Conscience

by John Skipp

  CASTLE (CONT.)

  I’m sorry! I…I…GOD! I can’t believe this…!

  Three jackal-men launch a surprise attack. Castle screams like a little girl.

  Johnny hacks up the first one so bad that the other two pull back in full bare-ass retreat. Johnny turns to Castle.

  JOHNNY DEATH

  Shhhhh!!!

  Then he keeps walking, while a mortified Castle scurries to keep up. They pass out of the broken circle, back up the burned-out street. Vulture-things alight on the rooftops, screeching.

  And the flashing red lights of home come into view.

  Castle looks at the cop cars, the cops that await. He looks at Johnny, just slightly in front of him. He looks at the gun in his hand, thinks about it. What a hero he’d be.

  Then he looks up at the demon-vultures, and puts the gun away.

  Johnny stops, a block and a half from the cops. Looks up at the thin light of sunrise, presenting itself from the east. Looks up at the vulture-things, who regard the sun with fear. Then looks at Castle, wide- eyed beside him.

  CASTLE (CONT.)

  Is there anything you want me to tell them? Cuz I swear, I will tell them anything you want.

  Johnny looks at the flashing red lights, then at Castle.

  JOHNNY DEATH

  What’s the point?

  (sighing)

  Aw, hell. Tell ’em just to wait till the sun comes up. Then they’ll find their survivors. I counted twenty-seven.

  CASTLE

  Jesus…

  JOHNNY DEATH

  Tell ’em next year will be even worse. And, um...tell ’em they can kiss my ass.

  Castle swallows hard, nods. Johnny gestures him on. Castle looks up nervously, sees the last of the vulture-things take off and away.

  Then Castle takes off, running toward safety.

  Johnny watches him go, making sure he’s safe. Then he turns back into Hell, alone, wandering back toward the heart of the inferno.

  With his spare hand, he pulls from his pocket a BEAUTIFUL MUTANT ANTIQUE LOCKET. It is classic in design, yet laced with filigreed BARBED WIRE, to look both delicate and savage.

  He pops it open, revealing a photograph of a BEAUTIFUL PUNKED-OUT YOUNG WOMAN.

  Then he kisses the locket, closes it, and puts it away, moving deeper into the kill-zone. As he walks, he passes a CHARRED, GRAFFITI-COVERED WALL that bears a jagged yet legible logo which we will be seeing more of.

  It reads:

  DEATH RULES!

  PREPARE FOR HELL!

  CUT TO:

  ESTABLISHING AERIAL SHOT – SLEEPY HOLLOW

  As seen by helicopter, in the gray light of an overcast morning. Sleepy Hollow is just another gray American micro-city, complete with main drag, twenty square blocks of downtown, then slums and heavy industry giving way to strip malls, suburbia, and a rather large old CEMETERY. SUPER-TITLES:

  OCTOBER 31

  6:05 A.M.

  THIS YEAR

  NEWSCASTER V.O.

  This is Sleepy Hollow, Vermont. Population:100,000. The name conjures up images of Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman, from that beloved old Halloween classic.

  CUT TO:

  TV SCREEN MONTAGE – ESTABLISHING SHOTS – SLEEPY HOLLOW

  Standard HardCopy-style shots of the town, waking up in the early morn. An ELDERLY GENT, greeting the MILKMAN at his Halloween-decorated back door. The center of town, where only a handful of cars make their way down the drowsy main drag. CLOSE-UP on a series of CHEESY HALLOWEEN DUMMIES and SPOOKY DISPLAYS, lining the length of MAIN STREET.

  NEWSCASTER V.O. (CONT.)

  Indeed, Sleepy Hollow’s annual Halloween Parade has been a popular attraction for nearly half a century.

  Then cut to a FRESH WALL, bearing the DEATH RULES! GRAFFITO.

  NEWSCASTER V.O. (CONT.)

