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All he could really see was his breath, tracing a lazy path as it swirled into the air. A distance away from him was a streetlamp, and what little light actually reached his face gave his eyes a hint of sparkle. They were wide with anticipation, for he was not sure what he was looking for… something, anything…the slightest motion caused his attention to be snapped to its cause… His breathing rate increased as he clung to the brick wall that he was using to conceal his presence… He swallowed hard. Over there, behind the garbage cans…There was something…He was certain there was something there, moving, then still…
He closed his eyes for a moment, and then took a step away from the wall. Straining his eyes to focus better in such poor lighting, he rested his hand against the leather weapons holster that was near his hip. With his fingers he traced the cold, metal arch of the ancient weapon that was resting there. It was a small comfort.
He took another step toward the cans, not diverting his gaze from the suspicious spot that had alerted him. His stealthy walk allowed for him to make absolutely no sound in the snow below his feet. Moving with the shadows, he gradually approached the cans. All of his senses were engaged in overload mode – yet still, he saw nothing.
Peering behind the metal cylinders, he could see a pattern – reminiscent of a disturbance that had occured in the snow. Still, nothing alive…Nothing there… Couldn’t have been his imagination… Just couldn’t have been…
He turned to retrace his own steps in the snow. His eyes darted up to meet the eyes of another…Another, right behind him…For a moment, he was paralyzed…The shadowed figure towered before him, a single katana gleaming in the subtle illumination…Swinging, attacking… Danger…Run!
He ducked just as the blade swung down upon him. It cracked loudly as it hit the armor that covered his back… He was knocked to his knees from the force of the impact. As the assassin prepared for the next blow, he wasted no time getting to his feet. In a blur, he had removed his sais from their holsters, and cast the material cape that was disguising him to the side. He caught the blade of the sword with his weapon, twisting in an attempt to dislodge the katana from the figure’s grasp. Suddenly, his head was knocked back – the consequence of a punch delivered by the other hand of the attacker. For a moment, he lost his bearings… The moving shadow took the opportunity to deliver a powerful kick to his side. He winced in pain. Trying to control the anger welling from inside, he got back on his feet, attempting to deliver some damage to his enemy. It took a phenomenal amount of control to follow through the sequences of actions involved in the various attack patterns that he was performing. He forced himself to think in terms of repetition, for he had done these same routines hundreds of times before. He struggled to keep the fluidity of the motions smooth… Thoughts set not on the eminent danger but instead on the techniques that he had mastered through practice… And despite his skillful fighting tactics, he was being blocked…beaten… More anger filled inside of him. He knew these moves! Why weren’t they as precise as they had been in the past? What was wrong with him? He was up against only one other fighter! This should be easy! His emotional state fueled his actions… He wasn’t going to give up… He managed to square a roundhouse kick to his opponent’s stomach, but it didn’t slow the victim down for long. Almost instantly, the veiled figure was back into attack mode, this time with even more power in its blows…. He tried to defend them, but it was more than he had ever faced before… It seemed like this single figure contained the power of ten. Inside he could feel the pain of defeat wash across him, his subconscious mind pleading for him to run, his conscious mind not allowing for defeat… Finally he realized that he could not prevail against this fighter on his own. He summoned his full concentration, grasped firmly on the handles of his sais, and delivered a final strong defense… He had to go….Had to…Flee… With a double backflip he escaped the situation, dived into the shadows and ran. He hated doing it…with every step detested it more. It was not over. He swore it as he ran…It was not over… He would never admit it was over until he had won. He would get the others, then he would return, and he would win.
The snow made it very difficult to keep from being tracked. At the first chance, he jumped to catch onto a fire escape which hung from one of the tall buildings that surrounded him. He pulled himself up and quickly ascended the incredible amount of stairs to the top of the complex.
From the top he could see the whole city. After a brief check that he wasn’t being followed, he leapt swiftly to the rooftop of the next closest complex. Then, once again, he checked his surroundings. He continued this process for quite some time, leaping from building to building, complex to complex. At last he settled on a building that was only a few stories off the ground. Then, with one glorious jump, he was able to descend back to ground level.
He was now on the complete opposite side of town as where the attack had begun. He ran to the Harbor, knowing that water was his only chance of keeping his tracks from being located. Despite the bitter cold, he jumped in. The water stung his skin as he swam toward the other side of the Harbor. The snow had begun to fall heavily… made it very difficult to see the shore. He headed for a dim light that glowed in the distance…
After what seemed like an eternity, he finally reached the point of his focus - a beacon, set to help guide ships into the harbor in bad weather. Once on shore, he ran to the left, along the water, staying close to the shadows… at last he reached a pipeline that allowed drainage from the mainland to return to sea. He entered.
The tunnels were like mazes, yet he knew the way perfectly. The pattern of twists and turns had long been embedded into his memory. Water sloshed beneath him, pouring down the piping back to where he had come. There was no light, only an occasional glimmer could be seen from a manhole cover which didn’t fit properly. He navigated purely by instinct.
For quite some time he twisted into the underground labyrinth, deeper and deeper into the city’s bowels. At last, he stopped his wandering. He took from his leather belt a small contraption, no larger than a cigarette pack, and opened it as you would open a clamshell. Moments later, there was a beeping sound.
With haste, he entered a sequence of keystrokes into the small keypad inside of the box. After a short time, he closed the container and replaced it in his belt. Suddenly, there was a strange, mechanical sound. Out of nowhere came light… Light from behind a door… A door in the wall, one that could not be detected beforehand. Once it had opened, he ducked into the opening behind it. The door returned to its original position, and all was as it had been – dark, cold and silent.
Once through the door chamber, proper illumination was no longer scarce. At first, it made his eyes water, for they weren’t yet adjusted to this sudden change in brightness. He closed them for a moment, then glanced down at his right forearm which had really begun to sting. It was bleeding quite badly, the wound a result of a miscalculated motion in defense of a double-edged sword. He needed to get it taken care of, it was a fairly serious injury, and if his arms were not in good condition then he would be at a serious disadvantage in any upcoming battle.
At that moment another figure stepped into the rectangular room that he was standing in. This figure looked at him for a moment, his brow furrowed, eyes locked on the target across from him.
“Where the hell have you been?” He said curtly.
Raphael glared at the figure just as coldly, but said nothing. He attempted to make his way down the hallway behind the figure, but he was caught by the arm and brought back to lock eyes with the other.
The act of doing so made the other figure suddenly aware of the blood running down Raphael’s arm.
“ What did you do to your arm? “ He said, his tone of voice now expressing more concern than anger.
“It’s nothing. Forget about it. I almost had until you brought it up again. “ He lied, once again attempting to swiftly move into the hallway which was just past the other character. However, as he went to step around his body in order to enter the hallway, he was stopped by another tug, this time on his left wrist.
“ Raph, “ The figure looked into his brother’s eyes. “Are you sure you’re ok? “
He pulled his wrist from his brother’s grasp.
“ I said I’m fine, Leo. I don’t understand why I have to repeat myself to you.“ He said coldly, then turned and made his way down the hall, entered a room at the end of it, and slammed the door behind him.
Chapter Two
As he sat on the edge of his bed, bandaging his wounded arm, Raphael’s thoughts began to drift. At first, all he could think about was the outcome of the battle that he had just been engaged in…Then his thoughts wandered to the resulting injury of this violent rendezvous. Both of these topics fueled the anger glowing inside of him. At first, he tried to push his emotions back. There had been failed battles before, and there would most likely be failed battles in the future; he had to deal with that. Still, this thought was of little comfort….in fact, it seemed to enrage him even further….yet he could not determine what it was that made him so upset. He began to search into his mind for the reasoning behind his agitated state.
