Work Text:
FADE IN
INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
An unremarkable room with a bland décor. The bare basics of furnishings fill the space - A recliner sags dead center of a circular piece of carpet, against one wall a book case, sitting flushed to the next wall a desk and table, and then a television huddled beside the wall in front of the recliner. The light is tempered and dull, covering the space with glum illumination. This drab cloak reveals the dire conditions of the space.
Withered wallpaper, the only piece of carpet matted, and a mess of flattened books lay beside the bookcase. Squatted close to the recliner awaited a stack of plates, the collection of porcelain resembles ribs stained with decayed patches of flesh. A colony of insects surveys the blotches of dried food. The topmost plate glistens with grease stains.
By all appearances, this living space is uninhabited. The walls creak, discussing the homes abandonment. Only the walls know the conditions, but they cannot relate the history.
Movement flutters beside the leg of the lone desk chair. It must be a cat, or other small animal.
A CHILD.
Three children, actually. The group looks no older than 8 or 9, and they huddle beneath the desk, which is impossibly large in comparison. Astoundingly giant.
MUG is almost certainly a girl, but her hair is SHREDDED SHORT. She wears ratty clothing, coming undone from the seams. No shoes, nothing but an oversized shirt and ragged pants, with scraps of cloth tied around her waist forming a skirt. But it's probably not meant to be a skirt.
She stares across the miles of floor, and directly at the stack of crusty plates. She's fixated.
The two behind her are WISP and KU. They stay in the shadows gaping out in the same direction as Mug. The clothing Wisp adorns is much the same, frayed into paper and mended with stray scraps. Wisp does distinguish himself with a hoody, and has scraps of cloth mummifying his feet. on the other hand, Ku has clothing that is worn, but not to threadbare.
After a long beat of the trio gazing and silent with nothing happening, Ku does glance at the other two. In the shadows the whites of his eyes glint - it's a contrast to his smudged face. He's been everywhere but a bath.
Ku inches forward but before he's beyond the shelter of the desk, Mug snags his arm. Surprised, Ku gives a stifled grunt. Its stifled, since when he's yanked back HARD, Mug claps a hand over his mouth.
Mug glares eye-to-eye with Ku, her gaze PERTRIFIED. It looks wrong on a child her age. Something in her movement and gestures is VISIBLY wrong, from how hard she handles Ku, to the desperate and firmness in her movements. She grips Ku's face tightly, and presses one finger to the back of her knuckles. Ku responds with a few rapid blinks. Mug shakes her head.
MUG
(mouthing; subtitled)
We don't No No No
Clomping steps echo from an obscure doorway nestled near the corner of the room.
The children go alert. All faces snap to the bleak portal. From the doorway emerges a large figure. It's human in shape, though the features are off. The arms seem just a little too long for the sleeves of the shirt, or maybe it is how the arms are bent to keep the plate elevated.
The shoulders and face of this ADULT remain out of view as the person tromps through the room. All the features and dimensions of the room overall match the stature of this occupant of the dwelling.
The Adult pauses in front of the television and soon after the screen brightens.
A surge of crackling bursts from the speakers, and show tunes play through. Everything the television produces is garbled, with only a cacophony of blithering music among the chatter of distorted voices. A melody is present, but it's barely strung along and constantly fades in the buzzing static.
During this, the three children stay rooted. They barely blink. No one breathes. Ku's is still locked in Mug's iron grip, but like her, his eyes stay averted to the pulsing edge of the screen sitting beyond the recliner.
Very slowly Mug releases Ku. The children do not move, not yet.
It's Wisp who unthreads first. Like a draft, he reaches over and touches Mug's shoulder. When Mug turns, Wisp nods to the other side of the room.
WISP
(in a gesture; subtitled)
Gone. There.
Mug glanced to the back of the recliner, and the scruff of hair that appears whenever the Adult gulps down a breath. She inches away from the pillar that is the desks leg, with one hand clasping Ku.
A wide eyed glance moves from Ku to the back of the recliner, and then back to Mug. He follows the girl, and Wisp follows them.
While shuffling closer to the wall, Mug releases Ku's hand. She throws him a scant glimpse before detaching from his space completely, and then strafing close to the wall. As she moves, her eyes drift to the recliner.
Wisp snares the back of Ku's shirt and holds the kid back. No glances go shared and no noise uttered. Both children observe as Mug inching along the wall, moving into the region to the direct left of the Adult.