  But this year, someone – or some thing –

  Cut to footage of LOCKWOOD, INDIANA in its devastated aftermath.

  NEWSCASTER V.O. (CONT.)

  …has threatened to rain on their parade.

  CUT TO:

  INT. THE BERGEN’S HOUSE – SLEEPY HOLLOW

  It’s a cozy little old house in the suburbs, with a lot of wholesome charm and character. But there’s also something grim about it: in the gray light of dawn, deep shadows belie the cheerful plaque on the walls that says God Bless Our Happy Home.

  And the DOZENS UPON DOZENS of CERAMIC ANGELS that festoon the shelves do nothing to dispel the gloom.

  ANGLE – FLORENCE BERGEN

  Standing at the kitchen stove, dispensing a tepid- looking breakfast onto a tray. She’s a tired and haggard-looking 40, as if she’s fighting off not just sleepiness but the entire weight of the world.

  Suddenly, she hears a LOUD CRASH coming from another room. She JUMPS, nerves clearly on edge. Her coffee knocks over.

  FLORENCE

  Oh, lord. Rebecca…

  Quickly, she mops up the spill. Then she adds an IMPRESSIVE NUMBER OF PILLS to the tray, picks it up, carries it through the kitch-laden living room.

  There is light under the door at the end of the hall, and the rising sound of TV NEWS.

  CUT TO:

  INT. REBECCA BERGEN’S BEDROOM – MORNING

  The room is a study in astonishing contrast. On the one hand, its bed, floor and bedside table are a model of hospital-like antiseptic cleanliness.

  But the walls are an explosion of smart, gloomy teenage cacaphony: packed bookshelves and stacks of CD’s interspersed with PHOTO-MONTAGES made of death- rock motifs, weird mysticism, and bizarre news clippings.

  Mostly, they are clippings of the JOHNNY DEATH PHENOMENON, culled from the tabloids and the alternative press. Headlines range from Kooky Death- Cult Lives in Fear of Halloween! to Why Does the Government Want to Kill Johnny Death?

  And pictures. Lots of pictures. Revealing an obsessive preoccupation on the part of the room’s occupant.

  Who is even now looking up with a Who? ME? expression on her lovely, pallid face.

  ANGLE – REBECCA BERGEN

  Stretched out on the bed, in front of the TV. She’s all of eighteen years old. But she’s also visibly, terminally ill: sickly-thin, gaunt, and sallow.

  FLORENCE

  What was that noise?

  REBECCA

  What noise?

  FLORENCE notes her daughter’s lie, ignores it, brings the tray to the side of the bed. On the screen, REPORTER FLIP MARTINDALE stands, mic in hand, out front of City Hall. His name is supered below him, on the screen.

  REBECCA (CONT.)

  “Flip Martindale…?”

  FLORENCE

  (gently chastising)

  Rebecca, sweetie. You know you shouldn’t be…

  REBECCA

  Shhhh! Wait a second…

  FLIP MARTINDALE

  (on the screen)

  …now there is real fear on the streets of Sleepy Hollow, where the hellraising prophet of doom known as Johnny Death has predicted disaster this Halloween.

  FLORENCE

  (wearily)

  Oh, honey…

  REBECCA

  Shhhh…!!!

  FLIP MARTINDALE

  But what do we know about this mysterious young fugitive from justice, or his alleged ability to see the future?

  Florence sets the tray down in front of Rebecca, while the TV cuts to footage of yet another blown-out disaster area.

  FLIP MARTINDALE (V.O., CONT.)

  It began two years ago, with the total devastation of Ft. Sallee, Oregon. Overnight, this quaint old logging town became the site of wholesale slaughter. An estimated 10,000 people were killed.

  (beat)

  There were only four survivors.

  TV footage cuts to a TABLOID CLOSE-UP OF JOHNNY. It matches a shot featured prominently on her wall.

  FLIP MARTINDALE (V.O., CONT.)

  They were led by nineteen-year-old John Massie…

  Rebecca watches, eyes gleaming.

