Killer in the Wind - Chapter One

Sheriff Tripp Ellis is something of a legacy. His father and grandfather both served in the same position as county sheriff in the smallest county seat in East Central Illinois for the last 60 years. And while his family might stake a claim on the law, being a cop isn’t really in Tripp’s blood. But everything changes on a fateful day during a routine traffic stop as he miraculously survives a near-fatal shooting. The road to recovery is full of physical and mental hurdles and nearly a year after the incident, Tripp returns to work, making the solemn promise to be a better sheriff. But his vow is quickly tested as a prominent couple is mysteriously attacked in their own home by an enigmatic assailant.

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Transcript

NOCTURNUM COLLECTIVE – SEASON ONE

Killer in the Wind – Chapter One       

Written by Karl White

NARRATOR (OPEN): There are constants that endure in the known world. Space, time, energy, matter. Physical and scientific laws constraining us to this existence. But there's a current below the surface. Contrary to the explainable, it's where the unknown resides, where meaning and form collide with the abstract, where shadows hold dominion…Enter the Nocturnum Collective.

(MUSIC – opening sequence)

NARRATOR: And now, season one, Killer in the Wind, Chapter One, written by Karl White.

(MUSIC – mysterious drone)

NARRATOR: The Midwest, farm country, majestic fields of corn, soybeans and wheat stretch the flat terrain, creating a colorful tapestry as far as the eye can see. There's something about the air here, a memory carried through the seasons…A steady gust on a warm summer day…Cool, crisp breezes in the swaying nights of autumn…Blistering cold whipping through the winter…The unforgiving tempests of spring angrily billowing…The wind remembers, and sometimes with it carries death.

(SFX – nature sounds)

NARRATOR: Our story begins in Stanfield, a small farming community in East Central Illinois. It sits 130 miles south of Chicago, 131 miles west of Indianapolis, and 180 miles northeast of St. Louis. The quiet town as it sits in relation to the rest of the wild world is close, yet so far away.

(SFX – cars passing)

NARRATOR: On an open stretch of highway, nestled outside of town on a dreary November day, the crops normally giving life to the landscape have been harvested, leaving barren fields of dirt, awaiting the harshness of winter. It's Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, and a sleepy hedgerow makes a perfect hiding spot for a county sheriff's cruiser and a speed trap.

(SFX – car passing & radar gun beeps)

TOM: 52…Not even worth our time.

NARRATOR: Behind the wheel, Deputy Tom Falk, 54, square jawed, buzz cut, doughy midsection. Tom's a law enforcement lifer. He obtained the rank of Eagle Scout in Junior High and joined the police force the day after he turned 18 on account that his birthday fell on a Sunday that year…Next to him in the passenger seat is newly elected Sheriff Tripp Ellis, 35, the polar opposite of Tom, Tripp's the epitome of cool, lean, handsome. He's Steve McQueen in a sheriff's uniform, but Tripp's something of a legacy. His father Arlo recently retired after spending 30 years atop the food chain as the county sheriff. Before that, Tripp's grandfather Edwin held the post. And although law is in his blood, Tripp stumbled his way behind the badge, reluctantly, and at this moment, his attention is on his phone.

TRIPP: Swiping left.

TOM: What's wrong with her? She looks nice.

TRIPP: Most of these ladies and I are already familiar. That's the problem with a small town.

TOM: Wow, you don't sound like a jerk at all when you say it that way.

(SFX – car passing & radar gun beeps)

TOM: Ah, it's gonna be a long day…I've been meaning to ask, how much did it cost to run for office?

TRIPP: A committee covers most of it, donors the rest. You gonna run against me? Got to wait four years.

TOM: Do you even want to be sheriff?

TRIPP: I'm here, aren't I?

TOM: I was a kid when your dad caught the butcher. It was the biggest thing to ever happen around here, seeing Arlo on TV saying, crime can't hide from the long arm of the law. That made me want to be a cop. Your dad's the real deal. He's a hero.

TRIPP: And he loves to talk about it every chance he gets.

