scripts/1408.txt

                                                                1.



                                                      FADE IN :


1   EXT. HIGHWAY - DAY                                               1

    A dull highway. A crappy sedan roars by.


2   INT. CRAPPY CAR - DAY                                            2

    At the wheel, driving this piece of shit, is MIKE ENSLIN,
    35, a grizzled, weary soul. He stares glassily at the road,
    a cigarette behind his ear, a styrofoam cup of Exxon coffee
    at his mouth.

    A sign drifts by: "Woodfin, Rte 251 N - Asheville,
    Interstate 240 E, Hwy 40, Next Right, Thru Traffic Merge”

    Heh? Mike frowns.


3   EXT. COUNTRY ROAD - DUSK                                         3

    RAIN pours down on an unpaved country intersection.

    Mike stands outside his car, soaked, checking a wet map.
    He’s confused and annoyed. There are no road markings at
    all. He checks his watch.


4   EXT. COUNTRY INN - NIGHT                                         4

    A quaint rural inn, dark of night. The ambiance is
    picturesque, but off-putting. Porch lanterns glow. Shadows
    are deep. An ancient elm tree frames the banging weathered-
    sign: "The Camden Inn"

    Then, finally — headlights. Mike’s car pulls up in the mud.


5   INT. INN - NIGHT                                                 5

    Mike trudges into the homey, worn lobby.

                      MIKE
            Hi. Mike Enslin, checking in —

    The gregarious INNKEEPERS jump up, excited. They're country
    folk, beaming.

                         MR. INNKEEPER
                                                            2.


        Oh, Mr. Enslin! We were so worried
        you weren’t gonna show!

                  MRS. INNKEEPER
        It's such an honor to have you
        here.

                  MIKE
             (disinterested)
        Yeah. Great. Uh, if I could just
        get my key —

They ignore his exhaustion.

                  MR. INNKEEPER
        You probably want to hear all about
        our haunted history! Well, that
        rear staircase is where the maid
        reputedly hung herself in 1870.

                  MRS. INNKEEPER
        There’s a picture —

                  MIKE
        Can we do this in the morning?

                  MRS. INNKEEPER
             (rummaging through
             drawers)
        Wait! It's printed in our brochure!

INSERT - BROCHURE

She thrusts out a brochure that says "HAUNTED!" There’s a
PHOTO of the lobby, and a faint white shape in a window.

                  MRS. INNKEEPER
        Do you SEE her?

                    MIKE
        Uh —

                  MRS. INNKEEPER
        A guest took that photo in 1986.
        You can sort of see Sylvia's
        "ethereal apparition" reflected in
        the window.

Mike stares, unimpressed.

                  MR. INNKEEPER
        At least, Sylvia is what we call
        her.
                                                             3.


                      MIKE
            Terrifying.
                 (pause)
            I’m ready to hit the sack. in your
            letter, you mentioned the scariest
            rooms were in the old attic?

                      MRS. INNKEEPER
            That's right. The third floor is
            the former servant's quarters.
            People say all Sylvia's children
            died up there of tuberculosis.
                 (spooky)
            Right up there. Right above where
            you and I are standing, right
            now...

                      MR. INNKEEPER
            Guests have reported strange
            sounds. At the stroke of midnight,
            there’s been weird noises. Creaks.
            Moans.
                 (mysterious)
            Our best advice... is to lock your
            door from the inside.

                                                        CUT TO:


6   INT. INN - MIKE'S ROOM - LATE NIGHT                           6

    Mike lies on the antique bed, on a quilt, drinking mini-bar
    BOOZE. He has an army of tiny Scotches, Gins, Vodkas. He's
    bored out of his mind.

                                                   DISSOLVE TO:

    LATER

    The boozes are empty. Somewhere, a grandfather clock CHIMES
    midnight. DONG, DONG, DONG! Mike groggily glances at a
    bedside clock, Waiting. Listening. Alert to anything...

    Suddenly a loud CRASH! Mike jerks, startled.

    He jumps up, concerned... then realizes it's only THUNDER.
    Oh.

                                                   DISSOLVE TO:

    LATER

    Mike is snoring, drooling, passed out.
                                                             4.


                                                        CUT TO:


7   INT. CRAPPY CAR - DRIVING - DAY                               7

    Mike is back in the car, driving another endless
    interstate.

    He speaks flatly into a pocket MINI-RECORDER.

                       MIKE
            People spoke of the spectral
            presence of Sylvia... though I
            personally never encountered her.
                  (beat)
            But in any case, the Eggs Benedict
            were delicious, and Mrs. Clark says
            if you have a party of four, she'll
            make her famous flourless chocolate
            cake.
                  (beat)
            On a Shiver Scale of 1 to 10, I
            award the Camden Inn seven skulls.

    Mike clicks the recorder OFF. He puts it down — then has a
    thought and turns it back ON,

                      MIKE
            Fuck ’em. Six skulls.

                                                        CUT TO:


8   EXT. BARNES & NOBLE - NIGHT                                   8

    A mall bookstore. The marquee shouts "GHOST SURVIVAL GUIDE
    Author M. Enslin Tonight! 7 P.M."


9   INT. BARNES & NOBLE - NIGHT                                   9

    Mike enters, disheveled. The store is sad and generic —- an
    air of listlessness hanging over the shelves. Mike tiredly
    approaches the busy CASHIER.

                      MIKE
            Excuse me. I’m Mike Enslin.

                      CASHIER
            Sorry?

                      MIKE
                                                                 5.


             I’m, uh... the "star” of your
             booksigning tonight.

                       CASHIER
                  (a dawning awareness)
             Oh, right. Right! Okay then!

     The Cashier finishes his order, then flicks on a small P.A.

     SYSTEM. He grabs a MICROPHONE and reads off a xeroxed
     FLYER:

                       ASSISTANT MANAGER
             Attention, book lovers! In the
             Author’s Corner tonight, we have
             noted occult writer Mike Enslin!
             He’s the author of the bestselling
             Ghost Survival Guides, with such
             titles as "Ten Haunted Hotels,"
             "Ten Haunted Graveyards,” and "Ten
             Haunted Lighthouses"!

     Around the store, people look up. Mike leans into the guy.

                       MIKE
             You got a bathroom I can clean up
             in, first?

                                                            CUT TO:


10   INT. BARNES & NOBLE - LATER                                      10

     The event. It’s depressing — the sad reality of
     booksignings. The back of the store has 30 or 40 folding
     chairs, but there’s only FIVE SPECTATORS. Mike sits
     alongside a pile of his paperbacks? discoursing.

                       MIKE
             Sure f these pieces have colorful
             histories. That’s the hook: The
             wedding night murder. The caretaker
             who leaped to his death. The
             runaway horse that trampled the old
             lady. The war widow who went crazy
             and threw the baby down the well...

     The people go wide-eyed. Mike lets this hang... then
     deflates it.

                       MIKE
                                                            6.


        But there’s never any
        documentation! If you do one iota
        of research, the tragic event never
        happened1 It's just a marketing
        hook invented by desperate hotels
        when the interstate gets built too
        far away.

The crowd doesn’t get it. One EMPHATIC MAN raises his hand.

                  EMPHATIC MAN
        Have you ever seen a poltergeist?

                  MIKE
             (he reacts)
        See? That's exactly what I’m
        talking about. You didn’t hear one
        word I just said. I can type myself
        sick debunking these places,
        shooting arrows in the legends f
        and it only makes people want to
        stay there more.

                  LADY
             (she raises her hand)
        Well, my family's planning a trip
        this summer. Would you say there's
        a higher concentration of ghosts in
        New England or in the South?

Mike wipes his face.

                  MIKE
        I would say nowhere but no one’s
        listening. You'll probably want to
        pick-up my "Ten Haunted Antebellum
        Mansions."

                                                    CUT TO:

LATER

Mike is signing paperbackst rote, the same autograph over
and over: "Stay Scared! Mike Enslin” "Stay Scared! Mike
Enslin"

                  MIKE
        Of course, I try to be scientific.
        I travel with an EMF meter, an
        infrared camera... a full-range
        spectrometer. But I’ve never had to
        use them, because there's nothing
        to record!
                                                                 7.


     Then — a HARDBACK enters frame. He looks up, surprised.

     A NERVOUS WOMAN holds the book. It’s a dusty, faded copy of
     Mike's early novel, "The Road Back Nowhere.” The artwork is
     heartfelt: A watercolor of a boy holding a surfboard.

                       MIKE
             Jesus. What rock did you find that
             under?

                          NERVOUS WOMAN
             Ebay.

                       MIKE
             Wow. Haven’t seen one of these in
             years.
                  (awkward)
             How much did it... go for?

     The woman bites her lip, preferring not to say.

                        NERVOUS WOMAN
             Well, there weren't many bidders.
                   (she smiles)
             But it's a lovely book. Are you
             going to write another one like
             this?

     He glances at the back cover: A decade-old PHOTO of himself
     ■— young and optimistic.

     Mike’s face falls.

                       MIKE
             Nope. That was a different guy.

                                                            CUT TO:


11   EXT. FLORIDA BEACH - DAWN                                        11

     The sun is peeking over the horizon. The pink sky is
     lovely, breaking over a rocky inlet.

     Mike drives into a beach parking lot. He glances over —
     spotting a cluster of parked cars. Across the sand, a GROUP
     of dedicated SURFERS in wetsuits ride the early morning
     waves.

     Mike stares — then keeps driving. A surfboard sticks out of
     his car. He goes to the far end of the parking lot, off by
     himself, then pulls over.
                                                                 8.


12   EXT. OCEAN - LATER                                               12

     Mike rides a wave. It's exquisite. For him, this experience
     isn't about adrenaline, but tranquility. The weariness that
     usually hangs over him is gone. He’s alone and perfectly
     serene. Happy.

     Mike enjoys the spray in his face. Until — he hears a
     strange BUZZING. He looks around, then UP.

     ABOVE

     A small AIRPLANE flies over, towing a BANNER.

     Mike squints, trying to read it.

     The sky is too bright. The banner is silhouetted...

     Mike focuses harder... distracted... when —

     BAM!

     A monstrous WAVE suddenly POUNDS him!

     Crash! Mike gets slammed underwater.

     UNDERNEATH

     Mike gets pulled down.

     He screams out, but only bubbles emerge.

     The water BATTERS him. Everything swirls. He spins, losing
     track of which way is up.

     Mike struggles, desperate.,, trying to reach for sky...
     getting sucked deeper toward the darkness...

     When --

     ANGLE -HIS SURFBOARD

     suddenly appears from above. Like a godsend.

     Startled, Mike grabs for it — when — it unexpectedly
     pitches and HAMMERS him in the head.

                                                            CUT TO:


13   EXT. BEACH - LATER                                               13
                                                                9.


     ECU - MIKE’S FACE

     Mike lies mutely on his back, on the sand.
     Hyperventilating.

     Winded. Eyes glassy.

     But alive.

                                                         CUT TO:


14   EXT. MAILBOXES, ETC. - DAY                                      14

     An overlit, bleached-white fluorescent hellhole. An
     anonymous storefront of mailboxes, packing supplies, and
     key-cutting.

     Mike enters and goes over to his mailbox. He unlocks it,
     removing a STARTLING AMOUNT of MAIL.

     The friendly MAILBOX GUY nods.

                       MAILBOX,GUY
             You've been gone awhile.

                          MIKE
                     (disinterested)
             Yeah.


15   INT. PALM COFFEE SHOP - DAY                                     15

     Mike sits in a corner booth, alone. His breakfast sits
     abandoned, runny egg yolks congealed. He sips his eighth
     cup of coffee.

     The table is spread with months of opened mail. Dozens of
     BROCHURES for HOTELS, INNS, B & Brs. Mike flips through
     them. Some have macabre marketing - "Spirits! Strange?” A
     few have even Photoshopped transparent phantoms into their
     antique­laden lobbies. Mike glances at a Post-it: "Dear Mr.
     Enslin, please consider our Motel for your next Ghost
     Guide."

     He stares — then tosses it. He rummages through more mail:
     A bill from a nursing home. Skeptical Enquirer magazine.
     The Weekly World News. He slashes an envelope with his
     fancy LETTER OPENER. Inside is a childish greeting card --
     a cartoon tiger says "You’re Terrrrrrr-rfic! Happy
     Birthday!”
                                                        10.


Mike frowns, then throws it in the trash pile. He reaches
for a POSTCARD.

INSERT - POSTCARD

The back has but three scribbled words: "DON’T ENTER 1408"

ON MIKE

Hm. He gazes, then flips over the card. It’s a generic
giveaway HOTEL POSTCARD'. A montage of photos: Elegant
1920s exterior. Classy rooms. An overstuffed, lounge filled
with smiling, attractive rich people. A scrolling font
says: "When in New York City, visit the Dolphin Hotel!"

Mike fixates on the word "New York." His face darkens, and
he tosses the card in the junk pile.

He starts to move on — when something catches his eye. He
peers back at the card...

TIGHT - POSTCARD

Again, "DON'T ENTER 1408." We PUSH IN on the numbers, until
they fill the screen. 1408... 1408...

Mike thinks. He clicks a pen, then scribbles the digits as
a math column: 2 + 4 + 0 + 8 ......... 13.

A smile flickers across his face.

                    MIKE
          Cute.

Mike is amused. He considers the card, then suddenly OPENS
HIS LAPTOP COMPUTER.

ANGLE - COMPUTER

Mike spins the mouse, clicking "Internet." He waits
patiently, while the green WI-FI icon scrolls. Searching...
searching... until — "NO SIGNAL AVAILABLE"

Mike groans.

                    MIKE
          Goddamn corner booth.

WIDE
                                                              11.


     Irked, Mike grabs the computer. He JUMPS from his booth and
     starts meandering around the coffee shop, eyeballing the
     computer screen like a hungry hawk.

     A few steps — Ah! A glimmer of green, then red.

     He marches toward the door — eyes glued to the screen. The
     DINERS shoot him looks, but he is indifferent to other
     people.

     He lifts the laptop over his head, trying different
     positions.


16   EXT. COFFEE SHOP - SAME TIME                                   16

     Mike exits the building. Suddenly, he finds -a signal.

     Ah-HA! The Internet opens, The WEB PAGE speaks:

                       INTERNET LADY VOICE
             Good morning, Mike,

                       MIKE
                  (he smiles)
             Good morning, Fake Voice Lady!

     He quickly sits on a cinderblock wall and starts EXPERTLY
     TYPING.

     INSERT - COMPUTER

     Mike goes to "GOOGLE." He types in "DOLPHIN HOTEL NEW YORK"

     Beat. A page of text appears. Mike clicks on a link to the
     Dolphin. A millisecond pause — then the DOLPHIN HOTEL’S
     stylish HOMEPAGE APPEARS. It is exactly what one would
     expect: Chandeliers. Clinking champagne flutes. Links to
     "SPA" "DINING" "BANQUET FACILITIES" "RESERVATIONS"...

     Mike knows this is a dead end. He clicks back to "GOOGLE,"
     then tries "DOLPHIN HOTEL GHOSTS"

     The computer responds, "NO RESULTS"

     Mike backspaces and tries again: "DOLPHIN HOTEL
     SUPERNATURAL"

     The computer responds, "NO RESULTS"

     Mike backspaces and tries yet again: "DOLPHIN HOTEL
     HAUNTING"
                                                                12.


     The computer responds, "NO RESULTS"

     Mike stares. Unbowed, his face darkens. He tries a
     different approach: "DOLPHIN HOTEL DEATH"

     THE COMPUTER

     pauses — then the SCREEN FILLS WITH ENTRIES.

     MIKE

     suddenly gasps, horrified.

                       MIKE
             Jesus Christ...

                                                          CUT TO:


17   INI. RESEARCH LIBRARY - DAY                                      17

     Mike sits in a musty library basement scrolling through
     MICROFICHE rolls. On the amber screen is an ancient New
     York Herald-Tribune: The headline screams "FACTORY OWNER
     LEAPS FROM HOTEL.” There is a portrait of a stuffy-looking
     rich man, then underneath a gory WEEGEE-LIKE PHOTO of a
     bloody mess on a New York, sidewalk, the cops dourly
     cleaning up.

     For the first time, Mike seems affected. Truly bothered.

     Shaken, he scribbles notes on a LEGAL PAD. Under the word
     "DOLPHIN," we see the pad is filled with items...

     A spooky pause... when suddenly — RING!! It’s his
     CELLPHONE.

     Mike jumps, startled. Embarrassed by the noise, he quickly
     answers it.

                       MIKE
             Hello?

     But, nothing. Mike frowns.

                       MIKE
             Hello! This is Mike Enslin. Is
             anybody there?

     No response. Just — a faint crackling STATIC.

     Mike struggles to hear — when CLICK. The line goes dead.
                                                               13.


     Weird. Mike looks back at his list of deaths...

                                                         CUT TO:


18   INT. MIKE'S OFFICE - NIGHT                                      18

     CU on a jumble of old NEWSPAPER ARTICLES. A blizzard of
     words and headlines: "SUICIDE”... "DROWNING"...
     "ELECTROCUTION"... "HEART ATTACK." We slowly PULL OUT,
     revealing dozens of Dolphin articles, tacked on a
     corkboard. A blur of photos, nasty death images and old-
     fashioned formal portraits. The victims look like solid
     early 20th-century citizens: A walrus-moustached man in a
     bowler. A prim woman in round spectacles.

     We CONTINUE PULLING OUT, finding Mike on a ratty couch.

     Surrounded by these horrors. He holds the Dolphin POSTCARD,
     staring. Agitated. Suddenly he downs a shot of bourbon,
     then dials the phone number. He waits. RING. RING —

                       OPERATOR (V.O.)
             Good evening, Dolphin Hotel. How
             may I direct your call?