Why was he so angry? He should have been happy that his injuries weren’t more severe, for they very easily could have been catastrophic. The thought crept into his mind that he could have even been killed. So why was it that he was so unhappy, so miserable, and to such an extent that he even contested his own brothers’ attempts to reach out to him?
Raphael could feel the tears welling in his eyes, yet the overwhelming sensation of an emotion different than anger was very foreign to him, and it made him feel ashamed. Responding to this awkward sensation, he desperately tried to blink away all trace of the liquid. He told himself familiar lies, established from his frequent repetition of this practice: You are emotionless…You are ninja…You are one with your surroundings…You feel nothing….God damn it…You feel nothing…
At that moment, Raphael looked up from the edge of his bed and caught the image of a large, humanlike turtle looking back at him through a mirror. He closed his eyes and began to sob softly.
There really aren’t any words capable of expressing the feelings that one experiences when both mind and body are free. In truth, the ability to completely free oneself from all extraneous entanglements is a task more difficult than any other. What’s even more difficult is being able to free one’s mind and body while also remaining perfectly aware of every aspect of them. Yet this process, this true separation yet unity of body and spirit, was the aspiration of any learner of the way of the ninja. It was these thoughts that Donatello rested his mind on as he practiced the fluid motions of Bojitsu in front of his mirror.
As he practiced, Donatello also began to realize ideas that were placed deeper into his subconscious. Although his original intent was to run through a regimen of attacking and blocking sequences which he thought he might need extra practice with, he now found himself moving through space in a dance-like fashion.
For someone with such a tormented and technical mind, it was quite amazing that he had actually achieved such an inner peace. He felt as if his entire spirit was floating, and that he was at one with the emptiness around him. Every movement was graceful, his countenance laced with dreamy serenity. The peace was calming, yet slightly disturbing, for he was not used to such a spiritual escape. On other occasions, Donatello would have much sooner sought the comfort of his laboratory and computer console than a meditative escape. However, this time the escape had captivated his attention by surprise.
Although he would not have realized it, Donatello’s movements had already taken on a higher level of experience. His body seemed to flow into the positions, which though foreign to him, were actually moves described in the highest books of Ninja Skills.
It was at that moment when he heard it. It seemed to come out of nowhere, yet surround him totally. He wasn’t sure if he had actually registered the sound through his ears because it felt as if it came from deep within, pounding into his brain and echoing in the walls of his mind. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he had actually heard it at all. However, whatever it had or hadn’t been was enough to give him such a shock that it woke him from his trance, and his eyes snapped open to find the reflection of himself gaping strangely back in the mirror.
Not being the type to enjoy pondering the supernatural, Donatello longed to return to the comforts of the technical gadgetry waiting patiently in his lab for an investigative intellect to take notice. He quickly replaced his Bo staff to its rack and made his way to the computer room.
Once upon a time there was a strange interdimensional portal that appeared in the middle of a rather odd setting…one that could easily have been representative of Jupiter or Saturn. However, this landscape was actually Laura’s room. From the undulating orb that invaded the scene emerged a man, his hair a sunset fire red and his eyes glowing green and gold. He held a guitar in his left hand, and appeared to be in the middle of singing when he appeared. However, his arrival in this new place caused him to stammer on the note and drop his jaw. To his surprise, many strange little figurines on various shelving units surrounded him, and before him was what looked to be a tv set, although he had never seen such a compact unit. He turned slowly to find a bed behind him, and a window above the bed let in the light of midday. Needless to say, he felt completely displaced, and continued to gape at the room that he was in. Suddenly, his eyes fell onto a bulletin board in the corner of the room that held up a calendar – and he was filled with shock. Yes, he did notice that it said “August of 2002” instead of “August of 1974”, but what shocked him even more was the image that the calendar held. It was of him – but he could not conceive of how someone could have a purchased a calendar sporting his image on it, no matter what year it was…for he was just a local musician trying to make a few bucks with his space-age gig. Laura had just finished completing a rather productive sitting of Nintendo 64, having beaten the Water Temple monster to complete water pulp, and went to the fridge to grab a Diet Pepsi. She then decided she would go to her room to get a video from her shelf to watch.
He had heard some noises coming from another area of the house and proceeded to look for some place to hide. He checked the window to see if there was any chance of escape, but to his distress he found that the house was actually a two-story and he would have to make a rather painful leap if he were to try and get out. He made his way to one of the closets in the room, and opened it slowly…however, he could find little room in the closet and realized that he would not be able to hide in there without removing some of the clothes that were hanging in it. He was about to close the door when his eye caught a glimpse of some dangerously high boots with laces up the front that made his heart stammer, and a black and red feather boa in the corner of the closet that made him catch his breath in his throat. However, he was only stunted for a moment by these sights and then quickly closed the closet, pivoting to search the room for another option of where to hide.
Laura was cursing at the refrigerator door for not having put some additional Diet Pepsi cans in the fridge earlier that day, and was searching for some substitute drink that would soothe her caffeine and phenylalanine attack.
Meanwhile, he checked underneath the bed for some space to hide in, but unfortunately was met with the sight of four large storage bins full of random stuff. “The only thing that this kid doesn’t have is some bloody extra space,” He commented to himself, now looking up from under the bed, checking for some nook to cram into.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching from down the hall. In a panic, he stood up from where he was crouching to make a break for it. Unfortunately, as he did so, he caught the back of his pants on the metal attachment underneath the desk table in the room and proceeded to catch on his pants. “Oh bloody hell,” He cursed to himself as he tried to disentangle his pants from the table leg. He frantically tried to get the material untangled from the furniture piece. Suddenly, the material gave way and he went flying onto Laura’s bed.
At that moment, Laura came walking into her room, and at the sight of the wide- eyed wild-haired chap on her bed, dropped her Root Beer mid-sip.
“Um…” The man began, his voice wavering. “It’s not what you think.”\
Laura blinked.
“…Actually, I’m not even sure if it’s what I think.”
Laura blinked again.
“…Come to think of it…..Do you even think?”
Laura blinked, and squeaked.
(more to come oooo)
Once upon a time Donatello was reminiscing about the good ol’ days when both he and his brothers were popular; when merchandise bearing their likenesses could be found in virtually every toy store around the country. He remembered the cereal, the fruit snacks, the movies, the cds, the video games, the action figures, the stuffed animals, the Easy Cheese molds and the crappy candles…he remembered when people could literally walk down an entire division of a department store that was dedicated to his coolness. But now what did they have? Nothing! It is pretty much obvious that they could have kept all that turtle stuff in stores for the rest of the century and made money because so many people liked him, but no…no, …… now they came out with Beetleborgs and Power Rangers and all of this crap that was just a big cheap cheesy rip of himself. Donatello got very angry as he thought of this…but what could he possibly do about it?!
It was at that moment that he snapped. No, I don’t mean that he started screaming and flailing his arms, although he’d been known to do that on occasion. He actually snapped, which in simple terms for those who are too stupid to figure it out means he went nuts. Yes, bonkers, bananas, fruity, batty, crazy, insane, crackers, tweety…in other words, he lost it. He just jumped up off of his bed (which was decorated with Dexter sheets and a big pillow shaped like a demented eye) and went running out of the sewer with one and only one destination in mind.