(SFX – police radio)

 ELKE: (over radio) One-Alpha-S, do you read me?

TRIPP: Go ahead, Elke...

ELKE: (over radio) There's a bad accident on the interstate.

TRIPP: Call the state Mounties, have them deal with it. Deputy Falk and I are busy…Over.

ELKE: (over radio) Will do.

TOM: You really do the bare minimum, don't you?

TRIPP: I'm not interested standing out in the cold, directing traffic. Are you?

TOM: Just seems like your heart isn't in it.

TRIPP: I've come to realize this is as close to a family business as I've got. So here I am, badge and all, doing my best.

TOM: I hate to break it to you, Sheriff, but you forgot your sidearm again.

NARRATOR: In his seat, Tripp reaches down to where his gun should be. But Tom's not wrong.

TRIPP: Goddamnit …I'll admit, I've spent most of my life following the path of least resistance.

TOM: I noticed that wasn't part of your campaign.

TRIPP: The election board needed a name. They didn't care that I had no formal background. I mean, I did my training, but we both know that I was meant to be a paper tiger. It's appalling how few qualifications you actually need to be a sheriff.

TOM: But, you know, some effort would go a long way.

TRIPP: Do I want to do better? Sure. But you kind of run the day-to-day anyway, responding to most of the calls. That wreck on 220, the dust up at the Central Tavern. Wasn't there some worksite thing over at Polygon? If anybody was expecting me to step in and be like my dad, I don't know what to tell him. I'm more of a go-with-the-flow kind of guy.

TOM: Seems more and more laid back as how the powers-it-be want it. Maybe it's time we do something about that. I can teach you how to wear that badge the right way. Then maybe I can let you in on some stuff.

(SFX – speeding car passes & radar gun beeps)

TOM: Holy shit, 105. Hey, here's your chance to start up holding the law.

(SFX – police car peels out, siren blares)

TOM: Where's the plate from? I don't have my glasses.

TRIPP: Tennessee…Probably on their way to visit family for the holiday.

TOM: Come on, man, they're speeding.

TRIPP: I'm just saying, maybe we go easy.

(SFX – car pulls over)

NARRATOR: In the speeding car, two men, the driver Gino Corso and his brother Vito. More on them in a moment.

(SFX – car doors close, footsteps in gravel approaching car)

TRIPP: Afternoon, fellas.

TOM: Do you know how fast you were going? I clocked you going well over a hundred.

GINO: Sorry for our haste, gentlemen.

TRIPP: You guys heading home for Thanksgiving?

GINO: Yeah, it's been a long drive, so I was just trying to keep moving, you know. Sorry again for the lead foot. I'll watch my speed, promise.

TRIPP: What do you think, Deputy?

TOM: Sheriff, need I remind you, traveling at excessive speeds is a petty misdemeanor. It's within our jurisdictional right to arrest them.

TRIPP: Deputy, that seems unnecessary given the circumstances.

TOM: We at least get a right to ticket.

TRIPP: I tried, fellas. I'll need your license and registration.

GINO: Sure, sure. It's my girlfriend's car, by the way. Her name's on the slip there.

TRIPP: Gotcha. Give me a sec. We'll have you on your way.

TOM: Hey, I don't like these two. Something's off.

TRIPP: Let's not profile, all right? Let me run his info. If it's good, maybe we just give him a warning in the spirit of goodwill.

TOM: And if something comes back?

TRIPP: Then you get to tell me you told me so.

NARRATOR: Time has markers, events that alter the fabric of our worlds, defining moments, one to count days or years against. Where there was a before and an after, and life was never the same again. For the Corso brothers, theirs had happened 14 hours prior. Trouble in Atlanta, a shootout, stolen guns, switching cars in Nashville, heading for safe haven in Chicago, and now the speed trap. It's as if these actions were set in motion, intersecting at this moment for some divine reason.

(SFX – car door closes & keyboard typing)

NARRATOR: As Tripp waits for the plate number on the stolen car to come back, Tom watches the suspicious pair from the side of the road. But where he stands, he doesn't see Vito, hand stealthily retrieving a weapon from under the seat until it's too late.

