“Trapped in a deadly storm, trust no one. When every identity hides a secret, who is the real killer?”
Prologue: “The Storm’s Prelude”
The first drop of rain crashed on the arid desert floor, the dry soil sucked it up thirstily. The placid horizon, once dominated by the setting sun, was now eclipsed by the brewing tempest amassing fury upon the burning dunes. The landscape, known for its merciless aridity, was now on the brink of a violent, deadly deluge.
Perched on the edge of nowhere, a dimly lit motel sign flickered, fighting against the onslaught of the imminent storm. It was more of a last refuge than a destination — the Bates Motel, promising sanctuary in its eerie solitude.
Various souls, each carrying the weight of their past, had unknowingly begun hurtling towards this oasis amidst the tempest. Beneath the booming thunder and the ominous desert sky raced Larry, struggling to keep the wheel steady, with his wife, Alice, heavy with child, grimacing with discomfort. Simultaneously, a resolute Paris, leaving a tormented past in her wake, cruised down the gnarled roads in her convertible. A family of three, George and Lou with their son Timmy, were also caught in this ferocious whirl of sand and storm. Guided by cruel fate, former cop turned limo-driver Ed, with his charge, the moody, Hollywood actress Caroline, also found himself en route to the Bates Motel. The paths of these unsuspecting travelers were about to converge in a most horrifying way.
Unknown to them, the Bates Motel was no ordinary refuge but a stage for a sinister act — a murderous spectacle, orchestrated by a deranged director whose identity was as indiscernible as the storm that brought them together.
Chapter 1: “The Arrival”
As the sporadic lightning pierced through the curtains of torrential rain and vengeful wind, the motley group of tired and weather-beaten travelers stumbled into the lobby of the Bates Motel. The pleasant warmth of the room did little to thaw the chill that had taken hold of their bones and souls.
Larry, burly yet anxious, juggled between comforting his pregnant wife Alice and managing the check-in. Paris, wrapped in an air of mysterious allure, studied the room with astute eyes. Ed, with an air of hardened pragmatism, ensured Caroline, high on her delicate beauty and fame, was comfortable, while George attempted to reign in an excited Timmy, thrilled by the adventure. Lou, ever the worrisome mother, kept a watchful eye on her son.
An eerily calm motel manager, Malcom, with his unnerving crooked smile, welcomed them, handing each a key to their respective rooms. On the edges of their tired consciousness, none noticed the ominous number of keys Malcom pulled out from the drawer — one less than the number of guests.
One by one, they moved to their assigned rooms, a somewhat safe harbor from the storm. Unbeknownst to them, not all would be as lucky in this game of life and death. As the rain lashed harder, the first flickers of a horrifying revelation were about to come to light. When Larry returned to the lobby after settling Alice, he noticed a child’s drawing discarded on the reception desk. It depicted the motel, its guests, and a bloodcurdling shadow looming over them, poised to strike.
The stage was set, the cue given, and the twisted game in the Bates Motel had officially begun. As the storm raucously celebrated its dominance over the desert, this dance of fear, suspense, and eerie anticipation was poised to take off, plunging the group into an abyss they never dreamt of. As the night wore on, the wind whispered the chilling question – Who amongst them, under the deceptive mask of a simple traveler, was the deranged murderer?
Chapter 2: “The First Fall”
The hour was late when the first casualty fell prey to the silent, malignant force lingering in the air. The motel, a once serene oasis in the desert, now hummed with unease and dread, transforming into a macabre stage primed for tragedy.
Ed, a middle-aged salesman known for his jovial disposition, had been the heart of the group, often diffusing tension with his anecdotes and infectious laughter. His lifeless body now lay sprawled in Room 6, a grotesque mockery of the life he once represented. The sight sent waves of shock and fear through the group, an icy realization that the storm raging outside was no longer their greatest threat.
George, a former detective, took it upon himself to examine Ed’s room, his instincts kicking in. The others watched with bated breath, the palpable tension creating an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the relentless battering of rain against the windows. The room bore no signs of forced entry, and there seemed to be no struggle – as if Ed had welcomed his demise with open arms.
Confusion, terror, and paranoia started to blur the lines between friend and foe. Accusations were thrown around as subtly as thrown daggers; their veiled glances filled with suspicion pointing towards guilty parties drawn from their imaginings. The group was disintegrating, their unity torn apart by the traumatizing events.
