Dab Hands - an original screenplay

INT. MAIN HOUSE, DANCEFLOOR - NIGHT

A small island, similar to Brownsea Island. Tonight it’s cut off by a storm. An elegant Georgian house with several large windows and two huge patio doors. A sombre version of Glenn Miller’s “In The Mood” plays. Seven people sit around, staring into space as the rain patters on the window. They seem lethargic and bored.

No one seems that interested in what is happening outside. They ignore the storm. The lights flicker. They ignore that too. The lights go out. The patio doors are suddenly pushed open and 3 women and 4 men stagger in. They are all soaked and wearing life-jackets. The seven people suddenly get up as the music starts the last refrain.

CUT TO:

TITLE CARD:  DAB HANDS (The music suddenly changes to the normal speed and key)

CUT TO:

INT. LOUNGE - NIGHT

Everyone has moved into the large lounge area. The lights are back on now. All the women have been given blankets and towels to dry themselves off. They are drinking tea or coffee. The men are still sodden but drinking either whisky or brandy.

GRANT: I never even knew you could get ship-wrecked in the UK….

RACHAEL: I would hardly call it ship-wrecked… Ryan just proved once again that he had no idea what he was doing!

SASHA: Didn’t stop you following him though. You didn’t try to help out. If you knew what you were doing we would never have capsized.

RACHAEL: I was never in favor of this in the first place!

JON: You’re always so quick to blame others. When are you going to take responsibility for your own actions?

The 6 older people look at each other. They seem to have been forgotten about in the melee. Zoe takes the lead.

ZOE: As long as you’re all ok though. That’s the main thing.

JAMIE: Yeah; it’s such a vicious night, I’m surprised you managed to find us!

RYAN: We saw your lights from the shore. We’re sorry about smashing the windows when we came in like that. 

IAIN: We’ll pay for everything that we broke. We’re just grateful for you.

HELEN: Turn the other cheek, why don’t you. You don’t have to turn everything into a sermon!

GRANT: Not now, Helen. Get off your soapbox. 

(to the residents)

GRANT:  wonder if we could use your phone, or if we could possibly have a change of clothes. Everything we own is on the yacht.

LIZ: I’m afraid that the phone line is out, due to the storm. There’s not much electricity either, this building is on a back-up generator which is independent of the rest of the island…

ALISTAIR: …I’m sure we’ll be able to help you get into warm clothes though. They might not fit properly and won’t be in your fashion but between us we can sort you out. I think it’s best that we split up and put one or two of you up for the night. We might have a bit of tucker that you can help yourself to, if you like?

RACHAEL: That would be lovely; thank you so much. Is it just yourselves on this island?

ZOE: Well, there’s normally more of us but this is off-peak… apart from the six of us there’s only Deidre and Ronald; but they live on the other side of the island. They tend to keep to themselves really…

IAN: Well, how do you want to split yourselves up? Who’s who?

GRANT: Sasha and Jon are a bit of an item…

ZOE: You can come with me if you like… It’s a little cottage with an allotment. You’ll find it very homely.

SASHA: Yes, I felt you were a very earthy woman. 

ZOE: Thank you… I think… Off we go.

Zoe walks off with Sasha and Jon. Rachael looks at Grant and rolls her eyes. As Zoe leads Sasha and Jon down the driveway, they take a left turn beyond the courtyard. 

Helen walks with Liz and they walk out the front door and turn right. The storm has died down now. 

Rachael and Grant walk with Victoria and Alistair and follow the track straight ahead.  Iain goes with Gordon.

IAIN: Peace be with you!

Everyone ignores him. Iain follows Gordon down the driveway. The door closes behind them. Their voices carry back across the courtyard.

GORDON: You’re not religious, are you?

IAIN: I’m born again.

GORDON: Of course you are.

It is now just Jenny and the two men left. 

IAN: Guess that’s time for me. Good night, the pair of you.

Ian walks away down the hall. Ryan is left with Jenny. He has been eyeing her all night. He follows Jenny up stairs. 

CUT TO:

INT. MAIN HOUSE HALLWAY - NIGHT

Jenny and Ryan are standing in an upstairs hallway. There are three doors. The closest is a spare room which Jenny points to.

JENNY: It’s not much, but it will do for you.

RYAN: What happens if I get lonely?

JENNY: There’s some stuffed toys on the bed that will keep you company; should you need some creature comfort. Good night.

Jenny walks away into her room, diagonally opposite Ryan’s room. Ryan walks into his room and shuts the door.

