Complete Short Fiction, page 48
Maybe that was why they turned me down—not large enough.
(dreaming now)
Maybe I need something with real candlepower . . . something on wheels . . .
(he finds what he was searching for)
Ah, there they are. Excuse me a moment.
He suddenly veers aside and steps into a phone box.
COLIN
I can’t talk to you if you’re going to keep taking off your clothes all the time.
ERIC
(from inside phone box)
I’m not taking off my clothes, Colin. But this does make me nostalgic for my beginnings as a crime fighter. I remember that night so well . . .
COLIN
Yeah, way back . . . when was it? Six days ago?
(as ERIC emerges)
What were you doing in there?
ERIC
(handing cards to COLIN)
Putting these up. I’ve decided that if I’m going to turn the tide against evil, I have to take a modern approach.
COLIN
(reading aloud)
“Give crime a bad time. Call The Cloak at . . .” Oh, man, is that your number?
ERIC
It’s for the phone I’m having installed in my crime-fighting lair. With “call waiting”, so no crime will go unpunished. I ordered an answering machine, too, in case I’m eating dinner. And wait ’til you see the posters I’m having made..
COLIN
Eric, I’ve been trying to talk to you, but you’re not listening. That reporter I’ve been telling you about? He’s really interested in you. He thinks you’re the mystery lottery winner, and he’s waving money around trying to get people to grass on you.
ERIC
(unconcerned)
No one knows I won except you, Colin, and I know you’d never tell.
COLIN
Half of Sidcup knows, man! You can’t just deposit eight million pounds in a local bank and not have anyone talk about it!
ERIC
(thoughtful)
You may be right—perhaps I should have spread it around a few different places. I just wanted to be sure of getting that free toaster. Mum has a bit of a problem with toast . . .
COLIN
Stop! Listen to me! If that man Screel decides to go with the story, your life is going to be a living hell. You’ll be in every paper in the country. You’ll have people camped on your doorstep and every scrounger in the world following you around.
You gotta keep a low profile, man, at least until the next lottery draw tomorrow night. After that, they’ll be after someone else. Hear me? Just don’t do anything stupid in the next 24 hours.
ERIC, meanwhile, is slipping his cards under windshields of parked cars. COLIN sighs.
COLIN (Cont.)
What are you gonna do with all that money?
ERIC
(serenely)
Make the world a better place to live in, Colin. Trust me.
We CUT TO:
INT.—ERIC’S BEDROOM—NIGHT
ERIC is sleeping in his bunkbed, tossing and turning. A FIGURE is standing at the base of the ladder. ERIC’s eyes open and widen. The figure is TRIUMPHANT MAN.
ERIC
Triumphant Man!
T-MAN
Hello, Eddy.
ERIC
Eric. What are you doing here?
T-MAN
I think I’m a manifestation of your inner conflicts. Either that or I was flying past on my way to battle The Sinister Scorpion and I saw your light on. How are you doing?
ERIC
(sitting up)
I’ve been better. This superhero thing is more difficult than it looks.
T-MAN
Not for me.
ERIC
Well, that’s because you’re different—a pro. I mean, just for instance, I’ve got this reporter following me around and I need to get rid of him. What would you do?
T-MAN
Well, you could try giving him a signal brooch. My girlfriend Mary Maidenhead is a reporter, and I gave her a signal brooch. She just loves that thing, buzzes me all the time. Kidnapped by criminals? Buzz, buzz. Attacked by monsters? Buzz, buzz. Stuck in traffic? Buzz.
(a beat)
Actually, I’m getting kind of sick of it.
ERIC
I don’t think a signal brooch would quite do the trick . . .
T-MAN
Have you tried pulling his face off?
ERIC
Huh?
T-MAN
I just find that if someone’s really bothering me, but they’re not a supervillain, when I pull on their face it turns out to be a rubber mask and the guy under it is a supervillain after all. Usually Mister Malice, as a matter of fact.
ERIC
(shaking his head)
I really don’t think this guy’s a supervillain. Just a reporter for the tabloid press.
T-MAN
There’s a difference?
