“In the chilling silence of a blizzard, a fan’s obsession becomes a writer’s deadliest plot.”
Watch the original version of Misery
Prologue:
As the darkness coiled around him, famed novelist Paul Sheldon could only remember the unyielding, icy grip of the Colorado snow that forced his car into a spiraling dance of disaster. His fingers twitched on the snow-flecked steering wheel, trying in vain to straighten the car’s merciless descent into chaos. A chilling veil of oblivion swept over him.
Chapter 1: “The Drive That Went Awry”
Paul had been warned. The locals, the innkeeper, even the waitress he’d flirted with at the roadside diner, had all said the same thing: don’t drive in the Colorado winters. But he had ignored them. He was Paul Sheldon, creator of the world-renowned heroine Misery Chastaine, master of his destiny, invincible in his own mind. He had deadlines to meet, publishers to appease, fans to satisfy.
His car, a sturdy beast of a machine, maneuvered like a seasoned warrior through the first flurries of snow. Paul, fortified by his vanity and arrogance, willed himself to be one with the car, eyes fixed on the vanishing trail of the road, hands gripping the icy wheel. His mind, scattered between the real world and the fictional Misery’s world, was stretched thin, like a wire ready to snap.
Unseen by Paul, the snowflakes increased, morphing into a blizzard that blurred his windshield and obscured his vision. The Colorado weather, capricious and untamed, chose to unleash its torrents on this solitary, defiant traveler. There was a split second when Paul’s fingers slackened on the wheel, the realization dawning too late that he was not the master of this world.
The car skidded, tires protesting against the icy road. Paul’s heart pounded in sync with the pleading stutter of the engine. There was a momentary stillness, a void in time, shortly overridden by the gut-wrenching crunch of metal against unforgiving tree bark. The airbag exploded, a futile buffer against the destruction happening around him. The world spun, the remnants of his car becoming one with the storm as he tumbled down the Colorado mountain.
His ears were filled with the roar of the wind, the scream of his engine, the crackle of his own bones. The pain was secondary, drowned beneath the tidal wave of regret. His last conscious thought, before succumbing to the darkness, was of the unfinished manuscript, left on the backseat of his car, ink dribbling from the pages, a testament to a story left untold.
So, it was in the heart of the tempestuous Colorado winter, the creator of Misery Chastaine found himself, quite ironically, at the mercy of unwelcome misery. Unseen by any passing traveler, concealed by the storm’s fury, his car turned into a metallic tomb, ready to swallow the famed novelist into its cold, silent depths…
Unbeknownst to Paul Sheldon, a lone figure was approaching his wrecked car through the blizzard, a shivering shadow against the white oblivion. The first chapter of Paul’s real-life thriller was about to unfold, and unfortunately for him, it had a script far more chilling than any he had ever written.
Chapter 2: “The Unseen Savior”
The swirling snow brought an eerie silence as it blanketed the Colorado roads. A stark contrast to the roaring cacophony that was the car crash. When the noise finally subsided, it left the air reverberating with its memory, and one man, Paul Sheldon, unconscious in the wreckage. Little did he know that his seemingly tragic end was but the precipice of a more treacherous and twisted fate.
Simultaneously, a woman housed in a nearby farmhouse observed the raging blizzard outside her window. The glint in her eyes wasn’t just a reflection of the freezing weather but a display of her fervor for her solitary existence. She was Annie Wilkes, a woman of routine, a woman of solitude, a woman of flickering sanity that danced in harmony with the snowflakes outside.
An accomplished nurse once, she now lived secluded from society, bearing the weight of her dark past and an obsessive compulsion for the book series written by none other than Paul Sheldon. His creation, Misery Chastaine, had become her obsession, her constant companion in the biting loneliness. It was this obsession that drew her out into the storm when she noticed the skid marks on the snow, heading disastrously off the road.
