The Demon Diaries
By
Charles Anthony Musgrove
Based on Tosca Lee's Best Selling Novel, Demon: A Memoir
Newport Beach, CA
Anthonymusgrove
323 427 7816
WGAW 123456 (sample)
SUPERIMPOSE ON BLACK SCREEN:
And as the demons were coming out of many they were
screaming, "You are the Christ, the Son of God."
Luke 4:41a
HIGH PITCH SCREAMING. This SOUND could easily be mistaken
for demons...
FAINT THUDS against a STONE WALL and the CRACKLING of
ALUMINUM CANS scooting across brick pavement.
FADE IN:
EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT
A FLAMING TRASH CAN appears from blackness, illuminating the
scene...
We are standing between two brick buildings. To the left is
a ghetto apartment complex with rusted fire escapes and
chained air conditioners and to the right is some forgotten
bar used by the old timers.
The alley is dark and long and rain water has collected in
tiny pools of broken asphalt producing little jagged mirrors
of shimmering yellows, oranges and blues... smeared colors
from the neon sign that precariously hangs over the bar's
back door.
More HIGH PITCH SCREAMING...
From out of a SIDE SHADOW APPEARS TWO ALLEY CATS fighting to
the death. One is black and other is white. One SCREAMS in
pain. THEY'RE soaked in grimy rain water and blood.
WE PAN CLOSER to them, studying this animalistic form of
evil as this dirty mass of black and white rage moves to an
area of loose trash causing more CANS to CLINK and CRACKLE
on the brick pavement, forgotten paper trash floats in the
air.
A tornado of rage...
MORE SCREAMS from hell...
They disappear into the black depths of the alley...
ROLL PRE TITLE CREDITS:
The NEON SIGN begins to FLICKER. We PAN UP and spy at a lone
WINDOW to the apartment building.
2.
INT. CLAY'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
A NERVOUS HAND quickly scribbles across a yellow note pad. A
voice recorder, a professional type camera and an empty cup
of tea lie nearby. The hand hesitates. Starts again. Then
stops.
CLAY, our protagonist, looks up. He's thin. British type and
intelligent. 30's. Lines of august scar his face. EYES
trembling and wild like those spent fruitlessly searching
for hope and rescue. A sailor lost at sea. (a Ben Whishaw
type)
He senses a presence and SLOWLY looks over his shoulder...
NOTHING. Just a loyal WALL HEATER giving off its ROARING,
HYPNOTIC BLUE FLAMES.
Clay's skeptical EYES dart around, still searching for
something. Something unseen...
We PAN around the drab and musty apartment. It's barely lit
like an old, forgotten basement. A yellowing bulb from a
near-by lamp reveals the claustrophobic cage of an ill-kept
place. Not from laziness but from preoccupation. It's a
small two bedroom of peeling paint and cheap rent with a
hall leading to a tiny bathroom. The adjacent, dusty kitchen
is just four feet behind him where a small card table
holding scattered papers, empty Chinese containers and junk
mail stands in the center.
CLAY settles back into the worn out, yellow-brown chair and
forces himself deep into the back. He lowers his head, tries
to write but stalls...
We begin to hear the FAINT, RISING SOUND of a MILLION
HUMMING INSECTS...
Clay looks back up revealing his WEARY EYES have watered
over.
He STARES DEEP into us, through us, leaning forward, trying
to make something out... Straight in front of him is one of
the BEDROOMS.
It's in full view from the living room/kitchen and has its
door completely open. BLACKNESS fills its space, drawing any
weakened soul to its void.
WE GRADUALLY ZOOM CLOSER inside this BLACK VOID.
CLAY slowly reaches for the camera and stands up.
(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 3.
The HUMMING INSECT SOUND is now mixed with DEEP, VIBRATING
CORDS from a CELLO and getting LOUDER.
CLAY slowly walks towards us as he turns the camera on to
warm the flash making a LOW ZINGING NOISE then takes off the
lens cover and slowly raises it up towards the OPEN BEDROOM
DOOR and into the BLACKNESS.
WE ARE STANDING right at the openness as this BLACKNESS
fully envelopes our view.
FLASH! The camera's bulb EXPLODES WHITE LIGHT into the black
void filling the room with revelation allowing us to see
what's inside-a TWIN BED neatly made over with an old
quilt.
WE ZOOM IN on CLAY. WILD, HAZEL EYES on the edge of panic,
refusing to blink. Another FLASH-echoing instant light on
his manic face.
Then another FLASH into the BEDROOM-a NIGHT STAND and a
LITTLE LAMP.
The ever INCREASING DEEP BASE HUMMING NOISE turns into GREAT
OAK TWISTING and MOUNTAINS CRUSHING.
Another FLASH-an open CLOSET with hung shirts and pants,
shoes below.
HOLDING on CLAY... Edge of a TEAR.
-SMASH SOUND CUT- SILENCE!
CLAY waits in eternity, CAMERA shaking...
Something RUSTLES the walls! Coming from the hallway, unseen
from our view.