CUT TO:

INT. ZOE’S LOUNGE - NIGHT

Sasha and Jon sit on the sofa. Zoe sits in the lounge chair opposite.

ZOE: I’m an early riser so I’ll try to be careful when I come down for breakfast. 

SASHA: Don’t we get a bed? It’s been a helluva night… I think I might need some loving, if you know what I mean… 

ZOE: You’re here under sufferance. I’m not all that prim but I gather that the two of you are not married. I will not have you acting like a…. What do you call them? Hoe? In my cottage, thank you very much. The sofa is quite comfortable and I hope you both have a good night's sleep. Good night.

Zoe gets up and walks up the stairs, leaving Jon and Sasha grinning mischievously at each other.

JON: Lovely… You really have a great way with words, Sash! I thought she would never go.

SASHA: I thought she would have more empathy. There’s nothing in her at all.

JON: Talking of being in someone.

Jon leans across Sasha and starts stroking her breasts whilst kissing her neck. Sasha moans and then stops herself and Jon abruptly.

SASHA: We can’t do it here. What if she hears something?

JON: She might want to join in!

SASHA: God, she must be sixty and a day! She’s ancient!

JON: Don’t you want to get freaky?

SASHA: Not with someone that close to death! How about we do it in the potting shed?

JON: That sounds evil! We’ll be doing our own potting! Let’s do it!

Sasha and Jon walk out of the lounge, and outside. They cross the small courtyard and walk into the potting shed.

CUT TO:

INT. ZOE’S POTTING SHED - NIGHT

There are lots of rickety tables with rows of pots and flowers. Watering cans and rows of tools hanging on various hooks. There’s a few pairs of gardening gloves near the door and a pair of weighty wellington boots and a yellow sou'wester with a yellow waterproof hood.

Sasha and Jon start to undress. They move a couple of the bags of peat on to the floor to create a make-shift bed. They then drape their clothes on it so it’s not cold or damp to the touch. Sasha drapes herself on the peat bed and entices Jon. Jon leans into Sasha and kisses her deeply. He then mounts her.

CUT TO:

INT. ZOE’S POTTING SHED DOOR - NIGHT

The potting shed door opens quietly and someone walks in. Sasha and Jon can be heard fucking. It’s lurid and undignified. The person puts on the sou’wester and pulls over the hood. They put the gardening gloves on and walk quietly to the tool rack. They pick up a hoe and walk over to the pair loudly humping on the peat.

The person brandishes the hoe as they stand over the writhing bodies. They swing the hoe down in a hard chopping motion and severs Jon’s head. They then chop down several times in rapid succession before Sasha can even scream.

CUT TO:

INT. JENNY'S GUEST ROOM - NIGHT

Ryan is sitting on the bed, stripped down to his y-fronts. There is a dressing gown hanging on the door. He gets off the bed, walks to the door and snatches the dressing gown.

RYAN: Fuck this. I’m horny.

Ryan walks out of the guest room and knocks on the door to Jenny’s room. Jenny opens the door and Ryan just pushes through.

CUT TO:

INT. JENNY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

There is a large bed in the middle of the room. In the far corner is another door to an en suite bathroom. The door is shut. Jenny is being co-erced back into the room and is pushed back on the bed. She whimpers.

JENNY: No… please don’t. I don’t think you understand.

RYAN: It’s very simple, tits. You and me; three minutes to heaven and back.

Ryan walks around the bed, like a hunter. He takes the robe off. Behind him the bathroom door opens. There is a light on. It’s suddenly switched off. Ryan doesn’t notice.

RYAN: We going to do this the easy way or the hard way?

Ryan is about to get on to the bed when he’s tapped on the shoulder. He turns around. Ian is standing there. Ian punches Ryan hard in the stomach and then knees Ryan in the groin.

IAN: Let’s make this the hard way. 

Ian pushes Ryan, who is still doubled up in pain. Ian takes Ryan by the scruff of the neck and almost carries him into the hall. Ian drags Ryan down the stairs, so quick that Ryan can not get to grips with what is happening. Then they are at the front door. Ian opens the door and throws Ryan out.

IAN: We open our home to you and this is how you repay us?

RYAN: What about my clothes? I’m going to freeze out here!

IAN: You should have thought of that before you tried to rape my wife. You wanted it the hard way… I don’t want to see you any more. Come anywhere near this place again tonight and I will make it permanent and there are plenty of places I can hide a body!

Ryan sticks his finger up at Ian before running away into the drizzling night.

