Freddy vs Jason. Peter Briggs
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FADE IN:
EPIC MUSIC O.S., the MAIN TITLES ROLLING over a series of
medieval WOODCUTS. SINISTER IMAGERY - monsters, demons, torture
devices - DISSOLVING into one another, then we...
OPEN ON:
EXT. HILLSIDE PASS - SUNSET (17TH CENTURY)
Lush green fields and vineyards, very like the Napa Valley.
SOLEMN BENDICTINE CHANTING on the SOUNDTRACK, and the distant
RESONANT TOLLING of a church bell, O.S.
We HEAR TINKLING CHIMES. With a gentle CLIP-CLOP OF HOOVES, a
burro crests a dark hill, silhouetted against the blood-red sun.
Its rider adorned in lavish Catholic vesments.
Before we can be amused, SIX MAGNIFICENT CHARGERS follow. Two
grim-faced CIVILIANS in formal Middle-Ages clothing to the fore,
a vanguard of pennant-wielding SOLDIERS at back.
CLOSER NOW. The horses are nervous. The burro’s rider - SIGNOR
DELUCA - MURMURS something nervously in Italian.
SIGNOR DELUCA
"Le colline...hanno occhi!"
PITT - a wary American Witchfinder - narrows his eyes. Turns to
his traveling companion.
PITT
What did he say?
HOPKINS - an aristocratic Englishman with a startling similarity
to Christopher Lee - avoids his gaze. Scours the encroaching
terrain with his keen vision.
HOPKINS
"The hills...have eyes."
The horses WHINNY, worried by something nearby. SHEET-LIGHTNING
whites-out the sky, drizzle spattering the earth.
SIGNOR DELUCA
(heavily-accented English)
It’s begun --
3
AN ANGLE ABOVE, LOOKING DOWN. The company trek purposefully
along the winding trail. Something dark prowls past IMMEDIATE
FOREGROUND. GROWLS inhumanely...
EXT. CASTLE APPROACH - SUNSET (17TH CENTURY)
The horses BUCK and REAR as they round the bend.
SOLDIER #1
Mother of God --
THEIR P.O.V. A PAIR OF GROTESQUE WOODEN-FRAME EFFIGIES dominate
the trail ahead, one to either side. Human-shaped, 30 feet
tall. Both are aflame, packed with BURNING CADAVERS (anyone
remember the 1973 movie "The Wicker Man"?).
HOPKINS
(solemnly)
I’ve seen this before.
PITT
In England?
HOPKINS
In the darkest chasm of my dreams...
As the troupe continue forward, we CRANE UP BEHIND THEM. Half a
mile away, a gothic Italian castle looms ominously dark THUNDER
CLOUDS roll supernaturally across the sky. A SUPERIMPOSED
CAPTION CARD informs us this is:
ITALY - 1648
EXT. ENTRANCE - CASTLE - NIGHT (17TH CENTURY)
The ground has turned to slush. The horses skid, lose their
footing. An ornate wooden box tethered to a saddlebag bursts
open, releasing --
PITT
Pontiff -- !
SOLDIER #1 dismounts, scrabbles in the mud. Passes two rather
plain-looking daggers back to DeLuca. As he does--
THEY TRANSFORM. Morphing into exact duplicates of the Byzantine
blade which slayed Jason Voorhees in "Jason Goes To Hell."
Astonishment flashes across the Soldier’s face.
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SIGNOR DELUCA
(admonishes him)
This matter...will not pass your lips.
Hopkins and Pitt stare covetously at the weapons.
PITT
The Daggers of Horvath...
SIGNOR DELUCA
Sacrosanct. Said...forged...by the
alchemists...of dead Atlantis.
HOPKINS
(cannily)
...And also from the blade which pierced
the side of Christ?
DeLuca shrugs, perhaps a little annoyed.
SIGNOR DELUCA
The origins are unimportant. Only their
powers count this day.
(to Soldier #2)
Tether the animals.
A turret rises above, a portent of doom. Lightning FLARES.
INT. ENTRANCE HALL - CASTLE - NIGHT (FOREGROUND MINATURE)
Boots ECHO on stone as the group enter an expansive circular
chamber. Water PLINK-PLONKS from dank archeways all around.
Inverted crosses on the walls, torches flickering in metal wallholders.
A wide staircase spirals into cobwebbed darkness above.
A pair of giant censers swing back-and-forth...dozens of dangling
chains with upturned corpses - real Grand Guignol - tangled in
them.
The FAINT STRAINS of a NURSERY RHYME - somehow familiar to us -
intrude. Incongruously, the LYRICS are Italian --
DREAM CHILDREN
(O.S., "Freddy Theme")
"Uno, Due...Thanos venga per te. Tre,
quattro...dovete chiudre le porte."
HOPKINS
You hear -- ?
5
SIGNOR DELUCA
Si. Pitt...?
The American stares up at the hanging wrought-iron chandelier
frame, scrutinizing the SYMBOL forged into it. Neither Celtic
run, nor Egyptian glyph. Not Sanskrit, or pentangle...but
somehow all at once.
PITT
Salem. Four years past. I burnt a coven.
This same device.
(a beat)
Evil is at hand...
DREAM CHILDREN
(O.S.)
"Nove, dieci...non dormirai piu --"
A VERTICAL ANGLE, HIGH ABOVE. The RHYME stops. SILENCE. We
HEAR a STEADY THUMP...THUMP. They draw their swords as --
Something PUNCHES FORCEFULLY through a COBWEB VEIL, BOUNCES down
the steps. Comes to a halt at SOLDIER #3’s feet...a dyed-purple
leather ball. He bends
PITT
Wait -- !
Either the man chooses to ignore, or he doesn’t understand. He
picks it up. There’s a MIDIEVAL SMILING SUN embroidered in gold
filigree on one side. He grins. Flips it to see --
BURNS and MELTS, maggots and yellow bile pouring forth into his
hand. It multiplies exponentially, spilling up along his arm in
a second like a cancer. He turns, SCREAMING to the others --
HOPKINS
Back...stay back!
The Soldier lurches for them, his entire body consumed now. He
stumbles, falls to the floor. EXPLODING into a mass of scarab
beetles that scurry past their feet for the corners of the room.
DeLuca crosses himself.
GIGGLING from above. The group look up to see a pair of YOUNG
GIRLS in white dresses duck back over a high balcony.
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SIGNOR DELUCA
There...
INT. WINDING STAIRWAY - CASTLE - NIGHT (17TH CENTURY)
A HUGE SPIDER scuttles across the thick blocking cobwebs. The
group cautiously acend the stairway, slicing at the musty veil.
As Pitt turns his lantern to see a wall HEAVING with bugs --
A COVEY OF CROWS flush from a cranny, wings fluttering into their
face, blinding them. DeLuca staggers back, feet pedaling on the
edge. A straight drop, 50 feet...
HOPKINS
(alarmed)
Signor!
Hopkins hand lashes out and drags him back.
SIGNOR DELUCA
(thankful)
Grazie.
INT. CORRIDOR - CASTLE - NIGHT (17TH CENTURY)
At the corridor’s end are massive iron doors, 5 feet tall. A
pair of drop-dead gorgeous BLACK WOMEN in white robes stand
before them, staring enigmatically with peculiar eyes. The smoke
wreathing them SWIRLS back through the doors like REVERSE TIMELAPSE,
gliding them with it.
INT. NECROMANCER’S LAIR - CASTLE - NIGHT (17TH CENTURY)
Another cylindrical chanber; the "Penticon" symbol Pitt
recognized hewn large on the ancient stone floor. Through a
glass skylight above, turbulent clouds simmer menacingly.
HOPKINS
The Necromancer.
In the chamber’s center - above the "Penticon", about 5 feet off
the ground - floats a MAN. Crunched into a fetal position, he is
naked. Tautly muscled, every square inch of his body inscribed
with occult symbology. (He also bears more than a passing
resemblance to Robert Englund).
SIGNOR DELUCA
My nephew...
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THE DOORS SLAM CLOSED behind them, the wall-torches
extinguishing. The chamber becoming wreathed in the darkest
shadows imaginable.
A WOMAN’S LAUGHTER ECHOES ICILY, O.S.
PITT
Time is short.
SIGNOR DELUCA
Let us hurry.
The three men approach. The air shimmers, as if they’ve just
passed through an invisible field of some kind.
The three Soldiers stare around the room nervously. All around
are drawings and models, prototypes of fantastic inventions.
They’re so proccupied, they don’t notice --
THIER OWN SHADOWS, peeling away from their bodies and sliding up
the wall to vanish into the gloom above.
SIGNOR DELUCA (cont’d)
Help me. Reveal his heart.
DeLuca holds the Dagger steady. As Hopkins and Pitt reach up to
grasp the Necromancer’s folded arms --
Behind them, DARK GRASPING CLAWS shoot down from above towards
the Soldiers. Hauling a SCREAMING Soldier #1 upward.
The Necromancer’s eyes SNAP OPEN instantly, unleashing a BELLOW
OF RAGE. DeLuca slams forward with astonishing strength, driving
the Dagger into the Necromancer’s chest..but only part way. The
creature’s arms WHIP OUT with superhuman force, knocking the
demon-slayers away.
Soldiers #2 and #4 hack furiously away with their swords, trying
to release their comrade, as --
Hopkins reaches out. Grasps the Dagger’s handle and drives it
further into the Necromancer’s heart, twisting it. He SHRIEKS
like a feral animal --
Then falls to the floor. That same instant, the disemboweled
corpse falls. Soldier #1 drops out of the shadows with a THUMP.
The survivors edge warily forward, until --
THEIR LANTERNS FLARE LIKE XENON, achingly bright. The shadow in
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the room seem to alter...flow. A moving, liquid mass from every
corner that pours towards the fallen Necromancer, entering the
corpse’s mouth and nostrils. The chamber brightens, until --
There are no more shadows in the room. A BEAT, then --
THE BODY EXPLODES, atomized to fine red droplets. An ENORMOUS
FORM rises up from within, some vast CLOAKED OUTLINE, LAUGHING
with DEEP MALEVOLENCE. Pitt steps forward, brandishing a
crucifix.
DARK VOICE
Foolish mortals...do not task me!
PITT
Be gone, Apollyon!
A shadow tentacle lashes out, slithers around Pitt’s neck. Hauls
him off the floor and squeezes tight. The crucifix clatters to
the ground as blood seeps from his lips.
Hopkins and SOLDIER #4 race forward to help. Another pair of
tentacles explode forth. Hopkins is sent sprawling...the black
mass PUNCHING straight through the Soldier #4’s armor like a
javelin and impaling him against the wall. An arrow unleashed
from Soldier #2’s crossbow evaporates in mid-air.
Pitt’s tentacle finishes its work. His decapitated body drops to
the ground, the head rolling off into the shadows.
Another pseudopod hurtles for DeLuca, who cries out --
But suddenly Hopkins is there, wielding a Dagger of Horvath. The
tentacle hits the Holy blade and rives into black ice, showering
the chamber floor. The Shape LAUGHS UPROARIOUSLY.
