The Haunting

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INT. NELL'S KITCHEN - DAY

Nell rams through the door into the small kitchen, spotless, empty.

And then bursts into tears. Shaking, she digs in her back pocket

and pulls out a FINE FILIGREE NECKLACE. Her mother's. It's from

an age gone by.

Clutching the necklace, she goes back out the door.

INT. LIVING ROOM, NELL'S APARTMENT - DAY

Nell crosses the living room straight for the closed French doors,

the glass obscured by gauze curtains. She throws them open and

enters --

INT. SICK ROOM - DAY (CONTINUOUS)

-- what once was a dining room. Transformed into a sick room.

Drawn shades. Dim. The first traces of dust.

Nell lingers in the doorway a beat, daunted.

A perfectly made bed. The PILLOW, however retains the IMPRESSION

of a head. Lodged between the bed and a nightstand, a CANE. On

the opposite side of the bed is a plastic toilet. I.V. stand.

Shrouded white shapes.

On the wall above the bed, a framed needlepoint counsels: A PLACE

FOR EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING IN ITS PLACE. A bit of wisdom. A way

to live a life.

A way Nell has lived for too long. Seeing it galvanizes her into

movement. She goes to an old armoire, a medicine chest, opens it,

removes a BOTTLE OF TYLENOL WITH CODEINE and marches out.

INT. LIVING ROOM, NELL'S APARTMENT - DAY

Nell closes the doors on the chamber of horrors, exhales. She has

been holding her breath.

INT. NELL'S KITCHEN - DAY

Nell sits at her tiny kitchen table, water glass and Tylenol in

front of her. The necklace dangles from her fingers. She stares,

mesmerized by it. Then she undoes the hasp. The clothes line

outside BATTERS louder --

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