The Hunt |
Issue 15
|
|
EXT. BELMONT - 5:00 P.M. SATURDAY
Open in Belmont, an old fashioned, back country town in Appalachia, dirt roads snake through the landscape, with white painted houses lining the streets, the only vehicles are slightly rusted and practical, a mix of pickup trucks, old SUVs, and the occasional sedan. An expansive woods surrounds the town, merging into the towering hills. A main paved road bisects the town, along the road are various local businesses, a movie theater, a general store, a small restaurant, all owned by the townsfolk. TOWNSFOLK rush along the dirt roads, ushering their children into their houses and closing the shutters as if preparing for a storm, but the sky is clear, dotted with white clouds. SHOPKEEPERS close their business, flipping the signs from “open” to “closed” and locking the doors. There is a distinct sense of urgency and methodology, they are not unfamiliar to this routine. The town is eerily quiet, cicadas and gnats swarm the humid, sweltering, dying summer air. CUT TO:
INT. RURAL HOUSE - 5:30 P.M. SATURDAY
Samuel (18, dressed in a plain white t-shirt, jeans, and hiking boots, with a backpack slung over his back) and his FATHER (Late 40s to early 50s, dressed similarly to his son) stand in the living room of a rustic house, similarly shuttered to those seen before. Once garish, now faded, furniture lines the room, a large, out of place, early-90s style home computer sits unused in the corner of the room. Samuel’s MOTHER (Late 40s to early 50s, plump, wearing a faded floral dress) fusses over Samuel and his outfit, though there is not much to fuss over. Samuel’s father buries himself in his backpack, checking each item methodically. MOTHER
Honey, let me grab a quick picture. Samuel’s mother fumbles with a small, teal digital camera, she struggles to turn it on. Samuel looks out the window as his mom fusses over a loose strand of hair.
MOTHER (CONT’D)
Picked this up at the store the other day. I wanted to make sure I captured this forever! Oh, your aunts will be so happy to see you. Such a handsome young man. SAMUEL (uncomfortable) Mom, I wish you weren’t always taking pictures. MOTHER It’s not everyday a mother gets to see her little boy become a man. Samuel’s mother kisses him on the cheek. He tries to shrug her off, but she hugs him tighter.
MOTHER (CONT'D)
(whispering) I am so proud of you, Samuel. Samuel’s father looks up from his backpack towards his wife and son. He reaches for a rifle sitting on the couch, and holds it out to Samuel, now released from his mother’s grip.
FATHER
It’s time to go, Sam. MOTHER Oh, you’re not using that old thing, are you? FATHER I used it for my hunt, and my father before me. It’ll be fine for Sam too, every boy needs a gun, dear. Samuel’s father hands Samuel the rifle. He reluctantly takes it.
CUT TO:
EXT. BELMONT - 6:00 P.M. SATURDAY
Samuel and his father walk along the dirt road towards the town square. Samuel’s mother stands on the porch of their faded white house, she holds the camera by her side. As they walk, other BOYS (all 17-18 and dressed similarly to Samuel) and their FATHERS (all ages, all manners of practical hunting clothing) exit their similarly shuttered houses, MOTHERS kiss their sons. Nondescript niceties and best wishes pepper the scene as the boys and their fathers begin to walk down the dirt road two by two. In total, there are approximately seven pairs of father and son. A single crow flies low over Samuel’s house. Its piercing “CAW” breaks the silence, then again, and then once more. FATHER
More kids than usual this year. He looks to his son for a response, but Samuel is silent, looking straight ahead.
FATHER (CONT’D)
Nervous? SAMUEL A little. Samuel’s father looks at his son with a new intensity.
FATHER
Don’t be. You’re my son. SAMUEL I know that Dad, it’s just nerves. Samuel and his father return to their silence and continue down the dirt road.
CUT TO:
EXT. TOWN SQUARE - 6:15 P.M.