DARK VOICE
When Time...reaches its close...and your
race attains the skies...I will set my
creatures to shatter this world.
SIGNOR DELUCA
Consign thee to Hell, foul spawn!
The stone "Penticon" beneath the Necromancer’s corpse SHATTERS
like glass, dropping into a GAPING ESOPHAGAL TUNNEL that plunges
into the DEPTHS OF HELL. The Shadow-form disappears in a
SHOCKWAVE BLAST that EXPLODES the skylight and SPLINTERS
everything breakable. The MOCKING LAUGHTER fades as the
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"Penticon" reseals whole.
HOPKINS
(dryly)
Demons. So overdramatic.
DeLuca gazes around at the complex inventions, marvelling.
SIGNOR DELUCA
Look at this. The detail...the genius.
HOPKINS
Humankind...might profit immeasurably.
Soldier #4 approaches Hopkins hesitantly.
SOLDIER #2
Sire? What...should --?
Hopkins moves something on a nearby drafting board. Examines the
soft vellum parchment stretched out there.
Like a Da Vinci anatomical study, we see an intricately detailed
orthographic representation of FREDDY KRUEGER’S KNIFE-GLOVE
and JASON VOORHEES’ KILLING MASK.
HOPKINS
(absent, but authoritative)
Burn it all. Raze it to the ground.
Flames CRACKLE up INTO FRAME all around as we TRACK SLOWLY into
the blueprint. SLAMMING ROCK MUSIC RISES O.S. as we --
DISSOLVE THROUGH TO:
EXT. ELM STREET. - BETHLEHEM, VIRGINIA - DAY
BRIGHT SUNLIGHT, filtering down through the boughs of trees. We
CRANE DOWN, past a sign reading "Elm Street." Hit a van in
FOREGROUND on a read of anonymous suburban storefronts.
TWO CAPTIONS FADE-UP. The FIRST, which READS:
BETHLEHEM, WEST VIRGINIA.
And then is replaced by the SECOND:
DECEMBER, 1999.
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An innocuous-looking bookshop sits across the road, the sign
above the door reading "SAMHAIN BOOKS." Right out-front, a
muscular HELL’S ANGEL sits astride a gleaming Harley. A
scantily-clad BIKER BABE faces him atop the gas-tank, legs
wrapped around his waist. They’re sucking some serious face.
REZNOR
(O.S.)
What - are you grafted to him, lady? Just
how much foreplay’s this gorilla need
anyhow?!
A TINY RED DOT flickers like an anxious firefly on the girl’s
throught. Suddenly --
SHE MOVES. Legs still in place, she swings around him to ride
pillion. He guns the engine, and they pull out.
RENZOR
(O.S.)
Thank you! Crowd goes wild --
The red dot settles on the bookshop window, and --
SPEAKER VOICE #1
(O.S., filtered)
-- This one’s young --
Through the bookshop window, we see TWO MEN in conversation.
CUT TO:
INT. F.B.I. SURVEILLANCE VAN - DAY
A THUMB, stabbing at a button --
SPEAKER VOICE #1 (cont’d)
(O.S., filtered)
Fresh --
A SPECTROSCOPE, leaping into high peaks --
SPEAKER VOICE #1 (cont’d)
(O.S., filtered)
Like a peach --
A LASER-MIKE BEAM, slicing out from the one-way van window --
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SPEAKER VOICE #1 (cont’d)
(O.S., filtered)
Camera loves her.
Nestled hi-tech equipment in the van’s rear is JAMES (JACK)
REZNOR, F.B.I. Agent extraordinaire. Grimy, unshaven. The toll
of days of stakeout. Take-out cartons and styrofoam cups
littered around him.
REZNOR
Yeah - I’ll bet, ya toxic sack of puke...
A video camera rolls quietly next to him. His cellular phone
WARBLES for attention. He reaches down, flips it on.
REZNOR
Agent Reznor. Better be good.
CUT TO:
INT. TACTICAL ROOM - F.B.I. H.Q. - WASHINGTON - NIGHT
An expansive, clean room. Dozens of manned cubicles, rows of
computer monitors. Jim Cameron territory. Christmas decorations
break the monotony.
Reznor’s partner JAMES (JACK) COBAIN is in his cubicle on the
other end, a big F.B.I. logo on the wall behind him.
COBAIN
Jack...it’s Jack.
CUT TO:
INT. SURVEILLANCE VAN - DAY (INTERCUT)
To the side of the video-cam is an odd-looking CCD stills camera.
Reznor thumbs a remote plunger, takes a few shots.
REZNOR
Cobain - what’s occurring? Expected your
sorry ass hours back...where are you?
INT. TACTICAL ROOM - F.B.I. HEADQUARTERS - DAY (INTERCUT)
Cobain watches a CNN forest fire disaster on the wall-mounted
T.V. nearby.
12
CNN ANCHOR
(O.S., on television)
"-- with close to 400 miles of woodland
incinerated, Canadian authorities seem
powerless to halt the blaze --"
COBAIN
Washington, still. They pulled the
pattern. Got me playing errand boy for
some Vatican bigwig out to the airport.
INT. SURVEILLANCE VAN - DAY (INTERCUT)
Reznor jacks a wire from the stills-camera into the phone.
REZNOR
Shit. Well, look...get him to say some
"Hail Marys." Things are shaking here,
just like we thought.
INT. TACTIACAL ROOM - F.B.I. HEADQUARTERS - DAY (INTERCUT)
Cobain shifts in his seat, suddenly alert.
COBAIN
Snuff movies?
INT. SURVEILLANCE VAN - DAY (INTERCUT)
Reznor thumbs an inset button on the camera which illuminates a
green: "TRANSMIT."
REZNOR
Yeah. I’m punching what I got through.
Speaking of things priestly, Paula says I
should tell you - if you work me tomorrow
night, your tush is excommunicated.
INT. TACTICAL ROOM - F.B.I. HEADQUARTERS - DAY (INTERCUT)
The printer next to Cobain’s V.D.U. WHIRRS, spits-out color
stills from Reznor’s camera.
COBAIN
I’ll consider myself doomed.
REZNOR
(V.0.)
They process our backup yet?
13
COBAIN
Hold a sec. Uh --
He cups the mouthpece as somebody (FBI AGENT #1) passes, TOOTING
an extendable party whistle. Rifles a tray of paperwork, finds a
requisition sheet with a SWAT header. The co-signature is still
blank.
COBAIN (cont’d)
Tanya...this SWAT request signature?
A pretty woman looks across from a nearby cubicle. Shrugs.
TANYA
Holidays...cut-backs? Prob’ly an
oversight. Sorry, Cabain.
CABAIN
(back into phone)
No change. Nice pictures...you get a bug
in there?
INT. SURVEILLANCE VAN - DAY (INTERCUT)
REZNOR
Not a hope. You wouldn’t believe the
scanners these bozos use. Running a lasermike
onto their window.
INT. TACTICAL ROOM - F.B.I. HEADQUARTERS - DAY (INTERCUT)
COBAIN
Alright. What I’ll do is, rush these
through Photo Intelligence...drize down
the second I’m through.
INT. SURVEILLANCE VAN - DAY (INTERCUT)
REZNOR
Deal. But Jack? Give SWAT a push. I got
a hunch these sickos are about to move.
INT. TACTICAL ROOM - F.B.I. HEADQUARTERS - DAY (INTERCUT)
Cobain replaces the handset. Sits back. Looks at the paperwork.
Thinks a moment. Drags out a punch-file marked "S.W.A.T." and
opens it. Finds an old requisition. Glances around to make
certain nobody’s watching, then --
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COPIES THE SIGNATURE. A perfect forgery.
The T.V. catches his eye again. Another CNN disaster.
CNN ANCHOR
(O.S.)
"-- Our top story...a heated skirmish in
International Waters, Leaving Korea one
frigate down. Japan has already been
threatened with reprisals --"
Somebody (FBI AGENT #2) slows as he passes the T.V.
FBI AGENT #2
Great way to end the Century, huh?
COBAIN
(grunts affirmatively)
World’s going to Hell in a handbasket.
He stabs at a remote. Flips the channel to WHITE STATIC which --
MORPH-DISSOLVES THROUGH TO:
EXT. "PLAIN OF BONES" - HELL - ZERO HOUR
A DOWNPOUR OF HORIZONTAL RAIN against a dead grey sky. So
subtle, we don’t get it for a second. Then --
The SHOT ROTATES...TILTS. Swoops dizzyingly 100 feet. A LONELY
WIND HOWLS around a figure. Face upturned, droplets spatter her
face. We recogize her: ALICE JOHNSON, last seen defeating
Freddy Krueger in "THE DREAM CHILD." She shivers, her eyes
SNAPPING OPEN.
ALICE
(softly, to herself)
Where am I?
She’s standing on a PLAIN OF BONES AND SKULLS stretching as far
as the eye can see, rolling hills on the horizon. The low sky
BOILS, a SEETHING BUBBLING REDNESS. A RUMBLE like an onrushing
freight train GROWS. She turns to see --
A SINGULARITY TORNADO of MULTICOLORED ENERGY THUNDERING towards
her, just 100 feet away. Chewing up the landscape...sucking
"reality" into it. It’s breathtaking, and it sounds like all the
noises in the world.
15
Alice bolts as the worldbehind her CRUMBLES, sucked mightily
upwards. Her chest heaves, limbs working. Then --
The ground QUAKES and ERUPTS, throwing her off-balance. She
falls solidly amongst a flurry of SPLINTERING bones. Looks up to
see --
THE SINGULARITY, looming large. Unstoppable. She SCREAMS --
ALICE
Nooooo --!
A GREAT WHITE EXPLOSION hurls her through the air like a ragdoll.
Her arms flail, and then she IMPACTS HARD with --
EXT. CRAGGY VERTICAL RACKFACE - HELL - ZERO HOUR (CONTINUING)
A ROUGHLY-HEWN DARK GRANITE PILLAR perhaps 30 feet square,
dropping vertiginously away thousands of feet below. She
snatches a handhold...it SNAPS away. Falls about a foot...grabs
another. Begins a labored ascent...
EXT. APEX OF PILLAR - HELL - ZERO HOUR (CONTINUING)
Alice claws her way over the plateau edge. Lies there, breathing
heavily. A sibilant VOICE makes her jump --
DARK VOICE
(O.S.)
Aaaaalicccee --
She stumbles to her feet, finds herself looking out across the
plain as the Tornado decimates it. More bones here, a SINGLE
ARTHRITIC TREE claws upwards, and standing next to it towers -
-
SOMEBODY...SOMETHING. Cloaked. A vicious bladed scythe clutched
in one hand, a BOA CONSTRICTOR coiling around the haft. If we
didn’t know better, we might say it was the GRIM REAPER.
ALICE
Hello? Hello...
Alice’s eyes widen as - with an eerie HISS - the figure turns
towards her. But before we see the face --
A VARIATION ON A FAMILIAR FOUR-BLADED CLAW curls disturbingly
around her neck from behind...