When Donatello arrived at Toys R Us he did not pause to allow the little old lady who was about to enter the store to take her time and pass through the doors. Instead he blew by her like any irritated ninja would do, causing her to have even lower opinions about “youngen’s”. Why, when she was that age, she would have never done such a thing….I mean, back in her day when you had to walk twelve miles to get to the nearest run-down, stinky, unsanitary, dilapidated shack and had to give the store owners four year’s wages (2 cents) and your mom’s purple hairnet just to get a sack of flour which you had to carry back to your home in the blinding snowstorm and intolerable heat…ahhh ok, you get it.
Sooo….Donatello was wandering around looking for someone to make a big stink to when he noticed that this little bratty kid, no more than seven years old, was making faces at him. This made Donatello quite peeved. He did the first logical thing that any ninja would do. He made a face back. This, however, was the equivalent to “fighting words” and caused a huge tiff to break out between the kid and the turtle. After a few minutes of getting kicked in the rear end and poked in the eye and called a “poophead”, the kid had thoroughly raspberried Donatello defenseless.
Donatello was attempting to swallow his pride when the manager of the store came tapping-tapping at his chamber shell. Apparently, the fight had been reported due to the fact that young children should not be exposed to such violence because they are at a very delicate age. The kid who had slobbered at Donatello simply laughed hysterically at this outcome of events.
The manager politely asked that Donatello go find another place where he and his outrageous behavior might fit in better. This was all that the turtle needed. He finally screamed: “Well I would return to the aisle that I belong in if I COULD ACTUALLY FIND WHERE THAT IS!!” The manager just looked at him strangely. Then, as if a candle that long had been extinguished suddenly gave a very dim light, the manager was able to mutter “Hey, buddy, what’s the deal with you? Don’t you get it? You are being kicked out! Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?” With this, Donatello made a somewhat scary smile and whispered, “Shhhh!!!! It’s a secret!” Then, after a long pause of crickets chirping, Donatello made his profound comment of the day. “Warning!” He said authoritatively. “Cape does not enable you to fly.” Then, without any warning, he outstretched his hands into the air above his head and ran off down the main aisle of Toys R Us crying “WHOOOSHHHH!!!!”
Well, this was certainly becoming a situation for the Toys R Us manager. He first decided that it may be possible to just try to talk some sense into this deranged customer. He made his way down to the other side of the store, keeping on alert for any sign of a big turtle. All at once, something hit the manager on the head. And then something else! Before the manager could comprehend what was going on, a whole mess of things came flying at him from the aisle next to him. “I toss my cookies at you!!” Cried Donatello as he flung random plastic play food cookies at the manager. “And some weird bacon! And a hamburger! And I think this is supposed to be spaghetti! Yeah! Hi-Yah!” At this, the manager was completely insulted. Nobody throws spaghetti at him and gets away with it. Well, except for maybe Donatello, because as the manager started to approach him, all of a sudden Donatello screamed at the top of his lungs “OOOO PACIFIC SUN BARBIE!!!” and went running madly off to the other side of the store.
As the manager of the store went chasing after the turtle, Donatello managed to evade him and make his way to the front checkouts. He approached the lady at the check out stand with much caution, and after a long period of deranged staring and twitching, began to make his statement with an increasingly frantic tone of voice. “Do….Youuuu….Know……WheRE…..YOU….KEEEEEpp….THEEE….BLUEEEEE……PLAYDOUGHHHH?!!!?!?!” The woman was slightly taken aback from this customer’s antics, but decided to be a good Toys R Us worker anyway. She suggested the silver playdough sets that were attached to the front of the check out stands. With this, Donatello became even more frantic. “NOOOOooooo……IIII….NEEEEDDD…. THE….BLUUUUEEEE…. PLAYDOUGH” he twitched. “Uh, Sir,” She asked semi-calmly. “Are you sure you’re feeling ok?” Donatello replied, “I FeEL FunNYYY” in a not mentally healthy way. At last the woman just pointed toward the other end of the store and Donatello went running off. Then she got on her intercom and contacted the store manager. “We have a Code 97398498572344324534534 in Aisle 9”.
When the manager and a few other workers finally found Donatello in Aisle 9, the sight was not at all pretty. Blue playdough was everywhere – on the shelves, the floor, the ceiling…everywhere. Donatello seemed quite content until he noticed the growling faces staring at him. That was when he decided to make a break for it and screamed “GO GO POWER RANGERS!!!”, running off toward the middle of the store.
Donatello now found himself in the playground equipment section of the store with his adversaries close on his trail. In an effort to stall his enemies, he quickly grabbed two plastic balls from a nearby ball pit and held them up to his eyes. “Veryyy eenteresting, but schtupid” he cried as he yanked the plastic ball pit off of its display stand and threw it on the ground, upside down. The balls went rolling down toward the Toys R Us workers and, of course, tripped them one by one. Donatello desperately looked for some means of escape, finally deciding on a little motorized Jeep that was battery powered, meant to fit a kid. He quickly climbed on board and with a very definitive whirr went rounding the corner at an alarming 3 miles an hour crying “You’ll never catch me now! I am out of your reeeeaaaachhhh!!!”
Well it was beyond closing time now for Toys R Us, so the lights went down and the doors became locked. This, however, did not stop our hero from doing his best to hide from his adversaries. For about 10 minutes, no one could find any trace of the large mutant turtle who had so recently made his grand exit. However, it wasn’t long before over the pa system one could hear a terrible and off-key adaptation of a common song. It went something like this:
Oh Donnie Boy, The pipes, the pipes are calling…
From glen to glen, and down the sewer side
The summer’s gone and all the roses falling
Tis you, tis you must go and I must bide……
Now, it took a few minutes to locate the source of this horrendous serenade, but after about 10 repetitions of the song, the store manager was able to locate a tent in the outdoor section that had a glowing light coming from its completely sealed up interior. The manager and his minions approached the tent with much caution, and after a moment of preparation, unzipped the oval shaped doorway. “GAHHHH!” Cried Donatello. “WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU IDIOTS DOING?!!! GERMS!!! GERMS!!! AHHHH!!! THE GERMS!!!! GET THE DISINFECTANT!!! GET THE IODINE!!!!!” He quickly zipped the entry back up. From the inside one could hear the slight murmur of “I feel funny”.
However, this display of desperate paranoia did not keep the manager from once again unzipping the tent, this time prepared for the inevitable insanity that was to follow. With a quick yank, the tent was open once again and Donatello was caught by the feet. It was now that the manager could see a flashlight, a little kid’s radio broadcasting toy (which had most likely been used to tamper with the pa system) and a multitude of pink crayons that had bites missing from them. This odd array of items did not stop the manager from prying Donatello out inch by inch and eventually dragging him kicking and scratching to the front of the store. “NO!! NO!!” Donatello flailed, but he could not compete with the indescribable strength of a Toys R Us manager. “Nooooo not my beloved pink crayons!!! Do what you will with me, but leave my sweet darling pink crayons alone you MONSTERS!!!!”
As they dragged Donatello to the front of the store, he did his best to latch on to anything in his path. As they took him through the check outs, he grabbed onto the candy display and began ripping random items off the shelves, tearing open the packages with his mouth and flinging the contents in the general direction of his face (missing regularly)….pixie sticks, M&M’s, skittles, nerds…The frenzy ended abruptly when he accidentally grabbed a packet of Chicklets and swallowed them, putting him in a coughing fit and allowing the manager to finally drag him out of the Toys R Us doors and throw him in the kiddie pool outside.
