NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD - ACT ONE: "They're Coming to Get You, Barbara"

Zombies, man zombies. I'm New York Times best selling horror
author Scott Zigler. Let me bend your ear about a
milestone of horror cinema. Shamblers, crawlers, walkers, runners, even exploders.
The word zombie is ubiquitous for bloodthirsty, undead monsters that
hunger for living flesh, that stalk us, that want to
eat our brains. But that version of zombies, the version
we all know after decades of horror movies, novels, comics, games,
and even musicals, wasn't always the case. Before nineteen sixty eight,
the word zombie often did refer to reanimated corpses. But
those poor devils were controlled by a priest or, a sorcerer,
more servant or even slave than ravenous eater of human flesh.
So what happened in nineteen sixty eight to change that?
George A. Romero seminal flick Knight of the Living Dead,
That's what happened. The creatures in that genre defining work
weren't even called zombies. No. In the film, they were
referred to as ghouls. But as the shock waves of
Romero's gory, low budget masterpiece rippled through our culture, redefining
what a zombie is. The term retroactively came to be
associated with and defined by Romero's vision. But here's the thing.
The classic film that horror fans know and love didn't
rise from the grave fully formed. The original script was
unfinished when the camera started rolling, and what was on
the page was wildly different. Characters changed names and races,
dialogue was written in thick country slang, and entire sections
of the story simply didn't exist. Yet it was the
actors Dwayne Jones, Judith O'Day, Carl Hardman, and Marilyn Eastman,
working side by side with Romero, who reshaped it as
they shot. They rewrote dialogue, improvised scenes, and turned rough
pulp into timeless terror. Out of that chaos came something transcendent.
The film didn't just invent the modern zombie. It proved
that horror could evolve, live and breathe, right in front
of the camera. And that is why this episode of
table Read matters. This live read you are about to
hear takes us back to where it began, to the raw,
unfinished version that shambled so the masterpiece could run. You
will hear the rough edges that discarded lines, the bones
of a genre still assembling itself. Because every legend begins
as a first draft, and before Night of the Living
Dead changed everything, it began as this.
One table read.
Now we're gonna say table reading, just I can give
me zombie sounds one.
Two three.
Room Knight of the Living Dead written by George A.
Romero and John A. Russell. Exterior cemetery dusk. It is
an ordinary dusk of normal quiet and shadow. The gray
sky contains a soft glow from the recent sun, so
that trees and long blades of grass seem to shimmer
in the gathering night. There is a rasp of crickets
and the rustle of leaves in an occasional whispering breeze.
Transitions are easy and gradual, with relaxed studies of earth,
grass and leafy branches on a high mounted hill. Revelation
of cemetery markers does nothing to disrupt the peacefulness of
our established mood. When awareness comes, it is almost as
though we have known where we were all alone. We
are in a typical rural cemetery, conceivably adjacent to a
small church, although the presence of a church is felt
rather than confirmed. Range from small identifying slates to monuments
of careful design. An occasional Franciscan crucifix or carved image
of a defending angel over a hundred years of death,
indicated in stones syllavic with their year and the status
of the families they represent. Over the other night sounds
is added the gravel rumble of a slow moving car.
A wider shot reveals the car and the mounted cemetery
as the car pulls into the gate and moves down
one of the cemetery roads. The car passes an extreme
foreground and moves away from the camera. In the breeze
of its passing, the dead leaves that clutter the little
road swirl and move beyond the distant trees, the last
receding gray of dusk and surrendering to the black. The
car continues. When the car stops, we feel the absence
of its sounds, replaced by the crickets and the subtle wind,
even as the car is still rocking slightly from its
stopping action. We cut to a shot through the driver
window at the occupants of the car. The driver is
a young man in his mid twenties and his passenger
is a young woman. His sister. The man is in
shirt sleeves with a loosened tie. His suit coat is
on the clothing hook over the back seat. The girl
is wearing a simple but attractive summer suit with a
jacket removed and folded in her lap. She is fussing
with her purse while the man shuts off engine lights
and leans back to yawn and stretch his legs. The
girl closes a potato chip bag, rushes crumbs, fluffs her
hair typical feminine gestures after a long ride. The man
stretches again.
