1
‘Say-Boo-Ka’
By
Mike Jones
Revised draft – Dec/09
FADE IN:
The scene is white and hazy, with shades of gray drifting in and out. The distant moan of a foghorn penetrates the eerie calm.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT MIST-SHROUDED CLIFF – NIGHT
A torturously winding stretch of ocean hi-way snakes its way along the rocky slope.
The distant wail of a police siren is heard. Soon a set of headlights pierce the misty haze and a car appears, careens right past us.
Moments later two police cruisers shoot by in hot pursuit.
INT CAR – NIGHT
At the wheel is MAC, mid-thirties, conniving and underhanded. Deep down in there somewhere beats a heart of gold but he’s lost his way and that was so long ago. Right now he has an intense, crazed look etched onto his face.
Next to him on the passenger seat is a duffle bag stuffed full with wads of paper money.
Gunshots fire from the pursuing police cruisers. He cackles insanely.
MAC
Ha-ha. Just try and catch me.
EXT BASE OF CLIFF – NIGHT
The waves lap silently against the shore.
The hunched-over form of a wiry, old man drags a wooden dinghy up to the water’s edge. This is PUTTER DAVE. He sets his boat into the water, climbs in.
The screech of burning rubber echoes from above as the vehicles speed by high atop the cliff face.
He minds little of this and pushes off, rows himself out to sea.
INT CAR – NIGHT
Mac floors it. The needle wavers over 60 mph.
MAC
Think you can keep up with me, huh?
EXT OCEAN HI-WAY – NIGHT
The car rides the shoulder of the road. Sparks fly as it grazes the guardrail.
INT CAR – NIGHT
The needle sinks as Mac maneuvers the tight curve.
He regains control, shifts gears and accelerates again. He glances in the rear-view mirror – no sign of his pursuers. He grins.
MAC
What’s the matter? Sixty too fast for you?
An oncoming vehicle suddenly appears, blares its horn. Mac jerks the wheel.
He loses control, skids straight ahead and into a road sign. He smashes right through it. Wood fragments splinter and fly as the sign plants itself overtop the windshield. It reads:
“Welcome to Hidden Cove”
EXT OCEAN HI-WAY – NIGHT
The car hurtles along, out of control. It crashes through the guardrail, sails off the cliff and lands with a splash into the waters below.
It just floats there for the moment.
INT CAR – NIGHT
Water seeps in. Mac arouses, comes to. Quickly he unbuckles, reaches for the duffle bag.
EXT CAR – NIGHT
Mac crawls out from the window, tosses the duffle bag onto the roof where he plants himself with it.
There is a swoosh of bubbles as the back end tips high into the air and the nose starts to slide under. He’s running out of real estate – fast.
Suddenly he sees it - the road sign floats nearby.
He dives from the vehicle just as it goes under.
EXT OCEAN HI-WAY – NIGHT
The wail of sirens is heard as the two police cruisers screech to a halt next to the damaged guardrail. A single officer hops from each vehicle, pistols drawn as they approach the scene.
They follow a set of tire tracks up to the edge of the road. They peer over the ledge. Below them – far below – is the rocky coastline.
After a moment they lower their weapons.
OFFICER
I’d say he’s robbed his last bank.
EXT SHORELINE – NIGHT
Mac clings to the road sign as he kicks his way back to shore. He crawls up onto the rocks. The duffle bag has never left his grasp.
He glances at the bag in his hand now and then up at the cliff face, towards the flashing lights of the two police cruisers.
MAC
Until next time.
He gestures a little hand salute towards them and then takes off down the shoreline.
CLOSE – SIGN:
As it drifts slowly by. We see it in full now. A smiling, cartoon-like rendition of a sea creature is depicted on it, welcoming all to Hidden Cove. Below this, in smaller words, is the caption: “Home of Boo”
EXT OCEAN – NIGHT
Putter Dave is seated in his dinghy, bobbing gently with the surf under the light of a full moon. He has been oblivious to all the excitement taking place.
He ignites his lantern, sets it down on the seat beside him. Next he drops in a line. All the while he murmurs fragments of an old sea-farers song:
PUTTER DAVE
Oh, a sailor’s life is the life for me...