“And STAY OUT!!!” Exclaimed the manager. “Now I know why I got rid of your stuff in the first place! It was a disaster waiting to happen!!!” He screamed and went back into the store, locking the doors behind him.
Donatello just looked at the doors for a while, choking and turning a similar color purple as his bandanna. Suddenly, an idea dawned on him. “Oooo,” He said to himself. “Water!” And he began slurping from the drowned-bug infested kiddie pool, totally absorbed in the task and having no concept of what had just occurred.
The End
Note: Unfortunately, I can't get this to format well, so reading it will be a little weird. Also, it would take too long to go back and put in bold for Becky's writing. If you read something funny that isn't in CAPITALS (other than the headlines), it's her contribution to the script! Enjoy.
THE THING Screenplay by Bill Lancaster Revised by Laura And further added on by Becky From the story "Who Goes There" (more like “Who cares?” *knock knock knock* It’s me. by Don A. Stuart (to be read with an Irish accent!) ah-cha-cha-cha-chee! SECOND DRAFT same as the first, but worse. Or better…hard to decide. March 4, 1981 OK ENOUGH OF IT CHANGING FONTS ON ME, I’LL JUST WRITE IN ALL CAPITALS!!! Ha! I’m in BOLD! CAST (OF STUPID PEOPLE) and regarded as such MACREADY 35. Helicopter pilot. Likes chess. (cheese? Ohhh, CHESS.) Hates the cold. The pay is good. SMELLS BAD, HAS A LOT OF HAIR, RESEMBLES NEANDERTHAL MAN. Wears a REALLY COOL hat. Good for catching fish in. GARRY 46. The station manager. Stiff. Ex-army officer. Wears a handgun. LOOKS LIKE HE’S OUT OF PEARL HARBOR Why the heck would he be in charge of the station anyway? “What can we do? What can we do?” CHILDS 33. Six-four. Two-fifty. Black. A mechanic. Can be jolly. But don't mess. JOLLY? ARE THEY KIDDING? THIS IS GOLIATH YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT. AND HE HAS FREAKY EYES. And is continually referred to as the “large, black man” throughout the rest of this stupid script. BLAIR 50. Sensitive. Intelligent. Unassuming. An assistant biologist. SENSITIVE? YOU MUST BE KIDDING. THIS GUY HAS NO PERSONALITY. Just make a really funny frown, and everything will be okay. DR. COPPER 45. Professional. A decent man. A good doctor. DECENT, BUT LOOKS FUNNY. KIND OF LIKE A GNOME OR SOMETHING. And looks like he wears a nose ring. PALMER 27. Second string chopper pilot. Crack mechanic. Long hair. Slight sixties acid damage. AND SCARY, SHIFTY EYES. PALMER IS GREAT. Crack mechanic? What about crackhead? (This is where he gives me the finger.) NAULS 22. The cook. Bright. Black. Irreverent. But kindhearted. Roller skates. KINDHEARTED? ALL I GOT WAS THAT HE WAS DUMB AND HE LIKED REALLY BAD MUSIC. He’s a superfreak! Superfreak! He’s superfreaky! Yeow! NORRIS 44. Stocky. Rugged looking. A geophysicist. An incipient heart condition. Hey! You forgot Norris! Um…spin spin spin. BENNINGS 38. A meteorologist. Dutiful. An old pro. HAS A TENDENCY TO MAKE REALLY SCARY NOISES. LOOKS LIKE A LUMBERJACK. I’m a lumberjack, and I’m okay! I sleep all night, and I work all day! CLARK 24. The dog handler. Likes it here. A LITTLE TOO MUCH. Good at his job. LOOKS MORE LIKE LUMBERJACK. WEIRD. UNEMOTIONAL. HE LIKES HIS DOGS AND THAT’S ALL THAT MATTERS. Even if the dogs happen to be disgusting aliens bent on WORLD DOMINATION. SANCHEZ 21. The radio operator. Hates it here. WHO THE HELL IS SANCHEZ?! HEY WINDOWS, WHERE ARE YOU?! I want my Windows. Hmm, is Sanchez Spanish for Windows? Lousy at his job. OOPS.. UM, YES THIS TOO. Aw, come on. He doesn’t have much to strive for in that craphole. AND WHAT ABOUT FUCHS?! THEY DON’T LIST HIM… That’s because he SUICIDAL. In the winter of 1982 these men were commissioned by the United States National Science Foundation to gather data concerning the physical and natural sciences on the continent of Antarctica. WHO THE HELL CARES? Ooo, it sounds professional, but does the scriptwriter really know what he’s writing? “Duh…” THE MAIN COMPOUND OF U.S. OUTPOST #31 The interior is a cramped and never ending maze of hallways, passageways and doors which connect the many rooms and compartments within the compound. PERFECT FOR A SCARY VIDEO GAME. Sturdy, but prefabricated materials have been used in its construction. Prefabricated? It was made before it was made? There is a laboratory. An infirmary. A kitchen and mess hall. A communications room and sleeping quarters. Other cubicles are for storage and supplies. AND A POT ROOM BUT WE WON’T GO THERE. So where’s the bathroom? They pee into holes in the floor? The most spacious area of the building, and the main center of activity, is the Rec Room. Where Windows (um, er, Sanchez) likes to play “Mary Had a Little Lamb” on his acoustic guitar. Of the many entrance ways to this room can be seen the small work chambers with their sophisticated computers and other scientific equipment. OH YEAH, REAL SOPHISTICATED. The below quarter houses the generator and still other compartments for storage. UNLESS THE GENERATOR IS GONE. This is where the mysterious character Bob hides until the final scene. But we’re not going to go into that yet. A long underground tunnel connects the main compound to the dog kennel. THIS IS SORT OF LIKE THE HEATING DUCTS THAT ARE BIG ENOUGH FOR PEOPLE TO FIT IN. Man, I heard of dogs digging holes, but THAT is ridiculous. FADE IN: A STARRY BLACKNESS LIKE THE INSIDE OF MACREADY’S HEAD Or are we seeing the inside of the theatre after the moviegoers saw the first few minutes and decided to leave? From out of the billions, the smallest of specks drives slowly forward. A speck can drive? It closes; getting larger; its features becoming more identifiable: a vessel. Flip-flopping; out of control. Its stern roaring with flame. It passes; its blue fire surging into the screen. WHAT A SET UP. Blue fire. Oooooo. "THE THING" YEAH WE KNOW NOW GET ON WITH IT He has to remind us because I’ve already forgotten what the hell I’m reading. A thundering...OOOO BIG DEAL Moses! Build me an ark! FADE TO: A BLIND AND FERAL WHITENESS WHAT A VOCABULARY Feral? Bwahahahaha! ... Glacial desert... gusts of snow... superimpose: ANTARCTICA 1982 WINTER Didn’t he already tell us this? A SOUND LISTEN, YOU SMELL SOMETHING? Loud and strident. A helicopter streaks across frame. It travels precariously close to the ground; its chassis battered and swayed by the wind. HOW DID YOU LIKE THEM APPLES? SEND THIS WRITER TO HALLMARK!!! Loud and strident, the scriptwriter fell over backwards. Dead. INT. COPTER Red dials beam on the faces of two men. One carries a rifle and searches the horizon with binoculars. The other pilots. THAT’S NOT A SENTENCE. What did you expect? He comes out quoting Macbeth? Their unkempt faces, their blazing eyes notate a wildness. NEITHER IS THIS! They bark at each other in some Scandinavian SWEDISH? I didn’t know you could bark in Scandinavian. tongue. Two men arguing like mad and desperate children. GOD! THIS GUY SHOULD GO TO HARVARD FOR HIS WONDERFUL GRAMMAR! So they’re whiney is what he’s