                       MIKE
             Hi, I’m calling about Room 1408.

     A strange pause.

                       OPERATOR (V.O.)
             I don’t believe we have such a
             room.

                       MIKE
                  (long beat)
             Don't you...?

     Another pause.

                       OPERATOR (V.O.)
             Er, one moment, please.

     Mike gets out on HOLD. Sprightly MUSIC kicks in, and a
     RECORDED ANNOUNCEMENT.

                       SMOOTH RECORDING
             "When staying at the Dolphin, be
             certain to enjoy New York’s finest
             dining, at the fabled Blue Marlin
             Restaurant on our Mezzanine lev—"
                                                       14.


                       HOTEL VOICE
                  (cutting in)
             May I help you?

                       MIKE
             Yes, I'd like to stay in Room 1408.

                       HOTEL VOICE
             That room is unavailable.

     Mike raises an eyebrow.

                       MIKE
             I didn't tell you which date.

     No response.

                       MIKE
             How 'bout Saturday?

                       HOTEL VOICE
             It’s unavailable.

                          MIKE
             Tuesday?

                       HOTEL VOICE
             Unavailable.

                       MIKE
                  (ticked off)
             Next month?

                       HOTEL VOICE
             Unavailable.

                       MIKE
             Next summer!

                         HOTEL VOICE
                    (beat)
                    (Thank you for calling.)

     CLICK. The man HANGS UP.

     Mike is stupefied.

                                                   CUT TO:


19   INT. MANHATTAN LITERARY AGENCY - DAY                    19
                                                               15.


     A busy New York agency with million-dollar views. SAM
     FARRELL, a gregarious old-school gentleman agent, yells
     out.

                       SAM
             Hey! Where's good Chinese, near
             48th? I gotta have lunch with that
             idiot from Random House.

                       SECRETARY
                  (on the phone, gesturing)
             It's Mike Enslin, calling from
             Florida again.

     Sam winces. He looks around, then hails a bookish LAWYER.

                       SAM
             Clay! You got a sec' for Mike
             Enslin?

                       LAWYER
             Uh — sure —

                         SAM
             Great.

     Sam PULLS him into his leather-bound office.


20   INT. SAM'S OFFICE                                               20

     Sam slams the door and lowers his voice.

                       SAM
             Now look, this guy tends to get a
             little morose, so try to keep the
             energy up. Otherwise, he stews in
             his own funk.

     Sam PUNCHES his speakerphone,

                         SAM
             Mike!!!

                         MIKE (V.O.)
             Sam —

                       SAM
             Read the first five chapters last
             night. Spooky shit. Couldn’t sleep
             a wink. It's gonna make a bundle —

                         MIKE (V.O.)
                                                           16.


        So did you -—

                  SAM
        You better believe I did! And I got
        our top lawyer here right now!
             (he winks)
        Mike, Clay. Clay, Mike. Mike, talk
        fast. This guy's $400 an hour.

                  MIKE (V.O.)
        So, about the Dolphin —

                   SAM
        Yes, the Dolphin! That stick-up-
        its-ass relic on 61st. Too posh for
        a free plug! Well, you're gonna
        LOVE what Clay cooked up: He dug
        around and found you a Federal
        Civil Rights law! Ain’t that a
        hoot?
              (he chuckles)
        Like somebody would discriminate
        against you: A well-to-do white
        man!
              (amused)
        But the law’s the law: If the
        room's not occupied, they have to
        give it to you.

                  MIKE (V.O.)
        Good.

                  CLAY
        So we'll book it, and if they
        refuse, we'll rattle our saber and
        file suit.

A pause. Sam turns quiet, leaning into the speakerphone.

                  SAM
        But Mike... on a more personal
        note: Are you really sure you want
        to come here?

                  MIKE (V.CA)
             (tentative)
        S-sure. It'll make a solid closing
        chapter for the —

                  SAM
        Yeah yeah. I know the routine.
             (sincere)
                                                              17.


             But seriously... buddy. It's New
             York. All that happened...
                  (pause)
             Do you really want to put yourself
             through that...?

                                                       INTERCUT:

     CLOSEUP - MIKE

     His face clouds. He considers his past, then whispers.

                       MIKE
             I'll be quick. And it's a different
             part of town...

                       SAM
             Are you gonna call Lily?

                       MIKE
             N-no. It's a job.
                  (his voice cracks)
             I’ll be in, and out.

     We hold on Mike, brimming with uncertainty...

     Then — a loud SHRIEEEEEKI

                                                         CUT TO:


21   EXT. SKY - DAY                                                 21

     An A.IRPLANE descends into New York.


22   INT. AIRPLANE - DAY                                            22

     Mike looks out the window. The grid of New York is below,
     neatly geometric. Until — the plane suddenly banks,
     swooping in. The whole view spins.

     Mike recoils, nauseated.


23   EXT. NEW YORK - DAY                                            23

     Blackness. Then — a TAXI emerges into the light, We’ve been
     looking into the Holland Tunnel.


24   INT. CAB - DRIVING                                             24
                                                               18.


     A carved crucifix swings from the mirror.

     Mike rides in back. Face wan. New York's a jumble. He peers
     about — everything seems discordant. Canal Street is a
     collection of unsettling images:

     Smoke curls from a grate. It clears, revealing a MAN lying
     motionless on the sidewalk.

     Sparks arc inside an open factory door.

     A snarling DOG barks behind bars.

     Seafood decomposes in a fish market.

     The CABBIE HONKS furiously at the congestion.

                       CABBIE
             This traffic's a fuckin’ nightmare.
             I'm gonna cut up Eighth.

                       MIKE
                  (woozy)
             N-no. Please. Don’t go that way...
             Canal's fine...

                       CABBIE
             Just lemme drive.

     The Cabbie hooks left.

     Mike blanches in back. The cab drives uptown, and the sense
     of DREAD grows. Crumbling buildings block out the sun. Mike
     grimaces, anxious. Knowing something is approaching...

     OUT THE WINDOW

     An old brick school comes into view. On the PLAYGROUND,
     CHILDREN RUN AROUND.

     Mike shudders. Distraught, he averts his eyes.

                                                           CUT TO:


25   EXT. DOLPHIN HOTEL - NIGHT                                      25

     A sumptuous refugee from the Jazz Age, A STATUE OF A
     SMILING DOLPHIN dominates the portal. It leers a happy
     greeting.

     Mike's cab arrives. He gets out, carrying a duffel.
                                                               19.


26   INT. DOLPHIN LOBBY - NIGHT                                      26

     Swanky and archaic, but beautifully maintained. The last
     time it was hip, Dorothy Parker got drunk in the coatroom.

     The DOORMAN opens the door for Mike. Mike's sweating, his
     usual insouciance rattled. He glances around the small
     lobby: On the mezzanine, a PIANIST plays Gershwin. Chic
     GUESTS in evening wear cavort. A RICH"OLD COUPLE walks a
     poodle. A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN in a gown casually breastfeeds a
     baby.

     Mike goes up to Reception. The DESK CLERK smiles formally.

                       DESK CLERK
             Welcome to the Dolphin, sir. Are
             you checking in?

                       MIKE
             Yes. Mike Enslin, staying for one
             night.

     Hmphh? The Desk Clerk suddenly tightens up, awkward.

                       DESK CLERK
             Uh... could you excuse me one
             moment?

     She hurries off. Mike raises an eyebrow.

     We follow the Clerk as she scurries down the counter. She
     reaches a rigid ASSISTANT MANAGER and whispers. He listens,
     giving Mike a discreet glance. The Assistant Manager
     whispers something back, then rushes out a rear door.

     Beat

     Mike waits. Biding his time...

     Pause — then the rear door opens, and out   glides the
     Manager, MR. OLIN. Olin, 60, is a precise   man of European
     air, his" tailored suit, carefully-parted   hair and
     manicured nails only made bearable by his   clipped dry wit.

     TIGHT - OLIN

     He nods professionally and extends his hand.

                       OLIN
                                                             20.


             Mr. Enslin, I’m Gerald Olin, the
             manager of the Dolphin. If there’s
             any way I can be of assistance
             while you’re here — dinner
             reservations, theater, anything at
             all — please know that I’m
             delighted to be at your service.

                       MIKE
             Uh, that's great.
                  (chirpy)
             If I can just get my key to 1408,
             I'll stay out of your hair.

     Beat. Olin’s eyes narrow.

                       OLIN
             You wouldn't prefer an upgrade? An
             executive suite with complimentary
             breakfast?

                       MIKE
                  (hostile)
             1408, please.

                       OLIN
             So insistent.
                  (his voice lowers)
             Mr. Enslin, could you humor me with
             a more... private conversation?


27   INT. OLIN'S OFFICE - NIGHT                                    27

     An impeccable Edwardian study. Oak paneling. Fine books. An
     antique desk with a lozenge-shaped green lamp.

     Olin opens a humidor.

                       OLIN
             Cigar?

                       MIKE
             No, thank you. I don’t smoke.

     Olin's eyes shift to the cigarette behind Mike's ear. Mike
     sees this.

                       MIKE
             I quit years ago.
                  (he starts to explain)
                                                        21.


        The cigarette behind the ear is...
        I dunno. Habit. Part affectation,
        part superstition. A writer thing.

                  OLIN
        Well, then, do you drink?

                  MIKE
        Of course! I just said I'm a
        writer.

Olin smiles thinly. He opens a liquor cabinet and removes a
fine BOTTLE OF COGNAC.

                  OLIN
        Remy 1939. Exquisite, Runs about
        $800 a bottle, when you can find it
        —

                  MIKE
             (he raises his hand)
        I appreciate the bribe, but I
        intend to stay in that room.

                  OLIN
             (put off)
        How long?

                  MIKE
        How long? Er, my usual is
        overnight.

                   OLIN
        Oh. I see.
              (he purses his lips)
        Nobody has ever lasted more than an
        hour.

Mike takes this in, then cracks up, PARODYING Olin with a
silly Transylvania accent.

                  MIKE
        Oooo! Bleh! "Nobody has ever lasted
        more than an hour. When the clouds
        pass over the moon, the spirits
        rise from the family graveyard to
        haunt the ballroom. "

Olin stares, unamused.

                  OLIN
                                                        22.


        I don’t know why you’re mocking me.
        I am genuinely, to the best of my
        ability, trying to help you.

                  MIKE
        No, you're just playing a little
        game, which frankly I find
        tiresome, You're "selling the
        mystique." But eventually, we both
        know you’ll give me the key, I’ll
        write my story, and your bookings
        will go up 50%.

Olin is repelled. Mike smirks and pulls out his mini-
recorder.

                  MIKE
        Do you mind if I record our
        conversation ?
             (he waits; beat)
        Good. I'll take that as a yes.

Mike hits "RECORD.” The LED glows red, like an eye, and the
little wheels start spinning...

Olin glares, his politeness fading.

                   OLIN
        Sir, you completely misunderstand
        the situation. The Dolphin may not
        have the cachet of the Plaza or the
        Carlyle... but we run 90%
        occupancy.
              (emphatic)
        This isn't about my concern for the
        hotel, OR about my concern for you.
        Frankly -- selfishly --- I don’t
        want you to enter 1408, because I
        don’t want to have to clean up the
        mess.

Olin lets this chilling thought hang.

Mike’s eyes widen.

                  OLIN
        Hotels are all about presentation
        and creature comforts.., though
        behind the scenes, we witness quite
        the bit of nastiness.
             (heavy)
                                                       23.


        But my training is as a manager,
        not a coroner! Under my watch there
        have been four deaths. Four! After
        the last one, I said enough. I
        forbade any guests from ever
        entering again.

                  MIKE
        And that last suicide was...
        Randolph Hyde? 1996? An
        orthodontist who slit his wrists
        and cut off his genitals?

                  OLIN
        Yes. You've done your homework.
        Grievously, since the hotel opened
        95 years ago, there have been seven
        jumpers, four overdoses, five
        hangings, three m --

                  MIKE
        Three mutilations. Two stranglings
             (into the MINIRECORDER)
        "Manager Gerald Olin is well-versed
        in the hotel's tragic history,
        dryly reciting the docket of
        carnage like a bookkeeper
        discussing his ledger.”

                  OLIN
             (he frowns)
        You think you're clever?! Well in
        your investigation, did you
        discover the twenty-two natural
        deaths?

Mike leans forward, interest piqued.

                  MIKE
        "Natural"? Uh, no. What —

                  OLIN
        You didn’t find them, because
        they're not reported in newspapers.
        But all told, 56 people have, died
        up there.

Mike is momentarily speechless.

Olin pulls out a small key and opens his desk bottom
drawer.
                                                          24.


He removes a BULGING FILE and brings it around to Mike.
Olin stares a moment —- then sits next to him.

                  OLIN
        You know nothing. 1408's guests
        have died of heart attacks,
        strokes, drownings —

                  MIKE
        "Drownings"?

                  OLIN
        Yes. Mr. Grady Miller died drowning
        in a bowl of chicken soup.

                  MIKE
             (taken aback)
        H-how?

                  OLIN
        How indeed? Isn't that interesting?
        Well, it's all in the file:
             (he PATS the folder)
        And you're welcome to read all of
        it. Every word! I'll even give you
        my office! You can peruse the
        materials to your heart's content.
        You can take notes. Put it all in
        your book!
             (pause; he turns somber)
        In return, my only condition... is
        that you don't stay in the room.

Mike eyeballs the file.

Considering. Then —

                  MIKE
        I never got that drink.

Olin smiles a flicker, then gets up for the Cognac. He
takes out a crystal snifter, wipes it clean, carefully
pours...

Mike notices a silver DESK FRAME. He furtively cranes
around... to check out who's in it. And — it’s a calendar.

Olin hands Mika the drink. Mike gratefully snorts it,
enjoying the flavor, the spreading warmth. Then, he looks
up.

                  MIKE
        No.
                                                        25.


                  OLIN
        Dammit to HELL!

Olin BLOWS UP and angrily THROWS the file at Mike.

                  OLIN
        Fine! READ the blasted file! Read
        it anyway!
             (livid)
        Once you see it, you won't WANT to
        go in the room!

Mike is stunned at this outburst. Hesitant, he opens the
TOP FOLDER. Inside is a pile of wrinkled yellow newsprint.
Olin testily narrates from memory.

                  OLIN
        The first victim! Kevin O'Malley. A
        sewing machine salesman who checked
        into the hotel opening week,
        October 1912!

                  MIKE
             (he winces at the photo)
        He... cut his own throat?

                  OLIN
        Yes. But that's not the horrific
        part. Afterward, in a fit of
        insanity, he tried to stitch
        himself back up with a sewing
        needle before he bled to death.

Mike makes a face.

                     MIKE
        Jesus...

                  OLIN
        Mr. Enslin! No one needs to know
        you didn't go in. I’ll give you a
        fake receipt1 You can take
        photographs in 1404: The layouts
        are identical, nobody will know the
        difference.

                  MIKE
        Hey, my readers expect the truth —

                  OLIN
        No, your readers don’t expect much
        of anything — except grotesquerie
        and cheap thrills:
                                              26.


             (snide, from memory)
        "The headless ghost of Eugene
        Rilsby, forever walking his
        deserted farmhouse. The Barking
        Phantom of Mount Hope Cemetery "

                  MIKE
             (surprised)
        How do you know that?!

                  OLIN
        I've done my own research! Your
        books are easy to find — in the
        cheap paperback section.
             (beat)
        And they are completely cynical.
        The work of a talented, intelligent
        man who doesn't believe in anything
        but himself.

Mike reacts, pissed.

                  MIKE
        Where the fuck do you get off
             (hurt)
        This meeting's over —

                  OLIN
        Oh please. Quit acting like a sore
        schoolgirl.
             (calming)
        I said you were talented. There was
        that first book... I -— I rather
        enjoyed that. It was popular.
        Hardback. Er... what was it called?
        "The Road To Nowhere" --?

                  MIKE
             (uneasy)
        "The Road Back Nowhere."

                  OLIN
        That was sort of... a gilded
        memoir? Travels of a young man -—

                  MIKE
             (defensive)
        Only parts of it were true -—

                  OLIN
        The father seemed like a real
        s.o.b. —
                                                             27.


     Mike seethes. He hits "STOP” on the recorder. He jumps up.

                       MIKE
             Give me my key.

                       OLIN
             Mr. Enslin --

                       MIKE
             Give me my key! Do you know why I
             can walk into any spooky old room?
             Because I know that ghoulies and
             ghosties don’t exist.
                  (dark)
             And that’s good, because I also
             know there's no God to protect us
             from them, if they did.

                                                         CUT TO:


28   INT. DOLPHIN LOBBY - NIGHT                                    28

     Behind Reception, a wall of old-fashioned mail slots. Olin
     carries over a little stool. He steps up to 1408's mailbox,
     reaching his hand far... far back into the shadowy recess,

     He fiddles around, then pulls out a TARNISHED KEY on a long
     brass paddle. Embossed are the numbers 1408.

     Mike reacts, surprised.

                       MIKE
             You still use actual keys? That's a
             nice touch. Antiquey.
                  (beat)
             Most hotels use magnetic cards.

                       OLIN
             So do we. 1408 is the exception.
                  (beat)
             Electronic devices don't work
             properly in there. Computers...
             cellphones... wristwatches ...
                  (pause)
             You don't happen to have a
             pacemaker, do you, Mr. Enslin?

     Mike shoots him a look. He speaks into his mini-recorder.

                       MIKE
             "Manager claims phantom in room
             interferes with
                                                                28.


