJOR with followers, storming down a basement corridor. SOLDIER doing sit-ups. MAJOR walking, looking intense. SOLDIER, in shadow, punching a punchbag. MAJOR bursts through another double door. Silhouette of SOLDIER doing karate kicks in mid air.


Finally the MAJOR reaches his destination – a large metal door. The military bodyguards run forward and efficiently unbolt the door then swing it open for the MAJOR to walk through. From inside the room the opening door throws light from the corridor onto the back of the soldier – who is mopping himself with a towel.


The MAJOR in framed in the light of the doorway.


MAJOR

We’ve got a job for you.


The SOLDIER turns his head towards the door, this is the first time we see his face, he looks like a total badass.


CUT TO:


INT. MILITARY COMPOUND - OFFICE


In an evenly lit, very plain, boring office. The SOLDIER sits at a desk with the MAJOR standing over him. On the desk is a pile of letters and envelopes.


MAJOR

(completely deadpan)

You have to fold each letter into three parts like this, so that they fit nicely in the envelope. And we have to get these all out by six. Okay carry on.


The SOLDIER nods and starts folding a letter.


D.C.Walliman © 2014

September 24, 2014
Albert in the Lakes

As a creative experiment, I have been trying to write a bunch of ‘first pages’ for a short story. I’m planning on writing a quite a few and then picking my favourite to carry on into a full short story. This is the first one I wrote.


The fire crackled and lit up the living room of the small cottage in which Albert sat. A gale howled outside, freezing rain drumming like pebbles on the windows, making the warm hearth feel even more cosy. Sat in a high backed armchair, all floral embroidery and mahogany, Albert gazed into the flames, his feet propped up on a small footstool while an old grandfather clock ticked and tocked lethargically in the background.

The fire seemed troubled. Instead of the usual steady flickering, it was flitting from side to side with an awkward rhythm. ‘Perhaps I need to give the chimney a look over,’ he thought to himself, ‘after all, it is rather gusty outside this evening.’

The weather had been getting steadily worse over the week; turmoil as the seasons changed from Autumn to Winter. Out where Albert chose to live, on the exposed hills near the North shore of Lake Buttermere, the storms unleashed themselves with particularly violent abandon.

People outside the Lake District often asked Albert why he chose to live there, it had a well earned reputation for its never ending inclement weather. ‘Oh it’s not all that bad’, he’d mumble in response, ‘and in the Summertime, it can get really rather pretty.’ He only ever revealed the true reason he lived there once, to his good friend Bernard over a cream tea in a nice little cafe in Bath. ‘I’ll be honest with you Bernard’, he said in response to that question, ‘I feel rather guilty staying inside when the Sun is shining. But I do have quite a lot of work to do, so find it somehow easier to concentrate if the decision is made for me by some lovely bad weather. I’ve never got as much done as I have since I moved to the Lake District. Also, there is nothing as good as a nice cup of tea and some roast chestnuts by the fire after battling the elements on a cold rainy day.’ ‘Yes but it does make you rather difficult to get a hold of!’ Bernard exclaimed. ‘All the more reason to live there!’ Albert chuckled.

‘Good old Bernard, I really should reply to his letter sometime soon,’ thought Albert as the flames gave a particularly large lunge to one side. Suddenly a loud whistle rang out from the flue, and a large blanket of soot burst from the hearth killing the flames.


D.C.Walliman © 2014

August 17, 2013
Young Romance

By D.C.Walliman


EXT. SHORE OF A PRETTY LAKE – EVENING


The evening light shines in the golden hour. JAMES – an attractive, mysterious rebel, twenty-one year old (this is “movie” twenty-one, so he actually looks about twenty-seven) sits beside a lake looking contemplative in the evening sunlight.


In the background a pretty girl SHELLY walks past, ambling along a path. She spots JAMES, suddenly intrigued who this mystery man is. She nonchalantly walks up beside JAMES, sits down near him, and looks out over the lake.