saying. The man with the binoculars sights something. WOW! SOMETHING IS GOING TO HAPPEN FINALLY! No, that’s just you imagination. EXT. HORIZON - BINOCULARS' POV - A DOG Boy, that was exciting. It turns and snarls at the craft some fifteen hundred yards to its rear. GRRRRRRRR Then whirls and gallops off. A gun blast kicks up snow at its heels. THE SHOT IS SO FAR OFF YOUR 100 YEAR OLD GRANNY COULD DO BETTER INT. COPTER Another blast of rifle fire as the man takes issue with his prey. AGAIN, ABOUT 80 FEET FROM ANY REMOTE CHANCE OF HITTING SOMETHING. Takes issue? What is this? Maury Povich? The pilot slams a fist into his gunman friend and implores for better aim. “Pleeeeeease hit the stupid dog this time, Olaf. I don’t want to have to kamikaze the helicopter.” The craft swoops lower and the engine is put into full throttle. EXT. HILL - THE DOG running feverishly up and over a hill of ice. A weather- beaten, wooden sign sticks up on the other side: U.S. NATIONAL SCIENCE FOUNDATION -- OUTPOST #31 WHO CARES? AND IT ISN’T 31 IN THE MOVIE…I DON’T THINK…I don’t even remember. Where are the other 30 outposts? A rifle blast kicks up more snow. BECAUSE IT SURE AS HELL AIN’T HITTING THE DOG. EXT. COMPOUND OF U.S. OUTPOST #31 A large, almost snow-covered building. Not far from that a tall, meteorological balloon tower. WOW, WHERE IS THAT IN THE MOVIE? It blew away before they could film it. A scattering of several small shacks at varying distances from the main compound. The smaller hovels are connected by wooden planked walkways and steadying ropes. The hovels are where they keep the captive hobbits. Multicolored pennants stick put of the snow marking pathways and directions to outdoor experiments. HOW FESTIVE I don’t even UNDERSTAND that sentence. A tractor and two helicopters sit idle, Well, how else would they sit? Moving? covered with mounds of continuously mounting snow. OR AS MUCH AS THE SET WOULD HOLD TWO MEN, NORRIS AND BENNINGS Wrong! One man and one lumberjack. standing some thirty yards from the main building are in the process of letting up a large red balloon. THEY ARE? UH OK They’re trying to get back to Oz. Childs, a hefty black man, One. is twenty yards away tinkering with a snowmobile. Their beards are caked with ice. It is winter and it is harsh. No, it’s winter, and it’s wonderful out. The faint sound of the copter turns their attention. THE COPTER flying ever lower now. The man with the gun leans dangerously outside and falls out fires away at the dog as it nears the outpost. ONCE AGAIN WITHOUT COMING REMOTELY NEAR TO SHOOTING THE DOG THE MEN HERE COME THE MEN yeay outside the compound look to one another, incredulous. THE COPTER much too low now, and chastised by the wind, Bad copter! Bad bad bad! attempts a high-speed landing, directly on the heels of the sprinting dog. BUT OF COURSE THEY COULDN’T EVEN CRASH THE DAMN HELICOPTER INTO IT. It bounces violently on the hard-packed surface. Once. Twice. Passing the dog. FIGURES. Hey! You’re supposed to pass on the left not the right, you stupid Swedes! A third bounce sends it skidding. It flips; its blades snapping off like toothpicks. BECAUSE THEY REALLY WERE MADE OF TOOTHPICKS. It lands belly-up, soundless except for the whine of its engine. And a guy moaning, “I shouldn’t have left home this morning.” The man with the gun rolls out before the explosion. And decides to do a little dance. “I’m free! I’m—“ INT. MAIN COMPOUND The half a dozen men, playing cards, monitoring equipment, listening to music -- spring to their feet, startled. IS ANYTHING GOING TO HAPPEN IN THIS BLOODY MOVIE? No. They decide to sit back down. The giant explosion was just a false alarm. EXT. COMPOUND The dog reaches Norris and Bennings, as they awkwardly wade through the snow, toward the downed copter. THE SURVIVOR OF COURSE THERE IS A SURVIVOR BUT NOT FOR LONG of the crash, his eyes crazed with determination, struggles to his feet. Heedless of his companion, he double-times his way to the men and the dog. He reloads his gun and bellows in his Scandinavian SWEDISH tongue. Norris and Bennings have no idea what he is saying. THEY AIN’T THE ONLY ONES. *Scratch heads in confusion* The survivor waves his arms as if shooting them off, Shooting them off? Isn’t that what he’s doing with his GIANT, MURDERING GUN?! screaming as he does so; his face now caked with blood. UM I DON’T RECALL THIS BUT OK The two men are bewildered. The dog jumps up, licking and pawing them, imploring for safety. EW LICKED BY THE THING. “You taste GOOD.” Blam!! The visitor fires. The men jump back in disbelief. BUT OF COURSE HE MISSES THE DOG. Didn’t you know? He’s really aiming for the stupid men who just make the situation worse. NORRIS What the fu... SHAME ON YOU, YOU SHOULD HAVE SAID FAAAAHK YOU Fu? FUBAR? Fubu? Futball? Blam! Blam! The crazed visitor screams and fires as he stalks after them. His countenance ablaze, mad. Oh, okay. I just thought he was on fire. Thanks for clearing up that whole anger thing. Ice and snow kick up about the terrified Americans. A bullet smacks into the dog's hip, sending it skidding and howling in pain. UHNOOO IT HIT THE DUMB DUDE NOT THE DOG, THAT WOULD HAVE MADE TOO MUCH SENSE. Plus, they probably spent all the money on the Thing special effects. They had nothing extra for fixing up a shot dog. Childs, the black man Two by the snowmobile, takes cover, diving behind his machine. Bennings is hit. Norris pulls, drags him back toward the compound. The dog crawls along beside them. “Help me!” The intruder is relentless in his assail. He runs, screaming, firing, screaming, reloading and firing. Wow! I can barely chew gum and walk at the same time. INT. COMPOUND Total confusion. Some watch helplessly through the small, fogged-up and translucent windows. Wait a sec. How can the windows be fogged up and translucent at the same time? Others try to mobilize grabbing for their heavy jackets. CLOSE ON A .357 MAGNUM OOO MAGNUM P. I. OR WHATEVER as it efficiently breaks through a windowpane and into the cold. A steady hand grips it firmly. THE SCANDINAVIAN (SWEDISH) getting closer. Kablam! Kaboom! Or…Kablooie! It all depends on whom you ask. Suddenly, his head jerks back. He falls to his knees and then face down into the snow. OOOO GRUESOME. IF THIS BOTHERED YOU, YOU’D BETTER TURN OFF THE VIDEO NOW. NORRIS AND BENNINGS stare blankly, Not too hard for these two to do so. but relievedly at the fallen man. The dog whimpers in pain. NO STINKING WHIMPERING, WHINING, NADA. CHILDS the large black man, pokes his head out from under the snowmobile. INT. MAIN COMPOUND - REC ROOM The rumbling of voices fades. The men adjust their eyes to station manager Garry, as he extracts his gun from the broken window, relieves it of its spent shell and puts it away. ONLY TOOK GARRY ONE SHOT TO KILL THE SWEDISH GUY BUT THE SWEDISH GUY COULDN’T EVEN CRASH A HELICOPTER INTO A DOG. What did you expect from a Swede? CUT TO: EXT. BURNING COPTER Several men spray snow on the burning wreckage. There is no hope for the pilot. OR FOR THIS PART OF THE MOVIE. And here we ask the question as to why they need to put out the fire in the first place. What the hell is it going to burn down? The snow? CUT TO: INT. COMPOUND CLOSE ON THE PALLID FACE OF THE SCANDINAVIAN (SWEDISH )INTRUDER “Intruder alert. Intruder alert.” A neat round hole is set in the middle of his forehead. HOW PRETTY. Station manager Garry holds up something akin to an ID. GARRY Norwegian AND SWEDISH... Jans Bolen. “Ja, I am a bearded lady.” Fuchs, a young and sensitive-looking biologist, stands closest to the large area map of Antarctica. AH FINALLY, FUCHS. And for some reason they complete forget about him in the character list. Several men sit and stand around viewing the body that lies on two brought-together card-tables. BECAUSE THEY’RE MEN AND THAT’S WHAT MEN DO. “Hey, I really like what ya did with those card-tables.” “Yep.” “Uh-huh.” FUCHS Gotta be from the Norwegian camp. …NO, HE’S FROM ECUADOR. GARRY How far's that?