Night Feeder
An Original Screenplay
By
Albert C. Blackwell
© 2000 PAu 2-522-698
WGAw. Inc. # 804166
Warning:
This intellectual property is copyrighted and on file at the U.S. Patent Office, and is registered with the Writers Guild of America West (WGAw). This script is displayed for your personal reading pleasure only, and my not be performed, copied, distributed, or sold in any portion/part or in whole, in any country, in any language, in any language, and in/on any and all media forms; manually, digitally, electronically, or optically. Doing so "will" result in sever legal action under international copyright laws and agreements. Thank you for respecting my rights and property. Hope you enjoy the read.
FADE IN:
EXT. CHICAGO, ILLINOIS -- 1935 -- EVENING
High above, CHICAGO is a sea of glimmering lights, cityscape, and water beneath a full moon.
DATE BAR: "CHICAGO GHETTO, 1935"
EXT. 211 S. VINEYARD STREET -- THE GHETTO
This is the ass-end of the city--an austere concrete jungle. Every thing here is shit. Age and neglect have taken their toll in the melting pot of a city swelling at the seams.
Tiny stores, markets, restaurants, and bars are wedged into nooks and crannies in and around the shoulder-to-shoulder brownstone apartment buildings and turn-of-the-century industrial buildings that are decaying.
S. Vineyard is an austere, FOGGY street, lined with brownstones. There are tall garbage heaps in alleys and on curbs. Old and broken down cars sit rusting away along the street; shelter for street people.
Usual ghetto minutia (O.C.); BABIES CRYING, FAMILY SPATS, DOGS BARKING, etc.
A street sign reads: "200 S. VINEYARD AVE"
A WINO lies PASSED OUT on the bus stop bench, arms wrapped around a bottle of wine sacked in a brown paper bag.
BILLY-THE-MOUSE, another bum, bearded, strange HEX SYMBOLS drawn on his face, approaches the drunk on the bench. He looks around like someone might actually give a shit what he's up to.
Etching closer, with the stealth of a pickpocket, he STEALS the Wino's BOTTLE and darts across the street and into a BLIND ALLEY.
Hauling ass, Billy turns into his alley--a dead end; formed by two large brick buildings and A BOARD FENCE that closes off the alley. Walls and fence are decorated with strange HEX SYMBOL GRAFFITI drawn in charcoal. Along Vineyard street, STEAM rises in clouds from street drains.
Flames of a hot FIRE lick the insides of a rusty 50 gallon DRUM. Billy stops at it catching his breath and warm himself.
EL WHISTLE (V.O.).
ANGLE ON EL TRESTLE CROSSING S. VINEYARD NEARBY:
LOUD as an EARTHQUAKE, an EL suddenly ROARS across the TRESTLE, its exhaust stack bellowing BLACK SMOKE. Seconds pass, it vanishes, sound fades (V.O.). Silence returns.
The street is lined mostly with brownstones, but on the right side, left to right, TWO BROWNSTONE APARTMENT BUILDINGS, GENO'S DELI, another blind alley [leading to the MAJESTIC HOTEL, [a crime Syndicate joint],a GRAVEYARD, and access to the rear stoop/door of 211 Brownstone]. On right side of alley is the BARLOW BUILDING [defunct sewing factory] and JAKE'S BAR & GRILL, under left half of 211 Brownstone. TWO MORE BROWNSTONES.
ANGLE:
Affixed to the 2d floor of the brownstone is a red and white FLASHING NEON SIGN "JAKE'S BAR & GRILL." Grill is below.
In the window, a neon BLUE RIBBON BEER CLOCK shows 9:30 [P.M.].
CUT TO:
EXT. BILLY-THE-MOUSE'S BLIND ALLEY -- CONTINUOUS
NOTE: Most of this scene is told using shadows projected by the fire barrel.
BILLY is gulping down the stolen wine and warming himself by the FIRE DRUM.
There's a strange CLACKING noise approaching behind him. His eyes round white, expecting to find some unwanted company.
He cautiously slides a SWITCHBLADE KNIFE from his front pocket. Presses the button and BLADE flies out. He SPINS AROUND to confront the intruder.
He sucks air, FREEZES--terrified; mindlessly DROPS the KNIFE, then the BOTTLE [SHATTERS]. He staggers back slowly, mouth gaping, so scared he's TREMBLING.
BILLY-THE-MOUSE
(gasps))
Fuuuuck me.
Billy spins to run, but stumbles in a pot hole, smashing his face; nose and lips bleeding. In unbridled panic, he's trying to get up, his feet sliding on the wet brick pavement.
SHADOWS:
The SPIDER MONSTER is projected on building walls on both side of the alley, closing in on its prey, its spider anatomy well defined, but the shadow appears as if a naked human is clinging to its back, perhaps riding, but the two anatomies seem melded into one body; human limbs, one large head, spider's abdomen, and huge, spindly legs; the human legs dangling in the air behind it.
BILLY-THE-MOUSE (O.S.) (CONT'D)
Oh...God. Not me. Get out of here.
Billy rolls on his back, fishes a rat-bones necklace from around his neck...SHAKES it at the creature like a witch doctor. SHAKES IT AGAIN--harder.
BILLY-THE-MOUSE (CONT'D)
(chants)
Shaloo maloo mi dah. Shaloo maloo mi dah.
The creature approaches.
BILLY-THE-MOUSE (CONT'D)
(losing faith fast)
Come on--Work dammit. Shaloo maloo mi dah. Shaloo maloo mi dah.
Again, no magic.
BILLY-THE-MOUSE (CONT'D)
Goddamned lying Gypsy bitch.
(looks up, pales)
The creature dwarfs Billy, towering over him as it savors the kill.
Creature's face unhinges, FLYING OPEN like two doors, exposing a DEEP GULLET.. It's hidden FANGS JACKKNIFE out of it's ORIFICE and lock into place.
BILLY-THE-MOUSE (CONT'D)
(screams)
SHADOW IMAGES: The beast snatches BILLY off the ground; arms swinging, legs kicking wildly, and IMPELS BILLY in the GUT with its FANGS.
Billy's body goes LIMP in the creature's grasp.
The creature rocks back on its two human legs and begins SPINNING Billy's CORPSE in its spider legs. Within SECONDS, Billy was COCOONED like a captured insect.
CUT TO:
EXT. 211 S. VINEYARD -- SIDEWALK
JAKE'S BAR & GRILL CLOCK: 10:15 [P.M.].
CHARLIE FAGAN [late 70s] walks past Jake's Bar in a GIMPY GAIT; ragged overcoat and felt hat. There's a CHRONIC SQUEAK in one of his shoes and he carrying a small brown bag.
TWO WOMEN walk past: He politely tips his hat. They ignore him like the plague.
Charlie flips them off. He stops in front of JAKE'S BAR & GRILL window and GLANCES at the SECOND FLOOR, mainly at BOSSLEY'S [building's super] APARTMENT WINDOW. The lights are still on in the apartment.
CHARLIE FAGAN
(mutters)
Damn, he still awake. Bastard's got ears like a dog, too. Better go in the back way.
Charlie saunters off into the blind alley beside the Barlow Building.
Ahead and to his left is the MAJESTIC HOTEL's main entrance and circular drive. To its right, its COVERED DELIVERY RAMP. At the end is the graveyard archway. A brick and wrought iron archway sign over a gravel drive entrance reads "EAST BRIDGE CEMETERY."
A black limousine suddenly turns into the alley behind Charlie; its headlights GLARING. He steps aside as the limousine passes.
The LIMO pulls up to the hotel entrance. THREE SUITED MEN, [GANGSTERS] pistols drawn, escort a WELL-DRESSED SUITED MAN IN A FUR COAT down, ushering him into the limo.
The LIMO EXITS the alley FAST.
Charlie ignores them--turns onto a concrete walkway, behind Barlow Building, leading to the BACKDOOR of 211 BROWNSTONE. With the stealth of a robber, opens the screen door and lets himself in to the back porch..
INT. BROWNSTONE - FIRST FLOOR -- NIGHT
Charlie creeps past the kitchen, down the hall, and climbs the stairs to his apartment [1B], his shoe SQUEAKING.
INT. BUILDING SUPERINTENDENT MR. BOSSLEY'S APARTMENT
BOSSLEY, 40ish, beer-hound heavyweight in a sweat shirt, slouched in his tattered chair close to the radio; listening to "EDGAR BERGEN and CHARLIE McCARTHY.
INSERT (V.O.): 1935 STOCK RADIO SHOW AMOS'N ANDY ...breaking for a COMMERCIAL.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
...and now, here is a word from our sponsor...
INSERT (V.O.): RADIO COMMERCIAL.
BOSSLEY hears Fagan's SQUEAKY SHOE. Gets up, turns down the volume. He cracks the door...listens again...sly smirk.
BOSSLEY
(under breath)
Got'cha, you old fart.
Closes the door, turns RADIO UP, sits down wearing a shit-eating grin.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
...and now, we return for the conclusion of Amos'n Andy.
INSERT (V.O.): CONCLUSION OF AMOS'N ANDY RADIO SHOW
INT. UPSTAIRS HALL - OUTSIDE CHARLIE'S APARTMENT DOOR -- CONTINUOUS
Charlie removes a SLIP OF PAPER wedged in the door jamb. SQUINTING, he reads it through cracked eye glasses.