They exchange the briefest of glances, and both smile bashfully. After a moment SHELLY gets the courage to speak.


SHELLY

A penny for your thoughts?


JAMES smiles, looking at the floor, then to the horizon, squinting slightly.


JAMES

You don’t want to know what I’m thinking.


SHELLY

(suddenly intrigued)

Try me.


JAMES now looks pained, like he is contemplating some deep philosophy. Then becomes bashful again.


JAMES

Oh its silly, I’ll feel embarrassed.


SHELLY

Hey, it can’t be that bad.


JAMES smiles, then fixes her with a steady gaze - measuring her up.


JAMES

Okay, well… I was sitting here, looking out over the lake, and wondering to myself… Is Krang a robot or a cyborg? You know, out of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?


SHELLY looks confused.


SHELLY

Um, what?


JAMES

(laughing and apologetic)

I told you it was silly.


They are both smiling at each other again.


SHELLY

So, um, why were you thinking that?


JAMES

Ha, I’m definitely not telling you now.


SHELLY, bashful again, looks off into the distance. There’s a long pause. She is about to say something, but JAMES interrupts.


JAMES

Because - you know robot wars? Well I was thinking how cool it would be to have fights between actual robots. You know like, Data out of Star Trek versus the T-1000. Or, like, HAL versus Krang. But then I was wondering, is Krang actually a robot? Because he’s really like a brain thing in that big mechanical body so perhaps he actually counts as a cyborg, so then he couldn’t be on robot wars at all, because that’s just for robots… I dunno, what do you think?


JAMES turns to look at SHELLY but she is not there. He frantically looks around for her, and then spots her, walking away, far in the background. She obviously left at some stage during JAMES’ monologue.


Deflated, JAMES looks at the floor hating himself.


JAMES

You’re such a dickhead.


D.C.Walliman © 2013

August 12, 2013
Return of the Drunk

By D.C.Walliman


EXT. STREET - NIGHT


Some shots of a quiet suburban street - 2.30am. Everything is sleepy and drenched in rainwater after a recent shower. A taxi rolls up the road, its headlights reflecting from the wet tarmac. Over this we hear a telephone conversation from earlier in the evening.


MAN (V.O.)

No don’t worry, you head off to bed, I can pick up some bread on the way back. I’ll just finish this pint and then I’ll come home.


WIFE (V.O.)

Okay, don’t come back too late…


MAN (V.O.)

Alright. Sweet dreams…


The taxi pulls up outside a nice large house with a gravel drive. After a moment a MAN in a business suit stumbles out of the car, clearly very drunk. He is desperately trying to act sober. He shuts the car door slightly too hard, flinches at the noise, and winces as the taxi screeches away. He turns to the house, preparing himself, and with a deep breath heads towards the front door.


His steps crunch on the gravel driveway as he struggles to keep upright. He suddenly freezes, startled, a look of intense concentration crosses his face. A moment passes. He emits a loud fart. With a look of relief he carries onwards.


At the front door he finds his keys and takes another deep breath. He tries to unlock the door as silently as possible, but makes a lot of noise, first trying to find the right key from the jangly bunch, and then several attempts to get the key in the lock.


Finally inside, he closes the door with great care, and then rests his head against it, taking a moment to compose himself for the next stage of his journey to bed. As he heads towards the staircase he looks into the kitchen and spots a fresh loaf of sliced bread hanging out of a shopping bag.


MAN

Oh yeah! Shit…


Worried about his mistake he starts to creep up the staircase. Halfway up, he decides to remove his shoes resulting in a precarious balancing act as he takes them off. At the top of the stairs he reaches the bedroom door. His blood is pumping, his brow glistening with nervous sweat. He opens the door to reveal a dark room. On the bed is the vague shape of his WIFE sound asleep.


After a few moments watching her, he relaxes, relieved that she is asleep. He starts walking towards the bed and then stops himself. He’s a little bit peckish, and as everything is okay here, he decides to get some food, and backs out of the room.