                       OLIN
             I didn't say "phantom,"

                       MIKE
             Uh, "spirit." "Specter."

                       OLIN
             You misunderstand. What’s in 1408
             isn't that kind of presence.

                       MIKE
             Then what is it?

     WIDE

     Olin pads away. He crosses the rococo lobby, guiding Mike
     to the ELEVATOR. He presses "UP,” then turns and whispers.

                       OLIN
             It's an evil fucking room.

     Mike's eyebrows raise.

     DING! The elevator arrives. The shimmery doors open.

     Olin gestures: After you. Mike enters. Olin starts to
     follow — when a MAITRE'D in a tux comes running over. He
     interrupts Olin and quickly MUTTERS something in French.
     Olin nods and MUTTERS back. He scribbles his signature on a
     form. The Maitre'd bows and runs off.


29   INT. ELEVATOR - SAME TIME                                        29

     Olin enters. It's an old-fashioned cage. Olin hits "14,"
     and the doors rattle closed. They stand in silence.

                       OLIN
             Do you enjoy traveling alone?

     Mike ignores this. He stares at the panel: Rows of BUTTONS,
     with the customary lie: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12... 14 15
     16

                       MIKE
             Why do hotels think they can just
             make the number 13 disappear?

     Olin chuckles. They lurch upward, lights ticking:
     5...6...7...

                       MIKE
                                                             29.


             How filthy's the room? The sheets
             haven't been changed in a decade.

                       OLIN
             No, no, no. This is a professional
             establishment. Our maids give 1408
             a light turn once a month.
                  (beat)
             But I supervise, and they work in
             pairs. We treat the room as a
             chamber filled with poison gas. We
             stay only ten minutes, and I insist
             the door be kept open.

     Olin's face tightens, regretful.

                       OLIN
             Even then... last year, a young
             maid from El Salvador found herself
             locked in the bathroom. Just for a
             moment. When we pulled her out, she
             was —

                       MIKE
             Dead?

     Olin stares.

                       OLIN
             No. Blind. She had taken a pair of
             scissors and carved out her eyes.

     DING’ The elevator hits 14. The doors open.


30   INT. 14TH FLOOR - SAME TIME                                   30

     Mike peers out. It's a perfectly uneventful corridor — red-
     and-gold carpet, drab end tables, old-tyme light fixtures.

                       OLIN
             Your floor.

     Mike waits for Olin to take a step — but the man is
     immobile.

                       OLIN
             I'm afraid this is as far as I go.
             The room is at the end of the hall
             to the right.

     Mike nods, a tad apprehensive. He exits — on legs that seem
     heavier. Mike takes a few steps, then turns.
                                                           30.


AT THE END

Olin stands framed in the elevator, an ordinary man in a
plain suit. Hands clasped, face withdrawn, he sighs.

                  OLIN
        Good luck.

Olin pulls out the bottle of Cognac and tosses it.
Startled, Mike catches it. He starts to respond — but the
doors SHUT.

Olin is gone.

is now alone. He hoists his duffel, then walks slowly down
the hushed hallway. Past 1401... 1402...

Mike examines Olin's file.

INSERT - FILE

A grisly PHOTOGRAPH marked "KEVIN O'MALLEY." He lies dead
in the bathtub. His eyes are wide, his throat gashed open,
a sewing needle protruding from raw flesh.

MIKE

grimaces. He walks past 1404... past a moldering room
service tray. On the plate are remains of a beef burger
soaked in red ketchup. A fly buzzes...

INSERT - FILE

Back to the photos. Mike flips to a nasty half-covered BODY
in bed. The sheets are soaked.

IN THE HALL

Mike is getting rattled. He makes a turn. 1406 goes by...
1407... wood-paneled doors and elegant wallpaper...

Mike finds a scratched NOTE on hotel stationery.

INSERT - FILE

Frantic writing: "My brother was eaten by wolves on the
Connecticut Turnpike”

IN THE HALL

Mike stops, considering this oddity.
                                                         31.


He looks up — and realizes he's in front of 1401.

Huh?

Mike looks around, confused. Somehow, he's back at the
elevator.

                     MIKE
           What the fuck?

Mike slowly shakes his head. Then, he packs up the file and
marches away. Pay attention!

WIDE

Mike watches the numbers go by. Get to that room! 2, 3, 4,
5, 6, 7. He swings around a corner. And there, unassuming
and anonymous, is 1408.

Finally.

Mike pulls out his brass KEY. He starts to insert it —
when, he's startled by WHIMPERING.

AT THE NEXT ROOM

is a YOUNG MOTHER turned away from us. She holds a sobbing
BABY* She fumbles with her mag card, then disappears
inside.

BACK ON MIKE AT THE DOOR

Okay. He takes a breath, then inserts the key in the lock.

MICRO-CLOSEUP - INSIDE THE LOCK

The vintage mechanism looks like a GIGANTIC DARK CHAMBER,
filled with crazy angles of cold steel.

The key enters like a medieval battering ram. It slowly
turns. The tumblers RUMBLE with echoing CLINKS and CRICKS.

The sound rises ominously LOUD...

BACK TO MIKE - NORMAL PERSPECTIVE

And, the sound becomes a teeny CLICK.

The door unlocks.

Inside the next room, the Young Mother's VOICE leaks out:
                                                             32.


                        YOUNG MOTHER (O.S.)
                   (singing softly)
              "Mama loves her baby, baby,
              baby..."

     The knot in Mike's stomach grows.

     He grips the doorknob. He lifts up his recorder.

                        MIKE
              "It's 7:52 p.m., and I'm about to
              enter Room 1408 of the Dolphin
              Hotel. If something happens to me,
              I, Michael Enslin, being of sound
              mind, do hereby leave all my
              earthly belongings, and whatnot to
              my ex-wife Lily."

     He hits STOP.

     Then, he slowly turns the knob —

     The tension builds —

     The wooden door opens —

     And...


31   INT. 1408 - SAME TIME                                         31

     It's — just a hotel room.

     A two-room suite, pleasant and banal. Pastel sitting area,
     beige carpet, forgettable furniture.

     Mike sees this — and gasps, relieved. He starts LAUGHING.

                        MIKE
              That1s it?
                   (he LAUGHS harder)
              That's friggin' IT?

     Astonished, he enters and throws his stuff down. He
     defiantly SLAMS the door shut and SHOUTS.

                        MIKE
              All right, Olin!! You win Round
              One!
                   (annoyed with himself)
                                                               33.


             You had me goin'! Where's the
             spiderwebs, the lightning, the
             river of blood?! This is just... a
             room!

     Mike gives himself a tour.

     There's a couch. A coffee table. A   desk with various items:
     A fax machine. A glass ashtray. An   old-fashioned rotary
     telephone. A book of matches, with   a Norman Rockwellish
     sketch of a smiling Doorman at the   hotel.

     On the wall are three framed paintings. In the carpet below
     is a water stain.

     The wall THERMOSTAT says 80. Mike clicks the "down" arrow.


32   INT. BEDROOM                                                    32

     There's a queen-size bed with fluffy pillows. A TV. A
     nightstand Bible. Mike picks it up... then tosses it aside.


33   INT. BATHROOM                                                   33

     Mike flicks on the bathroom lights. It’s bright and
     sparkling — a pleasing glow of luxury.

     There's a tub. A bidet. Baskets of soap.

     The toilet paper roll is folded in a fancy little triangle.

     Mike tears off a sheet and wipes his nose.


34   INT. LIVING ROOM                                                34

     Mike opens an armoire and finds the MINI-BAR. , He peruses
     the sodas, booze and chips. He glances at the price sheet.

                       MIKE
             Eight dollars for Corn-Nuts? This
             is an evil fucking room.

                                                           CUT TO:


35   INT. BEDROOM - LATER                                            35

     Mike lies on the made bed, eating Corn-Nuts and swigging
     Olin’s Cognac. He narrates into his recorder, from memory:
                                                           34.


                  MIKE
        "The living room has two chairs, a
        sofa, a writing desk, and a faux-
        antique armoire. The carpet is
        beige and unremarkable, except for
        a stain beneath a thrift-store
        painting of a sailing ship."

TIGHT - THE PAINTING

We FOCUS ON the painting, as Mike describes it from memory.

                  MIKE (O.S.)
        "The work is executed in the always
        dull Currier & Ives fashion —
        sailors on a white schooner."

We MOVE TO the SECOND PAINTING — an old lady in a rocking
chair.

                  MIKE (O.S.)
        "The second painting is an old
        woman, a la Whistler's mother,
        smiling down as small children play
        at her feet."

We MOVE TO the THIRD PAINTING — a British hunting scene.

                  MIKE (O.S.)
        "The third and final, painfully-
        dull painting is the ever popular
        "The Hunt" — horses, hounds, and
        constipated British lords.
             (beat)
        "These paintings have been here a
        long time. If I lifted them, I'm
        sure I'd see light patches. Or
        squirming bugs like when you turn
        over a rock."

BACK ON MIKE

                  MIKE
        "The bedroom has a queen-size bed,
        two nightstands, and butterfly
        wallpaper.
             (beat)
        "Some smartass spoke of the
        banality of evil. If that’s so,
        then we've entered the seventh ring
        of Hell."

Mike gets up and walks to the window. He opens the drapes.
                                                                35.


     OUTSIDE, another building completely fills the view. Below
     are cars and a huge lit-up BANK CLOCK. Mike opens the paned
     window. TRAFFIC NOISE rises in.

                         MIKE
               "The panorama is a typical cramped
               New York view of nothing: A gray
               building, and honking traffic
               below,"

     The clock outside clicks from 7:59 to 8:00 PM.

     Suddenly, LOUD MUSIC.

     Mike jumps, startled.


36   BEHIND HIM                                                       36

     The clock RADIO has gone off. The CARPENTERS sing:

                         THE CARPENTERS (O.S.)
                    (singing)
               We’ve only just begun"

     Mike laughs. He turns it OFF, flicking the alarm switch.

                          MIKE
               Silly,..

     Mike turns — then suddenly freezes.

     THE BED

     is turned down. The sheet is folded, and there are little
     mint chocolates on the pillows.

     MIKE

     gapes, stupefied.

                         MIKE
               Holy shiiit!

     Mike blinks, as if this will make the mints disappear.

     But they don't.

     He strolls over and picks up a mint. He peers...

                          MIKE
                                                        36.


        Bravo, Olin. That is VERY
        unsettling.

Mike opens the candy, then EATS it. He thinks, his wheels
spinning. Until he suddenly stops, mid-chew.

                  MIKE
        That means someone’s in the room..!

Mike whirls.

WIDE

Emboldened, Mike RUNS to the CLOSET. He slams open the door
and — it's empty.

Hm. Mike looks around. Ah! Suddenly he drops to his knees
and peers under the BED. Buz... there’s nothing.

Hm! Mike thinks. He bolts into the bathroom. He grabs the
shower curtain, takes a breath, then YANKS it aside.

And — nobody. Huh?!

Mike wracks his mind. Tantalized.

                  MIKE
        Come out, come out...

Detective-like, he starts RAPPING on the drywall.

RAP! RAP RAP!

He RAPS his way toward the door... when... something
catches his eye.

TIGHT - TOILET PAPER

The toilet paper roll has returned to its original state.

Once again, it has a folded triangle.

ANGLE - MIKE

His eyes bulge.

                  MIKE
        Whoa. Bizarre.
             (beat)
        A ghost that offers turndown
        service.
                                                               37.


     He gawks at it. Then, he pulls out his recorder, CLICK!

                       MIKE
             "Okay, let’s Encyclopedia Brown
             this fucker. I was facing the
             window. Then I saw the mints, ran
             to the closet which would leave
             time for Houdini to get in the
             bathroom, do the paper trick —
                  (he stops)
             "No, I would've seen him —
                  (beat)
             "No. Unless he started in the
             bathroom, so when I turned my back,
             he did the mints and escaped
             into... the living room!"

     Mike barrels into the


37   INT. LIVING ROOM                                                37

     He lopes around — searching... searching. Until, he spots -
     the AIR VENT up in the ceiling.

     Ah! Mike runs up — and thinks he sees movement inside.

     Or, does he?

     He stands on his tiptoes and SHOUTS up into it.

                       MIKE
             Hellooo! -Hello, asshole! You're
             gonna have to try harder!
                  (he smirks)
             Nice and HOT up there??

     Mike wipes his brow. He realizes he's sweating.

     Mike runs to the THERMOSTAT and checks it. It’s now 84.

                       MIKE
             Oh, for God's sake.

     Mike pushes the "down" arrow again. Nothing. He BANGS it.

     Irked, he grabs the clunky telephone, peers at the archaic
     dial, then sticks his finger in the hole and dials "O."

     It spins. Click-click-click-click-click. Then —

                        MIKE
                                                           38.


        Hello! This is Mr. Enslin in Room
        1408.

                  OPERATOR (V.O.)
        Good evening. Are you ready to
        check out?

                  MIKE
        "Check out"?!
             (he chuckles mordantly)
        Why would I do that, when there a
        such wonderful maid service?
             (beat)
        And so discreet!
             (beat)
        No, I just need someone to fix my
        thermostat. This room's on fire.

                  OPERATOR (V.O.)
        Of course, sir. We'll send an
        engineer right up.

                  MIKE
        Thanks.

Mike hangs up.

Beat. Through the wall, the baby CRIES. Waaah! Waaah...!

Mike considers it all. He sits on the sofa, then starts his
recorder.

                  MIKE
        "Hotel rooms are naturally creepy.
        I mean, how many people have slept
        in that bed before you? How many
        were sick? How many lost their
        minds?
             (beat)
        "How many died?"

Mike thinks. He unzips his duffel, slides over his LAPTOP,
and carefully removes a small EQUIPMENT CASE. Inside is
assorted gear: An EMF meter, microphones, a UV black light.

ACROSS THE ROOM

Mike dims the room. Then, he turns on the UV light. It
HUMS, emitting a weird blue glow. He holds the tube over
the carpet stain, and it GLOWS, vivid and brackish.
                                                          39.


Hm. Mike waves the UV light around the room. Things are
revealed, the past becoming otherworldly and
phosphorescent:

Spatters on the drapes.

Multicolored blotches on the couch.

Drips across the walls.

Soiled puddles in the bed.

MIKE

is repelled. Ugh. He feels sick.

Unable to bear any more, he FLICKS ON the lights.

Normalcy is restored. Mike rubs his eyes, then returns to
the living room. He glances at

THE THREE PAINTINGS

Which are... askew. Just slightly... tilted.

The ship’s crooked horizon is unpleasantly vivid...

CU - MIKE

A strange, sealike sensation. He staggers, a bit nauseous.

A SOUND of pounding waves. The painted water seems real...

Mike is losing his equilibrium.

                  MIKE
        God, I feel like I smoked some
        cheap dope!

He straightens the three paintings, then turns away.

Mike takes a step — then — suddenly gets a look.

He spins!

The paintings are still straight.

Hm. Mike queasily sits, putting his head between his legs.

Overheated, he fumbles for his recorder,

                  MIKE
                                                           40.


           What did Olin say?
                (dizzy)
           Something about poison gas...?

A woozy, unclear contemplation.... when — BZZZZ!

WIDE

Mike jerks. BZZZZZ! It’s the door, He pops from his trance.

                     MIKE
           W-who is it??

                     GRUFF VOICE
           Engineering. You got a problem with
           your heat?

Mike scurries to the door. He peers through the EYEHOLD.

DISTORTED POV

Through the glass, a hairy New York ENGINEER in overalls.

BACK ON MIKE

Good enough. He goes to open the door. He pulls — and it’s
stuck. It won't budge.

Mike struggles with the handle.

                     MIKE
           The door’s stuck! Can you give it a
           shove?

                     GRUFF VOICE
                (beat)
           I ain’t touching it.

Mike reacts, irritated. He tugs harder, wrenching with all
his might — when, it suddenly releases and SLAMS open. BAM!

Mike tumbles, off-balance.

THE DOOR

opens wide. Revealed is the ENGINEER, a huge, heavyset man.

He carries a steel toolbox.

                     ENGINEER
           Is it too hot or too cold?
                                                           41.


                  MIKE
        Oh, it’s definitely too hot. C’mon
        in. The box is right here —

Mike strides over to the thermostat. He starts to gesture
to the panel — when he realizes — he's... alone.

Confused, Mike turns.

The guy is still standing in the doorway.

Mike gestures again, for emphasis.

                  MIKE
        I said... the box is here.

                  ENGINEER
        know where the fuck it is. But I
        ain’t going in that room.

What! Mike glowers, put-out.

                  MIKE
        You just have to walk seven or
        eight feet —

                  ENGINEER
        I said I’m not goin’ in! You know
        what happened in there?

                  MIKE
        Yes, I'm quite aware -—

                  ENGINEER
        Look, I'll talk you through it. Any
        jackass can fix that thing.
             (beat)
        Just remove the panel.

The Engineer waits, feet planted.

Mike stares in disbelief. Then, beaten, he pulls off the
thermostat PANEL. Inside are springs and levers.

                  ENGINEER
        Okay. Now -- inside, you see a
        coil?

                  MIKE
        Yes.

                  ENGINEER
                                                               42.


             Good. Now above that coil is a
             little tube filled with mercury.
             That's supposed to activate the
             contact switch, but this hotel's so
             old, half the shit don't work.
                  (beat)
             Just give the tube a little tap.

     Mike glares, unsure.

                       ENGINEER
             Just tap the thing!

     Mike relents. He FLICKS the tube. The mercury suddenly
     emits a blue SPARK, then rolls downward.

     The system CHURNS, then the air-conditioning BLOWS on. Mike
     smiles t relieved.