The sight that met her eyes was brutal—a wrecked car, twisted and mangled. And inside it, the unconscious body of Paul Sheldon. Recognition flickered in her eyes, not of the man, but of the author, the creator of Misery. In that moment, Annie’s world veered off its axis. Fate had dropped her obsession into her lap, quite literally.
Driven by an adrenaline surge, she sprung into action, her nursing instincts kicking in. With tremendous effort, she managed to free him from the wreckage and transport him back to her farmhouse, leaving the phantom car to be devoured by the snowstorm.
Paul awoke to a world of agony, tethered to the bed by the chains of his injuries. His savior, his number one fan — Annie Wilkes, was caring for him. A room filled with memorabilia of his novels, especially of Misery Chastaine, was the testament of Annie’s devotion. But under the surface of her doting nursing and fanatic adulation, something darker was simmering.
Trapped in the confines of her house and his broken body, Paul realized his survival was now determined by this woman. Oblivious of the undercurrents of her growing fixation, he was grateful for her intervention but was soon to discover the horrifying cost of his life’s debt.
Through the course of his convalescence, he became privy to Annie’s stories, her life that revolved around his books, her obsession with Misery, her neurotic tendencies that made her the person she was. Her voice rose and fell, dancing like the flickering flame of a candle, casting long disconcerting shadows on the walls of the room and on Paul’s mind.
The chapter ends with Paul helpless in his crippled state, starting to sense the first hints of Annie’s instability. The woman who had saved his life had now become the puppeteer of his existence – a fact that sent shivers down his spine, not from the Colorado cold, but from impending doom.
This chapter uncovers the twisted ballet of two lives colliding by fate. As the snowstorm outside ceases, a far more threatening storm brews within the wall of the house in Colorado. In the words, in the silence, it is clear: Not all saviors come bearing salvation. Some come bearing chains. And thus begins the chilling tale of Paul Sheldon and Annie Wilkes.
Chapter 3: “In Misery’s Grip”
Morning light seeped through the gaps in the heavy curtains, painting striped patterns on the walls of the quaint room. The scent of antiseptic hung in the stale air, suggesting the room’s newfound purpose. This was his sanctuary, his prison, and his world – a grim reality that Paul Sheldon was slowly coming to terms with.
Pain was a constant companion, singing a chorus with the incessant hum of his thoughts. He felt an icy draught of dread whenever he gazed upon his amputated foot. But his heart seemed to pulse in a rhythm of unease for a different reason. An underlying terror hid beneath the surface, a constant prickling at the back of his mind, chilling his blood, and it had a name – Annie Wilkes.
She claimed to be his number one fan, an ardent admirer of Paul’s skillfully crafted fictional world centered around Misery Chastaine. Annie’s powerful obsession with Misery was palpable. She talked about Misery with an ethereal glow in her slate-grey eyes, bordering on reverence. The way she enunciated Misery’s name, it was as if she saw the fictional character as a living, breathing person. Yet, there was an edge, a sporadic flicker of frenzied fanaticism that sent shivers down Paul’s spine.
Annie was everywhere. Her presence lingered in the room, even when she was absent. The sound of her heavy boots echoed in Paul’s mind, each footfall hammering a bolt of dread into his frozen heart. Her voice, as sweet as it was chilling, seemed to seep into the room’s very walls, filling its silence with a disquieting harmony.
Every time she entered the room, something seemed to shift. A cloud of unspoken terror would fill the air, the oxygen seemed to thin, as if even the room was afraid of her. She would smile but it didn’t reach her eyes, her gaze seemed hollow, hiding deep-seated obsession masked by concern.
The first couple of days, Annie kept Paul drugged, a haze of confusion, and reality blurring the edges of his consciousness. As Annie’s role in his life grew from savior to caregiver, Paul could sense a dangerous pivot – a dark gravity pulling him further into her world, a transition from fan to fanatic.
His alert mind, though encumbered by pain, was probing for an understanding of Annie. She’d sway from a dedicated nurse, her care almost motherly, to a rage-filled monster; her fury overwhelming sanity, ripping away the veil of normalcy, baring her unstable nature to him. These outbursts were sudden, violent, echoing long after they had passed, like an aftershock.