16
SLAM CUT TO:
INT. ALICE’S CAR - NIGHT
JACOB JOHNSON - Alice’s nervy 8 year old son - YELLS out in panic
from the passenger seat.
JACOB
Brake!
Alice jerks awake from her daydream at the wheel to see --
ALICE
Shit!
STATIONARY TRAFFIC on the freeway ahead, materializing at 40 MPH.
She grips the wheel, mashes the brake pedal hard...
EXT. FREEWAY - BETHLEHEM - NIGHT
Alice’s red Lexus SKIDS through puddles of rain. SCREECHES to a
halt inches from the car in front.
WIDER NOW, PULLING BACK. Her car a speck at the rear of the
worst Friday night gridlock you can imagine.
INT/EXT. ALICE’S CAR - NIGHT
Alice sits, hyperventilating. Grey eyes wide. We get a better
look at her now. Smartly-dressed. Mid-to-late 20s, mid-length
strawberry-blond hair. Cute as a button.
Her son stares accusingly at her from alongside.
JACOB
Mom, you said you weren’t tired!
ALICE
No...I...just must have drifted.
JACOB
You weren’t...dreaming again? Like before?
She gives him a look. Ducks the loaded question. Peers out
through the rain-slicked windshield.
17
ALICE
Look at this rain. Feels like it tailed
us right from New Jersey.
She reaches down and flips the radio on. Gets the news.
RADIO NEWSCASTER
(O.S., on radio)
-- "Bizarre mass cult suicide at a Rio de
Janeiro soccer stadium, 20,000 estimated
dead --"
ALICE
Getting harder to find any uplifting news
these days.
JACOB
That’s cause-of it’s the "Fin de Sickle."
ALICE
The what?
JACOB
"Fin de --"
ALICE
(pronouncing correctly)
Ah..."Fin de Siecle"?
JACOB
Yea. Like, when every century ends,
everything goes totally nutso. Only this
time it’s worse, cause it’s, like, a new
Millennium too.
ALICE
(smiles)
Pretty slick. Where’d that come from?
JACOB
French class. Our tea --
A RUMBLE starts-up, gaining intensity. A spring-mounted toy bird
dangling from the rear-view trembles. The car VIBRATES on its
suspension, the engine cutting-out.
JACOB (cont’d)
Earthquake! Wow...cool!
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THEIR P.O.V. People scramble from their cars. A traffic sign
ahead shakes, a freeway light swaying like a giraffe’s neck.
ALICE
(getting frightened)
Virginia doesn’t get quakes!
Their gaze SNAPS ACROSS as a roadside fire hydrant BLOWS, gushing
water into the air. A high-tension wire above SNAPS with a
TWANG, Jacob YELLING as --
JACOB
Mom!!
THE SPARKING CABLE hits their roof, HISSING as it writhes.
Searing the paintwork a couple of times before dropping to the
roadside and becoming inert.
The tremor abruptly ends. Alice grabs Jacob --
ALICE
Jeez, are you alright--?!
JACOB
Think so...
ALICE
Sure?
JACOB
Yea...
ALICE
God...that was too freaky.
She flips the ignition. Nothing. Tries it again. This time the
engine GRINDS UNPLEASANTLY.
ALICE
Oh. Oh, no...
JACOB
What’s wrong?
ALICE
Our angel must be on coffee-break. Jake,
honey...something’s wrong. I’m gonna...
have to pull us off the next ramp.
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Somebody HONKS behind. The engine catches, sounds unhealthy.
JACOB
(knowingly)
What did I say?
ALICE
Yeah. Tell me about it --
EXT. ALICE’S CAR - NIGHT
We PULL BACK on the livid electrical scars seared into the car’s
rooftop. Oddly, they resemble...Freddy claw gouges.
A mindful NURSERY RHYME TUNE TINKLESdelicately O.S. as the Lexus
pulls out onto the freeway turn-off...
CUT TO:
EXT. STREET - OUTSIDE FREEMAN HOUSE - BETHLEHEM - NIGHT
Neat identical houses: Suburban Anywheresville, U.S.A. A 15ft
illuminated neighborhood Christmas tree shines like a candystore
beacon.
Sheets of rain bead on telephone wires crossign the street. Drip
into the tree, FIZZING and FLICKERING the bulbs.
INT. LIVING ROOM - FREEMAN HOUSE - NIGHT
An 8 year-old blond girl - STEPHANIE FREEMAN - eats a sandwich
atop the back of a chaise-longue, face pushed up against the
misty widow. Stares wide-eyed as the tree flickers spastically
across the street.
STEPHANIE
Daddy! The tree isn’t working right -- !
She climbs down, wanders back across the long room. The
television plays "The Mask" animated series NOISILY to itself in
B.G. She glances cursorily at it in passing.
INT. KITCHEN - FREEMAN HOUSE - NIGHT (CONTINUING)
Stephanie’s parents - STEVEN and JESSICA REEMAN - are in midargument
in the cramped kitchen, a disassembled car gear box
neatly laid-out on the dining table.
Steven is an odd blend of bookish and jock, his greasy work
20
overalls partially unbuttoned. His wife is exceptionally
pretty...at least she would be if she gave herself the chance.
She seems tired, long blond hair tied back in a ponytail. Both
are in their late 20s.
JESSICA
Steven, you made a promise!
STEVEN
Jess --
JESSICA
New Year’s, 1999...a fresh Century! We
always said we’d celebrate this one
together, regardless --
STEVEN
We will...look - it’ll be a fast pick-up.
Burn rubber first thing, get this guy’s
sump. Back in plenty of time. You...
me...Stephy --
JESSICA
Ushering-in the "bright new future"?
She turns away to wash some vegetables at the sink, her tone a
mixture of cynicism and tired resignation. Steven stops, frowns.
Puzzled and somewhat taken-aback.
STEVEN
Right. What?
Stephanie appears at the doorway, interrupting the flow.
STEPHANIE
Daddy...?
STEVEN
(to Jessica, persistent)
Look, I promised the guy. Am I missing
something here -- ?
JESSICA
(to Stephanie)
Oh - not now, baby...
STEPHANIE
(persistent, to Steven)
-- Can you fix the tree?
21
Stephanie picks the stick-shift up from the table.
STEVEN
Which tree?...don’t touch that, pumpkin.
Distracted, Steven takes it from Stephanie, replaces it. She
wraps her arms around him. Pouts petulantly.
STEPHANIE
Over the park. The lights are all sparky,
look --
JESSICA
Stephy, Mom and Dad are yammerin --
STEPHANIE
Puh-lease?
She jumps up-and-down. He ruffles her hair.
STEVEN
Weren’t you watching T.V.?
JESSICA
T.V.’s for squids.
STEVEN
(laughs)
Well...plumb the depths. I’ll get there.
STEPHANIE
O-kay...
Stephanie grudgingly leaves. Steven LAUGHS.
STEVEN
I swear, that kid’s intent on setting the
whole world to rights.
JESSICA
Great. Have her start here.
Steven’s had it. Turns to her, baffled.
STEVEN
Alright. You gonna share into this little
secret?
22
JESSICA
Which’d be what?
STEVEN
You, stomping about like a poster ad for
Prozac.
JESSICA
Oh - pull a 360, Steven! Take a wild stab!
Steven looks wounded. This seems to be a familiar routine.
STEVEN
C’mon, Jess --
JESSICA
No! No, I’ve had it! I’m sic of...of
clipping coupons...scrimping every cent.
We’ve bills up the ying-yang...I want us
to actually amount to something!
STEVEN
Pushing "delete" on one of "America’s Most
Wanted" wasn’t enough for one lifetime -- ?
JESSICA
It’s been eight years since we fried Jason
Voorhees! Eight years! What do we have
to show for it?
STEVEN
We got the autoshop --
JESSICA
You seen our bank statements?
STEVEN
The recession...you know it’s temporary.
We’ll pull through --
JESSICA
Yeah, and it’s always around the next
corner! Steven, we’re sinking into a
bottomless pit! I look at other families
with ’lifestyles’...we don’t even manage a
life! I spend most of my life under a
car, up to my elbows in grease and swill!
third-rate existence!
23
STEVEN
What do you want me to say? I’m all outta
easy answers!
The message pager on Steven’s belt BEEPS annoyingly. He thumbs
it off, squints at the display. Looks abashed at Jessica.
STEVEN (cont’d)
It’s...uh...a call-out --
Jessica turns away. Picks up the knife. Chops mechanically at
the vegetables like a Stepford wife.
JESSICA
You should go.
STEVEN
(conciliatory)
Jess --
JESSICA
No. Do it. We can use the money.
Steven leaves the kitchen uncertainly. We HEAR him call out:
STEVEN
(O.S.)
Up for a ride, sweet thing?
STEPHANIE
(O.S., excited)
You bet!
JESSICA
(calling after)
Don’t forget your --
Jessica closes her eyes as the front door BANGS. Heaves a SIGH,
instant regret flooding her features.
JESSICA (cont’d)
(finishing, redundant)
-- Keys. Goddammit, Jess Voorhees --
CUT TO:
EXT. DULLES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - NIGHT
A big 747 comes in to land on a rain-swept runway.
24
INT. ARRIVAL LOUNGE - DULLES INTERNATIONAL - NIGHT
The terminal is packed with mostly-bored PASSENGERS, not even
Bruce Willis and some hijackers to liven things up.
Cobain sits on a passenger rotunda, an F.B.I. file open of his
lap. He YAWNS...goes to sip from his styrofoam cup. A FAT
BUSINESSMAN to his right turns the pages of his newspaper,
catches Cobain’s elbow. A great coffee SPLOT stains his
paperwork. Cobain shoots him an evil look.
FAT BUSINESSMAN
Sorry, pal.
Cobain catches sight of the newspaper headline: "ASTRONOMERS
BAFFLED OVER DISAPPEARING STARS." Reaches down, wipes away the
mess. We see an attached "Front-and-Right" mugshot of a hatchetfaced
guy (who we recognize from Reznor’s surveillance shots)
registered with an "Interpol, Surete" stamp. From the corner of
his eye, Cobain notices the OLD WOMAN to his left reading the
file.
COBAIN
(pointedly)
Interesting read?
The woman looks hurriedly away...
CUT TO:
EXT "SHAMAN BOOKS" - ELM STREET - NIGHT
An ANGLE low on the rain-speckled sidewalk. A VAN’S TIRE enters
FRAME. The door opens; a boot drops into SHOT.
INT. SURVEILLANCE VAN - NIGHT
A dishevelled Reznor drops a cigarette butt in his empty
styrofoam cup. Opens his packet of Camels. Empty. Glances out
the window...and does a double-take. Sits up straight, instantly
galvanized. Snaps-off a few more photographs.
REZNOR
What? Little late-night browsing?
HIS P.O.V., ACROSS THE ROAD. A newly-arrived van stands outside
the store as a RAINCOATED MAN fumbles an adjacent yard open.
Reznor watches as it proceeds inside.
25
REZNOR (cont’d)
Bingo. Party-hearty time --
He unholsters his pistol, thumb-catches the slide --
EXT. YARD - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - NIGHT.