CUT TO:

INT. GORDON’S HOUSE - NIGHT

Gordon is begrudgingly showing Iain where he’ll be sleeping for the night. He opens the door and looks into the room. He notices something.

IAIN: I’m sorry, Gordon; but do you have a Bible I can read? I always read the Bible before I go to bed.

GORDON: Do I look as if I’ve got a Bible? The answer is no. I don’t. You’ll have to go without. Abstinence is good for you, after all. 

Gordon laughs as he walks away into his own bedroom. Iain looks as the door shuts.

IAIN (To himself): Strange man… Fancy not having a Bible… Wait a minute. I know where I can get one. We left out bags in the hotel; maybe there’s one there.

Iain walks out of his bedroom, down the stairs and braves the drizzle.

CUT TO:

EXT. GORDON’S GARDEN - NIGHT

Iain can’t tell which way he’s going. Gordon doesn’t have a pathway as such, just a succession of stepping stones leading in a snake-curve pattern. Iain is walking on the lawn when he hears someone walking behind him.

IAIN: Is that you, Gordon?

PERSON IN SOU'WESTER: Turn the other cheek to this!

Iain turns around to see someone standing behind him wearing a sou-wester and brandishing a croquet mallet. They swing the mallet and crack Iain’s head hard, knocking him down.

CUT TO:

EXT. GORDON’S LAWN - NIGHT

Iain opens his eyes to rain falling heavy on his prone body. He tries to move his arms but pain shoots through all of his limbs. There are croquet hoops driven through his wrists and ankles so he can not move. He is splayed out, as if on the cross but on muddy grass. There is a croquet hoop covering his throat and he is having trouble breathing. The rain is entering his mouth and he starts coughing. He tries shouting for help but his vocal cords go into spasm and his mouth shuts tight. As he looks about he can see someone standing close to him. They are still wearing the Sou’wester and they walk closer, holding the croquet mallet loosely. The person stands over Iain before walking away, leaving him to his fate.

CUT TO:

EXT. JENNY & IAN’S GARDEN - NIGHT

Ryan is running, naked, through the garden trying not to slip. He can hear dogs barking in the distance. He stops and listens. The dogs are getting closer. He starts running again. He slips and falls a couple of times. The dog barks are getting closer. It’s still raining and the visibility is poor. He doesn’t see the edge of the cliff until it’s too late. Ryan falls over the cliff. The two Alsatian dogs peer over the cliff with the tongues lolling and tails wagging. They walk away.

CUT TO:

INT. VICTORIA & ALISTAIR'S COTTAGE - MORNING

Rachael wakes up in her own room. Sunlight is streaming through the curtains. It’s a fine day. She gets dressed and looks at her watch. 

She knocks on the dividing door to see if Grant is awake.

GRANT: Yeah; I’m awake and decent.

Rachael opens the door and walks in. Grant is sitting on the bed.

RACHAEL: That’s never stopped me before.

Rachael sits on the bed next to Grant and kisses him on the cheek.

GRANT: Today’s different. It wouldn’t be right. 

Grant kisses Rachael on the lips.

GRANT: Besides, something feels… wrong. I can’t put my finger on it…

SCREAM from outside

Grant and Rachael dash to the window. They see Helen running up the path, sobbing her heart out. Rachael and Grant run out of the room.

CUT TO:

EXT. VICTORIA & ALISTAIR'S GARDEN - MORNING

Helen is nearly at the front door when Victoria opens it. Helen falls into Helen’s arms and cries. She is distraught. Victoria tries to comfort her.

VICTORIA: There, there. It’s alright, pet. Everything will be alright.

HELEN: You don’t understand. Nothing is ever going to be alright. He’s dead!

Rachael and Grant run outside and seek to comfort Helen.

RACHAEL: Dead? Who’s dead, Helen?

HELEN (sobs): Iain is!

Victoria (looks shocked): He can’t be!

HELEN (almost hysterical): He’s on the grass! I found him dead on the grass over there! He’s got things rammed into his feet and hands! He’s dead, I tell you!

GRANT: Show us where he is.

Helen leads Grant, Rachael and Victoria to where Iain is splayed out on the croquet lawn. Victoria, who has been disturbed by Helen’s outburst looks more relaxed and calmer when she sees it’s Iain that’s dead.

CUT TO:

INT. VICTORIA & ALISTAIRS LOUNGE - MORNING

Helen is asleep on the sofa whilst Grant and Rachael sit on a sofa opposite her. Victoria is kneeling over Helen using a warm cloth to soothe Helen’s brow.

