Red and Green
ext. winter sky - night
This is from the new script I’m working on. Rather than laying out the whole story or plot here, I figured I’d share pieces of it. Or rather, a novelization of the opening scene.
BLACK. FADE IN: EXT. WINTER SKY – NIGHT.
The night begins with a bell. Not a cheerful jingle, not the bright cascade promised by song and storybook, but a single hollow ring that carries in the cold, as if the air itself has been struck and left trembling.
Above the pines, the sky is cold and black until it isn’t. It looks torn, a thin seam of green threading through the dark. It spreads slowly and unevenly, in the particular shade of something unwell. Red gathers beneath it, not warm or welcoming, but a warning. The Northern Lights unfurl in hesitant pulses – green, then red, then green again – neither color willing to give way.
Below them, carved into the tree line, a rural fairgrounds waits in frozen dirt. The place smells of pine sap and gasoline. Bare bulbs sway on long cords, casting narrow cones of yellow that do not quite reach the ground. Thin strands of Christmas lights droop between poles, their colors muted by frost. The wind pushes at canvas banners and rattles loose metal against metal. A bow tied carefully to a post snaps free and skitters across the ice before disappearing into shadow.
Beyond the main barn, deeper among the trees where the lights thin out, a dented livestock trailer sits angled toward the road. Its paint has peeled in long strips. Deep scratches tear across its sides. The metal around the latch is warped, as if it has been tested more than once and has remembered the effort.
Further into the woods, there is movement, contained but not calm.
Lantern light swings in a restless arc, cutting through the dark in brief, disorienting flashes. A man’s voice carries, strained and impatient, the tone of someone trying to sound authoritative in a place that does not recognize authority. He coaxes. He curses. He laughs once, too harsh for humor.
Something large answers him. A snort rolls thick and wet through the cold, breath blooming in heavy clouds that hang low before dissolving. Hooves strike frozen ground with blunt force, tearing at earth that will not yield. A chain drags and jerks, its links grinding together with a heavy, metallic complaint. Beneath it all, the faint, uneven jangle of bells persists. The sound is thin and out of sequence, metallic and dull, as if the instrument has forgotten the song it was meant to play.
The creature does not reveal itself at once. It appears in fragments, caught in lantern light and then lost again. An antler sweeps briefly through the glow, wide and sharp, before vanishing into shadow. A flank shudders under coarse winter hide. A wet muzzle lifts and lowers, breath huffing hard enough to mist the air white.
The green light from above slips over its back first, draining warmth from the scene, flattening depth. Then the red follows, sharper, cutting angles into muscle and bone. Every movement is briefly outlined and then swallowed again.
The man grips the chain with both hands. His boots slide on packed snow and he plants his weight, leaning backward with the full measure of himself. The animal resists with slow, deliberate force, not wild so much as unwilling. It yields an inch and then takes one back. The kind of strength that does not recognize negotiation.
“Easy,” the man mutters, though the word carries no conviction. “Easy now.”
The lantern flares brighter for a moment, and in that brief clarity the creature’s eye catches the light. It is wet and reflective, not frenzied, but focused. The wind presses harder through the trees, combing the branches until they hiss.
With effort and profanity, and a final heave that sounds as though something has been pulled loose inside his chest, the man forces the animal up the ramp and into the trailer. Hooves thunder against metal flooring. The walls rattle violently. For a moment the entire structure shudders as if reconsidering its purpose.
The tailgate slams shut. The impact rings out through the woods and falls flat against the trees. A heavy bar drops into place. The latch is secured with a decisive clank that suggests relief more than safety. The trailer trembles once from within. The bells jolt and fall still.
On the back, hand-painted and faded by weather, the warning is uneven but legible:
DANGER: KEEP BACK.
Beneath it, smaller and more deliberate, the letters lean upward in forced cheer:
Merry Christmas!
Bravo!