At the top of the stairs he spots his shoes halfway down, and nodding to himself he gives them a wide berth as he descends. In the kitchen he pours himself a glass of water, and spotting the bread, pops a couple of the slices into the toaster and starts opening the cupboards to find something to put on the toast. Suddenly a large jar of Nutella falls out of a cupboard as he opens it.


Amazingly, the MAN catches the jar in mid air. Shocked at his own amazing reflexes, he freezes, making sure nothing else bad is about to happen. After a moment he relaxes, feeling slightly smug. He looks at the jar in his hand, an idea crosses his mind.


A quick series of shots. Toast pops. Draw opens. Knife spreads Nutella. He chomps on a bit of toast.


He happily chomps away, still drunk, getting Nutella all over his face. He screws the lid back on the jar, and squeezes it back into the cupboard.


He gets a text message on his phone and starts to reply, holding the toast in his mouth. Absent mindedly he picks up the bread in his free hand and goes to put it in the same cupboard as the Nutella. The Nutella falls out again, but this time it catches him completely by surprise.


In excruciating slow motion, the Nutella topples through the air. Dropping the bread he attempts to catch the jar but misses. It bounces loudly off the work surface and then continues it’s decent towards the floor. The MAN has another attempt at intercepting the jar with his foot, but again he completely misses.


The jar hits the floor and explodes into a thousand pieces. Chocolate spread goes everywhere.


The MAN stands petrified as he processes the magnitude of what has just happened. A piece of toast hangs limp from his mouth. He slowly looks upwards, listening for his wife. He looks back down at the colossal mess he has made and wonders how is he going to clean it up.


He places his phone on the surface next to the glass of water, and then hops over the mess to get to a walk-in cupboard where a load of cleaning stuff is kept. It is packed full of brushes, mops and cleaning products. The MAN is in its depths, trying to find the dustpan and brush, when his phone, on the sideboard in the kitchen, starts ringing very loudly.


He stands upright in shock, bangs his head on a shelf, then tries to run out of the cupboard, brooms and pots flying everywhere. Free from the jumble, he throws himself towards his phone, completely forgetting about the broken glass and Nutella covering the floor. At the last moment he spots the glass, and just in time, tries to step over it. But his foot lands on a large gloop of chocolate spread, and slips away from him.


He grabs the sideboard to stop himself from falling into the broken glass, but his foot is still slipping, forcing him into the splits. He manages to grab the still ringing phone, but his chocolate covered fingers don’t work on the touch screen to silence it. He is still slipping and needs his hand back otherwise he’ll fall into the broken glass. In a moment of desperation and drunken logic, he hurls his phone into the glass of water, then uses his now free hand to catch himself at the last moment before his balls becomes shredded. The ringing phone sounds really weird for a moment in the water – then stops ringing as the water soaks in.


Silence.


In pain, and close to tears, the MAN, one again takes stock of how badly wrong everything has gone.


FADE TO – BLACK


CUT TO:


A montage of some macro slider shots. We see the separated components of the MAN’s phone, all damp and lined up neatly on some kitchen roll. Close to the ground we look across the sea of chocolate and glass as the MAN scrubs in the background. We see the man brushing a glob of glassy chocolate into the bin with a chocolate caked dustpan and brush. He stands, wipes the back of his hand across his forehead (covering it chocolate) and looks proudly at his cleaning effort.


A wide shot reveals that the MAN and the kitchen are still covered in chocolate, but now it is spread over a much larger area. Satisfied that his work is done, he heads off to bed. A slice of toast is stuck to his bum.


Trying again to be stealthy, he makes his way up the stairs, leaving chocolatey foot and hand prints wherever he goes. Again he gives his shoes a comically wide berth, not wanting any further mistakes. He opens the bedroom door. Amazingly his WIFE is still asleep.