CHARLIE FAGAN
Bastards--cut my power again. Well, don't matter now anyway.
He enters his apartment.
INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT -- CONTINUOUS
The ambient room light is from JAKE'S BAR & GRILL NEON SIGN spilling through the front windows.
Charlie shuffles through, into the kitchen.
TINA, his cat, suddenly appears, MEWING, escorting him.
CHARLIE FAGAN
Hi, Sweety. You always know when I got food, don't you, girl?
INT. CHARLIE'S KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS
Charlie fishes a CANDLE from a cabinet drawer, strikes a kitchen match, fuses it to the bottom of a used tin can, and sets the candle on the table.
Tina LEAPS onto the table as he fishes a bottle opener from the drawer.
Charlie sits, takes tobacco bag and rolling paper from his overall pocket, and rolls a cigarette. He lights it off the candle while Tina sits on the table patiently.
He removes a bottle of BEER from the bag, pops the CAP off the bottle and gulps a drink.
CHARLIE FAGAN
(to cat "Tina")
Lets get these sardines open so you can eat.
He takes a TIN of SARDINES from the brown bag, removes winding key attached, and TWISTS/ROLLS the top off.
Charlie notices the bedroom door is CLOSED over his shoulder, turns back to the table.
CHARLIE FAGAN (CONT'D)
I never close that door. Goddamned Bossley's been sneaking around again.
(lays sardine on bag)
Here you go, Honey. Better enjoy. Lester fired me from the market tonight. Said he can't afford me no more--sorry fucker. He gimme a dollar and I got us this beer and sardines.
(beat)
Rent's two months late. I'm sure Bossley'll throw us out tonight.
CUT TO:
INT: FRONT STAIRS - 1ST FLOOR - CONTINUOUS
Bossley is leaving his apartment to go see Fagan.
INT. CHARLIE'S KITCHEN -- CONTINUOUS
CHARLIE FAGAN
(to Tina)
You're a good mouser. You won't go hungry.
The bedroom door (O.C.) SQUEAKS OPEN behind Charlie. Tina's crouches...HISSES, her FUR ON END.
Charlie freezes, suddenly aware an intruder is behind him--so scared he can't force himself turn around.
Like a shot, Tina bolts out of the room.
CHARLIE FAGAN (CONT'D)
(not turning around)
Who...whoever you are, I...I got no money. I...I Just spent my last dollar.
NOBLE-SPIDER (O.S.)
(gravel voice)
It's you I need. It'll be better if you don't turn around. Just close your eyes and I'll be quick about it.
CHARLIE FAGAN
(confused)
You...you're gonna kill me? Please, Mister. This...this ain't right, dying when I ain't done nothing to nobody.
NOBLE-SPIDER
This is not about revenge or greed. I'm sorry.
Charlie is stunned, can't accept dying for nothing. Suddenly, anger vanquishes his fear and, defiantly, he rises from the chair.
CHARLIE FAGAN
(forces himself to turn)
If you're gonna kill me, you...you bastard, at...at least have the guts to look me in the, oh--
(, horrified)
Backs into the dinette table, so frightened he's TREMBLING
CHARLIE FAGAN (CONT'D)
(gasps)
Oh, Lordy.
NOBLE-SPIDER
I warned you not to turn around. Now you're going to see me kill you.
Two huge FRONTAL SPIDER LEGS drive Charlie back, pinning him painfully against the table top; arms and legs thrashing.
Noble-spider's face FLIES OPEN and its pair of TEN INCH FANGS JACKKNIFE out of its exposed GULLET ORIFICE. The creature DRIVES THEM DEEP into Charlie's CHEST; bone and cartilage SNAP AND CRACK.
INT. STAIRWELL - BROWNSTONE APARTMENT BUILDING -- CONTINUOUS
CHARLIE FAGAN (V.O.)
(bloodcurdling scream)
Bossley has just reached the top of the stairs. The shocking outcry makes him freeze with fright.
BOSSLEY
Oh, fuck. What the hell?
A DEAD BOLT from apartment 3B door SLOWLY SLIDES OPEN. An inquisitive EYE appears.
Bossley notices Charlie's door standing open. He starts for it, but suddenly stops.
BOSSLEY (CONT'D)
(under his breath)
I must be out of my fucking mind?
Apartment 3B door closes. The DEAD BOLT SLAMS SHUT.
Bossley races downstairs, into his apartment, dashes out seconds later. Pistol in his hand, he races back up the upstairs to Charlie's apartment door.
He stops, his back pressed against the hall wall...peeks into Charlie's dark room, lit with bleeding neon lights from outside front windows.
Bossley crouches and enters cautiously, his pistol leading the way.
INT. CHARLIE FAGAN'S APARTMENT -- MINUTES LATER
Flickering candle light is flowing out of the open KITCHEN door. Like a fox, Bossley moves cautiously towards the kitchen. At the doorway, he stands to the side. pistol ready.
BOSSLEY
(low voice)
Charlie?...Charlie?...You all right in there?
No answer from the kitchen.
BOSSLEY (CONT'D)
(long beat, under his breath)
Oh, shit.
Bossley slowly enters the kitchen waving the pistol ahead of him.
The table and two chairs turned over--BLOOD everywhere. The candle is lying on the floor burning near a large pool of BLOOD and GREENISH FLUID [SPIDER VENOM].
BOSSLEY (CONT'D)
(gasps)
Oh, shit.
The linoleum is starting to catch fire from the candle flame.. Bossley quickly picks up the candle and stomps the fire out.
Carrying the lit candle, he etches his way into the tiny bedroom. There BROKEN WINDOW GLASS on the floor. He kneels down, looks under the bed, gets up and looks down at the fire escape ladder.
The fire escape ladder descends into a dense fog layer hovering in the alley.
BOSSLEY (O.S.) (CONT'D)
What..the..hell?
Climbing down into the fog layer, is a naked man; his backside up and legs extended in the air away from the ladder, appears to be floating as he descends.
Cradled across the man's arms appears to be a corpse; wrapped in white rope mummy fashion.
NOTE: Bossley can't see monster's spider legs clinging to the ladder. Human legs are extended in air away from the ladder.
Bossley pinches his beer-blurred eyes, blinks, and looks again for confirmation. Nothing there, he shrugs, sighing with relief.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. 211 S. VINEYARD BROWNSTONE -- NEXT MORNING - 7:35
Two police black and whites are cross-parked in front. Two more at either end of the block.
Four beat cops are standing guard on the front door keeping looky-loos out of the building.
Across the street,Two raggedy bums, HARLAN & CLEMENT [Irish Immigrant] gawk.
They approach an old friend in the crowd, FREDDY-THE-MARK [bum] and his companion, SHARKY.
HARLAN
Hey, Freddy. What's with all the suits?
FREDDY
Somebody did Charlie Fagan last night.
HARLAN
Jesus. Who'd wanna Charlie?
SHARKY
(butts in)
May not be dead. Ain't found his body yet. Building Super heard him scream last night--found blood all over the place...no Charlie..
CLEMENT
Maybe he got fed-up and walked,but knowing Charlie, doubt he'd do that.
FREDDY
Story is, someone--or something-- busted through his bedroom window and dragged him off.
CLEMENT
You just made my bloody skin crawl.
FREDDY
I know. Ain't like this is the first time around here--folks so poor they got no reason to be missing.
HARLAN
(shudders)
I don't like where this is going.
FREDDY
See them cops down the street?
(nodding at two cop cars)
There's a big spot of blood in that alley.
Down the street, in front of Billy-the-Mouse's alley, two squad cars and two uniformed cops on guard
HARLAN
That's The-Mouse's hangout.
FREDDY
Yep, only there ain't no corpse there either.
CLEMENT
A strange man, The-Mouse;always flirting with the black arts, drawing hexes and messing with them Gypsy curses. He's worse than a Irish mid-wife. He's a strange one all right.
FREDDY
Strange my ass--he's crazy.
HARLAN
He don't allow nobody in that alley unless he invites'em. Usually he'd be out chucking rocks at the cops. So, where is he?
FREDDY
I told you nobody's seen him.
CLEMENT
(shudders)
I pray the All Mighty will be watching over our raggedy arses. Sure as me brother's a Catholic priest, the night feeder is stalking again.
FREDDY
Some of us are moving 'cross the river. You'd be smart to come, too. We gotta go. Daylight's burning.
HARLAN
Thanks. Maybe we'll do just that.
Freddy and Sharky amble off down the sidewalk, bedrolls slung.
Harlan's and Clement's eyes meet--questions.
CLEMENT
Pickings's is real poor 'cross the river.
HARLAN
Sure is. I'm wondering if ain't time to get the hell out of Chicago.
CLEMENT
Aye, me. too. Something evil is afoot all right, and I figure it's got eight legs.
HARLAN
You ready to go?
CLEMENT
With haste. We need a fast exit?
HARLAN
(thinking)
I got it. We can head over to one of them fish camps on the river, steal us a row boat, and ride the current down river. That'd be a damned fast.
Clement's brows narrow; glaring at Harlan.
CLEMENT
Are you suffering brain damage? Steal a boat? Are you out of your bloody mind? With our luck, we'd get pinched before we got a mile down river.
(beat)
This is Chicago. You know what they do to bums like us. Me sainted mother, bless her sweet memory, did not raise me to spend the final portion of my worthless life on an Illinois chain gang.