Through his haze of pain and fear, Paul understood one thing – Annie’s obsession wasn’t just with Misery Chastaine. It had morphed, shifted, expanded to encapsulate her creator too. He was no longer simply Paul Sheldon, the author. In this isolated house, in this forgotten corner of the world, he was the vessel of Misery’s spirit, a puppet dancing on the strings of his captor’s whims.
Indeed, Paul felt he was in Misery’s grip, a grip that was as real as the phantom pains that plagued his amputated foot. The gripping fear, the dread of being at the mercy of an unstable caregiver, the anxiety of the unknown, and the foreboding sense of danger, all of it was a manifestation of one woman’s obsession—an obsession that was becoming increasingly volatile and violent.
With a grim resolve, Paul knew he had to tread carefully, to keep her obsession at bay. He had to keep Misery alive. For if Misery died again, he was afraid his life might mirror his work in an unfortunate act of life imitating art. The question was, how long could he last? How long before his strength gave out, either due to his physical or mental anguish? Only time held the answers, ticking away each second with ominous precision.
Chapter 4: “A Manuscript in Chains”
Paul wheeled into the living room, bathed in the morning sunlight filtered through the drapes. He would’ve found it soothing if it weren’t for his grim reality. His foot throbbed despite the medication, a constant reminder of his mutilated state.
Annie had been different since morning. Her uneasy strides, the tightness of her lips, her gaunt eyes, everything screamed trouble. He felt a clasp of chilling fear. Her unpredictable rage was always daunting, but today felt different – mysterious and foreboding.
On the table lay his new manuscript, unseen by the world, and now, hostage to Annie’s whims. His heart pounded as he looked at it. Misery’s demise was a creative choice he’d poured his soul into, yet it was what Annie irrevocably abhorred.
“Paul,” Annie began, her cold voice echoing in the room, “Misery can’t die.”
Paul noticed the trembling fury beneath her composed demeanor. He swallowed hard, realizing the implications. “Annie, authors often…”
“NO!” She exploded, her eyes wild, her words suffocating. His words died in his throat, replaced by terrified silence.
“You will rewrite it, Paul.” Annie demanded, her voice shaky but persistent. “Misery will not die.”
Under any other circumstances, Paul would’ve laughed at the audacity of such demand. Authors faced criticisms and rejections frequently, but this, this was different – it was a command under duress. He felt the weight of his predicament. His life hung in the balance of his writing, his beloved Misery now shackling him.
“Alright, Annie,” he conceded. The practicality in yielding to her was a bitter pill to swallow. His creative freedom was now chained. Annie smiled, a victor’s smile — the kind that left Paul wondering whether he’d signed a deal with the devil.
Days turned into weeks in the confined quarters of Annie’s home. Paul’s days revolved around writing Misery’s resurrection. The rest of the time he found himself in a muddled haze of painkillers and fear. It became a survival tactic. After all, a drugged and submissive Paul was what Annie wanted.
Paul would wake up to Annie’s looming countenance, reading aloud his passages, snorting at parts she didn’t approve, beaming at her beloved Misery’s resurgence within the pages. She’d then give him his pills, watch him swallow them, and retreat to her realm of madness, leaving Paul alone, chained to his work and battling the narcotic drowsiness.
His typewriter clacked incessantly, the noise now neurotically comforting. His work mutated under the pressure. His writing, once flowing like a tranquil river, now felt erratic, mirroring the tumultuous relationship between him and his captor. He reimagined Misery’s story, her death becoming a grand deception. Each word, a lifeline he clung to, each page, a day survived.
The high points of the chapters were followed by soul-crushing lows, mimicking the vicious cycle of his days. His narrative wove in bursts, the rhythm now dictated by Annie’s mood swings. Paul’s routine mirrored the essence of his task – write or face the wrath, survive or succumb.