Still very drunk the MAN makes a vague attempt at undressing himself as quietly as possible. Tension fills the air as he creeps towards the bed. Finally he makes it to the bed without disturbing the girl. Creeping onto the bed his body is tense, and just as it looks like he might make it without waking her up, he inadvertently lets out a horrifyingly loud fart.


Stock still he is petrified.


His girlfriend stirs and turns on the light. Bleary eyed she turns to look at him, confused. He is frozen in an awkward pose, still covered in chocolate, desperately trying to think of a reasonable excuse.


MAN

Um…


Several moments pass as the girl’s expression turns from confusion to anger.


MAN

Nutella?


CUT TO – BLACK


D.C.Walliman © 2013

August 10, 2013
Made in England

By D.C.Walliman


INT. MODERN APARTMENT - EVENING


From a tall apartment block, a well dressed Chinese couple look out over a sunset bathed modern metropolis. It is a birthday - presents and wrapping paper are scattered about. The MAN gives the WOMAN a tender hug as they look out over the city.


(Dialogue in Mandarin with English subtitles)


MAN

Happy birthday my love.


WOMAN

Thank you.


They spend a intimate moment absorbing the atmosphere. Suddenly the MAN remembers something.


MAN

Oh I nearly forgot. There’s another present for you.


WOMAN

(suddenly excited)

Ooo! Even more?


MAN

Ha yes. I think it’s from your aunt.


WOMAN

Oh.


With a giggle she rolls her eyes, slightly disappointed. The MAN hands her a box which she duly unwraps. Inside is a little ceramic figurine of a Chinese lady. The WOMAN feigns excitement, but it is not very convincing, she turns over the figurine to look at it’s base.


WOMAN

(disappointed)

Ooh…


The MAN and the WOMAN look at each other on the brink of cracking up, and then they burst out laughing. The laughter goes on for a bit, they really have the giggles.


WOMAN

Hahaha! What a load of crap.


CUT TO.


In the background, in soft focus, the smartly dressed couple leave the apartment. We crane down to see the base of the figurine poking out of the bin, a Union Jack on the base, and printed, the words: “MADE IN ENGLAND”.


D.C.Walliman © 2013

January 2, 2012
Shallow Depths

By D.C.Walliman



Bleak atmospheric electronica plays throughout.


INT. MIKE’S HOUSE – DAY


Out of a sea of blurry shapes, MIKE bursts into the focus of a very shallow depth of field. He is soaking wet and gasping for air. Breathing heavily to catch his breath he urgently looks for a missing companion. He resolves to submerge into the unfocused background to find them and after a few deep breaths he dives away out of focus.


In the background, he tussles with a vague shape, and then drags it back towards the camera. As he comes back into focus we see he is dragging the body of sopping wet DAVE.


In the shallow depth of field MIKE checks DAVE’S breathing. He slaps DAVE hard in the face to bring him back to life. DAVE splutters into consciousness and starts to take in his surroundings.


DAVE

What! What is it?! What are you doing?!


MIKE

Snap out of it dammit, or we’re all going to die!


DAVE

Why, what’s the matter?


MIKE

(delivered like an epic action movie star)

It’s the depth of field, it’s too shallow!


DAVE

(despairing)

I don’t understand! What do you mean!


MIKE

We have to stay here, it’s the only way we can survive!


Slowly the shallow depth of field starts shifting away from MIKE and DAVE, towards the back of the frame.


DAVE

Argh! It’s happening again.


MIKE

Quick! We have to move! It’s the only way we’ll survive.


They frantically try to keep up with the shifting focus but soon it drifts away from them too quickly. With gasping and drowning noises they are blasted out of focus in the foreground as the objects in the background are revealed. As the shallow focus roams around in the background we can see a hint of MIKE and DAVE’S bodies thrashing about, struggling for air. With horrific gurgling things slowly become still.


The shallow depth of field makes it’s way leisurely back to the foreground as the bleak electronica plays. The focus scans back over the dead bodies of MIKE and DAVE, drowned by the sea of bokeh, before everything slides out of focus and then fades to black.