Mug drifts on her bare feet, her eyes fixed forward and arms arched from her sides. The television rambles on, moving into softer tunes that fit an era of a forgotten decade. Not once does she divert her gaze from the enormous archway laying ahead, and the cavernous interior. Her movement is slow but steady.
A change in the Adult's breathing compiles her to halt. Mug stands, knees bent and hands subtly shaking. Still, she does not move her eyes off the awaiting shelter dead ahead.
The Adult moans, the warble broke into a gargle and peters off into a sigh.
From a blurry side-eye, the plate clatters as it fits into place upon the stack of discarded comrades. The malformed shapes sags into the recliner.
A swell of insects tumble from the disturbed column. Many scrambled around the shoes of the Adult.
With a soggy cough, the Adult launched to its feet and began stomping. The televisions songs become frantic, with bells and trumpets piping up.
Mug seizes the opportunity to rush with reckless abandon to the enticing corridor and ducks into the shadows. She turns back, first glancing to the Adult, before beckoning the other children.
Wisp and Ku race to reach Mug, while the Adult is still thundering and yelling at the mess of bugs it has yet to deal with. Those noises fade off, as the three children race further into the depths of the hall.
INT. KITCHEN
A mostly ordinary kitchen. The room has two points of entry, but the other doorways is boarded up tight. Across a side wall, pantry doors hang beneath the ceiling, the lineup severed by one window. The window has nothing to offer but a thick cloud cover, fog, and a misty landscape. The could be hovering above the sea or suspended miles in the sky.
The lower cabinets sag in varied states of disrepair, with a door hanging off here and there. The enamel coating has been chipped or ripped off completely, revealing the under layer of splintered wood. Heaps of dishes occupy the countertops, if they're not shattered across the floor. This could very well be a hoarders home. It’s apparent the current occupant lacks the drive to do anything about its current state.
A few other amenities clutter the space, including a beaten table and some chairs piled in one corner.
Though it appears deserted, the children linger in the doorway.
Mug is the first to enter. She moves away from the doorframe, where Wisp and Ku stay plastered. She only turns back to press a finger against her lips. Quiet.
The light in the kitchen is a little better, coming from the oven light and a glaring bulb sizzling in the high-high ceiling.
Mug's features become more defined in this fresh light. Despite her young age, Mug's eyes carry dark circles, and her cheeks are ashen. Her butchered hair has dirt clumps that have not been untangled.
She's much too busy sniffing and letting her eyes roam across the high cabinet and the pantry doors way above. Despite how despairing the scene should be, her eyes glitter.
Wisp picks his way across the cluttered floor. Ku isn't far behind him, though the other child does fall once. Mug gives Ku a sharp look, when the boy gasps on impact. She and Wisp hold still, eyes flashing to the doorway.
After a brief pause and nothing, not a sound comes from the hall, Ku pushes himself to his feet. Wisp and Mug resume moving once the tension breaks.
The children begin with the lower cabinets, first pulling the shut doors open, and examine the interior. Over some time of searching, the group gains confidence and detaches. One or two are always glancing to the gaping passage, while the theater tunes play muffled and distant.
WISP
(whispered)
Hey. Psst.
Wisp tugs a box from a cabinet. He unfolded one end of the rectangle CRACKER box and reaches inside. Mug grippes the side of the cumbersome container and, bracing to its side, she manages to scoot it away. This leaves Wisp with a wrapped package.
The three children scarf the food in chunks, barely chewing. Nearly snapping off their own fingers in the frenzy they have fallen into. If their appearance is anything to regard, it's probably because they've not eaten in some while. The stale crackers in all their bland texture are scrumptious.
But the crackers are still dry and salty. Ku really works to chew and choke down the doughy lumps.
Ku leaves the two and the box of crackers. He searches the kitchen floor for anything to help with his throat, but the floor is dusty and he finds no indication of water or anything.
To one end of the kitchen stood a refrigerator. He wanders over to the monolith of a kitchen appliance and gives it a look, up and down. With a mighty leap, he catches the handle and dangles. He doesn't expect the latch to give under his pitiful weight, and falls flat onto his back.
With the lock loose, the door swings open by a crack. After Ku recovers from the fall, he limps over to the door and pulls at it from the side. Moving the mammoth door on its hinges is a challenge, which takes a great deal of pushing. Somehow, he forces the door to swing open, and fell onto his face in the process.
