Late afternoon. A foggy mist hangs in the air while lead gray
clouds hover above the tree tops.
A beat-up economy car pulls into the empty lot, parks under a
tree. AMARA, (21) cute, a couple of tats, faded red color in
her hair, gets out with a bouquet of flowers in her hand.
She looks around the area. There’s no one else there. She
locks her car, strides off towards the graveyard entrance.
Headstones of various styles and ages spread out under old
oaks. A few with fresh flowers. Many more with wilted.
Serene, but creepy at the same time.
Amara follows a path towards the rear of the cemetery. She
reaches a beautiful marble headstone with a couple’s names on
it. In the lower corner is a QR code. She scans it.
On her phone, a photo of her happy parents appear.
Sadness fills her face. She kneels by the stone, carefully
placing the flowers by it.
AMARA
Melanie couldn’t make it today.
She’s studying for her exams. You
would be so proud of her. She’s
doing really great.
She adjusts the flowers. As she does, her jaw tightens.
AMARA
Actually, that’s not true. I’m
tired of covering for her. She
didn’t want to come. Said you’re
not really here, so what’s the
point? I know she’s right, but...
She peers up at the sky, gets up.
AMARA
I better go. Looks like it might
rain. I’ll be back in two weeks. On
your 30th. Love you.
She dabs at her moist eyes, then heads back on the path.
2.2.
Amara reaches into her pocket, pulls out her phone. Along
with it a piece of paper flutters away off to the side.
She tries to grab it, but it drifts further away.
Annoyed, she chases after it. It keeps moving until it
finally lands on a plain old overgrown grave marker. she
picks up the paper, puts it back in her pocket.
Curious, she brushes away weeds and dirt from the plaque.
“Curt Owen. Born 1902. Died 1937.” There’s nothing else,
except one tiny little thing in the lower corner.
Amara squints, tries to see what it is. She turns on her
phone’s camera, zooms in on the barely visible mark. The
camera focuses.
It’s a QR code.
Surprised, Amara stares at her phone as a man’s face appear.
His face is beat up. Swollen and bruised, with numerous cuts.
His eyes wild, desperate. He’s in a dark tight space. This is
CURT OWEN.
CURT
Ya gotta help me, ma'am. I didn't
do nothin' to them women. I'm
swearin' on my life. I'm innocent,
I’m tellin’ ya.
Horrified and confused, Amara stares at her phone.
CURT
Please. You look like a nice gal.
I’m beggin’ ya to help me out of
here. Please.
She looks around for someone playing a prank, sees no one.
AMARA
Who are you, and why the hell are
you on my phone?
CURT
The name's Curt Owen. I was put
here, left to rot in this grave.
Them women I supposedly killed, I
didn’t do it.
Amara smirks, glances around the area again.
3.3.
AMARA
If you’re Curt Owen, you’ve been
dead for almost a century. Pretty
good trick to show up on my phone
like this. Whoever put that QR code
on your marker has a sick sense of
humor.
Her smirk turns into a smile.
AMARA
But, I have to admit, it’s pretty
cool. In a morbid kind of way.
Anger flushes over Curt. He gets close-up.
CURT
This ain’t no fuckin’ joke, miss!
I’m down here, breathin’ and
sufferin’. I need your help. You
gotta help me.
Amara checks the sky. The clouds threaten rain.
AMARA
I got to go, but I give you a
thumbs up for your effort.
CURT
No, no, no, no! Don’t ya dare walk
away. Listen to me, I’m inno --
Amara turns off her phone, pockets it, then hurries off.
Amara jumps in just as raindrops begin to pelt her car.
She gazes at the cemetery, brow furrowed, then takes out her
phone from her pocket. She looks at the phone, then puts it
away, starts up the car.
— ①