Samuel, his father, the other boys, and their fathers gather in the town square. In total, there are around twenty pairs. Each boy grips a rifle in front of his waist, perfectly bisecting the center of his torso, his father stands behind him, hands by his side. The men make an orderly formation facing the center of the town square where an oxidized copper statue of a long forgotten founder sits, the face of the statue is faded, indistinguishable from a round, shapeless mass. The MAYOR stands in front of the statue and behind a wood podium. He checks names off a clipboard. Next to him stands his son, DAVIS (18, wearing a hard cast around his leg and leaning on crutches, well built and clearly athletic). On the podium sits a black box. Behind him there is a row of caged deer, each numbered on their flank with a violent red paint. One deer, an albino doe numbered “4,” sits calmly in her cage. MAYOR
Well, it seems everyone’s here. He pauses.
MAYOR (CONT’D)
Record turnout if my memory serves me correct. He waits for a response from the crowd, but none comes. He awkwardly laughs to himself. From the podium, he lifts up an old parchment sheet, a long antiquated looping script fills the page. The Mayor does not need it, he has the speech memorized, but for tradition’s sake reads from the paper anyway.
MAYOR (CONT’D)
(reading from the paper) Each one of you, the senior boys of Belmont, must come forward to the podium. From there, you will randomly select a slip of paper with a number written on it. The mayor gestures to the deer behind him
MAYOR (CONT’D)
(reading from the paper) Your number corresponds to one of these deer. At no later than six-thirty, I will release the deer, and at no later than seven, the hunt will begin. You and your fathers must bring back your assigned deer no later than six A.M. Monday. The mayor pauses again, turns to the crowd as if to ask them if they have any questions, but none come. The boys all stare intently at the deer, as if trying to size them up, no one is particularly excited by the ordeal.
MAYOR (CONT’D)
Well then, if there are no questions, we’ll begin the drawing. CUT TO:
EXT. TOWN SQUARE - 6:20 P.M.
Samuel approaches the black box. Around half of the boys have already selected their deer. His father stands behind him, the mayor in front of him. He reaches his hand into the box and draws a slip of paper. He opens it, reads it to himself, surveys the deer, then hands it to the mayor.
MAYOR
(to the crowd) Number four! The white doe! The mayor gestures to the doe in the cage, the doe does not bother to look up.
MAYOR
(to Samuel) You’re lucky, that damn doe does nothing but sleep. Samuel turns to look at the doe, she sits calmly. He continues to stare at the doe, after a short while, she finally looks up, her eyes meet Samuel’s for a brief moment, before she returns to her rest
SAMUEL
(to his father) It seems so calm. FATHER
They’re calm animals. Samuel glances back to the doe, but she does not return his gesture. He looks back to his father, expecting something more, but no words come. He motions for the two of them to exit the podium and they return to the formation.
CUT TO:
EXT. TOWN SQUARE - 6:30 P.M.
The last pair of father and son steps back from the podium, all numbers have been drawn. Davis continues to stand by his father’s side. Unlike the other boys, he seems unbothered and does not hold a slip of paper. The boys maintain their formation.
MAYOR
Well, that concludes this year’s drawing. Good luck to all. The mayor steps back, and one by one releases each deer from their cage. The deer dart off, eyes wildly glancing back and forth across the surroundings as they exit from view and run towards the woods. The white doe runs with them, displaying a new sense of urgency. The boys watch silently as the deer dart away, afraid to speak or take their eyes off their prey. As the deer break the horizon, the silence is broken, a new sense of perverse excitement and anticipation permeates the cooling air.
BOY
(to Samuel) Isn’t it weird Davis doesn’t have to hunt? FATHER
Davis? SAMUEL
(to his father) The mayor’s son. School quarterback. BOY
I guess he hurt his leg, poor guy. We’ve got the big game coming up, he needs to be good to play. FATHER
He should be hunting like the rest of us. The boy turns away from Samuel and into another conversation. Samuel and his father are left isolated as the other boys and their fathers begin to mingle.
FATHER
Go talk to your friends, Sam. SAMUEL
I’m not sure if I’m in the mood for talking, a lot to think about. FATHER
Hmm. I see. Samuel’s father turns away and goes to talk to the other fathers. Samuel moves to the outside of the group, and sits under the shade of a tree lining the town square.
From his backpack, he takes a sketchbook, he begins to sketch the white doe. He becomes engrossed in the work, and does not look up as Davis approaches him, hobbling on his crutches and avoiding the occasional stare from the crowd. He wishes to remain unseen, Samuel is the perfect cover. DAVIS
What are you drawing, Samuel? Samuel turns the drawing towards Davis.