                       MIKE
             You're a genius. Let me get you a
             tip —

     Mike turns to thank the man — and he’s GONE.

     Huh? Bewildered, Mike runs to the door. He peers out.

     HIS POV - DOWN THE CORRIDOR

     The hall is empty. The elevator doors glide closed.

     MIKE

     frowns. Odd...

     A discombobulated beat, then he pulls his head back in.

     Haltingly, he shuts the door.


38   INT. ROOM                                                       38

     Mike's alone. He paces about , convincing himself he’s
     okay...

     When — sudden jarring MUSIC.

                       THE CARPENTERS (0.S.)
             "We’ve only just begun..."

     Mike whirls! The CLOCK RADIO has turned back on.
                                                           43.


                     THE CARPENTERS (0.S.)
           “To live..."

                     MIKE
           Christ, you again!?

AT THE RADIO

Mike marches over. He once again CLICKS OFF the radio.

The digital clock flickers, then switches to "60:00."

Suddenly, it starts counting backward: "59:59... 59:58..."

Mike leans closer, mesmerized. "59:55... 59:54..."

CLOSEUP - MIKE

A dawning awareness. Slowly, he gulps.

In his mind, he remembers Olin's warning from before...

                     OLIN'S VOICE
           "Nobody has ever lasted longer than
           an hour..."

Hm. Mike glances worriedly at the clock ticking down.

Silence.

He realizes something odd. The SILENCE is ABSOLUTE. The
traffic noise is gone.

Perplexed, Mike walks to the window. He sticks his head
out.

OUTSIDE

It looks exactly as before, The New York street is filled
with a crush of traffic, buses, people, Except,
disconcertingly, there is literally no sound,

Mike can't hear anything. It's as if we're watching a TV
show with the volume turned off.

A fire engine races by, lights flashing. Dead silent.

MIKE

is confounded. The lack of noise is highly disturbing. He
stares, then pulls his head in...
                                                               44.


     When CRASH! The WINDOW VIOLENTLY SLAMS DOWN on MIKE'S HAND!

                       MIKE
             AAAGGHHHHH!

     Mike SCREAMS, agonized. An animal caught in a trap.

                       MIKE
             GODDAMN!! FUCKI!!!

     Mike struggles, fighting to use his good hand to crack the
     window open. Finally he tears his broken hand out.

     TIGHT - HAND

     It's a mess. The skin is ripped, bleeding.

     Panicked, Mike runs into


39   INT. BATHROOM                                                   39

     He turns on the sink. Water streams out, as he puts his
     wounded hand under the flow.

     But then — the faucet SPUTTERS and dies.

     Mike angrily turns the handles. Nothing. Livid, he punches
     the sink.

                       MIKE
             You son-of-a...

     FWOOOOOOSH! Suddenly SCALDING HOT WATER spews out!

     Yeow!!!! It BURNS Mike’s hand.

     Mike CRIES OUT. He yanks away his hand, now bloody AND
     burnt.

     The radio goes off.

                       THE CARPENTERS
             "We‘ve only just begun..."

     Mike SHRIEKS.

                       MIKE
             Fuck YOU, radio!!


40   INT. BEDROOM                                                    40
                                                                45.


     Incensed, Mike lunges in, grabs the electrical cord, and
     PULLS it from the wall!

     And — nothing changes. The song keeps playing. The timer
     keeps clicking down: ”56:24... 56:23..."

     Mike gasps in disbelief. Flummoxed, he staggers back to


41   INT. BATHROOM                                                    41

     He grabs a towel and wraps it around his bleeding hand.


42   INT. BEDROOM                                                     42

     A gust of wind blows in, ruffling the curtains. We follow
     the breeze across the room... to the BIBLE on the
     nightstand.

     The wind flutters the pages. They flip by... then stop.

     CLOSEUP - BIBLE

     The page is covered with SCRAWLED, MANIC WORDS:

     "DON'T LET ME DIE HERE"

     WIDE

     Suddenly, RINGGGGG!!!

     Mike jumps. Surprised, he runs to the phone. He grabs it.

                          MIKE
             YES??!!

                       HOTEL VOICE
             Sir, I'm sorry, but there was a
             miscommunication in the kitchen.
             There’s going to be a ten-minute
             delay on your sandwich.

     Mike's eyes bug out.

                       MIKE
             What sandwich?! I didn't order a
             sandwich!!

                          MIKE
                     (crazed)
                                                        46.


        But as long as we're on the phone
        let's talk about the window that
        just broke my hand, and the water
        that burned me alive!!

A long pause. Then —

                  HOTEL VOICE
        I'm sorry. You're welcome to
        substitute a side dish for your
        french fries. We have cottage
        cheese, macaroni salad —

                  MIKE
        Are you croddam LISTENING to me?!
        My hand needs STITCHES —

                  HOTEL VOICE
        I understand. If you leave your dry
        cleaning out by 10 a.m., we'll have
        it pressed and returned by 5 the
        same day.

Mike gapes.

                  MIKE
        FUCK! Fuck YOU! I want you to call
        me a cab to the nearest hospital!

The Hotel Voice turns sour, ruffled.

                  HOTEL VOICE
        Sir, I will not tolerate you
        speaking to me in that tone of
        voice —

                  MIKE
        You’re a fuckin' IDIOT!

                  HOTEL VOICE
        If you wish, I can connect you to
        our manager, Mr. Olin.

                  MIKE
        GOOD! Olin it is! Put him on!!

Pause —- then the line goes on HOLD. Sprightly MUSIC kicks
in. The RECORDED ANNOUNCEMENT we heard before repeats:

                  SMOOTH RECORDING
                                                              47.


             "When staying at the Dolphin, be
             certain to enjoy New York's finest
             dining, at the fabled Blue Marlin
             Restaurant on our Mezzanine level."

     Mike waits, stewing.

     He watches his blood dripping out of his hand. The red
     droplets hitting the carpet...

                       SMOOTH RECORDING
             "Muscles tense? Then make an
             appointment to visit our deluxe
             spa, on the Coral level. With full
             massage, facial, and aromatherapy
             facilities, it'll leave you feeling
             relaxed and revitalized."

     Mike’s hand keeps bleeding.

     His temper is growing.

                       SMOOTH RECORDING
             "Your call is important to us.
             Please stay on the line—”

     CLICK — BEEEEEEEP!

     It’s a DIALTONE.

     Mike has been disconnected.

     He stares in amazement.

                       MIKE
             You are kidding.

     Furious, Mike throws the phone.

     He grips his wounded hand and stomps into the


43   INT. LIVING ROOM                                               43

     Mike's fed up. He rushes to the door, going to open it -—

     And... the deadbolt's locked.

     Huh? Uncertain, Mike fumbles in his pocket for the big ROOM
     KEY. He angrily jams it into the lock, thrusting it through
     the oversize hole.
                                                           48.


And — PLIP! The key slips from Mike’s fingers — plunging
into the door! It disappears, gone.

                     MIKE
          Wha—?!

Mike fiddles with the keyhole, trying to find the key.

Frustrated, he slams his EYE up against the hole.

HIS POV

Blackness. Hollow. A gentle whisper inside...

MIKe'S EYEBALL

bulges, peering up... down...

WIDE - MIKE

He scowls. He spins and looks around... thinking. Mike runs
to his bag, unzips a pocket, and pulls out his LETTER
OPENER.

Mika jams the metal blade into the keyhole. He wiggles
it... trying... desperately... to engage the mechanics...

                     MIKE
          C’mon...

He struggles to nick the lock. Forcing it around... when —
CLUNK! The DEADBOLT UNLOCKS!

                     MIKE
          Yeah!

Mike smiles victoriously. He triumphantly turns the handle
--

AND —

CRACK! The DOOR HANDLE BREAKS OFF IN HIS HAND.

CLOSEUP - MIKE

His face goes ashen. This is unconceivable.

The door is now unopenable from the inside.

WIDE
                                                         49.


Mike goes rabid, furiously KICKING the door! He PUNCHES it
with his bruised hand. He claws crazily at the handle
stump.

He's TRAPPED.

Losing it, Mike whirls and careens across the room. Passing

                    THE THERMOSTAT
          which now reads 75 degrees. 74...

AT THE WINDOW

Mike runs to the pane and throws it open. He SCREAMS.

                     MIKE
          HELLO?!!

OUTSIDE

It's utterly silent, like before. Not a sound from the busy
traffic.

Mike screams louder.

                    MIKE
          Up here! HELP!!!

Mike's VOICE ECHOES, the only noise in the world,

                    ECHO
          HELP... HELP... HELP...!

This is very disturbing.

Mike peers around — then spots a lit window across the
street. There is a SILHOUETTED MAN.

Mike gasps, a ray of hope.

                    MIKE
          Hey! Sir!!

No reaction. He SCREAMS louder.

                    MIKE
          CAN YOU SEE ME?! OVER HERE, IN THE
          DOLPHIN??

Mike waves his right arm.

ACROSS THE STREET
                                                           50.


The Man waves his right arm.

MIKE

                     MIKE
           YES, HERE! I NEED YOU TO CALL THE
           POLICE!!

Mike jumps, excited.

ACROSS THE STREET

The Man jumps, too. An exact rhyming movement.

MIKE

suddenly halts, horrified.

THE MAN

freezes.

MIKE

slowly... worriedly... shifts from side to side.

THE MAN

mirror-like, shifts from side to side.

MIKE

trembles. Fearful, shaking, he leans toward the lamp.

THE MAN

leans toward a lamp. Revealing... he... is... Mike.

MIKE

freezes, stunned. He is watching himself.

CLOSER VIEW - THE MAN

is Mike, standing in a parallel version of the hotel room,

h Staring blank-eyed at us.

A chilling beat — and then an INSANE MANIAC with a
clawhammer comes rushing into view. He swings the hammer
straight at the doppelganger's head.
                                                           51.


ANGLE - MIKE

He SCREAMS and spins in fear.

WIDE

And — the Maniac isn't there. Mike is alone.

Mike's chest heaves, overcome. Panicked, whirling about.
Off-balance, he spins back to the view outside.

ACROSS THE WAY

The man is gone. The lit window is gone, It's just
darkness.

Mike is befuddled.

                     MIKE
           What the f-—?

He stares, shaking and impotent. Then, he notices the
PEOPLE below on the street. Silent, but — real.

Desperate, Mike suddenly goes deranged.

He picks up a LAMP -

                     MIKE
           HELP ME!!!

WIDE - THE WINDOW

Mike unplugs the lamp and THROWS it! It flies out the
window and soars outward!

Mike lurches out, to watch what happens--

The LAMP drops. Down... down...

MIKE

waits eagerly, wild-eyed.

THE LAMP

drops closer to the street... then...

Dissipates.

Like mist, it just... disappears. The lamp is gone.
                                                             52.


     MIKE’S EYES

     bug out.

                          MIKE
                Jesus, I'm losing my mind. I'm
                hallucinating.


44   INT. LIVING ROOM                                              44

     Unsteady, Mike collapses. He feels helpless, like the walls
     are closing in...

     Then — an ethereal LITTLE GIRL'S VOICE.

     Wispy, faint...

                          GIRL’S VOICE
                Daddy... Daddy.......

     We suddenly PUSH IN TO MIKE. He CLUTCHES for breath.

     ALLI color bleeds from his face. He holds his head,
     gasping.

                          MIKE
                Stop it. Get ahold of yourself.
                You're letting your mind run to
                places that aren’t real.
                     (he works to calm
                     himself)
                It’s just a classic haunted house
                power of suggestion: Gaslit
                fixtures. Faded rugs. Like that
                motel in Kansas. There’s a reason
                for everything...

     The radio continues its ominous countdown: 46:25.,. 46:24.

     Mike peers around, scoping — then sees something. Maddened,
     he hobbles up to the AIRVENT.

     ANGLE - VENT

     There is... something inside the vent. A tiny black TUBE?

                          MIKE
                Is that a camera? A spycam?
                     (accusatory)
                Hello?! Who are you, the perverted
                owner of the hotel? Some rich
                sadist, enjoying my terror?
                                                         53.


             (beat)
        Or perhaps it's just punctilious
        Mr. Olin, whacking-off in his
        leather chair.

ANGLE - MIKE

He is cracking. Paranoid.

                  MIKE
        Wait a second..! He gave me booze,
             (trying to focus)
        Was it laced? Did Olin take a
        sip...? Can't remember...

Mike eyes are glazed. He spots the Cognac bottle. He runs
over and uncorks it, taking a sniff...

Hm. Something else catches his eye.

ON THE NIGHTSTAND

are the mint wrappers. Mike gasps, remorseful.

                  MIKE
        Agh! The mystery chocolate. Shit!
        Never take candy from a stranger.

Mike's mind ratchets into overdrive, freaking. Until —

                  GIRL'S VOICE
        Daddy, pay attention!

Mike whirls.

ANGLE - TV

The TV is ON. Onscreen is a flickering old HOME VIDEO;
Mike's daughter GRACIE, 5, sits on the carpet playing
dolls. She laughs and motions urgently.

                  GRACIE (ON VIDEO)
        Daddy, sit down!

BACK TO - MIKE

He gapes in disbelief.

                    MIKE
        Grade...?

IN THE HOME VIDEO
                                                        54.


A YOUNGER MIKE enters frame. Cheerful and buoyant. He sits
on the floor with Grade. She hands him a rotund little
doll.

                  GRACIE (ON VIDEO)
        Okay, you be the daddy, and I'm
        going to be the mommy.

                  YOUNG MIKE (ON VIDEO)
        But I don’t want to be the daddy. I
        want to be — the dog.

                  GRACIE (ON VIDEO)
             (outraged)
        That's silly! You can't be the dog!
        You have to be a person!

BACK TO - MIKE

He shudders, disturbed.

                  MIKE
        W-where1d this come from...?

IN THE HOME VIDEO

Mike's former wife LILY, 30, enters. She's pretty, aloof.

                  LILY (ON VIDEO)
        Hey, what are you scoundrels up to?

                  GRACIE (ON VIDEO)
        We're busy. Daddy and I got
        married.

                  LILY (ON VIDEO)
             (feigning shock)
        What?!
        They all giuole.

                  YOUNG MIKE (ON VIDEO)
        Ism very popular around here!

ANGLE - MIKE

His face falls. Sad and traumatized.

Wanting to hang onto this memory, he slowly reaches out to
the screen'... wishing... in some way... he could touch it
—

ZAPPP!! It violently SHOCKS him.
                                                          55.


OW! Mike tumbles back. The screen blazes, then goes to
STATIC. Grade is gone.

WIDE - THE ROOM

Mike is alone, hurt. Not understanding. He senses
something, then turns...

ANGLE - NIGHTSTAND

Sitting there are the two little DOLLS from the video.

MIKE’S

eyes widen with fear.

The figures are a tiny man and woman. Here in the room.

Mike gulps, then picks them up. Yes, they are real. Mike is
overcome with feelings. He tenderly cradles the dolls.

Staring into their painted faces...

Until — he glimpses movement in the room. He turns.

AT THE WINDOW

A quick FLASH of the rich FACTORY OWNER who killed himself:
He steps to the ledge and jumps.

MIKE

is stunned.

AT THE WINDOW

Another apparition. A PORTLY LADY in a 1950's flowered
dress.

She sobs, then pulls a chair to the window. She lashes out
at the air, then leaps.

MIKE

cries out, shocked.

Mike cradles the dolls closer. Wanting to cling to
something good...

When — a FAINT SOUND. Soft and muffled.

Mike freezes.
                                                           56.


From the next room over is the SOUND again. A BABY CRYING,
Then, the gentle murmur of the Mother.

What?!

WIDE

Mike JUMPS to attention. He drops the dolls and frantically
runs to the wall. He KNOCKS on It.

                   MIKE
         Ma’am? Ma'am! Can you hear me??

The baby CRIES louder. Drowning him out.

                   MIKE
         Quiet, kid.
              (he BANGS harder)
         Ma’am?! Please! I need your help!!

The baby CRIES harder. Mike realizes she can’t possibly
hear him.

Frenzied, he grabs a nearby CHAIR.

Mike swings the chair, then SMASHES it into the wall!

Bam! BAM!!

The baby SCREAMS louder.

Mike swings harder, brutally.

CRASH! The chair splits apart.

                   MIKE
         HELLO?!

suddenly — SHRRRRRIIIIEEEEEKK! The baby SCREAMS like it's
being BURNED ALIVE.

Agh! Mike pulls back, holding his ears.

The SCREAM GETS MAGNIFIED, LOUDER, like the volume on a
stereo being cranked.

Mike winces, shutting his eyes, trying to block it out —

When, it. suddenly STOPS.

TIGHT - MIKE
                                                               57.


     opens his eyes quizzically. It's all quiet,

     He sits there. Forlorn.

                       MIKE
             ...Isn't there anyone?

     Slowly, a SHADOW crosses his face.

     ABOVE

     A quick FLASH: A natty MAN in Jazz Age suspenders hangs
     himself from a noose on the chandelier.

     MIKE

     grimaces. He yelps and backs away. Frightened, he makes his
     way to the bathroom.


45   INT. BATHROOM                                                   45

     Mike enters — then shudders.

     The bathroom is TRANSFORMED. It's no longer the lush,
     comforting boudoir of luxury — but a STERILE, FLUORESCENT-
     LIT NURSING HOME BATHROOM.

     Sitting in a wheelchair is a decrepit OLD MAN. He peers up,
     eyes rheumy and lost, then shouts:

                       OLD MAN
             I wish I was dead!

     Mike freezes. An endless pause.

     Then, he whispers.

                          MIKE
             Dad?

                       FATHER
             Where's mv garden?
                  (foggy')
             I can't smell anything!