Alice, a quiet housewife, instinctively clutched her child closer. Larry, an ex-convict trying to mend his ways, turned introverted, his eyes hiding more than they revealed. Ginny, the cheerful receptionist, lost her radiant smile. The very air of the motel seemed to grow colder as trust evaporated, replaced by an all-pervading fear.
As the night deepened, so did the mystery. George found a strange, crude drawing under Ed’s bed, a child’s artwork representing their innocent portrayal of murder. What was more chilling was the striking resemblance the drawing had with the scene before them. Alice’s child, Timmy, known for his vivid imagination and artistic prowess, became an unlikely suspect. But could a child barely ten commit such a heinous act?
Adding fuel to the fire, Larry was found in possession of a blood-stained shirt, an unsettling discovery that veered the suspicions towards him. But the ex-convict vehemently denied any involvement, his panic-stricken eyes pleading his innocence. Yet the seeds of suspicion, once sowed, were rapidly growing into a forest of fear and doubt.
Each held secrets and motives, turning the night into a dangerous game of survival. Fear had them cornered, their minds racing like a tempest matching the intensity of the storm outside. As they turned in for the night, each door that closed whispered a silent prayer, each heart that pounded mirrored the thunder outside, and each eye that fluttered shut did so in the hope that it would open again.
They were strangers, guests in a motel that was now a house of horrors, their identities blurred by fear. As they all tried to sleep, the sinister question hung in the air: who was the killer among them? As the night howled with an untamed ferocity, the murderer moved silently, ready for the next strike. The first fall had occurred, and it wouldn’t be the last.
The storm outside mirrored the storm within their hearts. Each thunderclap was a chilling reminder of their impending doom. The motel, once a refuge, had metamorphosed into a hunting ground. A hunting ground where trust was the first casualty, fear the constant companion, and survival the only game.
As the chilling tale unfolded, the motel and the storm stood as silent spectators, witnessing the macabre dance of death. The identity of the killer remained hidden, buried under layers of fear, suspicion, and growing despair. Would salvation dawn with the morning sun, or would the relentless storm continue to be a harbinger of merciless death? Time would tell. Until then, the game was on.
Chapter 3: “Hidden Shadows”
As the tempestuous storm raged on, the stranded voyagers began to unravel the intricacies of their own personalities. The desert motel, shrouded in fear and growing paranoia, had become a theatre of secrets and revelations.
George, the retired police officer, wore the scars of a violent past on his lined face. His steely gaze had observed countless horrors, leaving him jaded yet vigilant. The echoes of his darker history still haunted him, ensnared by the memory of the one case that he’d never solved. A serial killer, whose signature, a child’s unnerving drawing left behind with his victims, remained etched in George’s mind.
Meanwhile, Ed, the limo driver, was battling demons of a different kind. Shrouded in a jovial demeanor was a man brimming with guilt. He had lost a passenger once to an untimely death, a wealthy magnate whose son now sought vengeance. Ed, haunted by the tragic incident, was living on borrowed time, dreading the constant threat that loomed over his existence.
In a corner, the seemingly benign motel manager, Larry, was a study in contrast. Under his friendly façade, was a man grappling with a crippling gambling debt. His desperation had once led him down a dangerous path, crossing the wrong people, and now he was entangled in a treacherous web of crime.
Amidst the chaos, Paris, the call-girl with aspirations of an orchard life, donned a charismatic persona. Yet behind the glamour, a tortured soul was masked. She was desperately trying to sever ties with a dark past that threatened to consume her future.
Meanwhile, the newlyweds, Ginny and Lou, were grappling with their own torments. Ginny, young and naive, found herself suffocating in a marriage she’d hastily stepped into. Lou, on the other hand, was grappling with his own insecurities. His veiled jealousy and fear of losing Ginny were slowly morphing into a dangerous obsession.
Alice, the distressed mother of an alarmingly quiet boy, bore her own share of secrets. She was on the run from an abusive relationship, her son, Timmy, the only anchor in her turbulent life.
The tension was palpable as the motel dwellers, each grappling with their personal struggles, attempted to decipher the identity of the murderer. The quiet hum of the storm outside seemed to echo the inner turmoil churning within each character.