VERTICAL CRANE SHOT, looking down on the van as two FIGURES in
raincoats manhandle a struggling hape encased in a black bodybag
up through a fire-exit at the rear of the bookshop.
EXT. YARD DOOR - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - ELM STREET - NIGHT
Rain plastering his hair, Reznor sidles carefully up to the yard
door, gun-in hand. Glances nervously around, puts his face to a
gap in the fence. Peers through --
REZNOR
Aw...shit!
He pulls out his cellphone. Flips it open --
EXT TURRET - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - NIGHT
Narrow lengthwise rectangular windows glow soft yellow against
the silhouette of the oddly medieval turret atop the bookstore.
Lightning BURSTS throw it into sharp relief. We HEAR the TOLLING
of a CHURCH BELL on the SOUNDTRACK...
INT. SACRIFICIAL CHAMBER - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - NIGHT
A LOW ANGLE, orbiting a strange inverted "lightning rod"
suspended dead-center in the circular chamber. Sculptured
ceiling "ribs" curve outwards, forming cabalistic pillars lining
the room. The saffron glow from hundreds of candles highlights
diabolic imagery on the walls as the storm FLASHES through the
windows high above, MALEFIC CHANTING O.S.
A wick is lit by one of several CLOAKED CULTISTS milling around
the room. An ANCIENT GRIMOIRE with a sculpted cover (the "EVIL
DEAD" Necronomicon, seen in the Voorhees house in "JASON GOES TO
HELL") rests open on a wooden podium. The LEAD CULTIST traces
arcane runes as he anoints the tooled silver blade of an AZTEC
SACRIFICIAL MACHETE with oils.
LEAD CULTIST
"Ro-Ta Derp...Suss-Ruv Nayala --"
26
We TRACK LEFT as another Cultist totes a set of ominous iron
limb-shackles. Linger in PASSING the video-assist monitor of a
mounted camcorder. It glitches to life, reveals an INVERTED
WOODEN CROSS...we CONTINUE and END on the real thing: 6ft long
and tilted at 40 degree slant.
A HIGH ROTATING ANGLE, away from the Cross to a symbol carved
into the stone floor. We recognize it instantly as the
"Penticon" rune from our ITALIAN PROLOGUE. We hear a GIRL’S
SHRIEKING VOICE from somewhere just outside.
GOTH GIRL
(O.S.)
Get your goddamn paws off -- !
EXT. YARD - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - NIGHT
Reznor drops down from the fence top. The ground on the yardside
is slushy - he loses his balance, skids awkwardly. His
cellphone falls into the mud. He picks it up, shakes the dirt
from it. Crosses to the van, peers quickly inside.
INT. SACRIFICIAL CHAMBER - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - NIGHT
FAST CUTS. Chunky wrist clamps CLUNK into place. A spirited but
obviously-terrifed dark-haired GOTH GIRL SCREAMS crazily as two
CULTISTS attempt to secure her legs to the top of the slanted
cross, the others stand CHANTING in shadows surrounding the
room...
CULTISTS
(together)
"Kandar...estrata...montos...eygrets --"
The Lead Cultist - the same guy from Cobain’s Interpol
photographs - stands behind the Necronomicon podium.
LEAD CULTIST
Lord of Gehanna...keeper of the Fallen
Spirits of Darkness --
The Girl lashes a long leg at one with the force of a Bruce Lee
karate kick. As Cultist #1 SLAMS back against a pillar, the cowl
slips away to reveal a WOMAN PRIEST with a CLERICAL DOG-COLLAR
beneath.
GOTH GIRL
Crazy freako psycho bastards...let me go!
27
Cultist #2 ENTERS SHOT wielding a HI-TECH STUN ROD. Shoves it
against her with a SHARP OZONE CRACK. The Girl slumps back.
LEAD CULTIST
By the Abramelin Mage, receive this lowly
oblation as your own --
Another restraint CLAMPS around the Girl’s throat. The CHANTING
RISES in PITCH as her dress is RIPPED SAVAGELY AWAY, revealing
the bare chest beneath. The videocam monitor begins to GLITCH
inexplicably --
INT. YARD - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - NIGHT
Reznor glances up. The THUNDERCLOUDS above the store are
SEETHING into TURMOIL. He tries the fire-exit. Locked.
REZNOR
Perfect --
He pulls a Lockaid gun - a staplegun-like device - from his coat
pocket. Squeezes the trigger. Thin protruding prongs WHIRR and
vibrate. He slides them into the keylock --
INT. SACRIFICIAL CHAMBER - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - NIGHT
The CHANTING aproaches feer-pitch. The Lead Cultist runs the
Aztec Machete’s tip lightly between the girl’s breasts, drawing a
bead of blood. Raises the blade to shoulder height as she stirs
slightly and MOANS.
LEAD CULTIST
(rising to a shout)
-- Hear these words of power! Barter this
flesh and invoke your Holy Guardian...
"Nosferatus, Emontus...Thanos"--!
WIDER NOW, ACROSS THE ROOM. At the precise moment he drives the
blade down, we CRAB QUICKLY LEFT to --
THE GIRL’S FACE on the VIDEO MONITOR, HOWLING in EXTREME CLOSE-UP
as the machee SLAMS home (mercifully OFFSCREEN). The monitor
picture starts to ROLL --
FAST CUT TO:
INT. YARD - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - NIGHT
SNAP! TIGHT ON Reznor’s Lockaid gun as the twin prongs shear-off
28
in the lock --
REZNOR
Shit! This never happens on T.V.!
He stumbles back into the yard, takes a look around as LIGHTNING
FLARES above --
INT. SACRIFICIAL CHAMBER - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - NIGHT
The Girl’s head slumps lifelessly back. Blood swells along
channels carved into the cross...weeps over the edge. Trickles
into --
THE "PENTICON" BELOW. Disturbingly, the fluid MOVES OF ITS OWN
VOLITION...heading in assorted directions along the carved
gullies. The Cultists register surprise and trepidation as the
droplets ACCELERATE and ACCELERATE and --
TRANSFORM from matter into SEARING POINTS OF ENERGY that race
about the unholy symbol like a circuitboard ELECTRON DANCE.
A strange wind GUSTS through the place, GUTTERING the candle
slightly. The videocam monitor SNOWS erratically as questing
tendrils of power SHOOT up from the circle, ARCING through the
Girl’s body and shrivelling her to a desiccated husk --
EXT. FRONT OF STARE - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - NIGHT
Reznor’s head SNAPS UPWARDS as --
EXT. TURRET - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - NIGHT
The heavens are RENT ASUNDER by a MIGHTY CRACK, a bolt of
LIGHTNING SLASHING DOWN to COURSE through the vane atop the
bookshop, and --
INT. SACRIFICIAL CHAMBER - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - NIGHT
CRACKING DOWN from the inverted lightning conductor to the
"Penticon" which ERUPTS, coalescing into a RAGING ENERGY
MAELSTROM. All the candles BLOW OUT simultaneously --
EXT. FRONT OF STORE - "SAMHIN BOOKS" - NIGHT
KER-BOOM! The turret windows SHATTER, GOUTING EXHAUST SPUMES of
ROLLING ORANGE FIRE.
Reznor dives for cover as debris showers down --
29
REZNOR
Holy fuck!
INT. SACRIFICIAL CHAMBER - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - NIGHT
The ENERGY TORNADO is a WHIRLING VORTEX of RED-AND-GREEN LIGHT,
oscillating slightly (perhaps subliminally giving the idea we
might see Freddy Krueger). The Cross has become energized, an
INCANDESCENT GLOWING MASS...a BLAST WAVE hits it, BLOWING AWAY
the Goth Girl’s ashen remains.
Cultist #3 on the periphery IGNITES, a human fireball. The Lead
Cultist is snagged by the vortex’s power, the trim of his cowl
catching fire. Both his skull and right arm GLOW from within, an
unearthly MOLTEN ORANGE --
EXT. FRONT OF STORE - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - NIGHT
Reznor rainses his pistol squarely at the storefront window.
REZNOR
Screw "Reasonable Cause" --
BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM! A half-dozen rounds STAR and IMPLODE the
glass...
INT. SACRIFICIAL CHAMBER - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - NIGHT
A SHAPE forms within the tornado...a HUMANOID framework of veins
suspended above the floor in a fetal ball, gaining solidity each
moment --
Mass panic. Cultist #4 tries to bolt...an energy ribbon LASHES
out and BURNS A HOLE THROUGH HIM.
The jaw of the transfixed Lead Cultist opens a SILENT SCREAM in
his WHITE-HOT SKULL --
The Humanoid Shape is solid now, electrcal CRACKLES ZAPPING about
it. The vortex suddenly IMPLODES, and --
A BURST of LIGHT tosses the Lead Cultist ferociously backwards,
his face sheared away and cauterized. The Aztec machete spins up
into the air, as --
The remainder of the vortex EXPLODES and dissipates, as--
The videocam monitor ROLLS BACK towards normality, and --
30
A FAST CUT as CHUNKY CONSTRUCTION BOOTS with black crome shinguards
SLAM DOWN onto the reformed "Penticon", as --
The machete pirouttes down, and --
A HAND sporting fingerless open-backed biker-gloves WHIPS OUT
from nowhere, ENORMOUS FINGERS curling around the grip then --
WHOOSH! The blade immediately CLEAVES through the air towards --
THE THROAT OF CULTIST #5, who looses a SCREAM --
Which is interrupted as he’s DECAPITATED in a FAST VIDEO MONITOR
INSERT. We get a speedy SCAN-LINED glimpse of JASON VOORHEES’
KILLING MASK POWERING across the FRAME --
BUT LIKE WE’VE NEVER SEEN BEFORE. Still a HOCKEY GOALIE, but now
DARK CHROME with ANGULAR FACETS. Terrifying - a regular SLASHER
DARTH VADER.
INT. WINDOW DISPLAY - "SAMHAIN" BOOKSHOP - NIGHT
Reznor knocks-in some dangerous glass shards, inadvertently
toppling a skeleton window display. He clambers over the frame
and into the store, his shoe coming down to crush the delicate
plastic skull --
INT. SACRIFICIAL CHAMBER - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - NIGHT
Cultist #6 SHRIEKS in terror as Jason’s foot SLAMS down MULCHING
his head to puree. Jason’s head SNAPS AROUND as --
Cultist #7 is there with a BATTLE CRY, wielding a sacrifiecial
dagger --
CULTIST #7
Morituri Abominati -- !
THUNK! The dagger sinks up to the hilt in Jason’s torso. Jason
glances calmly down...a moment’s hesitation...the man
freezes...then Jason impales him cleanly with his machete.
Jason pitches back with the dagger protruding as Cultist #1
catches him unawares, garroting him with the sacrificial
restraint chains. Jason relinquishes his grip on the machete,
and Cultist #7 reels towards a pillar, GURGLING --
Jason staggers blindly, knocking the videocam tripod over. Rain
SPATTERING the dark crome mask through the breached roof above,
31
he CLAWS ineffectively at the chains as CULTIST #1 uses her
mass to lever him back, and --
Cultist #2 CHARGES Jason from the front with the CRACKLING STUNROD.