D.C.Walliman © 2011

January 2, 2012
ISS

By D.C.Walliman


This script was inspired by the news that due to the decommissioning of the NASA space shuttle, and a malfunction in a recent Russian Soyuz rocket, the International Space Station is going to be unmanned for the first time in ten years; the last astronauts fly back to earth in November. Currently it is not known how long the ISS will be empty…


I imagined what would happen to the first astronauts who ventured back in this, the first scene of a feature film.


INT. THE INTERNATIONAL SPACE STATION – SPACE


Darkness. Several beats of subsonic drone gives way to the static of an intercomms system.


LAINE

Hey Scott, could you double check these readings?


SCOTT

Okay. What are we looking at here? Whoa! Pressure readings are way down.


LAINE

Exactly. Do I even need to vent the airlock?


SCOTT

I’ll just check – no it looks good from here. Crack her open!


A sharp motor sounds, followed by the satisfying clunk of a bolt being unlocked. A crisp ring of white light reveals the edge of a space hatch. As the door opens, spacesuit clad LAINE is silhouetted against the intense light of space.


CUT TO.


INT. ISS SERVICE MODULE – SPACE


In zero-g and still in their space suits, LAINE and SCOTT float in front of an open electrical panel, lit only by the flash-lights on their suits. SCOTT is checking the wiring against a set of schematics.


SCOTT

This all checks out fine. The power is still on as well…


LAINE

So it’s not a technical malfunction?


SCOTT

Watch this panel while I go see if I can get the lights back on.


SCOTT hands over the schematics, before launching himself out of shot. We stay on LAINE as she acquaints herself with the information on the sheet. She looks at some data and cross checks it with the readout on the panel. The intercomm chatters open.


SCOTT

Okay, are you watching the power readings?


LAINE

Affirmative.


SCOTT

Okay, watch what happens when I turn the lights back on.


LAINE

Roger that.


After a moment there is a loud bang and pulsing as the generators start up. The lights slowly come on bathing LAINE in intense white light. The service module is packed full of equipment and technology. Barely audible above the electromotive din we hear the clatter of some inanimate objects. In the background, out of the view of LAINE, we see a pen and clipboard move and spin in mid-air, as if disturbed by some unseen force.


LAINE

There was a bit of a spike, then it returned back to normal.


Silence, apart from the static of the comms.


LAINE

Scott, do you read? Scott?


She taps her comms box and twiddles a nob.


LAINE

Scott?… Okay I’m coming up there.


We stay on her, head on, as she negotiates her cumbersome space suit through the modules of the space station. Still spinning in the background the pen and clipboard glance of a wall and get tangled in some hanging wires. Condensation starts to form on the inside of her helmet as she breathes heavily: a mixture of physical exertion and nervous anticipation.


She pulls herself through the last bulkhead and stops dead at the scene she faces. Her pupils contract and she starts to hyper-ventilate; abject terror printed on her face. As we slowly track in towards her face we see a reflection in her visor: the limp body of SCOTT floating in front of her. Is that a trail of blood?


LAINE

Oh god!


CUT TO - BLACK


D.C.Walliman © 2011

January 2, 2012
Alconobs

By D.C.Walliman


Filmed in a gritty, Guy Richie style, with a touch of Eastenders. A man TOZZER is sitting in his grimy flat watching telly and scoffing crisps. He laughs inanely at the telly, as his girlfriend TINA comes through the front door. She has had a hard day at work and looks exhausted. She struggles with some heavy shopping bags. TOZZER ignores her.


TINA

Oh, look at this place! It’s a right pigsty! What have you done all day?


TOZZER

Watched some telly, smoked a fag.


TINA

Oh come on Tozzer, you know me mam’s coming round for tea. Help me tidy this place up.


TOZZER

Bog off! I’m going down the pub! Do the washing up as well would ya love. Lovely.


He get up, grabs his coat and pats her on the cheek slightly too hard, then leaves. TINA looks exasperated.