(SFX – gun shots)

NARRATOR: The sound draws Tripp's attention. He looks up from the car's data computer to see Tom fall, dead before he hits the ground. Tripp goes for his side arm, but it's not there.

(SFX – gun shots)

NARRATOR: As he fights to free the shotgun from the rack mount in the cruiser, the Corso brothers turn their attention to him. A hail of bullets shatter glass and chew away at the car.

TRIPP: This is One-Alpha-S…Shots fired…Officer down...I need assistance, Route 45 off Flatville Road.

NARRATOR: With the keys to the cruiser in Tom Falk's pocket, Tripp's stuck.

(SFX – car door opens, footsteps in gravel, gun shots)

NARRATOR: He gets out of the car and quickly takes cover behind it, fighting to stay alive.

(SFX – police radio statics)

ELKE: (over radio) Tripp helps on the way.

(SFX – shootout)

NARRATOR: Trading shots with the criminals, Tripp takes Vito down with a shotgun blast to the chest.

(SFX – shotgun blast)

NARRATOR: With his brother dead, Gino continues to angrily fire. He shoots under the car. A bullet rips through Tripp's ankle.

(SFX – falling to ground)

NARRATOR: On the ground, wounded and unable to walk, Tripp is vulnerable. There's nothing around him, nowhere to hide. Gino moves in.

(SFX – approaching footsteps)

GINO: Hey, piggy piggy…

NARRATOR: Death is only a heartbeat away. There's one shell left in Tripp's shotgun.

(SFX – racking shotgun)

NARRATOR: As Gino rounds the back of the cruiser.

(SFX – shotgun blast)

NARRATOR: Tripp's panicked shot only grazes Gino's shoulder. The monster is still upright.

GINO: You're dead, pig.

TRIPP: No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

(SFX – approaching sirens)

NARRATOR: On the horizon, help. But glistening in Gino's eyes, the end of the road for a man with nothing to lose. And past the barrel of the gun aimed down at Tripp, he sees it too.

(SFX – gun shot)

(SFX – bed sheets rustling/Tripp gasps awake from his nightmare)

TRIPP: It was just a dream.

NARRATOR: August 3rd, 250 days since the shooting. For Tripp, nightmares are a near nightly occurrence. Most mornings he wakes in a cold sweat, reliving the moment his life nearly ended on the side of the road. Shot at point blank range in the head by Gino Corso, Tripp wasn't expected to survive, but he did. At the last moment, as Gino pulled the trigger. 

(SFX – echoed shot and scream)

NARRATOR: Tripp held up his left hand and turned his head to the right. The bullet tore through his palm and hit the mastoid bone behind his ear, deflecting downward and towards his jaw. After countless surgeries, he spent 40 days in intensive care. He's had to relearn to walk on a shattered ankle that required a metal plate and six screws. He's rehabbed his injured hand and gone through speech therapy, learning to function. But life for Tripp is different. Though there were no important brain structures injured in the shooting, he's endured sensory disturbances, the loss of smell, and deep down feels as though part of himself is missing, lost, gone forever.

(SFX – running on treadmill)

NARRATOR: But every morning, after the terror of his dreams fade, he climbs out of bed and pushes forward. The path hasn't been easy. Needing constant care, Tripp was forced to move back in with his father, Arlo. Physically Tripp has made significant progress, building his strength, his endurance, refusing to give up. And today marks the next step in his resurrection, defying the odds he'll remarkably go back to work.

(SFX – bacon sizzling)

ARLO: Morning, kiddo. How was the workout?

TRIPP: Eh, okay.

ARLO: You don't sound so chipper. Can you smell the bacon?

TRIPP: No. I wish I could.

ARLO: You feel all right?

TRIPP: Why are you asking?

ARLO: Nobody would blame you if you needed more time off. 

(SFX – Tripp sighs)

ARLO: I'm just saying, stepping in as part-time deputy has been fine with me. Gives me business. And Detective Diaz is doing a hell of a job in your stead.