He wrote relentlessly, his drafts torn to shreds when they didn’t meet Annie’s twisted expectations. His only respite was when she left him alone to shop for groceries or when she dozed off, drunk on her obsession with Misery’s new life.
Caught in a tumultuous storm of desperation, fear, and survival, Paul wondered if he would ever escape this melancholic existence. His art had become his chains. Each word he wrote, every sentence he constructed, was a compromise on his freedom, a reluctant bidding at the mercy of his captor.
As Annie loomed over his pages, her laughter and tears dictating his fortunes, Paul Sheldon, the esteemed novelist, felt like a man scripted by fate, a character in his own chilling narrative. His reality reflected the title of his novel as he found himself, quite literally, in Misery’s grip.
Chapter 5: “The Torment”
The chill of the Colorado winter permeated the thin panes of glass separating Paul from the blizzard outside. The day was bleak, the sun hidden behind a relentless snowfall, matching Paul’s growing despair. He was trapped in a cocoon of his own creation, his world of Misery turned against him by his “number one fan,” Annie Wilkes.
Paul’s dull days became a monotonous pattern of forced writing, placating Annie, and nursing his wounds. Each morning, he woke, not to the chirping of birds or the sunlight streaming through the window, but to the heavy footsteps of Annie and the dread of the day that lay before him. He would write, recording Misery’s coerced resurrection under the scrutinizing gaze of his captor, his creativity shackled by her deranged fantasies.
Annie was an enigma that only grew more alarming with time. At times, she presented herself as an empathetic nurse, caring for his amputations, and a devoted fan, praising his work. But such moments were rare, brief, and unpredictable. They were merely the calm before the storm of her terrifying outbursts.
Her anger was a tempest, a sudden shift from nurturing caregiver to raging tormentor. It usually followed the rejection of a plot twist she had proposed, or an unwanted development in the Misery series. Each outburst was like a storm, traversing her face, until it balled up into a fist, sometimes meeting Paul’s skin, other times crashing onto the table, trembling the manuscript under his clenched fingers. These moments left Paul in a state of perpetual fear, the dread of her fury growing stronger with each passing day.
Paul’s escape attempts were desperate measures. He would wait for Annie’s rare trips outside, to get supplies, he assumed. He would then try prying open the locked door or attempting to break the windows. But his legs, weak from weeks of confinement and the lingering pain of the amputation, always failed him. He collapsed one day trying to smash a window with his typewriter. Annie returned home earlier than anticipated, finding Paul lying on the floor amidst shards of broken typewriter.
The punishments that followed his escape trials were severe. He was subjected to more physical restraints and confined to his room. A malicious delight danced in her eyes as she tightened the straps around his wrists, her satisfaction evident with every wince he gave. The bottled painkillers disappeared, replaced with a more powerful concoction that left Paul in a hazy stupor, making his thoughts groggy and body unresponsive.
The once-cherished typewriter became a symbol of his torment. The metallic clack-clack punctuated the eerie silence of his imprisonment. As the ink flowed to his reluctant keystrokes, he felt his life force draining away. He was a puppet, and Annie was the puppeteer, controlling his every move, dictating his every word.
The paradox was clear; he was alive because of Misery and dying because of her. The boundaries between reality and fiction blurred as Paul found himself trapped in his own literary universe, with an antagonist who was more terrifying than any he had ever created.
As Paul’s world descended into the madness of Annie’s devotion to Misery, the realization dawned upon him – he wasn’t just writing to keep Misery alive; he was writing to keep himself alive.
Chapter 6: “The Unearthed Secrets”
Paul Sheldon had been trying to figure out the puzzle that was Annie Wilkes. There was an unsettling aura of madness that shrouded her like a chilling winter wind. And it wasn’t just her obsession for Misery Chastaine, his fictional heroine that unnerved him. Her unpredictable volatility was what had him in perpetual terror. The way she oscillated from a doting nurse to a psychotic captor, it was enough to make his blood run cold.