CUT TO:


Now vibrant and glossy. TOZZER and his mates in a trendy colourful bar, they are all holding brightly coloured alco-pop style drinks and laughing.


TOZZER

And the best thing is… I done a poo in the sink!


They all laugh raucously. A bottle appears on the screen exactly like the WKD bottle, but called DKD. The tag line ‘Have you got a DKD side?’ shows.


Keeping the bottle on the screen.


CROSS FADE:


In the background, and out a focus, TINA is at the sink in her flat doing the washing up. She screams as she realises she has poo all over her hands.


D.C.Walliman © 2011

January 2, 2012
Hugging the Hugger

By D.C.Walliman


INT. SHED - NIGHT


FADE IN:


We see an old man’s hands tinkering with some cardboard and knives; he is making something and cackling to himself. In the background we get a hint of a body or corpse.


DISSOLVE TO:


EXT. URBAN ROAD – NIGHT


The crime scene is inside a fairly ordinary suburban house. It is a busy scene with flashing police lights, police tape and several official looking people going about their business. We see MARY LAMBERT pull up in a squad car, she is the detective in charge. She walks purposefully and is admitted to the crime scene. She walks into the house to see the crime scene, donning a pair of latex gloves. The victim is lying on the floor covered in blood. Kneeling next to him is the forensic scientist DAVID TRAPP.


LAMBERT

What’s the situation?


TRAPP

Male, mid-twenties, died from multiple stab wounds, he was discovered by the house-mate and reported straight away. I estimate time of death as about twenty one hundred.


LAMBERT

Do we have a suspect?


TRAPP

No but there are signs of a struggle, it looks like the assailant was let in through the front door by the victim, where he was overpowered and then finally killed here.


LAMBERT

Any leads on who it might be?


TRAPP

Not as far as I know. Best speak to the investigating officer, but as far as I know this was a random unprovoked attack.


LAMBERT

Okay thanks.


She turns to leave.


TRAPP

One more thing detective….


LAMBERT

Yes?


TRAPP

Well… it’s odd. The man was stabbed a total of fifty-three times all over his body, but every single wound is slightly different.


LAMBERT

What are you trying to say?


TRAPP

Well I won’t know for sure until I do an autopsy, but it looks as if he was stabbed by fifty-three different knives.


LAMBERT

(Thinking)

Hmmm.


TRAPP

I’ve never seen anything like it.


LAMBERT

Okay, well let me know as soon as you have finished your report.


TRAPP

All right.


LAMBERT walks away, shedding the latex gloves.


CUT TO:


INT. DETECTIVE’S OFFICE – NIGHT


LAMBERT is at her desk trying to make sense of the evidence. We see she has the autopsy report of the murder victim. TRAPP walks into the room with CRAIG CLIFTON a cocky know-it-all detective.


TRAPP

(to LAMBERT)

How’s it going?


LAMBERT

It just doesn’t make any sense.


TRAPP

It looks like there’s been another victim.


TRAPP hands LAMBERT another autopsy report.


TRAPP

Same cause of death, multiple stab wounds.


LAMBERT

When did this happen?


TRAPP

I estimate two to two and a half hours after the original attack. And both in the same area too. Apart from that I can’t find anything to link the two victims.


CLIFTON

Looks like you’ve got a proper serial killer on your hands.


LAMBERT scans the report.


LAMBERT

Again with multiple knives. We have to find out who has been buying all these knives.


CLIFTON

And how are you going to do that Sherlock?


LAMBERT

(Sarcastically)

Well I’ll just look on my computer won’t I.


LAMBERT hammers the keyboard


LAMBERT

Nobhead.


CLIFTON pulls a face and rolls his eyes.


LAMBERT

There has to be a way of tracing such a large collection of knives.

(She gets a flash of inspiration)

Oh hang on!