(beat)
Besides, we'd probably flip over and drown in the murky slew. It'd serve us right, too, for being so fucking stupid.
HARLAN
You're looking at the bad side. Why do you always do that? We never get to go anywhere on a boat 'cause you're scared of the water.
MOVING:
CLEMENT
I'm not the water. It's the drowning part that terrifies the living shit out of me.
(beat)
No, sir, we'll hop a freight car and ride out of here like normal people.
HARLAN
The train was gonna be my next suggestion.
CLEMENT
And if I had a cock like a donkey, I'd be King among men. We take the first train leaving the city.
(beat)
I don't want to spend the night worrying about a spider monster gnawing on my dead carcass.
HARLAN
You don't worry. Most spiders don't eat meat.
CLEMENT
Oh? And now you're an expert on arachnids are ya?
HARLAN
No, I used to read a lot about spiders and insects in school. I was good in science.
CLEMENT
Okay, Professor Shit-for-brains, then why does this bastard always drag its victims off?
HARLAN
I suspect he cocoons the bodies and stores them in his lair somewhere to ripen until he gets hungry.
CLEMENT
Then he chews them up.
HARLAN
Spiders, most of'em, don't eat meat. They chews a hole in the cocooned corpse and suck out the body juices 'til nothing's left but a sack of bones.
CLEMENT
(shudders)
What a horrible image. I liked it better getting my bones gnawed.
CUT TO:
EXT. STREET IN FRONT OF 211 VINEYARD BROWNSTONE -- CONTINUOUS
Detective Sergeant FRANK KELSO and his new partner, a rooky detective, KARL SEIGLER, arrive at the crime scene in Kelso's warn-out car. He parks across the street and they get out, and cross the street, and walk towards Fagan's apartment building. They weave through a frightened, GRUMBLING crowd.
KELSO
(to Seigler)
Christ, the Mayor didn't have this many people show up at his re-election speech last night.
SEIGLER
That's understandable. I was the prick's bodyguard for a week.
KELSO
That's inhumane. At least they could have assigned you to Animal Control.
SEIGLER
(with a smile)
I thought that's what they'd done.
Up the steps they go.
At the front door, they flash badges at BEAT COP ONE, who opens the door like a bellman.
KELSO
(to cop one, nodding at the crowd)
What's with all these people?
BEAT COP ONE
Someone's been spreading rumors about monster again. Same old shit.
KELSO
(shakes his head)
Ghetto superstition--Brother. All we need is a goddamned witch doctor to show up to make my day. Okay, where's the corpse, Officer?
BEAT COP ONE
Uh, no corpse, Sarge, but the crime scene's on the second floor, 1B.
Kelso and Seigler go inside.
SEIGLER
(to Kelso)
Uh, what's this about a monster?
KELSO
Ghetto superstition. I'll fill you in later, In this neighborhood, people believe in voodoo, Gypsy curses, shape shifting, little pixies, spider monsters--you name it.
SEIGLER
Sounds like the fucking dark ages. How ignorant can people get?
KELSO
It's obvious you haven't been around here very long. Come on. Let's get it done.
INT. BROWNSTONE'S STAIRWELL -- CONTINUOUS
Kelso and Seigler pass the super's apartment and climb the stairs.
INT. 2D FLOOR - APARTMENT -- CONTINUOUS
Fagan's apartment door is open. Kelso and Seigler enter.
Three beat cops are standing near the kitchen door, POLICE SGT. RON DAILY, middle aged, Irish accent, recognizes Kelso.
SGT DAILY
(friendly smile)
Top'o the morning, detectives.
KELSO
You willing to make book on it?
SGT DAILY
Okay, so it's off to a shitty start. Just trying to be polite like my dear old mother always taught me.
KELSO
(to Daily)
You never had a mother? Meet my new partner, Karl Seigler. He's Karl Seigler, a rooky from North Side, so give him a break.
(to Seigler)
Sergeant Ron Daily.
Daily and Seigler shake hands.
SGT DAILY
Welcome aboard. Working with this joker--I wouldn't be in your shoes if they gave me lieutenant's pay.
KELSO
Hey, lighten up. It's hard enough to get good help. If there's no stiff. Why'd you guys call homicide?
Daily enters the kitchen. They follow. The room's a mess, blood everywhere.
SGT DAILY
Who else would I call? Looks like somebody butchered a cow in here.
(beat)
Same as the two cases last week.
Kelso gives the kitchen a cursory visual once-over.
KELSO
Another egg hunt. Okay, Dan, we'll take from here. Karl, lets do our stuff and make it official for the tax payers.
Daily parks himself in the kitchen door as the two detectives give the room an initial going over; looking in drawers, cabinets, scuff marks--everything.
The apartment is a typical ghetto shit hole; roaches everywhere. Table and chairs are turned over, covered in clotted blood.
Karl examines a melted hole in the linoleum. He and Frank take notes.
The men squat. Using a pencil head, Seigler flips over a partial can of smelly sardines spilled on the floor, right next to an unfinished bottle of beer.
Next, they squat over a large pool of blood. Some sort of green fluid [venom] is mixed in the blood.
SEIGLER
Jesus...more blood than a morgue.
Seigler notices most blood is on the dining table top and table legs.
SEIGLER (CONT'D)
Someone or something bled on the table and down the legs--before it was knocked over I figure.
KELSO
The victim, presuming there is one, was obviously having dinner when the perpetrator attacked...if it was an attack.
SEIGLER
Oily sardines and cheap beer? Who eats that shit for diner?
KELSO
Careful, you might insult the locals. Sardines and beer is like porterhouse and wine.
SEIGLER
(shivers)
I'll stick with porterhouse and wine.
KELSO
Don't know what you're missing.
SEIGLER
I'll live with out it, thanks.
KELSO
You gave up a clean job up town--one most cops would kill for--to work this shit detail? Why?
SEIGLER
Homicide experience. North side's too civilized for a rooky to build a career on. Unless it's in politics.
(beat)
I have no political ambitions. I just want to be a damned good detective. That's where you come in.
KELSO
Just don't get the idea you can save the world. We do the job--nothing more--nothing less.
SEIGLER
Christ, Sarge, I'm a cop--not a social worker.
KELSO
That's right, and don't ever forget it. I expect four things from a rooky. Don't get dead, don't get me dead, and you do all the shit work so you'll learn department procedures. And never, ever volunteer for any-fucking-thing without I say you can--got it?
SEIGLER
Hey, that's jake with me.
(back to the blood)
This greenish stuff mixed in with the blood--nobody's ever analyzed it. What's your guess?
KELSO
(shrugs)
How should I know? You tell me.
SEIGLER
Read some of the old reports. Same green substance was found at all the other crime scenes where excessive blood and found, but no stiffs.
KELSO
What are saying? You got an idea what it is?
SEIGLER
(beat)
Nope...only that what it is may not be as significant as the fact that it's even here at all--in all other similar cases.
KELSO
You think its planted on purpose?
SEIGLER
(shrug)
Just an idea. Could be a perpetrator's signature--sort of a calling card.
KELSO
You think to make sure the same sick fucker gets his due instead of someone else?
SEIGLER
Yeah, something like that.
KELSO
So, while we do our little song and dance with our thumbs up our butts, he's sitting back laughing his ass off.
SEIGLER
Could be. WHo the hell can figure out what the criminal mind is thinking?
KELSO
(dread, sighs)
Christ. I sure hope you're wrong.
SEIGLER
Why?
They rise to their feet.
KELSO
When homicidal maniacs start flirting with cops, it means they've lost their fear of getting caught. They start getting creative--that's what scares the crap out of me.
(beat)
Okay, lets get the Q & A crap over with. I'll start with the building super, move on to the renters downstairs. You take this floor. Forget rest of the upstairs. Fair enough?
SEIGLER
Hey, It's your show, detective. I'm just here paying my dues and getting smarter.
KELSO
Good. I'd like to wrap this up early, maybe take my girl to the picture show tonight.
(to Sgt Daily)
Hey, Ron--mind going down to Bossley's office and phone the dispatcher. We need the crime lab guys to go over the place for fingerprints--a photographer, and the cleanup crew as well when they finish.
SGT DAILY
Sure thing. Fingerprints--imagine.
KELSO
(to Daily)
Yep, I figure the science guys are gonna take over our job someday. Until they finish up, nobody touches nothin'--right?. I'd like you three to remain until they clear out. Any problems with that.
SGT DAILY
No. We're here for the duration.
KELSO
Great. Uh, since you're going out anyway, how about fetching me an espresso from Geno's Deli next door--just black.
Kelso digs two bucks out of his pants pocket--hands them to the Daily.
KELSO (CONT'D)
Get doughnuts and coffee for your guys, too.
(to Karl)
You guys up town drink coffee?
SEIGLER
Straight up, thanks.
CUT TO:
INT. A BACK STREET -- CONTINUOUS
Clement and Harlan are making there way down a back street between more apartment building. They stop at the entrance to a very narrow and dark-shadowed alley. There is bright sunlight at the other end,on the next block.
CLEMENT
Let's cut through here--save 15 minutes.
They turn into the narrow alley. It's dark and filled with contrasting black shadows. Hardly room to walk abreast.
HARLAN
I don't know why you're pissed off. It's good thing to learn about nature and how it works, don't you thinK?
CLEMENT
No, I don't. Kindly refrain from educating me further about bloody spiders. When I want to know something from now on, I'll fucking ask.