INT. KITCHEN - REFRIGERATOR
The inner walls purr with chilled air. Each shelf is stuffed with boxes and crusty bags, much of the contents have strange growths. The bottom shelf leaks a brackish fluid.
Ku wrapped his arms around his shoulders. He browsed over the scenery, or lack of. At his back, Mug calls,
MUG
(whispered)
Hey. You.
Ku climbs the inner ledge inside the refrigerators doorframe. It was slippery with the gummy fluid, but he was tactful on his bare feet. Reaching in further, the boy grapples with a canister on the lowest shelf.
When his weight shifts, Ku tumbled out of the refrigerator and onto his backside. The canister stays firmly locked in his arms.
Mug patters over and gives him a quick look over. Ku doesn't mind, he tolerates her patting as he sits upright. Can still wrapped in his arms - it's about the same size as his torso.
Wisp takes an interest in this new area. He climbs onto the inner ledge and examines the contents of the shelves more closely, his breath misting in the chilled air.
Mug sits beside Ku and crosses her legs. She pats the side of the can, making a THUNK-TUMP. This suppressed reverberation makes her head tilt sharply.
KU
Mmm.
Ku fiddled with the latch, but it is large and flush to the top. Mug tries to help, but despite the combined effort they make no progress.
MUG
(Hissing)
Mug rips her fingers free, after the latch caught them. She sucks on her sore fingers and scooted back from Ku with the can, her eyes narrowed.
Frustrated, Ku turns the can sideways and straddles it. He fiddles and fights with the latch. At his wits end, he grabs a piece of flint from the tiled floor and wedges it beneath the latch. The meager bit of wriggling is all it takes to break the seal of the can, and push the latch further up.
A MOMUMENTAL EXPLOSION GOES OFF.
Pressurized liquid SPEWS from the breach in the cans lid. The force sends it shooting out from under Ku, and the can flies unrestrained across the floor. It skids and smacks into the base of the refrigerator with a RESOUNDING CRACK!
LOUD. THAT WAS SO LOUD.
Aside from the can doing its best impression of a spinner in the middle of the kitchen, everything - the children, the walls, the soft hum of the refrigerator - goes dead silent. All faces lunge to the open portal. It is SO QUIET.
The crippling stall is over in a blink. From the hall, a blaring howl plows through the former showtunes gushing forth. The cry is followed by rocking steps. An avalanche of attention.
Wisp lunges from the ledge of the refrigerator but skids immediately on the slicked floor. He skies across his back and crashes into Mug. Both kids fumble and claw a the floor, fighting to find stability on the sleek surface. At Mug's back wobbles Ku, but he goes down. Not without grabbing Mug by the skirt, and both plunge.
INT. HALLWAY
The dim passage reveals the missile that is the Adult. In three rocking steps the person enters the kitchen.
INT. KITCHEN
THE ADULT's face carries mismatched eyes, the skin of his face sagged at the cheeks. His hair is a mess, missing clumps and sticking out at all directions. The food from dining an hour before still smears his chin, and the shirt front.
He stops at the entrance of the Kitchen doorway and scanned the floor. It doesn't take long before his cloudy eyes lock onto the children.
With a gargled howl, the Adult bolts fully into the room.
Wisp is barely on his feet, but manages to shove Mug aside. Somehow, the girl gets traction and skates across the floor. Wisp also found his bearings and dashes in the opposite direction.
The only one that misses an opportunity to divert or maneuver is Ku. He staggers when the Adult stooped, arms outstretched for him.
By chance, the can is barely concluding its crazed rotation and the floor is glossed with glistening carbonated fluid.
The Adults foot zoomed out from beneath its body and it crashes hard to its back.
Unable to get going, Ku settles on rolling sideways and evades an arm thicker than his body. While the Adult continues across the floor and smashes into the base of the refrigerator, Ku falls to his hands and feet. He slips and tumbles, but after a wild dance has found a rhythm. His arms and legs row at the floor, after intense paddling he has made it beyond the gooey mess coating the tile.
The Adult rumbles and flails his long, crooked arms.
THE ADULT
(distorted shrieking)
Disgusting leech!
INT. HALLWAY
At the entrance, Wisp beckons.
WISP
(rasping; subtitled)
Hurry. Here.
Wisp ducks into the murk. Ku is on his heels, still rocking on his feet in the layer of dust.
Rapid feet patters become the only guide the boy has. The noise surfaces above the energetic song tunes of the television.
Several doors line the walls, all open. Ku veers into the one where rapid footfalls slink into.