He’s about set to settle himself in when there is a sudden and abrupt thud.
The lantern is knocked overboard as his boat wobbles in the rippling surge. He steadies himself and then listens, remains perfectly still.
Carefully he draws in his line and then places an oar in each socket. He begins to row himself back to shore. Just then he sees it - dead ahead and directly in his line of sight...
A MOUND BREAKS THE SURFACE OF THE WATER.
He rows faster now. Suddenly the water around him begins to boil and churn.
Aaarrgh as a massive upsurge propels both him and his boat into the air.
He’s tossed overboard, flails desperately in the murky waters. And then, in one swift motion, he’s drawn under.
The water flattens now and smoothes as the last few air bubbles boil up to the surface.
Nearby his overturned boat is left to drift aimlessly with the tide. All is still...and eerily silent.
EXT SIDE OF ROAD – NIGHT
Mac staggers along the edge of the pavement. He pauses to catch a breath. Another set of headlights appear and he quickly ducks for cover.
Once gone, he steps out from hiding. A crack of thunder sounds in the distance. Soon raindrops begin pelting the ground. He glances about, seeking shelter.
Up ahead appears the light from a small, roadside pub.
EXT PUB – NIGHT
Mac finds cover under the eave. He quickly makes himself presentable - straightens his collar, slicks back his hair.
He makes one final adjustment - cinches up the zipper on his duffle bag and proceeds inside.
INT PUB – NIGHT
A typical maritime watering hole. A sordid group of patrons, the local riff-raff, drown away their sorrows.
As Mac enters, a few suspicious eyes cast his way.
He finds his way over to a bar stool.
BARTENDER
What’ll it be stranger?
MAC
Give me a shot of whiskey.
Mac drops his bag down on the seat next to him. He settles in now, takes in his surroundings. This is clearly not his crowd. In fact, it seems that he’s stepped into a whole different world.
MAC
Say, where am I exactly?
BARTENDER
You’re in Hidden Cove mister. If you’re looking for accommodation there’s an Inn about a quarter mile up the road... Nothing much happens here, I’m afraid.
MAC
That suits me just fine.
Right then there is a sudden commotion as the doorway bursts open. All turn as a flash of lightning harkens the appearance of—
PUTTER DAVE
Drenched wet and dripping - he clings to the doorframe, barely able to hold himself up.
BARTENDER
Putter? My god. Are you alright? What happened?
There is only one word on the tip of his tongue:
PUTTER DAVE
Boo...
This causes a murmur to stir through the crowd. Putter Dave drags himself further inside, amongst the other patrons.
PUTTER DAVE
It was Boo, I tell yuh... There I was minding my own business when up from the depths comes this hideous sea-creature.
(Begins to physically reenact the event)
I’m not sure how but I managed to break myself free and swim back to shore.
A frenzy of debate erupts now within the room. Putter Dave holds firm.
PUTTER DAVE
A monster lurks in these waters my friends. I saw it with my own two eyes.
CLOSE - MAC:
He draws an inquisitive eye towards the bartender.
MAC
Who?
BARTENDER
Boo. That’s what we call our mythical sea-creature in these parts.
MAC
You don’t say, huh?
BARTENDER
It’s quite a tale – a ship wreck, buried treasure, you name it.
Mac is intrigued. Putter Dave, meanwhile, has found his way up to the bar.
PUTTER DAVE
(Careful, deliberate)
Go ahead - scoff if you will but there was a time when the people of this town did believe that a sea-creature existed in these waters.
Slowly he draws his gaze upwards, towards a dust-covered oil painting that hangs slightly off-kilter above the bar.
Mac leans forward, notices as we do the painting for the first time.
CLOSE – PAINTING:
It’s a vivid depiction a serpent-like creature attacking an ancient sea-faring vessel in the middle of the rough seas.
PUTTER DAVE
The natives tell of tales, centuries old, passed down from their ancestors of a sea monster known as the Say-boo-ka. Every full moon it’s said, the creature emerges from its lair to hunt the waters off this coast for prey.
A rumble of thunder sounds in the distance. A hush has overcome the room now, as if this image has suddenly cemented everyone’s belief in folklore.
A fellow patron dressed in waders patiently minds his own affairs. Finally he’s had enough:
PATRON
You’re drunk Putter. Go home.
