My Favorite things about Angelfire.
Angelfire - Free Home Pages Jason's castle of terror Lycos - Search the Web CareerPath - Where Employers and Employees Click
FREDDY VS JASON A Screenplay by: Peter Briggs FADE IN: EPIC MUSIC O.S., the MAIN TITLES ROLLING over a series of medieval WOODCUTS. SINISTER IMAGERY - monsters, demons, torture devices - DISOLVING 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 -- 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. 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 wall- holders. 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 -- ? 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. 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 TIME- LAPSE, 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... 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 shadows in 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 "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. 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 -- 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. 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? 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 laser- mike onto their window. INT. TACTICAL ROOM - F.B.I. HEADQUARTERS - DAY (INTERCUT) COBAIN Alright. What I'll do is, rush these through Photo Intelligence...drive 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 -- 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. 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... 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. 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! THEIR P.O.V. People scramble from their cars. A traffic sign ahead shakes, a freeway light swaying like a giraffe's neck. ALICE (gettign 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. 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 TINKLES delicately 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 mid- argument 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 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 togeter, 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 -- ? JESICA (to Stephanie) Oh - not now, baby... STEPHANIE (persistent, to Steven) -- Can you fix the tree? 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? 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! 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. 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 on 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 hatchet- faced 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. REZNOR (cont'd) Bingo. Pary-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 shape 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 --" 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 yard-side 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! 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 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 -- 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 -- A FAST CUT as CHUNKY CONSTRUCTION BOOTS with black crome shin- guards 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, 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 STUN- ROD. 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-but- cluttered 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 jet- black boiler-suit...the dark liquid trickling along the Aztec machete's rune-carved blade. 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. 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? 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
