The Body Snatcher

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FADE IN:

THE MAIN AND CREDIT TITLES ARE IMPOSED ON a mezzotint of

Edinburgh castle viewed from the Causeway. When the last

credit title dissolves

DISSOLVE TO:

STOP FRAME of STOCK SHOT showing Edinburgh castle. Over this

is a title:

EDINBURG -- 1831

With the DISSOLVE of the words the stock shot comes to life

with a carriage coming toward the CAMERA.

EXT. EDINBURGH STREET -- LATE AFTERNOON

FULL SPOT -- Down the lonely, almost deserted street comes a

cab drawn by a bony white horse. This black and sepulchral

vehicle passes through the long shadows and sharp gleams of

the late afternoon sun. On the box, bunched over, almost

lost in the folds of his triple-caped overcoat and with a

battered beaver on his hand, is the cabman. The horse plods

along, his hoof beats echoing with a hollow sound in the

narrow street. At the corner the vehicle turns left.

EXT. GREYFRIAR'S CHURCHYARD -- LATE AFTERNOON

The black cab drawn by the white horse goes slowly past a

little cemetery. The driver turns his head and looks down as

he goes past.

From his ANGLE, but not a MOVING SHOT, a pleasant little

graveyard with mossy gravestones; old turf making a spot of

green between the gray walls of the kirk and the blank stone

wall of a large building.

Seated on a table stone is young Donald Fettes, a poor

medical student, dressed in worn neat clothing with only a

woolen scarf about his neck for warmth. He sits in such

scanty sunlight as he can find, munching on a cold bannock

and washing it down with thin ale from a round stone bottle.

MED. CLOSE SHOT -- Fettes. In the closer view it can be seen

that he is looking at a small Cairn terrier who lies morosely

guarding a newly-made grave. The dog, with his head down

between his forepaws, occasionally glances over

apprehensively at the young student. Fettes takes a bit of

his bannock between his thumb and forefinger and leans

forward toward the dog.

FETTES:

Here, -- here's a bit of something

for you.

The dog does not stir. Fettes leans further forward almost

putting the morsel of food to the dog's nose. The dog growls

savagely. Fettes draws back.

FETTES (cont'd)

Now, now, laddie -- I only wanted

to be friendly.

It is at this moment that a shadow falls athwart him and

looms up in the afternoon sunlight against the wall behind

him. He looks up.

ANOTHER ANGLE -- Fettes looking over as Mrs. MacBride, a

plump, motherly woman of middle-age, with a Tartan shawl over

her head and carrying a pannikin of water and a bone with

some meat on it, comes through the gate. She crosses over to

the little dog, puts the water before him and starts

shredding little pieces of meat from the bone to feed him.

The dog laps avidly at the water, then gratefully takes the

morsels of meat she gives him.

MED. FULL SHOT -- Fettes and Mrs. MacBride.

MRS. MACBRIDE

He'll not leave the grave -- not

since Wednesday last when we buried

the lad.

FETTES:

Your son, ma'am? He must have been

a fine boy for the wee dog to love

him so.

Mrs. MacBride nods.

MRS. MACBRIDE

A great, kind lad, he was -- gentle

with all things like Robbie.

She pauses, sighs and then goes on.

MRS. MACBRIDE (cont'd)

Now I can't get the dog to leave,

here. Perhaps it is for the best.

I've not money enough to afford a

grave watcher.

FETTES:

(looking about)

Not much danger here, ma'am, I

wouldn't think -- right here in the

heart of Edinburgh.

MRS. MACBRIDE

They're uncommon bold, the grave

robbers -- and the daft doctors who

drive them on.

FETTES:

(a little uncomfortable;

feeling he has to make

the admission)

I'm by way of being a medical

myself.

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