     Mike is shaking.

                       MIKE
             Dad, it's me — Michael.

                          FATHER
                                                           58.


        Who?

                  MIKE
             (trembling)
        Your... son.

                  FATHER
             (suddenly LOUD)
        I HATE this place!
             (enraged, confused)
        How'd I get here?

Mike starts crying.

                  MIKE
        I'm sorry...!

Mike drops to his knees and hugs him. Holding the old man
tight, his face against his Father's scratchy, unshaven
cheek.

WIDE OVERHEAD

We look down on weeping Mike.

                  MIKE
        I'm so sorry...

We slowly PULL OUT... revealing that Mike is back in the
hotel bathroom. He’s on his knees, hugging the toilet.

There's no Father.

Mike moans, shaken. He looks around in bewilderment.

                  MIKE
        He was so real.
             (upset)
        As real as me.

Wobbly, Mike stands. He looks in the mirror, examining his
haggard face.

Then — he peeks back at the imagined camera in the vent.
Hm.

                  MIKE
        This is more than special effects.

Mike takes out his MINI-RECORDER. He speaks into it:

                     MIKE
                                                       59.


        "Maybe I’m not real. Maybe I'm...
        just having a dream. An incredibly
        vivid, lucid dream."

He paces around, thinking.

                  MIKE
        "When's the last time I remember
        going to bed?”

Beat.

                  MIKE
        "Today I flew in. Or... was that
        yesterday?
             (unsure)
        "God, what happened yesterday?
        Can’t remember anything. Was I on a
        train?
             (wracking his brain)
        "I must've woken up and had
        breakfast. Somewhere. But... where
        was I? Where did I eat...?"

Mike is getting nervous.

He glances at the wall he bashed, then does a take.

THE WALL'S CRACK

has grown. The crack has spiderwebbed larger. Clear,
viscous FLUID seeps out...

Mike grimaces, afraid. He shivers and backs away.

                  MIKE
        "People say you can't die in your
        sleep. Is that true??"

THE THERMOSTAT

now reads 60 DEGREES. 58. 55.

MIKE

rubs himself. Panic grows across his face.

                  MIKE
        "They say the shock wakes you up.
        If your mind thinks you're about to
        die
                                                           60.


Freaking, Mike makes his way to the WINDOW. He clicks off
the recorder, then starts to climb out --

OUTSIDE

The wind BLOWS. Mike shudders and prepares to jump. He
looks down —

MIKE’S POV

A dizzying, spinning view of the STREET.

MIKE

Suddenly, a SLAP of reality. He GASPS and tumbles inside.

                    MIKE
          What the fuck am I doing?
               (dawning)
          This is what the room wants!

Mike's eyes shift about, wary.

A shadow. He spins.

Behind a chair, a MAN peeks over the pillow.

Mike GASPS and crawls away.

                    MIKE
          There’s gotta be a way out!!!

WIDE

Mike looks for options — then notices the FLOOR MAP on the
inside of the door.

Ah! He darts over and scrutinizes it.

TIGHT - MAP

It indicates the building layout. Rooms, halls, exits...

                    MIKE
          Okay, okay! Look at our options..!
          Guest rooms on both sides...
          emergency exits... stairwell...

Mike's eyes gleam manically. Suddenly —

                    MIKE
          The next window!
                                                                61.


     He looks back fearfully, then heedlessly calculates.

                       MIKE
             This room's fifteen feet across, so
             the next window... is just... five
             feet past that wall!

     Mike dashes across the room. He paces toe-to-heel,
     measuring.

     Yes! Hope returns to his face.

     He runs back to his window, then climbs back up.
     Invigorated, he CLICKS ON the recorder .

                       MIKE
             "If I slip and fall, and this tape
             gets found among my splattered
             remains on 61st Street, let it be
             known that it was an accident.
                  (beat)
             "The room did, not win. It did not
             possess me to leap! I was just an
             arrogant self-hating bastard who

     Suddenly, he STOPS. Puzzled by these words.

                       MIKE
             Why did just say that?

     A strange dislocation. Then, he pockets the recorder.

                       MIKE
             This fuckin' room. It's polluted my
             mind!

     Defiant, he STEPS OUT.

                       MIKE
             But I can do this!


46   EXT. BUILDING LEDGE - SAME TIME                                  46

     Mike gingerly climbs outside, the wind blowing his clothes.

     He peeks downward, then — stifling his fear, tentatively
     lowers one foot onto the ledge.

     His fingers claw the brick, then find a decorative cornice
     to grab onto.
                                                           62.


He takes a breath... then gingerly swings out his other
leg.

Both feet are out. He gulps, then glances down.

HIS POV

Busy traffic, thirteen stories down.

MIKE

tries to stay calm.

                     MIKE
           Just ignore it.. Don’t worry...

He presses his face to the wall, then... carefully, starts
to inch along the ledge.

He slides his left toot. Beat. He slides his right...

He doesn't dare lean back. He blindly reaches out, gripping
the next section of cornice.

Okay. He slides his left foot. Then his right.

His face is sweating. He reaches... fingers slipping...
then, his hand finds the next cornice.

Good. He slides again. He reaches — and still no window.

CU - MIKE

Cheek pressed to the dusty brick, he is confused,

                     MIKE
           Where the hell is it?

Mike slides his left leg over. His right leg over.

Starting to jitter, he reaches again. And — no window.

                     MIKE
                (getting worried)
           Where is it?!

He reaches further... straining... then slides again.

Nothing.

                     MIKE
           WHERE IS IT??!
                                                          63.


Daring gravity, he leans back, to get a look --

SUPERWIDE - THE BUILDING

And, THERE ARE NO OTHER WINDOWS. THE ENTIRE BUILDING IS ONE
CONTINUOUS SURFACE OF BRICK, EXCEPT FOR MIKE AND 1408.

Mike SCREAMS, horrified.

                    MIKE
        NOOOOO!!!

He flounders, stunned. Mike slips.

                    MIKE
        AGGHH!

Mike falls, BANGING his face on the wall.

He DROPS, about to plummet, desperately clambering,
scratching his fingers into the old brick/when —

BAM! One hand snags the ledge as it passes by.

Chest heaving, hysterical, Mike catches his breath.

The wind pelts him.

Mike whimpers.

Then, he resignedly starts shimmying back to 1408. Slowly,
then, faster... his expression despondent...

TIGHT - MIKE'S HANDS

pull him along, Struggling to return to the hell he was
escaping.

AT THE WINDOW

Mike finally reaches his room. Quivering, sucking in all
his strength, he LIFTS HIMSELF UP onto the ledge. A shaky
beat — then, he looks back inside.

FAST ZOOM

across the room, RIGHT UP TO THE MAP on the door.

ZOOMING TIGHTER, until the MAP FILLS THE FRAME. And — it's
alive, the black lines slithering around like worms. The
map rearranges itself, doors and walls moving about.
                                                                64.


     MIKE

     goes pale.

     Suddenly -- the Portly Lady steps out into the window. She
     is sobbing.

                       PORTLY LADY
             May Jesus forgive me...
                  (beat; she scowls
                  hatefully)
             And FUCK YOU, HENRY SMITH!

     She starts to jump -- when she suddenly sees Mike. A
     bizarre discombobulation, then she lashes out at him,
     punching at him like the movements we saw earlier.

     Freaked out, she leaps.

                         PORTLY LADY
             Ahhhhh!

     She hurtles past.

     Mike gasps and jerks away. Scared, he tumbles back inside.


47   INT. 1408 - SAME TIME                                            47

     Mike lands on the room floor, covered in sweat, terrified.

     Shaking, huddled in a fetal position.

     He rocks back and forth... then hears a strange CLINKING
     sound. Click-clack click-clack click-clack...

     The room darkens...

     Wearied, he looks up — and FREEZES.

     THE WINDOW

     has been BRICKED-UP. Completely solid.

     MIKE

     moans, unnerved. He peers in disbelief, then runs and
     pounds on the brick.

     It's old. Like it's been there forever.

     Despairing, Mike tears into the
                                                             65.


48   INT. BEDROOM                                                  48

     And — the BEDROOM WINDOW IS GONE. The WALL IS SOLID
     DRYWALL.

     No trace there ever was a window.

     Mike starts hyperventilating.

                       MIKE
             No — that's impossible —

     He starts feeling the wall. Searching for anything...

                       MIKE
             It can't... I know...

     Mike is losing it. On the edge of sanity* He grapples for
     his minirecorder and hits REWIND.

     We HEAR Mike's voice speed by, chipmunk-like. He hits PLAY:

                       MIKE'S RECORDED VOICE
             "What did Olin say something about
             poison gas —"

     No* Mike speeds further. PLAY.

                       MIKE'S RECORDED VOICE
             "Hotel rooms are naturally creepy—"

     No. He speeds further. Then:

                       MIKE'S RECORDED VOICE
             "The bedroom has a queen-size bed?
             two nightstands and butterfly
             wallpaper.
                  (beat)
             "The room has no window."

     HUH?

     A chilling beat.

                        MIKE
             No...

     Shaking, he hits rewind. Play.

                       MIKE’S RECORDED VOICE
             "The room has no window."
                                                                66.


     Mike CRIES out, scared. He hits rewind. Play.

                       WOMAN’S RECORDED VOICE
                  (whisper)
             "Your daughter was eaten by wolves
             on the Connecticut turnpike."

                         MIKE
             AHH!

     Mike DROPS the recorder, like he's been electrocuted.

     He trembles, pained.

     CLOSEUP - CLOCK

     The unplugged clock continues ticking down: 32:14... 32:13.

     MIKE

     shuts his eyes. Until — a TORMENTED SOBBING.

     What now? He opens his eyes. The SOBBING is in the next
     room. It sounds like two people...

     Afraid of what he’ll find — he peeks into the next room.


49   INT. LIVING ROOM                                                 49

     There is a VISION. A FLASHBACK FROM THE PAST:

     A MAN and WOMAN are locked in a tight embrace, in a doctor'
     office. We can't see their faces. They both cry, the man
     hugging and comforting the woman.

     MIKE

     stares anguished. All color drains from his face.

     FLASHBACK VISION:

     The couple looks up — and they’re Young Mike and Lily. Both
     have tear-streaked faces.

                       LILY
             I can’t accept it...

                       YOUNG MIKE
                  (bereaved)
             But he said —
                                                        67.


                   LILY
         Maybe he's wrong! Doctors don't
         know everything!
              (beat)
         There are experimental
         treatments...

Young Mike shakes his head.

                   YOUNG MIKE
         She's doomed.

                   LILY
         Don’t say that!

We REVEAL Grade in a hospital bed, listening behind a
curtain. She's nine, pallid and thin.

                   LILY (O.S.)
         She'll only get through this if she
         believes. We need to give her hope!

                   YOUNG MIKE (O.S.)
         Why? So she can spend the end of
         her life being LIED to?!

Grade’s eyes widen.

ANGLE - MIKE

He recoils, shocked she heard this. He's crushed.

                     MIKE
         Gracie...

Mike feebly extends his arm —

When —

BLACKNESS!

The room goes COMPLETELY DARK.

Mike gasps, confused.

                     MIKE (V.O.)
         H-hey —

He stumbles. CRASH! A lamp FALLS and breaks.

                     MIKE FV.O.)
         Ow!
                                                              68.


     We hear Mike's breathing accelerate, getting heavy.

     Suddenly, a TERRIFYING VOICE. The VOICE OF THE ROOM,
     rasping, non-human, coming from everywhere:

                         VOICE OF THE ROOM
               ARE YOU A MEAT EATER, MR. ENSLIN??!

                         MIKE (V.O.)
                    (furious)
               W-what? Who are you?!! How the fuck
               do you know about my daughter??

     We HEAR Mike trip around. He reaches for the LIGHT SWITCH.

     He frantically FLICKS it — up down, up down -—


50   INT. LIVING ROOM - NORMAL                                      50

     BLINK! The lights go on.

     The room is back to normal. Mike is gasping, heaving.

     Looking about. Okay. Okay. Everything seems alright...

     He turns — and, AGHH!

     HIS POV

     A terrifying SKINNY LADY lunges at him! Grabbing his
     throat!

     MIKE

     screams, startled. Fighting her off.

     THE SKINNY LADY

     grips harder, snarling.

     MIKE

     staggers back, trying to push her bony hands away —

     When he glances sideways into a MIRROR. In the reflection,
     he is alone. Staggering back, choking himself.

     What?!

     Mike yelps and releases his own grip. He coughs, struggling
     for breath. He peers around. He is alone.
                                                         69.


                      MIKE
           JESUS...

He shivers, stupefied, Suddenly —

                     VOICE OF THE ROOM
           READY TO LEAVE?!!!

                     MIKE
                (he jumps, startled)
           NOT YOUR WAY!!

Dazed, Mike rubs himself for warmth.

THE THERMOSTAT

clicks to 50.

MIKE

runs to his duffel. He rummages for a COAT and quickly puts
it on. Underneath is his CELLPHONE.

Desperate, he flips it open — but it flashes: "BATTERY LOW”

What?! Mike growls, livid. Suddenly he glimpses something
else — his LAPTOP.

Hmm..! His eyes light up. He nervously glances back, then
quickly covers the, computer. Mike grabs a shirt.

AT THE VENT

Mike runs to the vent, cool air blowing down.

Suddenly, he pushes the desk over, WHUMP! Everything on it
CRASHES down. Mike drags the desk to the wall, then climbs
up. He glances suspiciously at the little black tube inside
the vent... then hooks the shirt over the grate, blocking
it.

Mike jumps down. He runs to his

COMPUTER

Mike grabs it and snaps it open. The SCREEN lights up.

                     MIKE
           Good, good...

Mike spins the mouse, clicking "Internet."
                                                           70.


                  MIKE
        C'mon, this crappy old hotel
        must've popped for wireless —

He waits patiently. The WI-FI icon scrolls, Searching...
searching. .. then —

"NO SIGNAL AVAILABLE"

Mike groans.

WIDE

Irked, he grabs the laptop and starts stalking around the
room. Holding it over his head. Hunting for a sweet spot.

The icon flashes red... green... red. Mike glances at the
bricked-over window.

                  MIKE
        Maybe there's a signal outside...

Mike stands on a chair, holding the laptop up against the
brick. And... with a little jiggling — the icon turns
GREEN.

                    MIKE
        AHH!!!

The screen flashes. An INTERNET WINDOW OPENS.

                  INTERNET LADY VOICE
        Good evening, Mike.

                  MIKE
        YEAH! Good evening, Fake Voice
        Lady!!!

Mike gleefully dances about. He FLIPS the Bird.

                  MIKE
        And FUCK YOU, Mr. Scary Room Voice
        Guy! I’m connected!!

INSERT - COMPUTER

Mike goes to his contacts. He quickly clicks on "BUDDY
LIST."

And — one name is there: "LILY_ENSLIN"

                    MIKE
                                                           71.


        Ah, shit.

Mike winces — he has no choice. He steels himself, then
types into the Instant Message Box: "LILY, I NEED HELP"

Na response.

Mike types again: "EMERGENCY!”

Long beat. Then, a WINDOW OPENS UP as a REAL-TIME WEBCAM
LINK. A woman's face stares back at us: Mike’s ex.

WEBCAM CU - LILY

She's more weary than pretty these days. Just hanging on.

She looks dryly at Mike.

                  LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
        Look what the internet dragged in.

                  MIKE
        Lily! Thank God —

                  LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
        How about "hello."

                  MIKE
        I don't have time —

                  LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
        Yeah, well neither do I.

She goes to sign off.

                  MIKE
        Wait! Wait! Please --!

She stops.

                  MIKE
        1 need you call the cops, send 'em
        to West 61st and —

                  LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
        You’re in the City?

                  MIKE
        Er... yeah. 61st and —

                    LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
                                                           72.


        You're in the City, and you didn't
        tell me?!

                  MIKE
        I... uh, I was only supposed to be
        here a few hours —

                  LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
        Jesus I Since the divorce, you've
        been like a phantom! Now suddenly
        you show up, you need a favor —

                  MIKE
        Lily, shut up!! I'm in danger.

Lily freezes, shocked.

                   LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
        What?!

                  MIKE
        I'm locked in a hotel room! There’s
        someone... something... trying to
        kill me.

                  LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
        Mike, back up! Who?!

                  MIKE
        I can’t explain. Just call the
        cops! Tell ’em Dolphin Hotel...

Suddenly, an unexpected HISSING. Mike looks up.

ABOVE

The EMERGENCY SPRINKLERS go off! Water RAINS DOWN upon Mike
and the computer!

                   MIKE
        No — NO!

Mike tries to cover the laptop, but it’s too late. Water
falls through the keys and into the electronics.

Lily’s IMAGE over the screen begins to BREAK UP.

                  LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
        Mike... I... can’t hear...

                  MIKE
        Oh Christ! Lily, Dolphin Hotel!
        1408! Bust down the door!
                                                           73.


PSSSTTTT! The computer screen goes BLACK.

                   MIKE
         FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!

Raining droplets are everywhere, falling into the electric
LAMPS.

The LIGHTS begin to flicker, creating a slow strobe effect.

FLASHES OF LIGHT

illuminate the painting of grandma in the rocking chair.

Darkness. Then FLASH!

The painting changes; Grandma is now standing, staring out.

FLASH!

The old lady turns into THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN from the lobby.

Her breast is bare, BLOOD drips from her nipple, down, into
her baby’s open mouth. The baby’s face is blue, dead.

FLASHI THE PAINTING OF THE SAILORS

turns into a ROTTING GHOST SHIP. They sail into a roiling
sea, covered in black clouds. The seamen's faces are pale,
starving, staring hopelessly.

