NIGHTMARE MUSIC THEME begins as we FADE UP on a SERIES OF SHOTS,
all CLOSE and teasing.
-- A man's FEET, in shabby work shoes, stalking
through a junk bin in a dark, fire-lit, ash-
dusted place. A huge BOILER ROOM is what it
is, although we only glimpse it piecemeal.
Then we SEE a MAN'S HAND, dirty and nail-bitten,
reach INTO FRAME and pick up a piece of METAL.
-- ANOTHER ANGLE as the HAND grabs a grimey
WORKGLOVE and slashes at it with a straight
razor, until its fingertips are off.
-- CLOSE ON SAME HANDS dumping four fishing knives
out of a filthy bag. Their blades are thin,
curved, gleaming sharp.
-- MORE ANGLES, EVEN CLOSER. We can HEAR the MAN's
wheezing BREATHING, but we still haven't seen
his face. We never will. We just SEE more metal
being assembled with crude tools, into some sort
of linkage -- a splayed, spidery sort of apparatus,
against a background light of FIRE, and a deep
rushing of STEAM and HEAVY, DARK ENERGY.
-- And then we see this linkage attached to the glove.
-- Then the BLADES attached to all of it.
-- Then the MAN'S HAND slips into this glove-like
apparatus, filling it out and transforming
it into an awesome, deadly claw-hand with
four razor/talons gleaming at its blackened
fingertips. Suddenly the HAND arches and STRIKES
FORWARD, SLASHING THROUGH a DARK CANVAS, tearing
it to shreds.
1. EXT. LOS ANGELES. NIGHT. (2nd Unit) 1.
A PULSATION OF LIGHT AND SHADOW. MUSIC DROPS AWAY to a hushed
RUSHING OF WIND and DISTANT SIRENS. CAMERA RACKS INTO FOCUS on a
HIGH PANORAMA of the San Fernando Valley, its night sky lit from
within by a strange GREENISH LIGHT. TITLES BEGIN.
CAMERA TILTS DOWN and ZOOMS SWIFTLY into the valley's web of
2. INT. CONCRETE PASSAGEWAY. 2.
TITLES CONTINUE as TINA GRAY, a strong girl of fifteen in a thin
night shift, moves towards us down a dark concrete corridor. Her
steps quicken as TITLES appear in the portion of frame she leaves
A subliminal COLLAGE of SOUND threads in and out of the MUSIC.
Distant insane LAUGHTER. Slamming iron DOORS. A bleating animal
CRY. A LAMB, white and blank-faced, skitters across her path and
on into the dark. No reason why it's there.
Then another SOUND, much nearer -- the slithering SCRAPE of
something like fingernails across slate. It sets our teeth on
edge, twists the MUSIC, and sends TINA running.
3. INT. BOILER ROOM. 3.
Suddenly TINA's a tiny figure running among huge boilers steam
pipes and catwalks -- a shadowed forest of iron and stone. She
stops, listening intently as the SOUND of tiny hooves suddenly
turns into the rattle of DISTANT RAIN.
Then she hears RIPPING FABRIC.
Someone is shouldering behind a ragged screen of dirty canvas,
CLOSER ON THE CANVAS. The long curved fingerblades suddenly
punch through, flashing in the firelight, and begin ripping
through the thick fabric, as easily as scalpels through flesh.
They make a hideous, extended RIPPING SOUND.