Crampton

Thomas Ligotti and Brandon Trenz

Originally published in the UK by Durtro Press in 2003

This epub is version 1.0, released August 2014.

FADE IN:

EXT. INNER CITY DETROIT - NIGHT

It is after midnight in one of the most run-down areas of Detroit--all long-abandoned buildings, many gutted by fires.

EXT. OUTSIDE WAREHOUSE - NIGHT

In the street outside an old warehouse, about two dozen cops in bulletproof vests are assembled. They are antsy, ready for action. Among them is--

BRADY WELLS, a cocksure twenty-five-year-old cop.

BRADY

(whispering to his PARTNER)

What the hell are we waiting for? This vest is cutting off my circulation.

BRADY'S PARTNER

You volunteered us for this.

Slightly removed from this group are RICKY SMITH and LARRY JOHNSON, two weary-looking men in their early 40s. Ricky is large-bodied and bearded; Larry is slim and clean-shaven. Their bulletproof vests have "FBI" on them in big yellow letters.

RICKY

(to LARRY)

Are you ready or what?

LARRY

All right. But this is it, do you hear me? After tonight I'm done with this fucking case.

One of the cops steps over to the FBI agents.

LEAD COP

We're ready to move.

RICKY

Let's do it.

The cop turns back to his men.

LEAD COP

We're going in. I want three of you in front with the ram. The rest of you in teams of two, three teams per floor. Remember, don't shoot unless there's a gun pointed at you. And keep your radios on and your mikes open--I want uninterrupted radio contact.

The cops break up into units. One takes a heavy ram out of the back of a van and heads to the warehouse entrance.

EXT. WAREHOUSE ENTRANCE - NIGHT

An old wooden door, deadbolted and padlocked. The cops get in position--two holding the ram, a third directly behind, gun at the ready. Larry and Ricky are right there, ready to jump in as soon as the door is open. The rest of the cops are lined up behind.

LEAD COP

(whispering)

Okay, let's do this neat and clean, just like on t.v. On three. One ... two ...

The cops holding the ram swing it back.

LEAD COP

... three!

The ram swings forward, SLAMMING into the door just below the deadbolt. With a CRUNCH the ram GOES THROUGH THE DOOR, punching a hole in the old wood, spraying dust and splinters into the air.

LARRY

Shit!

LEAD COP

Hit it again!

The cops work the ram out of the hole and swing it again. It CRUNCHES into the rotten wood, splitting a long crack down the middle of the door. The lock still holds.

RICKY

Goddamn it. The hinges! Hit the hinges!

The cops aim the ram at the bottom hinge and swing. With a SQUEAL the screws that hold the hinge to the doorframe let go. The ram swings at the top hinge. The hinge POPS out of the frame. The door hangs cockeyed, held up only by the two locks. Ricky steps up and KICKS THE DOOR AJAR.

LEAD COP

Go! Go! Go!

Ricky and Larry rush into the building, the cops streaming in behind. Brady is among them.

BRADY

So much for neat and clean.

INT. WAREHOUSE

The cops move in silently, guns and flashlights extended. The flashlight beams reveal complete disarray--racks of clothing are everywhere, some tipped over, clothes in a pile on the floor. Boxes are stacked against the walls, many tipped over as well, spilling out clothes hangers.

They pair off and head in different directions. Some go up a set of rickety stairs.

RICKY

(to LARRY)

You stay down here. I'll check upstairs.

LARRY

Ricky--this doesn't look right at all.

RICKY

I know ... which means it probably is.

They split up.

INT. CORRIDOR IN WAREHOUSE

A PAIR OF FLASHLIGHT BEAMS shine up from a stairway, dust swirling in the light. Brady and his partner enter the corridor.

BRADY

(into microphone)

We're on the third floor. Still no sign of anything.

LEAD COP (ON RADIO)

Keep your eyes open.

INT. FIRST FLOOR

Larry and two cops stand in front of a door. Larry tests the knob--unlocked. He looks at the cops, his eyes saying "get ready." In one quick movement he turns the knob and enters the room gun-first, the cops right behind him.