Mike turns, shaky. FLASH!

THE PAINTING OF THE HUNT

The British men in red coats and hats get pulled off their
horses by the dogs. The dogs RIP the men apart, tearing
their flesh.

MIKE

whimpers. Around him, rain pours harder. WHOOOSH1 A
TORNADO­LIKE SOUND roars. A liquid churning, growing
louder...

Mike covers his ears and careens through the sopping mess,
shivering, looking for a way out. His feet smoosh in the
soaking carpet.

Mike passes the Thermostat. It's dropped to 48 DEGREES.

He pounds on the closed-up windows.
                                                           74.


He tugs on the door.

Wind BLOWS fiercer. A BLAST OF COLD gushes from the AIR
VENT, blowing the shirt down.

Mike’s eyes narrow, thinking. Intrigued, he takes a step
closer to the VENT...

                  MIKE
        Ho ho. That goes somewhere. Maybe I
        can just pull a Bruce Willis.

Mike CLAMBERS UP onto the desk. He's right beneath the
grate. He takes out his PENLIGHT and shines it up through
the opening.

INSIDE THE VENT

It's dark, foreboding. In the shadows is the: black tube.

Mike puts his face up to it.

ANGLE - MIKE

                  MIKE
        Hello, perv. I'm coming to get you.

He tugs the grate -— it's fastened with four bolts. Fine.
He hurriedly pulls out his trusty LETTER OPENER and starts
to use it as a screwdriver...

                  MIKE
        Okay. Here goes nothin'.

Mike unscrews the first bolt. It falls to the ground.

An anxious pause — then he quickly unscrews the second
bolt.

The third.

The fourth.

Wary, Mike reaches and slowly pulls the grate off the
ceiling.

He drops it, watching it hit the floor with a CLANG.

Beat — then he slowly turns back to the now-open vent.

Suddenly, he LUNGES at the tiny black tube and GRABS it.
                                                               75.


                       MIKE
             HA!!!

     Mike squeezes it in his fist -- then reacts, surprised.

     CLOSEUP - MIKE'S HAND

     He's holding a roll of DUCT TAPE. That’s all.

     ANGLE - MIKE

     A bewildered silence.

                       MIKE
             There's... nobody watching me??!
                  (long pause; confused)
             Why am I disappointed?

     A halting moment. He gathers his wits, then stares into the
     open VENT.

     INSIDE THE VENT

     It's metal DARKNESS. Air WHOOSHES sinisterly.

     Mike gulps, then waves his pathetic letter opener. He
     SHOUTS.

                       MIKE
             I've got a knife!

     No response.

     Mike steels himself, then painfully lifts his body up
     into...


51   INT. AIR-CONDITIONING VENT - SAME TIME                          51

     Mike clangs onto the hard cold surface. He pulls his legs
     up.

     Inside, it's black. We can’t see a foot ahead.

     Mike aims his penlight, but it’s just a dull glow. Shadows
     and rat droppings.

     Mike takes a breath, then squirms forward.

     It's murky and unsettling. The air BLASTS. Mike slithers
     along... unsure, creeped-out. Until, his penlight reveals
                                                          76.


A JUNCTION AHEAD

A "T" split. Shafts go left and right.

Mike stops — not sure where to go. He shines the tiny light
both ways... but the beam disappears into dimness.

Then — faint VOICES.

Mike's eyes bulge.

The VOICES are from the right.

Mike gets excited. Other people! He scrambles down the
vent.

                  MIKE
        Hey! Hey!!

Not far, he sees LIGHT. It's coming from a GRATE in the
floor of the shaft!

Mike hustles faster. He reaches the grate — then looks
down.

BELOW - HOTEL ROOM

It's the next Hotel Room. From above, we see the Young
Mother holding her CRYING baby.

                  YOUNG MOTHER
        Shh, shh. Mama loves her baby...

The Baby WAILS harder.

The Mother turns — REVEALING SHE'S LILY. Young Lily, from
the PAST.

                  LILY
        C’mon, Grade. Stop crying.
             (frazzled)
        No, I don’t know where your daddy
        is. Probably boozing it up...

MIKE

goes ashen.

                  MIKE
        N-n-no...! Honey, I’m here...

YOUNG LILY
                                                           77.


can't hear him. She carries Baby Grade into the next room.

MIKE

is tormented. He scurries to follow her. He rushes along
the vent. Banging himself on the sharp metal —

                  MIKE
        Ow! Wait —

He spots the next GRATE. Braced, he rushes over to it --
then GASPS.

BELOW

is a PARK. Trees, a path.

Then two men walk by. Young Mike from the PAST, arguing
with his Father. Father is younger, healthy.

                  FATHER
        Mike, don’t do this! She needs you.
             (reticent)
        She lost a child, too.

                  YOUNG MIKE
             (enraged)
        Why do you always lecture me?

                  FATHER
        I'm not --

                  YOUNG MIKE
        I’m an adult! I can make my own
        decisions!

Mike storms away.

MIKE IN THE VENT

His face collapses* Pained by the memory.

He stares mutely, then feels something strange. Icky. He
turns the penlight on his hand...

And crawling across his fingers is a COCKROACH.

                    MIKE
        Ugh...!

Mike brushes away the bug. The penlight’s beam swings —
revealing HUNDREDS OF ROACHES. The VENT IS FESTERING.
                                                          78.


                    MIKE
          YEOGGH!

Grossed-out, Mike hurriedly BACKS UP. Rushing backwards
through the vent.

Hurry!

The beam rolls, grazing across skittering bugs.

Mike rushes faster. His breathing echoes through the
claustrophic metal.

Suddenly, he reaches a junction — and DROPS.

Aggh!! He's plunged down a

VERTICAL SHAFT

Mike plummets into blackness, falling backwards!

He flails, then SLAMS his hand, just catching the edge.

Hanging on for dear life.

Mike glances down. It’s ABSOLUTELY BLACK below.

With a rush of adrenaline, Mike struggles to pull himself
out Straining, muscles clenching... he lifts himself up.

Okay. Mike sucks in air. Resolved, he whirls about to race
forward —

And — BANG!!!

CLOSEUP

Pasty KEVIN O’MALLEY is face-to-face with him! Kevin's eyes
are wild, his skin bloated and blue.

Mike SCREAMS, startled.

Kevin gazes crazily, his mouth a pinched grimace.

                    MIKE
          Kevin... ?
               (trembling)
          Kevin O'Malley??

Kevin stares, unspeaking. His breathing a HORRIBLE WHEEZE.
                                                          79.


Then... he slowly lifts his head. Revealing his THROAT IS
SLICED OPEN, ear to ear.

His bloody windpipe is visible, raspy. Kevin’s mouth opens
and shuts, puppetlike, but only a moist gurgle comes out.

Mike recoils, terrified.

ON THE MEN

Kevin O’Malley raises a 6-INCH NEEDLE AND THREAD. He points
and gurgles a barely intelligible phrase.

Then, again: "Fix it."

Hikes J Mike pulls back in disgust and fear.

Kevin O'Malley suddenly lunges forward.

HELP! Mike spins away. Kevin CHASES. Freakily gurgling,
"Fix it! Fix it!"

MIKE

barrels through the tiny space. Rushing for his life.

Kevin O'Malley SKITTERS after him. Mike races, reaching

THE T-JUNCTION

He squirms down the RIGHT VENT.

He makes it a few feet, when --

CRUNCH! THE.VENT COLLAPSES. RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM!! As if a
giant hand has squeezed it like a Coke can.

Mike yelps and jolts back.

The Vent continues CRUSHING IN, moving closer! He turns —

DOWN THE LEFT VENT

comes Kevin, his face a horrible rictus, waving the needle.

MIKE

crawls like hell! Faster, towards the

MAIN VENT
                                                               80.


     Where in the distance he can see the OPENING to 1408! A
     slim square of light —

     THE OTHER VENT

     keeps CRUSHING! Metal SMASHING closer —

     MIKE'S FEET

     scurry as fast as they can.

     SLAM! Kevin O'Malley STABS his needle into Mike's leg.

     Mike SCREAMS, pained.

     He KICKS backward. His foot SHUSHES through Kevin's head,
     like a sponge. Kevin O'Malley collapses, the CRUSHING VENT
     SQUEEZING him out of view.

     Mike speeds faster. Room 1408 visible —

     The CRUSHING, TWISTING METAL is now inches away —

     As Mike HURLS himself forward...


52   INT. 1408 - SAME TIME                                           52

     ...and falls through the vent into the room.

     SLAM!!! He bounces off the desk, hitting the ground —

     as the sheet metal Vent BUCKLES CLOSED. BAM!!!

     TIGHT - MIKE

     He lies there, overwhelmed. Breathing in fits, face
     drenched in sweat, absolutely dumbstruck.

     He looks up at the ceiling... then around the room. Beat.

                       MIKE
             I need a drink.

     Mike staggers over to the Mini-Bar. He whips open the
     little refrigerator door - then gasps.

     INSIDE THE MINI-BAR

     is a MINIATURE SET of OLIN'S OFFICE. A TINE LITTLE OPEN
     SIDE IN HIS WING-CHAIR, sipping Cognac.
                                              81.


Mike grimaces, flabbergasted.

                  MIKE
        What are yon doing in there??
             (vexed)
        Where’s my BOOZE?!

Olin stiles? unruffled.

                  OLIN
        I was just checking, sir. Are your
        accommodations exceeding your
        expectations?

                  MIKE
        You know GODDAMN WELL they are:
        What do you want from me?!

                  OLIN
        No no no. What do you want? What do
        YOU want, Mr. Enslin? You sought
        this room.

                  MIKE
        I was doing my job!

                  OLIN
             (like he misheard)
        Sorry?

                  MIKE
        My job! I'm a writer! I tell people
        the truth!

Hm. Olin swirls his Cognac.

                  OLIN
        That's right, you don't believe in
        anything. You like shattering
        people's hopes.

                  MIKE
        That's bullshit!

                  OLIN
        Why do people believe in ghosts?
        For fun? No. They want the promise
        of something after death...

A COLLAGE of tearful VOICES...

                  SORROWFUL VOICE #1
        She’s in a better place, Mike...
                                                        82.


                   SORROWFUL VOICE #2
         She was in so much pain ,..

                   SORROWFUL VOICE #3
         I'm sure she's smiling down at us
         right now...

Mike winces, agonized.

                   OLIN
         How many spirits have you broken?

                    MIKE
         AAAAAAH!

Enraged, Mike SLAMS shut the Mini-Bar.

                   MIKE
         I WANT MY DRINK!!

WIDE

Mike spins. He looks around, then spots the Cognac in the
bedroom. Ah! He beelines for the bottle, then snatches it
up. He uncorks it and thirstily chugs the drink.

Pause — then he calms. He glances down at the hotel Bible.

Curious, Mike picks it up, then flips through.

INSERT - BIBLE

The PAGES are all now blank.

Weird.

MIKE

frowns. Then, a faraway voice...

                   GRACIE (V.O.)
         Why is our bible purple?

Mike looks up.

There is a spectral

FLASHBACK VISION:

The Enslin family’s old apartment, set-up as a grim
hospice.
                                                        83.


Gracie lies in bed, in a pink butterfly nightgown, in the
final, terrible stages of cancer. She’s skeletal. Waxen.

Lily sits by her, gripping a purple BIBLE. She laughs
awkwardly.

                  LILY
        I — I dunno. It was a wedding
        present.
             (she caresses it)
        But it's nice. The cover is real
        leather...

                  GRACIE
        Are there people where I'm going?

                  LILY
        You're not going anywhere.

                  GRACIE
        That isn’t what Daddy said.

We reveal Young Mike sitting in the window, smoking a
cigarette. He stubs out the smoke.

                  YOUNG MIKE
        Daddy says a lot of stupid things.
             (he comes over to the
             bed)
        You're too young to understand, but
        when you grow up and become an
        adult...
             (he forces a smile)
        you'll realize I'm crazy.

Grade giggles. Mike gently brushes her cheek.

                  GRACIE
        Daddy, everyone dies.

A tense pause.

Lily glances at Mike. He struggles to be consoling.

                  YOUNG MIKE
        Y-you're right. Everyone dies...

                  LILY
             (she jumps   in)
        And then you'll   go to a better
        place. And lots   of people will be
        there...
             (her voice   cracks)
                                                           84.


        All your friends.... And you’11 be
        able to run around again... play...

Grade looks up at Mike.

                  GRACIE
        Do you believe that, Daddy...?

A profound silence. He stammers, stuck.

                    YOUNG MIKE
        I... I...

Grade stares pleadingly.

Waiting. Then —

                  YOUNG MIKE
        Yes. I do.

                  GRACIE
             (she breaks into a smile)
        Good. Then I do too.

We hold on her heartfelt face.

                                                    CUT TO:

ANOTHER VISION

Flames RAGE. It1s a cremation.

A tiny coffin enters the burning fire.

PRESENT - MIKE

He sobs, pained. Wincing at this memory.

FLASHBACK VISION

The crematorium glows white, then blazes piercingly hot.

The casket disappears into the heat.

                                                    CUT TO:

ANOTHER FLASHBACK

Young Mike sits on Grade's bed, weeping. He's unshaven,
distraught, clinging to her old pink nightgown.

Grade is gone.
                                                                85.


     Lily can't even look at him.

                        YOUNG MIKE
              She could have hung on. But we had
              to fill her head! With all those
              fucking stories about the glorious
              afterlife...

                        LILY
                   (crying)
              Why do you have to blame anyone?!

     Mike throws down the nightie.

                        YOUNG MIKE
              I gotta get out.

     He jumps up and charges out of the apartment. SIAM!

                                                           CUT TO:


53   INT. 1408 - PRESENT                                              53

     Mike breaks down, devastated.

     He slumps back against the wall, whispering to himself.

                        MIKE
              Grade... Grade...

     He holds his gut, a terrible ache that will never leave.

     A sorrowful silence... an emptiness... until —

     CLICK.

     Mike turns, startled. His MINI-RECORDER has clicked into
     PLAY. Its wheels spin...

                        MIKE'S RECORDED VOICE
              "Heyz there's nothing to feel
              guilty about. When a couple loses a
              child, 80% of the time, they end up
              divorced --"

                        MIKE
              No... I should’ve stayed —

                       MIKE'S RECORDED VOICE
                                                           86.


        "And those bad doctors weren’t your
        fault. You worked freelance. You
        couldn’t help If you were stuck
        with a crappy HMO...

                    MIKE
        Stop —

                  MIKE'S RECORDED VOICE
        "And that b.s. about second-hand
        smoke? Chon! It’s not like puffing
        a couple cigarettes gives your
        daughter cancer...”

                  MIKE
        Jesus! Shut up!

Mike grabs the recorder and hits STOP.

INSERT - RECORDEr

A pause — then the wheels suddenly lurch into motion, by
themselves.

The grating? scary voice of the Room SCREECHES out.

                  VOICE OF THE ROOM
             (over tape recorder)
        SHUT up YOURSELF, ASSHOLE! YOU
        WALKED OUT, LIKE A SNIVELING LITTLE
        PUSSY! WALKED OUT ON YOUR WIFE,
        YOUR FATHER, YOUR FRIENDS...

                  MIKE
             (bitter)
        I was sparing them —-

                  VOICE OF THE ROOM
        YOU’RE A MISERABLE LIAR!

Mike stares desolately.

                  MIKE
        I — I was searching...

                  VOICE OF THE ROOM
        SEARCHING FOR WHAT? FOR SOMETHING
        THAT COULD PROVE YOU WRONG?

MIKE

Mike sighs. Beaten.
                                                                87.


                         MIKE
             Yes.

     Suddenly — RIIIIIINNGG!

     He spins.

     THE FAX MACHINE

     starts whirring. It's LCD screen says, "Receiving”.

     PAPER begins feeding.

     Mike peers, confused.

     TIGHT - FAX MACHINE

     Something begins coining into the output tray.

     Not a piece of paper.

     But his daughter's PINK BUTTERFLY NIGHTGOWN. Stained with
     mucus, blood, all the liquids of her dying.

     SHOOMI It's ejected from the machine, into Mike's hands.

                         MIKE
             AHHHHH!!!

     Mike tries to push it off, freaked, but the mucus on the
     nightgown clings to his hands.

     Mike shakes it, revulsed. He desperately races away —


54   INT. BATHROOM                                                    54

     Into the. bathroom. Mike throws the nightie in the sink,
     violently turning on the water.

     FWOOSH! Water pours out, everywhere.

     Mike shudders to tear the nightgown away. It comes loose,
     discolored fluids floating in the sink...

     Frightened, Mike backs out, SLAMMING the door.


55   INT. LIVING ROOM                                                 55

     Mike bolts back in, shivering. He can SEE HIS BREATH.
                                                           88.


The Thermostat has dropped to 32 degrees.

Water droplets are FROZEN AROUND THE ROOM. A weird, almost
Christmas-like atmosphere.

Mike blinks. He stares up.

THE WALL'S CRACK

has grown. The fissures cover the walls, ceiling and floor.

Like a spiderweb.

THE CLOCK

keeps ticking down. 16:41... 16:40... 16:39...

MIKE

seems lost. Eyes blank. Surrendered, he lies on the floor,
spreading his arms in the frost like a child making an ice
angel...

Then, a distant voice, like a dream...

                  LILY (O.S.)
        Can you hear me...?

Mike bolts up, dazed. He wheels around.

ANGLE - HIS COMPUTER

is working again! Lily’s glitchy IMAGE is on the SCREEN!

                    MIKE
        Lily?!

Mike rushes over, astonished. She smiles to see him.