TRIPP: I appreciate her filling in, but...

ARLO: You're lucky she's here. Chicago Commission citation.

TRIPP: I know. Distinguished service whatever, and awards on top of awards. I get it.

ARLO: Small towns like ours don't just stumble on to somebody with her qualifications.

TRIPP: You're a broken record.

ARLO: All I'm saying is you don't have to force yourself. We've got it.

TRIPP: I'm at a good place with my rehab, but I'm tired of being alone with my thoughts. I need business too.

ARLO: Nobody said you had to shut yourself off from the world. Why not ride a desk for a bit? 

(SFX – doorbell)

ARLO: You expecting company this morning?

(SFX – open door, delivery van driving off, door closes)

ARLO: It's a package for you, son, what is it?

(SFX – opening package)

ARLO: A Stratton straw sheriff's hat. That's the kind your grandpa wore, same color and everything.

TRIPP: That's why I ordered it, it's symbolic. I want it to be more like you and grandpa.

ARLO: Go ahead, try it on.  

(SFX – putting on hat)

ARLO: Oh son, you are the spitting image of my dad. And it'll be good to cover your scar too.

(SFX – Tripp sighs)

ARLO: All right, Sheriff, we better get a move on if we don't want to be late on your first day back.

(MUSIC)

NARRATOR: Stanfield, a seemingly unending sea of fertile land. Tens of thousands of years ago, glaciers eroded the terrain down to a flat, windswept prairie, extending as far as the eye could see. Where trees were sparse and tall grass, whipped in whatever direction the air stream flowed. The land was the perfect plot for hunting and farming. Occupied for periods by nomadic Sauk, Miami, and Kickapoo tribes. Never staying long, as seasonal winds would carry them to more hospitable places. Then, as settlers came west, the first village was established in 1844 by pioneer Ephraim Stanfield. The level land suited the expanding railways and roads, transforming into the town of Stanfield just after the Civil War. 

(SFX – planes)

NARRATOR: In 1917, the US. War Department, wanting to strengthen the military's supremacy of the sky, chose a large plot of land just five miles north of town to construct Emerald Lakes Air Force Base. It would become one of Uncle Sam's most important pilot schools and artillery training centers for intercontinental ballistic missiles. But by the end of the Cold War, the Department of Defense, downsizing the armed forces, closed the base. The buildings and land sat vacant for nearly two decades, ravaging the surrounding communities to near extinction. But in 2010, Polygon, a multinational biomedical company, invested in the ruins of the crumbling military post, bringing a shot of lifeblood to the slowly dying county. Founder Greg Galen chose the site due to the proximity to larger midwestern towns, utilizing the base's existing framework and runways to grow his cutting-edge company. The tract Polygon occupies consists of acres-wide manufacturing, warehouses, and an ultra-modern headquarters, with new construction and expansion always in the works.

(SFX – driving)

NARRATOR: Driving to work through the country from Arlo's Place, they pass Polygon's massive campus. The place is a strange juxtaposition amidst the flat, natural landscape, like an alien city crash-landed in a field.

ARLO: I know we've avoided talking shop but let me give you the cliff note since you've been gone. The Dixon’s bull got loose, made it all the way to Main Street.

TRIPP: Bet that was a site.

ARLO: Traffic citations are up, accidents are down, city councils adding a new speed bump on Elm Street…What else? Oscar sold the farm.

TRIPP: Really?

ARLO: You know, with Jeannie's passing.

TRIPP: It was fast, wasn't it? Her dying?

ARLO: Yeah, leukemia. I heard she died a few months after her diagnosis. Oscar kept it really quiet. Happened same time as your accident.

TRIPP: It wasn't an accident, I was shot…How's Oscar doing?

ARLO: He's good, working for the village as a handyman, and he's volunteering at the fire station. Oh yeah, Judge Cooper died, heart attack.

TRIPP: Oh man, I remember when I got probation for spray painting the smiley face on the water tower. He let me mow his lawn as community service. I always thought old Judge Cooper would be around forever.

ARLO: Life is a fragile thing.