(a beat)
Well, if times are really tough, I recommend flying through space, brooding. I always find that whizzing across the galaxy, past exploding suns and dying stars, really puts things in perspective.
ERIC slumps back onto his pillow and closes his eyes.
ERIC
Thanks for the advice.
T-MAN
Any time.
We DISSOLVE TO:
EXT.—ERIC’S HOUSE, FRONT GARDEN—NEXT MORNING
ERIC is standing on his porch, surveying the wreckage. There are even MORE holes. NED and FRIEDA are staring at one, which is rapidly filling with water.
NED
It’s an ancient Roman wotzaduck, Mister Worby. Dead rare. Who’d think you’d find one under Sidcup?
FRIEDA
You’ve just sliced through the waterline, Ned. I told you to be more careful.
NED
Careful, careful, by heck I’m tired of hearing that. How can businesses make money if they’re always being careful, my girl?
ERIC
Listen, this is getting ridiculous. You said you could finish this over the weekend. My mother’s coming back tomorrow—it has to be done by then!
NED
No problem, squire. Piece of cake. Right, Frieda?
She frowns. ERIC looks from one to the other.
ERIC
Is this going to be finished by Sunday? Tell me the truth.
NED
Is it going to be done? Are you joking? Didn’t we guarantee it?
ERIC
Is it going to be done?
NED
(looks at FRIEDA; then, sheepishly:)
No.
ERIC
I don’t believe this! You promised!
NED
See, we’ve never done a crime-fighting lair before. Not as such. Not a lot of call for them, to tell you the truth.
FRIEDA
You told me you did one, Ned. We were arguing and you swore you’d done one when you were working for Jenkins.
NED
We did do one! Well, I thought we did one. Then I remembered it was a bathroom conversion.
ERIC is by now sitting on the porch with his head in his hands. He looks up past squabbling BATCHER BROS to see SCREEL peering into the garden. ERIC gets up and walks determindely toward him. SCREEL is wearing a CAMERA around his neck and is looking a bit SCRUFFY.
ERIC
Why can’t you leave me alone? Don’t I have a right to any privacy?
SCREEL
It’s kind of a trade-off, see—your privacy versus the public’s right to know.
ERIC
Please, I’m having enough trouble today without you.
SCREEL
(sympathetically)
Winning all that money causes more problems than it solves, eh? Why don’t you tell me all about it.
(lifts camera)
“Jackpot Winner’s Secret Sorrow”.
ERIC
No. Look, they’ll be drawing another winner in a few hours. All the other reporters left town days ago. Just give up, will you?
SCREEL
Easy for you to say, chummy. You’re not fighting for your livelihood.
ERIC raises an eyebrow.
SCREEL (Cont.)
Yeah, that’s right, livelihood. You think that this is some plum assignment, hanging around Sidcup? That scale model of the battle of Verdun you’re building there is interesting, but it isn’t that interesting. Don’t you think that I’d rather be trying to look up someone in the royal family’s skirt, or catching a government minster wearing a rubber bustier?
(a deep breath)
Right, I admit I’ve made a few mistakes. Okay, a lot. I shouldn’t have thrown up on the Saudi ambassador—but I swear I hadn’t been drinking! It was a bad canape.
(working himself into a lather)
Oh, yes, but you should see the way they’ve hounded me! I’m just clinging by my fingernails here! So show some mercy, will you? If I don’t get this story, I’m going to be on my way out! If I’m lucky, I’ll get reassigned to the “Aren’t Pets Cute” reader photo section . . .
ERIC has been watching the whole rant with astonishment. He stares at SCREEL, who is almost weeping. ERIC is clearly moved.
ERIC
I’m sorry. I really am. But I still deserve some privacy.
SCREEL looks after him, red-eyed and trembling. ERIC walks slowly up the path. We hear FRIEDA call:
FRIEDA
Mister Worby! Y’know, if we just kind of connected these holes, you’d have a real nice swimming pool! Almost Olympic-size!
