BLACKNESS. SUPERIMPOSE: "The most beautiful thing wecan experience is the mysterious." -Albert Einstein
"I do believe in spooks. I do believe in spooks.
I do, I do, I do believe in spooks." -The Cowardly Lion
1 TITLES 1
Abstract images begin to form. They move beneath thetitles, brilliant against the darkness, the ghost-likeapparitions fighting a current as if caught in thewhirlwind of time.
Our IMAGE SHARPENS. The apparitions are no longer there.
Instead, police tape comes INTO FOCUS, the seeminglymiles of it entangled on stacks of derelict cars thatfill the void. The tape dances before us, undulating toa macabre rhythm, floating on the nocturnal winds. We
An auto wrecking yard at midnight. Empty, yet occupied.
Light slowly INVADES the FRAME, filling in the wreckingyard's cavernous shadows. A distant ROAR announces
itself above the SOUNDTRACK, the earth POUNDING CLAMOR
AMPLIFYING in with every second.
As if searching for its source, CAMERA PIVOTS AROUND.
Instantly, we find ourselves caught in the glare ofheadlights, and we've just enough time to make out thesemi truck before it plows through the yard's chain linkgate, shattering it like so much glass, the truck headingdirectly AT CAMERA, running it over as if it weren'tthere.
2 EXT. AUTO GRAVEYARD -NIGHT 2
BOOMING UP and OVER the fence, the yard is a veritablemaze of old, rusted cars, piled up helter skelter, frozenin time. Broken glass, mangled engine parts, garbage andlitter... along with hundreds of spent shell casings, arescattered in the dirt.
A caravan of UTILITY VEHICLES ROARS in behind the semi,
the convoy making a bead for the center of the yard.
Picking up the rear is a black Rolls-Royce Phantom II.
As they turn the last corner, the first thing we see are"unearthly" flares. Dozens of them, bright as hell,
lighting up the middle of the graveyard.
The CARS come SKIDDING to a stop. Dust swirls.
3 EXT. ROLLS-ROYCE 3
The rear door opens, and CYRUS KRITICOS, 50s, wealthy,
immaculately dressed, not a hair out of place, steps out.
His hand rests on a shiny, silver-headed cane. He
surveys the flares, shakes his head.
Their little crusade is wearing
I'll give them this... they are
Stepping out next is DENNIS RAFKIN, 20s, unshaven,
jittery. He holds his head in his hands, massaging histemples, obviously in pain.
Whenever we cut to Rafkin we hear/sense apiercing tone, underscoring the psychic waves he'sreceiving.)
Cyrus produces a thin, brown designer cigarette from asilver case. Taps it as he speaks.
(lights his cigarette)
Never bet against human nature,
Dennis. You'll always lose.
Behind him, Rafkin suddenly lurches forward, racked by
spasms. Cyrus turns, with slight concern -
Is it bad tonight?
Bad is one way of describing it,
(wiping his sweatyforehead)
... insane seems more appropriate.
Rafkin doubles over in pain. Dry heaves.
It's my professional opinion that
we get the hell out of here. Now.
Two of Cyrus's team, dressed in assault gear, make their
THIRTEEN GHOSTS -Rev. 10/27/00 3.
Noted. Clean this place up, andlocate our guests.
Cyrus snaps his fingers. An ASSISTANT steps forward
with a large photo.
When Cyrus turns around, he catches Rafkin gulping downprescription drugs. Cyrus strikes the bottle out ofRafkin's hand with his cane. Pink medicine runs down
Rafkin's face as he turns with rage.