Behind the Scripts Stories in Progress

SCRIPT

HAUNTING DEPTHS - SUPAY´S REALM

Written by Frank Lehmann

First Draft 01.11.2025

Freiwasser Filmproduktion

Metelsdorfer Str. 2b

23972 Dorf Mecklenburg

GERMANY

Phone: +49 178 1339406

Mail: info@frank-lehmann.biz

EXT. ABANDONED PSYCHIATRIC CLINIC - LATE AFTERNOON

A decrepit psychiatric clinic looms at the end of an overgrown path. TOM (20) and DENNIS (20) stand before its massive, weathered door. Each holds a camera. They share an excited, mischievous grin.

TOM (INTO HIS CAMERA)

This is insane! Look at this place, Dennis!

DENNIS (RAISING HIS CAMERA)

Lost Place number seven-this is

gonna be our highlight reel!

They set their shoulders and push the heavy door. It creaks open, stirring dust motes in the fading light.

INT. ABANDONED PSYCHIATRIC CLINIC - HALLWAY - LATE AFTERNOON

Their flashlights sweep across peeling wallpaper, broken furniture, and scattered debris. Their voices echo, full of nervous laughter.

DENNIS

I'm sending a video to my mom. She's gonna freak when she sees where we are.

Dennis checks his phone. No signal.

DENNIS (QUIET FRUSTRATION) (CONT'D)

Damn. No reception. I'll step outside for a sec.

Tom nods, distracted by an old medical cabinet. Dennis slips out.

EXT. ABANDONED PSYCHIATRIC CLINIC - EARLY EVENING

Dennis stands in the dimming light, illuminated by the glow of his phone's screen. He quickly sends the video. Relieved, he heads back in.

INT. ABANDONED PSYCHIATRIC CLINIC - HALLWAY - EARLY EVENING

Dennis returns, expecting Tom's eager chatter. Instead-silence.

DENNIS

Tom? Hey, where'd you go?

He searches room after room. On the floor: TOM'S BACKPACK and a FLASHLIGHT still shining.

DENNIS (UNDER HIS BREATH) (CONT'D)

What the hell...?

A faint, scratching whisper radiates from the shadows. Dennis lifts the flashlight, pointing it toward the sound.

Black, pulsating veins spread across the walls, creeping closer with unsettling speed.

DENNIS (SHAKEN) (CONT'D)

Oh God.

He staggers back. The flashlight slips from his hand and lands on the floor. In its narrow beam, a zombie-like figure scuttles past.

Dennis screams-raw and terrified-and then, abruptly, silence.

Only the flashlight remains, illuminating empty space and the distant echo of something dreadful that just happened.

EXT. COUNTRY ROAD / FOREST - DAY (DRONE SHOT)

A compact car glides along a winding country road, flanked by dense forest. From high above, the lush canopy spreads out below. TITLE and CREDITS appear on screen as the car continues on its path.

The view follows the car into a small TOWN, still from the air. It cruises down the main street, passing modest shops and cottages, finally coming to a stop in front of the POLICE STATION.

The car halts.

END DRONE SHOT.

EXT. POLICE STATION - DAY

At ground level, ALICE (38) steps out of the car. She closes the door firmly and walks toward the station´s entrance, determination in every step.

INT. POLICE STATION - DAY

A busy open-plan office. SEVERAL OFFICERS at their desks, typing reports, sorting through files. Computers hum softly, a ceiling fan turns lazily. At the entrance, behind a COUNTER, a DESK OFFICER (50) reads a newspaper.

ALICE (38) enters. Concern and determination etched on her face, she heads straight for the counter.

ALICE

Excuse me, I'm looking for my son, Dennis Walker. He and his friend Tom have been missing for two months. I've got a lead that they were last seen in this area.

The DESK OFFICER lowers his newspaper, sighing as if irritated.

DESK OFFICER

Sorry, ma'am. Can't help you with that.

(calls over his shoulder) Petersen! Could you handle this?

At the back of the room, a door opens: STEVE MILES (42) steps out of the HANK OBAMA'S OFFICE. Holding a few files, he moves toward his desk, right next to OFFICER PETERSEN (35). He settles in quietly, observing the exchange from a short distance.

ALICE looks uncertain, then walks over to PETERSEN's desk. PETERSEN barely acknowledges her presence.

PETERSEN

What's this about?

