Dark Was the Night By Thomas ODowd

EXT. FIELD. DAY. A dilapidated caravan sits in an empty field; discarded scrap lies strewn around. Half-grown plants cascade off the caravans filthy facade. A grizzled looking man, WILLIE, sits in a rotting deck chair, it is eerily quiet, the silence only broken by the grass, bristling in the wind. Music: Loud on a dobro guitar, and the clumsy vibrato of a metal slide. WILLIE V/O I was always told, aint no reason to fuss about this world, lordll find you, take you into his arms. Shit. No lord is gonna have my filthy soul. Music: Loud, abrupt, strums on the guitar. Title appears: DARK WAS THE NIGHT.

INT. CARAVAN. NIGHT. Willie is hunched over a tiny cooker, the cramped confines of the caravan dont look much better than the outside. Willie absentmindedly tosses the food in the pan.

The loud screech of amplifier feedback fills the room, Willie stumbles back in agony. He is paralyzed with fear as a dark shadow slowly approaches, the figure is unfocused and indistinct, its heavy breathing getting louder. Willie snaps back, gasping for air, everything is as it was. His food is burning. 3 EXT. FIELD. DAY. The sun beats down on the withered grass, Willie stands, crooked, propping himself against the Caravan. WILLIE V/O Runnin from death is like tryin to swim up a deep river; cant fight the current for long. 3

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INT. CARAVAN. DAY. Willie pulls a guitar from beneath his bed, it is clearly very old, deep scratches etch its face. He lifts the instrument carefully into his lap, and blows some dust from the surface. He tunes his guitar, plucking at the strings, he moves with the grace of an expert, despite his weathered hands. He strums the guitar loudly, and runs a metal slide along the aging strings.

Willie clutches at his chest in agony, we hear low rumbles combined with the high-pitched squeal of amplifier feedback. 5 INT. CARAVAN. NIGHT. Willie holds an old tape recorder in his hands, he presses the record button, the machine clicks, and the tape whirs. He begins to speak. WILLIE I left my music behind, thought I was done with all that nonsense... guess I aint. The music is all I got now. 6 EXT. FIELD. DAY. Willie sits in his deck chair, he wields his guitar, plucking at the strings aimlessly. He looks out into the distance. WILLIE I know youre there. The wind howls. WILLIE If you want my soul, come and take it. The familiar sound of amplifier feedback is heard. Willie squints; we see the shadowy figure approaching. Willie strums on his guitar. The figure wavers, reacting to the sound emanating from his guitar. WILLIE I aint letting you take shit. 6 5

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The feedback sound grows louder and more fierce, Willie struggles to hold his guitar, straining against the piercing sound. Willie writhes in pain, but manages to play a couple of notes. The figure continues its approach. Willie, with newfound determination, wields his guitar like a weapon, he strums a steady tune, slowly getting louder. The feedback from death becomes more and more intense, the figure reaches for Willie, but this only increases his resolve. Willie strums a final, powerful chord, the wind howls and the scene becomes chaotic. The feedback fades, the figure retreats and disappears. Willie, exhausted, slowly fades into unconciousness, he smiles. Willie is slumped over in his chair, everything is quiet, the silence only broken by the grass, bristling in the wind.