Cultist #1 SHRIEKS out in pain as the conductive charge
ZAPS through Jason’s body and along the chains. As Cultist #2
TWISTS the tip deeper into Jason’s stomach, Jason SLAMS the woman
back against a stone pillar, CRUSHING her. He simultaheously
SEIZES the man’s shoulders and --
YANKS HIM BODILY FORWARD, the Stun-Rod SPEARING Cultist #2’s
chest and passing cleanly through him. Cultist #2’s SCREAMING
face is a matter of inches from the chrome faceplate as --
Jason PLANTS a FEROCIOUS HEAD-BUTT on him, then TOSSES him aside
like a ragdoll. As Cultist #1 sinks down behind him, Jason
extracts the sacrificial dagger from is ribcage and tosses it to
the ground. Turns to Cultist #7 - alive and WHIMPERING against
another pillar with the machete protruding and stalks murderously
towards him --
INT. STAIRWELL - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - NIGHT
Reznor takes the landing stairwell two stairs at a time. Down
below, we can see the orderly shelves that make up the small-butcluttered
store. As he reaches top --
KER-SMASH! Reznor flinches, half-ducks as the door leading to
the turret ahead SPLINTERS WIDE APART, Cultist #7’s corpse
WHOOSING throught he air. It CRACKS THROUGH the bannisters,
PLUMMETS down into the store. BOUNCING OFF a bookshelf adn
coming to rest below. Reznor gapes.
REZNOR
Jesus!
A DARK SILHOUETTE steps forward from the shadows. Reznor raises
him pistol, Weaver-stance.
REZNOR
F.B.I. ...right where you are,
twinkletoes!
Reznor gets a good look as LIGHTNING reflects fromt he chrome
killing mask through the skylight immediately above. The jetblack
boiler-suit...the dark liquid trickling along the Aztec
machete’s rune-carved blade.
32
REZNOR (cont’d)
Drop the toothpick, buddy!
Jason ignores him, strides malevolently forward. Reznor CLICKS
his pistol’s safety catch --
REZNOR (cont’d)
One warning only...do it!
Jason raises the blade threateningly...and Reznor lets him have
it, SHOT-AFTER-SHOT. Jason LURCHES each time the bullets him
home...Reznor’s eyes bug at the lack of effect. The machete
SWISHES down, burying itself in the broken bannister-rail.
Reznor feints to the right, avoids the swing by millimeters
...loses his footing on the ledge--
AND SLIPS, tumbling down into the store. Conveniently, the prone
corpse of Cultist #7 cushions Reznor’s fall...but his head BANGS
against something, KNOCKING him out cold.
WE FINISH TIGHT ON REZNOR’S HEAD. Chromed construction boots
STOMP past on their way out into the night...
EXT. "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - NIGHT (AERIAL MATTE SHOT)
TIGHT ON the videocam monitor showing a SKEWED ANGLE of a
Cultist’s face, staring sightlessly. PULL BACK to reveal --
A GOD’S EYE ANGLE looking 270 degrees VETICALLY DAWN at the
bookstore. The shattered turret is in IMMEDIATE FOREGROUND,
pockets of GUTTERING FLAME in the rafters here-and-there.
Through the rent in the roof, we see part of the "Penticon" and
various SCATTERED CULTISTS’ BODIES.
Approaching POLICE SIRENS RISE in VOLUME, O.S. Far below, we
note TINY FIGURE of Jason Voorhees casting a huge shadow as it
stalks purposefully away into the darkness...
CUT TO:
EXT. BLACKTOP ROADSIDE - BETHLEHEM - NIGHT (CRANE SHOT)
Rain is coming down in sheets, still. A breakdown truck with
"Voorhees 24 Hour Motors" markings is pulled at the roadside. A
GUY in overalls and an all-weather jacket has his head under the
open hood of Alice’s Lexus, just up-front.
33
INT. ALICE’S CAR - NIGHT
Alice watches as the guy drops the hood, SPLASHES around to the
driver’s side. She thumbs a control. The window WHIRRS down,
and we see Steven Freeman’s face.
ALICE
So, what do I owe you?
STEVEN
(shakes his head)
I wish it were that simple...
ALICE
What is it?
STEVEN
Well. Contacts’re fine. Battery’s got a
charge, so it’s not electrical. Oil’s
good...something with the gas mix, maybe?
Might even be in the engine...
ALICE
Oh, God --
STEVEN
I can put it through the shop overnight.
You could drop-by tomorrow...
Alice shoots a worried look at Jacob, asleep in the back seat.
ALICE
No. I’m not...well, we don’t live around
here. We were driving back, to Ohio --
Steven scratches his head. Thinks.
STEVEN
Well, then you certainly have a problem.
I could maybe give you guys a ride? Some
reasonable motels, just down off the
blacktop --
ALICE
This time of the year? This year?
34
STEVEN
Ah, I know some people.
(grins)
Friends in low places. Y’know?
ALICE
Thanks. Whatever. Anything I can get
has to be better than sleepin here, I
guess --
CUT TO:
INT. ARRIVAL LOUNGE - DULLES INTERNATIONAL - NIGHT
CLOSE ON the second hand of Cobain’s wristwatch, the TICKING
incredibly loud.
WIDER NOW. Cobain’s still sitting on the rotunda. His eyes are
heavy, head drooping. He catches himself. Repeats this
once...twice. The TANNOY ANNOUNCEMENT SLURS and FADES-OUT O.S.,
and --
HE WAKES BACK TO CONCIOUSNESS, suddenly fully refreshed. His
gaze comes up, not really focussing on anything --
HIS P.O.V., looking around. Flurries of people hurrying to their
destination. Subtly SPEEDING-UP and BLURRING into one. (We HEAR
the TANNOY O.S. in QUICK GARBLED SPURTS.) A GAP appears in the
crowd --
To reveal a WOMAN in a NUN’S HABIT. We recognize her as AMANDA
KRUEGER, Freddy’s deceased mother. She does a quarterturn...
stares directly at Cobain.
Cobain frown. Straightens. Hears a GREAT ECHOING MECHANICAL
"CLANK." Looks up to see --
-- THE AIRPORT WALL-CLOCK GO BACKWARDS from "12:40" to "12:39".
He glimpses down at his wristwatch. The second hand is running
backwards, too...
Cobain returns her gaze, finds himself standin inside --
INT. "CHURCH VOID" (DREAM SEQUENCE)
AN AREA OF LIGHT, bounded by impenetrable shadow. The stone
floor scattered with autumnal leaves, a dais ahead. Standing on
it before a VERTICAL STAINED GLASS WINDOW is Amanda, WHITE DOVES
fluttering about her. The GIANT CENSERS We saw in the ITALIAN
35
PROLOBUE WHOOSH BACK-AND-FORTH between her and Cobain, preventing
him getting any closer.
She locks her gaze to him. He glances nervously left-and-right
into the shadows before returning it.
AMANDA KRUEGER
(resonant echo)
The time of Darkness falls upon you all...
you must choose the True Path...ahhhh --!
She convulses, doubling over. Hands clutching at her chest.
FOUR GREAT BLOODY RIPS stain her robe’s white frontispiece:
FREEDDY CLAW MARKS. Cobain makes to move forward --
AND AMANDA’S HEAD SNAPS UP, hideously transformed into a SKELETAL
DEATH MASK. Before Cobain can react, Amanda EVAPORATES into a
SPECTRAL WRAITH and DISSAPEARS.
A WEIRD EXAGGERATED CLACK-CLACK NOISE O.S. --
INT. ARRIVAL LOUNGE - DULLES INTERNATIONAL - NIGHT
Jerks Cobain back to reality. It was a dream...a weird
nightmare. A GROUP of BLACK YOUTHS are standing of to one side,
incongruously playing a "NIN" song LOUDLY on their boom-box.
Cobain looks up as the status of all the flights on the arrivals
board NOISILY changes to "DELAYED" --
CUT TO:
EXT. AIRSPACE - NIGHT
Lightning ERUPTS around a DC10, battered by storm clouds.
INT. CLUB CLASS COMPARTMEN - DC10 - NIGHT
Nervous PASSENGERS are shaken about in the half-full compartment,
many vomiting into bags. THe internal lights GLICKER wildly.
Halfway-back sits PONTIFF MANFREDINI. 50s, plump and
mustachioed...anxiously clutching a black leather briefcase to
his chest. He fumbles awkwardly at the cap of a pill bottle as -
-
A GREAT BLAST OF TURBULENCE sends it SPINNING from his grip. It
HITS deck...BURSTS open, spilling tablets. Rolls down the aisle.
A STEWARDESS stops its progress, smiles at Manfredini as she
swiftly replaces the pills.
36
STEWARDESS
Having a little trouble there, Pontiff?
Manfredini grimaces apologetically. Speaks in a broken Italian
accent.
PONTIFF MANFREDINI
I’m...sorry. I do not...travel well.
STEWARDESS
Just like a good wine, huh?
His attempt at a smile fades with another JOLT of TURBULENCE.
PONTIFF MANFREDINI
The, uh...."Cabinetti"...bathroom?
She turns, looks back down the aisle. The illuminated sign
changes to "OCCUPIED" as an AILING PASSENGER lurches inside.
STEWARDESS
Heavy traffic...look, there’s another
cubicle back that way, if you’re chewing
your knuckles --
PONTIFF MANFREDINI
(rising)
Si...yes. Thank you --
INT. PASSAGEWAY - DC10 - NIGHT
Manfredini is rocked against a wall as the plane is buffeted.
INT. TOILET - DC10 - NIGHT
Manfredini enters the cubicle. Closes the door behind him and
TURNS --
To find himself in a CHURCH CONFESSIONAL BOX. The latch SCHNICKS
into place of its own volition. Manfredini recoils, sits down
heavily. The walls are panelled wood...startles as SICKLY GREEN
LIGHT BLASTS through the latticework separator.
DARK VOICE
(O.S., deep and resonant)
Father...it’s five billion years since my
last confession --
37
Manfredini looks around in panic as the walls compress quickly
inward, and --
THE FLOOR DROPS AWAY! He pitches forward, palms pressing aginst
the walls as MALEVOLENT LAUGHTER echoes. Flames LICK up from a
BOTTOMLESS PIT, SEARING at his legs like a flamethrower as --
The RED-AND-GREEN PEW - his only leverage - TILTS away beneath
him! He falls awkwardly, SCREAMING --
INT. PASSAGEWAY - DC10 - NIGHT
AND ROCKETS BACK THROUGH THE TOILET DOOR, SLAMMING HARD against
the passageway wall. He slumps, staring at the swaying door for
a moment...listening to the CREAKY HINGES.
His head JERKS AROUND at a FAINT SOUND further down the
compartment. A CHILDREN’S NURSERY RHYME. HE HEARS an OILY
SQUEAK some way down the rear of the plane. Stares 50 feet back
to see --
A 5 year-old GIRL in a white dress cycles into the aisleway on a
three-wheeled trike. Looks directly at Manfredini. GIGGLES
mischievously.