DAVIS
Your deer? Samuel nods, and looks back down to the drawing. Davis takes a seat next to Samuel, laying his crutches beside him and awkwardly stretching out his “injured” leg.
DAVIS (CONT’D)
(whispering) You know, I’m not really hurt. Samuel sets his sketchbook down, he sighs, then turns to face Davis. His peace has been broken.
SAMUEL
I couldn’t have guessed. Davis takes Samuel’s response as a sign to continue, not noticing the exasperation in his voice. He drops his voice low and leans closer to Samuel. DAVIS (whispering) This whole hunt thing, it’s too much work. I’m not risking a real injury chasing some stupid deer, and I’m not leaving Belmont. SAMUEL (dryly) So you pretended your leg was broken? DAVIS Yep. SAMUEL (dryly) But your leg was fine on Friday, everyone saw you in school. DAVIS My dad believes me, and that’s enough. Samuel turns back to his sketchbook. The two sit in silence for a short while, before Davis breaks in again. DAVIS You shouldn’t draw the deer you know. Don’t want to get attached to the thing. Samuel ignores him. DAVIS My older brother did his hunt a few years back. He told me the best thing to do is shoot it right between the eyes. Davis mimes a gun with his fingers. DAVIS (CONT’D) Bang! Right there, and it’s dead. Samuel looks up, then back to his sketchbook. SAMUEL (dryly) Thanks for the advice. Samuel sits in silence for a moment. DAVIS Y’know, hunting seems fun, but it’s just not for me, I can’t be bothered to track the thing down. If I wanted to kill a deer, it’d have to be fenced in. Maybe I should go to a hunting range. Samuel looks up from his sketchbook, he shuts it. SAMUEL (irritated) Well the rest of us have to hunt our deer here. DAVIS Well I know that, I’m just saying. You’re so uptight. Samuel looks at Davis, he considers a response, but does not see a point. He grabs his sketchbook, bag, and rifle, and walks away. CUT TO: EXT. BELMONT - 7:15 P.M. Samuel and his father walk along a dirt road, side by side. Some father-son pairs dot the street, but the group is mostly dispersed. The deer, long gone now, are nowhere in sight. The rifle is slung across Samuel’s shoulder alongside his backpack. SAMUEL So where do we start? FATHER If I had to reckon, I’d say our best bet would be to check the town first. Samuel looks around, there are no deer in sight. The majority of the remaining pairs of father and son are heading to the woods. SAMUEL It looks like everyone else is headed to the woods. I think the deer went there anyway. FATHER (more firmly) They usually do, but we should check the town first. SAMUEL Why? Let’s get this over with, I want to go home. Samuel pauses for a second. He has not told the truth, but his father does not pick up on it. FATHER (clears throat, in a practiced manner) When I did the hunt, my father and I checked every street before we took a step into the woods, and lo and behold, my deer was curled up behind someone’s shed. Samuel looks at his father, then back to the woods. He considers arguing, but there is no point. SAMUEL (resigned) Alright, let’s start with the town. CUT TO: EXT. BELMONT - 7:15-10:00 P.M. - MONTAGE OF THE HUNT Samuel and his father walk along a dirt street of Belmont, scanning each house, there are no other people, or deer. GUNSHOT: The first pair of boy and father walk out of the woods, dragging their deer behind them. The deer is unmistakably dead, though its eyes show no difference than when it was alive. Its blood marks a crimson trail behind them. Samuel’s mother watches from the window as Samuel and his father walk along their street. She snaps another photo on the digital camera. GUNSHOT: A second pair of boy and father walk out of the woods, the boy carries his deer triumphantly, unbothered by the warm, crimson blood staining his white shirt. GUNSHOT: A boy and his father bring a deer from a street near Samuel and his father. The boy nods as he walks past Samuel. Samuel looks at the deer with disgust. Samuel and his father enter the empty mainstreet, there are clearly no deer, yet Samuel’s father continues down the street. GUNSHOT. Samuel looks to the woods. GUNSHOT: From the small wooded area near the school, a boy and his father have found their deer. The boy stands on top of the dilapidated playset meant for the younger students surveying his kill. The deer’s blood seeps deep into the wood chips that line the ground. The sun sets in the sky, brilliant purples, pinks, oranges, and