Three flashlights sweep the room--a maze of empty shelves.

FIRST COP

Holy shit!

Larry and the SECOND COP turn toward where the first cop's flashlight is aimed. Captured in the circle of light is a woman's headless body.

SECOND COP

Her head! Where the fuck is her head?!

INT. FOURTH FLOOR

Ricky and two cops are searching the fourth floor. They stop dead when they hear--

SECOND COP (ON RADIO)

... Where the fuck is her head?!

RICKY

(into mic)

Larry, what's going on?

INT. FIRST FLOOR

Larry approaches the decapitated torso cautiously. He runs his flashlight down the body toward the floor. Where the woman's feet should be is a metal stand.

LARRY

It's not a body. It's just a dresser's dummy.

INT. THIRD FLOOR

Brady and his partner listening to the radio.

LARRY (ON RADIO)

Repeat: it's just a dummy.

BRADY

(to PARTNER)

This is a total cluster fuck.

LEAD COP (ON RADIO)

Wells, your mike is open, remember?

BRADY

Shit!

INT. FOURTH FLOOR

Ricky and the two cops.

RICKY

(into microphone)

Keep looking.

Ricky shines his flashlight down the hallway. At the far end is--

A DOOR, HALF OPEN

Ricky walks slowly toward it.

The two cops don't see Ricky break away. They enter a large room. The floor CREAKS OMINOUSLY under their feet.

THIRD COP

This place is going to fall down on our goddamn heads.

INT. THIRD FLOOR

Brady and his partner enter a room. Their flashlights crawl over shelves laden with mannequin parts--arms, legs, torsos, hands in various poses. The top shelves are all heads, with and without wigs. Brady and his partner are obviously creeped out.

BRADY'S PARTNER

Brady?

BRADY

I know. Just keep your focus--we're looking for real people. Nobody ever got killed by a mannequin.

An OMINOUS CREAKING comes from the celling above their heads.

INT. FOURTH FLOOR - OLD OFFICE

Ricky pushes the door fully open and enters a long room. Along the walls are rows of small desks with switchboards. At the far end is a large desk. A HEAVY BLACK ROTARY-STYLE PHONE sits on the desk.

Ricky looks nervous but excited.

RICKY

(INTO MICROPHONE)

Larry, I think I found it. The desk, the phone ... it's right here.

INT. FIRST FLOOR

Ricky's voice is all SQUELCH AND STATIC in Larry's earphone.

LARRY

Ricky? Say again, I didn't get that. (Beat) Ricky?

INT. FOURTH FLOOR

Ricky scans the room with his flashlight. The beam stops on the back wall where heavy floor-to-ceiling--

CURTAINS

--hang, completely concealing the wall. They are torn, tattered and ugly. A roaring sound, like an approaching tornado, begins to rise from behind it.

INT. FOURTH FLOOR - CREAKING FLOOR ROOM

The floor lets out a MOAN. The two cops have a second to look at each other before--

INT. THIRD FLOOR - MANNEQUIN PARTS ROOM

The ceiling GIVES WAY. One cop drops through the rotten wood, hitting the shelves of mannequin parts. Plaster arms, legs, and heads tumble to the floor. Brady falls backwards, throwing his arms over his head to protect himself.

BRADY

Jesus fuck!

The cop hits the ground with a loud OOF! Shelves and body parts topple onto him.

Brady looks up, flashlight out. The air is choked with dust. At his feet, a fallen MANNEQUIN HEAD is still spinning. For a second, Brady seems hypnotized by it.

LEAD COP (ON RADIO)

What's that? Is everyone okay?

BRADY

(to the cop that dropped through the ceiling)

You okay, man?

THIRD COP

(groaning)

Yeah, I think so.

A PIERCING SCREAM bursts out of the radio, making Brady WINCE.

INT. FIRST FLOOR

Larry whips the SCREAMING earphone out of his ear.

LARRY

Christ, that sounds like Ricky.

(to the two cops)

Upstairs! Let's go!

