Camp Timbercrest was abandoned in the 70's after local authorities discovered
children and counselors skinned alive and hanging from trees.The murderer was never found...or so they said.
Seven years later a group of drug dealers from Chicago go out to the camp grounds to meet up with a new connect and party a little bit as well.
Their noise wakes up CRICKET MAN, a mutated midget with inhuman strength, a taste for blood, and an artistic knack for making furniture...out of human body parts.
EXT. CAMP TIMBERCREST --NIGHT
Three patrol cars form a semi-circle, blocking entrance.
Two flashlight beams dance in the dark through trees.
A Harley Davidson chopper, a white Avanti, and a pimped out black El Camino are parked on the right side of a dirt road.
MARIA and ALBERT RODRIGUEZ a hip mexican couple, THOMAS and ANN SHEPARD a clean cut couple, and BUD JENKINS, a long-haired white male in a beat up denim outfit, are in front of OFFICER PAUL.
SUBTITLE APPEARS IN THE MIDDLE OF SCREEN:
June 10, 1979
OFFICER PAUL motions everybody back with hands.
Please everyone. Move back.
BUD tries to walk past. OFFICER PAUL stops him.
Stop Bud. Move it back now.
BUD shrugs away. Moves back.
( angry )
Nah, fuck tha dum shit Paul. Címon this waitiní shit is
fucked up. I wonta see mah boy. He called me scared
shitless. Sumthiní ainít right.
Bud, Iím sorry. You know the deal. I canít let anyone
through Ďtil we know what the haps are in there. I got
two of my bestÖ
I saw who ya sent in. Cal and Hurbert. Shaky boy and the jumbo donut bandit. Paul, you know those two couldnít
make a flame with a jug of gasoline and ten matches.
(at the end of patience)
BUD-enough, awright. Just do what Iím telliní ya.
Cool out. Iíll have sumthiní for ya soon. Real soon.
BUD sighs, shoots him a disgusted look, eases up, then looks beyond him toward the entrance.
EXT. FRONT OFFICE (CAMP TIMBERCREST)
HURBERT, a pot-bellied, balding, middle-aged male and CAL, a pale, lean, wide-eyed male in his early twenties approach with flash lights.
HURBERT leads boldly. CAL follows close.
Front door is wide open. Torn off hinges.
A huge, abnormal hand print in the center. Blood smudges of various sizes and shapes around it.
HURBERT stops, shakes his head, draws his weapon.
CAL does same. They advance.
What the hells that there?
Yeah. Donít look good already. Shit. Look like a hand
print. A big son of a bitch too, hunh ?
I ainít never seen no hand lookiní like that no where,
Hurb. Not on no man.
CUT TO: HANDPRINT
Slimy, huge. Two middle fingers longer and bigger than others.
Hell naw. Me neither.
HURBERT looks around for CRICKETS.
A loud, creepy GIGGLE comes from within.
CAL and HURBERT pause. Look at each other alerted. Walk fast to front door.
They pause before entering.
CRICKET MAN speaks. Low, creepy.
ComeÖcome on in. You two can be my next creation.
I still need a few chairs.
A fast burst of short footsteps like that of a child running.
CAL and HURBERT take off in direction of footsteps.
INT. OFFICE- FRONT ROOM
Hold it right there. Whoever that is stop right now.
We will shoot.
Giggling and footsteps again. Further away.
HURBERT picks up his pace.
They move through long front room.
Furniture is turned over. Picture frames knocked lopsided. More blood smudges, hand prints.
CAL is scared.
INT. FRONT OFFICE --HALLWAY
They enter hallway. Stop in their tracks at sight of hordes of CRICKETS on floor and walls.
CRICKETS move in direction of GIGGLE.
What tha fuck ?
( disgusted )
Aw damn. Whatís up with this ?
This shit here ainít right.
I donít fuckiní know. Christ. Just look at Ďem.
Marching like sum fuckiní ants.
HURBERT shines his flashlight to end of hallway.
CRICKET MANíS shadow dances across wall.
Back door opens. Slams shut.
CRICKET MAN giggles again. Lower.
CAL and HURBERT speed up.
CRICKETS get louder.
HURBERT and CAL run to end of hallway and turn. See back door. More blood smears on walls and floor.
A Fresh hand print drips black slime.
They continue. Open door. Stumble backwards in shock.
EXT. FRONT OFFICEóBACK--TRAIL
Trees line trail leading into camp. Six skinned and gagged bodies hang from separate trees dripping blood.
Two of the bodies are struggling, making muffled noises.
Hordes of CRICKETS cover the trail and bark of only trees where a body hangs.
Deeper into trail, CRICKET MAN, a deformed midget with burns, long arms, abnormal grizzly paw sized hands faces them.
One of his eyes is larger than other.
CAL and HURBERT aim at him. CAL is in disbelief. HURBERT is disgusted.
Is that fuckiní human there?
HURBERT ignores him.
A-ight, stop. Put your hands up-now. Do it.
This is an excerpt-for the rest pls contact me . myspace.com/pughnews or .my e-mail address microphonology.hotmail.com
Sorry for the tease, but there are biters and haters out there