NARRATOR: Arlo's words hit home for Tripp. In the months since the shooting, he's questioned many things. Pondering why he survived, to the more existential, why is he here? But grounding him are familiar sights in the small town where he grew up.

(SFX – driving)

NARRATOR The town itself is split in two, divided by railroad tracks. Arlo speeds through the east side, past newer construction. As the cruiser crosses the tracks, a quarter mile down looms a new grain elevator under construction.200 feet tall, eight silos wide. The old one sits adjacent, smaller, crumbling, with only four silos. But both are monolithic, tall and impressive, against the outstretched horizon.

(SFX – driving)

NARRATOR Beyond the tracks is the west side of town. Arlo navigates, passing older craftsmen homes, heading towards a bustling town square, packed with businesses. On Main, he pulls up to the police station. As the cruiser stops, Tripp goes for the door. But Arlo hits the locks, preventing his hasty exodus.

(SFX – door lock)

ARLO: There's a surprise party waiting for you. I wanted to say something before you went in.

TRIPP: And you don't think I can handle it?

ARLO: I'm just trying to look out for you, Tripp.

(SFX – car door open/close)

NARRATOR: The relationship between Arlo and Tripp has always been a rocky one. Arlo's wife, Deborah, died in a car accident when Tripp was just a child, leaving father and son to clumsily navigate the ups and downs of life together. Tripp would be the first to admit he was a handful, but the intense focus Arlo had on his career would plague them both. Arlo's a man who casts a long shadow. And before he took over as sheriff from his father, he was a highly decorated deputy. In 1986, Arlo was responsible for capturing Clyde Carver, the Stanfield butcher whose reign of terror claimed the lives of 12 women. The case was national news and made Arlo an instant celebrity. To this day, obsessed true crime fans, fascinated with landmarks in the Macabre case, flocked to Stanfield to see the sights, hoping to snap a photo with the famous lawman, to which he's more than happy to oblige. It's been speculated amongst those close to them that Arlo's fame and stature has always been a sore spot for Tripp, one that made him steer clear of any aspirations his father had for him…But life can be funny that way. For as much as we try, we can't deny who we are or where we come from.

(SFX – sheriff's station sliding door)

NARRATOR: In the station, well-wishers wait.

GROUP: (in unison) Surprise!

NARRATOR: Among them, a sea of familiar faces for Tripp. Elke, the dispatcher.

ELKE: I'm so glad you're back, sweetie.

NARRATOR: Rookie, Deputy Liston.

LISTON: Hey, Tripp.

NARRATOR: Raj, the mailman.

RAJ: Welcome back.

NARRATOR: Georgia, owner of the movie theater.

GEORGIA: It's good to see you, Tripp.

NARRATOR: Fire chief, Phil Corbin. A tall, gruff mountain of a man grabs Tripp.

PHIL: Welcome back. You gonna show us that extra hole in your head? Oof. Hey.

NARRATOR: Phil is elbowed by volunteer firefighter Oscar Oakes, African American, older, bald, short in stature with a gravelly voice…He serves as the barometer for when Phil's being insensitive.

TRIPP: Oscar, it's good to see you.

NARRATOR: Tripp and Oscar share a friendly hug.

TRIPP: My dad says you're not on the farm anymore.

OSCAR: With Jeannie gone, it's just too big for me to manage on my own.

TRIPP: I'm sorry I wasn't at the funeral.

OSCAR: It's okay. I'm happy to see you, Tripp.

NARRATOR: Across the room, Tripp locks eyes with Detective Lark Diaz. She's 35, brunette, smart, hawk-eyed. He motions to his office. She nods.

TRIPP: Excuse me, fellas.

NARRATOR: As he breaks away, Mayor Jamie Kwan, a real firecracker of a woman, abruptly steps in his way.

MAYOR: Sheriff Ellis, we need to talk. There’re some public safety protocols I want to go over. We had the harvest festival, the old grain elevator coming down.

NARRATOR: Seeing Tripp caught, Arlo swoops in.

ARLO: It's his first three minutes back. Let's let the boy get settled, then we can talk business.