yellows paint a sunset. GUNSHOT. the moon ushers its way in, painting the sky a deep black. Stars dot the sky. GUNSHOT: A flock of birds fly off the power lines, they head to the woods. More and more deer pile up in the town square by the feet of the statue of the founder, the mayor tallies them up, checking names off his list as more and more boys complete the hunt. GUNSHOT: From above, the dirt roads of the town are lined with bloody, crimson streaks. The same pattern of crimson blood marks a white shirt, a young girl watches her mother scrub the blood out, but the stain remains. The mother’s hands shake, the shirt is ruined, but she still tries to scrub out the blood. Her daughter offers to help but the mother waves her away. GUNSHOT: The white doe sits in a clearing. GUNSHOT, it turns its head towards the sound. GUNSHOT, but no one comes for it. END MONTAGE OF THE HUNT EXT. CAMP OUTSIDE THE WOODS - 10:15 P.M. Samuel and his father sit around a campfire, their sleeping rolls laying behind them. An open flask sits next to Samuel’s father. Night has truly fallen, it is dark, with only the light of the fire and stars illuminating the pair. Ambient sounds from the birds and creatures of the woods and the crackling from the fire punctuate the eerie silence. Samuel is buried in his sketchbook, he is once again working to sketch the doe. His drawing is sleek, the deer is in motion, as if it is running off the page, trying to escape some unknown predator. He continues to sketch around the deer’s figure, before finally putting the book down. Now he is the one to break the silence. SAMUEL Dad, is it bad we haven’t found the doe yet? FATHER Not necessarily, Sam. We have until Monday. SAMUEL I know that, but won’t the doe only go further into the woods? And the mountains, if it gets there FATHER -It has to stop and sleep. Samuel’s father lays back along his sleeping roll. The fire crackles, as Samuel prods at it with a stick. The rifle sits next to him, alongside his open sketchbook. He glances down at them, the fire light casts a dark shadow over the sketch. SAMUEL Dad. Samuel’s father looks up. SAMUEL (CONT’D) I’m not sure I can kill the doe. FATHER Of course you can. SAMUEL Well I was thinking… FATHER (cutting in) That’s the problem with your generation. Samuel laughs, but his father does not. SAMUEL I guess. But why do we do the hunt in the first place? It seems cruel to breed all these deer just to… Samuel trails off. FATHER It’s a tradition… Don’t tell me you feel sympathy for the thing? Samuel looks down at his sketch. SAMUEL I don’t feel sympathy for it, but I don’t want to kill it. FATHER Ridiculous, it’s an animal, Sam. SAMUEL I know that… it doesn’t mean I should want to kill it. Samuel’s father sits up, he reaches for the flask, and empties it into his mouth. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he turns to face Samuel. FATHER Long before you or I were born, the men of this village were weak. Samuel’s father spits. FATHER (CONT’D) Belmont is no home to weak men, and you should never want to feel weak, Sam. Samuel’s father lies back down and closes his eyes, no longer interested in speaking to his son. CUT TO: EXT. CAMP OUTSIDE THE WOODS - 11:00 P.M. Samuel sits by the dying fire, halfheartedly tending it with a stick, his head nods up and down, he begins to doze off. As the embers burn out, he catches a glimpse of white fur against the backdrop of the woods. Samuel looks to the woods, recognizing the shape of the doe. He reaches to his side and grabs the rifle. Fumbling with the gun, he points it at the doe. She looks back with her quiet, flat eyes, she does not seem alarmed by Samuel. SAMUEL (whispering) Dad. Not taking his eyes, or the rifle, off the doe, Samuel reaches over to wake his father, but thinks better of it. He recoils his hand and puts the rifle on the ground. The doe nods her head. Quietly, Samuel gets up, he smothers the fire, and creeps over to the doe. He holds his hand out to her. She places her head against it, then turns and slowly walks into the woods. CUT TO: EXT. CLEARING IN THE WOODS - 11:15 P.M. Samuel and the doe emerge from a path in the woods into an open circular clearing. The moon bathes the clearing in a cool silver light, sparkling moonflowers dot the edges of the clearing. The doe leads Samuel to the center, she curls up like a coin, resting in the slightly dewed grass, the light reflecting off her white