CLAY turns his head to the right towards the LITTLE BATHROOM
DOOR at the end. It's almost hidden from our view as this
thin hallway is barely visible in darkness.
CLAY! Melting heart of wax!
The unmistakable SOUND of a FAUCET, VERY SLOWLY, TURNING and
then WATER FALLING and SLUSHING down a long copper pipe.
Then an inside LIGHT suddenly FLICKERS like the outside neon
sign, giving the DOOR FRAME a standing rectangle shape in
this DARKENED HALL.
(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 4.
CLAY'S shallow TEAR finally falls as he slowly turns his
body towards the flashing door with melting courage, raises
the camera up then quietly walks down the hallway like a
hunter stalking an animal. A beast...
PICTURE FRAMES dangle crookedly on their nails. Clay ignores
them without hesitation as though he's done this before.
From the ENTRANCE WAY we see the HALLWAY is very dark at the
end and we almost lose Clay as he finally reaches the door
and stops, surrounded in THICK PITCH.
The same NERVOUS HAND comes into frame as it reaches for the
PAINTED KNOB and holds it, ready to turn.
His BREATHING has heavied and the RUNNING WATER SOUND is
unmistakable.
Beneath the DOOR we see the FLICKERING LIGHT but FASTER now,
more impulsive like a racing heartbeat.
The HAND turns the knob and the DOOR RELEASES some,
outwardly, an inch... CREAKING OLD PIPE SOUNDS of DEEP
RUMBLING! WATER RUSHING in our souls!
STEAM ESCAPES all around the frame. HOLD...
Clay SUDDENLY PULLS OPENED the DOOR with full defiance and
strength-
-THICK FOG of STEAM rushes out and surrounds Clay as the
STROBING FLICKERS of WHITE LIGHT exposes the space, lacing
his frail outline with electricity.
As the FOG escapes we start to make out a CRACKED, SILVER
MIRROR hanging gingerly over a stained, porcelain sink. It
drips with MASSIVE CONDENSATION.
With every revelation given by the FLICKERING LIGHT we come
in CLOSER to the SILVER MIRROR waiting for that beast to
appear...
CLAY turns off the water and reacts quickly to the searing
heat then looks back at the WATERY MIRROR with new courage
and rage.
CLAY
(whispers)
What do you want?
Nothing.
CLAY'S anger flashes and SCREAMS with a WALL ECHOING-
(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 5.
CLAY
-What do you want! Tell me what-
-The FLICKERING LIGHT goes out! TOTAL BLACKNESS! We HEAR the
DOOR SLAM SHUT!
CLAY
No! Wait! Wait. Oh God I'm sorry!
I'm sorry!
THUMPING and CRASHING as though Clay wrestles a bear.
FLASHES from the CAMERA POP and CRACKLE UNDER the DOOR
FRAME.
CLAY SCREAMS!
The DOOR FLIES OPEN and CLAY, dropping the camera, scrambles
out, SHIRT TORN to ribbons and BLOODIED.
He flies out the front door...
All is QUIET again and all we can hear is the EVER GENTLE
PELTING RAIN on the OUTSIDE WINDOW.
We STARE at the open DOOR of the bathroom and ZOOM closer to
it through the DARK hallway.
The LIGHT FLICKERS again revealing the scene in chaos and
destruction. But as we are about two feet from the door the
DOOR SLAMS SHUT!
FADE TO BLACK:
SUPERIMPOSE: THREE WEEKS EARLIER
FADE IN:
EXT. FERRY - DAY
CLAY is leaning over the side, neatly dressed in a light
coat. A camera hangs around his neck.
He searches for something far into the distance with
familiar loneliness and fear. Searching for something
hopeful and calm.
The horizon is bleak and still and the day is brisk and cool
as the rude autumn air harasses his white, pale face and
messes his dark, wavy hair.
HE closes his eyes and welcomes this old friend deep into
his lungs.
(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 6.
The white tipped waves are choppy and grey. And the sunshine
has found its hiding place behind this sleepy season.
CLAY reopens his eyes with frigid determination and pulls
the camera up and focuses for a shot.
THROUGH THE CAMERA'S POV: WHITE AND RED AND YELLOW SAIL
BOATS clumsily toss near the harbor, foolishly fighting to
save the last moments of summer against a STRONG WIND. SNAP
goes the shutter. SUDDEN DISTRESS from a red boat.
CLAY looks around the camera and quickly back to focus not
to miss this moment.
BACK THROUGH THE CAMERA'S POV: Two men frantically adjust
ropes-SNAP-then the oar heaves over and breaks in two-SNAP.
EXT. FERRY - DAY - MOMENTS LATER
The ferry lands on the harbor in front of the "WELCOME TO
MARTHA'S VINEYARD ISLAND" sign and the CAPTAINS voice is
heard over the speaker giving instructions for safety and
wishing a fun day.
The hurried and excited PEDESTRIANS scamper off with beach
towels and basket, brisking past an alienated CLAY as
exiting cars attempt to dodge them with a dotted quick honk
of their horns.
IRRITATION finds CLAY.