We CUT TO:
INT.—ERIC’S HOUSE—THAT NIGHT
ERIC is sitting by himself in front of the TV. The curtains are open and we can see the garden (still torn up) and the front HEDGE. A HEAD protrudes above it, watching the house, but ERIC pays it no attention.
LOTTERY ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
And that’s it! This week’s Big Spin! And some lucky winners may just have become millionaires! Now, as we bid you goodnight, let’s listen to the Portsmouth Banjo Choir playing us out with their version of “If I Were A Rich Man” . . .
ERIC gets up and walks to the door, opens it, and shouts:
ERIC
It’s all over, Mister Screel. There’s a new winner, now.
SCREEL, behind the hedge, lets out a doglike HOWL of grief. ERIC shakes his head and goes back inside as we DISSOLVE TO:
INT.—ERIC’S HOUSE/LIVING ROOM—HOURS LATER
ERIC is snoozing on the couch, the TV still flickering.
TV YOUTH SHOW HOST (V.O.)
. . . You wouldn’t really snap those mousetraps shut on your eyelids, would you?
(loudly, to audience)
He wouldn’t, would he?
We hear the audience CHEER rowdily. ERIC mumbles in his sleep as we CUT TO:
EXT.—ERIC’S SIDEWALK—NIGHT, SAME MOMENT
SCREEL is crouching in the darkness outside ERIC’s hedge, snuffling, head in hands. We see him from a hand-held, “HALLOWEEN”-style “Killer’s Perspective”, with OMINOUS MUSIC.
ANGLE ON: THE STALKER
SOMETHING is moving toward SCREEL, ruffling the hedges as it passes.
ANGLE ON: SCREEL
Still snuffling and oblivious. Then he hears a SOUND and looks up.
SCREEL
Is it you, Worby? Go ahead and laugh. You’ve ruined a reasonably good man’s career.
There is a pause as SCREEL sees someone in the shadows. He becomes ALARMED.
SCREEL (Cont.)
Who is it? What do you . . .?
In mid-sentence, a bright LIGHT blinds him. He throws up his hands in dazzled surprise. We see a strange SHADOW in the middle of torch-beam (it’s the Cloak Signal) impossible to make out yet.
BENNY
(trying to sound gruffly adult)
Freeze! It’s the police!
SCREEL puts his hands up, still blinking in the bright light.
SCREEL
I know this looks bad, Constable, but it’s not what you think. I’m not a pervert—I’m a journalist!
BENNY
(still gruff)
Show me some identification.
SCREEL pulls out his wallet, squinting.
BENNY (Cont.)
Hand over the wallet.
BENNY moves closer, still keeping the torch in SCREEL’s eyes, then reaches out to grab the wallet.
SCREEL
(staring down; frowns)
Why, Constable, you have . . . very small hands.
BENNY
(nervous; losing adult voice)
I . . . I do special exercises . . .
SCREEL
You’re a kid! Give me back my wallet, you little crook!
SCREEL leaps onto BENNY as he tries to flee. They tumble into the hedge, thrashing and squawking. The TORCH pops up in the air and lands on top of the hedge, pointing at ERIC’s window as we CUT TO:
INT.—ERIC’S HOUSE, LIVING ROOM—SAME TIME
The RUCKUS outside wakes ERIC, who surfaces groggily. We hear:
BENNY
(shouting)
Honest! I was just gonna borrow it!
ANGLE ON: ERIC
From disorientation, his eyes suddenly OPEN WIDE as he sees:
ANGLE ON: WINDOW
The CLOAK SIGNAL is SHINING directly on his window.
ERIC leaps up, struggling out of his clothes, his costume underneath.
ERIC
(wildly excited)
I’m needed! I’m needed!
He hops to the door, pulls it open, shouts outside:
ERIC
Try to hold on, Sidcup! Help is coming!
We CUT TO:
EXT.—ERIC’S SIDEWALK—SAME TIME
BENNY and SCREEL have rolled back onto the sidewalk, wrestling, bits of hedge flying. BENNY almost escapes, but SCREEL has hold of his shirt. BENNY is running but not going anywhere.
BENNY
I only did it to pay for my sister’s operation! Here!