                  LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
        Mike! Jesus! I've been trying you
        to get through...

                  MIKE
        Did you call the police?

                  LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
        They're at the hotel.

                  MIKE
        They're... w-why aren't they here?
                                                           89.


                  LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
        Didn't you say the Dolphin —

                  MIKE
        Right! Yes —

                  LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
        You're sure?

                  MIKE
        Of course I’m sure! Please! Send
        them to 1408!

Lily bites her lip, scared.

                  LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
        Mike, they're in 1408. The room's
        empty.

We PUSH IN TO MIKE. His blood freezes, terrified.

                  MIKE
        Th — that’s impossible.

                  LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
        Mike, where the hell are you?!

Mike looks all around.

Suddenly everything in the room looks more menacing.
Jagged.

Mike’s face collapses to a whisper.

                  MIKE
        I... don't know,

                  LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
        Don’t panic! We can figure this
        out.

Mike blanches. Hands shaking, he picks up the room FILE.

Vintage PHOTOS of grisly 1408 DEATH SCENES; A MILITARY MAN.
A YOUNG EXECUTIVE IN A DERBY. A CUTE WOMAN.

All bloodied and gone.

                  MIKE
        No, we can't.
             (morose)
        I'm going to die.
                                                        90.


ON THE COMPUTER

Lily goes frantic.

                  LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
        You 1 re freaking! Look, don 11
        move! I can get there in fifteen
        minutes -—

Mike glances at the CLOCK. 14:51... 14:50...

He shudders.

                  MIKE
        That’11 be too late.

                  LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
        No it WON'T! I'll check every room!
        M-maybe you got the numbers mixed-
        up. You're in 1480, or 1804...

                  MIKE
             (emphatic)
        Lily, please stay away! I don't
        want anything to happen to you —

This admission catches them both by surprise.

Beat — then she flashes a tender smile.

                  LILY (OVER VIDEOLINK)
        Well... I feel the same way. See
        you soon -

CLICK! She signs off.

                  MIKE
        Lily? Lily!!!

He shakes the computer...

When suddenly — WHUMPIJ The ENTIRE ROOM SHAKES, as if by a
huge EARTHQUAKE.

WIDE

PLASTER falls from the ceiling. Furniture and lamps CRASH.

The entire FLOOR begins to buckle and crack.

Mike loses his footing and stumbles to the ground. His head
strikes the floor with a sickening CRACK!
                                                           91.


CLOSEUP - MIKE

THUD.

His eyes shut —- then reopen, dazed. He looks up,
disoriented and childlike.

ABOVE

A light frost is falling. ICE CRYSTALS form on his hair.

Then, the ARMOIRE swivels into view... and comes DOWN.

Yikes!! Mike LURCHES out of the way, as — SMASH! — the
massive cabinet crashes to the floor, splintering.

Mike groggily leaps to his feet. He gazes around.

THE SUITE

is a complete wreck. Broken furniture, collapsed ceiling
and walls.

The floor has BOWED around the bed, which lies at a slant.

Mike's feet are in liquid. A sludgy half-frozen muck. His
eyes follow the source of the water. Puddled in the
corner... then up... trickling down the wall... leading to

THE PAINTING OF THE GHOST SHIP

Which is now PHOTO-REALISTIC and ALIVE. Tossing in the
waves!

The jaundiced, starved faces of the sailors are MOVING.
They SCREAM, frenzied. They're all now the VICTIMS FROM
1408: The Natty Man in suspenders. The Factory Owner. And
most prominently, Kevin O’Malley, hands on the tiller, his
eves boring straight at us.

Chilled, Mike turns —

THE PAINTING OF THE HUNT

The dogs are ravenous, BARKING! Tearing their masters to
pieces. The men moan. The horses run off.

THE PAINTING OF MOTHER AND CHILD

The blue baby’s mouth is twisted, teeth filed to RAZOR
SHARP POINTS. The mother weeps with despair as the baby
HISSES and attacks her.
                                                               92.


     Mike covers his eyes, unable to take it.

     ON THE PAINTINGS

     The CRIES grow louder, more insistent. The ship rocks
     harder.

     The ocean pounds.

     The SHRIEKING grows.

                       MIKE
             Stop! STOP!!

     Unhinged, Mike SLAMS his fist at the painting, trying to
     stop it. His knuckles BREAK the glass, ripping the canvas.

     Suddenly — FLOOOOOOSH! SEA WATER BLASTS FROM THE PAINTING!

     LIKE THE FORCE OF A HUNDRED FIRE HOSES.

     MIKE

     gets SLAMMED against the wall.

     The ROOM FILLS with water, at an incredible speed. Higher,
     higher —

     WIDE

     Mike struggles to float above. Furniture bangs around —

     Mike fights the current. Debris swallows him up. Fatigued,
     delirious, he starts muttering the Act of Contrition:

                       MIKE
             "0 my God, I am heartily sorry for
             having offended Thee, and I detest
             all my sins...

     Mike's will gives out. He gets pulled under.


56   INT. 1408 - UNDERWATER                                          56

     All is grim, like slow-motion. Murky and green.

     Underwater, Mike turns, and sees the back wall has
     vanished.

     In its place is the GHOST SHIP. Sinking downward toward a
     black abyss.
                                                                93.


     Mike gapes, his eyes bulging from lack of air.

     Everything swirls. He spins, getting sucked deeper...

     His arms tire. Bubbles pap from his mouth, as he begins to
     breathe in water. Mike's body goes limp. He’s pulled into
     the ocean's darkness...

     All seems lost... the end imminent, when —

     A strange object unexpectedly appears.

     Foggy, Mike looks up.

     Then — he gasps.

     IT’S MIKE'S SURFBOARD

     Hovering above him, like a godsend.

     Mike is startled, confused — but grateful. He lurches and
     grabs it — hanging on — his last chance for life. When, it
     unexpectedly pitches and HAMMERS him in the head.

                                                          CUT TO:


57   EXT. BEACH - DAY                                                 57

     ECU - MIKE'S FACE

     Mike lies mutely on his back, on the sand.
     Hyperventilating.

     Winded. Eyes glassy.

     But, alive.

     He's back in the beach scene from., the beginning.

     Then... a faint BUZZING. Mike looks up.

     IN THE SKY

     The small AIRPLANE flies overhead, towing the BANNER. It
     passes through the brightness, in sharp silhouette.

     Mike squints, trying to read it.

     The plane crosses a cloud, and the banner becomes readable:

     "CHEAP AUTO INSURANCE CALL 1-800-222-1408"
                                                               94.


     MIKE'S

     eyes widen.

     TIGHT THE BANNER

     The four numbers: ”1408"

     MIKE

     trembles, everything spinning, his memories collapsing.

     Nothing making any sense...

     His chest tightens. His brain feels like it's going to
     explode. Then —

     A wet LIFEGUARD thrusts his head into view.

                        LIFEGUARD
              Sir! Can you breathe? Is there any
              water in your lungs?
                   (beat)
              Can you focus??

     Mike’s jaw quivers, but forms no words. Utterly drained, he
     passes out.

                                                    DISSOLVE TO:

     ECU - MIKE

     His head is bandaged and his face drawn, but his breathing
     is even.

     Slowly, he opens his eyes.


58   INT. HOSPITAL ROOM ~ DAY                                        58

     Mike is lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV. A tree
     is outside the window.

                        LILY (0.S.)
              He's alive...!

     Mike turns. Sitting in a chair, watching him, is Lily. she
     stands, relieved. Smiling anxiously.

                        MIKE
              W-w-where am I?
                                                          95.


                  LILY
        You're in a hospital.

Mike wipes his eyes, confused.

                  MIKE
        In New York?

                  LILY
        New York??
             (puzzled)
        No — Miami. You got hit in the head
        with your board. You've been out
        for a day.

Mike tries to takes this in, uncomprehending. She comes
over.

                  LILY
        They called me, so I flew down,
             (awkward shrug)
        Guess I'm still listed as your next
        of kin...

                  MIKE
        So I’m not in New York?

                  LILY
        No! Why do you keep saying that?!

                  MIKE
        Because I thought... God, it was so
        vivid. I must've gotten banged in
        the brains so hard, all my circuits
        fried.
             (trying to focus)
        I was trapped... I was dying... in
        this weird hotel. The Dolphin —

                    LILY
        The what?

                  MIKE
        The Dolphin. The one on the
        southeast corner of 61st and 8th.

                  LILY
             (beat)
        Mike, that's a Banana-Republic.

His expression falls.

She trembles, then starts weeping.
                                                         96.


                  MIKE
        Hey. Why are you crying?

                   LILY
        Because — I haven't seen you for so
        long. And then -- we’re here, like
        this:
              (soft)
        In another hospital.

His eyes get watery. She gets emotional, then suddenly
hurries into the bathroom.

IN THE BATHROOM

Lily grabs a tissue and wipes her face. She stares in the
mirror. A final sniffle, then she tentatively returns,

BACK AT THE BED

                  LILY
        Do you know it's been three years?

                   MIKE
        Since —

                   LILY
        Since...

They both trail off. She peers at him, still terribly hurt.

Her voice drops to a hush.

                  LILY
        Mike, why’d you leave?

                  MIKE
             (somber, he whispers)
        Because... every time I looked at
        you, I saw her face.

Lily shudders, silent.

Mike reaches out... straining... and takes her hand.

                  MIKE
        I'm sorry. Sorry I blew it... sorry
        for everything...

                  LILY
        Everything?
                                                               97.


                       MIKE
             For — Grade...

                       LILY
             You had nothing to do with Grade.

     He looks in her eyes, seeing the truth of his life.

                       MIKE
             Then — I'm sorry for running away.
             For making mistakes. For abandoning
             everyone...

     CLOSEUP - LILT

     She nods, acceptingly.

                       LILY
             You should get some rest.

                                                           CUT TO:


59   INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - LATER                                  59

     Lily huddles by herself, talking on a CELLPHONE.

                       LILY
                  (on cellphone)
             I think I'm gonna stay a couple
             extra days.
                  (beat; embarrassed)
             No, nothing's going on. But Mike
             had a concussion and he's talking
             kind of strange. Almost
             hallucinatory...
                  (beat)
             He might need a little help.

                                                           CUT TO:


60   INT. RENTAL CAR - DRIVING - DAY                                 60

     Lily drives a white rental car. Mike sits in the passenger
     seat staring, a large bandage across his temple.

     The boulevard is quite uninspiring: Overgrown palm trees,
     graffitied Cuban markets, faded pink motels.

                       LILY
             Remind me again. Why do you live
             here ?
                                                               98.


                       MIKE
             I can be anonymous.

     She laughs.


61   EXT. BEACH PARKING LOT - DAY                                    61

     Lily drops Mike off at his car. It has two parking tickets.

     He peers out at the turquoise water. In the distance, a
     dolphin jumps in the waves.

                                                         CUT TO:


62   EXT. MAILBOXES, ETC. - DAY                                      62

     The same fluorescent craphole we saw before. The scene
     plays just like last time? Mike enters and goes to his-
     mailbox. He unlocks it, removing a startling amount of
     MAIL.

     The MAILBOX GUY nods.

                       MAILBOX GUY
             You've been gone awhile.

                       MIKE
             Yeah.

     A disinterested beat — then Mike reacts, offput.


63   INT. PALM COFFEE SHOP - DAY                                     63

     Mike sits in his corner booth, alone. He's going through
     months of OPENED MAIL. The table is spread with brochures
     from haunted hotels and inns... a bill from Saint Joseph's
     Nursing Home... the Weekly World News...

     Mike slashes an envelope with his letter opener, removing a
     childish GREETING CARD. It has a cartoon monkey saying "No
     Monkeying Around! Happy Birthday!"

     Mike reacts, strangely. The oddest sensation...

     He frowns — then suddenly wades through all the hotel mail.

     Frantically digging through photos, flyers... searching...
     searching...
                                                              99.


64   INT. MAILBOXES, ETC. - DAY                                     64

     The door SLAMS open. Mike barges back in, a bit frenzied.

                       MIKE
             Did I drop a postcard??

     The Mailbox Guy stares.

                       MAILBOX GUY
             Uh... nope.

     Perturbed, Mike scans the floor. Then his eyes drift... up,
     up... to the CEILING. Up there is an AIR VENT.

     Mike is bothered.


65   EXT. MAILBOXES, ETC. - SECONDS LATER                           65

     Mike runs out, punching "411" into his CELLPHONE. He paces
     the sidewalk, bristling with nervous energy.

                       MIKE
             Yes! In New York City, can I have
             the number for the Dolphin Hotel??

     Long beat. Then;

                       OPERATOR (V.O.)
             I have no such listing.

     Mike can't accept this.

                       MIKE
             Are you sure?

                       OPERATOR (V.O.)
             Sir ? X have no such listing.

                                                          CUT TO:


66   INT. RESEARCH LIBRARY - DAY                                    66

     Mike RUNS up to the research desk. He flags down a
     LIBRARIAN.


67   INT. LIBRARY MICROFICHE ROOM                                   67
                                                             100.


     Mike frantically scrolls through MICROFICHE, pages blurring
     by. Suddenly, he finds the ancient New York Herald-Tribune
     front page. He leans in — but the headline has changed.

     Now it says "FACTORY OWNER LEAPS OFF BRIDGE." Underneath is
     a PHOTO of some cops at a riverbank.

     Mike gasps, disturbed,

                        MIKE
             No way —

     A moment of dislocation... when he remembers something.
     Mike whips out his LEGAL PAD. But — now the pages are all
     EMPTY.

     A spooky pause... when suddenly -— RING!! It’s his
     CELLPHONE.

     Mike jumps, startled. Quickly, he answers. The screen says
     "LILY."

                        MIKE
             H-Hey.

                       LILY (V.O.)
             I'm just checking up. How are you?

                       MIKE
             Uh... tell you the truth, I’m
             questionable...

                       LILY (V.O.)
                  (concerned)
             Let's grab a bite.

                                                          CUT TO:


68   INT. BEACH RESTAURANT - NIGHT                                  68

     Mike and Lily have dinner at a nice beachfront cafe. Waves
     crash in the b.g.

                       MIKE
             It's fuckin' weird. This hotel
             thing feels so real...

                       LILY
             Maybe I should drive you back to
             the hospital -—

                        MIKE
                                                       101.


        No, no — I'm not ill. It’s just...
        this powerful sense of deja vu. The
        feeling of something so immediate —
        yet you know it didn't happen.

He stares, entranced.

                  MIKE
        I can’t believe I'm sitting here
        with you.

She slowly smiles.

A WOMAN in a flowered dress passes by. Mike glances — and
for a FLASH she’s the Portly Lady from 1408.

Huh?

Mike turns — and now she's a CUBAN LADY.

He wipes his eyes, on edge. Questioning himself. He leans
in to Lily, his voice tremulous. We MOVE IN on the couple.

                  MIKE
        Did I tell you that Grade was
        there?

                     LILY
                (off-guard)
        No...

                  MIKE
        Yeah. Can you imagine how strange
        that is... the sensation that I saw
        her just a few hours ago?

Lily blinks back tears. She grabs for her wine,

                  LILY
        S-sounds like one of your books.

                  MIKE
        I know. Except usually I have to
        pretend the haunted house is scary.
             (beat)
        This time, my trip was imaginary...
        and it's the most terrifying place
        I've ever been.

AT THE NEXT TABLE

Two GUYS get up and leave. Left on a plate are the remains
of a beef burger soaked in red ketchup. A fly buzzes...
                                                              102.


     Mike doesn’t notice.

                       LILY
             You should write about it.

                       MIKE
             What? The dream?

                       LILY
                  (she slowly nods)
             If it means something to you.
             Maybe, you've been given a second
             chance.

     Mike thinks.

     CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!


69   INT. MIKE’S OFFICE - DAY                                        69

     TIGHT on Mike, rapidly TYPING AWAY at his computer.

     CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

     The computer screen FILLS WITH WORDS. Mike is on fire,
     ideas pouring out. His face ablaze...

                       MIKE’S VOICE
             "I grabbed my overnight case. Mr.
             Olin. I've never seen a ghost and I
             don’t believe I ever will."
                  (beat)
             "Olin smirked. I'm afraid you don't
             believe in anything. But in 1408 f
             your unbelief will only render you
             more vulnerable.”

                                                    DISSOLVE TO:

     LATER

     It's dark outside. The desk is littered with potato chip
     bags.

                       MIKE’S VOICE
             "The man wore a 1920's brown wool
             suit. Suspenders, He pulled the
             noose round his neck — then
             jumped...”

     Mike types faster.
                                                      103.


                       MIKE’S VOICE
             "The window vanished. All evidence
             of its existence erased..."

     CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

                       MIKE’S VOICE
             "Kevin O'Malley's throat gushed a
             sickly rich red..."

     Mike slurps a coffee.

                       MIKE’S VOICE
             "My narration on the tape recorder
             became fragmentary, a loop of
             unease. No longer the voice of a
             man at work... but of a perplexed
             individual losing his hold on
             reality."


70   INT. SAM’S OFFICE - DAY                                 70

     Sam grins at his speakerphone. He shouts.

                       SAM
             Mikey! You sound happy.

                       MIKE (V.O.)
                  (giddy? on phone)
             I can't believe it! The work's just
             pouring out of me! I think I’ve
             invented some new literary form:
             The fiction memoir. Autobiography
             of a nightmare. It's sort of like
             Capote meets Whitley Strieber.

                       SAM
             I love it! "In Cold Blood" with
             aliens!
                  (gleeful)
             I wanna put it out to auction —
             start a bidding war! When can I
             read it?

                       MIKE (V.O.)
             Any day. I’ll send it to you the
             second it’s done.