They ought to make the day the time changes the
first day of summer, then two good things would happen,
all at once.
A little laugh from the man as he straightens his tie.
I love the long days and the extra.
Sunugh, what good the extra daylight does me? I lost
an hour's sleep, and it's dark already, and we still
have a three hour drive, and we won't even get
back to after midnight.
Barbara reaches down to put her shoes on.
If it really dragged you that much, you wouldn't do it,
Are you kidding?
I certainly don't want to blow Sunday on this scene.
We're either gonna have to move mother to Parkville or
the grave to Pittsburgh.
Oh, you're just being silly. Mother, can't make a drive
like this.
John reaches to the back seat and produces a flowered
cross shaped grave ornament. In the center of the cross,
and gold script on a red field is written, we
still remember.
Look twenty five dollars.
We still remember.
I don't you know it? And I don't remember what
the guy looks.
Like, Johnny. It takes you five minutes.
Three hours, Nope, nope, six hours, six hours and five minutes.
Barbara continues to primp and straighten her outfit. John hands
her the grave ornament and leads forward to struggle into
a suit jacket.
Mother wants to remember, so we have to drive four
hundred miles to plants across on a grave as if
he's staring up through the ground to check out the decorations.
We have to remember, and she stays home.
Johnny, we're here, all right.
She opens her door and turns to step out. John
takes the keys from the ignition and drops them into
his pocket.
Hey, hey, hey, and barbar you know the radio has
been on the whole time.
Ladies and gentlemen, please for what Hey, you gotta signal.
Charlie must have been the station.
John clicks the radio off. He gets out of the
car and walks around the front of it, trotting to
catch up with his sister. It is obvious that she
didn't hear him. He catches up to her and starts
to repeat his discovery about the radio.
Hey, the radio is okay, it's just.
Barbara is more interested in finding the row containing their
father's grave.
You remember which road's in?
Huh uh Oh, it's over here.
I think they start in its suggested direction.
Did you hear the radio?
Hm, the radio's fixed must have been the station, not
the radio.
Good, you won't be as bitchy driving home.
Their gives at each other are not really in anger,
but are typical of brother's sister annoyance. They walk through
the row of gravestones in the growing darkness.
Nobody around. Well, it is late if you get up
a little.
Earlier, already lost an hour's sleep on the time chain.
Oh.
Sometimes I think you complain just to hear yourself.
Talk an hour earlier, and it'd still be light. It's
hard enough to find in the light.
There it is.
They move toward a grave with a standard rectangular stone.
It is an unkept grave. It's outline cropped and overgrown
with grass and wilted flowers. John takes the flowered cross and,
stepping close to the headstone, embeds its wire prong base
into the earth as he rambles on, Yeah.
I wonder what happened to the one from last year.
Every year twenty five bucks for one of these things,
and the one from last year is gone.
We hear Barbara's voice. The camera stays on John as
he builds up some dirt around the base of the ornament.
The flowers die and the caretaker somebody takes them away.
Yeah, a little spit and polish and they can sell
them again. I wonder how many times we've bought the scene.
He doesn't finish, and standing he sees his sister with
a pair of rosary beads, and he stops talking. She
is praying silently, looking down at the ground. John straightens
his tie and buttons his jacket. He steps behind his sister,
puts his hands in his pockets, and rocks nervously on
one foot. She continues to pray. John looks around the cemetery.
The stones are soft and white. They seem very pale.
There are a few moving shadows. The sounds of the
night seem louder, but this is only because they have
stopped talking. The situation does not seem ominous. John is
merely bored. In the distance, a huddled figure is walking
among the graves.
Come on, barb church was this morning?
The girl continues her prayers. John lights a cigarette idly,
exhales the first puff of smoke and looks around again.
The huddled figures still moves slowly among the graves. John
turns to his sister and it's about to say something,
but sees her making the sign of the cross and
dropping her beads in her purse. She turns from the
grave and they both start to walk away slowly.