One morning, however, under the pretext of letting him breathe fresh air, Annie took him to her basement. The room was dingy, reeking of dampness and death. The basement was filled with old newspapers, artifacts, and a rusty filing cabinet. While Annie was occupied with cleaning a corner of the room, Paul’s gaze fell on a yellowed newspaper clipping stealthily peeping out from the cabinet.
Out of pure instinct, Paul decided to get his hands on that clipping. Annie had left the room for a while, giving him the perfect opportunity to explore. Struggling to maneuver his wheelchair, he managed to reach out and grasp the brittle piece of paper. As he unfolded it, the headline screamed at him, “Wilkes Accused of Multiple Infant Deaths.”
His breath hitched as he took in the implication of what he held. It presented a horrifying history of Annie Wilkes, who had previously worked at several hospitals across the state. There were speculations about a series of unexplained infant deaths during her shifts. In each case, the babies were found with mysterious puncture marks. The authorities were unable to prove anything, but the nurses and families always suspected Wilkes. The article ended with the statement that she had, quite suddenly, stopped practicing nursing.
The revelation sent an icy chill down his spine. Was he, a crippled writer, in the hands of a serial killer? He felt nauseated, his wounds thumping in response to the increased heartbeat. He frantically put back the newspaper as he heard Annie’s footsteps approaching.
Days turned into nights, and each ticking second was a nightmare for Paul. The story of Misery Chastaine had begun to parallel his own life. He felt like a puppet in a grotesque play, performing at the whims of a dangerously deranged master. His eyes would often wander to the newspaper clipping, now placed back into its dreary hiding place. He felt a chill run through him each time he remembered the headline.
Paul started noticing subtle signs of Annie’s vicious past affecting her present. The disturbingly calm way she inserted the needle into his vein for his medication, the eerily disturbing pleasure she seemed to derive from his pain, it all started making sense. And there was a new kind of fear, a fear that stemmed from the knowledge of Annie’s monstrous past.
As the days progressed, he found more indications of her guilt. Childlike drawings with haunting implications, scrubs with hospital logos, and most disturbingly, a box of syringes hidden in a secret compartment. He realized that he was not just dealing with an obsessed fan, but a cold-blooded murderer.
His novel wasn’t merely a work of fiction now; it was his only lifeline. Each word he typed out, each twist he plotted, was not just for Misery Chastaine, but for his survival. He was trapped within the claustrophobic confines of his own story.
The real-life horror overshadowed the fictional terror of Misery Chastaine. As he sat alone in the room, the silence would often be pierced by echoes of Annie’s lunatic laughter. The steady rhythm of the typewriter was his only solace.
His plight was a crucial turning point in the story. The once celebrated novelist was now living a terror-filled reality. The discovery of Annie’s past didn’t just represent a plot twist, it complicated the power dynamics between them. It gave Paul a new perception and a mission – survival. His existence was perched on the edge of a cliff, with a psychotic former nurse as his fan, captor, and potential executioner.
With each day, the terror of discovery loomed over Paul Sheldon. He knew he had to outsmart Annie Wilkes, but the question was how. He found himself living the horrifying reality of his novels. Only this time, his life was on the line, and his antagonist was more terrifying than any character he’d ever created.
Chapter 7: “The Great Escape”
The atmosphere seemed to deteriorate by the day in Annie’s secluded Colorado home. It was as if the walls echoed Paul’s desperate need for freedom, the grimacing portraits on the walls bearing witness to his misery. But the most desperate times often stirred the deepest wells of human ingenuity, and Paul Sheldon was no exception.
As Paul pensively stared at his typewriter, it felt like the keys were mocking him, serving a constant reminder of his predicament. He was a captive, a marionette dancing to the grotesque tunes of his captor – Annie Wilkes. Her obsession with his heroine, Misery Chastaine, had turned into a horrifying reality that bound him to her.
The idea of escape had evolved from discreet, hopeful plans to an absolute necessity – his only chance of survival. But how could you escape from a woman who anticipated your every move? It was like playing chess against a grandmaster, with his life as the stakes. The drugs, the restraints, her watchful eyes – everything stymied his escape attempts.
