Dark. Foggy. Silent.
6.6.
Amara walks down the path with a shovel and an LED lantern in
hand. She keeps constant glances over her shoulder.
She steps off the path towards Curt’s grave. When she reaches
it, she takes out her phone. Curt’s face appear.
AMARA
Okay, I’m here, but if this is a
set-up, I swear I’ll beat y’all to
death with this shovel. Got that?
CURT
This ain’t no set-up. You’ll see.
Amara scans the cemetery. All quiet. She’s all alone.
She stabs the ground with the shovel, removes a stack of
dirt. Seems loud. She takes another glance around before she
continues to dig.
The pile of dirt grows next to the grave as she works.
THUD.
Her shovel hits something.
Amara checks her surroundings, then peers down into the hole.
She scrapes the dirt off a plain old rotted plywood casket,
stares at it, then takes out her phone, turns it on.
Curt’s right there on the screen. Excited. Hopeful.
Amara taps the casket with the shovel.
AMARA
Can you hear this?
CURT
Yes! Yes!
AMARA
You’re putting me on. You can’t
possibly be in there.
She checks the cemetery for movements. Speaks out louder to
anyone who might be hiding out there.
AMARA
Alright. You can come out now. I
admit, you got me.
She’s met by silence.
7.7.
CURT
Just let me out, Amara. You’ll see
this ain’t no prank. I swear it.
She pockets the phone, then pries the shovel in under the lid
of the casket.
The rotten wood CREAKS.
Amara takes a deep breath, braces herself, then forces the
lid ajar.
A small HISS as fetid air escapes.
Amara winces, turns her face away from the putrid odor, then
pops the lid off the coffin.
A skeleton. Bones twisted. Brittle. Cobwebs clinging to the
eye sockets. The jaw open as if frozen in a tormented scream.
In horror, Amara stares at the corpse. She glances around the
cemetery. All quiet.
She takes out her phone.
Curt’s face, right there. He’s confused.
Amara grows angry.
AMARA
Asshole. I knew you were just
putting me on. Now I have to cover
this up.
CURT
I don’t understand. I can hear you
loud and clear, but I’m still
trapped down here.
Amara aims her phone on the corpse.
AMARA
See that? Does that look like you?
Sadness replaces Curt’s desperation. Realizes --
CURT
...Am I a ghost?
Amara looks over her shoulders. It’s so quiet. Eerie. She
shivers. Uncertain.
AMARA
I don’t believe in ghosts.
8.8.
Curt’s heartbroken. Amara’s pissed.
AMARA
I’m covering this up, then I’m
going home. And, don’t ever contact
me again.
She’s about to turn off the phone when --
CURT
Now I'll never get another chance
to prove it was Martin Renquist who
took those women's lives. My name
won't ever be cleared.
Amara pauses. Looks back at the screen.
AMARA
What did you just say?
CURT
I said, no one will ever know it
was Martin Renquist who killed
those women.
Amara perks up.
AMARA
Martin Renquist?
Curt peers at Amara with sad eyes.
CURT
Yeah, he’s the real killer.
AMARA
I think I saw that name somewhere.
She stalks off into the sea of gravestones. Searches for one
in particular.
She checks several headstones. Finally finds the right one. A
big impressive one.
Martin Renquist. Born 1905. Died 1978.
Amara turns her phone to the grave. Eager, Curt looks on.
AMARA
Is that him?
Excited, Curt reads the grave.
9.9.
CURT
Yes! That’s him! I remember he was
three years younger than myself.
Curt’s face harden.
CURT
I reckon that bastard got to live
thirty-eight years more after they
buried me here. That ain’t right.
Amara googles Martin Renquist. Confused, she reads the
results.
AMARA
Are you sure it’s him? Says here
that he was a prominent politician
and loving father to four kids and
a husband for forty years.
CURT
It’s always the ones you least
expect, ain’t it?
She contemplates her next move. Sees something on the
headstone. Another tiny mark. She aims her camera at it.
On the phone’s screen, MARTIN RENQUIST, (73), appears. A
predator as slick as a silver-skinned shark with black eyes
and a sinister grin to match. He’s in a dark tight space.
Aghast, Amara stares at her phone.
AMARA
Who... are you?
Amused, Martin eyes her closely.
MARTIN
Well, well, well, pray tell, what
brings such a delicious young lady
to my humble --
(looks around his space)
-- grave?
Amara switches window on her phone to Curt.
AMARA
(hushed)
What do I say to him? Hurry.