Well, I mean prays for church.
I haven't seen you in church lately.
Well, Grandpa told me I was damned to hell. You
remember right here, I jumped out at you from behind
that tree. Grandpa got all excited.
You will be damned to hell, Barbara smiles.
Right here, I jumped out from behind the tree at you.
Barbara expresses annoyance.
He used to be so scared here, Johnny, are you
still afraid?
Stop it? I mean it.
They're going to get you, Barbara.
Stop it your ignorance.
They're coming for you, Barbara, They're gonna get you.
Johnny.
Stop, They're coming out of their graves after you. They're coming.
They're coming to get you.
With this, John throws up his arms and his voice rises.
The figure moving among the graves stops and stands for
a moment. Barbara glances toward the figure, and momentarily her
anxiety turns to embarrassment.
You're acting like an idiot.
John speaks in a low tone, now glancing at the figure.
As they draw closer in their perpendicular paths. John's remarks
now are directed to Barbara, as though he didn't want
the old man to hear.
Here comes one of them. Now he'll hear you is
coming to get you.
Barbara purses her lips in anger. The couple is now
only a few yards from the intersection of their path
with the old figure.
I'm getting out of here.
He bolts and runs up the path. John embarrassed, she
cuts herself short and continues to walk more rapidly, now
up the path beyond the intersection of the man's row.
John stops laughing and turns to look back at his sister.
She is near the place where the paths meet, and
so is the old man. We cut close to her.
She is looking down in embarrassed silence, aware of her
proximity with the old man. She feigns poised, and as
she makes the intersection, looks up nervously to deliver a
socially necessary smile to the old mourner. Ooh. The old
man lunches at the girl. His hands grab at her hair.
A frightened gasp chokes her. She is coughing. The man
grips her arm and slashes at her clothing. She flails about, choking,
trying to yell. The man is all over Barbara, unable
to hold her in her violin flailing. He is grabbing
and tears her jacket and scratches her face. He seems
to be trying to bite her arm. John leaps at
the man. The three fall to the ground, Barbara kicking
and beating with her purse. John gets a firm hold
on them, and Barbara is able to wrench through. The
man is thrashing wildly at all parts of John's body.
They struggle to their feet. The figure thrashes, beats, tears
like an animal. John clutches at him, and they fall
in a heap in the darkness. Their form is as
one flashing thing. Barbara screams wildly. The two men make
animal sounds. One figure gains the advantage and slams his
fist down against the other's head. Barbara is panic stricken.
Her screams turn to frenzied gasps as she finds a
tree limb and snatches it up. But then she looks up.
She sees that one has vanished the other. She stops
in her tracks. Night sounds. A close shot makes it
clear that John is lying limply on the ground with
the other man hunched over his form. The man is
doing something with the limp body still ripping at it,
perhaps scraping for money. Barbara cannot tell. The old man
freezes and looks up. The girl raises her club and
rushes toward him. He jumps into a half standing position,
like an animal hunched to spring. Barbara stops in her tracks.
The man is breathing heavily. She starts to back away.
The man holds very still. She backs away further faster,
total fear. The man starts to move slowly, cat like.
He steps over the body Barbara drops the club and
breaks into a dead run down the path she screeped.
The man moves after her, but he is considerably slower
than she is, with seeming difficulty in moving, he appears
almost crippled in a flailing run. Barbara reaches the car, sobbing,
she yanks open the door. She can hear the man
drawing nearer. She scrambles into the front seat and slams
the door shut. No key. The man draws nearer, seeming
to move faster, more desperate to reach the girl. Barbara sobs.
She clenches the steering wheel. The driver's window was open.
She struggles to roll it up, then pushes the lock button.
The man is upon the car. Barbara dives across the
seat to slam down the passenger side lock button. The
man rips at the door handles and pounds violently at
the car. The girl starts screaming again, the man pounding flowing.
He grabs a stone from the road. The passenger window
shatters into thousands of little cracks. Another pound sends the
stone through the window, and hands grabbed through the opening
to peel away the flakes of glass and sections. Barbara's
screams become more values. She signs enough presence of mind
to reach for the emergency break. The man pounds and
flails at the window. The car, at the top of
a long grade, slowly starts to drift. The man struggles
to hold it, rip out the glass. His arm breaks through.