HARLAN
You did ask. I was just reciting what I had learned.
CLEMENT
I don't give a rats ass if you're reciting the King James Bible--keep it to your bloody self.
HARLAN
Hey, It's mox nixe to me...just because you just got a big imagination you can't control.
CLEMENT
You want imagination? Imagine how painful it will be with my goddamned brogan wedged so far up your arsehole you'll get a free tonsillectomy.
HARLAN
Damn, Clement. No need to get huffy.
Out of a dark niche on a back stoop, a BLACK DOG, on a SHORT CHAIN lunges for them, GROWLING, SNAPPING, BARKING.
The men WHEEL AROUND, backs pressed hard against the wall, thinking the spider monster has them.
They issue sighs of relief, realizing it's just a huge black dog leashed with a steel chain.
HARLAN (CONT'D)
(hand on heart)
Oh, God. Oh, shit.
CLEMENT
(signs himself the crucifix)
Remind me to say three Hail Mary's later.
(beat)
I thought we were spider shit for sure. And don't go telling me nothing about spiders again or I'll slam you one. You're ticker's all right?
HARLAN
It didn't stop, if that's what you mean. Tell me if my britches are sagging. I might have taken a dump.
(catches a breath)
Lets get the fuck of here.
CLEMENT
Aye. A grand idea.
The two bums scoot past the BARKING DOG and scurry towards the bright daylight.
CUT TO:
INT. SUPERINTENDENTS OFFICE - APARTMENT 1A -- CONTINUOUS
Kelso is doing his Q & A thing and making notes with MR. BOSSLEY; a slovenly man in a smelly undershirt, wrinkled pants, suspenders, and his shoes are untied. He's having beer for breakfast.
KELSO
...and you went up to Fagan's apartment last night about ten-thirty?
BOSSLEY
Close. I was gonna boot the old fart out for being two months late rent. I heard him going up the stairs about ten minutes before.
KELSO
How did know it was him.
BOSSLEY
He's got this weird squeak in his shoe. That's what got my attention. I know Charlie always has supper with his cat, so I give the guy and his cat time for a last meal together. I'm pretty soft-hearted sometimes.
KELSO
(sarcastic)
I'm touched. Please continue.
BOSSLEY
I listened to the rest of Amos'n Andy on the radio. Man,
(grins)
talk about two funny Niggers.
KELSO
(irritated)
Mr. Bossley, I'm pressed for time here.
BOSSLEY
Sorry.
KELSO
(unable to resist a dig)
Is it the landlord's policy, kicking old folks out in the middle of the night, or are you just being creative?
BOSSLEY
(offended)
That's what I`m paid to do, else I end up on the fucking street, too.
(beat)
I'd rather be the bad guy and know where my next meal's coming from. This ain't the Salvation Army.
KELSO
(sigh))
I suppose you're right. Let's get back to Charlie Fagan?
BOSSLEY
Well, Just as I reached the top of the stairs, I heard the goddamndest scream I ever heard come out of his room. I damned near filled my drawers.
KELSO
The scream--was it like someone was in pain or being attacked?
BOSSLEY
Like he was dying. I ran back down here, got my pistol, then ran back up to his apartment.
KELSO
(scrutinizing look)
You took to go get your pistol?
BOSSLEY
Damned straight I did. You never know what sort of situation you're gonna walk in on around here. Look around. This ain't exactly The Ritz.
(beat)
Charlie's door was wide open and all the lights were off. The bar sign out front lit up the place pretty good through the windows. I crept inside real careful like. Didn't see nothing but candle light coming from the kitchen.
(a beat)
When I reached the kitchen door, I called out to Charlie. Then, I peeked through the door.
KELSO
That stupid, but gutsy, going in there alone.
BOSSLEY
I figured he needed help. I ain't a complete asshole.
KELSO
No, you're not. Why didn't you just switch the lights on?
BOSSLEY
Couldn't. Power's off. Charlie hadn't paid his power bill. I seen the shut off notice lying on the floor outside his door. Still there unless one of you guys picked it up.
KELSO
I'll check on it. Please go on.
BOSSLEY
I went in the kitchen, it was like it is now except for a big candle lying on the floor. Melted a big hole right through the linoleum. And I'm the poor bastard that's gotta fix it.
KELSO
Tough fucking job. Did you touch anything besides the candle?
BOSSLEY
Nope. I checked out the bedroom. Somebody broke in through the window.
KELSO
Maybe Charlie broke it trying to get away.
BOSSLEY
Nope. Latch was still locked. Glass is on the bedroom floor. I looked out the window, down the fire escape and I uh...uh...
(pause)
Well, I came down here's what I done, and called the police.
KELSO
Mr. Bossley, I been doing this a long time. I got the strangest feeling you were about to tell me something. I'm not a real pleasant cop when I'm lied to. Understand?
BOSSLEY
(hesitant)
I uh...well shit. I...I thought I saw something really weird. You know how people's eyes play tricks sometimes. Plus I'd had six or seven beers.
KELSO
Suppose you just explain what was so weird about what you thought you saw.
BOSSLEY
(really hates telling this)
Why can't we just skip it, Detective. It'll sound fucking crazy. You'll think I'm crazy. It was a mirage or something--a vision maybe.
Bossley guzzles the rest of the beer for courage.
KELSO
Suppose you let me decide. Just tell me what you think you saw.
Bossley trips to the ice box in the next room and gets himself another beer--opens it, guzzles it and BURPS crudely as he returns and sits back down.
Bossley points at Kelso with a beer. Kelso waves a no-thanks.
BOSSLEY
Well, you ain't gonna believe what I think I saw. I don't even believe it the more I think about it. I mean it was pretty fucking dark outside, and foggy.
(shakes head, dread)
Christ, I hate talking about this shit.
KELSO
(cuts him off)
Mr. Bossley. I got a lot of work to do today. Please get to the point...
(beat)
or we can do this at the precinct-- your choice.
BOSSLEY
(frustrated)
Okay, but you gotta guarantee no reporters are ever gonna get one fucking word of this. I'll be a laughing stock. I got a reputation to keep.
KELSO
Trust me. The papers only get what I give'em. I wouldn't want to soil your reputation.
BOSSLEY
(sighs relentingly)
Okay, I saw the ugliest naked man I even seen going down the fire escape last night--right down into the alley.
KELSO
Completely naked?
BOSSLEY
Bare ass--an ugly fucker--and I mean we're talking world's record ugly.
KELSO
(lifts brows)
Some men are uglier than others.
BOSSLEY
Yeah? Only this man wasn't exactly climbing down the ladder you see.
KELSO
I don't follow you.
BOSSLEY
(dead serious)
He was floating down, I swear.
Kelso stops writing, glances up from his pad, totally unprepared to heard this.
KELSO
You said floating--not climbing?
BOSSLEY
Yeah, real slow like, too. The way a balloon drops--slow and easy.
(hates telling this)
Damn, this sounds so insane. Is this fucking necessary?
KELSO
Look, we're just two guys talking hypothetically like a couple of scientists or something. Just how did you determine he was floating down the ladder as opposed to climbing down the ladder?
BOSSLEY
Because His legs were dangling straight out behind him in the air, I was looking directly down at his enormously ugly bare ass, bare back, and bare legs. It's physically impossible to climb down a ladder in that position.
KELSO
How the hell can a man float down a fire escape ladder?
BOSSLEY
How the fuck do I know? It's just what I saw for Pete's sake.
KELSO
(under breath)
Where the hell's that coffee?
(to Bossley)
Okay...
(reading his notes)
You started upstairs, heard Mr. Fagan scream, came down, got your gun, then went back up there.
BOSSLEY
That's right.
KELSO
You entered the room. The power was off. You found a burning candle on the kitchen floor, saw blood, then proceeded to the bedroom.
(beat)
The window was bashed out. You looked out the window and saw a naked man climbing down--uh, floating down--the fire escape ladder into the alley.
BOSSLEY
Sounds crazy, huh?
KELSO
(sarcastic)
Maybe--maybe not. When the floating man reached the bottom--then what?
Bossley polishes off the beer. looks Kelso squarely in the eyes.
BOSSLEY
(burps, shrugs)
I don't know. I looked away, wiped my eyes and looked back and he was gone.
KELSO
(frustrated)
The Chief's gonna shit a brick when he reads my report.
BOSSLEY
Why do you think I didn't want to tell you?
KELSO
Maybe the man was swinging by a cable. That would explain why he only needed his hands to hold the ladder rungs.
BOSSLEY
(sickly frown)
That uh, wouldn't have been possible unless he had four arms.
KELSO
Care to explain?
BOSSLEY
(cringing sheepishly)
Not really. Something I haven't told you yet.
KELSO
(cringes)
It can't get any worse.
BOSSLEY
Wanna bet?
Sgt. Daily enters the Super's open apartment door. Kelso's face lights with relief seeing the paper cups of coffee.
SGT DAILY
(to Kelso)
Here's your mud.
Daily hands Kelso an espresso.
KELSO
Oh, a darlin' man ya are, Dan Michael Daily.
(sips it)
Ah-h-h. Nothing like Italian coffee.
SGT DAILY
Providing it had a wee bit of fine Irish whiskey to perk it up some.
KELSO
(nods)
Oh, there you go. We'll just have to make do I suppose.
Sgt Daily leaves the room.