VICTORIA: Poor love; she’s had such a time of it.

Alistair walks into the lounge, shaking his head.

ALISTAIR: Bloody phone lines are down still. There’s so many good reasons to live on this island but this isn’t one of them!

GRANT: We can’t help Iain now, but we need to find Ryan; Sasha and Jon. They’re probably fine, but in the light of what’s happened to Iain for all we know there’s a maniac around.

VICTORIA (looks shocked and hurt): That’s lovely. We all put you up for the night and you turn around and make accusations like that.

ALISTAIR: Now, Pet. Don’t be like that. I’m sure that’s not how Grant meant it.

(looks at Grant)

GRANT: (Pauses and then shakes his head): No… Of course not. 

RACHAEL: For all we know, Ryan could have done it.

Grant looks at Rachael askew. Alistair is still staring at Grant.

ALISTAIR: Don’t you think you should apologise to Victoria then? For making such an accusation?

Grant looks to Rachael. Rachael nods minutely.

GRANT: I’m sorry if what I said offended you, Victoria.

VICTORIA: That’s alright; it’s been difficult for all of us. What are you going to do now?

RACHAEL: I think we need to find the other three. 

ALISTAIR: We need to split up then; cover more ground.

RACHAEL: I think that’s a bad idea. We don’t know what’s happened to the others. If we split up, and it is… Ryan, who knows what could happen.

GRANT: I think Alistair is right. He and Victoria can search one side of the island. You and I can search the other.

VICTORIA: I think it’s best that I stay with Helen, just in case she wakes up. Alistair can stay with Rachael and look after her if Ryan turns up. Grant can search the far side of the island. He can pop into Deidrie and Ronald's cottage. Something may have happened to them in the interim!

ALISTAIR: I had forgotten about them in the melee. Would you mind, Grant? Rachael can look after me as we check to see if Zoe, Jenny and Ian are ok.

Rachael nods. They all get up, pair off and head outside, leaving Victoria still kneeling over Helen.

CUT TO:

EXT. ZOE’S COTTAGE - MORNING

Rachael and Alistair walk up the garden path. Zoe is waiting at the front door and smiles at them both.

RACHAEL: Morning. It’s imperative that I know whether Sasha and Jon are awake… Have you seen them this morning?

ZOE: No. I saw them last night before I went to bed. Why, what happened?

ALISTAIR: Iain’s been found dead.

ZOE (momentarily shocked): Ian?

(Calms herself when Alistair coughs)

ZOE: Was it an accident? Things can happen if you’re not careful at night, if you go wandering in the wet. Was that all that happened? What about Deidr…

RACHAEL: (interrupts) It was no… accident. Look, I just want to see if Sasha and Jon are ok.

ZOE: I think I heard them in the potting shed last night. They were… doing things there… 

CUT TO:

INT. VICTORIA’S LOUNGE - MORNING

Helen wakes up and rubs her eyes. She looks around her and realises where she is. She remembers Iain’s body and sobs. She pulls herself together though and gets up. 

HELEN: Hello? Is there anyone there?

FEMALE VOICE: I’m in the kitchen, dear. Are you ok or are you still feeling a bit tender? 

Helen walks out the lounge door and into the hall. The kitchen door is shut.

HELEN: It’s still too much to take in. I can’t believe he’s dead.

FEMALE VOICE: I’ll make you a lovely cup of tea. One lump or two?

Helen opens the door and walks into the kitchen. 

CUT TO:

INT. VICTORIA’S KITCHEN - MORNING

There on the large oak table is Iain naked, laid out with his arms and legs falling over the sides. Holes in his hands where the croquet hoops were. Helen can’t scream. She is about to turn around when she is hit hard twice on the side of the head by a meat tenderising hammer. She falls down on the floor next to the table.

FEMALE VOICE: Two lumps it is then…

CUT TO:

INT. ZOE'S POTTING SHED - MORNING

Rachael walks into the potting shed with Zoe and Alistair behind her. As she walks in she sees two large aluminium shelving racks that have been covered up with green, plastic wrap. There’s a pool of liquid puddled beneath. 

RACHAEL: No… no…

Rachael walks up and unzips one. There are a variety of seed trays and pots. Most of them have green shoots and flowers growing out of them. 

Rachael scans each shelf looking for the source of the liquid. On the middle shelf are ten small pots. 

In each of the pots is either a finger or toe, each one painted black. Rachael chokes back a sob. She unzips the other and there, on the middle shelf, are eleven pots.

