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 a good idea, but as he sees it there's a job
               to be done, he intends to do it and forget about the whole
               thing. The sooner this 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?