Curt thinks fast.
10.10.
CURT
Ya gotta get him to confess his
crimes.
Amara switches back to Martin. Thinks for a beat.
AMARA
Did you kill five women between
1932 and 1936?
Surprised, Martin scoffs, then an amused grin appears.
MARTIN
My dear girl, if I happen to
furnish you with the accurate
answer, might there be a chance I
secure a token of victory? Some
sort of prize?
AMARA
An award? Why would you need one,
you’re already dead?
Martin looks around his tight space.
MARTIN
I've been holed up in this gloomy,
stifling cavity for ages. If you
could find it in your heart to
release me, I promise you, I'll
spill every secret you're chasing.
Amara’s skeptical.
AMARA
Release you? As in opening up your
grave?
A hopeful flicker in Martin’s eyes.
MARTIN
Ah, yes. Would you be so kind?
Amara walks back to Curt’s grave, switches over to him on the
phone.
CURT
What's happenin’? What did he say?
Amara picks up the shovel by the pile of dirt, aims her phone
at it.
AMARA
He wants me to dig up his grave.
11.11.
CURT
Are you plannin’ on doin’ it?
AMARA
I’m kind of curious myself now.
She heads back to Martin’s grave. Switches back to him on the
phone, shows him the shovel.
AMARA
Alright. Tell me about the murders.
A darkness spreads across Martin’s face.
MARTIN
I shall unfold each bloodstained
chapter, every grim and gruesome
detail, only after you've bestowed
upon me the sweet freedom from this
cold tomb.
Amara stands firm.
AMARA
No. I don’t trust you. You tell me
about the first murder and I’ll dig
two feet, then you tell me about
the second one and I’ll dig again.
Martin weighs it. Gives in. Stares coldly, but amused at her.
MARTIN
Vanessa Barden, barely nineteen, a
naive beauty unaware of her potent
allure. I performed the act myself,
her breath ceasing under the
pressure of my own hands. The rush,
the exquisite thrill of her life
energy flowing into mine, was a
sensation unlike any I had ever
known.
Amara stares at her phone, shivers as the reality hits her.
She props the phone up by his gravestone, raises the shovel,
stabs it into the dirt.
When she reaches her target depth, she turns to the phone
where Martin keeps an eye on the process.
AMARA
Who was the second?
12.12.
MARTIN
LouMarie Jones. Merely twenty,
still playing coy with her youthful
charm. Attempting to echo the
allure of my maiden kill, I found
her lacking. The taste had dulled,
the thrill, faded. It was a razor
that offered the novel titillation
I craved. With a swift, deliberate
cut across her throat, the warm,
life-affirming surge against my
hands restored the sensation I'd
hungered for.
With disgust and hatred, she stares back at him.
AMARA
I looked you up online. It said you
were a prominent politician with
four kids and a wife of almost
forty years. Why? Why did you feel
the need to kill?
The fog swirls around the headstone. Ominous.
MARTIN
When a man finds himself perched
upon the pinnacle of all his
desires, he inevitably gazes toward
the unreachable, yearning for that
which remains tantalizingly beyond
his grasp.
Amara jams the shovel back into the ground, digs another two
feet down.
AMARA
The third one?
MARTIN
She was an unfortunate
miscalculation. A sly attempt at
career advancement by flirting her
way into my grace. I strangled her
with my belt. No pleasure or
thrill, I assure you, just a simple
necessity.
Amara trembles with anger.
AMARA
What was her name?
13.13.
MARTIN
Irrelevant. Barely a footnote in
the grand narrative, not worth the
effort to recall.
Martin smiles. Slippery. Slimy.
MARTIN
Now, kindly continue. I can hear
you getting closer.
Amara digs. As she does, the fog seems to come alive. It
moves across the graveyard in deliberate swirls. Restless. A
breathy HISSING in its wake.
CLUNK!
The shovel hits the lid of the casket. Amara looks at Martin.
He appears delighted. Eager.
MARTIN
So enticingly near. Go on, my dear.
Don’t stop now.
Amara glares at him.
AMARA
Who was the forth?
Martin closes his eyes, draws in a breath of pleasure.
MARTIN
Ah, Julia McKenzie. A soul
enthralled by darkness, she yearned
to bare her inner self... through
my blade.
AMARA
...You cut her open?
MARTIN
She desired it. I simply obliged.
Appalled, Amara gapes at him. He glares back.
MARTIN
Now open the fucking casket!
AMARA
No. Not until you tell me who the
fifth one was.