NARRATOR: Tripp interjects, though it takes a moment to get his words out.

TRIPP: I have briefings today. Let's put something on the calendar for later this week. Pardon me.

NARRATOR: As Tripp slips off, a stare down between Arlo and the mayor.

MAYOR: Why are you here? The county's paying your pension and you're drawing a deputy salary? I don't like it…And as unfortunate as the shooting was, it should have ended Tripp's tenure.

ARLO: He's duly elected just like you are. He's not going anywhere.

 
(SFX – office door closes)

 NARRATOR: Away from the stress of interactions, Tripp slips into his office, breathing a sigh of relief. His problems are as much a matter of confidence as anything else. Lark waits near his desk, but as Tripp closes the door behind him, a reminder of his former life. A poster of a scantily clad woman hangs…He does an awkward double take, and quickly rips it down.

(SFX – poster rips)

TRIPP: Sorry about that.

LARK: It is what it is.

TRIPP: It's inappropriate.

LARK: I don't disagree, but since your status was in limbo, no one wanted to get rid of it. Sort of an homage to you.

TRIPP: It was a joke, and not who I am anymore. I haven't always taken my job as seriously as I should have. That's a mistake.

LARK: It's big of you to admit.

TRIPP: I also apologize for being away for so long. I mean, just meeting you now.

LARK: It's alright. Your dad said you weren't much for visitors, and I came to do a job, not socialize.

TRIPP: I appreciate you filling in, but I'm sure you're ready to get home.

LARK: I've worked with cops coming back from injury. There's an adjustment period. I'm good to stay.

TRIPP: I've given it a lot of thought. I should jump in feet first. I don't need anybody looking over my shoulder.

LARK: Are you threatened by me?

TRIPP: I, uh...

LARK: You've got a history objectifying women. Get in front of a strong one, and you go into male survival misogynist mode? Is that it?

TRIPP: No, that's not what I'm...

(SFX – knock on door)

ARLO: Sorry to interrupt, but a call came in. There was a break-in at the hardware store. I thought it'd give you two a chance to, you know...

(SFX – driving)

NARRATOR: Silence as Lark drives. Tripp stares out the window, but committed to change, he feels compelled to at least say something.

TRIPP: I'm not threatened.

LARK: Your dad told me you're newer to law enforcement. What did you do before this?

TRIPP: Lots of stuff. I was waiting on my calling, which never came.

LARK: And what? Now you're trying to live up to your worth?

TRIPP: Going through what I did, I realized I need to be a better person. Why did you take this assignment?

LARK: What happened to you was all over the news. I wanted to help.

TRIPP: There's nothing you want out of it?

LARK: Where I come from, it's hard for a woman to ascend. Acting county sheriff looks good on resume, despite where it is.

TRIPP: At least you're not one of those butcher groupies.

LARK: Oh, yeah. Those true crime junkies? I've seen them come through. Wanting selfies with your dad? It's weird.

TRIPP: But he loves the attention.


NARRATOR: Livingston Hardware, a fixture in the community since 1950. Tripp and Detective Diaz look over the back door. It's broken, splintered, kicked in with tremendous force. Old man Livingston scratches his head at the whole thing.

MR. LIVINGSTON: Money's still in the till, and everything else seems to be in order.

LARK: Do you have an alarm system, security cameras?

MR. LIVINGSTON: I got no use for any of that nonsense. It's a quiet town…You're gonna dust for prints?

TRIPP: Aside from a busted door, if you say nothing's missing, then probably not.

LARK: Is there a safe on the premises, Mr. Livingston?

MR. LIVINGSTON: No.

LARK: Mind if we take a look around?

NARRATOR: Lark carefully walks each aisle, taking her time. Tripp follows, glancing around. To him, nothing seems out of the ordinary.

TRIPP: B&E, destruction of property. Those aren't small things. I get that.

NARRATOR: She hones in on something. Every product is meticulously flush against the edge of the shelves.

LARK: Mr. Livingston, do you face the shelves?

