INT. ABANDONED ASYLUM LOBBY – NIGHT
The lobby area of an abandoned asylum decrepit and dusty, littered with broken furniture and concrete rubble. The only lighting is a hazy, deep blue from the moon shining through thickly glassed windows. A strange script is scrawled and repeated along the cracked walls.
CROWE (V.O.)
Over the past week I keep having this dream, or rather I should say nightmare.
An unsettling, shadowy door frame, struck unevenly by moonlight, beyond it lies pitch-blackness.
CROWE (V.O.)(CONT’D)
I find myself in some dark, rundown place – a hospital maybe – but it’s all wrong. I can’t escape this pervading feeling. A feeling like… I’m in hell –
CROWE (mid-20s) slowly appears through the door frame, pausing for a moment while looking off into the distance. Her face is ghost-white, a stark contrast to the cold, bluish, shadowy background.
She briefly roams the room, shadows of trees can be seen flitting over the ground, all is hauntingly quiet.
INT. ABANDONED ASYLUM CORRIDOR – NIGHT
At the end of a long corridor, Crowe is seen cautiously approaching a massive, chained door covered in a sickly, blood-coloured rust. She slowly reaches out her hand to touch it…
A DEMONIC, BONE-SHATTERING ROAR echoes in the distance, she jumps in fright.
INT. ABANDONED ASYLUM HALLWAYS – NIGHT
She stumbles through pitch-black halls and corridors. FRENZIED SCUFFLING and SAVAGE BREATHING can be heard behind her giving chase.
CROWE (V.O.)
Then comes the fall…
INT. ABANDONED ASYLUM STAIRWELL – NIGHT
Crowe runs out into a stairwell. Glancing back, she trips and tumbles down a flight of stairs into a deep pit, grunting amid the impacts.
On the floor, moaning in pain, we see her ankle is broken – the bone seen through bloody skin and tendon. She crawls in desperation as distant, booming footsteps and breathing get nearer.
Something growls; she looks towards the head of the stairs in horror.
CROWE (V.O.)
That’s when it appears, a thing of darkness…
THE SHADOW BEAST lurks to the head of the stairs. It is shrouded in a wispy aura of undulating black smoke, animal-like features can be discerned (claws, wolfish snout, hunched on all-fours).
It exhales and stares down at her with glowing eyes piercing through the dark before slowly descending the stairs, cracking the steps as it goes.
CROWE tries to drag herself away as it draws near, never taking her eyes off the beast who is toying with its prey.
She raises an arm to shield herself.
The beast claws at her savagely as she screams…
INT. DOCTOR’S OFFICE – DAY
Doctor’s Office, modestly furnished, bookcases, instrumentation neatly packed away, artificial plants.
CROWE is seated on a comfortable chair across from the DOCTOR. She is dressed in a simple business casual, a white French dress shirt tucked into a black pleated maxi skirt.
Her right hand is wrapped in a makeshift bandage that is slightly reddened by blood.
Crowe’s been telling the Doctor about the nightmare; an awkward silence ensues.
At length he clears his throat –
DOCTOR
I see Ms. Crowe, and what’s wrong with your hand?
He motions a pen towards her bandaged hand. Crowe raises it to him, wincing at the sight of her own blood.
CROWE
Well, it’s the strangest thing. After the dream I always wake up to a searing pain in my hands – specifically around my fingertips, but, well… This morning…
She carefully peels off the bandage, gasping in pain, to reveal the fingernail of her right index completely torn off, the skin split, bloody, and purple from trauma.
The doctor regards her curiously for a moment, then leans in for closer inspection.
A spurt of blood GUSHES out of the wound, splattering his overcoat. He does not react.
CROWE
I’m terribly sorry!
He regards her for a moment in confusion then shakes his head.
DOCTOR
That’s… Alright. Hmm, the nail is completely torn from the nailbed, and the lunula – the white semicircle at the base of your nail – has been severed. It is difficult to say for sure, but it is highly unlikely that the fingernail will regrow. You could have caught it on something while asleep, but the wound itself appears to have… Bite marks?
He jerks back from her, almost in fear, and hastily scribbles into a notepad; his handwriting is sloppy, and we get a quick flash of the words Psy… and Del… before moving back to Crowe.