PONTIFF MANFREDINI
Hey...hey!
GIRL ON PLANE
(singsong)
"One, Two...Freddy’s coming for you --"
She turns the trike’s wheel and cycles rapidly off.
PONTIFF MANFREDINI
No...wait -- !
As Manfredini makes to follow, we notice the SHADOW of FOUR GIANT
CLAWS moving on the wall behind him --
INT. 2ND PASSENGER COMPARTMENT - DC10 - NIGHT
Manfredini enters the next compartment...stops in horror.
Crosses himself. The occupied seats contain FRAZZLED SKELETAL
PASSENGERS, their clothes and bones STEAMING SLIGHTLY.
PONTIFF MANFREDINI
God have mercy --
38
GIRL ON PLANE
(O.S., singsong)
"Three, Four...better lock your door --"
Manfredini summons up his resolve. As he hurries towards the
source of the sound --
ANOTHER ANGLE, behind Manfredini. MASSIVE LEGS ENTER OVER
CAMERA, gunfighter style. FOUR ENORMOUS BLADES idle into FRAME.
Intricately etched - but shot-through with rust and corrosive
pitting - the tarnished chrome catches the light...
INT. 3RD PASSENGER COMPARTMENT - DC10 - NIGHT
Manfredini’s face registers bewilderment as he enters this
compartment. The seats have changed into WOODEN PEWS, each of
the window portals a small square of stained glass, autumnal
leaves gusting around. The trike lies overturned on the floor, a
spoked rear wheel still spinning. As the Pontiff crouches to
halt it --
A SPORADIC STROBE-FLASH from the front of the aircraft backlights
a HULKING FIGURE someway behind him. An ENORMOUS TORSO, filling
the passageway and then some...24 INCH SCIMITAR-LIKE CLAWS
curving down from its right hand.
PONTIFF MANFREDINI
(unawares)
Where are you?
Manfredini STARTLES as the INFLIGHT MOVIE PROJECTOR starts up.
(Conveniently, SCENE 67 of "Wes Craven’s New Nightmare.")
WES CRAVEN
(O.S., on screen)
" -- It’s old, very old. And it’s taken
different forms in different ages. The
only thing that stays the same about it,
is what it lives for."
JACOB
(O.S.)
You shouldn’t be here --!
Manfredini looks around. Sees Jacob standing accross the aisle,
looking at him with puzzlement.
39
HEATHER LANGENKAMP
(O.S., on screen)
"What’s that?"
PONTIFF MANFREDINI
How...where is this place? The girl...?
We hear the Dream Girl’s GIGGLES from somewhere, O.S.
GIRL ON PLANE
(O.S.)
"Five, Six...grab your crucifix --"
JACOB
(ugently)
Quick! Get away...you have to wake up!
PONTIFF MANFREDINI
Wake...up?
AN ENORMOUS RIPPING SOUND fills the air as HUGE FREDDY CLAWS GASH
cross-sectionally through the hull between them --
WES CRAVEN
(O.S., on screen)
"Slaughtering innocence."
The aircraft hull RENDS APART, SLICED in half --
EXT. AIRSPACE - NIGHT (OPTICAL - CONTINUING)
The DC10’s tail SHEARS away as Manfredini PLUNGES HUNDREDS OF
FEET towards CAMERA and certain death, the trike TUMBLING
alongside --
PONTIFF MANFREDINI
Noooooo -- !
EXT. APEX OF PILLAR - HELL - ZERO HOUR (CONTINUING)
WHAM! Manfredini SLAMS RIGHT THROUGH a BARBED STAKE,impaling him
brutally. (The trike kicks up a DUSTCLOUD as it hits ground in
F.G.)
A REVERSE ANGLE as the Pontiff MOANS, grasping feebly at the
bloody spike. A GRIM-REAPERESQUE FIGURE with a SCYTHE LOOMING
over him...beyond, we see the VAST ENERGY TORNADO towering over
all as it approaches inexorably --
40
INT. CLUB CLASS COMPARTMENT - DC10 - NIGHT (BACK TO REALITY)
An AGITATED PASSENGER tries to hold a BUCKING and STRAINING
Manfredini. Blood seeps around the edge of his attache as the
Stewardess makes to prize it away. The Pontiff’s face is bright
purple, his eyes bulging. VARIOUS PASSENGERS crowd around,
ghoulishly watching. It’s almost as if he were being dragged
into the air.
STEWARDESS
Hold him down...keep him down!
AGITATED PASSENGER
I’m trying -- !
A SECOND STEWARDESS stands behind, grinding tablets against
Manfredini’s clenched teeth. A SECOND PASSENGER comes into SHOT,
waving a plastic spoon.
SECOND PASSENGER
Get this between his teeth --!
As the Stewardess YANKS the case away, we hear a CRUNCH --
AND A BLOSSOM OF BLOOD ERUPTS from Manfredini’s chest!
JUMP CUT TO:
EXT. ROAD - BLACKTOP MOTEL - NIGHT
The "Voorhees Motors" truck is parked at the roadside, Alice’s
Lexus up on the back ramps. The garish neon of a nearby motel
SIZZLES in the sheet rain.
INT. CAB - STEVEN’S PICK-UP TRUCK - NIGHT
The wipers SCHNICK-SCHNICK as Steven stares out through the
drizzle-speckled windshield. Stephanie is next to him, tearing
pieces of orange peel and aiming them at Jacob’s sleeping face in
the rear. He turns, catches her in the act.
STEVEN
C’mon - knock it off, Steph. Kid’s beat --
Stephanie complies...at least until Steven looks away. She rips
another piece, FLICKS it at Jacob’s cheek --
AND JACOB BOLTS AWAKE, SCREAMING LIKE A BANSHEE! Stephanie
SCREECHES back, caught unawares. Steven GALVANIZES into action,
41
stretching over the seat to Jacob.
JACOB
It’s him!
STEVEN
Whoa, hey...hold the phone --!
JACOB
He killed the man --!
STEVEN
You had a nightmare...
JACOB
No, I saw him! With his claws -- !
STEVEN
Claws?
The sudden CLUNK of the passenger side door unlocking makes them
jump. Stephanie budges over as Alice leaps in, soaked.
ALICE
I don’t believe it! This is beginning to
feel like nailing jello to a door.
STEVEN
No luck?
ALICE
"No room at the inn." Again.
She pauses. Recognizes an intense atmosphere in the cab.
ALICE (cont’d)
Is everything okay?
JACOB
Mom, it’s the Sandman!
ALICE
What?
JACOB
It’s Freddy. Freddy Krueger...
Alice goes still, feels a sudden chill at the name...
42
CUT TO:
CLOSE ON MANFREDINI’S FACE. A zipper comes up over it...
AIRPORT COP
(O.S.)
It’s the damnedest thing...
WIDER NOW:
EXT. "APRON" - DULLES INTERNATIONAL - NIGHT
The rain has stopped. Blue ambulance strobes light the scene.
Prominently displaying his F.B.I. clip-tag, Cobain stands with an
AIRPORT COP watching the gurney containing the Pontiff’s bodybag
being loaded into an ambulance.
AIRPORT COP (cont’d)
Paramedics say they’ve never seen anything
like it. Massive internal hemorrhaging,
punched right through his ribcage. No
apparent cause. Vatican’s already laying
on a special flight back for the body.
Cobain shakes his head. Glances over at the SOBBING Stewardess
telling her story to some MORE COPS.
COBAIN
How’re the cabin staff?
AIRPORT COP
If brown trousers and bug-eyes are Airline
regs, I’d hazard they’re peachy.
He reads the china-pencil writing on a big handled polybag
containing Manfredini’s case and a number of loose personal
effects. Hands it over to Cobain.
AIRPORT COP (cont’d)
"Manfredini." What’d this goombah do?
COBAIN
Pope’s Special Envoy.
AIRPORT COP
(impressed)
No shit. Anyhow...it’s all there. Tagged
and bagged. Expect you boys’ll settle the
pencil-pushing.
43
COBAIN
(wryly)
Yea. Story of my life...
INT. COBAIN’S CAR - AIRPORT - NIGHT
The polybag lies on the passenger’s side, the attache on top.
Cobain opens a brown leather pouch in his hands. Gingerly pulls
out a plastic exhibition sheath. Inside is a worn, edge-burnt
piece of parchment. The Freddy glove and Jason mask illustration
from the ITALIAN PROLOGUE.
COBAIN
What the...Sam Hill...is this about?
Cobain’s cellphone WARBLES for attention. He flips it open.
COBAIN (cont’d)
Yup...Cobain -- ?
CUT TO:
INT. CAB - STEVEN’S PICK-UP TRUCK - NIGHT
Jacob seems troubled, staring out of the window. The radio plays
some MUSIC at LOW VOLUME. Steven drives Alice in silence while
the kids are bonding in the back.
STEVEN
Nice car.
ALICE
Thanks. Company.
STEVEN
Yea? Whaddya do?
ALICE
I’m, uh, a legal rep. For a record
company.
STEVEN
Ever meet any stars?
ALICE
No...long hours, you keep your head down.
Though Alice Cooper once held a lift door
open for me.
44
STEVEN
Cool. So what’s your husband think of it?
ALICE
(touching a nerve)
No. Dan...died, before Jake was born.
STEVEN
Oh. Sorry.
In the rear, Stephanie flips through Jacob’s Superhero trading
cards.
STEPHANIE
Wow..."Spawn"! Who’d you reckon’d win if
"Spawn" fought "The Mask"?
JACOB
I dunno..."Spawn", I guess. But it’d be
dumb if it was done wrong, ’cause they’re
from different Universes and you gotta
have a proper story to make it work --
Steven hears the conversation. Grins slightly. Alice catches
his eye. Smiles, then looks away.
ALICE
Kids.
STEVEN
I know.
Alice tries hard. Thinks of some conversation.
ALICE
So. "Voorhees Motors." This is you?
STEVEN
Not exactly. My wife started up the
business with some money we came into a
while back. We work it together.
"Voorhees Motors...We’ll Slash Your
Prices."
Stephanie LAUGHS OUT LOUD in the rear. Alice looks on in
bewilderment.
45
ALICE
I’m sorry, I don’t -- ?
STEVEN
Oh, it’s, uh...kind of a family joke.
ALICE
Ah.
Another silence. Steven breaks it next.
STEVEN
Listen. I don’t wanna pry, but...this
"Freddy Crew-cut" -- ?
ALICE
(interrupting quickly)
"Krueger." It’s nothing. Just an...old,
bad dream.
STEVEN
A dream?
Jacob catches Alice’s quick look in the rear-view.
ALICE
It’s not something we talk about anymore.
STEVEN
Ah. Okay.
EXT. DRIVEWAY - FREEMAN HOUSE - NIGHT
The pickup backs into the driveway, stops. A sloping ramp leads
down to the door of the basement autoshop. Everybody climbs down
from the cab.