He throws the wallet at SCREEL. At that moment, ERIC (as The Cloak) comes charging around the hedge, cape billowing.
ERIC
Fear not, citizens! The Cloak is here!
There is a moment’s stunned pause as SCREEL and BENNY stare at this apparition. Then SCREEL snatches up his camera and fires off a flashbulb right in ERIC’s face, dazzling him. BENNY takes the opportunity to leap over the hedge and crash away through the garden. SCREEL takes another picture, then another, then leaps to his feet and snaps several more. ERIC is reeling back with his hands in front of his face.
ERIC
Stop! I’m a superhero! I’m here to help you!
SCREEL
A . . . superhero?
(a long beat, then drops on his knees)
Thank you, Lord!
SCREEL dashes away down the street, holding his camera over his head, skipping and leaping.
SCREEL
Front page! Byline! Oh, thank you, Lord, thank you!
(bellowing)
I’m baaaaaack!
As lights flick on in houses up and down the street, ERIC stands staring, alone on the sidewalk, stunned. We SLOW DISSOLVE TO:
INT.—ERIC’S LIVING ROOM—NEXT MORNING
The DOORBELL is ringing. Beside the door, on the inside, is a muddy shovel.
ERIC, in his pajamas, stumbles to answer the door. It’s MUM and HELEN, arms full of stuffed toys and pennants and other holiday bric-a-brac. MUM is wearing a hat that says “SNOG ME, BIG BOY”.
HELEN
We’re hooo-ooome!
ERIC
(bleary, worried)
Mum! Helen!
MUM
We had ever such a good time.
HELEN
A gigolo wanted to marry your Mum, Eric.
MUM
I don’t think he was really a gigolo. He just had very smooth skin.
(to ERIC)
Actually, I believe he was a bit squiffy. But it was lovely to be proposed to.
ERIC
Uh . . . erm . . .
MUM
And we’ve found a small child in a hole in our front garden.
BENNY emerges from behind all the toys, etc. He’s still covered in hedge fronds. He examines ERIC with self-satisfied calm.
MUM (Cont.)
He’s an orphan, you see. His parents were both killed in the Blitz, and he’s covered in bits of shrubbery. He’s going to stay with us until he gets sorted out.
ERIC
But, Mum, the Blitz was fifty years ago . . .
MUM
(only half-listening)
Imagine, living in bushes all that time. Poor little lad.
(to BENNY)
Come along. I’ll make you a sandwich. How about some yummy Marmite?
BENNY
(going past, to ERIC)
Hey. Where’s your wrestling suit?
HELEN
Eric, you have no idea what your Mum can get up to! It was a scream! I kept shouting, “Mo, get out of that tank, you’re scaring the lobsters!” But would she listen? I almost wet meself laughing!
She puts a GREAT YARMOUTH hat on his head, then follows the others. ERIC remains in the doorway, goggling. As he stares out at the front garden (the building materials are gone but there are huge mounds of dirt everywhere where the holes have been temporarily filled) MUM comes back, Marmite jar and bread in hand.
MUM
Helen does go on so. You’d think she’d never been in one of those choose-your-own seafood restaurants.
ERIC
Mum . . . you don’t believe that about the Blitz, do you?
MUM
Of course not, dear, he’s just making up a story, the way boys do. If he’d been hiding in our garden for fifty years, I’m sure I would have noticed him. But the poor child obviously needs a little attention.
(a beat)
By the way, Eric, speaking of the garden, have you taken a good look at it lately?
ERIC
I can explain . . .
MUM
I know you’re busy, but I do think you might have noticed that the moles have just run roughshod over the place. Look at that mess—they must be the size of small dogs. And they’ve done terrible things to the geraniums.
ERIC
The moles . . .?
MUM
(worried pondering)
But I don’t want any of those people who come out and murder the poor things—they can’t help themselves, even if they are dangerously large. Besides, that child is obviously nervous and high-strung, what with that story of his about the Luftwaffe and all. I wouldn’t want him exposed to violence. Maybe you can find someone who’ll just . . . I don’t know, lure them away.
(brightening)
There you go. Just see if there’s anything in the Yellow Pages under “Mole-Luring”.
