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Excerpt From Grotesque, A Gothic Epic ~ Moonwindow |
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[Lord] Hugon quickly rounded the opposite side of the astrologer, snapping his fingers impatiently and pointing to the moonwindow. The astrologer positioned a dipped quill over blank parchment and tilted himself squarely before the mirrored dish. Throughout the hall, not even a cough or sneeze challenged the mandated state of silence; as the astrologer sat, entranced in the converging glow of the moonwindow. Lazarus focused on the man; whose piercing stare became one with the light of the tripod's reflecting plate. The man's brow hardened and his eyes drew back like those of a searching bird-of-prey, outwardly staring into eternity. The man's lips quivered as he murmured to himself, and Hugon carefully backed away, such to cause him no disturbance. Hugon stole around [the astrologer's] backside, peering over his shoulder, and at the blank parchment. The hypnotized astrologer, although transfixed on his contraption, scribed words whilst Hugon mouthed them silently to himself: |
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'Where wild creatures gather with jackals Demons convene with heckling calls In repose, so perched over owl nests A ravaging angel shadow rests Conjuring lust, such to steal His seed In dreams, does this queen of demons, breed Sparring with Man, whilst she -' |
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The astrologer froze over a quivering quill. Hugon leaned forward; and he found a raised brow and wide eyes that confessed their concern in a mounting expression of horror. "What do you scribe?" Hugon asked him in a direct whisper. "Tell me of the flying man! Whence does he come?" The astrologer turned to Hugon as his face burned brightly in the moonwindow's glow. "God, no!" he gasped, his eyes welling. Hugon cocked himself back, considering. "God knows what?" |
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Excerpt From Grotesque II: Moonwindow ~ Screenplay Format |
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FADE IN: INT. MEDICAL STUDY - NIGHT Scores of books crowd the shelves, sharing space with primitive medical instruments, flasks of oils, herbs and powders. A PHYSICIAN clad in a brown robe and conical hat with long ear flaps hunches over a desk. He concentrates on a small tripod which suspends an oil lamp. Behind the lamp, a concave plate catches the light. Captivated by images on the plate, he scribbles notes haphazardly on a sheet of parchment. TITLE: LYON, FRANCE, 1553 The man glances quickly at the parchment and dips his quill. He slings off the excess ink and repositions it before looking back into the plate. The images there seize him. His hand shakes and he drops the quill. He leans forward, as if drawn by the plate. WHOOSH! The dish blasts forward, expanding, bulging out like a long silver balloon. The man jumps back, upsetting his stool. The dish stops a centimeter from his face before collapsing back into form. The man approaches the tripod carefully. He leans in quickly, blows out the lamp and retreats to the far wall. His breathing normalizes as he watches the harmless stream of smoke rising from the lamp. INT. HALL - NIGHT Two sets of BOOTS march in unison. Rising, we see A LEATHER SATCHEL bouncing against one of the men's legs. FIRST MAN (O.S.) What's it worth? SECOND MAN (O.S.) A few crowns, if you ask me. Yet he seems quite eager to seal the purchase. We see their faces -- two young NOBLEMEN. The second one gnaws on an apple. FIRST MAN Really? Who's the author? SECOND MAN Supposedly a Cardinal. A Jean Francois Blasi or something. FIRST MAN Never heard of him. SECOND MAN He's two hundred years dead! FIRST MAN (teasing) So, he's an ancient nobody! SECOND MAN (nose in the air) The correspondence is addressed to Pope Clement VI. FIRST MAN Undoubtedly, a fake. SECOND MAN (grinning) As like as not. He takes the last bite of apple. He holds the core up. SECOND MAN Then perhaps I should throw this in for good measure. He tosses the core into the satchel. The First Man shakes his head and chuckles. SECOND MAN Shush! Here we are. He stops them in front of a door. He straightens his clothes and raises his hand to knock when the door swings open. No one is visible. The men share a look of trepidation. A sonorous voice. VOICE (O.S.) Well? Steeling themselves, they enter. INT. MEDICAL STUDY - CONTINUOUS The men stare at the eccentric surroundings. Across the room, the Physician bends over a basin, washing his face. PHYSICIAN Have you all the pages? He dries his face with a towel. SECOND MAN Indeed I have, Monsieur. PHYSICIAN Then I should have a look at them. SECOND MAN And you may -- after payment. The Physician turns abruptly, his eyes cutting through his visitors like knives. He pulls a purse from his robe and tosses it to the Second Man. CLINK! Its heaviness makes his eyes glow. PHYSICIAN On the table. The Second Man opens the satchel and reaches in for the papers. SECOND MAN Of course, now you may inspect -- PHYSICIAN Leave the satchel. The Second Man hefts the purse, shrugs. SECOND MAN As you wish. He sets it down and turns to go. PHYSICIAN Only take your apple. The Second Man stops in his tracks. The First Man gawks, his gaze traveling from his friend to the Physician and back. Slowly, the Second Man retrieves the apple core and backs to the door. He bows curtly. SECOND MAN I bid you adieu, monsieur. The Physician stares at them, stone faced, as they depart. INT. HALL - NIGHT Safely down the hall, the Second Man has regained his jocularity. He jiggles the purse in front of his friend. SECOND MAN A pretty price for fake documents, aye? The First Man shoves his hand away. FIRST MAN He's a physician and a mystic? SECOND MAN So he claims. FIRST MAN Who is he? We stop and HOLD ON A WALL TORCH as they turn a corner and descend stairs. SECOND MAN His proper name is Michael -- of Notre Dame. FIRST MAN (O.S.) Proper name? SECOND MAN (O.S.) Calls himself Nostradamus. FLASH! The torch flares.  |
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