House on Haunted Hill

     Where Sara Wolfe sits, decked out in near-dead-ringers
     clothes and hair-do as we last saw on Jennifer Jenzen: black
     silk suit, stiletco heels and an up-sweep -- holding that
     same ivory-colored card in her hand:

                           Steven K. Price
                        COMMANDS YOU TO ATTEND
                A Very Unique Birthday Celebration For
                      Mrs. Evelyn Stockard-Price

     And then the CAMERA WHIPLASH CRANES BACK from Sara and the
     vehicle in which she's sitting, to reveal the grand vista of:

     EXT. WINDING ROAD - NIGHT

     which snakes crazily up the Pacific Palisades, the crashing
     waves of the ocean seen in the background. We see that the
     vehicle Sara is riding in is the lead car of a MOTORCADE
     comprised of four '50's vintage HEARSES.

                           MAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
                The man's insane.

     And we whip back towards the source of this voice:

     INT. HEARSE #2 - MOVING - NIGHT

     where we see this Man's well-tanned hand holding the same
     ivory card, which continues:

                  Terror, Humiliation, Perhaps Even
                               MURDER
                      Will Be The Entertainment

                           WOMAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
                Don't get much better than that.

     INT. HEARSE #3 - MOVING - NIGHT

     where we see the well-manicured hands of this Woman, her left
     holding an 8mm Camcorder; her right, the same card:

                    With ONE MILLION DOLLARS Paid
                To Those That Survive The Entire Night

                           YOUNG MAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
                Terrific: what's the catch?

     INT. HEARSE #4 - MOVING - NIGHT

     where we see hands of a Man barely out of his teens, his
     muscular right hand holding that same card as well:

                        Inside the Walls Of
                     THE HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL

     Suddenly the screech of brakes is heard -- Hearse #4 jolts to
     a halt. The invitation flies from the Young Man's hand and to
     the floor, the rest of its text unread.

     EXT. "THE HOUSE" - NIGHT

     We see the reason for the sudden stop of the cortege. An
     ancient CHRYSLER K CAR is parked clear across the road,
     barring the entrance to the gate of a razor-wire security
     fence that encircles the premises. Beat. And then a short,
     slight MAN steps out of the vehicle. In the glare of the
     Hearses' headlights his features look cadaverous. Between
     that and the fact he's jittering like a hummingbird on speed,
     he makes a pretty unsettling presence.

     The Man walks slowly towards the hearses, beckoning the
     riders out.

                           MAN (PRITCHETT)
                This is the end...by car anyway.
                What with the '94 quake and El Nino,
                the driveway's been pretty much
                destroyed. 'Shame. Have to hoof it
                from here.

     The well-tanned Man from Hearse #2 steps out: DR. DONALD W.
     BLACKBURN -- he could be anywhere from 19 to 90. The only
     thing that's clear is all the cosmetic surgery he's had makes
     him look like George Hamilton, circa 1962. He asks the
     obvious:

                           BLACKBURN
                If you don't mind me asking... Who are
                you?

                           PRITCHETT
                Name's Pritchett. Watson Pritchett.
                I own the house, my father built it.
                And now I just need to get you into
                it. So...

     The Camcorder Woman steps out of Hearse #3: a Jenny Jones-
     clone named MELISSA MARR, 27.

                           MELISSA
                Where's Steven Price and his huge,
                throbbing checkbook?

                           PRITCHETT
                Not with you, is he? Well, I'm sure
                he'll turn up any second now... If
                you'll just come along...

     The Muscular Young Man from Hearse #4 steps out: a good-
     looking specimen named EDDIE MOSES, 23.

                           EDDIE
                I wanna know first: to what do I
                owe this honor? I mean, I never
                even heard of this guy.

                           PRITCHETT
                I'm just the Greeter -- and
                in that capacity, I now urge you
                all strongly to --

     And then Sara-as-Jenzen regally alights from Hearse #1.

                           SARA
                But the million bucks each, that's
                for real?

                           PRITCHETT
                     (a forced chuckle)
                It better be -- he still owes me
                $25 grand for renting the place
                for the night! Here, let's get
                you some illumination so you
                can make your way safely!

     He grabs a flashlight from his car and shoves it in Sara's
     hand.

                           PRITCHETT
                Just point and walk, sis -- the
                place is right up --

      -- and as if on cue, a battery of magnesium floods suddenly
     light up the night like high noon, revealing the House in all
     its glory.

                           PRITCHETT
                     (startled)
                ...there.

     Sitting high atop a bluff over the Pacific, a sprawling
     grey-stone structure. One-third Eames, to one-third Wright,
     to one-third Bauhaus.

     It might look innocuous in the daylight, but right now it
     looks like Albert Speer's Playhouse. And underscoring the
     creepy ambience is MUSIC now blaring from speakers perched
     atop the gate: Marilyn Manson's screeching Goth-metal cover
     of "Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of These)".