  FLIP MARTINDALE (V.O., C
ONT.)

  …a bright but troubled high school dropout with a long, notorious tabloid history…

  Another TABLOID CLIPPING – this one old, from the Weekly World News – showing 10-YEAR-OLD JOHNNY holding a CHEESY “GLOWING” SWORD roughly twice as big as he was. A BOGUS ANGEL stands behind him. The headline reads: He’s a Pint-Sized Demon Slayer! Little “Johnny Death” Rescues Angel From Hell, Brings Back Satanic Souvenirs!

  FLIP MARTINDALE (V.O., CONT.)

  …and, according to many, a gift for outlandish and dangerous lies.

  (beat)

  Or were they, perhaps, the terrible truth?

  Cut to documentary footage of Johnny Death, the THREE OTHER SURVIVORS huddled around him. They all look wild and traumatized. Johnny’s arguing with a REPORTER. Screen text pegs this as FT. SALLEE.

  Suddenly, the TV shuts off. Rebecca whirls, sees Florence has the remote.

  REBECCA

  MOM!

  FLORENCE

  Honey, you know you’re not supposed to be upsetting yourself! You’re never going to get better if you keep filling your mind with this nonsense.

  REBECCA

  But…

  FLORENCE

  (really upset)

  Now we’re not going through this again! I have to work, and you are too sick to go anywhere, much less go traipsing off on some sort of half-baked “evacuation”…

  REBECCA

  (exasperated)

  I can’t believe you really look at it that way! I mean, how do you explain…?

  FLORENCE

  (interrupting)

  There are no explanations! At least not any good ones! But do you really think that they’d let us stay here if they thought these stories were true?

  REBECCA

  They might, if they were trying to cover something up…!

  FLORENCE

  “Cover something up…!”

  REBECCA

  Do you think “They” really care about us?

  FLORENCE

  (shutting down)

  I don’t want to talk about this.

  REBECCA

  But, Mom…!

  FLORENCE

  Just take your pills. I’ve got to go to work.

  Rebecca sorts through the pills on her tray, singles out a couple of odd ones and gives her mother a hard look.

  REBECCA

  I am not taking valium. And what are these things?

  FLORENCE

  They’re to help you relax…!

  REBECCA

  They’re to knock me unconscious!

  FLORENCE

  (near tears)

  I don’t know what to do with you! I have to go now!

  REBECCA

  (stonily)

  Goodbye, mom.

  FLORENCE

  (heading out the door)

  You’d better be here when I get back!

  REBECCA

  ‘Bye.

  FLORENCE

  (out the door)

  You’re a very sick girl…!

  The DOOR SLAMS SHUT, leaving Rebecca lying there. She is a very sick girl. Sitting up, for her, is painful.

  She waits a respectful three seconds before grabbing the remote and turning the TV back on.

  REBECCA

  (softly, to herself)

  Goodbye, mom…

  CUT TO:

  EXT. DOWNTOWN SLEEPY HOLLOW – MORNING

  The town is definitely waking up. There are NEWS CREWS all over the place, getting establishing shots and man-on-the-street interviews. It’s a media circus in its early stages, while NERVOUS-LOOKING LOCALS make their way to work.

  ANGLE – GROUP OF RELIGIOUS PROTESTERS

  Thirty to forty in number. They carry signs like HALLOWEEN IS SATAN’S HOLIDAY, STOP OCCULTISM, and HALLELUYAH! I’M SAVED! They congregate on the plaza where MAIN STREET (the parade street) begins.

  ANGLE – CENTER FOR THE HEALING ARTS

  Directly behind the PROTESTERS, at the center of the plaza. It’s a beautiful old three-story building, with a huge wrought-iron fence surrounding the grounds. The PROTESTERS have its gate and grounds surrounded.

  The road forks off to either side of the Center.

  Behind them, we see the FIRST FLOATS OF THE PARADE beginning to line up at either fork. SUPER-TITLES:

  8:45 A.M.

