Voilà, ik ben voor ‘t echt begonnen aan een filmscript. En ik ga het deze keer helemaal afmaken, en verfilmen, al was het maar met plastieken poppen.

Ron schrijft zijn films in het Frans, awel dan doe ik het in het Engels. Alhoewel, misschien verander ik het nog wel naar het Vlaams. Alhoewel, Vlaams is niet direkt een taal waarin een lovecraftiaanse horrorfilm tot zijn recht kan komen, vrees ik.

EXT. MORTUARY -- NIGHT
Two men exit the mortuary. They are walking backwards,
schlepping an IRON COFFIN behind them. We hear a series of
loud clangs as the coffin thuds down the few steps down from
the mortuary's front door. With the third or fourth thud,
the coffin lid slips off and the coffin turns over, spilling
its contents. We see a MUMMIFIED HAND; the rest of the coffin
is hidden in shadows.

JOHN
Urgh! Christ!

The men sit on the steps, on both sides of the overturned
coffin. They look utterly dejected.

JOHN
Man... This sucks. I don't know why
we agreed to go through with this.

MICK
Shut up.

JOHN
I mean, it's not like we're getting
paid for this, is it?

MICK
Shut. Up.

JOHN
And anyways, why us? Why doesn't he
get his bloody women to do this?

MICK
John--

Mick is gritting his teeth now and clenching his fists.

JOHN
I mean, he's got, what, like six
of 'em now, right?

MICK
--shut. the fuck. up.

Mick is doing his best to stay calm. He is clearly not in
the mood for light banter. He may be beginning to realise
this was not agood idea, but as he sees it there's a job
to be done, heintends to do it and forget about the whole
thing. The soonerthis is over, the better.

MICK
Fucking. Put. The fucking. Hand.
Back. In the fucking coffin. Put the
fucking lid back on the fucking
coffin, close the fucking coffin--

JOHN
Whoa, man--

Mick snaps.

MICK
And fucking shut the fuck up! If I
hear one more bloody sound from you,
so help me God I'll have your other
foot amputated and pickled, and I'll
have it force-fed to your children
with next week's Sunday roast. Got
that?