His sleeve is ripped and tattered. The hand grabs at
the inside of the door. The car moving faster. The
man struggles to cling. He is forced to trot after
the car faster. He loses his footing, grabs at the
fender the bumper. He falls into the road. The car
gains momentuma. The man regains his footing and starts after
the car. It is moving faster. Barber is frozen in
the driver's seat, clenching the wheel. The road ahead is black,
the speed is frightening. She pulls the light switch. The
head lights dance beams of light among the trees. The
beams reveal the grate in the road, which is narrowing
to one car width and about two hundred feet ahead.
The downhill grade ends and in an uphill grade begins.
In desperation, the girl looks out the rear window against
the sky. In the light from the cemetery gate. The
man is still coming after them. In panic, she looks about.
She is still in the cemetery, proper rows of graves
on both sides of the road, no lights from the house,
no signs of light. The car slows its momentum, carries
at some distance up the upgrade. Barbara glances backwards. The
man is moving faster toward her. She is terrified. The
car reaches a full stop. There is increased panic in
her face as she forgets herself, and the car begins
to drift backward toward the man. As he draws nearer,
the car picks up momentum, carrying her toward the pursuer.
She grabs at the emergency brake and yanks it tight,
the lurch of the car throwing her against the seat.
She struggles with the door hand off. The button pops up.
The man draws nearer. She breaks from the car. The
man keeps coming, desperately, trying to move faster. Barbara runs
off the roadway and onto the turf of the cemetery.
She falls, kicks her shoes off, gets up and keeps running.
The man is still after her. She reaches a low
stone wall which marks the end of the cemetery. She
struggles over it and looks ahead for a moment to
get her bearings. Across a main highway is a darkened
gasoline station and beyond it an old house. She pants heavily,
glancing up and down the highway, but there is no
sign of traffic. The man is nearing the low cemetery wall.
She breaks into a run. Across the highway. The gasolene
station shows no signs of life. It is old and decrepit.
One light is out over the pumps. The bump house
and surroundings are nearly lost in shadow. Some fifty yards away,
there's the old house. She runs toward it. She presses
against the side of the house in a darkened corner,
trying to look up into the window. Across the highway,
she sees her pursuer struggle over the little wall and
in his clumsiness fall, groveling on the ground. In panic,
she runs to the rear of the house and into
the shadows of a small back porch. Her first impulse
is to cry out for help, but she silences herself
in favor of trying to stay hidden. She gasps, trying
to hold her breath. Silence night sounds and the sounds
of the man's running footsteps slowing to a trot, then
a walk. The footsteps stop. Barbara quickly glances about. There
is a rear window. She peers through it, but inside
everything is dark. The pursuing footsteps take up again. She
presses back against the door of the house and her
hand falls on the door knob. She looks down at it,
grabs it with a turn, and the door opens. She
enters quickly, as quietly as possible, and closes the door
softly behind her, bolting it and feeling in the darkness
for key. Her hand finds a skeleton key and she
turns it, making a small rap and click. She leans
against the door, listening and can still hear the distant footfalls.
Barbara finds that she is in the kitchen of the
old house. She gropes through a door and into a
large living room, no sign of life. Her impulse is
to cry for help, but again she stops herself for
fear of being heard by the man outside. She darts
back to the kitchen, rummages to drawers in a kitchen
cabinet and finds the silverware. She chooses a large steak
knife and grasping it tightly, goes to listen at the
door again. All is quiet. She goes back into the
living room. Beyond it is an alcove that contains the
front entrance to the house. She rushes to the front
door to make shorre it is locked. Cautiously, she pushes
back a corner of the curtain to see outside. The
view overlooks an expanse of lawn, large shadowy pine trees,
and the service station across the road. There is no
sign of the attacker. Suddenly there is noise from outside,
the pounding and rattling of a door. Barbara drops the
curtain edge and stiffens. More sounds. She hurries to a
side window across the lawn. The man is pounding at
the door to the garage. She watches her eyes wide
with fear. The man struggles with the door, then looks
about and picks up something and smashes at it. In panic.
Barbara pulls away from the window. Across the room is
a telephone. She rushes to it and picks up the
receiver diile tone. She frantically dials the operator. Some buzzes
and clicks, then I'm sorry.
Our lines are busy. Would you hold the line please,
I'm sorry.
She quickly depresses the receiver buttons, lets them up, and
dials again. Long pause. She can hear sounds from the
gas station.
I'm sorry.
She depresses the buttons again, dials four one one for information.
Another long pause, than the rasp of a busy signal.
The noises from the service station have stopped. She listens
for a moment. She shudders with fear. Notices a telephone
directory in a stand near the phone. Frantically, her fingers
search to pages for the emergency numbers the police. She
dials shakily, but before she has dialed the last numbers,
the repines of the busy signal come back over the receiver.
She depresses the buttons again. Footsteps. She puts the phone
down and rushes to another window. A figure is crossing
the lawn, coming toward the house. It is a different figure,
a different man. She runs to the door and peers
out through the curtains again. The man still walks toward
the house. A shadow darkens a strip of window at
the left of the door. Its abruptness startles her. She
peels back a corner of the curtain and sees the
back of the first attacker not ten feet away, facing
the man who is approaching. The attacker moves toward the
new man. Barbara freezes against the door and glances down
at her knife. She looks back out at the two men.
They join each other under the dark hanging trees and
stand looking back toward the cemetery. From inside the house,
Barbara squints, trying to see. Finally, the attacker moves back
across the road in the direction of the cemetery. The
other man approaches the house, seeks the shadows of a tree,
and stops in an attitude of stolid watching. Barbara stares,
but can see little. She lunges toward the phone again,
dials the operator the same recorded message, stops herself from
slamming down the receiver. Then suddenly a distant sound an
approaching car. She scampers to the window and looks out.
The road seems empty, but after a moment, a faint
night appears, bouncing and rapidly approaching a car coming up
the road. Barbara reaches for the doorknob edges the door
open very slightly. The light spills dimly over the area
there under the great tree in the lawn is the
silhouette of the second man. Barbara shudders. She is afraid
to make her break for the approaching car. The figure
appears to be sitting quite still, its head and shoulders
slumped over. It seems to be looking right at the house.
The car speeds by, Barbara just stares at the figure.
She cannot run. She closes the door and backs into
the shadows of the house. She turns to see all
around her. The large, dreary rooms are very quiet, cast
in shadow. She spies a stairway, runs toward it, still
carrying the knife, and starts up the stairs. The camera
is level with her eye and picks up her view
of the stairs. As she runs up, panting frantic, she
climbs her hand grazing the banister. Still at eye level,
the camera starts to pick up the top of the
stairway the floor of the second landing, a brief glimpse
of something on the floor there. She continues to climb
the floor of the landing, zoom in toward camera the
hand of a corpse. Barbara stops. The corpse is almost skeletal,
with its flesh ripped from it, and it lies at
the end of a trail of blood. Screaming an absolute crow,
Barbara almost falls down the stairs. She is gagging. She
breaks for the door, unlocks, and flings herself out into
the night, completely unmindful of consequences. She is bathed in light.
Two headlights are screeching toward the camera, the sounds of
a vehicle stopping. Barbara covers her face with her arms.
Someone rushes towards how are you one of them? She
stares frozen. A man stands in front of her. He
is large and crude in coveralls and tattered workshirt. He
looks very strong and perhaps a little stupid. Behind him
is an old, battered pickup truck, which he has driven
right up onto the lawn of the house. He holds
a large crowbar in his hand and stands there, panting.
Behind him, the man of the tree still stands. Barbara
is still frozen.
I said, are you one of them? I see too,
L look like you.
The man of the tree moves forward. Barbara screams and
steps back. The truck driver spins to face the other man.
The other man stops in his tracks. The truck driver
backs protectively toward the girl, while the other stands just watching. Finally,
the truck driver seizes Barbara's wrist and pulls her into
the house, slamming the door behind them. Barbara falls back
against a wall. The truck driver locks the door and
throws the boat. He is breathing hard. He turns to
look at the girl. She brings the knife up in
a defensive gesture. All right, that's all right now, She
stares widely at him. He immediately concerns himself with its surroundings.
He moves into the next room to check the windows.
He tries a lamp. It lights, he turns it off.
Barbara weakly lowers the knife and falls to a sitting
position in a chair. She watches the man intently. He
calls to her from the other room.
Don't you mind to creep outside. I can handle him.
There's probably gonna be lots of more of them as
soon as they find out about us. I'm out of
curs And then pumps over there is locked.
Do you got any food here?
I'll get some grub and then we can beat him off.
Get out.
She just stares at him, and.
The phone ain't no good. Well as well have two
tin cans to string you live here?
He remains silent, looking toward the top of the stairs.
The man follows her stair and starts towards the stairs.
Half way up, he sees the corpse and stops. Oh,
be Jesus. At the bottom of the stairs, he just
looks at the girls, shivering with shock in her chair.
Then he forces himself back into action. Hey, so we
gotta bust out of here.
Get to wait with some folks. Somebody we've done something.
I try to scare up some.
Gral He enters the kitchen and starts to rummage. He
flings open the refrigerator and the cupboards, finding a stack
of large paper grocery bags. He opens one and starts
to fill it with things from the refrigerator. He hurls
the stuff into the bag. He is interrupted by Barbara's voice.
What's happening.
The man looks up at her.
What's happening?
The truck driver looks at her. She stands like a
frightened child in the kitchen doorway. He is amazed at
her question. A shattering crash startles them. The man drops
the groceries and seizes his crowbar. He runs to the
front door and looks out through the curtained window. Another
shattering sound. The first attacker has joined the second man
at the old pickup truck, and with great sticks, the
two are smashing out the headlights too. Once the lights
are battered out, the two men outside start to beat
at the body of the truck. The truck driver spins
and lunges toward the girl. How many?
She backs further away. The truck driver lunges again, this
time in desperation to make her understand. How many?
Come on now, God, I know you're scared, but I
can handle those two creeps right? How many moores out there?
That truck is the.
Only chance to get out of here?
How many? How many? He grabs her shoulders and she
struggles against him, crashing hysterical.
I don't know, I don't know happening, I don't know what.
She breaks into hysterical globbing. The truck driver finds away
from him and breaks for the door. He looks out
the window for a moment. The attackers still beat of
the truck, wildly, trying to tear it apart. The truck
driver flings open the door and leaps off the porch.
Two men look up. For the first time, we see
the faces of the attackers. They are dead things, and
flesh on their faces as rotting and oozing. Their rides
bold from deep sockets. Their hair is long, and their
clothing rotten and in tatters. They are ghoulish beings, staring
up at the truck driver. He starts for them, slowly
with building vengeance. He moves steadily at first, with controlled power.
He speaks as he advances, wielding his.
Crowbar corrigey come horloge, cooly swords crowbar.
He concentrates on his attack, moving stolidly toward the two creatures.
He breaks almost into a run, but the two, rather
than backing off, move toward the man as though drawn
by some urge. The man and pounds into them, swinging
and thrashing with arms and a crowbar. They are buffeted
by his blows. They seem weak compared to him, but
his powerful blows don't really stop them. It is like
beating a rug. He flings them back and they advance again.
It is a violet, brutal struggle, but the big man
finally beats the two into the ground, and for a
great while continues to pound at their limp forms. He
breaks into almost sobbing. If each of us blows. He
beats them and beats at them as the girl watches
and shock from the porch. He thrashes and beats until
she starts to scream again. Her screams pierce the knife.
The man stops breathing heavily. He stands enveloped in the
quiet of the night. The girl stands in the doorway.
The truck driver turns to facer. He is out of breath.
Suddenly a noise behind the girl. She spins, and walking
toward her from the kitchen is another of the hideous creatures.
The truck driver leaps toward the thing to door. Barbara
slams the door and locks it, backing against it as
another equally brutal struggle ensues in the living room. The
big man again beats the attacker down, but another appears
at the kitchen door. The truck driver leaps toward it
and with powerful crowbar blows drives it out beyond the
door so that he can fall against it, shutting it.
He bolts it and stands leaning against the frame, trying
to breathe long silence. The truck driver just stares down
at the floor. I ain't nowhere in here now he
no use, disputing that. Outside the house, the fourth ghouls
stand staring at the back door, Another slowly walks up
behind it, and another at the front of the house.
Three moor stand near the bodies of the first two.
Pull off and follow focus from the front yard of
the house through the curtains at the front door to
the face of the girl as she spins to face
the camera. Her face twitches in fright and her eyes
are wide with a non blinking stare. As she spins,
her eyes fall on the floor where the dead humanoid lies.
The thing is askew on its back, its right arm
extended toward the girl with fingers twisted as though to
grab cameras tracking in slowly, there is a slight movement
in the thing's hand. It twitches. The whole body twitches slightly,
the bent broken neck as the being's head twisted upward
in an open mouth, glassy stare. Barbara steps toward the thing.
The fear in her face bears the beginnings of a
sick frown. The hand twitches again. The girl moves closer,
drawn toward it, staring down at it with overpowering curiosity.
The thing is something dead with the beginnings of decay
on its face and neck. Barbara moves closer. The thing
still twitches. She's staring right down into the thing's eyes.
Her hands come up to her mouth. The urge to
be ill, to scream, to run must all be fought.
The glassy stare from bulging eyes right back up at her.
Camera shoots back and forth at her face with the
staring eyes of the dead thing. Zoom in on the thing.
It seems as though the body is going to stand again.
Its face holds as much life as it did when
it walked. Suddenly, with a rustling sound, the thing moves
cut back. The big truck driver has a hold on
the thing's legs and is dragging it across the floor.
Cut your eyes, girl, I'm getting his dead tree out
of here.
He is sweating. His voice shows anger and anguish as
he drags the body across the floor. Barbara just stands
her hands still at her mouth, watching the sounds of
the man's breathing and his struggle fill the room with
the body. He reaches the back door and lets the
legs fall. He filthy. He cuts himself short cut in
for a close up. The stark light on the big
man's face makes him shine in his sweat. His eyes
are alert and afraid. He turns quickly to see through
the small window panes in the door outside, lurking in
shadow from the huge trees, the three beings watch and wait,
their arms dangling and eyes bulging as they stare at
the truck driver's activities. With a swift move, the big
man unbolts the door, flings it open, and bends toward
the inert thing at his feet. The ghoulish things begin
to move toward him. With one great heave, the dead
form is flopped outside the door. It lies across the threshold.
The thing advances, silently, filthy. Another great effort shoves the
body almost clear from inside the house. The big Man's
efforts cannot be clearly seen by the girl because the
door frame is blocking her view. She moves into the kitchen.
The truck driver flops the body down onto the edge
of the porch. He the big man shudders. He fumbles
into the breast pocket of the work shirt. The things advance.
He produces a pack of matches, manages to strike one
and touches the burning tips of the clothing of the
dead thing, and with almost a popping sound. The clothing
catches fire. The things in the yard stop in their tracks.
The fire blazes, slowly shaking. The truck driver touches the
match to other aspects of the thing's clothing. His fingers
burn and he snaps them, throwing the match into the
heaked form. He is breathing hard standing. He kicks the
burning thing off the edge of the porch, watches it
roll down three small steps onto the grass, where it
lies still, the flames licking around it. The three beings
step back slightly. The big man clings to the banister
around the little porch. His fists clench and his face
is fiery, and the blow of the flames his voice quivers.
I'll get you, gets you, allow you. He stands to fire,
hollow you encactly Jack.
He stands them finally on the little porch and climbing course,
separating from the things that wait.
Wait is going to be the end of Act one? However,
you want to do that to get us out? How
about no? I love that He stands defiantly on the
little porch, the flaming corpse, separating from the things that wait,
and of Act one