ZOE: From little acorns grow great oaks. I wonder what we’ll get from those two?

ALISTAIR: I dread to think!

CUT TO:

EXT. OPEN LANDSCAPE - MORNING

Grant is walking purposely. There are footprints still showing on the grass where Ryan ran the previous night. He walks quickly, following them he comes to the cliff edge. He looks down, being careful not to lose his footing. He sees Ryan’s body and shakes his head in dismay.

CUT TO:

INT. ZOE’S POTTING SHED - MORNING

Alistair and Zoe block the doorway to the potting shed. Rachael is standing in between the two racks trying to keep her composure.

RACHAEL: You bastards! You killed them!

ZOE: (Looks to Alistair) Does she mean me? I could never have done that!

Rachael looks quickly around her. She sees a canister of slug repellent as Alistair walks up to her. He tries to grab hold of her arm. Rachael throws the slug repellent into this face and pushes him to one side. She grabs a three pronged cultivator as she dashes away. Zoe lets her run off.

ZOE: She won’t get far…

CUT TO:

EXT. DEIDRE & RONALD'S COTTAGE - MORNING

Grant runs up to the cottage and knocks on the door. Deidre opens it and is shocked to see Grant in such a state.

GRANT: You’ve got to help me. There has to be a telephone around here or a means of contacting the mainland.

DEIDRE: Come in… come in… of course, let me help you.

Deidre shows Grant into their lounge and sits him down.

DEIDRE: You look terrible. You need a drink. Tell me what’s happened.

Deidre walks to the sideboard and uncorks a bottle. She pours a generous measure into a glass and gives it to Grant who accepts it. He drinks it back and splutters a bit. 

GRANT: Ryan… dead.. And Iain before that… I don’t know how Ryan died, but Iain was murdered… so maybe so was Ryan… I just can’t take it in. I need a phone!

Deidre refills his glass. Grant drinks it again. Deidre sits on the sofa next to Grant and strokes his arm in comfort. 

DEIDRE: You poor thing. You’re in shock… it will be alright.

Grant tries to get up but can’t. His head goes light. 

GRANT: What’s wrong with me?

DEIDRE: It’s ok… it’s alright. Let mummy look after you like I looked after the others.

Deidre strokes Grant's face and arms; down his body and then his thighs. She strokes the inside of his thighs. Grant is unable to stop her. Deidre strokes his groin area.

DEIDRE: Oh, you are going to be tasty… Just like all the rest.

Grant pushes Deidre away, horrified and shakily gets up, out of the lounge chair. He turns around and is confronted by Ronald who is holding a boning knife. At his side are two Alsaitan's.

RONALD: Just think what we can make of him. Look! He’s still got some fight in him!

Ronald pushes Grant down easily. Grant falls on the floor and as he looks at Ronald he sees Rachael standing just behind him, grasping the three-pronged cultivator.

Rachael stabs the cultivator into Ronald's neck several times. Blood spurts out, covering the dog's fur.

RACHAEL: He’s not the only one…

Rachael looks at Deidre.

RACHAEL: Don’t you fucking move. Stay right where you are, bitch.

DEIDRE: I intend to, dearie. But just you turn around. 

RACHAEL: Do you really think I’m that stupid?

Grant looks to the lounge window. Zoe, Liz, Jenny and Ian are standing outside, waiting. Rachael turns to look as well and her hand goes limp.

DEIDRE: You’re not our first meal ticket. We’ve done it so many times before, dear. We’ve become dab hands at it…

FADE OUT:

Total War

The shattering came from upstairs. Something had broken, or more likely something had been broken by his parents damned cat, Dempsey. The question was, could Rory be bothered to check what the damage was or deny all knowledge and go out with his mates... He would be a little late anyway but  knew it was far better to be fashionably missed than be too eager and seem needy.

There were further sounds coming from the floor above; feet scuffling, nearer the stairs and a throaty chuckle. Well, that certainly wasn't Dempsey…Rory was suddenly very aware just how isolated the house was; down a single-track road on the outskirts of Haywards Heath. With mum and dad away for the weekend he suddenly felt very alone and vulnerable. Now in a horror movie he would have gone upstairs to investigate.... 

 “Fuck this.” He said and ran to the front door, flinging it open. He was suddenly face to face with Dempsey, hanging from the gables, its throat cut and entrails spilling out like a burst watermelon.  “Christ almighty!” he shouted, almost falling back as he slammed the door. What the fuck was going on?