(dreaming now)
Maybe I need something with real candlepower . . . something on wheels . . .
(he finds what he was searching for)
Ah, there they are. Excuse me a moment.
He suddenly veers aside and steps into a phone box.
COLIN
I can’t talk to you if you’re going to keep taking off your clothes all the time.
ERIC
(from inside phone box)
I’m not taking off my clothes, Colin. But this does make me nostalgic for my beginnings as a crime fighter. I remember that night so well . . .
COLIN
Yeah, way back . . . when was it? Six days ago?
(as ERIC emerges)
What were you doing in there?
ERIC
(handing cards to COLIN)
Putting these up. I’ve decided that if I’m going to turn the tide against evil, I have to take a modern approach.
COLIN
(reading aloud)
“Give crime a bad time. Call The Cloak at . . .” Oh, man, is that your number?
ERIC
It’s for the phone I’m having installed in my crime-fighting lair. With “call waiting”, so no crime will go unpunished. I ordered an answering machine, too, in case I’m eating dinner. And wait ’til you see the posters I’m having made..
COLIN
Eric, I’ve been trying to talk to you, but you’re not listening. That reporter I’ve been telling you about? He’s really interested in you. He thinks you’re the mystery lottery winner, and he’s waving money around trying to get people to grass on you.
ERIC
(unconcerned)
No one knows I won except you, Colin, and I know you’d never tell.
COLIN
Half of Sidcup knows, man! You can’t just deposit eight million pounds in a local bank and not have anyone talk about it!
ERIC
(thoughtful)
You may be right—perhaps I should have spread it around a few different places. I just wanted to be sure of getting that free toaster. Mum has a bit of a problem with toast . . .
COLIN
Stop! Listen to me! If that man Screel decides to go with the story, your life is going to be a living hell. You’ll be in every paper in the country. You’ll have people camped on your doorstep and every scrounger in the world following you around.
You gotta keep a low profile, man, at least until the next lottery draw tomorrow night. After that, they’ll be after someone else. Hear me? Just don’t do anything stupid in the next 24 hours.
ERIC, meanwhile, is slipping his cards under windshields of parked cars. COLIN sighs.
COLIN (Cont.)
What are you gonna do with all that money?
ERIC
(serenely)
Make the world a better place to live in, Colin. Trust me.
We CUT TO:
INT.—ERIC’S BEDROOM—NIGHT
ERIC is sleeping in his bunkbed, tossing and turning. A FIGURE is standing at the base of the ladder. ERIC’s eyes open and widen. The figure is TRIUMPHANT MAN.
ERIC
Triumphant Man!
T-MAN
Hello, Eddy.
ERIC
Eric. What are you doing here?
T-MAN
I think I’m a manifestation of your inner conflicts. Either that or I was flying past on my way to battle The Sinister Scorpion and I saw your light on. How are you doing?
ERIC
(sitting up)
I’ve been better. This superhero thing is more difficult than it looks.
T-MAN
Not for me.
ERIC
Well, that’s because you’re different—a pro. I mean, just for instance, I’ve got this reporter following me around and I need to get rid of him. What would you do?
T-MAN
Well, you could try giving him a signal brooch. My girlfriend Mary Maidenhead is a reporter, and I gave her a signal brooch. She just loves that thing, buzzes me all the time. Kidnapped by criminals? Buzz, buzz. Attacked by monsters? Buzz, buzz. Stuck in traffic? Buzz.
(a beat)
Actually, I’m getting kind of sick of it.
ERIC
I don’t think a signal brooch would quite do the trick . . .
T-MAN
Have you tried pulling his face off?
ERIC
Huh?
T-MAN
I just find that if someone’s really bothering me, but they’re not a supervillain, when I pull on their face it turns out to be a rubber mask and the guy under it is a supervillain after all. Usually Mister Malice, as a matter of fact.
ERIC
(shaking his head)
I really don’t think this guy’s a supervillain. Just a reporter for the tabloid press.
T-MAN
There’s a difference?