FLASHBACK:


LAMBERT opens the door to a crazy old man (the MAD PROFESSOR) who gives her a flyer and then walks away. The flyer has a title “Knife Amnesty: Bring Your Unwanted Knives for Safe Disposal”.


EXIT FLASHBACK


LAMBERTS takes out the flyer from her pocket, looks at it; it has an address at the bottom, 153 Hedge Croft Avenue. She grabs her coat and runs out of the room. The other two follow her.


CUT TO:


EXT. DECREPIT HOUSE – NIGHT


LAMBERT, TRAPP and CLIFTON are standing outside the door of an old decrepit house. LAMBERT knocks on the door. There is no answer. It is cold, dark and rainy.


CLIFTON

So because some old guy gives you a flyer, you think you’ve got a lead.


LAMBERT

I’ve got a good feeling about this.


CLIFTON

(Sarcastically)

Oh, oh well. Right, well as long as you’ve got a good feeling about it I guess we’re all right.


LAMBERT

Shut up.


CLIFTON

Crazy killer man! Come out! I know someone out here with a good feeling about you!


LAMBERT

Ahh shut up you cock! You really can be such a shit sometimes.


CLIFTON

(Mock scared)

Muuuuuh!


We hear some rustling.


LAMBERT

Shh! What was that?


LAMBERT and TRAPP get their torches out.


CLIFTON

What was what?


TRAPP

That noise.


CLIFTON

What noise?


TRAPP

Just shut up!


We hear some more rustling.


LAMBERT

There it is again.


LAMBERT and TRAPP start walking into a group of overgrown bushes and trees.


CLIFTON

Guys?


CLIFTON starts to follow them. They shine their torch lights around, searching, but they can see nothing but brambles. They all hear a noise, LAMBERT and TRAPP swing their torches around but see nothing.


CLIFTON

Um, guys. Do you think this is such a good idea?


LAMBERT

Shhhhhhh!


CLIFTON

Don’t you think we should call…


LAMBERT

Look for the last fucking time will you just shut the fuck up! Argh!


CLIFTON

Oh fine! Yep fine! I’ll just leave you to it.


Affronted, CLIFTON starts to walk away, back up the garden into darkness.

CLIFTON

(Sarcastically)

Oh I’ve got a good feeling. Oh look at me, I’m a…


We hear a stabbing noise. LAMBERT and TRAPP swing their torches around, but CLIFTON is no longer there.


TRAPP

Clifton! Clifton you twat! Stop it!


They stare on for another few moments, but nothing. They decide to go investigate. They find CLIFTON’s body lying in the brambles and covered in blood and stab wounds. He is dead. TRAPP dives down to help him.


TRAPP

Clifton! Clifton! He’s… dead.


LABERT gets out her gun and starts sweeping the area.


LAMBERT

Come out with your hands up! We are the police! Surrender yourself and no one will get hurt!


TRAPP

Look Mary, I think it might be a good idea if we…


A monster creeps up behind TRAPP, it is made of cardboard and covered in an array of knives.


MONSTER

Huuuug!


Before LAMBERT has time to respond the monster gives TRAPP a massive hug and skewers him on his knives. TRAPP screams and then dies. The monster drops him.


MONSTER

(Dissapointed)

Oooh.


LAMBERT

Stay where you are! Do not come any closer!


MONSTER

(Shambling forwards)

Huuug. Can I have a hug? I won’t hurt you.


LAMBERT

No closer!


MONSTER

Please. I just want to be your friend. Do you want to play football? I’m not covered in knives really. I, I just want a hug.


LAMBERT

Back off!


The monster keeps shambling forwards until it is too close for LAMBERT. She shoots it twice and it falls over dead. The MAD PROFESSOR bursts out of a garden shed.


MAD PROFFESSOR

Nooo! Spikey! What did you do! My beautiful creature!


He runs over to the monster and dives on it to give it a hug, and accidentally stabs himself to death. LAMBERT puts her gun away and wipes her brow, collecting herself.


LAMBERT

Case closed.


D.C.Walliman © 2011