For a split second, the volume of Crowe’s voice raises to a shout and her tone becomes stern, her façade of meekness slips.
CROWE
What are you saying!? How could that be possible?
DOCTOR
I’m not… sure. Keep it clean and covered, I’ll prescribe something for the pain. Make an appointment for next week and we’ll see how it… progresses.
He rips off a page from a prescription booklet and motions her to the door.
CROWE
Ok, thank you doctor.
She is annoyed by his tone, grabs her coat, and leaves.
EXT. STREETS – DAY
An unremarkable, midday city street lined with a strip of shops, including a fancy restaurant and pharmacy.
CROWE exits pharmacy holding a paper bag, her expression blank and the bandage on her hand visibly red.
Walking further down the strip, we see her stop outside a fancy restaurant, regarding its marquee upon which the name RÊVERIE is written in a stylish cursive.
She heads on inside.
INT. RÊVERIE RESTAURANT – DINING AREA – DAY
High-end French restaurant expensively furnished (chandeliers, candles, drapery) and buzzing with high class patrons. The clinking of wine glasses and classical piano is heard in the background.
CROWE seated at a corner table scanning the menu.
WAITRESS (French, 30s, work attire in a stewardess fashion) approaches with notepad in hand.
WAITRESS
Welcome to Rêverie, Mademoiselle. Oh, you are hurt?
Waitress becomes noticeably uncomfortable and nods her notepad towards Crowe’s bandaged hand.
CROWE
Oh, this? I’m ok. Accident at work, I must have been daydreaming or something.
Crowe has a little nervous laugh.
WAITRESS
I see…
An awkward moment of silence passes, the Waitress’ eyes are fixated on the blood.
CROWE
Is something the matter?
The Waitress beams back an enormous fake smile.
WAITRESS
Un rêveur déplacé. And what will you be having today?
Crowe, without breaking eye-contact, replies.
CROWE
The salmon with the spinach side.
INT. RÊVERIE RESTAURANT – DINING AREA – DAY
Crowe eating her meal, she is about halfway through, an ocean of tables with people dressed in suits and fancy dresses surround her on either side. She struggles using the fork in her left hand.
A SHARP PAIN causes her to drop the fork. It makes a horrible, drawn-out clatter as it collides with the plate.
At once the restaurant falls silent and the rest of the patrons turn to glare at her. Visibly distraught, she eyes the other diners, unimpressed faces.
WAITRESS casually stalks up to her table, beaming the same fake smile from earlier.
WAITRESS
Mademoiselle, you are hurt.
Crowe rises from the table, clutching her hand in pain.
CROWE
Excuse me.
She runs to find the bathroom, the restaurant silent and the stares tracking her. Droplets of blood splash to the ground from the soaked bandage.
INT. RÊVERIE RESTAURANT – BATHROOM – DAY
BATHROOM is small and squarish, primary colour white (floor tiles, porcelain sink). A tiled-glass mirror hangs eye-level above the sink.
CROWE enters the bathroom, hurriedly locking the door behind her. Gasping in anguish, she holds out her pulsating hand over the sink, drops of blood stain it.
She shakingly peels off the bandage and tears begin to well in her eyes.
A chunk of her right middle fingernail comes away with it and she lets out a scream. More blood stains the sink.
She looks at the remainder of her nail, which is jutting out at an oblique angle. With her other hand she grabs it and slowly peels it off.
BLOOD GUSHES from the wound and she desperately tries to staunch the flow with tissues before fainting.
INT. RÊVERIE RESTAURANT – BATHROOM – NIGHT
CROWE lies curled up in a foetal position on the bathroom floor. Her eyes flicker open, and she rises to her feet unsteadily. A STREAK of dried blood runs down from her cheek and along her shirt.
We see BLOOD SPATTERS across the floor tiles and walls, like someone had been whipping paint brushes around. The WINDOW FRAME IS COVERED in the same SICKLY RUST FROM SCENE 1.
She re-wraps her hand in tissues, we see that night has fallen through the window.
A KNOCKING COMES TO THE DOOR, and we hear the muffled voice of the WAITRESS.
WAITRESS
Mademoiselle, is everything alright in there?