Until one day, while gnawing at his roast beef, an idea struck him. It didn’t come as a gentle tap, but more like a thunderbolt, making his heart flutter in anticipation. Annie had a weakness – her love for Sheldon’s writing, her sentimental absorption in the world of Misery. It was a long shot, but he had no choice but to gamble.
Paul began putting his plan into action slowly, meticulously. He proclaimed to Annie that he wanted to write a novel just for her. He catalyzed his narrative with elements he knew would enthral her – Suspense, love, and Misery, her beloved character, in the heart of it all. As he predicted, the plan worked like a charm. Annie was drawn into the smokescreen, oblivious to his real intentions.
The true masterpiece of this plan wasn’t the story itself, though. It was the careful sprinkling of subtle clues, time frames, and plot sequences that were seemingly inconsequential but held a hidden message. It was a cryptic SOS, a call for help which he hoped would be decoded by someone, anyone, before Annie would ever figure it out.
Writing this convoluted narrative was like walking on a tightrope. A single wrong word, a misplaced clue could lead to his end, almost instantaneously. However, these intricate details, the bursty tokens of suspense that he carefully embedded into his narrative, kept Annie hooked, indulged, and for the most part, distracted.
Days turned into nights, nights to days, blurring into each other as the narrative unfolded. The tension kept building, the plot thickening with every line Paul wrote. His restless mind, however, was always a step ahead, observing Annie’s reactions, planning his next move, and preparing for his final act – the great escape.
One morning, when the first rays of the sun touched the snow-covered peaks, and Annie was deeply engrossed in the latest chapter, Paul made his move. His heart thumped in his chest, his palms were sweaty, and his mind raced. But there was an odd sense of relief, a glimmer of hope that he could finally break free from his gilded cage.
This chapter marked the turning point in Sheldon’s life – when he transitioned from a victim to a survivor, from a pawn to a player. It was a testament to his courage, his will to live, and his ability to write himself out of the most horrifying situation he had ever found himself in. After all, he was Paul Sheldon, a best-selling author, a master of words. If he couldn’t write his way out of this, who could?
Chapter 8: “The Final Confrontation”
In the dread-infested solitude of Annie’s cabin, a thick blanket of silence hung precariously between Paul Sheldon and his captor. This pivotal moment, thick with anticipation, was the culmination of every careful, painstaking move that Paul had strategized since his entrapment. The stage was now set for an epic showdown, with a quiet intensity that Paul had only ever experienced in the pages of his own novels.
Paul, hunched over the typewriter, his fingers dancing over the keys, feverishly typed out the final lines of his revised manuscript. The clattering keys echoed in the room, a cacophonous symphony that masked his racing heartbeat. His eyes flitted occasionally to the Royal typewriter’s missing ‘n’ key – a secret weapon in his deceptive game of survival.
Annie sat across from him, her eyes devouring each word as it appeared on paper. The crackling fire in the room cast an ominous shadow on her wide, unblinking eyes—eyes that held an unsettling blend of fanatic obsession and unhinged insanity.
In the midst of this, Paul had planted the seeds of his escape plan—a lethal cocktail of painkillers, stashed away for this decisive moment. Now, all Paul needed was for his intense narrative to hold Annie’s rapt attention just a little longer.
Just as he had planned, the climax of his book featured a dramatic dinner with Misery and her lover. The lovers would consume a wine, spiked with special ‘berries’. Drawing a parallel to their fictional meal, Paul proposed they celebrate the moment with a glass of champagne, triggering Annie’s excitement.
Annie fetched a bottle from her cellar, her anticipation for the revised ending blinding her suspicions. Paul, seizing the opportunity, crushed the painkillers into fine powder and slipped them into Annie’s champagne glass. His heart pounded in his chest, a drum echoing his fearful anticipation.
Annie returned, her face glowing with unhinged joy as Paul handed her a champagne glass. Their glasses clinked, a morbid toast to their twisted author-fan relationship. As Annie took a sip, Paul pretended to do the same, his eyes never leaving her.
His narrative unfolded, gripping Annie’s attention as he read aloud. Paul watched as the drugs began to take effect, her eyes turning glassy and unfocused. Suddenly, she sprang up, demanding to read the ending herself. Paul’s heart skipped a beat, but he handed her the final pages, knowing the most critical part was yet to come.
As Annie reached the last line, Paul swung the typewriter at her, the massive weight of it colliding against her head. She fell to the floor, the manuscript pages flying everywhere. The room descended into chaos, a physical manifestation of the tumultuous thoughts racing through Paul’s mind.
He hobbled towards the door, his body screaming in protest. Annie lunged, attempting to stop him, but the cocktail of painkillers dulled her movements. Paul kicked her away, his survival instinct driving him on. In a final desperate encounter, Paul overcame Annie, his adrenaline triumphing over his body’s injuries.
The sun peeked over the mountains as Paul crawled out, leaving the nightmare behind. His victory was bittersweet, the ordeal shaping him into someone unrecognizable from the man he used to be. As the final chapter came to a close, the readers were left with a lingering sense of elation and horror, wondering how the invisible chains of captivity, once broken, would affect Paul’s life ahead.
Some scenes from the movie Misery written by A.I.
Scene 1
FADE IN:
EXT. COLORADO HIGHWAY – DAY
Snow blankets the ground. A lone car maneuvers through the deserted, treacherous road.
INT. PAUL’S CAR – CONTINUOUS
PAUL SHELDON, 40s, an acclaimed novelist, focuses on the road. A manuscript, titled “Misery’s End,” rests on the passenger seat.
EXT. COLORADO HIGHWAY – CONTINUOUS
The blizzard intensifies. Visibility near zero. Paul begins to lose control of the car.
INT. PAUL’S CAR – CONTINUOUS
Paul struggles with the steering wheel, spins off the road and CRASHES.
FADE OUT:
FADE IN:
EXT. COLORADO HIGHWAY – LATER
The car is a twisted wreck in the snow. Paul is unconscious inside.
A figure, ANNIE WILKES, 40s, lumbering and strong, emerges from the blizzard.
INT. ANNIE’S HOUSE – LATER
Paul slowly regains consciousness. A fire ROARS. He glances around, disoriented. He’s lying on a bed, his foot in a makeshift cast.
Annie appears by his side, a restrained but manic smile on her face.
ANNIE
You’re awake!
PAUL
(stammering)
Who… are…
ANNIE
(interrupting)
I’m your number one fan.
She holds up a copy of one of Paul’s novels featuring “Misery Chastaine.”
FADE OUT:
TO BE CONTINUED…
Scene 2
INT. LIVING ROOM – DAY
Paul Sheldon (40s, popular novelist) lies unconscious on a makeshift bed.
ANNIE WILKES (mid 50s, husky and matronly) bends over him. She checks his pulse, her fingers trembling slightly.
ANNIE
(to herself)
Hold on, Paul. Misery needs you.
Annie walks over to the kitchen area.
INT. KITCHEN – CONTINUOUS
Annie prepares a syringe with a practiced hand, her demeanor a stark contrast to her earlier nervousness.
She walks back to the living room.
INT. LIVING ROOM – CONTINUOUS
Annie administers the injection, her brows furrowing.
As she finishes, Paul’s eyes flutter open.
PAUL
(confused)
Whe…where am I?
ANNIE
(smiling)
You’re safe. You’re at my house, Mr. Sheldon.
She pets his head gently.
ANNIE
(sincerely)
I’m your number one fan.
Paul, confused and scared, falls back into unconsciousness.
FADE OUT.
Scene 3
INT. ANNIE’S HOUSE – PAUL’S ROOM – DAY
Paul lies in bed, looking at the dingy room. Annie enters carrying a tray of food. She smiles eerily.
