Dark Quests (Three Screenplays)

by J. R. Rain

  A dried husk of a man sits up in the sarcophagus. He has bleached white skin, long gray hair, and an elegant—yet quite dusty—purple robe. He turns toward them and opens his mouth, letting loose with horrible shriek.

  A wave of hot air blasts over the kids. Tyler makes a face.

  TYLER

  Blech. Zombie breath. Let’s go!

  The two continue toward the exit, but the mummy motions with his hands and the circular room begins rotating again, on its own, compelled magically.

  The kids pull up just as the exit slides past them, sealing them within the stone chamber...and with Merlin’s mummy.

  INT. TUNNELS

  Outside, the dark-haired boy gasps when an explosion echoes along the narrow tunnel. He staggers, holds onto a wall. His light goes out. He strikes another match, debates what to do next. Finally, bravely, he continues forward.

  Soon, the tunnel ends and the dark-haired boy cautiously approaches the circular room. As he does so, he hears screaming from the far end, and to his amazement he sees a brightly-lit doorway that leads to another room.

  DARK-HAIRED BOY

  (in a heavy Austrian accent)

  What the hell?

  As he steps into the circular room, he jumps when the floor and walls begin rotating. At the far end of the room, he sees the two kids through the doorway, running toward him, but soon they disappear behind the rotating wall.

  INT. SECRET CHAMBER – DAY

  Merlin’s mummy rises slowly from the casket. Monstrous, hideous. Skin tattered. Bones showing through its dried-out skull. Merlin steps out of the sarcophagus, and with a long sweep of its hand, trailing dust, a massive, invisible force knocks Tyler off his feet and sends him tumbling over the floor. The boy hits the far wall, whimpers in pain, and lies briefly motionless.

  Monique screams, and as she does so, Merlin swings his arm again and this time a beam of white light envelopes her.

  MONIQUE

  Tyler!

  Tyler rolls over, blinks hard, and looks—

  And sees his cousin rising up into the air, arms pinned to her side. Her skin glows brightly as if lit from within. She screams his name again, but this time, her voice is much weaker.

  MONIQUE

  Tyler...

  TYLER

  Monique!

  Merlin grins. He seems to be regaining his power. Indeed, his dried-out skin is beginning to smooth slowly and we see that Monique’s own skin is beginning to whiten before our very eyes. Is he replacing his own skin with hers?

  Tyler leaps to his feet. On the wall near him are medieval weaponry. He pulls off a battle ax, but it’s really too heavy for him. So he ditches it and grabs a sword from the wall, hefts it with both hands, and raises it over his head.

  But Merlin’s attention is focused solely on Monique, who’s skin is now clearly drying out. She rotates slowly in midair.

  Tyler, holding the heavy sword before him, rushes the ancient wizard. Merlin turns just as the boy plunges the sword deep into the magician’s back.

  Merlin shrieks, topples forward to the ground. His connection with Monique is broken. She falls to the hard ground in a heap. Tyler rushes over to her side.

  TYLER

  Monique? You okay?

  But she can’t speak. In fact, her withered face now looks like that of an old woman.

  TYLER

  (horrified)

  Monique!

  We see a shadow rise behind him. The shadow reaches back and pulls the sword free with the ghastly, metallic sound of metal against bone. Tyler turns, gasping...

  Merlin is once again standing before him. Blood trickles from the wound in his gut. We begin to realize that Merlin has not bled in a long time. The blood he’s bleeding is, in fact, Monique’s blood.

  Merlin looks at the sword he’s still holding in his hand. Then, as an after thought, hurls it at the boy. Tyler dives to one side just as the sword point buries deeply into the stone wall next to him, wobbling like an arrow in a bullseye.

  As the boy scrambles to his feet, the sword slides free on its own.

  TYLER

  Oh, shit!

  The sword slashes down, and Tyler dives again, rolling. He finds his feet and sprints to the closest wall, where he grabs a sword of his own. Just as the sword, point first, hurls at him. Tyler parries it. Sparks fly as he’s thrown to the ground. He gets up again rapidly, dodging the flying sword, parrying, fending it off as well as he can.

  Merlin, eyes blazing red, commands the sword. He grins wickedly, as Tyler fights for his life.

  INT. CIRCULAR CHAMBER

  The dark-haired boy, searching frantically, comes across the same hole in the floor that Monique had found earlier. He sees fresh ash and silt around the opening, and frantically searches the circular room. Soon, his eyes settle on the torch embedded in the wall. He grabs it, brings it over to the opening, and jams it inside. He takes a breath and pulls.

  Once again, the circular room rotates, revealing the secret beyond. The dark-haired boy watches, stunned, but then sees Monique lying motionless on the ground just beyond the opening. He runs through the doorway toward her—

  INT. SECRET CHAMBER

  —and immediately sees the ghoulish image of Merlin. He also sees Tyler desperately trying to fight off a magical sword.

  DARK-HAIRED BOY

  Bloody hell.

  He does the only thing he can think of. He quickly finds another sword, removes it from the wall. So far, the ancient wizard hasn’t noticed the intruder, so intent is he on compelling the magical sword to fight the boy.