CROWE
I’m ok! I’ll be out in a minute!
The door handle shakes VIOLENTLY.
WAITRESS
Just… Open… The door!
CROWE
Don’t come in here! Everything is fine.
WAITRESS
(voice deepening, taking on monster-like quality)
Let… Me… In!!!
Something begins STRIKING the outside bathroom door. We see it WARP from heavy impacts.
CROWE jumps and runs to the window. She touches the rust with the slight remembrance of seeing it in her nightmares.
A LOUD CRASH against the door.
She pries and yanks the stuffy window open, a metal SCREECH as the latch breaks. She squeezes through and falls crudely to the pavement below.
EXT. RÊVERIE ALLEYWAY – NIGHT
We hear the bathroom door BURST OPEN and CROWE runs down the alley into the street.
EXT. STREETS – NIGHT
The dead of night. A long stretch of empty streets, shops, and townhouse buildings. A cold mist hangs in the air and dim streetlights try their best to break through.
CROWE gasping for air limping down centre of road. Looking around for any signs of life. Humanity is far away.
A MONSTROUS ROAR from behind quickens her pace. She swings into a narrow pitch-black alleyway and knocks over some junk, coughing and sputtering in breathlessness.
EXT. ALLEYWAYS – NIGHT
CROWE running through a labyrinth of back alleys. A DEMENTED HYENA LAUGH causes her to glance behind in the dim moonlight.
She sees the glowing eyes of SHADOW BEAST giving chase.
Now in a full-on sprint, she whisks past a water pipe. It bursts and a jet of boiling steam GUSHES OUT, missing her by an inch.
We hear the deep screams of SHADOW BEAST; it has been caught in the steam and stunned.
CROWE swerves around a corner, reaching out to a wall to slow her momentum; the tissue bandage falls from her hand and makes a SOGGY CLAP on the ground. She WRITHES her hand in agony while running, FLICKERING BLOOD over her shirt.
EXT. SMALL APARTMENT COMPLEX EXTERIOR – NIGHT
Crowe’s Apartment Complex – Moonlit, two-storey motel-like housing. No lights are on in any of the windows, no cars are parked outside – nobody’s home.
Bloodied CROWE struggles up the staircase.
She runs to one of the doors and fumbles with the lock, carving rough scratches in the metal with her key before wrenching it open and slamming it shut behind her.
INT. CROWE’S APARTMENT – NIGHT
Elegantly furnished, neat & tidy, bookshelves, potted plants. Lights are off, shadowy – same MOONLIT-BLUE style of lighting and colour as SCENE 1.
CROWE’s heart is beating fast, drenched in sweat, exhausted. In her bloodied hand she grabs a LONG, SERRATED STEAK KNIFE from the kitchen drawer and slumps down the wall opposite the front door.
Her back against the wall, she raises the knife, pointing it towards the front door. Gripping it tightly, a few drops of blood trickle down her wrist onto the floor. The shadow of a tree dances on the plaster wall behind.
For about half a minute focus shifts back-and-forth between the front door and Crowe’s face as she waits in anticipation for the shadow beast to come. Tension builds with her rapid breaths and terror builds in her eyes.
Focus on the front door as her breathing normalizes.
CROWE (V.O.)
Over the past week I keep having this nightmare. In it I’m sitting in the dark…
Crowe rises to her feet, dropping the knife to the ground carelessly, she has no need for it anymore.
She walks over to a light switch and holds out her bloodied hand to it. Before reaching it, she pauses, seeing her ripped fingernails in the moonlight.
CROWE
What a mess I’ve made…
She laughs, a chuckle at first that gradually breaks into a hysterical fit, a mixture of relief and derangement.
INT. CROWE’S APARTMENT – BATHROOM – NIGHT
CROWE wiping her eyes and forehead with the back of her hand, SMEARING herself in blood. When she opens her eyes, we see her in front of a mirror and sink, scowling. Her demeanour has completely changed at this point, she is calm and collected, serene.
She stares back at herself in the mirror, unsettling.
CROWE (V.O.)
All I can think now about is… I have the most horrible taste of copper in my mouth.
Her face lights up into a grin.
END
Copyright © 2024 Giuseppe Gillespie
Giuseppe Gillespie Writing 
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