INT. BEDROOM
Faint mist lashes against the windowpane. The only light is the gray beams spreading frigid drafts across the floor, cutting through the black bars of shadow. Dust mottles drift above the bed beneath the window. The only other furniture piece if a dresser, but each drawer face has fallen off - scraps of clothing and threads hang out.
Wisp climbs the bed to reach the window, and Mug bent low beside the glass. Mug heaves at the base of the frame, struggling against petrified wood.
From the hall, the Adult hoots vulgar sounds. His creaking steps approach and fast.
MUG
(Whispered)
Hey.
Ku picks his gaze up from the clutter beneath the clutter of the bed, and peers at both Wisp and Mug at the window. The sill creaks but holds fast. Mug waves at him from above.
MUG
(Whispered)
Hoi.
She relents and focuses on helping Wisp. Both children grunt and strain. The glass rattles with the beat of the wind.
Ku winces, when the Adult gives another throaty groan. Again, he glimpses into the dark recess of under the bed. His eyes are wide, his dirty face aglow with panic. He deals with a brief conundrum, one that would betray his friends, before he settles on his decision.
Ku scrambles up the beds side.
The boy hoists himself into the window sill and joins Mug and Wisp, in the center. His breath skips fog across the chilled glass. The children grunt and huff, supplying every ounce of their childish strength.
Three orphaned children, in an impossibly large world.
The window weeps. With another hiss and snarl, the frame shrieks. LOUD. But at last the window inches up.
VICTORY! The children withdraw from fighting the frame. Mug and Ku check the width in a well practiced manner. Using their elbows, they determine that one side of the opening was wide enough.
Wisp allows a small grin to glance across his face. Before he snaps his attention to the doorway.
THE ADULT
(Distorted)
You can't! How dare you!
The Adult gallops across the room.
Wisp does not waste time and squeezes through the wider side of the windows slot. Mug had the same idea, and the two nearly become stuck in their terror.
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING - MISTING
No sign of the city is visible through the dense fog. The wind snatches at Wisp's and Mug's ratty threads. A sheen coats the brick and inner sill beyond the window. The ledge they perch on is narrow and chipped by age.
For their merit, Wisp and Mug don't abandon the scene immediately. The two reach under the frame and catch Ku by his shoulders. Their fists knot into Ku's clothing, and with heels braced to the brick, they pull. In short time Wisp and Mug haul Ku beneath the slanting sill.
Ku squawks when he's nearly dragged backwards. He snags Wisp by the front of his hoody and will not release.
Neither does Wisp. Though, by his anguished face, it's more for self-preservation. He pushes back on his heels, using every particle in his skeletal arms to pull on Ku.
Mug stares through the dingy glass window, her eyes and mouth agape.
The Adult hoists its free hand to the top of the window, but the withered frame resists dropping. The entire windowpane DOES SHIFT and SLICES onto Ku's back.
KU
Mum!
With a last powerful heave, Ku tugs loose. Right as the guillotine cleaves down at Ku’s toes. The children squeal with shock as they are sent scattering.
Mug spills sideways and too close to the edge. Ku reaches out as Wisp rolls.
KU
Wait.
Whatever that means, it does not stall Wisp from skidding off the ledge and plunging into the soupy thicket below.
The two survivors are not given a chance to process or grieve. Beside them bellows a garbled cry, and the window squelches.
Mug dismisses the loss of Wisp and jumps across the space, to Ku. she grabs the other child by his collar and hauls him along the ledge, and away from the screeching window frame. At their backs, a crooked arm flashed out and paws blindly into the misty air.
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING - FREEFALL
The blurring bricks do not last long. Neither does Wisp have a chance to collect his wits.
INT. MURKY WATER
The surface breaks. Bubbles froth around the body of Wisp, swishing away from his ratty clothing. When the disturbance clears, it is apparent he's dead. Or stunned.
The child's body hovers for a short spell. His hand twitches, but that isn't much. He sinks further into the grungy depths, the faint glow from above fading with the outline of his shape. Little by little. Nearly vanished entirely.
Wisp convulses. His body thrashes and he begins clawing at his surroundings, grabbing for holds in insubstantial liquid. It's apparent he can't swim.
Fortunately, the water is not bottomless. Despite his thrashing, he drifts to the rocky bottom and can push off. This sends him shooting to the light, and the surface.
EXT. A DROWNED POTHOLE
Wisp breaks the muddy tarp and chokes on air. It's a criminally short moment, and he sinks below the froth.
