The Hunted First 5 Pages By C.W.Bailey
Draft 3, Revision 1 19 September 2011
Š Copyright 2011, Christopher W. Bailey
www.cbaileyfilm.com
FADE IN: A MAN’S FACE fills the frame. Worn, tired, covered in a grisly black beard. He lies unconscious in the dirt. BLOOD flecked across his brow. Suddenly, his eyes OPEN. EXT. FARM - DAY The man sits up. He is huge, bear-like and strong. His dark beard frames his face and thick eyebrows shade his small eyes. He wears rough clothing, homespun and a large leather belt with tools. It’s a medieval age of iron and steel, a fantasy world of Australian rainforests and European architecture. The man’s name is MENDORE. He struggles to his feet. He stands in the midst of an unploughed field with no crops, wild with weeds and grasses. Fog hugs the ground. A FLAT-TOPPED MOUNTAIN looms behind him. He takes a step, falters, grips his side in pain. Mendore pulls his hand away, his eyes grow wide, blood drips from his fingers. His side is soaked with a deep red stain. Mendore grips his side, presses the wound. eyes dart in confusion until they stop on:
He searches. His
A FARMHOUSE. Old and disheveled. The front door rattles in the wind. The windows are dark and lifeless. Mendore staggers toward the farmhouse, his breathing comes in quick, sudden gasps. INT. FARMHOUSE - CONTINUOUS Mendore pushes through the front door. Blood trickles down his side, patters on the hardwood floor, pooling.
(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED:
2.
He shuffles forward into the chaos. The room is in complete disarray. An iron pot lays on its side in the middle of the room, its contents spilled across the floor. A cupboard is overturned. Dishes are broken and scattered, cloth torn. The blood continues to patter to the floor. whispers with a hoarse voice.
Mendore
MENDORE Wyn? Ervil? No response. He shuffles forward. the far wall, pushes it open.
Staggers to a door along
Beyond the door is a small room with a large bed, the curtains blow in the wind, the room is empty. He turns. Loses his balance. Catches himself against the wall. His breathing comes now in ragged gasps. His eyes dart rapidly, trying to remember. His eyes stop.
He sees something lodged in the far wall:
A DAGGER. Mendore stumbles forward. The dagger is buried into a wooden beam. He grasps the handle and pries it free. The blade is covered in dried blood. Mendore holds it in his hands. His breathing has stopped. He remembers. EXT. FARM - DAY Mendore bursts out of the front door. MENDORE (calling out) Wyn! Ervil! He staggers through the field, tripping over rocks and scrub. He runs. MENDORE Wyn! Ervil! Mendore catches his breath. Searches the horizon. Something catches his eye: A RED RIBBON. It lays discarded in the middle of the field, caught on a patch of weeds, tugged by the wind. Mendore half-runs half-crawls his way to it. his face. Snot hangs from his beard.
Tears run down
(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED:
3.
He falls before the ribbon, taking it carefully into his hands. MENDORE Oh Wynnie...My Wyn, my Wyn... He presses the ribbon to his face with his large, calloused hands. He weeps alone in the field. Thunder rumbles in the distance. Slowly, Mendore lifts his eyes. The MOUNTAIN looms before him. His face fills with fear. The sound of a horse galloping grows louder, and louder, and louder... EXT. FOREST ROAD - DAY Mendore rides a huge brown horse, galloping hard. hand he grips the blood stained dagger. His eyes are wild.
Fierce.
In one
Desperate.
He pushes the horse to run, faster, and faster, and faster... CUT TO: EXT. MEDIEVAL TOWN - DAY A weary town of leaning buildings, straw roofs, and Tudor walls sleeps in the mist of the cold day. Mendore’s horse gallops into town. INT. TAVERN - DAY Mendore bursts through the front entrance. The tavern is small, smokey and warm. Men, women, children halt their conversations. Beer, and meager bowls of soup cover the tables. A bartender with a bald head and broad shoulders turns toward Mendore. Mendore stands unsteadily, wavering. floor.
His blood drips to the
(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED:
4.
MENDORE Help... No one moves.
Everyone stares.
MENDORE Please... My family’s... been taken... Mendore gasps for air. room recoils at him.
Takes an unsteady step forward.
The
MENDORE Please...there’s no time. BARTENDER Taken by what? MENDORE ...The demon. A gasp runs through the room.
The bartender’s face darkens.
A woman gathers her children, turns to leave. BARTENDER (to the woman) Now hold on a minute! No need to be leaving on account of him. (to Mendore) You get out of here you drunk. Mendore staggers again. pooling at his feet.
The blood patters to the floor,
MENDORE Please... The bartender steps around his bar and takes Mendore roughly by the shoulders. BARTENDER I said get out! He pushes Mendore to the door. Mendore struggles against him. In a sudden burst of strength Mendore takes the bartender by the shoulders and THROWS him. CRASH! The bartender lands square in the middle of a large table, breaking it in half. Food and flatware scatter to the floor. Men jump to their feet defensively. (CONTINUED)
CONTINUED:
5.
The bartender groans. Mendore stares at the unfriendly faces around him. turns, pushes back out the front entrance.
He
EXT. MEDIEVAL TOWN - DAY Mendore staggers out of the tavern. MENDORE Help... Somebody... Doors and windows shut.
Latches lock.
Mendore is alone.
He stumbles and falls. Mendore collapses in the dirt road. Blood pools around him. His eyes roll back in his head. The wind blows across him, stirring the dust. The sound of singing drifts through the air. Gentle, sweet, distant. It grows louder as all other sound dies away... FADE TO WHITE: EXT. FOREST ROAD - DAY White fog fills the frame as we SUPER TITLES. The singing continues, louder and louder. voice...
A woman’s sweet
WOMAN (O.S.) (singing) The deer and rivers run, upon the furrowed downs. And by the grace of our great lord we’ll hear that wondrous sound... Through the fog, a horse drawn carriage materializes like a phantom. Mendore sits at the reins. Beside him is a short, plump woman with long dark hair tied back with a RED RIBBON. This is Mendore’s wife, WYN. Wyn takes a deep breath and continues to sing. WYN (singing) Upon the low and shadowed hills the summer’s light does fall. And by the reeds the river runs and draws us to his call.
6.
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