                           BLACKBURN
                Nice touch, Pritchett: subtle.

                           EDDIE
                As a tumor.

                           PRITCHETT
                Wish I could take the credit, but --

                           SARA
                 -- guess we know where Mr. Price is
                now.

                           PRITCHETT
                He must've beaten us all here!

                           EDDIE
                'Less the place really is haunted.

                           PRITCHETT
                Nonsense! Just bad press. All the
                deaths that occurred inside --
                my own father's included -- all
                perfectly normal fatal accidents.

                           MELISSA
                You better be wrong. I didn't
                come all this way for "normal."

     She starts making her way up the disaster of a driveway. Dr.
     Blackburn and Sara look at each other and shrug.

     They start likewise walking towards the house. The only one
     left is Eddie. He stares at the little man.

                           EDDIE
                You're totally full of shit, aren't you?

                           PRITCHETT
                     (brightly)
                You'll never know 'til you walk
                through that door!

     Eddie dismisses him with a flap of his hand and sprints to
     catch up with the others. Pritchett yells after him:

                           PRITCHETT
                You wouldn't consider getting my check
                and running it back down here?

     No response. Beat. Pritchett gets out of his car.

                           PRITCHETT
                Didn't think so. Asshole.

     He starts jittering his way up the drive.

     INT. GRAND FOYER - SOON AFTER

     Cold. Flinty. Two stories high and domed, with a stained
     glass skylight topping it. Despite their varied states of
     confusion, the four Guests stop in their tracks as they
     enter, struck dumb with awe.

                           EDDIE
                ...Jesus H. Christ.

                           MELISSA
                So where's the party?

                           SARA
                Looks like we're it.

                           BLACKBURN
                More to the point. Where's our host?

                           MELISSA
                More to the point: what in the
                name of fuck is that?

     She's pointing up at the stained glass skylight. It seems to
     depict a Man with dozens of hideous creatures hovering round
     his head. And above them all looms a huge something with
     wings and flaming claws.

                           BLACKBURN
                More of Price's spook-house bullshit.

                           PRITCHETT (O.S.)
                Not at all!

     They turn to see Pritchett's head poking through the doorway
     -- putting as little of himself as possible inside the house
     proper.

                           PRITCHETT
                Part of the original structure. When it
                was still an asylum. Guy who ran the
                place -- Dr. Vannacutt -- found it
                "inspirational." From some German
                cathedral a million years ago: "Driving
                the Demons From the Mind."

                           BLACKBURN
                I'm moved beyond words.

                           MELISSA
                The hint of still weirder shit
                to come, I can only hope.

     She whips the Camcorder to her eye and starts recording every
     detail of the skylight. Dr. Blackburn rolls his eyes.
     Pritchett starts calling loudly:

                           PRITCHETT
                Mr. Price? Mrs. Price? Somebody? Hello??

                           BLACKBURN
                Pritchett, take it down a couple
                hundred decibels, what is your
                problem?

                           PRITCHETT
                Problem? No problem -- just want to get
                my money and get on home -- you know,
                things to see, people to do?

     He laughs weakly; starts shouting again:

                           PRITCHETT
                Mr. Price?? Mrs. Price??

     Melissa Marr continues to shoot up a storm of tape in the
     room, as overexcited as a five-year-old who's lost her
     Ritalin.

                           MELISSA
                I knew this whole place'd be pure gold!
                Pritchett, point me in the direction of
                the goddamn ghosts! If I can get
                something bizarre enough on tape, I
                think I can parlay it into getting me
                some kind'a Robert Stack "Unsolved Most-
                Wacked-Out Home Videos" gig. No more
                five afternoons a week of sex-change-
                Nazis-and-the-lesbos-that-love-'em.

                           EDDIE
                You've got your own TV show?

                           MELISSA
                The guy whose hair I do has his own TV
                show. All I've got is a blow-dryer and a
                dream.

     Sara's staring at something that's making her more nervous by
     the second:

                           SARA
                Uh, excuse me -- but does anybody know
                any logical reason why those little
                demons would be moving?

     She's pointing to the skylight.

                           MELISSA
                Where?

     She whips her camera up at the stained glass. Zooms in. Tense
     beat. And then lowers the camera, sighing in disappointment:

                           MELISSA
                ...birds. Just seagulls or something
                walking on the glass, goddammit.

                           EDDIE
                Cheer up: before the night's through,
                I'm sure one of us'll get hacked to
                pieces by somebody or something.

                           VOICE (O.S.)
                I may start right now.

     All heads turn again -- standing in the open front doorway,
     dressed absolutely to kill is a not-terribly-pleased-looking
     EVELYN STOCKARD-PRICE.

                           EVELYN
                Who the fuck are all of you??