KELSO (CONT'D)
(to Bossley)
Okay, give it to me--and if you leave anything else out, I spill my guts to the press, so help me.
BOSSLEY
Hey, no need to get nasty. The naked guy was carrying something in his arms. Looked like a mummy. It was wrapped head to toe in white, shiny rope--looked like rope anyway.
KELSO
Was it shaped like a male of female?
BOSSLEY
You mean did I see any tits? You're not listening to me, Detective Smart-ass. When I said wrapped in rope head to toe, I meant exactly that--every fucking inch of it.
(beat)
Like one of them Egyptian mummies at the city museum--only with rope instead of rags. Look, I already told you I was drinking and it was--
KELSO
I know--too dark to see clearly. Is that all?
BOSSLEY
Ain't that enough? Sounds crazy, I know, but it's the truth.
KELSO
Crazy? There's people locked away for life in the state mental hospitals for less than what you just told me.
BOSSLEY
Hey, I ain't a goddamned liar. You asked me--even threaten me. Christ, I didn't want tell you.
KELSO
I'm supposed to report all witness statements, but Christ. No way in hell I'm reporting this shit. I wish you hadn't told me.
BOSSLEY
You mean I should'a lied? To the cops?
KELSO
(sigh)
Yeah, especially to the cops.
BOSSLEY
Then you won't give any of this to the press--right?
KELSO
Not even if they castrate me.
CUT TO:
INT. MISS ELLISON'S APARTMENT 2B - 2D FLOOR -- CONTINUOUS
Detective Seigler is questioning MISS ELLISON (70ish), Fagan's neighbor. She is a spry, sharp old gal.
SEIGLER
...and what time did you hear him scream?
MISS ELLISON
Ten-something. I'm not sure exactly. You know, this is all such a waste of time.
SEIGLER
Why do say that?
MISS ELLISON
All the other missing people--the police never found a single corpse. The spider monster doesn't leave any traces other than the victim's blood.
SEIGLER
(surprised)
Pardon me, did you say spider monster?
MISS ELLISON
Don't put on an act for me, sonny.
SEIGLER
Ma'am, The only monsters I've ever seen were people.
MISS ELLISON
Say what you will, but I know what I know. Policemen are all alike--all afraid of the truth.
SEIGLER
In what way?
MISS ELLISON
You think us all superstitious fools--poor ignorant trash. They ask us, but never listen.
(beat)
In my long life, I've learned there are things that stir in the night far more frightening than any rational mind has ever devised.
SEIGLER
Have you ever seen this monster?
MISS ELLISON
(cold stare)
I've seen things lurking in dark shadows that would turn your blood to ice water. You cops think we spend our lives behind locked doors because we're afraid of people? People we can deal with.
SEIGLER
Can you uh, describe this monster?
MISS ELLISON
(perturbed)
We're finished,Detective. I heard a scream. Nothing more I can tell you.
Miss Ellison walks to the door, holds it open, inviting him to leave. He nods politely.
SEIGLER
Thank you for your time, Mrs. Ellison.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. STREET IN FRONT OF 211 S. VINEYARD -- DAY
Kelso and Seigler walk towards Kelso's car. They each light a cigarette.
KELSO
Seven missing people in two years--all within six square blocks. Doesn't make any sense. A killer usually won't shit where he eats.
SEIGLER
Maybe they all got fed up and left.
KELSO
You sound like a politician.
SEIGLER
I guess I do. Sorry. I sure hope I don't find out I'm not cutout for detective work. I really like it.
KELSO
A new job's like a new girlfriend--takes a while to smooth out the rough spots.
SEIGLER
I guess. You know, I was just thinking. That green substance in the blood--I want to pursue it.
The two men get into Kelso's car.
INT. KELSO'S CAR -- CONTINUOUS
KELSO
What have you got in mind?
SEIGLER
According to the reports, nobody's ever analyzed it.
KELSO
Too expensive. No corpse, no homicide. No homicide, no budget.
SEIGLER
I get the point. Miss Ellison in 2B has the case figured out.
KELSO
Oh, yeah?
SEIGLER
Says a spider monster did it. Real whacko.
KELSO
Never completely discount anything anyone tells you in the ghetto. May just be their interpretation. Some of the stories are right up there with Cinderella and the seven little pigs.
SEIGLER
You mean Snow White and the seven dwarves.
KELSO
Who give a fuck. You know I mean?
SEIGLER
But a spider monster? Hard pill to swallow.
KELSO
Some stories go down like bad medicine, but you do the job until you find the truth.
SEIGLER
How long you been on this detail?
KELSO
Too fucking long. Most days I hate my fucking job. I used to think I made a difference.
SEIGLER
Where you born here?
Kelso inserts the key into the ignition, presses the start button.
KELSO
I grew up in a city orphanage the size of a toilet--right over there in that vacant lot. City tore it down last year. A fucking mercy killing.
SEIGLER
Pretty tough childhood, huh?
KELSO
My first job was stealing car parts off delivery trucks. I did six months in juvy.
SEIGLER
(amazed)
You ? In reform school?
KELSO
I would have done a year if a doctor hadn't stepped in and promised the judge he'd give me a regular job.
SEIGLER
Nice friend to have.
Kelso drives off down the street: Typical city traffic and people everywhere.
KELSO
I didn't even know the guy. The Dean of the orphanage got me the job. I'd always thought his ambition in life was to see me permanently behind bars. Go figure.
SEIGLER
You helped took care of patients?
KELSO
No. He wasn't a doctor doctor. Some sort of medical researcher. His laboratory was right there in the basement at 211 S. Vineyard.
SEIGLER
Fagan's building? Small world.
KELSO
I ran errands for the doc.
SEIGLER
Why a medical research laboratory in the ghetto.
KELSO
Beats the shit of me.
(remembering)
He was strange. Always talking to spiders. Like how he was gonna get even with God--make them all extinct. Crazy stuff.
SEIGLER
Sounds to me like he'd been writing himself some recreational prescriptions.
KELSO
I don't think so. One day, it all ended. Doc and his assistant, Mr. Lang,were about to inject a mouse with some sort of serum...
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. JOHN NOBLE'S RESEARCH LABORATORY IN 1922 - DAY
NOTE: This scene and the next are what Frank Kelso recalls.
A STREET PUNK--a heroin addict on-the-edge is waving a pistol at everyone; hands trembling; mercurial eyes, sweating profusely; needs a fix bad.
DR. JOHN NOBLE. (30s, blond), YOUNG FRANK KELSO (17, Italian look) and MRS. LANG (30s, red hair, pretty), are all standing beside a lab workbench like statues, afraid to move.
Mrs. Lang is still holding the lab rat, the syringe needle still inside the rat, loaded with 5 CCs of serum. She's never pressed the plunger on syringe.
STREET PUNK
(strung out, needs fix)
...and keep you're goddamned hands where I can see'em. Don't lie to me cocksucker. Every store's got a fucking cash register.
(level)
You just gimme the fucking cash and I'm out of here.
The white rat suddenly wriggles out of Mrs. Lang's hands: the needle pops out of it's body. It leaps onto the floor, skittering away.
The syringe in Lang's hand is still loaded with serum. .
JOHN NOBLE's eyes are tracking the pistol being waved around.
He slowly maneuvers between Lang and the addict as he attempts to talk the addict to his senses.
DR. JOHN NOBLE
(clam)
Look, how can I make you understand. This is a medical research facility. We sell nothing. Look around. Do you see anything remotely resembling a cash register?
The punk glances is losing his patience fast.
STREET PUNK
(pistol barrel in Doc's face)
Tell me asshole--do you see anything remotely resembling a fucking gun? Want me too air you brains out? Then get me the fucking money.
Noble raises his hands to calm the kid. Even offers the kid his wallet.
DR. JOHN NOBLE
This is all I have. Please take it. How can we resolve this? I have no register. I have no--
DOC'S POV into the pistol's cylinder. He see all six chambers are EMPTY--no bullets.
DR. JOHN NOBLE (CONT'D)
(relieved)
You little shit. The goddamned gun is empty.
The Doc bursts into laughter in the punk's face.
The PUNK steps back, startled his bluff has been discovered. The laughter suddenly INFURIATES the kid.
The kid detects the SERUM-FILLED SYRINGE held in MRS. LANG'S HAND. He turns towards the Doc, focusing on the LAUGHING FACE.
STREET PUNK
(about to explode)
Bastard. You laugh like my worthless old man. I'll give you something to laugh about.
In ONE SWIFT MOVE, the ADDICT GRABS the SYRINGE out of Mrs. Lang's hand and STABS Doc in the chest, his THUMB DEPRESSING the PLUNGER, injecting Doc with the entire tube of serum..
The punk yanks the syringe out, drops it, and flees out the door.
Noble staggers back, clinching his chest, not yet realizing the gravity of what just happened.
MRS. LANG
(eyes the empty syringe on the floor)
My God. Doctor, are..are you--?
DR. JOHN NOBLE
(wincing)
I'm okay...needle missed the bone.
Doc picks up the syringe. It's empty.
DR. JOHN NOBLE (CONT'D)
At least you injected the serum in the specimen before that little shit stabbed me with the syringe. Let's spread out and search. We have to find the rat.
Mrs. Lang turns pale, eyes round, great concern. She just stands there in shock.
DR. JOHN NOBLE (CONT'D)
Dammit, woman, what's wrong with you. It's imperative we find him. That serum contained the final arachnid gene extraction necessary for...