14.14.
MARTIN
Curt fucking Owen! That’s who. A
mere trifle, an impertinent little
mouse nosing around my political
bastion. Dared to threaten the veil
of secrecy around my... diversions.
His audacity was his downfall.His
fate was sealed by the merciless
blows of my crowbar.
Amara stares aghast at her phone.
AMARA
You framed him for the murders.
Martin’s face changes. Goes from angry and smug to surprised.
Behind Amara, the translucent shape of Curt appears. He walks
up behind her.
CURT
You did it.
Startled, Amara spins around, sees him.
AMARA
Curt?
CURT
You got him to confess. You cleared
my tarnished name.
He looks around the graveyard.
CURT
I am finally free.
AMARA
What happens now?
He gazes out into the distance.
CURT
There's a light. It's pulling me
towards it. I reckon, that's where
I ought to be headin’.
He turns to Amara.
CURT
I knew one day, an angel would
appear. From the depths of my
heart, I thank you.
15.15.
He staggers forward, then fades away until he’s gone.
The fog floats towards Amara. Swirls around her feet, then
smoke-like tendrils feel their way up her legs.
Mesmerized, Amara can’t help but watch.
MARTIN (O.S.)
Now it’s my turn. My liberation.
Amara’s jolted back to reality.
AMARA
I’m not setting you free. You’re a
murderer.
Martin’s face, wicked. A monster.
MARTIN
I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.
AMARA
Of course I do. I’m up here, free.
You’re trapped down in a hell hole
somewhere. Where you belong.
She turns off her phone, pockets it, then shovels dirt back
into the hole.
The fog becomes more turbulent. Leaves rustle in the trees as
a breeze whines its way through the cemetery.
There’s a BUZZ.
Amara stops takes out her phone. On the screen is the face of
her mother and the word MOM.
Amara stares at the phone while it continues to ring.
Wary, she hits the answer button along with the speaker
button.
AMARA
...Hello?
Martin’s chilling voice fills the air.
MARTIN
Refuse to open my coffin and I will
make you regret it. I may be
confined, but my reach is far more
extensive than this grave.
She punches the end call button, but the phone stays on.
16.16.
MARTIN
Perhaps I should pay a visit to
your dear mother. Or your sweet
little sister. How old is she now?
The color drains from Amara’s face. Horrified, she stares at
her phone.
AMARA
No! Go away!
Panicked, she tries to power off the phone, but it stays on.
MARTIN
Either liberate me from this
suffocating tomb, or prepare
yourself for relentless nocturnal
visits and daytime spectres.
Consider it your lasting requiem,
until your own curtain call.
AMARA
Stop! Leave me alone.
MARTIN
I assure you, once freed, I shall
not linger in your existence. You,
hold no fascination for me. I only
seek my own freedom.
Amara stares at her phone, weighs it.
MARTIN
You have my word.
AMARA
Will you disappear just like Curt?
MARTIN
I vow to vanish, leaving no trace
in your life.
Amara looks down into the grave, then hits the coffin’s
hinges with the shovel, pries the lid ajar. This time, no
foul air escapes. It’s dead quiet.
She pops the lid wide open.
EMPTY!
Horrified, she stares down into the empty casket, then turns
to her phone.
17.17.
AMARA
It’s empty. Where are you?
The dark and translucent shape of Martin rises behind her.
MARTIN
In every shadow, in every whisper
of the wind, I exist. Boundless,
unchained to wander as I will, to
play as I desire. Yet fear not. You
shall remain untouched. The world
offers ample distractions.
Terrified, Amara turns to face him.
Martin chuckles. Low at first, but it soon grows into an evil
laughter before he fades away along with the fog.
Creeped out, Amara backs off down the path, then turns
around, decides to jog. Then faster. Faster.
Amara bursts out of the entrance, hurries to her car. She
fumbles with the key fob before she gets the door open.
Amara stabs the door-lock mechanism, then starts the car. A
sigh of relief as she drives off.
Driving through the city, she starts to relax. She turns on
the radio. Soft music wafts out of the speakers.
Until --
MARTIN (O.S.)
Just remember Amara, the shadows
are my domain. Sleep tight... don't
let the nightmares bite.
His chilling laughter fades away before the music is back.
Terrified, with her eyes wide, and a death grip on the
steering wheel, Amara can’t help but --
SCREAM.
FADE OUT:
— ③
EXT. CEMETARY - GRAVEYARD - NIGHT
Dark. Foggy. Silent.