pelt. Samuel surveys the clearing, then sits down next to the doe, he looks at her, and places his hand on her back. SAMUEL My dad says, I need to kill you. The doe turns her head towards Samuel. There is no warmth in the two black voids staring up at Samuel. SAMUEL (CONT’D) I don’t want to, but I have to. Samuel begins to stroke the doe’s pelt. She places her head back against the grass. She completes the round shape once again. SAMUEL (CONT’D) You’re so beautiful. Samuel looks at the doe again, he begins to cry. He continues to stroke her pelt, burying his face into her softly rising and falling body. After his tears have dried, Samuel stands up, looks back at the now sleeping doe, and wordlessly exits the clearing. The doe stays in the clearing, asleep, as night becomes day. She doesn’t stir as the sky begins to darken with storm clouds, and only looks up for a brief moment when a pang of thunder breaks the early morning’s tranquility. CUT TO: EXT. CAMP OUTSIDE THE WOODS - 5:30 A.M. Samuel’s father awakes to see Samuel sitting next to the now extinguished fire. Samuel looks disheveled; he clearly has not slept. Samuel looks at his father, the empty flask next to his sleeping roll, and then back to the ground. His sketchbook is buried in his bag, his father’s rifle sits in the dirt. FATHER What time is it? SAMUEL Not sure. Samuel’s father reaches for the flask next to him, he tries to take a sip but finds it empty. FATHER Dammit. Samuel looks up from the ground and stares at his father. He musters a courage he has never felt before. SAMUEL I’m not going to kill my doe. Samuel’s father ignores him, he packs up his sleeping roll and puts it in his bag. He looks to the sky, dark storm clouds are beginning to gather. FATHER Looks like rain. Samuel looks at his father, then tries again. SAMUEL (assertively) I’m not going to kill her. Samuel’s father, without looking at Samuel, slams his flask against the ground, and takes the rifle. He then turns to face Samuel, there is a calm anger in his eyes. FATHER Come on Sam. We’re going to the woods. SAMUEL Dad… Samuel’s father jerks the rifle upwards, first pointing it at Samuel, then the woods. FATHER Grab your things. Samuel stares at his father, then the rifle. He looks to the woods, filled with a sense of dread he has not felt since his youth. CUT TO: EXT. TOWN SQUARE - 6:00 A.M. The mayor and his daughter, SCARLETT (18, traditionally north eastern, a “proper” woman), stand in the town square. A pile of the dead deer lays at the feet of the statue of the founder, its shapeless face looks grotesque, reflecting the mutilated, bloody mass. Heavy, crimson blood lines the recesses in the brickwork of the town square, flies buzz around the deer. Scarlett looks at the pile with disgust, she is clearly disturbed by what she sees. MAYOR Almost everyone’s done. SCARLETT (apprehensive) What about Bill? The mayor checks his list. MAYOR He was the first one back. He’s a good man, Scarlett, I wish you’d reconsider.. Scarlett looks at the pile of deer then back to her father. She ignores his comment about Bill. SCARLETT Dad, why do they have to do this every year… kill the deer I mean? The mayor looks at Scarlett. His face betrays nothing. MAYOR I don’t know. A soft summer breeze cuts through the square. The deer, dead, seem to stir in the warm air. CUT TO: EXT. WOODS - 6:15 A.M. The dark clouds have continued to gather in the sky, bathing the woods in ominous dark tones. Samuel and his father walk side by side, the rifle still in his father’s hands. Various small animals watch from the trees with almost supernatural intrigue as the pair trudge through the now heavy undergrowth. They continue to walk in silence for some time, before finding the path to the clearing Samuel visited the prior night. Samuel peers down the path, but the dark shadows and creaking trees refuse to reveal what the clearing holds. SAMUEL (urgently) We should go left here. FATHER (forcefully) I say we go straight. Get out of the damn underbrush. Samuel looks down the path again, a tuft of white fur sits in one of the thorny bushes lining the side. SAMUEL (matching his father’s tone) We’re going left. Samuel’s father looks to his son, then down the path himself. FATHER (lowering his voice) I said, we’re going straight. Samuel’s father grabs Samuel by the backpack strap resting on his shoulders and tugs him forward into the path. Samuel almost trips, but regains his