  Soon, the dark-haired boy is behind Merlin. He raises the sword. Merlin turns—

  The boy swings as hard as he can—

  And promptly lops off Merlin’s head. The headless body topples back into the sarcophagus. The dark-haired boy stands there, stunned. Perhaps he can’t believe what he’s just done.

  Tyler, out of breath and panting hard, runs over to his cousin, who’s still lying on the floor. Her skin, we see, is reverting back to normal.

  MONIQUE

  Tyler?

  TYLER

  You’re going to be okay. Hang on.

  He next dashes over to the new boy, and claps the young man on the shoulder.

  TYLER

  Nice! But now we need to light the candles!

  DARK-HAIRED BOY

  (regaining his composure)

  Why?

  TYLER

  Just trust me.

  Using the torches, they quickly do so. Once done, the new boy picks up the ghastly head, and tosses it inside the sarcophagus. The two boys reseal the lid. They both turn to Monique, who’s just now sitting up.

  DARK-HAIRED BOY

  Is she okay?

  TYLER

  Yeah, thanks again.

  Monique sits up, restored, but very weak.

  DARK-HAIRED BOY

  Let’s get out of here.

  INT. CIRCLULAR CHAMBER

  The young man pulls the lever once again and the room rotates again, sealing shut Merlin’s secret chamber. The boy has an idea, and pulls hard, breaking off the tip of the wooden torch, forever jamming the circular groove.

  DARK-HAIRED BOY

  That should do it.

  Tyler is half-carrying his cousin who’s only gradually regaining her strength. They head back up the stairs.

  INT. MAIN ASSEMBLY HALL – DAY

  They push out through the secret altar entrance. As they scramble through, a priest sees them.

  DARK-HAIRED BOY

  C’mon!

  As the trio run through the church, the dark-haired boy snatches up his sketching pad. The three dash out into the afternoon sunshine. Behind them, the priest waves his fists. All three hunch over, laughing.

  TYLER

  (to the dark-haired boy)

  Thanks for helping back there.

  DARK-HAIRED BOY

  No problem.

  TYLER

  (offering his hand)

  I’m Tyler.
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  The dark-haired boy grins and shakes his hand.

  DARK-HAIRED BOY

  Pleased to meet you, Tyler.

  (a beat)

  My name’s Adolf. Adolf Hitler.

  The young Hitler holds up his drawings of the church’s interior. He grins but there seems to be a distant, haunted look in his eye.

  ADOLF HITLER

  I’m an artist.

  FADE OUT:

  The End

  Return to the Table of Contents

  Also available:

  Cursed

  by J.R. Rain and

  Scott Nicholson

  (read on for a sample)

  Chapter One

  Orange County, California, is the kind of place where you never expect a sudden, inexplicable chill.

  Even in my part of it, Fullerton, too far from the beach and away from the glitz and big money, everybody is cool but very rarely chilled. The sidewalk was crowded, with the skater punks and lacrosse moms and students wearing backpacks, and way too many guys like me in suits and ties. We were all on a mission for food.

  Lunch was serious business around here. I had only thirty minutes to grab my grub, consume it, and get back to my claims. I work as an insurance investigator for American Insurance, and since it had rained hard over the past few days, my desk had as much traffic as the highways. Not that I minded the additional work. I liked being busy. Being busy has a way of keeping your mind off other things. Things like divorce. Things like lost lovers.

  Things like an overwhelming need for a strong drink. Many strong drinks.

  And lately, the need had been stronger and more overwhelming than ever.

  So when the sudden, inexplicable chill came, I chalked it up to the booze. I didn’t have time for symptoms. I barely had time to order lunch, let alone actually eat it.

  The chill came again. So strongly that I actually shivered and paused in mid-step. The day was bright. Hell, this was southern California at the cusp of summer...the days were always bright. There was no reason for a sudden chill, and it wasn’t the work of a hangover, since last night I’d been too depressed to really get rolling with the booze.

  Still, tell that to the small hairs on the back of my neck, which were standing on end. Not to mention my spine, which felt as if it had been dipped in a bucket of margaritas.

  What the hell was going on?

  Maybe I needed a stiff drink worse than I thought. Or, more accurately, maybe I needed to stop drinking.

  The words appeared in my thoughts as if scrolling across a movie screen. I saw them, and I knew them to be true: Someone’s watching you.

  My subconscious had picked up on it. My thoughts had only been on lunch and claims and drinking and my failed marriage and Amanda. I hardly had room in there for paranoia.

  So who the hell would want to watch me? I didn’t know. Of course, I could be wrong, too. Maybe no one was watching me. Maybe I was losing my mind. These past few months had been stressful, to say the least. Try divorcing my wife and you’d know what I mean. Hell, try being married to her.

  Still pausing, even as my precious lunch ticked away, I scanned the busy street corner. Even the homeless people were on the move. No one seemed to be noticing me; no one seemed to care.

  Then why had I felt like I had suddenly been thrown on stage with hundreds of eyes on me, like a Lindsay Lohan rehab photo shoot during sweeps week?