(a beat)
Well, if times are really tough, I recommend flying through space, brooding. I always find that whizzing across the galaxy, past exploding suns and dying stars, really puts things in perspective.
ERIC slumps back onto his pillow and closes his eyes.
ERIC
Thanks for the advice.
T-MAN
Any time.
We DISSOLVE TO:
EXT.—ERIC’S HOUSE, FRONT GARDEN—NEXT MORNING
ERIC is standing on his porch, surveying the wreckage. There are even MORE holes. NED and FRIEDA are staring at one, which is rapidly filling with water.
NED
It’s an ancient Roman wotzaduck, Mister Worby. Dead rare. Who’d think you’d find one under Sidcup?
FRIEDA
You’ve just sliced through the waterline, Ned. I told you to be more careful.
NED
Careful, careful, by heck I’m tired of hearing that. How can businesses make money if they’re always being careful, my girl?
ERIC
Listen, this is getting ridiculous. You said you could finish this over the weekend. My mother’s coming back tomorrow—it has to be done by then!
NED
No problem, squire. Piece of cake. Right, Frieda?
She frowns. ERIC looks from one to the other.
ERIC
Is this going to be finished by Sunday? Tell me the truth.
NED
Is it going to be done? Are you joking? Didn’t we guarantee it?
ERIC
Is it going to be done?
NED
(looks at FRIEDA; then, sheepishly:)
No.
ERIC
I don’t believe this! You promised!
NED
See, we’ve never done a crime-fighting lair before. Not as such. Not a lot of call for them, to tell you the truth.
FRIEDA
You told me you did one, Ned. We were arguing and you swore you’d done one when you were working for Jenkins.
NED
We did do one! Well, I thought we did one. Then I remembered it was a bathroom conversion.
ERIC is by now sitting on the porch with his head in his hands. He looks up past squabbling BATCHER BROS to see SCREEL peering into the garden. ERIC gets up and walks determindely toward him. SCREEL is wearing a CAMERA around his neck and is looking a bit SCRUFFY.
ERIC
Why can’t you leave me alone? Don’t I have a right to any privacy?
SCREEL
It’s kind of a trade-off, see—your privacy versus the public’s right to know.
ERIC
Please, I’m having enough trouble today without you.
SCREEL
(sympathetically)
Winning all that money causes more problems than it solves, eh? Why don’t you tell me all about it.
(lifts camera)
“Jackpot Winner’s Secret Sorrow”.
ERIC
No. Look, they’ll be drawing another winner in a few hours. All the other reporters left town days ago. Just give up, will you?
SCREEL
Easy for you to say, chummy. You’re not fighting for your livelihood.
ERIC raises an eyebrow.
SCREEL (Cont.)
Yeah, that’s right, livelihood. You think that this is some plum assignment, hanging around Sidcup? That scale model of the battle of Verdun you’re building there is interesting, but it isn’t that interesting. Don’t you think that I’d rather be trying to look up someone in the royal family’s skirt, or catching a government minster wearing a rubber bustier?
(a deep breath)
Right, I admit I’ve made a few mistakes. Okay, a lot. I shouldn’t have thrown up on the Saudi ambassador—but I swear I hadn’t been drinking! It was a bad canape.
(working himself into a lather)
Oh, yes, but you should see the way they’ve hounded me! I’m just clinging by my fingernails here! So show some mercy, will you? If I don’t get this story, I’m going to be on my way out! If I’m lucky, I’ll get reassigned to the “Aren’t Pets Cute” reader photo section . . .
ERIC has been watching the whole rant with astonishment. He stares at SCREEL, who is almost weeping. ERIC is clearly moved.
ERIC
I’m sorry. I really am. But I still deserve some privacy.
SCREEL looks after him, red-eyed and trembling. ERIC walks slowly up the path. We hear FRIEDA call:
FRIEDA
Mister Worby! Y’know, if we just kind of connected these holes, you’d have a real nice swimming pool! Almost Olympic-size!
We CUT TO:
INT.—ERIC’S HOUSE—THAT NIGHT
ERIC is sitting by himself in front of the TV. The curtains are open and we can see the garden (still torn up) and the front HEDGE. A HEAD protrudes above it, watching the house, but ERIC pays it no attention.