Everything then happened far too quickly: he heard the noise of someone running down the stairs and turned out of instinct. He was too late to stop the blade.  Impaling him in the stomach; it was the same blade that had only just eviscerated the damned cat. He fell back against the door banging his head before his legs gave way. He saw a black shape follow him down, seemingly connected to his own body by the blade. Hitting his head hard on the wooden floor knocked the scream from out of him as the killer took their time in carving.

There was something about being in a classroom on a Saturday morning, knowing that all the kids were home, that made it all seem worth it… almost. It gave Ellana Wilson a chance to reflect on all the lives she had moulded into shape over the years.  She had started out as an idealistic geography teacher, full of hopes and aspirations about making a difference, but 

that had been knocked out of her pretty quickly by the casual racism. Not just from the kids (which had been expected) but from the other teachers. She'd  grown a protective shell and cultivated the ‘don’t give me any shit’ attitude and things changed.

The pupils were there to learn -they didn’t want to be there; they had to be there… so they were going to learn… or they weren’t. Mrs Wilson made it quite clear it was up to the individual pupil; they could learn, or they could be a fuck up. If they were there to learn then she would do everything she could to help them but if they chose to be a fuck up, then they were on their own. 

She wasn’t completely alone this morning though as there were a group rehearsing for the end of term play. Some bright spark had suggested “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf” as a joke but it had stuck. Ellana had a feeling it jibed with the mind games that were part of growing up - it was a rare chance to really stretch out for those kids that landed the four parts. Actually the kids were perfectly cast though and Mrs Wilson wondered just how much acting would really be involved. But as long as they left her alone, she had no problem with them being there… 

“I think that you’re going to steal the scene no matter what you do.” Steven said matter-of-factly. As director he could see that things were rapidly deteriorating. Although it had been his idea of a joke to put on Edward Albee’s scathing exhumation of marriage, he was determined to make it work and initially he had been overjoyed to have Emma on board to play Martha; she seemed perfect for the role as she had a strong personality to handle the complex psycho-drama (although there were times when she was more psycho than drama-queen). Now he was regretting it as the on-again-off-again relationship between her and Simon was mirroring the stage version.

Emma bowed in mock-mock-humility (everyone knew damn well that she could barely spell the word let alone know what it meant) but it took Simon to make the point blatant. “I think 

what our esteemed director meant, Martha is that there’s a difference between acting and chewing up the scenery. Just play the damn part and less of the tedious histrionics!” 

“Well at least I can act; the reason why you’ve been cast as George is that you’re just like him! Boring, boring, BORING!” Emma was loud, there was no doubt about it. Where Elizabeth’s Taylor’s transformation to the frumpy Martha was nothing short of shocking, there was no such wizardry to Emma. It was as if the part had been written especially for her: a bitchy, sneaky, two-timing harridan. 

Simon, on the other hand, was a complete surprise; head boy material: moral, understanding; a keen sportsman, not to mention well thought of. He was statuesque which made his appearance as George nothing short of masterful. It was as if he had taken a few pages from Christopher Reeve’s book of superhero transformations. George shuffled with his shoulders stooped and sported a parting in his now forlorn hairstyle. He also wore glasses that seemed too old and too small for his face and consequently made him squint. His gaze was keen though and his expression was sour and controlled.

“Look, can we just get on with the rehearsals? It’s always the same, it always ends up with the Emma and Simon show.” Julie snapped, sick to death of the whole rigmarole. “We should never have gotten rid of Sue; she was a much better Martha!” She said under her breath; this wasn’t what she signed up for, she wanted a chance to appear in one her favorite stories; she idolised the film with Richard Burton and Liz Taylor. This was turning out to be a nightmare.

“Oh, shut up, Mouse! Sue was a bitch and you know it. There was no way she was going to get this part anyway!” Emma acerbically replied, referencing Julie’s stature, which she hated. Although Emma was only a few inches taller than Julie she more than made up for it in build and attitude. 

Emma normally wore glasses but she thought they made her look too frumpy for the part so she insisted that she play the role without them which added extra hazard to the story as she 

could barely see where she was going. There was no point marking crosses on the ground for her to stand on because she couldn’t see them; in fact it was dangerous her moving about the set full stop. The set dressing was therefore minimalist to prevent stumbling and accidents from occurring.

Just then the door opened and everyone turned to berate Beverley, who was Julie’s understudy. She was late, as usual, and Steven was close to asking her to leave the production. She barely managed to get through the door before collapsing.Sam ran over to her, this was no case of just being late. It had been raining outside but the liquid running down her arms and staining her sweater wasn’t water, it was blood.

“What the hell happened?” Sam asked.

“Someone… someone just attacked me; couldn’t see who it was.” Beverley replied, gasping for breath. Pete and Ryan ran over to her as well. Ryan started to tear up strips from his shirt and tied a tourniquet just above her wound.

“Someone else tired of your tardiness?” Emma snidely said from the back of the room.

“Shut the fuck up, Emma -this is serious.” Pete snapped back. Emma walked over and saw the cut and blanched.

“I was.. wa.. walking to the drama studio; wasn’t even aware that there was anyone else around. Didn’t see a thing, just felt something strike my arm… When I turned he was right there, but I couldn’t see his face.”

“Why couldn’t you? ” Emma asked.

“He was wearing something over his face; a stocking or mask… I don’t know; the only thing I knew was that I was bleeding… he stabbed me.. HE STABBED ME!” Beverley cried out.  “Who would do such a thing?”

“How do you know it was a man that did it?” Sam asked.

“Come on, understudy! Be serious! Of course, it’s a man.” Emma snapped.

“I don’t think that’s the point.” Pete remonstrated.

“Wait a minute, what happened to them? What happened to the person that stabbed you?” Ryan asked.

“I don’t know… I managed to push them away after they stabbed me and I was almost here anyway. I lost sight of them when I opened the door.”

“Where are they? Where the fuck are they?” Emma asked. Suddenly all the lights in the studio were excised and the everyone shouted out against the blackness.

“Now what the fuck is happening?” Steve exclaimed, now really pissed off with the whole situation. He was now bitterly regretting taking part in the play. “I wish to God someone would….”

“Where’s the damn light switch?” Emma snarled. Ryan allowed his eyes to become adjusted to the gloom and could make out the outline of the door. Sure enough, there was the light switch -thank god for that! 

“Is it raining in here?” Sam asked. “I’m still getting wet!” No one paid any notice to her but Ryan suddenly switched the light on and was almost deafened by the screams of those behind him. He whirled round. It took a couple of seconds before he could take it all in. Steve was slumped in one of the chairs  like a marionette whose strings had been cut but with the largest smile spreading from ear to ear. Sam was screaming, it wasn’t rain that had spattered her but the pressurized arterial spray.

Mrs Wilson couldn’t hear the screams because of the rain and the distance between her classroom and the drama hut but then the lights blinked off and then back on again. What the hell were they up to? She walked to the window and peered out; it was difficult to make out exactly what was going on but something was happening. She didn’t like being disturbed; they knew better than to trouble her… but equally she knew that she had to get involved, just in case. Whatever it was, it better be worth it!

“What do we do? Who killed him?” Sam cried out, hysterically.

“Which one of you killed him?” Emma retorted.

“Nice, Emma -really tactful.” Pete snapped back. “If you’ve got nothing better to say then just shut up!” As if on cue the lights were stabbed out again, throwing the room into darkness once more. This time everyone cried out, but Emma screamed the loudest before being cut short. Silence fell and they could all hear someone faintly singing a very familiar theme song from the room next door.

“Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf? Virginia Woolf? Virginia Woolf? You should be because you’ll be next!”

When the lights flicked back on Emma had disappeared but there were two bloody trails on the floor leading to the opposite room.

“What are we going to do?” Julie sobbed staring at the crimson streaks. “Should we see if she’s alright?”

“Fuck that.” Pete replied and headed to the door. “Anyone who goes into that room is bound to be the next one dead.. that ain’t going to be me! Mrs Wilson must have heard something, we need to get to her before the killer gets to us!”

The six of them ran out of the drama studio, Julie and Sam in front with Pete and Simon protecting Beverley, who was now close to hysterics; Steve urging them all on from behind. He’d seen the movies too and knew that the killer could easily chase after them. As he left, he heard a familiar throaty chuckle and slammed the door behind him.

Mrs Wilson was outside now and running as best she could in the awful weather. She could see the drama studio in the distance and make out the pupils running towards her, but something was happening; something bad. 

Too much happened at once.  Pete was running as fast as he could with Beverley in tow; he 

had no idea what happened to Emma and he didn’t really care. His instinct for self-preservation had kicked in. Beverley was dragging her feet for some reason and he was close to just letting her go. In front he could see the bulk of Mrs Wilson running towards them, he’d never been so happy to see anyone, let alone her. 