6.6.
Amara walks down the path with a shovel and an LED lantern in
hand. She keeps constant glances over her shoulder.
She steps off the path towards Curt’s grave. When she reaches
it, she takes out her phone. Curt’s face appear.
AMARA
Okay, I’m here, but if this is a
set-up, I swear I’ll beat y’all to
death with this shovel. Got that?
CURT
This ain’t no set-up. You’ll see.
Amara scans the cemetery. All quiet. She’s all alone.
She stabs the ground with the shovel, removes a stack of
dirt. Seems loud. She takes another glance around before she
continues to dig.
The pile of dirt grows next to the grave as she works.
THUD.
Her shovel hits something.
Amara checks her surroundings, then peers down into the hole.
She scrapes the dirt off a plain old rotted plywood casket,
stares at it, then takes out her phone, turns it on.
Curt’s right there on the screen. Excited. Hopeful.
Amara taps the casket with the shovel.
AMARA
Can you hear this?
CURT
Yes! Yes!
AMARA
You’re putting me on. You can’t
possibly be in there.
She checks the cemetery for movements. Speaks out louder to
anyone who might be hiding out there.
AMARA
Alright. You can come out now. I
admit, you got me.
She’s met by silence.
7.7.
CURT
Just let me out, Amara. You’ll see
this ain’t no prank. I swear it.
She pockets the phone, then pries the shovel in under the lid
of the casket.
The rotten wood CREAKS.
Amara takes a deep breath, braces herself, then forces the
lid ajar.
A small HISS as fetid air escapes.
Amara winces, turns her face away from the putrid odor, then
pops the lid off the coffin.
A skeleton. Bones twisted. Brittle. Cobwebs clinging to the
eye sockets. The jaw open as if frozen in a tormented scream.
In horror, Amara stares at the corpse. She glances around the
cemetery. All quiet.
She takes out her phone.
Curt’s face, right there. He’s confused.
Amara grows angry.
AMARA
Asshole. I knew you were just
putting me on. Now I have to cover
this up.
CURT
I don’t understand. I can hear you
loud and clear, but I’m still
trapped down here.
Amara aims her phone on the corpse.
AMARA
See that? Does that look like you?
Sadness replaces Curt’s desperation. Realizes --
CURT
...Am I a ghost?
Amara looks over her shoulders. It’s so quiet. Eerie. She
shivers. Uncertain.
AMARA
I don’t believe in ghosts.
8.8.
Curt’s heartbroken. Amara’s pissed.
AMARA
I’m covering this up, then I’m
going home. And, don’t ever contact
me again.
She’s about to turn off the phone when --
CURT
Now I'll never get another chance
to prove it was Martin Renquist who
took those women's lives. My name
won't ever be cleared.
Amara pauses. Looks back at the screen.
AMARA
What did you just say?
CURT
I said, no one will ever know it
was Martin Renquist who killed
those women.
Amara perks up.
AMARA
Martin Renquist?
Curt peers at Amara with sad eyes.
CURT
Yeah, he’s the real killer.
AMARA
I think I saw that name somewhere.
She stalks off into the sea of gravestones. Searches for one
in particular.
She checks several headstones. Finally finds the right one. A
big impressive one.
Martin Renquist. Born 1905. Died 1978.
Amara turns her phone to the grave. Eager, Curt looks on.
AMARA
Is that him?
Excited, Curt reads the grave.
9.9.
CURT
Yes! That’s him! I remember he was
three years younger than myself.
Curt’s face harden.
CURT
I reckon that bastard got to live
thirty-eight years more after they
buried me here. That ain’t right.
Amara googles Martin Renquist. Confused, she reads the
results.
AMARA
Are you sure it’s him? Says here
that he was a prominent politician
and loving father to four kids and
a husband for forty years.
CURT
It’s always the ones you least
expect, ain’t it?
She contemplates her next move. Sees something on the
headstone. Another tiny mark. She aims her camera at it.
On the phone’s screen, MARTIN RENQUIST, (73), appears. A
predator as slick as a silver-skinned shark with black eyes
and a sinister grin to match. He’s in a dark tight space.
Aghast, Amara stares at her phone.
AMARA
Who... are you?
Amused, Martin eyes her closely.
MARTIN
Well, well, well, pray tell, what
brings such a delicious young lady
to my humble --
(looks around his space)
-- grave?
Amara switches window on her phone to Curt.
AMARA
(hushed)
What do I say to him? Hurry.
Curt thinks fast.