….YOU NEVER STUDIED. What? Norway? FUCHS 'Bout eighty kilos southwest….DUH He would just know, wouldn’t he? GARRY (surprised) That far?…PUH, NEVER STUDIED. Garry directs his attention to Childs, the large black man Three who had been working on the snowmobile. Next to him sits Norris, the rugged-looking, fortyish, geophysicist, who was one of the men being shot at. THE ONE WHO LOOKS LIKE SAMWISE GAMGEE. GARRY You catch anything he was saying? DO WE FUCKING LOOK SWEDISH?! CHILDS Am I starting to look Norwegian to you, Bwana? WHAT THE HELL IS BWANA? Ain’t ya never seen a black Swede before? Garry motions inquiringly to Norris. NORRIS Yeah. I caught that he wanted the better part of my ass to come apart. …BAD MENTAL PICTURE. INT. INFIRMARY Dr. Cooper, mid-forties, works on the outstretched leg of Bennings, the meteorologist. I THOUGHT IT WAS COPPER. Dr. Cooper is his evil twin. Clark, the dog handler, is mending the hip of the wounded dog off in the corner. OH POOR THINGIE. Bennings lets out with an ouch. SHOULD HAVE USED OUCHLESS BANDAIDS. DR. COPPER Don't "ouch" me. Two stitches. It just grazed you. AMAZING HE WAS ABLE TO HIT YOU AT ALL. He helps a shaken Bennings up off the table. BENNINGS What in the hell were they doing...? Searching for lost treasure duh! Flying that low... shooting at a dog... at us...BUT MISSING CONSISTENTLY DR. COPPER Stir crazy. Cabin fever... Who knows. A THING!!! “And who cares. You better have good insurance. I expect to be paid in full for this lameass stitching I’m doing to your leg.” The dog yelps and whimpers as Clark tries to calm him. OH SHUT UP. CLARK I'll be here a while. Shell's pretty deep. GEE LUCKY YOU, JUST YOU AND THE THING. ALONE. HOW NICE. With BLOOD. INT. RADIO ROOM Blair, senior biologist, fifty, balding, leans against the entrance door. CONTEMPLATING HIS CRAPPY TELEVISION COMMERCIAL ASPIRATIONS. Or the fact that he’s BALD. He looks on as the young, bored-looking radio operator, Sanchez, attends to his equipment. Bursts of static. WHO THE HELL IS SANCHEZ? It’s Windows’ pseudonym duh! Now shut up and watch the friggin’ movie! SANCHEZ It's no go. NO IT’S NOOOOOOODOOOOOO BLAIR Well, get to somebody. Anybody. We've got to report this mess. CALL THE GHOSTBUSTERS. No, call…HE-MAN! SANCHEZ Look, I haven't been able to reach shit in two weeks. YOU’VE BEEN CALLING SHIT? NO WONDER IT DOESN’T ANSWER. Doubt if anybody's talked to anybody on the whole continent. PROBABLY NOT BUT HEY IT BUILDS TENSION TO THINK OTHERWISE… Probably every other stupid outpost is manned by a group of retarded men who just decided to let the Thing walk in. “Hey, how ya doin’?” INT. HALLWAY Nauls, the cook, glides along on his roller stakes down one of the many narrow hallways that connect the various compartments of the main compound. “I’ve got Disco fever! Oh yeah!” He is black, a little mischievous, about twenty-two. He comes to a flashy skidding stop whoosh at one of the entrances to the rec room area, where the men are gathered with the dead Norwegian. DOING AN EXORCISM. NAULS Maybe we at war with Norway. GEE GOOD THING YOU IS EDJUMUCATED If you wanted to get really good, you could say, “Maybe we is at war wit’ Norway.” Palmer, a spacy, twenty-seven year old, Twenty-seven? No no no. He looks close to forty. novice pilot and mechanic, grins as he lights a joint. He directs a remark to station manager Garry. DUUUUDE PALMER Was wondering when "El Capitan" was going to get a chance to use his pop gun. THERE SURE IS A LOT OF FOREIGN CRAP IN THIS FILM. And then John Philip Sousa breaks out with the marching band. Garry rebukes him with a stern look and then turns to Fuchs. OOOO SCARY GARRY How long have they been stationed there? FOUR SCORE AND TWENTY MILLION YEARS AGO… Fuchs leafing through a pile of papers. FUCHS Says here about eight weeks. EIGHT WEEKS?! OH MY GOD! THAT’S SO LONG!!! How can he tell? I thought they didn’t know Norwegian. Dr. Copper enters the room. Bennings limping after him slightly. “Dr. Copper, where did Dr. Cooper go?” GARRY (shaking his head) That's not enough time for guys to go bonkers. I’M ABOUT READY TO GO BONKERS FROM HOW BORING THIS IS NAULS Bullshit, Bwana, sweetheart. Five minutes OF THIS MOVIE is enough to put a man over down here. HE THINKS GARRY IS HIS SWEETHEART?! PALMER Damn straight. NAULS I mean Palmer been the way he is since the first day. Yeah, I really be a good example of the black race in dis crapass movie. Palmer smiles and flips the cook the bird. THERE’S A BIRD? Palmer smiles and flips the cook the bird to cook. GARRY How many in their party? P A R T, Y? BECAUSE I GOTTA! FUCHS (referring) To? Started with six. There'd be four others left. GOLLY I SURE CAN DO SOME COMPLICATED MATH DR. COPPER How do you know? I DON’T THINK, I KNOW The men's attention turn to Copper. “What the hell you looking at me for? I’m just the landlord. I bring you an extra bar of soap when you need it.” DR. COPPER ... Guys as crazy as that could have done a lot of damage to their own before they got to us. OR IT COULD JUST BE THE THING GARRY Nothing we can do about that. APATHY IS ALWAYS SWELL Except get the hell out of HERE. DR. COPPER Yes, there is. I'd like to go up. Because I’m stupid. GARRY In this weather? No, when it’s nice and sunny with pretty daisies falling from the sky. That’d be fun, wouldn’t it? DR. COPPER (turns to) Bennings? BENNINGS Winds are going to let up a tad, next couple of hours. And then the tornado will get here. You’ll be screwed for sure! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! GARRY A tad? BENNINGS Can't condone it myself. But it is a short haul. Hour there, hour back. Yeah, but think of whom you’re going with. That’s two hours too long. Garry still does not much like the idea. Palmer takes another hit off his joint. OF COURSE And fall unconscious. PALMER Shit, Doc, I'll give you the lift if...BUT IT WILL BE A DRUG LIFT GARRY Forget it, Palmer. You’re too wasted. Doc, you're a pain in the ass. UH WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Maybe Doc’s doing something we don’t want to know about. GARRY (turns) Norris, go get MacReady. “Do I have to?” Slight laughter from some of the men. NORRIS (grins) MacReady ain't going nowhere. Bunkered in till spring. OH BOY LUCKY US LET’S GO GET HIM “Well, tell him he can bring his blowup doll if he wants to.” GARRY Just go get him. THAT’S WHAT I JUST SAID NORRIS (stands) Anyway, he's probably ripped. RIPPED? UM MORE LIKE SMASHED. Surprised his shack’s not burning down right now as we speak. EXT. U.S. OUTPOST #31 He has to remind us because we didn’t get it the first time. Norris, bundled in his sixty-five pounds of clothing, exits the main compound. He walks the prefab wooden Prefab…Ooooooo! planks up the precipice; his destination is someone a hundred yards up the slope -- to a shack. He grabs onto the steadying ropes and pulls himself against the wind and blowing sleet. At first, I thought that said “blowing sheet.” What blowing sheet? INT. MACREADY'S SHACK - CLOSE ON ICE CUBES These he picked up from outside. being dumped into a glass, followed by the pouring of whiskey. An electronic Voice is heard. OH GOODIE A HIGH TECH COMPUTER VOICE Bishop to knight four. “Bishop! Goddamn you!” MacReady takes a sip of his drink; makes his way over to his electronic chess game. A large Mexican sombrero hangs on his back FOR NO APPARENT REASON. Can’t argue with that. Maybe it brings him good luck. He is tall; about thirty-five. Tall? His shack is sparse but unkempt. A few centerfolds on the wall are interspersed by an occasional poster of some Mediterranean or South American paradise. HOW GROSS. Centerfolds and scenery? What the hell do those have in common? The chess game is of larger than normal size. The pieces move automatically with the press of a button WELL ISN’T THAT SWELL. He sits down and chuckles over his opponent's bad move. Chuckles over a computer game? “Mwahaha! Soon I will be the chess wizard, and all computer programs will bow down to me! Ah ha ha ha ha!” MACREADY Poor little son of a bitch. You're starting to lose it, aren't you? NOW YOU TALK TO COMPUTERS? THEY AREN’T THAT HIGH TECH He confidently taps out his move. His companion's response is immediate. No wonder he talks to computers. It’s his COMPANION. That’s just creepy. VOICE Pawn takes queen at knight four, you bastard. AND BEATS YOUR SORRY ASS MacReady's grin slowly fades as he examines the board. There is a pounding at his door. MacReady broods for a bit, heedless of his visitor and makes his next move. VOICE Rook to knight six. Check. Check. Check. Mic one. This is mic one. Isn’t this a lot of fun? More impatient pounding. MacReady glares at his opponent for a beat. He bends forward, opens up a flap containing the chess game's circuitry and pours in his drink. I THINK IT IS ACTUALLY A COMPUTER< AND THAT WASN’T VERY NICE. There ensues a snapping, popping sound as smoke and sparks rise from the machine; oh the humanity! followed by a flush of chess gibberish. And I thought this said “Chinese gibberish.” That would make more sense to me for some reason. MacReady gets up from his seat, mumbling on his way to the door. WHAT A MORON. MACREADY ... Cheating bastard...YOU ARE. I know you are, but what am I? He opens the door. Norris steps in followed by a flurry of snow and wind. Does this writer know what commas are? NORRIS You jerking off or just pissed? SAY WHAT?!!! I wouldn’t be surprised if we found him jerking off…even though I wouldn’t want to see it. MACREADY We got any more of those electronic chess things down in supply? NO YOU BROKE THE PROTOTYPE DAMN YOU Um, I don’t know. Let me go waste my own valuable time and check for your sorry ass. NORRIS Get your gear on. WHAT THE HELL FOR?! MACREADY What for? I’M PSYCHIC. Ooooooo. EXT. OUTPOST One of the grounded choppers is being readied for take- off. Childs, the large black man, holds a huge industrial torch to the engine, warming it up. INT. MAIN COMPOUND - CORRIDOR Garry, Bennings, Dr. Copper, Palmer and MacReady wind their way through the slender corridors on their way to the chopper. But they get lost and find themselves in Childs and Palmer’s “secret, little garden.” Dr. Copper carries a satchel of medicine supplies. MacReady, going over his flight chart, looks mad as hell. Dialogue overlaps. MACREADY GARRY ... Craziness... ... Quit the griping This is goddamn insane... MacReady. Sooner YEAH, WE KNOW you're there -- sooner Blah blah blah you're back. OH SHUT UP MACREADY It's against regulations to go up this time of year! “Whose regulations? Mine? I never made those regulations.” DR. COPPER Screw regulations! Um, that might be a little difficult. Four guys could be crawling around on their bellies out there! OR ONE BIG THING. MACREADY So, I don't want to end up crawling around with them when we go down. Yeah, no kidding. You know, if everyone had listened to MacReady right now, they’d all still be okay…until the dog decided to explode. GARRY Look, if you're going to keep bitching, MacReady -- Palmer's offered to take him up...BUT HE’S SUCH A GOOD BITCHER! “But Palmer’s stoned half the time. And even if he isn’t high, he still doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.” MACREADY What are you talking?! He's had two months training in those choppers! PALMER (defiant) Four! OOOOOOO Heh, no way would I go up with him. MACREADY (to Bennings) What is it out there, anyway? Forty-five knots? YEAH ASK HIM HE’S SO SMART Well, MacReady probably doesn’t even know what a “knot” is. BENNINGS Sixteen. MACREADY (disgusted AT HIMSELF) And the horse you rode in on. YEEEEE HAW Sixteen for how long?! You can't predict this time of year...THE WEATHERMEN CAN’T PREDICT SHIT ANY TIME OF YEAR But Bennings is so GOOD at it! INT./ EXT. CHOPPER Dr. Copper sits next to MacReady, who is at the controls. “Hey, baby. What’re you doin’ after work today?” MacReady tightens the string of his sombrero around his neck and starts up its choking (BANDANNA STRING) engine. He starts up the choking engine of the sombrero? Now I know why he wears it! It can fly! MacReady fights violently with the controls as he struggles to get the craft into the air. It finally rights itself and moves up and off into the grey-white sky. HOW ROMANTIC INT. MAIN COMPOUND A couple of the men mingle in the area. Clark, the dog handler, looks out the window. LIKE THE FREAKY STARING DOG “I miss my mommy.” CLARK Mac's really taking it up, huh? NO HE’S FLYING ON THE GROUND The dog, a large bandage on his hip, wades through the room. Under tables. Past men's legs. It hobbles slightly. No one takes notice. IT GETS PISSED. CUT TO: EXT. THE CHOPPER moves over a ridge of ice. Columns of smoke can be seen rising ominously from a quarter mile off. OOO OMINOUSLY WOW BIG WORD Ooo, “off.” Another big word. INT. CHOPPER - POINT OF VIEW As they near, the smoke looms thicker. A black, tar-like gush; billowing up into the grey sky from the whiteness below. What the hell? Tar-like gush? Where does this guy get his vocabulary? The NAU fraternities? EXT. NORWEGIAN CAMP Swedish he mean’s. Smoke climbs