(sees the look in Lang's face)
Lang picks up the empty syringe, then shakes her head, afraid to tell the Doc what has happened.
DR. JOHN NOBLE (CONT'D)
Well, what is it? You...you did inject him, right?
She shakes her head no. Her expression says it all.
DR. JOHN NOBLE (CONT'D)
(dread)
You...you mean you didn't--
MRS. LANG
(verge of tears, shaking her head)
I...I didn't have time. The rat wiggled out of my hands.
DR. JOHN NOBLE
Then...
(final dread)
the serum was...injected in me?
Mrs Lang nods yes. Her eyes water. She frightened for the Doc.
Kelso is dumbfounded, not understanding the medical concern.
DR. JOHN NOBLE (CONT'D)
Go home, both of you...please.
(struggling to maintain his professional posture)
I uh...need to be alone.
MRS. LANG
But the serum you received--shouldn't I fetch a doctor for you?
DR. JOHN NOBLE
I am a doctor, Mrs. Lang. Just...just go-- leave me be.
KELSO
I'll stay if you need me, Doc.
DR. JOHN NOBLE
That won't be necessary, Son. I need to study my log...re-think my next move. If you would, be so kind as to escort Mrs. Lang home.
KELSO
Sure, Doc.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. NOBLE'S LABORATORY -- MORNING
Young FRANK KELSO strolls into the lab carrying Dr. Noble's laundry packages and clothes on hangers.
Noble is bent over the microscope at the workbench. His left hand is heavily bandaged.
Mrs. Lang is standing behind him.
Frank hangs the laundered clothes on the wall rack and stacks the brown-paper-wrapped bundles of laundry on the linen shelf.
Before Frank can speak, Noble explodes into a rage: backhanding the MICROSCOPE, SHATTERING test tubes, beakers, and bottles of chemicals that go flying across the room.
Frank ducks as GLASS CHARDS fly at him.
Dr. Noble, in a fit of rage, is kicking and throwing cages of spiders and mice everywhere. The cages CRASH and fly open. hundreds of INSECTS, SPIDERS, and RODENTS skitter for their freedom.
Mary Lang staggers back, frightened, etching towards the front door.
DR. JOHN NOBLE
(screams)
Get out. Both of you--get out. And don't come back. You're fired.
Noble pathetically slinks down on a lab stool, SOBBING, face buried in his hands . Kelso ushers Mrs. Lang along. She grabs her coat off the wall hanger and they make a quick exit onto the street.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. PRESENT DAY, 1938 - KELSO'S CAR -- CONTINUOUS
Kelso is driving through typical slum street traffic; lots of pedestrians, traffic lights, etc.
SEIGLER
Jesus. Is this nut still around?
KELSO
He vanished like a fart in the wind--left everything he owned.
A light goes off in Kelso's head. He's lost in a thought
KELSO (CONT'D)
You know, the old missing persons reports might makes some very interesting reading. It may take half the night to go through them.
SEIGLER
You're not buying into any of this about Monster spiders?
KELSO
Lets just say I'm not ruling anything out. I need you need to type up the Fagan case for the Captain. Just keep it antiseptic--nothing about monsters or naked men.
Seigler lifts a brow.
SEIGLER
(suspicious)
Naked men? That must have been some conversation with Bossley.
KELSO
(rolls eyes)
Let's stop by Gail's Cafe for some breakfast.
(beat)
You think the old lady is three cards short of a full house. Whoa. You tell anyone what I'm about to tell you, I may have to kill you.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. NOBLE'S LAIR, GROTTO BENEATH 211 S. VINEYARD - NIGHT
This is the most hair raising, chilling scene of all. The sort of place we only find in nightmares; the lair of the NIGHT FEEDER--the most villainous, blood-chilling monster that ever stalked the human race. It is a huge hidden grotto, very old, 30 feet high from dirt floor to rafters; the old cellar of the brownstone apartment building at 211 S. Vineyard.
The CELLAR secretly adjoins the JANITORIAL ROOM on the first floor via cement stairs and a steel door; the opposite side a fake wall of supply storage shelves that SWINGS OUT.
The CELLAR is virtual crypt, carpeted with decayed flesh and bones. Hundreds of shriveled, leathery cocooned human and animal corpse lay strewn about. The floor writhes with the plunder of sewer rats and subterranean vermin.
The lair is lighted by a single bulb, dangling at the end of a hanging fixture that's been haphazardly wired into an antique city power box.
One-inch thick spider web is strung across the huge grotto, wall to wall, rafter to wall, six feet off the dirt floor like a giant fishing net.
Stacked along one wall,fifteen feet high, are cocooned human corpses.
(O.C.) The METAL cellar door CREAKS OPEN, then SHUTS HARD.
SHADOWS of the SPIDER MONSTER crawling through the lair carrying a COCOON in its human arms. The monster's hard BODY PARTS coarsely RUB as the creature CRAWLS. Nobel's LUNGS breath deep and loud.
The COCOON sails through the air, landing on top of the other cocoons.
FOUR Large black, shining, bulbous SPIDER EYES above HUMAN FOREHEAD and HUMAN EYES.
The creature crawls to door and out of the lair.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. CHICAGO,POLICE PRECINCT, DEAD RECORDS ARCHIVE SEPTEMBER 1942-- NIGHT
1:45 A.M. by the WALL CLOCK.
Kelso is sitting at a desk perusing a file folder; surrounded by stacks of file folders. He closes a file, jotting down a name. He's tired...rubs his eyes--a long night.
One files is dated November 16, 1922; the name Dorothy L. Howzer.
On another stack we see a folder dated July 17, 1928, named James N. McCloud.
Kelso glances at the WALL CLOCK...looks out the office door. Precinct is bull pen layout and typically busy.
Across the room, we see Police Captain JAMES WILLIS bent over the typewriter in his office. Kelso, pad in hand, gets up, weaves his way towards Willis' office.
He passes two police officers and a detective in process of booking three female prostitutes.
One of the prostitutes recognizes Kelso.
PROSTITUTE ONE
(counterfeit smile)
Hey, Kelso. Tell these creeps I'm a good girl--this is all just a big mistake.
(provocative)
I can show gratitude in ways you've never even dreamed of.
KELSO
(moves slower)
And then my dick falls off. No thanks.
PROSTITUTE TWO
(to prostitute one)
You're wasting your breath, Sweety. Kelso would lock up his own grandmother for jaywalking.
KELSO
(polite smile)
Have a nice night girls. Wake up's at five, chow's at six, court's at eight, bondsmen shows up at nine.
PROSTITUTE TWO
(shouts as he walks away)
Fuck you Kelso. I hope your dick falls off.
CUT TO:
EXT. TRAIN SWITCHING STATION - CONTINUOUS
In the shadows and glare of bright loading dock lights nearby, Clement and Harlan steal their way under a parked train's freight car. On the paralleling track, another train just starting to move.
Very cautious, they look right and left for train dicks. Coast clear, they hightail it for an open freight car door of the slow-accelerating train. They toss their bedrolls in and hastily climb inside.
CUT TO:
INT. CAPTAIN WILLIS' OFFICE -- CONTINUOUS
CAPTAIN JAMES WILLIS, 60ish; rough night; tired, grey hair mussed, tie lose, rolled shirt sleeves, and a stogy clinched in his teeth. He's two-finger typing a report.
Kelso pauses at the door, knocks softly, waits. Willis glances at Kelso, continues working.
WILLIS
I'm not authorizing overtime.
KELSO
I didn't ask. What are you doing here this late? You look like shit.
WILLIS
Thanks. His honorable highness, the Mayor, called me at ten last night. Wants a personal touch for his friend, Mr. J.R. Keets.
KELSO
The dashing young millionaire. I seen his mug in the papers--the campaign rally. I couldn't tell if the Mayor was shaking his hand or jerking him off. Keets is in trouble?
WILLIS
Yesterday, it was caviar and wine at the Ritz. Today, its peas and bread in the slammer.
KELSO
What'd he do, welsh on a promise to donate Fort Knox to the Kelly-Green campaign?
WILLIS
Murder one...dumb fuck.
(beat)
The schmuck's out of town on business, gets horny, and sneaks home early last night to his new wife. Figures he'll surprise her with a game of hide the salami. She was a fashion model. Did I tell you that? A real looker.
(puffs his cigar)
Any how, Keets sneaks into his penthouse and heads for the bedroom for the big surprise, only he finds the wife in bed with someone else.
KELSO
No, shit? Let me guess--the best man.
WILLIS
Not even close.
(dirty laugh)
Her pretty French maid. So, there they are, naked as babies under the sheets, wrapped up like two boa constrictors in heat. Neither realizes hubby is in the room.
(shaking his head, frowns)
Keets calmly takes his 32 revolver out of the bedside drawer, throws the silk sheets back, and greases'em both. One shot each, right through the fucking noodle.
KELSO
Brother. Ever notice how rich husbands always shoot first. Crazy bastard.
WILLIS
(puffs the cigar)
Yeah, I'm Keets' army of lawyers is gonna try to convince a jury that's exactly what it was--temporary insanity. I'm supposed to help them.
(rocks back)
Okay, what the hell are you doing here this time of the night?
Kelso hands him the pad. Willis reads it.
KELSO
I checked the archives. I found one hundred and twenty-six missing persons since 1921, all with the same MO. Wanna know what I think?
WILLIS
(waves him off)
No, so don't waste your breath. You know departmental policy; no corpse, no homicide.
Kelso issues a sigh of disappointment.
WILLIS (CONT'D)
(hard core realist)
I know it's sucks, but that's life. You want fair play, join the Boy Scouts.
KELSO
Captain, I'm sure I'm onto something.
WILLIS
Are you deaf? No budget, Frank--Nada.
Willis stands, stretches out the kinks.
KELSO
That's it? I'm supposed to just drop it?
WILLIS
That's right--drop it. I know how many cases there are. Christ, I investigated most of them myself--until the Mayor stepped in and shut me down cold--budget constraints.
(beat)
That's why John Q. Public is never gonna know a fucking thing about any of them. It'd be bad publicity, which we don't need. That's pretty much what the Mayor said back then--same as what this Mayor says now.
KELSO
Doesn't make any sense to hide them.
WILLIS
Sure it does, if you're a politician. Ghetto scarecrows don't vote. Mayors only give a shit about them that do.
(points with cigar-clinched fingers)
And next time you get a brain fart about some case, check with me first. Now, get the fuck out of here. Go spend time with Gale. She's a sweet kid, even if she is my niece.
KELSO
Mayors, budgets, elections--all bullshit. We're cops first, last, always.
WILLIS
That's right. And the mayor's our boss. I said it's over. I plan to finish my retirement without getting a political dick up the old kazoo, so I don't go stepping on toes.
(pause)
Christ--you're more stubborn than my first wife.
Willis reads the frustration in Kelso's face-- reconsiders.
WILLIS (CONT'D)
You really have a hard on for this one, huh? All right. You got my permission to investigate the cases, but on your time, Detective. Not mine.
(beat)
You can even use the department's resources, but only when your off duty. While I'm paying your salary, you better damned well give me what I'm buying or I'll bust your ass.
KELSO
Fair enough. And if I find some hard evidence to prove homicide or that all the cases all connected?
WILLIS
As long as it won't make me look like a fool, I'll considerate it. I'll even ask the Chief for overtime. but you gotta prove it, Kelso--bring me proof.. Take it or leave it--that's the deal?
Kelso sighs, relents.
KELSO
I'll take it.
WILLIS
One catch. Don't bring me no bull shit story about monsters--not unless you cuff the bastard and personally drag its ass into my office.
KELSO
Somewhere there a missing piece to this puzzle and I'm gonna find it.
Kelso plucks a cigar from Willis' shirt pocket and stuffs it in his jaws. Give Kelso a vigilant glare.
WILLIS
I aim to retirement in 43, so do not fuck it up. I hold a grudge forever.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. BLIND ALLEY IN BACK OF 211 S. VINEYARD BROWNSTONE -- CONTINUOUS
Noble monster slithers out from under the rear stoop, crawls up the Barlow Building fire escape, and over the roof.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. BLACK HARLEM - NEW YORK CITY, NOVEMBER 1942 - EVENING
The evening is soft and a light drizzle of rain is falling. The concrete walks and streets sparkle reflections of all the neon signs.
There are lots of umbrellas and black faces moving briskly along the sidewalk. Bumper-to-bumper traffic is crawling past tall, shoulder-to-shoulder brownstone apartment buildings. Restaurants, and bars are wedged into every nook and cranny.
DATE BAR: HARLEM, NOVEMBER, 1942
Bar MUSIC fills the background. Clusters of folks are huddled in doorways and stair stoops all along the sidewalk. Under store-front canopies, folks are gathered around perching on soda bottle crates, fruit boxes, and old straight chairs playing bottle-cap checkers and dominoes.
Young men are clustered in peer groups, some sharing a few bottles of hooch, dancing, singing, carrying-on.
INT. 1ST FLOOR, NATHAN SIMON'S APARTMENT DINING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
NOTE: Front corner apartment.
NATHAN SIMON is a young, BLACK, homicide detective. A virtual feast is laid out on the diner table, celebrating Nathan's promotion to Detective Sergeant.
Nathan is seated at the head of the table. On either side are his two young sons; CHARLES (8), flipping through a new comic book, while WILLIAM (10)is driving his spoon around the table like a car. All are patiently waiting for SARA, Nathan's wife, to bring out the main course.
SARA (O.S.)
(in kitchen, humming)
CUT TO:
EXT. ALLEY - BENEATH THE SIMON APARTMENT -- CONTINUOUS
A black man stalks apartment, hiding in side alley, just outside the Simon's dining room window. He's hunkered down in shadows, taping a stick of dynamite to a brick; A HOMEMADE BOMB.
CUT TO:
INT. SIMON APARTMENT - DINING ROOM -- CONTINUOUS
Seated at the table, the two boys playfully slap hands at each other over the table. William is trying to grab the comic book out of Charles' hand.
NATHAN
That's enough. Behave yourselves. Momma's worked hard on this diner, so don't go showing off.
The boys cease hostilities and sit like two little angles.
SARA, marches into the dining room wearing a sassy smile and a bright red apron; carrying a platter of baked ham like a waiter at THE RITZ. She sits it gently on the table.
The hungry kids applaud its arrival.
NATHAN (CONT'D)
Holy cow, Baby. This looks like a banquet for Diamond Jim Brady. I made Detective Sergeant--not Lieutenant.
SARA
(soft and polite)
Don't be a smart-ass. A Colored cop getting promoted to detective sergeant in Harlem? This like a miracle. I'll bet your old daddy and mama are probably up there with old St. Peter right now just dancing their behinds off over what you done.
NATHAN
(smiles, remembering them)
Yeah, I expect they are. Momma sure loved to dance. Just look at all this good stuff. Mmmmm-Mmmmm. Boys, we are gonna eat like pigs tonight-right?
WILLIAM
(giggles)
We're gonna be pigs.
SHERMAN
(laughs loud)
Sara gives Nathan a LOVE PINCH as she sits down at the table, her face glowing. They swap loving SMILES. Enough, boys. Settle down.
Nathan's eyes roam the table.
SARA
And what are you looking for?
NATHAN
You uh, didn't happen to cook any collard greens I suppose?
SARA
I did not. This is Harlem, Baby--not Atlanta. I also didn't cook any pig tails, turnip greens, chit'lins, fried hominy, black-eyed peas, corn bread, or any grits. People here in the north don't eat that sort of stuff.
NATHAN
Ah, now, that's where you're wrong. Mamma J's Place, just down the block. They got ribs, turnips, chit'lins, grits--everything a country boy needs every night of the week.
(beat)
I'm taking us there for supper next Friday. I mean if it's okay?
SARA
(relenting frown)
Sweetheart, as long as I don't have to cook it, you can take us anywhere you want...as long as it's not expensive.
Sara notices the wine glasses, starts to rise from her chair.
NATHAN
Hold it, Baby. What do we need? I'll get it.
SARA
The wine. I forgot it.
NATHAN
(waves her back down)
You sit--I'll fetch. Besides, I twist the cork out easier than you do.
SHe frowns at that remark.
Nathan rises, exits into the kitchen through a swinging door. The boys start arguing over the comic book.
CHARLES
No, it's mine.
WILLIAM
But you can't even read. I could read it out loud for you.
CHARLES
No.
Sara taps a drinking glass with a fork.
SARA
Enough out of your two. Put that comic book away. We're here to eat, not read.
(calls out to Nathan)
Honey, I also forgot the biscuits on the stove.
INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS
Nathan [frustrated] has an arm-lock on the wine bottle, struggling to get the corkscrew into the bottle's cork.
NATHAN
Okay, I'll get'em.
(under breath)
Damn. Why don't they just use lids.
SARA (O.S.)
You say something, Nathan?
NATHAN
No. just be another minute.
INT. DINING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
A BOMB [STICKS OF DYNAMITE TIED TO BRICK] CRASHES through dining room WINDOW.
SARA (O.S.)
(screams, terrified)
Nathan.
INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS
SOUND of GLASS SHATTERING
NATHAN
(startled)
What the hell...
CUT TO:
INT. DINING ROOM -- CONTINUOUS
The bomb is lying near the table, It has a SHORT FUSE that is SIZZLING, almost burned down.
SARA
(gasps, petrified)
Oh, God...no.
CUT TO:
INT. KITCHEN -- CONTINUOUS
Nathan wheels around, making a mad dash for the dining room.
The instant he reaches the swinging kitchen door, the BOMB EXPLODES. The fiery blast DRIVES him backwards in the air. He CRASHES against the icebox and cabinets, dropping onto the floor.
Nathan, face down, is UNCONSCIOUS; clothes charred and shredded, speckled with his own BLOOD, GLASS and WOOD SPLINTERS EMBEDDED in his BACK..
Most of the dining room wall is missing. The DINING ROOM is in FLAMES.
CUT TO:
INT. DINING ROOM AFTERMATH -- CONTINUOUS
Through GUTTED CORNER WALLS, an open view of the street. FLAMES lick the rubble and SMOKE is bellowing out of the building wounds. RAIN is falling.
MANGLED BODIES and BODY PARTS lay strewn about the bombed-out room in a GORY MESS.
CUT TO:
INT. KITCHEN -- CONTINUOUS
Nathan STIRS, GROGGY, lifts his head. In the rubble, he sees his family's corpses strewn over the room in pieces. He's mortified--emotionally destroyed.
NATHAN
(agonizing screams)
No. No. Goddammit, no.