(Then, aloud)
As for the rest of you, Boo is just some silly superstition. I’ve been trolling these waters for the past fifteen years. I’m third generation. Neither me nor any of my ancestors ever ran into any sea-monster that I know of.
The silence pervades; it’s obvious his opinion carries a lot of weight with these people.
PATRON
I, for one, have had enough of your tall-tales.
Putter Dave angles himself towards the doorway.
PUTTER DAVE
Alright fine. I’ll go...but know this - he does live. The legend of Boo is real. You heard it here first. All of you – be warned.
He punctuates his warning with a cold glare upon the entire room before setting foot back outside.
Slowly the buzz subsides as everyone returns to their drink and their sorrows.
Mac remains subdued, quietly taking this all in. He turns to the bartender again.
MAC
Buried treasure, you say?
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT HIDDEN COVE – DAY
Establishing shot:
A small seaside community sits nestled in a u-shaped harbor. A fleet of fishing vessels is tied up at the docks.
EXT HIDDEN COVE – PIER - DAY
Various townsfolk have congregated at the edge of the pier where a CAMERA CREW reports on the goings-on. The word ‘Boo’ buzzes in the air.
A female reporter speaks to the camera with the ocean as a backdrop:
REPORTER
The sleepy town of Hidden Cove is sleepy no more with word here of a Boo sighting the other night.
She steps aside, allows the camera to pan out past her into the open water.
REPORTER
It was within these waters, some sixty years ago, that the first such encounter with the legendary sea-creature is said to have occurred.
She now directs the camera’s attention over towards a BRONZE STATUE of a sea-captain standing proudly at the prow of his vessel as he peers through a telescope.
REPORTER
The lone survivor of the now infamous ‘Starburst’ schooner ship disaster, Captain James Madden told a harrowing tale of survival and bravery. Unfortunately the wreckage, along with its priceless cargo, was never recovered, leaving many to question the validity of his claims...
TWO YOUNG KIDS
peddle their bikes up to the gathering. This is ALISON MADDEN, a fair-haired girl of twelve and her cousin STEVIE, just nine.
They weave and bob their heads, getting in on the commotion.
SARCASTIC VOICE (O.S.)
Hey, Alison.
She spins around – approaching her is a boy about her age (ROBBIE) along with a couple of his cohorts. As he stops the two eye one another; old nemeses.
ALISON
What do you want Robbie?
ROBBIE
So, I hear someone spotted another Boo sighting here the other night.
ALISON
Yeah, so?
ROBBIE
So, I guess your Great Grandfather wasn’t the only kook in this town.
He and his friends chuckle sarcastically. Alison rolls her eyes; here we go again. Stevie, however, steps forward to assert himself.
STEVIE
It did so happen.
He glances resolutely towards the bronze sea-captain monument, standing majestic before them.
ROBBIE
And who’s this little puke?
ALISON
This is my cousin Stevie. He’s staying with us for the summer.
ROBBIE
Great. Just what this town needs – another Madden.
Alison quickly grabs Stevie by the shoulders to hold him back. Robbie doesn’t let up.
ROBBIE
Everybody knows it. My old man says all of the Maddens’ are just a bunch of drunken fools.
He heads off now with his friends, laughing it up. Once gone Alison looks to her little cousin and sighs.
ALISON
Just forget about it.
She guides him along as they head off in the opposite direction.
STEVIE
What was that all about?
ALISON
Nothing... You’ll learn quickly - it’s not easy having a last name of Madden in this town.
EXT HIDDEN COVE – VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY
Alison and Stevie peddle past the various homes and small shops that make up this modest, blue-collar community.
Continuing—
They coast now down a narrow, tree-lined street, finally arriving at an ancient, overwrought...
VICTORIAN-STYLE MANSION.
This home is much bigger than any of the other houses. It’s not hard to imagine the grandeur that it once held. Now though it has fallen into disrepair; ivy has invaded one entire corner section, the shutters hang crooked, as well the paint is blistered and peeling.
They hop off of their bikes, leave them strewn on the front lawn as they proceed around back. The sign hanging from the archway reads:
“MADDEN HOUSE INN”
No Vacancy