10.10.
CURT
Ya gotta get him to confess his
crimes.
Amara switches back to Martin. Thinks for a beat.
AMARA
Did you kill five women between
1932 and 1936?
Surprised, Martin scoffs, then an amused grin appears.
MARTIN
My dear girl, if I happen to
furnish you with the accurate
answer, might there be a chance I
secure a token of victory? Some
sort of prize?
AMARA
An award? Why would you need one,
you’re already dead?
Martin looks around his tight space.
MARTIN
I've been holed up in this gloomy,
stifling cavity for ages. If you
could find it in your heart to
release me, I promise you, I'll
spill every secret you're chasing.
Amara’s skeptical.
AMARA
Release you? As in opening up your
grave?
A hopeful flicker in Martin’s eyes.
MARTIN
Ah, yes. Would you be so kind?
Amara walks back to Curt’s grave, switches over to him on the
phone.
CURT
What's happenin’? What did he say?
Amara picks up the shovel by the pile of dirt, aims her phone
at it.
AMARA
He wants me to dig up his grave.
11.11.
CURT
Are you plannin’ on doin’ it?
AMARA
I’m kind of curious myself now.
She heads back to Martin’s grave. Switches back to him on the
phone, shows him the shovel.
AMARA
Alright. Tell me about the murders.
A darkness spreads across Martin’s face.
MARTIN
I shall unfold each bloodstained
chapter, every grim and gruesome
detail, only after you've bestowed
upon me the sweet freedom from this
cold tomb.
Amara stands firm.
AMARA
No. I don’t trust you. You tell me
about the first murder and I’ll dig
two feet, then you tell me about
the second one and I’ll dig again.
Martin weighs it. Gives in. Stares coldly, but amused at her.
MARTIN
Vanessa Barden, barely nineteen, a
naive beauty unaware of her potent
allure. I performed the act myself,
her breath ceasing under the
pressure of my own hands. The rush,
the exquisite thrill of her life
energy flowing into mine, was a
sensation unlike any I had ever
known.
Amara stares at her phone, shivers as the reality hits her.
She props the phone up by his gravestone, raises the shovel,
stabs it into the dirt.
When she reaches her target depth, she turns to the phone
where Martin keeps an eye on the process.
AMARA
Who was the second?
12.12.
MARTIN
LouMarie Jones. Merely twenty,
still playing coy with her youthful
charm. Attempting to echo the
allure of my maiden kill, I found
her lacking. The taste had dulled,
the thrill, faded. It was a razor
that offered the novel titillation
I craved. With a swift, deliberate
cut across her throat, the warm,
life-affirming surge against my
hands restored the sensation I'd
hungered for.
With disgust and hatred, she stares back at him.
AMARA
I looked you up online. It said you
were a prominent politician with
four kids and a wife of almost
forty years. Why? Why did you feel
the need to kill?
The fog swirls around the headstone. Ominous.
MARTIN
When a man finds himself perched
upon the pinnacle of all his
desires, he inevitably gazes toward
the unreachable, yearning for that
which remains tantalizingly beyond
his grasp.
Amara jams the shovel back into the ground, digs another two
feet down.
AMARA
The third one?
MARTIN
She was an unfortunate
miscalculation. A sly attempt at
career advancement by flirting her
way into my grace. I strangled her
with my belt. No pleasure or
thrill, I assure you, just a simple
necessity.
Amara trembles with anger.
AMARA
What was her name?
13.13.
MARTIN
Irrelevant. Barely a footnote in
the grand narrative, not worth the
effort to recall.
Martin smiles. Slippery. Slimy.
MARTIN
Now, kindly continue. I can hear
you getting closer.
Amara digs. As she does, the fog seems to come alive. It
moves across the graveyard in deliberate swirls. Restless. A
breathy HISSING in its wake.
CLUNK!
The shovel hits the lid of the casket. Amara looks at Martin.
He appears delighted. Eager.
MARTIN
So enticingly near. Go on, my dear.
Don’t stop now.
Amara glares at him.
AMARA
Who was the forth?
Martin closes his eyes, draws in a breath of pleasure.
MARTIN
Ah, Julia McKenzie. A soul
enthralled by darkness, she yearned
to bare her inner self... through
my blade.
AMARA
...You cut her open?
MARTIN
She desired it. I simply obliged.
Appalled, Amara gapes at him. He glares back.
MARTIN
Now open the fucking casket!
AMARA
No. Not until you tell me who the
fifth one was.
14.14.