ANNIE
Here’s your breakfast, Paul.
Paul gives a reluctant smile, looking at the tray. He begins to eat. Annie sits down on a chair beside him.
ANNIE
You know, Paul, Misery Chastaine is my ultimate heroine.
Paul looks at Annie, curious.
PAUL
Really? What makes her so special to you?
ANNIE
Her strength. Her endurance. She’s the kind of woman I aspire to be.
She takes out one of Paul’s novels from her bag.
ANNIE
Do you mind if I read aloud from ‘Misery’s Child’?
Paul looks surprised but nods his approval. As she reads, her eyes gleam with adoration. Paul looks at her, a chilling realization dawning upon him. She’s more than a fan. She’s obsessed. The ominous tone of her voice, her fondness for Misery, all give him an uneasy feeling.
They continue their conversation about Misery. As the day proceeds, Paul starts noticing Annie’s strange behaviour. Her unpredictable mood swings, emotional instability, and weird obsession with his character Misery, it all starts making sense to him. Paul knows he’s in trouble. He’s trapped with Annie, a fan who’s dangerously obsessed. The scene ends with Paul trying to make sense of this disturbing reality whilst Annie recites lines from his book, her voice echoing in the room.
Scene 4
INT. ANNIE’S HOUSE – DAY
The room is dimly lit. ANNIE WILKES (40s, intense eyes, and a deceptive smile), an eerily passionate and unstable woman, holds PAUL SHELDON’S (50s, award-winning novelist) new manuscript.
ANNIE
(reading)
“…and then, Misery Chastaine was no more.”
She turns to Paul, who is seated at the table. He is restrained to a wheelchair, a grotesque bandage covering his amputated foot.
ANNIE
(angry)
What is this, Paul?
PAUL
(frightened)
It’s…It’s the end of her character’s arc, Annie…
ANNIE
(enraged)
This is not how Misery’s story ends!
Paul flinches as her outburst echoes in the room. She slams the manuscript on the table and pushes it towards him.
ANNIE
(calm, menacing)
I think you need to rewrite this, Paul.
CUT TO:
EXT. ANNIE’S HOUSE – DAY
The house stands isolated amidst a vast expanse of snow. Inside, Paul’s life hangs by a thread. The sky darkens, reflecting the looming horror in his life.
FADE OUT.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Scene 5
FADE IN:
INT. ANNIE’S HOUSE – PAUL’S ROOM – NIGHT
Paul is propped up in bed, a manuscript in chains laid before him. His eyes scan the room, his face a picture of desperation and fear.
ANNIE (45, manic, intense) enters the room, a tray of food and meds in her hands.
ANNIE
(cheerfully)
Dinner’s served, Paul.
Paul forces a weak smile.
PAUL
(softly)
Thanks, Annie.
She sets the tray down and sits on a chair next to the bed.
ANNIE
(sternly)
Eat up. You need your strength.
Paul begins to eat. Annie watches him like a hawk, her eyes unblinking. After a few moments, she produces the chained manuscript.
ANNIE
(excited)
Time to bring Misery back to life, Paul.
Paul looks at her, a lump in his throat. He nods, reaches for the manuscript. His hands shake as he opens it up to a blank page.
CUT TO:
INT. ANNIE’S HOUSE – PAUL’S ROOM – LATER
Paul writes, his face a mask of pain and fear. Annie watches him, her eyes never leaving him. The tension is palpable.
Suddenly, Paul drops his pen. His hand is cramping.
PAUL
(in pain)
Annie, my hand…
Annie rushes to his side, massaging his hand.
ANNIE
(concerned)
You’re overdoing it, Paul.
PAUL
(sincerely)
I just…I want to do justice to Misery.
Annie’s eyes soften.
ANNIE
(teary-eyed)
Oh, Paul…
She exits the room. Paul seizes this moment. He slowly slides a paper knife underneath his pillow.
FADE OUT.
TO BE CONTINUED…