upward in the f.g. f.u. MacReady sets his craft down. Pull back to reveal the camp itself: resembling the aftermath of a western fort, sacked and ravaged by Indians. INDIANS!!! RUN!!!! (HEY, THIS SOUNDS AWFUL DISCRIMINATORY TO INDIANS.) Wow, he used a really crappy metaphor. Small fires and debris are strewn everywhere. Can a fire actually be strewn? The prefab Administration Building exposes gaping holes. Smoke rises from the almost entirely snow-buried Quonset huts. Embers swirl in every direction. Gag me with a spoon. This writing is killing me. INT. CHOPPER The two men look at each other in silence. GAZING INTO EACH OTHER’S EYES. “I love you, MacReady.” They get out. CLOSE ON A LARGE, MAKESHIFT FUNERAL PYRE This is where the Satanic rituals occurred. smoldering to a close. A hastily conceived crematorium. Wood, books, furniture, tires, anything that will burn has been mixed together with the charred remains of several dogs and the body of a man. THAT’S A MAN?! I THOUGHT IT WAS…A THING!!! Curious mounds of a melted and blackened goo are heaped within the mess. NICE So now the mounds are curious. How nice for them. A small can of gasoline lies nearby. A large oil drum not far off. And these didn’t explode with the fires “strewn” about? MACREADY AND COPPER their faces ashen as they take in this grotesque sight. MacReady turns to view the Norwegian compound. He then exchanges a look with Copper. MacReady heads back toward the chopper TO GIT TH’ WHISKEY. But he’s too drunk to even find the thing. He decides to take a quick nap instead. THE CHOPPER MacReady unhinges the shotgun that is latched to the panel behind the seats. DON’T DO IT!!! LIFE WILL IMPROVE!!! EXT. THE MAIN BUILDING - THE DOOR MacReady and Dr. Copper stand hesitantly amidst the wisps of snow and embers. MacReady tries the door. It is unlocked. No, it is NOT. He slowly pushes it open with his gun. A creaking. A long pitch-black corridor. Copper shines a flashlight. DR. COPPER Anybody there?! NOBODY HERE BUT US THINGS Was he actually expecting an answer? No answer. Just wind. They exchange a look and enter. Copper and the wind exchange looks? That’s some crazy wind, man! INT. NARROW CORRIDOR The two men move slowly. It is dank and cold. And smells funny. Their breath, bleating like exhaust. A soft, steady wind howls overhead. The flashlight is not much help. Further down, they hear a faint hissing sound. As they get closer it more resembles static. The flashlight finds a door at the end of the corridor. The sputtering static comes from within. This is where the music becomes all dramatic. The face of the door has been shredded. An ax sticks out from its middle. MacReady wrenches out the ax. There is blood on it. The men acknowledge this for a beat. MacReady tries the knob. It opens slightly. Something is blocking it from the other side. PROBABLY A THING MACREADY Anybody in there?! IF THERE WERE, I THINK THEY’D HAVE LET YOU KNOW BY NOW…HAHA I CAN JUST PICTURE IT ”SHIT THEY MIGHT DISCOVER US, EVERYBODY STAY SILENT, THE LAST THING WE WANT IS SOMEONE TO SAVE US FROM THE THING.” Well, what do you expect. They’re STOOPID men. Nothing. OH YES THERE’S A THING. JUST YOU WAIT. No, I don’t want to. DR. COPPER We're Americans! NO, WE’RE CANADIANS, BUT WHO THE HELL CARES?! Are the Swedes/Norwegians really supposed to care. “Oh yeay! De Americans are here to save us! Yeay!” Nothing. I KEEP TELLING YOU THERE IS! MACREADY Come to help you!! TOO LATE FOR THAT They can’t even help themselves. MacReady pushes against the door. MACREADY Give me a hand. THE THING COULD PROBABLY GRANT THAT REQUEST They push, shove, grunt. Grunt…oh boy. The door gives a bit. Finally more. It widens enough for MacReady to see that a large computer-like machine is blocking their path. MORE SOPHISTICATED EQUIPMENT Computer-like? I don’t even know what to say about that one. MacReady wedges in and shines the flashlight. GEE THE FLASHLIGHT SURE GETS A LOT OF ATTENTION It is the communications room. No, it’s the harem. Holes in its roof have allowed in the freezing cold. The flashlight exposes the back of the radio chair. MORE ABOUT THE STUPID FLASHLIGHT?! THEY SHOULD HAVE CALLED THIS MOVIE THE FLASHLIGHT! One more nudge allows them into the room. A beat as they catch their breath. A BEAT? BUM BUM CHING.. The Beat sure gets a lot of attention too. Maybe the movies should be called “The Beat and the Flashlight.” MacReady spots a Coleman lantern. AND THE FLASHLIGHT BECOMES JEALOUS. He lights it with a match. Holds it up. The brighter light exposes the top of a man's head sitting in the radio chair. WINDOWS? OH WAIT WRONG SCENE. MACREADY Hey, Sweden...! You okay? SWEDEN?! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!? “Hey! We don’t go around yelling, ‘Hey, America!’” The chair rocks slightly with the gentle breeze. They inch closer. INCH BY INCH BY BORING INCH. A yard from the chair, MacReady stops the Doctor. He pokes his gun at the chair's back. Poke poke. Zzzzzzzzzz… MACREADY Sweden?! DAMMIT I ALREADY SAID IT ISN’T SWEDEN!!! He really is a moron, isn’t he? Dr. Copper spots something. From the man's wrist on the armrest, he follows a long, yarn-thick, red line, ending in a pool of frozen blood on the floor. NIIIIICE. ANYBODY HUNGRY? Me! The two men step around the chair. The Norwegian stares up in blanched death. Blanched death. Good one. *Gag* A gaping black hole for a mouth. His throat and wrists slit. An old-fashioned straight razor in his lap. MacReady turns off the hissing radio, and marches to the other door. It is locked and barricaded. OF COURSE. But being the stupid moron that he is, MacReady decides to smash it open with his head. DR. COPPER (more to himself) My God, what in hell happened here? A THING HAPPENED. A really bad bachelor party. MACREADY Come on, Copper. LET’S RAID THE WHISKEY CABINET The two men free a machine-like obstacle from the other exit. Why in the hell doesn’t he just say “machine”?! MacReady opens a lock and pushes the door open. More blackness. Stronger wind. Copper holds the lantern high as they make their way down a row of wooden steps and into a cavernous, underground causeway. I DETECT THE UPCOMING PRESENCE OF A MOVING ICICLE. MACREADY Hey, Sweden!!! DAMN HOW STUPID ARE YOU, I ALREADY TOLD YOU TWICE IT AIN’T SWEDEN!!! Probably can’t even spell the word. DR. COPPER (irritated) They're not Swedish, goddamn it, they're Norwegian, MacRe – HEY, THAT’S WHAT I SAID. “Well, why didn’t you tell me that sooner?! Now I feel like a damned fool!” Whap!! Something slaps into the Doctor's face from the darkness. The lantern crashes to the ground. The Doctor stumbles, falls…and dies. The end. MacReady grabs the flashlight and whirls in different directions. A panting beat. Silence. Dr. Copper holds up what hit him. A thick centerfold, buffeted by the wind. MacReady takes it. MACREADY Norwegian of the Month, Doc. Harmless. THOUGHT IT WAS THE THING, BUT GOD FORBID SOMETHING WOULD HAPPEN. Of course you know this means yet another wonderful poster on his already stunning wall.