ALICE

My son Dennis and his friend Tom disappeared two months ago. Dennis sent me this video of them entering an old clinic nearby. He's registered as missing in London. Please, I need your help.

She shows PETERSEN a photo of DENNIS and TOM and the VIDEO on her phone. PETERSEN gives it a cursory glance.

STEVE, now seated at his desk, pretends to flip through documents but is actually listening closely. He frowns at his colleague's dismissive attitude.

PETESEN

(sighing)

We've had all the info from London PD. No sign of your boys here.

PETERSEN (CONT'D)

They probably just took off. Happens all the time. People vanish and then turn up later.

ALICE's voice trembles with anxiety.

ALICE

You don't understand-this clinic, something's wrong! I need you to look into it.

PETERSEN raises a hand dismissively.

PETERSEN

Ma'am, without concrete evidence, there's not much we can do. Our resources are limited. Trust the authorities.

ALICE is on the verge of tears, yet tries to remain composed.

ALICE But

my son-

PETERSEN glances at the clock, impatient.

PETERSEN

I'm on break now. Sorry.

ALICE stands there, devastated. She turns and walks toward the exit. STEVE watches her go, sensing her despair. He says nothing but his tight jaw and narrowed eyes reveal his disapproval. As ALICE reaches the door, STEVE shakes his head slightly, then returns to his files, already considering how he might take action on his own.

EXT. POLICE STATION - DAY

The police station door swings open. ALICE (38) steps out, the sunlight catching her eyes. She walks to her car parked nearby, shoulders squared, her face a mask of controlled resolve. Still, there's a tension in her eyes that betrays her inner turmoil.

She gets in, closes the door. For a moment, she breaks down completely, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her breath comes in shaky gasps. After a few moments, she wipes her face, checking her reflection in the rearview mirror, determined to regain composure.

ALICE picks up her PHONE and dials. It rings

ALICE (TRYING TO SOUND CALM)

Hello? Yes, it's Alice. I just wanted to let you know I'm here. I spoke with the police, but. they're not taking this seriously. I'm so sorry. Look, I'm not giving up. I'm going to stay here, find a room, and keep looking for Dennis and Tom. I won't stop, okay?

She listens, nodding as though the other person could see her.

ALICE

Yes, I'll call you again as soon as I have any news. Thank you. Take care. Bye.

She ends the call, starts the engine, and pulls onto the main street. The car glides through the small town until the buildings give way to the sights of the HARBOR ahead. Alice´s gaze remains steady, determined.

INT. SMALL HOTEL AT THE HARBOR - DAY

A cozy lobby with warm lighting. Through a large window near the reception desk, sunlight filters in, revealing a view of the harbor. Next to the desk is a small table where two GUESTS (in their 30s) browse brochures and quietly discuss the local attractions.

ALICE (38) enters, carrying a travel bag. She appears determined but maintains a polite demeanor. Behind the RECEPTION stands SARAH (27), smiling warmly.

SARAH

Good afternoon, welcome! How can I help you?

ALICE

Good afternoon. I'd like a room, please-just for three nights to start.

Sarah inputs some details into the computer, her smile never fading.

SARAH

No problem. We have a lovely room overlooking the harbor. May I have your name?

ALICE

Alice Walker.

Sarah types a bit more, then retri ves a key.

SARAH

Ms. Walker, here are your keys. You'll find your room on the first floor. Just take the stairs next to the reception desk. Your room number is 12.

Alice takes the key, then hesitates slightly before asking:

ALICE

One more thing-do you know anything about missing persons in this area?

Sarah shakes her head, still polite and composed.

SARAH

I'm sorry, not that I know of. Is everything all right?

Alice offers a faint smile.

ALICE

Yes, thank you. I was just curious. Thanks again.

She picks up her bag and heads upstairs. The guests at the table continue murmuring softly among themselves as Sarah returns to her tasks.

INT. HOTEL ROOM - DAY

ALICE (38) enters the room, setting her travel bag on a chair beside a small table. The space is sparsely furnished but clean and cozy. There's a double bed, a small wardrobe, a bedside table with a lamp. Warm hues on the walls give a soft, welcoming glow despite the simplicity.

She surveys the room, takes a quick look into the adjacent bathroom, then moves past the double bed to the window. Pulling the curtain aside, she gazes out: boats in the harbor, a gentle breeze rippling the water's surface. Under...