Little Monsters

Little Monsters  

Screenplay by       Ted Elliot

          Terry Rossio

Produced by       John Davis

          Andrew Licht

          Jeffrey A. Mueller

Directed by       Richard Alan Greenberg

Cast List:

Fred Savage      Brian

Howie Mandel      Maurice

Daniel Stern      Glen Stevenson

Margaret Whitton    Holly Stevenson

Rick Ducommun    Snik

Frank Whaley      Boy

Ben Savage      Eric

William Murray Weiss   Todd
 

FADE IN:

ON AN OLD ALARM CLOCK
 

TICKING, the bells gone, the little hand missing, the big hand indicating twenty-after-something. It is bound with black electrical tape, time-bomb fashion, to a plastic water-filled spray bottle.

The alarm RINGS; the bell hammer tugging the piece of kite string tied to the trigger of the bottle; water is misted onto the face of –

BRIAN STEVENSON, a dark-haired twelve-year-old with eyes that don't miss much. Awake now, he shuts off the alarm and snaps on the Tensor lamp next to his bed. We are

INT. STEVENSON HOME – ATTIC ROOM – NIGHT

A huge poster shows the history of train engines. A stairway is cut into the floor. No curtains on the window. A just-past-half moon shines in the night sky.

Brian pulls on a pair of thick wool socks. He skates past a cluttered worktable, across the hardwood floor to the stairs.

INT. HALLWAY

Brian moves quietly past a closed door; on it, a plaque reads 'Eric's Room' above a picture of an antique car.

Farther down is another closed door. Brian pauses, listening to the sounds of Mom and Dad arguing; no words can be made out, only the tones, the rise, fall, sharpness of voices.

Brian looks away from the door. Prepares for his assault on the stairs. He reaches his foot down – and the step CREAKS loudly. Brian freezes. He moves his foot to the left, puts his weight on it. Silence. He goes right for two more, skips the next stair altogether, making his way to the bottom of the minefield of possible creaks and groans.

INT. KITCHEN

Brian whips up a balogna-mustard-onion sandwich. He glances at the clock – 12:27 – working under a deadline.

INT. LIVING ROOM

Brian – silently – pushes an armchair up to the television. He turns the volume knob down, holds the remote control an inch from the set, thumbs it. Brian adjusts the volume so it's barely audible – just in time for the opening of 'Late Night With David Letterman.'

He sits back. Unseen by Brian a quick, subtle movement – just a shadow, really – heads for the stairs.

Brian takes a bite of the sandwich –
 

– and then there is a SCREAM that could wake the dead.

Brian shoves the chair back, remotes the set off on the run, tosses the control on the couch, and races for the stairs.

EXT. STEVENSON HOME – NIGHT

A rambling, two-story mid-western house with screened-in front porch stands dark on a large wooded lot. The SCREAMING continues, going hoarse. A second-story bedroom light comes on.

INT. STEVENSON HOME – STAIRWELL

Brian is only halfway up the stairs when his escape route is cut off: light from his parents' room spills into the hall. Brian melts back into the shadows. HOLLY and GLEN STEVENSON hurry to the already open door of Eric's room.

INT. ERIC'S BEDROOM

No curtains in here, either. ERIC STEVENSON, nine years old with light brown hair and fine features, sits huddled in bed, breathing hard, blinking in the sudden glare of the overhead light.

ERIC
Mom! There was a monster!

Holly relaxes, smiles. She is a dark-eyed woman on the other side of thirty, pretty giving way to elegant. She gestures to Eric.

HOLLY

Skootch over.

Holly sits down on the bed beside Eric. She hugs him.

HOLLY

It was just a bad dream.

ERIC

But I wasn't sleeping!

HOLLY

Sometimes you dream you're awake, but you're not.

Glen, slightly older than Holly, bearded, stands slumped against the door frame. He is a polished man but worn, the veteran of too many such late night disturbances.

GLEN

It was probably just the house settling. You're not used to it, yet.

ERIC

It wasn't the house – there was a monster! It zoomed in from the hall and went under my bed!

Holly and Glen exchange a look.

GLEN

Eric... when you dream, it's just your brain's way of sorting out things you learned during the day. So if you found out something –

ERIC

I found out there's a monster under my bed! It ran in from the hall – it grabbed my ankle!

HOLLY

There's no monster under your bed. Here.

She gets down on one knee and –
 

ERIC

No, Mom! Don't!

– sticks her arm into the under-the-bed. She sweeps it back and forth, pulls it out. It is rather dusty.

HOLLY

See? No monsters.

(notices the dust, brushes it off)

All the dust bunnies scare 'em away.

ERIC

(a new threat)

... bunnies?

INT. HALLWAY

Brian rolls his eyes. He sneaks toward the attic stairs.

INT. ERIC'S BEDROOM

GLEN

There are no bunnies and no monsters. There's nothing under your bed.

HOLLY

Maybe we should get the flashlight.

Eric crosses his arms and gives Glen a grave nod.

GLEN

Holly, if we humor him –

(off her look)

All right.

INT. HALLWAY

Brian commando-rolls into the bathroom, disappearing just before Glen steps into the hall.

INT. ERIC'S BEDROOM

Holly pulls the covers up to Eric's chin, tucking him in.

HOLLY

You want to know a secret? The monsters are more afraid of you than you are of them.

Eric looks very doubtful. He inches the covers down to free his arms.

HOLLY

Once you realize they don't exist, they're gone. That's a lot of power. I wish I could do that to the heating bill.

She pulls the covers back up to Eric's chin. Glen returns, presents the flashlight to Eric.

GLEN

Easy on the batteries, kid.

Eric takes the flashlight, grips it tightly.

HOLLY

We'll leave the hall light on and the door open.

HOLLY & GLEN

'Night, Eric.

ERIC

G'night...

Glen turns off the room light.

INT. HALLWAY

The pair move toward their bedroom door, speaking softly:

GLEN

Do you think he heard us?

HOLLY

Of course he heard. What do you think scared him? He was –

The clicking shut of the bedroom door cuts her off.

INT. ERIC'S BEDROOM

Eric lies on his side, back to the door, eyes wide. He hears something. He can't look. Then he jumps, arms flailing, a scream on its way – cut off by a hand clamping over his mouth. He trains the flashlight on his ankle –

– a hand is wrapped around it; the beam runs past the wrist, up the arm, to Brian's face, grinning out of the darkness. His attitude is that of a friendly co-conspirator, a helpful ally in the kids vs. parents cold war.

BRIAN

They were lying.

Eric stares at him, his mouth still covered.

BRIAN

There is a monster.

Eric shakes his head 'no' emphatically.

BRIAN

It went for your ankle, right? It got mine. Where do you think I got this?

Brian takes his hands away. Sticks out one leg, pulls up his pajamas cuff, revealing the old, ugly scar on his ankle. Eric stares at it, a little panicked.

ERIC

You got that when your foot got caught in the spokes. When you were little!

Brian looks at him and smiles pityingly.

BRIAN

That's what...

(jerks his head towards their parents' room)

... they want you to think.

Eric, eyes widening, turns to look in the direction Brian jerked his head. Brian's smile gets bigger as he backs toward the door.

BRIAN

They're supposed to be comforting – they're parents. I'm your brother.

(reaches for the knob)

Here – I'll close this... you really ought to keep the lights down.

ERIC

(a whisper)

Why?

BRIAN

(matter-of-fact)

Because monsters are just like moths... they're attracted to light.