SRYT Teen Repertory – Monologues

GIRLS

“The Babysitters” by Laurie Woodward

Setting: A girl is asked to babysit in a house without ever having seen the

children put to bed. She invites her friends over to keep her company

because the mood in the house is unsettling—there’s someone or something

watching their every move.

PAM

You know what I hate—really hate—about watching kids? Everything’s fine,

till you get them in bed. Oh, you may have your hands full, but the time goes

fast because you’re busy. But, once you get those kids in bed, its seems so unearthly

quiet. Even with the T.V. on, you can hear the floorboards creak in a strange house,

and the wind whistles in the walls. Sometimes, I can hardly concentrate on homework,

or a movie, ‘cause of all the little noises creeping into that dead silence. I swear the

clock moves backwards, and then it seems like no pay on earth is worth being

alone like that. I look out the windows and see all those houses—tiny islands of light—

and they seem so far away. Sometimes, I get so scared, I feel like going over and

picking up the phone and asking, “Is there anybody, anybody at all, out there?”

BOYS

“Sleuth” by Anthony Shaffer

A cat and mouse game is played out in an old, English country house between

an older man, Andrew, and his younger rival, Milo, over the hand of his wife. This classic thrillerpits two devious minds against each other in a game of survival of the

most ruthless. In this scene, Milo alerts Andrew that a real police detective is coming

to arrest him (after Milo disguises himself as one in the previous scene in order

for Milo to get Andrew to confess to murder-for-hire).

MILO

Yes, you see, about an hour ago I phoned them up and asked them to meet me here

at ten o’clock tonight. They should be here in ten minutes. It’ll be a real

policeman this time, have no fear of that. Detective Sergeant Tarrant, that’s his

name. I told him a lot about you, Andrew. I told him I know you to be a man

obsessed with games-playing and murder considered as fine art. Your life’s

ambition, of which you had spoken often, was an actual real life murder, hide the body somewhere where it couldn’t be traced to you and then leave clues linking you with the crime, strewn about the house in the certain knowledge that the pedestrian and simple minded police wouldn’t recognize them for what they were. You’re done for

Andrew. As they say in tennis-- Game…set…match.