The rolling blanket of water churns. Droplets dazzle across the pools surface. A steady calm prevails over the location. A grave nestles above the submerged child, getting comfortable above its victim and erasing all existence. The calm settles in while the rain persists to vibrate across the brackish blanket, the growing storm remains an indifferent spectator.
The POTHOLE or ravine is formed in the side of the road. Throughout the perimeter, ruin dominates. The road is lined by shops and window displays, broken glass paves the sidewalk. A section of sidewalk caves into the pothole, where Wisp vanished.
Again, he breaks the surface and swallows a mouthful of air. This time when he slips beneath the churning water, he's departure is not too long. Wisp bobs along, his hacking and gasping echoing through the soft hum of drizzling.
The road lays deserted in al directions. Somewhere distant, the vague singing travels from a cryptic dimension. It's likeness matches that from the room with the Adult. The songs are out of place, overlapping the wheezing gaps of a drowning child.
EXT. CITY ROAD
At last, Wisp crawls away from the muddy pool. He flops onto the sidewalk, in the shadow of a massive bus bench. Even the flattened newspaper littering the sidewalk curb is massive beside the child.
Wisp is soaked through, shivering, and still choking up water. He does not restrain his distressed breathing. He settles to cough and shake and vomit. His retching echoes across the dark windows of buildings and through the perpetually deserted roads. The world he inhabits lingers in desertion and he is alone.
After clearing himself of the worst sludge, he does turn his head sideways. It is impossible to see up, even through a crack in the benches seat. He cannot sift through the gray fog to where Mug or Ku would be, or were no longer.
Wisp turns his gaze to the street, but even from this location he cannot see much. The city blocks fade into obscurity, some of the store front signs gleam. Not all, though. The light burns against the drab grays and black of the withered bricks, this place has never know sunlight or dry air.
Checking in the other direction, he watches as a shirt drifts from the gloom above. The road has heaps of ruble, discarded by a skyrise that had crumbled like a sandcastle. The breeze whistles across the shrapnel sticking from the mounds.
Aside from the distant melody and the conspiring whisper of rain, the street coddles the silence.
He might never seen Mug or Ku again. Not ever.
Wisp turns his attention to the other section of street, and the more promising path. For when he is ready to move.
He blinked, and sat up a little more.
On the other side of the street stood... a figure. A small figure, like himself. Another child. But what caught his interest was not a wandering child - that was nothing new in this place.
SIX is a girl who wore a yellow raincoat. No scraps or remnants define her uniform, and she is quite out of place among the scenery. Possibly, she belongs elsewhere than here.
She watches Wisp, and he watches her.
Despite the possible connection with this child, Wisp betrays no sense of eagerness or engagement. He settles to keep his eyes on the girl, and lay his head down. He tucks his arms against his chest and pulls up his legs. He does not have the strength to seek better shelter. He huddles into himself and shivers.
When the boy stops moving, Six inches across the street. She approaches the bus bench, cautious, on the verge of bolting. When she is close, she kneels low and scoots in beside Wisp.
By then, Wisp was out. The ratty cap of his hoodie stays plastered to the back of his head, his sodden hair is slicked to his scalp. He coughs, but otherwise doesn't stir.
And Six doesn't bother him. Nor can she move him. However, she does keep watch over the foggy road, and the swirling mist. And the silent drifting of discarded clothing, like leaves at the end of fall. The place the two have stopped is a forgotten, derelict cemetery with no future and no history left to inherit.
INT. SHOP WINDOW - ACROSS THE STREET
The building lay in the same destruction as the road. The shelves within, one time loaded with merchandise, have at one point been ransacked. Nothing remains but shredded boxes and mildew.
And a television, left askew on a dusty cabinet top. This television might have been drenched at one point, but only the water stains can attest to that.
The dust mottles swirl in the anemic light, perpetual and aimless. Partially facing the clouded window, the screen of the television flickers. Maybe because of the implied damage, the image shows nothing but static, and the only sound is garbled muttering. The searing white glow of the screen blazes against the glass, offering a reflection.
Through the glossy window, Six's raincoat remains visible beneath the bench.
Within the fuzzy image projected by the screen, a sequence of images pulse through. The last image the television halts on is that of a pair of large, spindly hands pressed into the backside of the screens stormy glass.
Against the inner window of the shop, it looks odd. As if someone was trying to push through the glass itself, and into the shop that way.
Clearly not as strange as someone trying to force their way out of a television box.