MR. LIVINGSTON: Every night. Been doing it since my father opened the place. He always said, if the customer can't see the product, they won't buy it.

NARRATOR: Tripp looks. Lark's attention is fixed on an empty spot on a shelf where a bottle of hydraulic oil should be.

(SFX – driving)

TRIPP: Why only take the oil? It's not like it's terribly expensive or hard to come by.

LARK: But it is specific. Instead of buying it, using a credit card, showing their face, the perp breaks in under the cover of night and takes it.

TRIPP: It's not the crime of the century.

LARK: Insulation and deniability. You know, stealing a car to commit a bigger crime. You need to look at the world through the lens that crimes don't just happen for no reason. Every action and reaction connects…Someone wanted that oil bad enough to bust the door down to get it.

(SFX –city sounds)

NARRATOR: A few hours north of Stanfield, it's late, but the heartbeat of Chicago is still pumping. The city's skyline lit brightly against the backdrop of Lake Michigan. Along the magnificent mile sits Paddock Tower, a 75-story skyscraper with a rooftop observation deck, fine dining and beautiful panoramic views of the windy city. It also serves as headquarters to Ledford Insurance, the third-largest life insurer and institutional global asset management company in the US. Last year, Ledford cleared $80 billion in profit. 

(SFX - fluorescent lights hum)

NARRATOR: Deep in the bowels of the massive tower, a cleaning woman, done for the night, exits a freight elevator. Pushing her cart, she passes an electrician working at one of a dozen large breakers. She pays no mind to him, but the electrician isn't what he seems. As the cleaner disappears around the corner, he looks back, checking if the coast is clear.

(SFX – cart rolling away)

NARRATOR: Carefully gathering his things, the electrician hurries to the elevator, heading up, a look of determination on his face.

(SFX – freight elevator door slides closed)

(SFX – TV sounds)

NARRATOR: Back in Stanfield, Mark lounges in a recliner, watching TV after a long day. He takes a well-deserved moment for himself, a single dad, raising his son, Finn, alone.

WEATHER MAN: (on TV) A heavy fog has rolled in tonight as cold air mixes with a warm front. I'll have details along with your seven-day forecast at ten.

(SFX – thud upstairs)

MARK: Finn, I can hear you. You're supposed to be in bed.

NARRATOR: Finn, 7, calls out from the top of the stairs.

FINN: Dad, there's a monster in my closet.

NARRATOR: Like any good parent, Mark goes through the motions, looking in the closet, the hamper under the bed. Finn watches his dad with scrutinizing eyes. He's afraid of the dark, and with his healthy imagination, it's a dangerous combination after the sun goes down.

(SFX –rummaging sounds)

MARK: All clear, buddy, nothing hiding. That's your one monster check for the night.

FINN: But the Horror's gonna get me.

MARK: The Horror?

NARRATOR: Finn points to his bookshelf, where Mark finds a stack of comic books. Gracing the cover is a ghoulish fiend, with a skull face and glowing eyes, aptly titled, The Horror.

MARK: Where'd you get these?

FINN: A kid at school. Can I sleep with the flashlight?

MARK: Not tonight, Finn. Remember our talk? There's nothing that's gonna hurt you in the dark. It's just time for the world to go to sleep.

(SFX – opens window)

MARK: Here, some fresh air will help.

NARRATOR: Toy race cars line the windowsill, and as Mark goes to clear them...

FINN: Don't! It's my monster alarm.

MARK: Okay, your monster alarm is still intact. Good night, buddy. I love you.

FINN: Love you, dad.

(SFX – light-switch off, door closes, receding footsteps)

NARRATOR: A moment in the quiet. Then Finn hops from his bed and darts over to grab the flashlight off his dresser. 

(SFX – footsteps)

NARRATOR: Tiptoeing back across the room, he makes a detour to the window. His lingering fear forces him to look out, wanting to make sure nothing is out there waiting for him to let his guard down. Despite a full moon, not much is visible as a thick fog has rolled in. As Finn's eyes adjust, he can make out the muted shapes of houses, but that's it…Look out secure, Finn scurries back to his bed, diving in.