  ANGLE – LEVON AND LORETTA JUDGE

  At the center of the protest. LEVON has evangelical hair, too many white teeth, and a golf shirt that reads JUDGMENT DAY BIBLE CENTER. LORETTA’s white t- shirt bears the same logo, stark against her sparse makeup and housewife helmet of hair.

  They are clearly the leaders of this event, as demonstrated when Flip Martindale and his CAMERAMAN head toward them.

  LEVON

  (to the PROTESTERS)

  C’mon, people! Let’s show the Lord we mean business!

  Loretta leads them in a rousing chorus while the news crew sets up. Levon sings along, then steps forward to greet Flip Martindale at precisely the right moment – as if only just noticing him.

  LEVON

  (friendly)

  Hey! How ya doin’ there, young fella?

  FLIP MARTINDALE

  (shaking hands)

  Ummm…fine. I’m Flip Martindale, Channel 7 Action News.

  LEVON

  Good to meetcha, Flip. I’m the Rev. Leroy Judge, and that there’s my wife Loretta. We’re leading the Judgment Day Bible Crusade – with, of course, a little help from the Good Lord above.

  FLIP MARTINDALE

  It looks like you’ve got some sort of protest going here.

  LEVON

  It’s called an End Times Vigil. You see, time is running out for Planet Earth. Millions have turned Their backs on God, looking instead to worldly pleasure and the lure of the occult. And there’s no better case in point than today.

  FLIP MARTINDALE

  You’re referring to the Johnny Death prediction?

  LEVON

  Flip, let’s just start with Halloween itself. Here you’ve got a holiday devoted to celebrating witches, ghosts, goblins, ghouls and what have you – your basic demonic smorgasbord.

  Behind them, the singing stops, and Loretta comes over to join them.

  LEVON (CONT.)

  And I think it’s no coincidence that this building right behind us – right at the head of the parade, where no one could miss it – is run by a self- proclaimed witch who claims she has the power to mystically “heal”.

  FLIP MARTINDALE

  So that’s why you’ve set up here…?

  LORETTA

  That’s exactly right.

  LEVON

  To confront the evil at its very source.

  FLIP MARTINDALE

  So what, if anything, does this have to do with Johnny Death?

  LEVON

  Well, let me just say this: I don’t know where he got his information, ’cause it sure didn’t come from Jesus.

  LORETTA

  Amen!

  LEVON

  But if there’s anything to his story, I just want him to know that we are ready for anything Satan and his minions might care to send! And we urge ALL YOUR VIEWERS to come down here and join us in this holy prayer vigil.

  LORETTA

  Hallelujah!

  CUT TO:

  INT. CENTER FOR THE HEALING ARTS – MORNING

  MARABETH HARTLEY stands at the window, watching the protest. She’s a handsome woman in her early forties. Dark hair, streaked with silver. Dark penetrating eyes. She watches thoughtfully, without anger or malice.

  SUZIE BRIGHT joins her at the window, and there’s no mistaking her anger. She’s a tough, smart, feisty pagan in her mid-twenties, attractive and cool.

  SUZIE BRIGHT

  God damn those people! I feel like we’re running a fucking abortion clinic here!

  MARABETH

  Better count your blessings, Suzie. In the good old days, we’d have been burned at the stake long ago.

  SUZIE BRIGHT

 
; Yeah, well, that’s a great consolation.

  (out the window)

  BITE MY BROOMSTICK, YOU PURITANICAL PINHEADS!

  MARABETH

  Shhhhh!

  SUZIE BRIGHT

  YOU FUNDAMENTALIST FUCKS!!!

  Marabeth covers her face with her hands, chuckling despite herself. A third woman (ANN RULE) joins them, hanging back just a little.

  ANN RULE

  Such language! And you don’t even own a broom! Marabeth, the other women are wondering what we’re going to do. Are you…?