It was still pissing down with rain but that was the least of his concerns; something was wrong behind him and he was just about to tell Beverley to hurry up when he saw Simon fall somehow, almost as if he had been struck from behind. Pete thought that Beverley had fallen as well, but she then twisted and dived at him, battering at his chest with her fist. But it wasn’t her fist. ...He didn’t feel it at first, the cold and driving rain had numbed him but then the blood started flowing but he couldn’t get her off.

It was just a fettling knife from the pottery classroom, but it was more than effective as Steve found out as he tried to pull her off  Pete's prone, blood-soaked body. All it took was one slash from the thin blade straight across Steve's wrists to make him fall back. He needed no further encouragement and scrabbled away just as quick as he could.

Sam and Julie saw it all happen and didn’t stop to find out who was still alive, Beverley was still stabbing the prone bodies of Pete and Simon in tandem, her face contorted into ecstatic madness. Mrs Wilson had caught up with the girls and dragged them away; there was only one place she could think of that would give them any degree of shelter, let alone protection -her geography lab.

“What are we doing here?” Sam asked as they ran into Mrs Wilsons classroom. “Why aren’t we calling the police and running away from here?”

“You think that’s going to do any good? How many killers are there?” Mrs Wilson challenged back. Both Sam and Julie gave contradictory answers. “Exactly. Police have been called; they’ll be here soon. I told them where we’d be. They know there’s a disturbance and that kids are involved…” She checked around her for something to use; anything that could be 

used a weapon of some kind. 

“There’s a disturbance all right.” Came the voice from the door. “Though I doubt any of you will still be alive by the time the police get here.”

“I always said you were the optimistic one, Beverley.” Mrs Wilson replied, not letting the fear show on her face. It didn’t sit right; yeah, Beverley was standing there with the knife twisting and turning as she twirled it around; blood glistening in the pale light; but she was nowhere near smart or unhinged enough to have done this. “But I never had you pegged as being the psycho. You’ve always been the follower, never the instigator!”

“Shut up!” Beverley shouted as she lunged at Mrs Wilson, but someone stopped her.

“Temper, temper…” Beverley whirled round to see who had prevented her from making the kill. It was Sue. “..Mrs Wilson always was the observant one. Sheath your claws, understudy. I want to savour this.”

“Now what the hell are you trying to pull here, Ms Gerald?” Mrs Wilson asked, slowly edging around to her ore samples on the back shelf.

“Is this some kind of revenge for not casting you as Martha?” Sam asked, shocked that this was actually happening. Beverley had always been a bit of a prima donna but Sue was completely the opposite, a bookworm, quiet but not pathologically so.

“Are you kidding me?” Sue spat back. “Who wants to be in the school play when I can be star of my own show here?”

“What about me then?” Beverley suddenly replied, turning to her. “You couldn’t have done this without me, remember…”

“Well… I guess we’re going to see, aren’t we?” The blow was quick, too quick for Beverley to flinch away from. It had been practiced, honed to perfection through too many rehearsals and it struck her in the heart. “You were never anything more than an understudy, and a poor one at that.” And Sue twisted the knife hard making Beverley twitch like a broken toy.

“You didn’t need to do that.” Julie cried.

“I need someone to take the blame for your deaths, don’t I?” Sue sneered.

“So you just going to kill us then? And blame it on her?” Mrs Wilson asked, she was right by her collection of flint geodes, right where she wanted to be. 

“Why not?”

“How about telling us why you’re doing it? Don’t we deserve to find out?” 

“Like your last requests?” Sue sneered.

“Oh yes, God yes…” Sam cried.

“You honestly think you’re going to delay me until the police get here? You think I’m stupid?”

“God no.” Sam sobbed. “God no…”

“Well.. now that you come to mention it…” Mrs Wilson replied. Sam and Julie couldn’t believe what they were hearing and instinctively backed away from her, aghast at what they were hearing, which was exactly what she wanted.

“You must have some kind of death-wish… and I always pegged you as smart.” Sue retorted.

“Only in relation to some… Look, I’ve not got all day; if you’re going to kill me then bloody hurry up!”

Sue snarled and ran towards her, knife held high over her head, but Mrs Wilson was ready for her. She kicked the chair in front of her which forced Sue off balance, making her to take her eyes off the teacher. It was then that Mrs Wilson grabbed the flint geode from the shelf behind her and, brandishing it like a cricket ball, smacked her on the head with a sickening thud. Sue collapsed on the ground, scattering the tables around her.

“Is she still alive?” Julie sobbed.

Mrs Wilson heard the police cars pulling into the school ground. “She’s not that good an actress....”