  No, not hundreds of eyes. Just one big, blinding spotlight, and I was inexplicably sure, just one person was watching me.

  What the hell was going on?

  I surveyed the street, wondering if I should cross. Cars in gridlock. People chatting importantly behind smoky restaurant windows. Busy people looking busy. Busy people looking important. Unimportant people looking better than me. Shades. Tans. Nice clothing.

  I started forward again, frowning, wondering what the hell was going on. I hadn’t touched any booze today, although that would change the instant I got home. It was truly just a matter of how fast I could change out of my work clothes, throw on some sweats, and uncap the booze. If I didn’t break down at lunch and have a few, which was sounding like a better idea by the second.

  I shivered again. The sun was high and hot. The air was still. Exhaust from cars was thick and cloying. No reason to feel a chill.

  Maybe I was getting sick. Or maybe a goose walked over my grave. Hell, a whole flock. Maybe a dozen flocks, taking a crap on my final resting place and flying North for the summer. I wondered idly if I had any vitamin C at home, and decided to stock up on some after work.

  No. No stocking up. That would mean delaying my drinking. I needed to drink. I had to drink. If I didn’t have vitamins, then tough shit. Besides, booze has alcohol, and alcohol was known for killing germs.

  Well, I couldn’t stand there any longer. I was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt, although the sleeves were rolled up to my elbows, and now the chill was giving way to sweat. I darted around the slower pedestrians, begging their pardons as I went. I had wasted precious minutes standing there on the street corner, playing silly mind games and denying I had a problem. And lunch was serious business.

  With only thirty minutes, I had to coordinate my time wisely. Today I had chosen Chinese food, because it was fast in and fast out, in more ways than one. And I knew that once I made a decision I had to stick with it, because there was no turning back. Not with thirty minutes. Certainly no time to stand around cracking up or breaking down.

  Focus, Al. You can do it.

  I checked my watch: twenty-four minutes to go. I cut around a slow-moving rag man pushing a shopping cart and mumbling incoherently to himself. Fullerton is a typical southern California suburb, boasting old brick buildings mingled with newer ones made of glass and steel. Downtown had everything—antique shops, banks, restaurants, and even a local community college. I strode down the busy street, atypical for most Orange County streets because of the foot traffic. Downtown changed all that. There were enough businesses and restaurants within walking distance of each other to remove the need for driving. Or at least the need to drive to lunch.

  I worked steadily, determinedly to the Great Wall of China Chinese food restaurant on the corner of Chapman and Harbor. As I passed a tai-kwan-do studio, the little restaurant came into view.

  Almost there. Just across the street—

  Damn, missed the light. I checked my watch. Twenty-three minutes and counting. At the corner, with Mercedes and Hondas and a city bus whizzing by, I waited among a small group of mostly college students. It made sense. The college was down the road to the right. Almost all of them immediately whipped out their cell phones the moment the light had turned red, some thumbing out numbers and texts and others playing games.

  I stood with them, easily a head taller than most. I didn’t feel a need to whip out my cell phone. I didn’t need the chronic wistful glance confirming Amanda had not texted, just as she had not texted in all the months before. I felt only a need to dash through traffic and put my lunch order in—

  The hair at the back of my neck prickled again, and I shivered. I absently rubbed my arms, and as I did, I spotted her across the street.

  An old lady. Her back bowed like a harp. Angry gray hair hung like dead weeds from under a wool cap. She looked like a witch, complete with a hooked nose and a missing front tooth. A bent coat-hanger of ugliness in a Goth-trash fashion show.

  And she was staring. Openly staring at me.

  Was she the source of the goose bumps and chills? I didn’t know, but there was something else about her.

  Do I know her from somewhere?

  Maybe I was hallucinating. I had started doing that a few months ago. It was freaky as hell, and I was certain it had something to do with my drinking. Either that, or those ghostly blobs and shapes I saw during my late-night binges really did exist just on the periphery of my vision.

  Or maybe you’re going crazy. The simplest explanation is usually the right one.

  As I debated my sanity,
standing there on the street corner, the real world got crazier than my head could ever have dreamed.

  She stepped out into traffic.

  Cars screeched to a stop. Horns honked. A truck swerved hard and went up on the curb and into some bushes. Had those bushes been people, they would have been injured or killed.

  She doddered shakily across the street. She used a cane and she didn’t seem to give a damn about the cars piling up around her. I didn’t hear any actual collisions—I’m always alert for accidents, thanks to my job—and the further she got across the busy boulevard, the more clearly the coming cars saw her, and they were able to brake without hitting anything, her included.

  She was headed, I was certain, for me.

  My heart was hammering hard in my chest like a convict in a tin box, and I had broken out in a cold sweat. My throat was tight and my breathing was restricted. I swallowed with difficulty and opened my mouth to suck in some air.

  Christ, I should really quit drinking.

  But I couldn’t deny she was real, or that she was heading straight for me.

  Horns honked. Someone shouted out a driver’s-side window. Most drivers seemed to resign themselves to a crazy old lady in their midst. A few seconds of delay and distraction, and maybe entertainment if they were lucky, and she’d be across the road and they could all get on with their life-and-death business.