MARTIN
Curt fucking Owen! That’s who. A
mere trifle, an impertinent little
mouse nosing around my political
bastion. Dared to threaten the veil
of secrecy around my... diversions.
His audacity was his downfall.His
fate was sealed by the merciless
blows of my crowbar.
Amara stares aghast at her phone.
AMARA
You framed him for the murders.
Martin’s face changes. Goes from angry and smug to surprised.
Behind Amara, the translucent shape of Curt appears. He walks
up behind her.
CURT
You did it.
Startled, Amara spins around, sees him.
AMARA
Curt?
CURT
You got him to confess. You cleared
my tarnished name.
He looks around the graveyard.
CURT
I am finally free.
AMARA
What happens now?
He gazes out into the distance.
CURT
There's a light. It's pulling me
towards it. I reckon, that's where
I ought to be headin’.
He turns to Amara.
CURT
I knew one day, an angel would
appear. From the depths of my
heart, I thank you.
15.15.
He staggers forward, then fades away until he’s gone.
The fog floats towards Amara. Swirls around her feet, then
smoke-like tendrils feel their way up her legs.
Mesmerized, Amara can’t help but watch.
MARTIN (O.S.)
Now it’s my turn. My liberation.
Amara’s jolted back to reality.
AMARA
I’m not setting you free. You’re a
murderer.
Martin’s face, wicked. A monster.
MARTIN
I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.
AMARA
Of course I do. I’m up here, free.
You’re trapped down in a hell hole
somewhere. Where you belong.
She turns off her phone, pockets it, then shovels dirt back
into the hole.
The fog becomes more turbulent. Leaves rustle in the trees as
a breeze whines its way through the cemetery.
There’s a BUZZ.
Amara stops takes out her phone. On the screen is the face of
her mother and the word MOM.
Amara stares at the phone while it continues to ring.
Wary, she hits the answer button along with the speaker
button.
AMARA
...Hello?
Martin’s chilling voice fills the air.
MARTIN
Refuse to open my coffin and I will
make you regret it. I may be
confined, but my reach is far more
extensive than this grave.
She punches the end call button, but the phone stays on.
16.16.
MARTIN
Perhaps I should pay a visit to
your dear mother. Or your sweet
little sister. How old is she now?
The color drains from Amara’s face. Horrified, she stares at
her phone.
AMARA
No! Go away!
Panicked, she tries to power off the phone, but it stays on.
MARTIN
Either liberate me from this
suffocating tomb, or prepare
yourself for relentless nocturnal
visits and daytime spectres.
Consider it your lasting requiem,
until your own curtain call.
AMARA
Stop! Leave me alone.
MARTIN
I assure you, once freed, I shall
not linger in your existence. You,
hold no fascination for me. I only
seek my own freedom.
Amara stares at her phone, weighs it.
MARTIN
You have my word.
AMARA
Will you disappear just like Curt?
MARTIN
I vow to vanish, leaving no trace
in your life.
Amara looks down into the grave, then hits the coffin’s
hinges with the shovel, pries the lid ajar. This time, no
foul air escapes. It’s dead quiet.
She pops the lid wide open.
EMPTY!
Horrified, she stares down into the empty casket, then turns
to her phone.
17.17.
AMARA
It’s empty. Where are you?
The dark and translucent shape of Martin rises behind her.
MARTIN
In every shadow, in every whisper
of the wind, I exist. Boundless,
unchained to wander as I will, to
play as I desire. Yet fear not. You
shall remain untouched. The world
offers ample distractions.
Terrified, Amara turns to face him.
Martin chuckles. Low at first, but it soon grows into an evil
laughter before he fades away along with the fog.
Creeped out, Amara backs off down the path, then turns
around, decides to jog. Then faster. Faster.
EXT. CEMETARY - PARKING LOT - NIGHT
Amara bursts out of the entrance, hurries to her car. She
fumbles with the key fob before she gets the door open.
INT. CAR - NIGHT
Amara stabs the door-lock mechanism, then starts the car. A
sigh of relief as she drives off.
INT. CAR - MOVING - NIGHT
Driving through the city, she starts to relax. She turns on
the radio. Soft music wafts out of the speakers.
Until --
MARTIN (O.S.)
Just remember Amara, the shadows
are my domain. Sleep tight... don't
let the nightmares bite.
His chilling laughter fades away before the music is back.
Terrified, with her eyes wide, and a death grip on the
steering wheel, Amara can’t help but --
SCREAM.
FADE OUT: