The Witching Hour
Screenplay by ANNE RICE
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FADE IN:
EXT. A SCOTTISH MOOR - NIGHT - 1670 A.D.
Far off, a massive stone castle looms. Trees silhouetted an
the horizon against the star-dotted, qreen-purple sky. The branches of one tree seem to reach
for the stars...
TRACKING IN - the tree is A HOODED FIGURE: SUZANNE - 20, golden hair spilling from her hood,
dazzling green eyes. Nestled in the f
future.
Can you believe it?
They turned Burbank into a goddamn international airport.
("Stop The World" by The Screaming Jets)
(bike misfiring)
Shit. Son of a bitch.
Youre a goddamn mess, Marlboro.
You need a new pair of boots and a new bike.
Lay off my boots.
But youre right about this rice-grinding horse.
Shit. Piece of shit.
I oughta give it a bullet and put it out of its misery.
ann....iinn.. ff....nnyin...
JACK (V.O.)
With a gun barrel between your teeth,
you only speak in vowels.
Jack tongues the barrel to the side of his mouth.
JACK
(still distorted)
I cant think of anything.
JACK (V.O.)
With my tongue, I can feel the
rifling in the barrel. For a second,
I totally forgot about Tylers whole
controlled demolition thing and I
wondered how clean this gun is.
Tyler checks
rice paddies. Two
sturdy brothers, NATHAN, 13 and SAMUEL, 12, work alongside
three adult male African freedmen, JOSHUA, JONAH, MICA,
planting rice. They look up from their work as the rider
passes. Nathan and Samuel take off running after the post
rider.
THE HOUSE
The post rider approaches the house, built of native
brick, well-constructed and well-maintained. Theres a
barn, a workshop and a forg
your mum there in little bathing suits.
Oh, theres that donkey.
I keep looking for a picture of you and me,
but I guess I was always taking the pictures.
No, you were just never there.
Or that.
So, Im applying to a few colleges.
Rice, SMU and...
Sharp.
Yeah, Im on my way.
- Look, Ive got to...
- Go. I get it.
Sorry.
Im fine.
- Looks like youve been busy.
- Yes, sir.
- Hell, aint it?
- Yes, sir.