balance and reluctantly follows his father, two steps behind. A clap of thunder breaks the sky. As they walk, Samuel attempts to look into the clearing, but is unable to see what does, or does not, reside in it. His father trudges forward, with no regard for remaining quiet. When they reach the halfway point of the path, Samuel’s father stops, holds up a single finger, and continues forward, creeping with the form of a practiced killer. Rain begins to fall, the doe, still curled into a coin like shape, sleeps peacefully, allowing the rain to wash away the red “4” that marked her flank. The red dye seeps into the surrounding grass, giving the illusion of pooling blood. Samuel and his father enter the clearing. The flowers are closed, the sky is a dark, ominous gray. The clearing is silent, the animal sounds that punctuated the trek through the forest are gone, there is only the soft, rhythmic sound of the rain. Samuel’s father hands Samuel the rifle. FATHER (whispering) Shoot the deer, Sam. Samuel looks to the doe. SAMUEL No. FATHER Sam, you are my son. Shoot the deer. SAMUEL I won’t do it. FATHER (forcefully) Shoot it. SAMUEL Dad, I can’t do it. Last night I… FATHER I don’t give a damn about last night, I don’t give a damn about this deer… Samuel’s father looks at his son. He pauses, surveying his face. FATHER (CONT’D) Sam, I give a damn about you staying in Belmont. Samuel looks at his father. He looks back to the doe. He points the rifle, considering the possibility of pulling the trigger, ending the ordeal, leaving it dead. Samuel lowers the rifle. SAMUEL Dad, I can’t do it, I can’t kill her… Samuel tries to say more, but his dad stops him, his forceful nature is gone. FATHER Then give me the rifle. Samuel looks to his dad, then to the doe. He points the rifle towards the sky, holding it across the center of his body. SAMUEL No. GUNSHOT. GUNSHOT. GUNSHOT. Samuel shoots the rifle three times, directly into the air. He pulls the trigger a fourth time, but the gun does not fire. Birds fly out of the trees surrounding the clearing, but the doe does not stir. Samuel looks at her, tears begin to stream down his face, mixing with the now heavy rain. SAMUEL (yelling) Run! Please! Run… run… run and leave… The doe does not stir. Samuel, defeated, stops his protest and breaks into quiet sobs. Samuel’s father puts his hand on his son’s shoulder. With his other hand, he adjusts his rifle, pointing it at the doe. FATHER (quietly) Just pull the trigger. Please, Sam. The doe, finally awoken from her slumber, looks to Samuel. Her cold, black, dead eyes reflecting the rain. The red dye washed away from her body. She is pure white, almost shining against the darkened forest. Samuel’s father adjusts the rifle again, holding it up to his son’s eyes. He forces Samuel to look through the sights, to see the barrel of the rifle aimed between the doe’s eyes. FATHER There you go, right between the eyes. Samuel looks at the doe. His tears have been washed away by the rain. GUNSHOT. The doe is dead, her blood pools on the ground, mixing with the red ink. She is disfigured, her head is smashed in, a disgusting image, not one of pride or honor. Samuel’s father surveys the doe briefly, his face betrays a twinge of sickness. Samuel’s father looks back to his son, he too is bleeding. The rifle barrel is bent at an odd angle, sharp fragments of metal are missing. They have flown backwards into Samuel’s head and neck. He places his fingers to his son’s forehead, warm, viscous blood flows between them. The gun has catastrophically failed. FATHER Sam! He drops to his knees, lowering Samuel’s body down into his arms. Samuel’s eyes open slightly, he looks up at his dad. His eyes are as cold as the doe’s. SAMUEL Did I kill her? Samuel’s father nods, his eyes start to tear up. FATHER You did Sam, I’m so proud of you. Samuel coughs, he closes his eyes. SAMUEL I didn’t want to. Samuel dies. CUT TO: EXT. BELMONT - 9:00 A.M. The rain has cleared. The sun mercilessly beats down on the town as the townsfolk begin to return to normalcy. The hunt is over. From the woods, Samuel’s father walks back to the town. Slung over his shoulder, he carries his dead son. Behind him, he drags the doe, now stained red with its own blood, leaving a crimson trail behind him. FADE OUT |
JOHN MARTINEZ is an aspiring young writer from central New Jersey looking to explore the way we interact with base desires and outward appearances.
|