INT. FOURTH FLOOR - HALLWAY

A half-dozen cops run down the corridor toward the open office door. The SCREAMS are still coming from that room.

LEAD COP (ON RADIO)

... somewhere on the fourth floor. Repeat: FBI Agent Smith possibly down, somewhere on the fourth floor.

INT. FOURTH FLOOR - OFFICE

The cops enter the office. The switchboards and the large desk are gone--nothing but faint outlines in the dusty floor. Ricky, still SCREAMING, is lying on his back near the far wall.

The cops surround him and shine their flashlights on his face--eyes wide, mouth an "O." His fist is clamped around one of the long curtains, now pulled partway off its hooks.

Ricky's SCREAM wavers and dies.

LARRY (O.S.)

Set away from him!

The cops turn around. Larry is in the office doorway.

LARRY

Give him some room, goddamn it!

The circle of cops breaks up, Larry pushing them aside as he approaches. He kneels next to his partner.

LARRY

(softly, to RICKY)

Jesus, Ricky. I hope it was worth it.

The cops are starting to gather around Ricky again.

LARRY

(to the COPS)

Is someone going to call an ambulance? Come on, move it!

They move it. Larry shines his flashlight toward the curtain, part of which is still clutched in Ricky's frozen hand. Behind the tattered fabric is nothing but BARE BRICK WALL.

FIVE YEARS LATER

INT. FBI HEADQUARTERS - OFFICES - 8:55 A.M.

A room full of desks separated by cubicles. FBI agents are just arriving and settling in. One of them is--

LARRY JOHNSON

He's a few years older, a few years fatter. He hangs his jacket on the back of his chair. Another agent catches his eye.

FBI AGENT

Hey, Larry. You watch the Caps game last night?

LARRY

Shut up, I taped it.

FBI AGENT

Do yourself a favor--skip the third period.

LARRY

Didn't I already tell you to shut up?

FBI AGENT

I'm just saying, unless you've got a thing for lucky goals--

Larry's response is a slow-burn stare. The other agent finds something else to do.

Larry drops a brown paper lunch sack on his desk. It lands next to a MANILA ENVELOPE, which Larry notices for the first time. "CAREFUL - PHOTOS" is stamped across the envelope in red ink.

Larry picks up the envelope and sits down.

INT. FBI HEADQUARTERS - LOBBY

A few stragglers are rushing to get to their desks by nine. To enter, they have to show an FBI ID badge to a SECURITY GUARD and pass through an electric arch.

Into the lobby rushes--

BRADY

--wearing sunglasses and a wrinkled suit. Tossing a perfunctory "Excuse me" over his shoulder, he cuts in front of a few people and tries to blow past the guard.

BRADY

Hey, Russell.

SECURITY GUARD

Where's your badge, Brady?

BRADY

(searching his pockets)

Right, right. All personnel must display proper ID at all times.

SECURITY GUARD

It's not me, my man. It's the eye in the sky.

The guard indicates the three cameras in the corners, all aimed at them.

VIDEO MONITOR - On a black-and-white screen, we see the guard pointing up into the camera.

LOBBY

Brady comes up with a little plastic badge. He waves this in the guard's direction.

BRADY

Bingo. One badge.

Brady clips the badge to his jacket. The guard lets him pass.

INT. ELEVATOR

The doors are closing. Brady, running, just gets his hand in before it's too late. The doors slide open and he gets into the car, panting to catch his breath. It takes a second to register that with him in the elevator is--

HELEN SWEETEN, a pretty woman in her early 30s.

She's dressed in a suit that flatters her figure. She's got one of those stick-on nametags neatly affixed to the breast pocket of her jacket.

Brady tries to sneak a peek at her nametag without being too obvious about it. He tilts his head this way, then that way.

None of this is lost on Helen. At first she looks slightly irritated, then flat-out annoyed. Finally--

HELEN

Would it help if I took my blouse off? Or would you prefer I get it wet?

BRADY

(removing sunglasses)

I was Just trying to read your nametag, Miss ... Sweeten.

HELEN

Agent
Sweeten.

BRADY