FADE IN ON:

that most persistent summer SOUND: crickets in high grass--

ree-ree-ree-ree... This in dark which slowly

DISSOLVES TO:

EXT. A GRAVE MARKER SUMMER DAY

It's a plywood cross leaning aslant. Written on the crossarm in

black paint which has faded: SMUCKY HE WAS OBEDIENT. The letters

are faded. They are also straggling and ill-formed--the work of a

child.

MAIN TITLES BEGIN.

EXT. ANOTHER GRAVE MARKER

A child's printing again, this time on a chunk of warped crating:

BIFFER BIFFER A HELLUVA SNIFFER UNTIL HE DIED HE MADE US RICHER

1971-1974.

MAIN TITLES CONTINUE

EXT. TWO MARKERS

I think all these shots are LAP DISSOLVES. All is silence but for

the crickets and the wind stirring the grass. Around the markers

themselves, the grass has been clipped short, and by some markers

there are flowers in cheap vases. Crisco cans, Skippy peanut

butter jars, etc.

These two markers: IN MEMORY OF MARTA OUR PET RABIT DYED MARCH 1,

1965 (on a wide flat board) and GEN PATTON (OUR! GOOD! DOG!) APRIL

1958 (another board).

MAIN TITLES CONTINUE

EXT. FIVE OR SIX MARKERS

We can't read all of them; some are too faded (or the

"gravestones" themselves too degenerated), but we can see now that

this woodland clearing's a rather eerie -- and well-populated --

animal graveyard.

We can see:
POLYNESIA, 1953 and HANNAH THE BEST DOG THAT EVER

LIVED. HANNAH'S tombstone is part of an old Chevrolet hood,

painstakingly hammered flat.

MAIN TITLES CONTINUE.

EXT. ANGLE ON THE PET SEMATARY

From here we can see most of the clearing, which is surrounded by

forest pines. We can see that the graves--maybe 80 in all--are

arranged in rough concentric circles. On the far side of this

clearing is the end of a path which spills into this graveyard

clearing. The end of the path is flanked by wooden poles which

hold up a crude arch. We can see no writing on this side -- the

words on the arch face those arriving along the path.

MAIN TITLES CONTINUE

EXT. THE ARCH, FROM THE PATH SIDE, CU

MAIN TITLES CONCLUDE. Written on the arch in faded black paint is

the work of some long-gone child: PET SEMATARY.

THE CAMERA HOLDS ON THIS FOR A MOMENT OR TWO, THEN PANS SLOWLY

DOWN to look through the arch. From this angle we are looking

across to a deadfall--a tangle of weather-whitened old dead

branches at the back of the graveyard. It's maybe twenty-five feet

from side to side and about nine feet high. At either end are

thick tangles of underbrush that look impassible.

AS MAIN TITLES CONCLUDE, THE CAMERA MOVES SLOWLY IN on the

deadfall. And as it does, we realize that there is a horrible

snarling face in those branches. Is this an accident? Coincidence?

Our imagination? Perhaps the audience will wonder. THE CAMERA

HOLDS ON IT and then we

DISSOLVE TO:

BLACK. And a white title card: MOVING DAY.

EXT. A HOUSE IN THE COUNTRY EVENING

SOUND of crickets: ree-ree-ree-ree...

To the left of this house: a big empty field. Behind it: the

woods. Before it: a wide two-lane road.

The house is a pleasant two-story New England dwelling with a

shed/garage attached. In front of it is a sign which reads QUINN

REALTORS 292 HAMMOND STREET, BANGOR. A big SOLD strip, like a

bumper sticker, has been plastered across it diagonally.

GROWING SOUND:
the rumble of a truck. A big, big truck. It belts

between the CAMERA and the house -- a tanker truck with a silver

body and the word ORINCO written on the side in blue letters. Its

short-stack is blowing quantities of dark brown smoke. Behind it

comes a Ford wagon, which slows, signals, and turns into the

driveway of the house we've been looking at.

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