(MUSIC – eerie)

NARRATOR: But back outside, to the house next door, a two-story Victorian. Though it's difficult to see through the creeping fog, at the edge of the yard, the stillness of the night is broken as something stirs in the thick brume. 

(SFX – heavy, mechanized steps)

NARRATOR: A towering figure glides through the murk. Nearing the house but concealed by the mist.

(SFX – more mechanized steps)

NARRATOR: At the side of the house, a light is on in the kitchen. The dark shape stays in the gloom. Still just a ripple lurking beyond sight. But moving closer, closer, casting a shadow on the side of the house and across the window.

(SFX – kitchen sounds)

 NARRATOR: Inside, Kevin Sullen, known as Sully to just about everyone in town, stands at the counter, assembling a late-night snack. He doesn't realize he's being watched through the French doors off the dining room. Still a diffused silhouette, the figure looms frozen like a statue. It's somewhat human in form, although notably larger and taller than the average man. The only discernible feature is the hint of eerie glowing eyes.

(SFX – gas leak sounds)

 NARRATOR: A quiet wisp of fumes seep under the door frame where the shape stands. The vapor is thick, the density of smoke. The growing mist dances across the dining room, sneaking up behind Sully, who's really into making his snack. The odorless air swirls around him, rising. By the time he notices, his breathing ceases. 

(SFX – choking)

NARRATOR: His heart stops. He falls dead on the kitchen floor. 

(SFX – falls to floor)
 
 

(SFX – TV sounds)

NARRATOR: Upstairs, awaiting her husband's return, Sully's wife, Jenna, watches television.

JENNA: Hurry up. Our show's coming back on.

(SFX – footsteps on stairs)

NARRATOR: A moment later, she hears slow, heavy steps creak up the stairs. They stop just shy of the door.

JENNA: Don't be a jerk. I hear you.

(SFX – vapor sounds)

NARRATOR: Against the light of the television, she notices vapor bleeding into the room.

(SFX – coughing/choking)

NARRATOR: Scared, she tries to call out to her husband, but the thick fumes are too much. Out of bed, Jenna tries to crawl from the room, attempting to escape the deadly gas. But she's asphyxiating.

(SFX – gurgling sounds)

NARRATOR: As she takes her final breath, the shape watches from the doorway, cloaked by the poison smoke.

(SFX – flipping pages of comic book)

NARRATOR: Meanwhile, huddled under the covers, Finn reads a chilling issue of the horror which he had hidden under his pillow. Then...

(SFX –sounds on the roof)

NARRATOR: Something is out there, stalking along the rooftop next door, and hitting the ground just below his room.

(SFX – drops comic, sheets rustling)

NARRATOR: Finn drops his comic and peeks out from under the covers, shining the flashlight around his room. Fear handicaps him, but curiosity pulls Finn from his bed...to the window. 

(SFX – tiptoe across room)

NARRATOR: He looks out in the obscurity of the night. Below he catches sight of the shape moving between the houses. Finn's frozen. But as he musters enough courage to duck out of sight, he knocks one of the cars from his window.

(SFX – toy car rolling/bouncing down roof)

NARRATOR: It bounces down the eaves, hits the gutter, landing in the yard.

(SFX - toy landing in the grass)

NARRATOR: After a moment, Finn peeks over the windowsill again, and there he sees his worst fear. The shape, a dark mass in the clearing of the Sullen's front yard, looking up with its spooky glowing eyes…

(SFX – hydraulic sounds)

NARRATOR: Adding to Finn's terror, the figure's visage, curiously hidden behind a plexiglass helmet, suddenly illuminates as light inside the headgear flicker on, revealing a phosphorescent skull staring right at him.

(SFX – lights flicking on)

FINN: (screams) Dad!!!!

NARRATOR: As Finn's fearful cries fill the air, the terrifying brute runs off with large, leaping bounds, disappearing into the foggy night.

(SFX – heavy, mechanizes steps running off) 

NARRATOR: To be continued…

(MUSIC – Outro)

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