STEVEN
Last stop. Chateau Freeman.
Pools of YELLOW LIGHT illuminate the forecourt.
STEVEN (cont’d)
Security lights. Never be too careful.
Jacob stares delightedly at the big Christmas tree.
JACOB
Mom, look. They’ve got a real tree!
46
ALICE
Pretty neat.
(to Steven)
This is really generous. I don’t wanna be
a burden?
STEVEN
Ah, don’t worry. Jessica’s pretty much
the understanding type...
INT. KITCHEN - FREEMAN HOUSE - NIGHT
Jessica’s dressed in awhite oversized man’s flannel robe, pinched
from a hotel somewhere. She HISSES at Steven, clearly unhappy.
JESSICA
Are you nuts?! What were you thinking!?
STEVEN
Jess, the motels were all full --
JESSICA
She could be some crazed child molester...
axe murderer --
JESSICA’S P.O.V., THE LIVING ROOM. Jacob looks around as Alice
hefts a chunky Samsonite case.
STEVEN
-- Charlie Manson’s secret love-child?
She’s a lawyer, or something.
JESSICA
Figures. The worst type.
STEVEN
Be reasonable, Jess. What was I supposed
to do? Leave ’em stranded on the
Interstate?
JESSICA
Yes!
Steven tries to be placating. Cups her hips with his hands.
47
STEVEN
Her car needs work. Think of it as an
investment. Money in the bank. Just one
night.
JESSICA
One night?
STEVEN
One night. I promise.
Her arms come up. Slide around his neck.
JESSICA
I swear, my karma sucks. I get myself
married to Crystal Lake’s last Boy Scout.
He grins. Alice appears at the kitchen door, a little
embarrassed at interrupting.
ALICE
I’m sorry, I --
JESSICA
(breaking away)
Oh --
ALICE
Sorry, hi --
JESSICA
Hi.
ALICE
Alice Johnson.
Jessica sticks her hand out. Shakes it.
JESSICA
Jessica Freeman.
ALICE
I, uh...just wanted to say thanks...you
know? There’s not a lot of people about
who’d do something like this for a
complete stranger.
48
JESSICA
No, that’s...really. The least we could
do.
ALICE
You might think I was, y’know...an axe
maniac or something.
She catches a look from Steven. Doesn’t comment.
JESSICA
(blithely)
No...no. Never even entered my mind.
STEVEN
I’ll help you with the bags. Show you and
Jake downstairs.
ALICE
Great.
She smiles at Jessica. Leaves. Jessica looks after her.
JESSICA
Terrific.
CUT TO:
INT. POLICE HELICOPTER - NIGHT
TIGHT ON A THERMOGRAPH SCREEN, an AREIAL VIEW of cars and
buildings reduced to "Hot-And-Cold" colors. The CHATER of ROTORBLADES
O.S.
WIDER NOW. A POLICE THERMOGRAPH OPERATOR peers at the monitor
alongside the PILOT.
THERMOGRAPH OPERATOR
3-David-15...two blocks West off Miller,
we have an unresolved anomaly your
vicinity...warehouse alleyway. Over.
CUT TO:
INT. POLICE CRUISER - NIGHT
A police Cruiser with two cops on patrol, REESE and FOLEY. Reese
clicks his radio handset. Swivels the doorlamp towards an
alleyway ahead.
49
REESE
Aerial...we’re on it. Give us some
aircover.
THERMOGRAPH OPERATOR
(O.S. on radio)
Affirmative.
EXT. ALLEYWAY - NIGHT
Reese is backlit by the cruiser lamp at the mouth of the
alleyway, Baretta 9mm drawn. He ventures forth, passes the
overhang of a fire exit. Swings his own flashlight across the
trash-strewn floor. The CHOPPER CLATTERS O.S., AN INTENSE CONE
OF LIGHT stabbing down. Reese startles.
REESE
Aw, crap!
INSERT, CLOSE ON THE FLOOR. DOZENS of RATS swaring aound his
agitated feet.
REESE (cont’d)
(thumbs his walkie-talkie)
Aerial, you might wanna inform Pest
Control. Other than that, it’s a negative
on your perp. OVer.
THERMOGRAPH OPERATOR
(O.S., on walkie talkie)
Roger that, we’ll keep on lookin. Out.
The chopper spotlight SWEEPS ON OVER, and as it does --
WE SEE JASON VOORHEES standing in the shadows, SLATS OF LIGHT
GLIMMERING through the fire-exit onto the chrome mask just inches
behind Reese! The Aztec machete raises inexorably to deliver a
killing blow --
-- But Reese simply walks back to the Police Cruiser, cheating
death by seconds.
DIFFERENT ANGLE, CLOSE ON JASON. The steel mask turns to TRACK
the Cop. A stray shaft of light reveals its edge FIZZING
slightly. TINY BLOBS OF MOLTEN CHROME dripping away, as if the
mask were corroding...
CUT TO:
50
INT. BASEMENT BEDROOM - FREEMAN HOUSE - NIGHT.
A stepladder, a bunch of boxes, and numerous odds-and-ends
clutter up a small utility room. Jacob sits on the edge of the
single bed, arguing with Alice as she unpacks.
JACOB
Mom, I can take the chair --
ALICE
Forget it, squirt. You need your sleep.
(a beat)
This isn’t about that dream?
JACOB
I’m just not tired...
ALICE
Jake, he isn’t coming after us again.
Fred Krueger’s no threat to anybody, I
cancelled his ticket a long time ago...
JACOB
I saw him! On the airplane. He was just
like the stories the kids tell at
school...with the claws, only --
ALICE
What?
JACOB
He was bigger, Mom. Real, real bigger...
CUT TO:
EXT. FRONT OF STORE - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - SUNRISE
Reznor sits atop a gurney, swatting away the attention of a
PARAMEDIC. His arm in a splint, he smokes a cigarette with his
free hand. We see TREAD MARKS of FRESH BLOOD on the concrete
sidewalk left by those leaving the store.
EMERGENCY VEHICLES are parked haphazardly out front. Yellow-andblack
OSHA tape sections the area off from the ONLOOKERS who are
beginning to gather. Cobain ducks under it clutching his F.B.I.
files, flashes his badge to a DUTY COP. A T.V. CREW on the
sidelines tries to grab his attention --
51
T.V. REPORTER
C’mon, Officer! Last chance for Primetime
this Century...!
He ducks them. Heads for Reznor, juggling his cellular with one
hand while smoking with the other.
REZNOR
(into phone)
Paula, I’m fine. A noggin’ bump, I’ll
survive.
He has a COUGHING fit as Cobain reaches him.
COBAIN
You know, those things’ll kill ya...
REZNOR
(to Cobain)
You’re hilarious.
(into phone)
No...Jack. He just got here. Yeah, bye.
(back to Cobain)
What took you?
Reznor lowers the phone. Dabs at his forehead, eases himself up.
Cobain stares up at the soldering turret.
COBAIN
Long story. Jeez, what’d you do? Pull a
bazooka?
Another gurney is carried out from the building, a black dodybag
atop it.
PARAMEDIC LEADER
(loudly to all)
Anyone I.D.’d these wackos?
Cobain passes him, tosses the file on top of the bodybag.
COBAIN
Here. Mix’n’match.
They reach the store’s front door. A black-outfitted SWAT LEADER
storms over, waving a paper sheet in Cobain’s face.
52
SWAT LEADER
Cobain...hey! You know anything ’bout
this?
COBAIN
Hi, Lee.
SWAT LEADER
Some asshole faked my signature on a rec.
form! My guys were dragged out of bed at
one in the morning!
COBAIN
Yeah...you did a great job, by the way.
Hate to think what’d’ve happened if you
hadn’t made it --
INT. MAIN STORE - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - SUNRISE (CONTINUING)
Dawn filters through the shattered window as they pass amoungst
the bookshelves.
COBAIN
Interpol came up aces on the photographs.
Guy called Karswell from England, Fulci
from Italy...etcetera, etcetera. Turned
out these guys were some sort of...
Millenarian, Nihilistic sect.
Reznor shucks-off the splint, casts it aside.
REZNOR
Let’s hear it for the forces of irony.
INT. SACRIFICIAL CHAMBER. - "SAMHAIN BOOKS" - SUNRISE
WHAM! A POLICE PHOTOGRAPHERS FLASH GUN goes off. Victim chalk
marks are all around..one has an irregular puddle where the head
should be, another has its heat drawn yards from the body.
COBAIN
Holy Frejole...
REZNOR
Yeah. Invite a few pals ’round for a
little harmless human sacrifice, look what
happens.
Cobain takes a look around, notices the room. Sees the
53
"Penticon".
REZNOR (cont’d)
I’m telling you, Jack...whoever he is,
this guy’s an elemental force of nature.
Iced eight of ’em, all told. I pumped a
half-clip into him. Zip effect.
Cobain pauses at the Cross. Runs his finger through some ashes
there (the flaky remains of the Goth sacrifice).
COBAIN
Kevlar, most likely. Any leads?
REZNOR
(shakes his head)
Spotters all over. Running operations
outta Bethlehem P.D.
COBAIN
Good. Have the locals roll up the red
tape, put it in a drawer till this is
over --
Cobain looks around at the shattered roof. Spots a TECHNICIAN
placing the Cults’ camcorder into an evidence bag.
COBAIN
We actually get a recording?
REZNOR
Grandstand seats.
(beat)
The name "Jason Voorhees" jog any grey
cells?
COBAIN
Sure. "Required reading’ at the Academy.
Bundy...Dahmer...Myers. Up there in the
Pantheon of "All-Time Sickos." Our guys
DX’d him...what? Years back.
REZNOR
I think we got us a copycat. Our perp had
the same M.O. Machete...hockey mask...the
works.
Cobain freezes on Reznor’s words.
54
COBAIN
"Hockey mask."
REZNOR
Yeah. What?
Cobain looks carefully around. Drops his voice.
COBAIN
Let’s talk somewhere. There’s some very
disturbing synchronicity shit going down
here --
CUT TO:
INT. BASEMENT BEDROOM - FREEMAN HOUSE - MORNING
Morning light filters in. Alice sits in the chair, a blanket
across her legs. Dark rings circle her eyes. As she watches
Jacob on the bed, he gives a gentle snore. She picks up her
travel clock from the side. IT reads "7:20".
ALICE
Finally.
INT/EXT. BASEMENT AUTOSHOP - FREEMAN HOUSE - MORNING
Shelves line the walls, filled with auto parts. An old Pontiac
raised on a ramp above the grease pit. An engine block dangles
from chains nearby. Jessica has her head under the Lexus hood,
hands buried deep within the engine bowels. A boom-box on the
workbench plays ENERGETIC, THUMPING ROCK.
JESSICA
Now...what have we here -- ?
HANDHELD, moving in towards Jessica’s back. THreatening. We get
the feeling she’s about to meet an untimely end, as --
WHAM! Steven swipes her fanny with an automap. Jessica jumps,
YELPS. Her head BANGING on the hood.
STEVEN
Gotcha!