The motel was no longer just a temporary refuge. It had become a simmering pot of secrets, fears, and suspicions. The sands of trust had started to shift, friendships were now marred by skeptical glances, and whispers of deceit echoed through the dimly lit corridors.
But as the night grew darker and the storm more violent, fear ceased to be just an individual ordeal. It was now a shared sentiment binding them all in its chilling hold. The motel had become a testing ground for their resilience, morality, and ultimately, their survival.
The chapter closed with the shadows growing longer and the mystery deepening. The shifting sands of trust were now a battleground. The real menace lurked not outside in the storm, but within the walls of the motel, hidden among those claiming innocence. As the motel’s sinister secrets began to unfurl, the question remained – who was the real murderer among them?
The revelations of their pasts clouded the atmosphere with a heightened sense of uncertainty. Each character was a prisoner of their own predicaments, adding to the layers of enigma that clouded their judgment and perception of one another.
As their histories intertwined with their current reality, a sense of dread piqued. Who would be the next victim of this heinous crime? And more importantly, who was orchestrating this macabre sequence of events? These questions loomed ominously as the motel’s inhabitants wrestled with their doubts and fears.
Chapter 3, “Hidden Shadows,” threw open the Pandora’s box of secrets, painting a detailed picture of the characters’ pasts, shrouded in mystery and guilt. The eerie atmosphere, heightened by the relentless storm outside, served as a grim reminder of the lurking danger that threatened their existence.
As each character fought their inner demons, the external threat of the serial killer loomed large. Rumors, alliances, betrayals, and the daunting task of unmasking the murderer added an intense edge to the narrative. The climax of the chapter left the readers at the edge of their seat, eagerly anticipating the next turn of events. The thrilling adventure was only just beginning.
Chapter 4: “The Face of Fear”
The relentless storm continued outside, the cacophony of the thrashing winds mixing with the thunderous booms to create a symphony of dread. The group, pulled together by the cruel hands of fate, sat huddled inside the motel, their hearts pounding in trepidation. As the storm raged on, the fear within them only intensified. The echo of the past murders still haunted them, and the shadow of the unknown killer loomed ominously over their heads.
Inside the confines of the motel lobby, Larry, a once jovial cab driver turned silent observer, sat brooding in a corner. His eyes were glued to the entrance, as if expecting the killer to strut in any moment. On the other side of the room, sat George, a quiet middle-aged man with a dark past. His calm demeanor, however, had started to crack, showing glimpses of a contrary persona. The veneer of innocence he had initially put forth was crumbling, revealing a man who was much more than he seemed.
Yet the attention that night was drawn to Alice. She had introduced herself as a preschool teacher, coming off as lively and adoring. Her love for children and her innocent demeanor was comforting to many. The group found solace in her maternal aura amidst the horrifying circumstances. But as the night grew darker and the storm showed no signs of letting up, Alice started showing signs of distress. Her playful laughter and comforting tone soon gave way to a fierce, anxious demeanor.
“I can’t do this anymore!” she suddenly yelled, startling everyone in the room. Her demeanor had now shifted dramatically. Alice, the once sweet and innocent preschool teacher, was now a bundle of nervous energy, pacing around the room, her eyes darting back and forth.
Everyone watched Alice, their eyes wide in alarm. Her outburst had set a new tone within the room – a tone of sheer panic. The air was thick with fear and suspicion. Alice seemed different, and the change was terrifying.
“Let’s play a game,” she suddenly declared, her voice now calm but the underlying hysteria palpable. She suggested a game of charades, a proposal met with surprised looks. Could she be trying to distract them? Or was it some dark ploy to break their focus, to throw them off the scent of the murderer?
Reluctantly, they agreed to play. The game started innocently enough, with Alice making her attempts to act out her prompts. She was good, her actions clear and precise, drawing laughter from others. But as the game progressed, Alice’s act took a darker turn. Her clues began to align eerily with the past murders in the motel.
A sense of foreboding gripped the room as they watched Alice in horror. As she mimed a stabbing motion, mimicking precisely the way the first victim had been killed, a cold realization washed over them. With dawning terror, they looked at each other, all sharing the same unspoken question – Could Alice be the murderer?
Alice looked back at them, her face a mask of calm. But her eyes betrayed her, a hint of madness lurking behind them. It was a terrifying sight, a juxtaposition of her initial motherly persona. The group was now trapped in a room with a storm raging outside and an alleged murderer within.
The storm carried on, oblivious to the drama unfolding within the motel. The group now looked at Alice with fear, every move she made becoming a potential threat. When she laughed, they flinched, when she walked around, they recoiled, their minds painting her as a grim reaper waiting to claim her next victim.
The group was now gripped by the face of fear, a fear that was no longer hypothetical. Alice might be their killer. But, as they soon would discover, looks could be deceiving, and the real terror was yet to unveil itself.
Chapter 5: “Bodies and Betrayals”
The isolated motel, now tainted by an indiscriminate malevolence, bore the consequence of the unyielding storm outside. Under its tattered roof, the remaining survivors, trailed by an escalating dread, found themselves stranded, their trust in each other dwindling with each passing moment. The walls seemed to reverberate the echoes of the departed, as more victims added to the count.
George, the former cop, came across the menacing scribbles of a mysterious child that seemed to predict the deaths. The chilling drawings were prophetic in their accuracy, sending him into a flurry of anxiety. He communicated his findings to the others, but far from instilling caution, it only ignited more confusion.
Francesca, a former actress with secrets of her own, was the next to fall. A piercing scream in the middle of the night led them to her lifeless body beside the now-not-so-inviting pool. Her demise was more ruthless; the killer clearly harboring escalating violent tendencies. Francesca had been a ray of hope amongst them, a beacon of strength for the dwindling survivors. Her death caused a flurry of panic, an eruption of disbelief.
The clues were there, smeared in red. But, they were cryptic, mirroring the perplexing riddle of the murderer’s identity. Foreseeing the inevitable, Larry, the limo driver, turned rogue. Paranoia got the best of him, and he pointed the gun at the others, professing his innocence whilst accusing them of guilty complicity.
Ed, the quiet loner, found an ally in Alice, the bereaved mother. Their bond, formed in the crucible of shared trauma, strengthened into a quiet alliance. They noticed a scrawl in the margin of one of the drawings, missed by others in their panic. It bore the unmistakable handwriting of a child. The words, ‘Timmy did it’, inscribed repeated.
Could Timmy, the innocent-looking child, be the orchestrator of these atrocious events?
Ed and Alice confronted Caroline, Timmy’s mother, sending her into a raging denial. Tempers flared, leading to a brawl, further fracturing the group’s unity. Accusations flew, alliances shattered, as their world plunged into an abyss of suspicion and hysteria – the enormity of the twisted possibility unhinging their collective sanity.
Suddenly, Larry, full of rage and fear, fired at Caroline. She fell to the ground, still clutching Timmy’s drawing. With her last breath, she held out the drawing, muttering a chilling revelation, “It’s not what you think…”
The chapter ended in a crescendo of chaos and confusion, a confluence of fear, betrayal, and deceit. The thin veneer of trust shattered, replaced by a swirling maelstrom of shock and horror. Their fight was not just against an unknown entity lurking in their midst, but also against their own mounting paranoia. The motel’s grim walls bore silent witness to the unspeakable horror within, its seedy reputation only deepening as the night wore on.
And amidst the wreckage of trust and growing pile of bodies, the survivors realized that the true battle was against themselves. Their darker halves reflecting in the shards of broken trust, illuminating their deepest fears. As the storm raged outside, the motel’s dim light flickered, casting horrifying shadows of doubt and creeping death. Their fight was far from over – if anything, it was only beginning.
Chapter 6: “The Twisted Truth”
The icy gusts raged outside, sending waves shivering through the dilapidated desert motel. Everyone in the intimate, dank room could taste fear in the air, a palpable blend of suspense and terror. The survivors had become mere shadows of their former selves, untrustworthy and scared, taking refuge within their own desperation.
Suddenly, amidst the palpable silence, a stifled gasp echoed within the walls. The silence was shattered, replaced by the heavy drumming of heartbeats. A crumpled piece of the child’s eerie drawings, unnoticed until now, lay ominously at their feet, depicting a scene too brutal for innocent hands. Witnessing it was like watching the shadows grow teeth – sharp, voracious, threatening.
Judy, the once out-spoken lawyer, now shaken to her core, picked up the drawing, her eyes wide with abhorrence. The depiction mirrored a murder scene they had just found, right down to the victim’s contorted expression. Everyone looked at the picture and then at each other, some with terror, others with suspicion.
Mark, the dread-stricken cab driver, broke the suffocating silence, “This can’t be a coincidence! The child…the child knew!” he exclaimed, his voice choked. Everyone turned towards the boy, Timmy, a delicate figure, who had been silent and unreactive throughout this bloodshed.
Unfazed by the accusations, Timmy, sat there, his innocent eyes staring back at the group. His gaze, devoid of any fear, seemed to pierce through everyone’s paranoia. Alice, the aged school teacher, spoke defensively, “He’s just a child! He can’t possibly be…involved.”
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence again. The bitter reality began to settle in their hearts. They had been looking at this mystery from the wrong angle. The question wasn’t who the killer was, but rather, who was controlling them?
Suddenly, George, a taciturn ex-marine, solemnly rummaged through his bag, his eyes hollow from a sleepless night. He produced a thin worn-out notebook and threw it in the center. It had the name ‘Malcolm Rivers’ scribbled across it. The name sent a chill down everyone’s spine.
The group slowly started reading, and as they flipped through the pages, a harrowing story unravelled. Malcolm Rivers, they learned, was a convicted serial killer on death row. Rivers had multiple personalities, and the characters they now knew well, their identities, were actually Rivers’ various personas. They were horrified to realize that they weren’t separate entities but fragments of a deeply disturbed mind.
“This motel, us, this storm… it’s all in Rivers’ mind!” Choked Mark, his eyes erupting with pure terror. The revelation hit everyone like a sledgehammer, shaking their belief in their own existence. The brutalities they had witnessed were Rivers’ internal struggle, an attempt by the dominant personality to murder the others.
Realization dawned upon them; nobody was safe. They had to end this internal war if any of them were to survive. But the last page of the notebook held another dreadful revelation. The killer among them was not Timmy, as they had suspected, but it was someone they had least expected. As the revelation hit them, a new wave of terror washed over them. They were living on borrowed time – a race against the clock in a mind that didn’t belong to them.
The motel room, once a haven, was now an eerie stage set for this morbid game of survival. The characters, caught in the whirlpool of Rivers’ mind, had to fight the ultimate battle. Little did they know that their fight for existence was just beginning. Hell hath no fury like a mind divided.
Chapter 7: “Deserted Resolution”
An eerie calm had descended upon the motel as the raging storm finally began to subside. The once vibrant scene of strangers seeking shelter transformed into a chilling stage for a twisted game of survival. The survivors, faces etched with exhaustion and horror, stared at the pale first light of dawn breaking through the storm clouds, revealing the grim reality of their situation.
It all came down to this—an unexpected revelation and an unlikely hero. Larry, the motivational speaker who’d been underplayed through the narrative, stood in the center of the unraveling chaos. It was Larry who’d put together the pieces, discovering the truth that had been hiding in plain sight all along.
In a chilling revelation, we learn it was Tim, the charismatic former cop, who’d been behind the murders. His demeanor had shifted drastically over the past few hours, from the reassuring figure of authority to the embodiment of the fear that pervaded the motel. His dark past in the force and a crumbling psyche had made him the puppet-master in this horrifying spectacle. A shocking discovery that upended the hierarchy and trust within the group.
As the survivors grappled with the revelation, Larry stepped forward, his eyes steady, his voice firmer than it had been throughout their ordeal. “We need to stick together, get out alive and bring him to justice.”
Yet, the terror wasn’t over. The final act of their horror story was about to unfold as they started to devise a plan to confront Tim. Every move had to be carefully calculated, every action meticulously planned. The motel, once a backdrop to their confinement, now became a twisted labyrinth, each corridor, each room, a potential trap.
Humor was absent, tensions were high, and the threat was all too real. The characters’ dynamics shifted dramatically as they navigated this unsigned pact of alliance. The once-dominant personalities took a backseat, falling into conformity, while underestimated ones rose to the occasion.
Then came the confrontation, a high-stake game of cat and mouse as Tim, challenged and cornered, showed the terrifying depth of his derangement. In a thrilling chase through the motel’s claustrophobic spaces, Larry attempted to outsmart Tim, armed with nothing but his wit and a shared determination to survive.
As the confrontation reached its climax, the motel’s grim secret was revealed—a concealed cellar, hidden under the floorboards of the main hall, a chilling shrine to the victims that had fallen prey to Tim’s murderous rage before. The realization made their hearts pound harder; they weren’t his first victims, but they were determined to be his last.
In an unexpected twist, Alice, a lonely woman who’d kept to herself throughout their ordeal, lunged at Tim, catching him off-guard. This brief distraction allowed Larry the time to disarm Tim and deliver the final blow. Tim’s reign of terror culminated in the cold, dreary cellar, a fitting end to a monstrous saga.
Tim’s body lay sprawled on the cold floor, the victims were avenged, and the survivors, though scarred and traumatized, breathed a sigh of relief. Larry stood triumphant as the unlikely hero, the ordinary man who rose to an extraordinary occasion.
In this final chapter, amidst the echoes of terror and chilling revelations, the survivors emerged stronger, scars etching their stories of survival, their identities forever changed. The storm had arrived as an ill omen but left having cleansed the motel of its horrifying secret.
The sun rose higher, casting long, daunting shadows around the motel, a haunting reminder of the night of terror that had unfolded. Yet, it was finally over. The desert motel, once a stage for a killer’s twisted game, was now merely a bleak landmark in a vast, indifferent landscape.
As they stepped out, the bright sunlight felt almost alien, the world outside unchanged, blissfully unaware of the horrors they’d endured. They left behind the motel, along with their old identities, stepping into a world where their shared trauma would forever bind them. Their lives had irrevocably changed, and their identities transformed, forever marked by the horrifying memory of a stormy night at a deserted motel.
Thus concluded their chilling ordeal, leaving behind a haunting reminiscence of fear, survival, and a testament to the unexpected heroes that lurk within us all.
Some scenes from the movie Identity written by A.I.
EXT. DESERT MOTEL – NIGHT
A thunderstorm RAGES. Palm trees RATTLE in the gale force winds. Ominous thunder ROLLS… then LIGHTNING strikes, illuminating the lonely DESERT MOTEL.
INT. MOTEL LOBBY – NIGHT
A disparate group of STRANGERS huddle in the dimly lit motel lobby, trapped by the storm. We see their faces in flickering shadows cast by the storm outside.
A the sound of THUNDER, a LITTLE GIRL, clutching a crayon and paper, looks up, her eyes wide with fear.
It’s mean out there…
A MIDDLE-AGED MAN jolts at her words, before shaking his head and turning away.
We’re safe in here…
Suddenly, the motel lights FLICKER then DIE. Panic ensues.
EXTREME CLOSE UP: The little girl drops her drawing. It lands, FACE UP, revealing a chilling image – stick figures with red scribbles across their bodies, a child’s representation of death.
As lightning flashes, the motel guests look down at the paper. They exchange uneasy glances – the first seeds of SUSPICION and PARANOIA taking root.
TO BE CONTINUED…
INT. DESERTED MOTEL – NIGHT
A violent storm RAGES outside. The dimly lit motel lounge flickers under passing lightning. A mix of guests scatters around nervously, echoes of fearful WHISPERS and THUNDER intermingling.
DRAMATIC CLOSE UP on LARRY, a burly truck driver, perspiring heavily. He gulps down his whiskey, eyes darting around.
(whispering to himself)
“One of us…”
Others in the room include NANCY, a seemingly sweet elderly lady; TINA, a beautiful woman with a mysterious past; JASON, an introverted teenager; and PETER, a suave businessman in a suit.
Suddenly, a piercing SCREAM from a room down the hallway.
Everyone JUMPS, staring at each other wide-eyed.
EXT. MOTEL ROOM – NIGHT
They BURST into the room, discovering the body of JASON, limp and lifeless.
“The boy… Who killed the boy?! It’s a monster…”
Peter, eyes glazed in shock, slowly turns, locking eyes with Tina who looks equally horrified.
“Nobody leaves. The killer is one of us.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
FADE TO BLACK.
INT. DESERT MOTEL – LIVING AREA – NIGHT
A tattered old room is bathed in the flickering light from a dying lantern. The STRANGERS, many faces shrouded in shadow, sit around. The storm outside ROARS louder.
LAWRENCE, a burly driver twirls a coin nervously. Across him, ALICE, a young woman with haunted eyes, holds a child’s drawing depicting a murder scene.
Who found this?
A thin man, ROBERT, steps from the shadow. He’s in his late fifties, wrinkles carved deep by a harsh life.
I did, Alice. In the kid’s room.
Everyone shifts uncomfortably.
Why would a child draw something like this?
Suddenly, PETE, a hot-headed former convict, slams his fist on a table.
Has it occurred to you guys that maybe the kid ain’t a kid?
You think the kid is…
Yes! I think he’s the killer.
A loud THUD from outside. Everyone jumps.
Look, we can’t just…
We can’t just what? Sit here and wait to be slaughtered?
The room falls silent. SUSAN, a quiet, middle-aged woman speaks.
We need to stick together, not turn on each other.
The room is silent. The storm continues to rage outside.
INT. DESERT MOTEL LOBBY – NIGHT
A storm RAGES outside. Inside, the remaining guests – ED, a retired cop; GINA, a feisty, young woman; and LARRY, the motel manager, confront TIMMY, a child who has been silent until now.
(leaning in, voice rough)
So, you open your mouth and out comes a threat. A kid threatening grown ups. Ain’t that something?
Gina GLARES at Ed. Timmy shrinks back.
Easy old man. He’s just a kid.
A kid who might be our killer.
The room goes SILENT. A beat. Suddenly, a WHISTLE from the storm outside MIMICS a human SCREAM.
Ed LOCKS his eyes on Timmy, LARRY watching them both.
Why don’t you tell us something that can prove you innocent, lad? Maybe about your parents?
Timmy stares at Ed, his eyes welling up.
I…I didn’t do anything. I…I just wanna go home.
Ed SOFTENS, Gina moves towards Timmy, but Larry BURSTS in.
Enough of this! We’re stuck here playing niceties while a killer picks us off one-by-one!
Ed steps towards Larry, CRACKLING tension fills the room.
Before either can exchange words, a LOUD BUMP echoes from upstairs, followed by a TERRIFYING SCREAM.
TO BE CONTINUED…
(End of Scene)
INT. DESERT MOTEL – NIGHT
EDDIE, a nervous, rugged man in his 30s, is pacing around the dingy motel room. LAURA, a sharp-tongued woman in her late 20s, sits on a worn-out couch, tense but trying to appear calm.
I think it’s SAM. He’s got that look in his eye.
And you? What about that temper?
Suddenly, JEAN, a shy woman with kind eyes, enters the room, her face pale and shocked.
Another body…in the bathroom.
Everyone gasps. Laura runs out of the room, Eddie and Jean in tow.
INT. DESERT MOTEL – BATHROOM – NIGHT
The sight is horrifying. A body lies in the bathtub. Everyone is silent. Suddenly, a CRACKLE of a walkie-talkie breaks the silence.
VOICE ON WALKIE-TALKIE
Meet me at the reception! Now!
They exchange looks and rush to the reception.
INT. DESERT MOTEL – RECEPTION – NIGHT
SAM, a man with an intimidating presence, is at the reception, holding the walkie-talkie. As they enter, Sam pulls out a bloody knife from behind the counter.
This…this was behind the counter.
Everyone steps back in horror. Eddie’s eyes dart between the knife and Sam.
You. You’re the murderer.
TO BE CONTINUED…
INT. DESERT MOTEL – NIGHT
We see the survivors, breathless, huddled by a flickering lamp, standing over a makeshift map of the motel, littered with notes and clues.
JANE, a former detective, takes charge.
We’ve got it all wrong! The killer isn’t among us.
Everyone looks at her confused and scared.
JOE, a burly truck driver, growls.
Then who is it? The storm? The motel?
Jane ignores him, flips through her notebook, and throws an old driver’s license on the table.
This! This is our killer. Our murderer has been dead for years!
She points at the worn out license of a man named EDWARD. The room fills with shocks and gasps.
NINA, a young waitress with hidden fire, is skeptical.
Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean he’s innocent.
ED, a bespectacled psychologist, jumps in.
Unless… unless we consider Dissociative Identity Disorder.
Everyone looks at him, confused.
It means… It means one of us could be Edward. Without even knowing it.
The room goes silent. A chilling realization hits them, their fear palpable.
TO BE CONTINUED…