LOTTERY ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
And that’s it! This week’s Big Spin! And some lucky winners may just have become millionaires! Now, as we bid you goodnight, let’s listen to the Portsmouth Banjo Choir playing us out with their version of “If I Were A Rich Man” . . .
ERIC gets up and walks to the door, opens it, and shouts:
ERIC
It’s all over, Mister Screel. There’s a new winner, now.
SCREEL, behind the hedge, lets out a doglike HOWL of grief. ERIC shakes his head and goes back inside as we DISSOLVE TO:
INT.—ERIC’S HOUSE/LIVING ROOM—HOURS LATER
ERIC is snoozing on the couch, the TV still flickering.
TV YOUTH SHOW HOST (V.O.)
. . . You wouldn’t really snap those mousetraps shut on your eyelids, would you?
(loudly, to audience)
He wouldn’t, would he?
We hear the audience CHEER rowdily. ERIC mumbles in his sleep as we CUT TO:
EXT.—ERIC’S SIDEWALK—NIGHT, SAME MOMENT
SCREEL is crouching in the darkness outside ERIC’s hedge, snuffling, head in hands. We see him from a hand-held, “HALLOWEEN”-style “Killer’s Perspective”, with OMINOUS MUSIC.
ANGLE ON: THE STALKER
SOMETHING is moving toward SCREEL, ruffling the hedges as it passes.
ANGLE ON: SCREEL
Still snuffling and oblivious. Then he hears a SOUND and looks up.
SCREEL
Is it you, Worby? Go ahead and laugh. You’ve ruined a reasonably good man’s career.
There is a pause as SCREEL sees someone in the shadows. He becomes ALARMED.
SCREEL (Cont.)
Who is it? What do you . . .?
In mid-sentence, a bright LIGHT blinds him. He throws up his hands in dazzled surprise. We see a strange SHADOW in the middle of torch-beam (it’s the Cloak Signal) impossible to make out yet.
BENNY
(trying to sound gruffly adult)
Freeze! It’s the police!
SCREEL puts his hands up, still blinking in the bright light.
SCREEL
I know this looks bad, Constable, but it’s not what you think. I’m not a pervert—I’m a journalist!
BENNY
(still gruff)
Show me some identification.
SCREEL pulls out his wallet, squinting.
BENNY (Cont.)
Hand over the wallet.
BENNY moves closer, still keeping the torch in SCREEL’s eyes, then reaches out to grab the wallet.
SCREEL
(staring down; frowns)
Why, Constable, you have . . . very small hands.
BENNY
(nervous; losing adult voice)
I . . . I do special exercises . . .
SCREEL
You’re a kid! Give me back my wallet, you little crook!
SCREEL leaps onto BENNY as he tries to flee. They tumble into the hedge, thrashing and squawking. The TORCH pops up in the air and lands on top of the hedge, pointing at ERIC’s window as we CUT TO:
INT.—ERIC’S HOUSE, LIVING ROOM—SAME TIME
The RUCKUS outside wakes ERIC, who surfaces groggily. We hear:
BENNY
(shouting)
Honest! I was just gonna borrow it!
ANGLE ON: ERIC
From disorientation, his eyes suddenly OPEN WIDE as he sees:
ANGLE ON: WINDOW
The CLOAK SIGNAL is SHINING directly on his window.
ERIC leaps up, struggling out of his clothes, his costume underneath.
ERIC
(wildly excited)
I’m needed! I’m needed!
He hops to the door, pulls it open, shouts outside:
ERIC
Try to hold on, Sidcup! Help is coming!
We CUT TO:
EXT.—ERIC’S SIDEWALK—SAME TIME
BENNY and SCREEL have rolled back onto the sidewalk, wrestling, bits of hedge flying. BENNY almost escapes, but SCREEL has hold of his shirt. BENNY is running but not going anywhere.
BENNY
I only did it to pay for my sister’s operation! Here!
He throws the wallet at SCREEL. At that moment, ERIC (as The Cloak) comes charging around the hedge, cape billowing.
