This is my script treatment for my first 162 MC script idea
Chris is sitting alone on the sofa of his cottage. He’s a man of about fifty three, but his aged skin and greying hair make him look ten years older. He is wearing a thick plaid lumberjack coat over grubby blue jeans, his boots, caked in mud, have been kicked off and are left laying on the rug by the fire.
The fire is blazing, and he is watching the TV uninterestedly, flicking through the channels. The room is large and sparsely decorated, it lacks a woman’s touch. There are unopened letters on the coffee table, empty beer bottles, mugs and plates left laying around. The decor is tasteful and expensive looking; sprawling leather sofa’s and mahogany furniture. An impressive deer’s head mounted to a plaque on the far wall, and next to it is a glass cabinet, home to several large hunting rifles.
Chris gives up channel surfing. Turning the TV off he falls asleep. Half an hour passes, and Chris is woken by a frantic knocking at the front door. The metallic sound of the door knocker rings out across the large house. Startled and confused, but otherwise unperturbed, Chris gets up. As he makes his way to the hall he glances at the clock; its almost one in the morning. He grumbles, and opens the door slowly.
The man on the doorstep is breathing heavily and clearly in pain. He is clutching his side, and blood has seeped out between his fingers. Chris immediately helps the man in, taking him to the sofa and sitting him down. The man is unable to speak, he’s in both shock and pain. Chris runs upstairs and takes a towel from the bathroom. Pressing it against the wound, Chris asks the man what happened.
The man is delirious, he has a very high temperature and is sweating feverishly. His words come out forced and slurred, he says something about an animal, some kind of dog. Chris, being the gamekeeper of the wood surrounding the area, knows that there’s nothing larger than foxes lurking around out there, and rarely do they attack humans. He knows the man must have fallen, or caught himself on something and is just in shock.
Slowly the man appears to get better; the wound is starting to heal already. He gets up, and says he’d like to go home and sleep it off. As he walks towards the door, thanking Chris for his help, Chris picks up a vase and hits the man over the head. He ties him up with a piece of rope and drags him down to the basement.
We move forward in time to the next morning. Chris is sitting in a garden chair at the front of the house, waiting. He’s still in the same clothes from last night. A woman, wrapped in a blanket that looks like its been outside for a while, emerges from the trees and walks to the front of the house. She is smeared with mud, she has leaves and twigs in her hair and a small amount of blood round her mouth. Chris gets up, takes off his jacket and puts it around her shoulders.
She’s about the same age as Chris, although she hasn’t aged quite as much as him. They walk inside, Chris hands her a steaming mug of coffee and a plate of toast that he already had waiting on the side. They sit in silence for a while, until Chris starts to shout at her, concerned more than angry. He’s annoyed that she let the man go, Chris had agreed when she first got bitten, to become game keeper so she had the run of the woods at the full moon, on the condition that she didn’t let go any survivors, who would doubtless talk; Chris didn’t want people’s attention being drawn to his woods. They were safe as long as their secret didn’t get out. She apologises, telling him the man was just too fast for her; she’s getting older. She asks what he’s going to do, and Chris tells her he’ll do the only thing he can.
We move forward in time. Its late evening. Chris and his wife are sitting on the sofa together. She looks out the window and gets up, she nods at Chris and squeezes his shoulder as she leaves, closing the front door quietly behind her. Chris gets up, turns off the TV and walks over to the rifle cabinet, takes one out. He loads it and locks the cabinet back up. He sighs, remorse and regret in his eyes. He glances briefly out the window and up at the darkening sky and the bright, full moon. His face shows years of regret, sadness. There’s a loud noise from the basement, and a stifled yell. Chris cocks the gun, takes one more glance out the window, and walks towards the basement.