He swipes the oilrag from her back pocket. THWAPS it jokily at
her.
55
JESSICA
Ow...goddamn! That isn’t funny!
He puts his hands on her hips. Kisses behind her ear.
STEVEN
Y’know - first time I ever saw you, you
were bending over a crate of Gatorade at
Joey B’s. Know what I thought?
She twists around to face him. Drapes her arms around his neck.
Slow smile.
JESSICA
Tell.
STEVEN
You’d prob’ly blow it when you turned
around --
She THUMPS him. Playfully affronted.
JESSICA
Pinhead. I hate you.
STEVEN
That so?
JESSICA
No.
(they kiss)
You heading off?
Steven crosses to the exit. Takes his coat from a hook.
STEVEN
Yeah. I wanna hit Pittsburg quick, beat
that Millennial gridlock.
JESSICA
Well, watch yourself. Be a lot of rushhour
Rambos about.
STEVEN
(flip, quickly)
I’ll be sure to pack a machete.
(catches himself, realizes)
Sorry. You gonna do that church thing
later?
56
JESSICA
I promised Father Shaye already. If you
miss me, I’ll drop Stephy over with Rachel.
STEVEN
Right. You know, you really should secure
this --
The greasepit hydraulic controls hang loosely overhead on the end
of a cable. Steven grabs it, stows it on a wallclip.
JESSICA
Steven?
STEVEN
Uh-huh?
JESSICA
I do love you. I know it’ll work out okay.
Steven winks at her. Throws the oilrag back. Jessica catches it
deftly.
STEVEN
Never doubted it at all. Hey...be a good
girl, I’ll take you to the firework
display tonight.
JESSICA
Oooh. Promises, promises --
INT. KITCHEN - FREEMAN HOUSE - MORNING
A boiling kettle steams up teh window. Alice stands in a robe,
stares outside. An air of loneliness about her.
HER P.O.V. Jessica kisses Steven goodbye at the pick-up’s open
door.
INT. BATHROOM - FREEMAN HOUSE - MORNING
The bathroom is tiled, cramped. Old-fashioned. A Heath-Robinson
plumbed shower against the wall, a cream-colored plastic curtain
hangs on the rail.
In FAST-CUTS, Alice - tastefully - loses her robe. Steps into
the shower, turns on the faucet. (Perhaps teasing our audience
57
by emulating the "Psycho" showere scene). We END on a
fatigued Alice, resting her forehead against a pipe.
THE EDGE OF THE SHOWER CURTAIN MOVES SUDDENLY, as if caught in a
breeze. TIGHT ON an ANGLE on one part of the material as it
UNDULATES...DIMPLES --
INT/EXT. BASEMENT AUTOSHOP - FREEMAN HOUSE - MORING
Alice’s Lexus is up on low portable ramps now. Jessica lies on a
mechanic’s trolley beneath. She forces something with a wrench -
it SLIPS, clattering out from her grip.
INT/EXT. BASEMENT AUTOSHOP - FREEMAN HOUSE - MORNING
Alice’s Lexus is up on low portable ramps now. Jessica lies on a
mechanic’s trolley beneath. She forces something with a wrech -
it SLIPS, clattering out from her grip.
JESSICA
Ow! Dammit!
She leans her head back, closes her eyes briefly...
CUT TO:
INT. BATHROOM - FREEMAN HOUSE - MORNING (RESUME)
Alice’s breathing is shallow. Head bowed, eyes closed. Water
cascades across her naked shoulders. the material of the shower
curtain behind her STRETCHES, into one of the --
"NEW" FREDDY CLAWS...MORPHING to a full length of 18 inches. A
SECOND emerges...a THIRD, a FOURTH. Flexes --
CLOSE ON ALICE...same position, still oblivious --
AS A BUMP THE SIZE OF A PUMPKIN BULGES like a vac-form mold,
high-up on the curtain. A HEAD --
AN ANGLE CLOSE ON ALICE, a great mass rising behind her --
A VERTICAL ANGLE, looking straight down. A HULKING FORM SWELLING
IMPOSSIBLY OUT OF NOWHERE from the curtain --
A FAST CIRCULAR DOLLY from one side of the shower to the other as
MIGHTY-THEWED ARMS STRETCH OUT to encompass Alice --
TIGHT ON ALICE’S HEAD, the claws enveloping it. A TINY
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MOVEMENT...preparation to CRUSHING HER SKULL, and --
WHUMPWHUMPWHUMPWHUMP! The shower plumbing RATTLES NOISILY, the
water flow drying-up...JOUNCING Alice back to consciousness. The
ERSATZ PLASTIC FORM behind her COLLAPSES back into nothingness --
And Alice turns to see...A PLAIN PLASTIC SHOWER CURTAIN,
billowing slightly in an unnerving fashion. She takes a breath,
a little unsure. Tiny water droplets PLINK-PLINK away down into
the drain...
CUT TO:
INT/EXT. BASEMENT AUTOSHOP - FREEMAN HOUSE - MORNING (RESUME)
TIGHT ON OIL DROPLETS PLOPPING on the floor. Jessica’s still
under the Lexus, struggling with the protesting nut.
JESSICA
Damnation --
Oil SPECKLES her face as she shifts position to gain better
purchase. Jessica brushes her cheek...it comes off, a BLACK
SMUDGE. The SPATTERING increases as she pulls harder on the
wrench. She swats in annoyance at it --
-- STREAKING her hand in a LONG RED SMEAR.
JESSICA (cont’d)
What the -- ?
A VIBRATION starts up, the car JUDDERING atop the ramps a sif in
an earthquake. Jessica panics --
JESSICA (cont’d)
Shit!
She KICKS the trolley RAPIDLY away as --
-- ONE OF THE RAMPS COLLAPSES, the Lexus part-rolling/partcollapsing
back down onto her thights, pinning her to the floor.
She SCREAMS IN PAIN, pulling at her trapped leg. We see BLOOD
TRICKLE OUT from beneath the vehicle (at this stage, perhaps we
even think it’s Jessica’s own).
VAPOR BILLOWS AROUND the edge of the hood as she tries to tear
her limb back, the car SHAKING and RATTLING like a possessed
beast. (NOTE: this will be SHOT IN REVERSE, so the steam will
appear to flow INTO the hood from nowhere.) Jessica’s leg comes
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free, deep gouges TEARING into her coverall. She pulls herself
away, WHIMPERING as a SHEET OF BLOOD EMERGES...spreads. Her jaw
working in disbelief --
ANOTHER VERTICAL ANGLE, dark liquid expanding on all sides. The
hood ROCKS and JUDDERS, THICK SMOKE now. Jessica steels herself,
limps forward. Slips on the slick gore, her hand coming down on
the hood and --
-- LOOSES AN AGONIZED CRY. The flesh of her palm SEARS as if
touching a griddle, a NOISE like SIZZLING BACON, and --
THE HOOD SPRINGS UP, YANKING Jessica with it. A VACUUM ROARS
below, her free hand flailing as it tries to suck her down into -
-
-- FREDDY’S HELLISH FURNACE! Impossibly positioned ay below
where the engine should be, feeder pipes BELCHING. The filthy
grating doors open, FLAMES ROARING. Then --
JESSICA
Nooooo -- !
A BLAST of superheated air sends her flying, SPLASHING down onto
the floor.
The hood SLAMS BACK DOWN...we see why. The massive "New" FREDDY
CLAW embedded in it, a MALFORMED HAND going OUT OF FRAME.
There’s a DEEP GROWL, O.S. A GREAT SHADOW LOOMS across Jessica.
She looks up. GASPS, and --
INT. BASEMENT AUTOSHOP - MORNING (BACK TO REALITY)
-- JOLTS AWAKE with a LOW CRY, beneath the car again. Jessica
gathers herself, and --
There’s A FLASH OF SILVERED METAL. Something half-lodged up in
the chassis swings down at her. A QUICK IMPRESSION of an edged
blade --
And Jessica CRIES OUT as she propels the trolley back out into
the autoshop --
And Alice is standing there, coffe mugs in her hands! Jessica
YELPS in suprise...Alice YELPS back, drops one of the mugs. It
SHATTERS on the floor.
60
JESSICA
Jesus!
ALICE
Oh, God...I’m sorry.
JESSICA
You scared the lights outta me!
ALICE
I, uh...brought coffee.
JESSICA
Normally, I take it in the cup.
They look at each other. Both LAUGH. A bonding moment...
CUT TO:
INT. BETHLEHEM POLICE DEPARTMENT - MORNING
WIDE ON a busy and brightly-lit open-plan Precinct. Usual Cop
Stuff going on, the occasional CRIMINAL and HOOKER being dragged
off to a holding pen.
We see Cobain and Reznor within the Captain’s cubicle. Smack in
the middle, a perfect GLASS BUILDING-BLOCK. HEAR the SACRIFICIAL
INCANTATION again, O.S.
LEAD CULTIST
(O.S., on T.V. speaker)
"Lord of Gehanna...keeper of the Fallen
Spirits of Darkness -- "
INSIDE THE CUBICLE NOW, CLOSE ON A VIDEO MONITOR. We see the
Goth Girl thrashing around on the Cross.
GOTH GIRL
(O.S., on T.V. speaker)
"Crazy freako psycho bastards...let me go!
The contents of Manfredini’s pouch are spread across the table,
the men sifting through it. Reznor’s turns the pages of the
Necronomicon. Stares at the indecipherable runes.
REZNOR
I can’t understand didley-squat.
61
COBAIN
They could...
Reznor picks up the sheathed Italian parchment in his hand.
Shakes his head.
REZNOR
A hockey mask. This is one big fucking
coincidence...you wanna turn that down?
It’s giving me a headache.
Cobain’s inspecting a somewhat plain dagger sesting in a plush
wood-and-velvet travel case - in fact, on of the Horvath Daggers
from the ITALIAN PROLOGUE. He complies, thumbs the T.V. volume
lower. Nods at the drawing.
COBAIN
Recognize that claw?
REZNOR
Apart from "nope"?
COBAIN
"The Springwood Slasher"...Frederick
Krueger. Child killer.
REZNOR
Yeah, wait. I remember. Misfit with a
Beau Brummel complex?
COBAIN
The same. Carved a swathe through a
little Ohio town a bunch of years back.
Literally. Vigilante group torched him
after the Cops gummed up the arrest
papers. Our dead ecclesiast’s got it all
here in black-and-white --
He throws a clip of shets over to Reznor.
REZNOR
Yeah. His mother was a...missionary, nun
or something.
COBAIN
(frowns, thinks)
Nun?
62
REZNOR
What?
COBAIN
Nothing. Skip it --
Reznor’s forehead knits as he studies the parchment.
REZNOR
You’re talking about current events. This
sucker’s supposedly over 300 years old...!
He waves it in emphasis. His attention distracts as the
Cultist’s recording WHITES-OUT in a BURST OF STATIC.
REZNOR (cont’d)
Wonder why it glitches there...?
COBAIN
Manfredini had the whole run-down on the
bookstore Cult too. Lot of other weird
stuff. "Th