ERIC
Fear not, citizens! The Cloak is here!
There is a moment’s stunned pause as SCREEL and BENNY stare at this apparition. Then SCREEL snatches up his camera and fires off a flashbulb right in ERIC’s face, dazzling him. BENNY takes the opportunity to leap over the hedge and crash away through the garden. SCREEL takes another picture, then another, then leaps to his feet and snaps several more. ERIC is reeling back with his hands in front of his face.
ERIC
Stop! I’m a superhero! I’m here to help you!
SCREEL
A . . . superhero?
(a long beat, then drops on his knees)
Thank you, Lord!
SCREEL dashes away down the street, holding his camera over his head, skipping and leaping.
SCREEL
Front page! Byline! Oh, thank you, Lord, thank you!
(bellowing)
I’m baaaaaack!
As lights flick on in houses up and down the street, ERIC stands staring, alone on the sidewalk, stunned. We SLOW DISSOLVE TO:
INT.—ERIC’S LIVING ROOM—NEXT MORNING
The DOORBELL is ringing. Beside the door, on the inside, is a muddy shovel.
ERIC, in his pajamas, stumbles to answer the door. It’s MUM and HELEN, arms full of stuffed toys and pennants and other holiday bric-a-brac. MUM is wearing a hat that says “SNOG ME, BIG BOY”.
HELEN
We’re hooo-ooome!
ERIC
(bleary, worried)
Mum! Helen!
MUM
We had ever such a good time.
HELEN
A gigolo wanted to marry your Mum, Eric.
MUM
I don’t think he was really a gigolo. He just had very smooth skin.
(to ERIC)
Actually, I believe he was a bit squiffy. But it was lovely to be proposed to.
ERIC
Uh . . . erm . . .
MUM
And we’ve found a small child in a hole in our front garden.
BENNY emerges from behind all the toys, etc. He’s still covered in hedge fronds. He examines ERIC with self-satisfied calm.
MUM (Cont.)
He’s an orphan, you see. His parents were both killed in the Blitz, and he’s covered in bits of shrubbery. He’s going to stay with us until he gets sorted out.
ERIC
But, Mum, the Blitz was fifty years ago . . .
MUM
(only half-listening)
Imagine, living in bushes all that time. Poor little lad.
(to BENNY)
Come along. I’ll make you a sandwich. How about some yummy Marmite?
BENNY
(going past, to ERIC)
Hey. Where’s your wrestling suit?
HELEN
Eric, you have no idea what your Mum can get up to! It was a scream! I kept shouting, “Mo, get out of that tank, you’re scaring the lobsters!” But would she listen? I almost wet meself laughing!
She puts a GREAT YARMOUTH hat on his head, then follows the others. ERIC remains in the doorway, goggling. As he stares out at the front garden (the building materials are gone but there are huge mounds of dirt everywhere where the holes have been temporarily filled) MUM comes back, Marmite jar and bread in hand.
MUM
Helen does go on so. You’d think she’d never been in one of those choose-your-own seafood restaurants.
ERIC
Mum . . . you don’t believe that about the Blitz, do you?
MUM
Of course not, dear, he’s just making up a story, the way boys do. If he’d been hiding in our garden for fifty years, I’m sure I would have noticed him. But the poor child obviously needs a little attention.
(a beat)
By the way, Eric, speaking of the garden, have you taken a good look at it lately?
ERIC
I can explain . . .
MUM
I know you’re busy, but I do think you might have noticed that the moles have just run roughshod over the place. Look at that mess—they must be the size of small dogs. And they’ve done terrible things to the geraniums.
ERIC
The moles . . .?
MUM
(worried pondering)
But I don’t want any of those people who come out and murder the poor things—they can’t help themselves, even if they are dangerously large. Besides, that child is obviously nervous and high-strung, what with that story of his about the Luftwaffe and all. I wouldn’t want him exposed to violence. Maybe you can find someone who’ll just . . . I don’t know, lure them away.
(brightening)
There you go. Just see if there’s anything in the Yellow Pages under “Mole-Luring”.