(breaks down)
POLICE and FIRE TRUCK SIRENS WAIL (O.S.).
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. GRAVEYARD - SIMON FAMILY FUNERAL - DAYS LATER - EARLY MORNING
It's a somber morning. RAIN is still pouring.
The INTERMENT SERVICE is under a large CANOPY. One large and two small CASKETS are resting on brass bars casket support bars over pre-dug graves.
More than a hundred mourners are present, spilling out from under the canopy, braving the rain with their umbrellas.
Among the mourners are many whites as well as colored.
THREE PLATOONS of POLICE, all in full dress standing at ATTENTION in the background wearing raincoats. A sea of flowers surround the service.
A raincoated NEWSPAPER PHOTOGRAPHER snaps photos from a distance. Beside him is a reporter under a raincoat, writing on a pad.
PHOTOGRAPHER
(to reporter)
Why does it always rain at funerals?
REPORTER
God's law when you bury family. Seems that way. I'm finished. Let's get out of here.
Nathan stands by the caskets wearing full dress uniform.
TEARS track down Nathan's face as minister concludes services.
MINISTER
...to ashes, dust to dust. As we commit these precious souls to your divine care, knowing they are at peace. Amen.
A sea of black umbrellas suddenly begin migrating to waiting automobiles.
Nathan is left standing alone by the three coffins. He pulls THREE ROSES from bouquet kisses each one; placing one on each coffin.
NATHAN
(under breath)
Take care of them for me, Poppa. They were the best part of everything I've ever been.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. PRECINCT - CAPTAIN BOLGER'S OFFICE - NEXT DAY
Nathan is standing in front of Bolger at the desk. Nathan's wearing street clothes and trench coat. He lays his pistol and badge on Captain Bolger's desk.
THUNDER RUMBLES. RAIN is PELTING the OFFICE WINDOW.
NATHAN
(to Capt. Bolger)
Hold on to these 'til I get back? If I come back.
CAPTAIN BOLGER
Sure. You, uh, know...the pain and hate you're feeling will never go away--not ever. You're gonna have to find a way to live with it or its gonna eat you up like a cancer.
NATHAN
Oh, yeah? You have no idea what it's like to lose your whole family?
CAPTAIN BOLGER
(nails Nathan with his eyes)
I know exactly what it's like.
(beat)
I lost my whole family, too, in a car wreck-- ten years ago next Friday. A goddamned drunk driver killed them. Lost my wife, my son--he was two-- and my six month old daughter.
NATHAN
(surprised,regrets remark)
Jesus, I had no idea. Sorry. I was off base.
CAPTAIN BOLGER
(waves him off)
Skip it. I may be white, but I'm your friend. I give a damn. Remember I'm hear if you need me. So, where you off to?
NATHAN
(shrugs)
Not sure. I figure I'll just go until I get to where ever I'm supposed to end up.
CAPTAIN BOLGER
I've given you 90 days. Only thirty days are paid of course. Best I could do. You can pickup it up at finance on your way out. Regulations say that two weeks unauthorized absence, I have to pull your badge permanently.
(beat)
I hope you do decide to come back, Nathan. You're a damned good cop. You can pick yourself up and start over...painful as it seems.
NATHAN
Thanks. Maybe I will come back. Just don't know yet. See you around, Captain.
(nods good-bye)
Bolger nods back and Nathan exits the room, into the hall.
CUT TO:
INT. PRECINCT HALLWAY OUTSIDE BOLGER'S OFFICE--CONTINUOUS
A young police DISPATCHER, OFFICER TUTTLE, scurries down the hall with his arms loaded with dusty file folders skirts around Nathan, turning into Bolger's office.
CUT TO:
INT. PRECINCT - CAPTAIN BOLGER'S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
TUTTLE
Here's the files you wanted, Cappy.
CAPTAIN BOLGER
Dammit, Tuttle, I told you not to call me that. Where the fuck have you been?
TUTTLE
Gee, Cap'n, I been busting my fanny. There's lots of files here.
CAPTAIN BOLGER
Horseshit. I seen you at the water cooler making goo-goo-eyes with Miss Big Tits from finance.
(walks to at an empty desk)
Put'em right here.
Tuttle leans and plops them down. A large brown spider dashes out of one of the dusty files, and sprints across the desk. Tuttle steps back, STARTLED.
Bolger grabs a magazine and slams the bugger, SMASHING it DEAD.
TUTTLE
Whoa. He's a big one.
CAPTAIN BOLGER
That venomous little shit won't ever dream again. Women and spiders--two of God's worst mistakes.
Bolger sweeps the carcass off into the waste can with the magazine.
TUTTLE
That's a very interesting concept.
CAPTAIN BOLGER
What are talking about?
TUTTLE
Spiders dreaming. I never thought about'em like that. Maybe they do dream. Maybe all insects dream.
CAPTAIN BOLGER
(annoyed)
Who gives a shit? It was just a remark.
TUTTLE
What would a spider have to dream about anyway--right? All they do is hide out, make little spiders, spin webs, and eat bugs. They got it made if you ask me.
CAPTAIN BOLGER
Nobody asked you. Who the fuck cares?
TUTTLE
Maybe in my next life I'll come back as a spider. It might not be so bad hanging out on a web all day.
CAPTAIN BOLGER
Tuttle, do you carry a piece?
TUTTLE
Dispatchers aren't issued firearms. You signed the order yourself last year. Why?
CAPTAIN BOLGER
I was about to pistol-whip you with it. Are you on any medication?
TUTTLE
Uh, yeah--just some sleeping pills. I have insomnia sometimes. Why?
CAPTAIN BOLGER
You should double the dose. Now, get the fuck out of here. Go.
Tuttle scurries out the door like a frightened mouse.
CUT TO:
EXT. POLICE PRECINCT - FRONT STEPS -- CONTINUOUS
It's cold and raining as Nathan exits the precinct. Lots of TRAFFIC on the puddled streets. There's a loud clap of THUNDER and the rain pours harder.
Nathan snugs his hat down, flips the trench coat collar up, and ambles off down the sidewalk seemingly impervious to the rain.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. CHICAGO RAILROAD SWITCHING STATION - FEBRUARY 1942 -- NIGHT
DATE BAR: CHICAGO DECEMBER 1942
Under a FULL MOON's light and wafting fog lies the TRAIN SWITCHING STATION. Hundreds of rail cars parked, row after row, reflecting the bright FLOOD LIGHTS.
A freight train strung with flatcars is being loaded with MILITARY VEHICLES and CANNONS. Swarming around them are many men loading them cranes and fork-lifts; WOODEN CRATES, MILITARY WAR MACHINES i.e., CANNONS and TANKS and TRUCKS.
Surrounding the switching tracks is a vast bone yard of warn-out, rusting rail cars caped with a layer of snow and ice. This is an austere, tundra-like landscape.
TWO TRAIN DICKS [DETECTIVES] with flashlights and a leashed dog are walking between idling freight trains like German SS Troopers. One dick has a pistol in his hand. Their breath steam in the freezing air as they're search open freight cars, one after the other, for hoboes and vagrant hitch-hikers.
The DOG is BARKING VIGOROUSLY, stretching the leash.
They walk quickly towards a particular FREIGHT TRAIN that has just ARRIVED a few tracks over, it's breaks squeaking as it comes to a stop.
12-15 HOBOS suddenly begin bailing out of freight cars all along the train; raggedy as scarecrows; clothes stuffed with newspaper for insulation, and some are wearing old blankets cut into ponchos and bound with rope.
RAIL DETECTIVE ONE blows a police whistle at them about a hundred feet away.
RAILROAD DETECTIVE ONE
(shouting)
Railroad detectives. Hold it right there or we'll shoot.
Sudden PANIC; the transients RABBIT IN ALL DIRECTIONS.
RAIL DETECTIVE TWO FIRES SEVERAL SHOTS. He misses. The hobos vanish into the foggy darkness between trains.
RAILROAD DETECTIVE TWO
Goddammit. They got away. Let the dog loose.
RAILROAD DETECTIVE ONE
Bullshit. Use the pistol. One of those scarecrows killed my other dog last year--strangled him with a piece of rope.
The detectives stop, watching and waiting for someone in to make a run for it.
RAIL CARS HUMPING LOUD. DIESEL TRAIN ENGINES CHURN LOUD, as train starts moving.
Another FREIGHT TRAIN arrives, breaks SQUEAL as it slows to a CRAWL; SPRAYS STEAM that bellows out in large clouds
A freight car DOOR SLIDES OPEN. A familiar head cranes out wearing a tattered grey felt hat. It's CLEMENT
He looks up and down the length of train for rail dicks. Behind him stands HARLAN and NATHAN SIMON. Nathan is the only one dressed in decent clothes, though filthy.
FLASHLIGHT BEAMS pierce holes in the thin fog as two dark figure move towards them. We hear the rail dick's dog BARKING.
CLEMENT
(to Harlan and Nathan)
Oh, shit. We got company. Let's get out of here.
The three vagrants hastily crawl down out of the freight car, bedrolls slung over shoulders. A CROAKER SAC [FRESH CORN] is also slung over Harlan's shoulder.
RAILROAD DETECTIVE TWO
(shouting)
Stop right there goddammit.
(fires twice)
Both BULLETS PING off the side of the freight car.
NATHAN
Crazy bastards. We haven't done anything yet.
HARLAN