                                                   CUT TO:


71   EXT. MIAMI AIRPORT - DAY                                71
                                                               104.


     Mike is dropping off Lily. She has her bags. A tender smile
     between them.

                       MIKE
             I'll see you soon.

     An awkward pause — and then they kiss.


72   INT. MIKE’S OFFICE - DAY                                         72

     The laser printer is WHIRRING. Pages come speeding out,
     crisp and clean.

     Mike reads them proudly.

     LATER

     Mike neatly stacks the sheets. He slides them into a fat
     manila ENVELOPE.


73   INT. CRAPPY CAR - DAY                                            73

     Mike jauntily climbs in his car, clutching the package. He
     sweeps a pile of junk off the seat, onto the floor. A shred
     of paper catches his eye — the nursing home bill.

     Hmm. He thinks...


74   INT. SAINT JOSEPH'S NURSING HOME - DAY                           74

     An airless lobby. VERY OLD PEOPLE sit unmoving, some in
     wheelchairs. ORDERLIES silently clean. A TV plays
     unwatched.

     Mike bursts through the doors. He looks around, lost. All
     the WOMEN look alike — wrinkled emaciated figures with big
     glasses and white hair. All the MEN are huddled in
     bathrobes, faces unshaven, eyes vacant.

     Mike studies the men, trying to decide if one is his
     father.

     Butithen... he notices his dad in a wheelchair, rolled over
     by a window. A shell of a man, gazing out...

     Mike’s face falls. Then, he girds himself and hurries over.

                         MIKE
             Dad?
                                                            105.


     FATHER

     doesn't react. Mike gently approaches.

                        MIKE
              I haven't... seen you in awhile...

     No response.

     Mike pulls up a chair. He takes his father's veined hand.

                        MIKE
              Are you doing okay?

     Nothing. No reaction at all. Mike whispers.

                        MIKE
              Well... I’m actually pretty good.
              I'm speaking to Lily again...

     The old guy keeps staring out the glass.

                        MIKE
              And... I've written a new book.
                   (a careful beat)
              I think you'd like it.

     A beat. Then —- a brief flicker crosses Father's face. His
     eyes widen.

                        FATHER
              Michael...??

     CU - MIKE

     He trembles, touched. A pang of emotion, this briefest of
     connections meaning so much to him.

                                                         CUT TO:


75   INT. MAILBOXES, ETC. - DAY                                    75

     Mike strides back into the mailbox store. The place is
     cluttered, WORKMEN busy on ladders. The clock says 4:55.

     Mike slams the big envelope down on the counter.

                        MIKE
              Hi! 1've got a package I need to
              overnight.
                                                         106.


The Mailbox Guy is turned away from us. He doesn't move.

Mike glances nervously at the clock.

                  MIKE
        Um — where are the forms I've got
        to fill out? I really need this in
        New York tomorrow.

                  MAILBOX GUY’S VOICE
        I'm sorry, we're closed.

                  MIKE
        Huh? No! That's wrong.
             (he points at the clock)
        It's only five of. I — still have
        five more minutes!

The Mailbox Guy turns... revealing HE IS ACTUALLY MR. OLIN.

OLIN SMIRKS, OMNISCIENT and ALL-POWERFUL. He takes the
package.

                  OLIN
        I’m sorry, Mr. Enslin. Your time is
        up.

Mike GASPS, stupefied.

                     MIKE
        Wha...?!!

A WORKMAN

scrapes away some drywall, revealing BUTTERFLY PAPER
UNDERNEATH.

MIKE

spins, bewildered.

                     MIKE
        Noooo...!

                  OLIN
        Oh come, Mr. Enslin. You didn't
        really think it was just a dream?!

WIDE
                                                              107.


     Another WORKMAN turns, revealing he's the ENGINEER from the
     hotel. He slams the floor, unveiling BEIGE CARPET
     underneath.

     ON MIKE'S FACE

     All color drains.

     His expression goes from fear... to realization ... to
     madness.

     The room starts SPINNING.

     AROUND HIM, the SOUND of CONSTRUCTION BUILDS. Louder,
     LOUDER, a CRUSH of activity,

     THE ROOM

     spins faster. Every revolution transforms us back to 1408.

     The WALLS all become wallpapered.

     A WORKMAN leers, in a blur becoming Kevin O'Malley.

     Mike staggers, terrified.

     The room spins faster. The Mailbox Store is vanishing.

     The CEILING tile crashes down, revealing 1408's VENT.

     The FURNITURE appears around us.

     The WHIR builds to a high-pitched, painful SHRIEK —

     And THEN —


76   INT. 1408 - SAME TIME                                           76

     The howl suddenly STOPS.

     And Mike is left, collapsed onto the carpet of 1408. Curled
     in a fetal position, whimpering, confused.

     He slowly lifts his head... and a horrible guttural MOAN
     passes from his lips.

     He's back.

     THE ROOM IS JUST AS HE LEFT IT. RAVAGED. DRENCHED. LIKE A
     HURRICANE BLEW THROUGH.
                                                          108.


The unplugged clock keeps ticking down: 4:55... 4:54...

Mike unsteadily rises. He shouts plaintively.

                     MIKE
           No. NO! I was OUT —

                     VOICE OF THE ROOM
           WRONG! YOU NEVER LEFT!

Mike jerks, startled.

The voice is behind him. Unnerved, Mike slowly turns. And
back there... is...

A DOOR

Standing all by itself in the middle of the room.

MIKE

gulps.

Tentative, shaky, he crosses closer...

The door waits. Mike forces himself. Sweating. Heart
pounding crazy.

Valiantly, hands trembling... he reaches to the handle.

Grimacing with dread, he starts to turn it —

When — his courage lets out. He lets go.

The VOICE snickers.

                     VOICE OF THE ROOM
           MICHAEL..! YOU’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR
           SOMETHING TO BELIEVE IN. FOR A LIFE
           AFTER DEATH! WELL, HERE I AM.

THE DOOR HANDLE

starts turning by itself.

Mike shudders.

THE DOOR

slowly opens. Through the crack, we SEE a DEEP, BLACK SPACE
of a place that exists somewhere other than 1408.
                                                          109.


MIKE

seizes up, aghast.

A DARK SHADOW falls over him...

We DON’T SEE what is revealed behind the door. But Mike
does.

His FACE beholds a horror no sane person can endure.

His eyes widen. His mouth opens in a silent scream.

His legs buckle under him.

                   MIKE
         GODDDDDDDDDDDD!!!

Beat.

                   VOICE OF THE ROOM
         YOU SAID GOD DOESN’T EXIST!

Mike crumples in on himself, finished.

He's cowering, beaten.

He covers his head, preparing for a fatal blow. We MOVE
CLOSER... CLOSER... until his FACE IS IN TIGHT CLOSE-UP.

Readying himself for an unimaginable fate.

The tension of the moment builds to a climax. The end
imminent. And then —

A melancholy MUSIC.

                   KAREN CARPENTER'S VOICE
              (singing)
         "We've only just begun... "

Huh? Mike looks up.

IN FRONT OF HIM

The door has DISAPPEARED.

In its place is

GRACIE
                                                          110.


Dressed in her dirty pink nightgown. She's pale, skeletally
thin, her hair falling out.

She looks at Mike and smiles. A smile that makes her face
look even more skull-like.

                    GRACIE
        Daddy...?

                  MIKE
             (anguished)
        You’re not real!!

He backs away. Hurt, she weakly reaches to touch him...

                  GRACIE
        I need help.

                  MIKE
        You're not Grade!!

                  GRACIE
             (soft)
        I wet myself.

Tears spring to Mike's eyes.

Fighting this, he steps back.

                                                          100,

                  GRACIE
        Please. I'm cold.

Mike can’t stand this.

She shivers, her little body wispy...

                  GRACIE
        So cold...

Mike’s face caves. Suddenly overpowered by feelings, he
RUSHES FORWARD and GRABS her tightly.

                  MIKE
        Oh Grade, Grade, Grade...

TIGHT - MIKE AND GRACIE

His eyes are shut, clinging to her tiny body. The most
electric thing he’s ever felt.
                                                        111.


She speaks, barely a whisper.

                   GRACIE
         It won’t let me stay.

He looks up, as she convulses violently. Her face damp with
sweat. He touches her forehead — it's burning up.

                   MIKE
         No! Honey, no one’s gonna take you.

Her eyes brim with tears of pain.

                   GRACIE
         Do you love me, Daddy?

                   MIKE
         You know I do!

                   GRACIE
         I wish we could stay together. You,
         me, Mommy —

                   MIKE
         We can! I promise we CAN!

Happy, she brushes her hand to his cheek.

CLOSE ON - MIKE'S CHEEK

As she withdraws her hand, it leaves a TRAIL OF ASH.

GRACIE

unexpectedly collapses like a balloon that's lost all air.

                    MIKE
         Grade?

She falls back, eyes frozen. She's stopped breathing.

                    MIKE
         GRACIE?!

Mike shakes her, but she is still.

                    MIKE
         NO!!!

Mike immediately begins CPR. He puts his mouth over hers,
breathing air into her lost lungs.
                                                          112.


                  MIKE
        Not again! Goddammit, NOT AGAIN!

He furiously begins CPR. He begs, between breaths.

                  MIKE
        Stay... stay...

MIKE

keeps pressing on her chest. Through his face, we see vain
hope. Despair. And finally... loss.

Shaken, he pulls his hands away. They are COVERED IN ASH.

ABOVE

Grade's body has TURNED TO DUST. She is gone.

Mike is immobile. Hands gray with the remains of his child.

His heart is empty. Absolute sorrow. Grieving, eyes sunken,
he looks up. Just wanting it to end.

THE CLOCK

ticks down. 00:10... 00:09... 00:08...

MIKE

slowly reacts, sobbing.

THE CLOCK

reaches the finish: 00:03... 00:02... 00:01... 00:00.

And —

MIKE’S EYES

go wide. And??

THE CLOCK

starts FLICKERING. The LED numbers flash randomly...

MIKE

waits despondently. Around him, the ash disappears. The
gray dust dissipates, like a dream, into nothingness.
                                                        113.


Mike stares, uncomprehending. Until he peers up — and
GASPS.

WIDE VIEW OF THE ROOM

1408 has RETURNED TO ITS OPENING STATE. No water damage.

Windows back. Everything restored to when we first entered.

The cloak radio RESETS TO 60:00. It begins counting down
again: 59:59... 59:58... 59:57...

MIKE

goes into shock. Dumbstruck. His voice cracking.

                  MIKE
        Why don't... you just kill me?

                  VOICE OF THE ROOM
        BECAUSE ALL THINGS COME DOW TO
        CHOICE.

Mike trembles, utterly desolate.

                  VOICE OF THE ROOM
        YOU GET TO RELIVE THE SAME HOUR.
        AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN.

The THERMOSTAT starts rising: 85... 90... 95...

Mike’s skin gets clammy. He staggers, lightheaded.

                  VOICE OF THE ROOM
        UNLESS, YOU CHOOSE TO END IT.

Something FALLS right behind him. Mike turns —

A ROPE NOOSE

hangs, attached to the ceiling. Below it is a chair.

IKE

nods, acquiescing.

The TEMPERATURE is getting hellish: 115... 120... 125...

Mike is weeping. Confused. Unable to think clearly, he
steps onto the chair. He slowly draws the rope around, his
neck.
                                                         114.


Mike stands there, eyes glassy. Pondering his fate.

But — not jumping. Emotions and regrets pound through his
body.

He grips the rope tight... then suddenly pulls it off,
crying.

                  MIKE
        I... can’t.
             (distraught)
        I'm sorry! I just... can't do it.

The VOICE booms, furious.

                  VOICE OF THE ROOM
        THEN YOU LEAVE ME NO OPTION!

The TV suddenly turns on.

ON THE TV SCREEN

We see Lily, guilelessly entering the Dolphin lobby.

MIKE'S FACE

face falls, horrified.

                   MIKE
        Lily...?

                  VOICE OF THE ROOM
             (mocking)
        YES, "LILY"! I'LL TAKE HER IN
        TRADE.

                   MIKE
        N-NO!

ON THE TV

Lily's cellphone sharply RINGS. She answers.

                   LILY
        Hello?

We hear MIKE'S SIMULATED VOICE.

                  MIKE’S VOICE
             (over cellphone)
        Lily, it’s me.
                                                            115.


                        LILY
               Mike?

                         MIKE’S VOICE
               Hurry! Come up to my room.

     THE REAL MIKE

     gapes in horror.

                         MIKE
               Leave her out of this!!!

     ON THE TV

     Lily enters the elevator. The doors shutting...

     MIKE

     starts freaking out. He spins, then notices his CELLPHONE
     on the floor. Its screen flickers.

     Ah! Mike looks around, paranoid, then grabs the phone. Its
     power blinks. Frantic, he hurriedly DIALS Lily. He bites
     his nails. KING! RING...!

     ON LILY

     She rides up the elevator, oblivious.

     ON MIKE

                         MIKE
               C' mon, c’mon...

     More RINGING. Then — a MAN answers, through garbled STATIC.

                        MAN (V.O.).
               Hello?

     A discombobulated beat. It’s a wrong number, but...
     strangely familiar.

                         MIKE
               Hello?! Who -- who is this???

                                                       INTERCUT:


77   INT. RESEARCH LIBRARY - THE PAST                              77
                                                               116.


     It's Mike back in the microfiche room, in the past,
     receiving the call. All he hears is STATIC.

                        MIKE
              Hello! This is Mike Enslin. Is
              anybody there?

                                                    CUT BACK TO:


78   INT. 1408 - PRESENT                                              78

     Mike blanches, realizing. He shouts deliriously.

                        MIKE
              My God! Don't come to the Dolphin!
              Stay out of 140—

     His phone suddenly SPARKS, shorting. It FLAMES, burning
     him.

     He cries out and drops it. Mike turns worriedly to

     THE TV

     Lily is still in the elevator, rising. Floors go by: 8...
     9...

     MIKE

     gets a galvanized look.

                        MIKE
              I won't let you have her.

     Incensed, he runs toward the door.

     CRAZY ANGLE

     Suddenly — the ROOM PIVOTS, slanting to 45 DEGREES!

     Mike trips, falling. SLAM!

     The floor is crazy. Mike tries to get up, attempting to
     climb. His naked hands fall on hot carpet, singeing him.

     Mike SCREAMS in pain. But he keeps going.

                        VOICE OF THE ROOM
              YOU CAN'T SAVE HER. SHE'S DOOMED!

     ON THE TV
                                                          117.


The elevator opens on the 14th floor. Lily steps out...

WIDE - THE ROOM

Mike crawls upward, his equilibrium reeling.

The SLANT is now INSANE. The floor is practically vertical.

Mike hangs onto the furniture, like a rock climber.

Using all his might, he hoists himself.

The thermostat keeps rising. 140. 145...

Mike struggles to move. He can barely breathe through the
sweltering heat. He looks up — and the living room has
LENGTHENED. The DOOR now seems a football field away. Just
a speck.

MIKE

moans. His feet STICK to the hot melting carpet. He wants
to move, but collapses. The fabric burns into his hands.

The door is hopelessly far away.

In anguish, unable to crawl, he weakly glances at the TV.

ON THE TV

Lily walks down the hall. Approaching...

CLOSEUP - MIKE

In a final gasp at salvation, Mike whispers.

                  MIKE
        Lily. Go...

ON THE TV

Lily takes a step, then suddenly stops.

Like she heard him.

She contemplates this sensation, her face a mix of strange
emotions. Then — she suddenly turns and LEAVES.

MIKE

sobs, relieved.
                                                          118.


LILY

runs. Fast, faster.

THE ROOM

THUNDERS, furious.

Mike is overwrought. Volatile, rapturous. He slowly looks
up... and then his expression darkens.

                     MIKE
           I know I’ve lived the life of a
           selfish man...
                (pause)
           But I don’t have to die that way.

Mike reaches for the fallen BOOK OF MATCHES.

He stares — then rips out a match and STRIKES it against
the covert with its funny little doorman.

An instant, TINY FLAME.

                     MIKE
           Maybe this room isn’t real. Maybe
           I'm not even real.
                (wheezing, desperate)
           But this fire... is real.

Mike crawls across the floor. Holding the match out,
straining to touch it to a CURTAIN...

When — WHOOSH! A HUSH OF WIND from the air conditioning
vent blows it out.

                     VOICE OF THE ROOM
           YOU’D JUST BE KILLING YOURSELF.

Mike considers this... then nods.

                     MIKE
           As long as I kill you too, I can
           rest in peace.

Suddenly, Mike grabs Olin’s.

COGNAC BOTTLE

Mike pops the cork, then lights the ENTIRE BOOK OF MATCHES.
                                                            119.


     The FLAME BLAZES bright, a crazy glow under his face. Mike
     shoves it in the bottle, lighting the flammable liquid.
     Mike spins and HURLS the MOLOTOV COCKTAIL.

     BLAMMMM!!! The entire ROOM explodes in flames.

     WIDE

     The FIRE instantly spreads, igniting the carpet and
     furniture.

     FSSST! The SPRINKLERS COME ON — the room's desperate
     attempt to save itself. Mike laughs manically.

                       MIKE
             Too LATE! You’ll never hurt anyone
             again.

     The CURTAILS flare up, blindingly orange. The blaze SEARS,
     the walls erupt.

     Mike stands inside the inferno, seething. In a final act,
     he clicks on his recorder:

                       MIKE
             "The decor is tattered and the
             staff surly... but on a Shiver
             Scale, I award the Dolphin Hotel
             ten skulls."

     The flames congeal, then DETONATE.


79   EXT. HOTEL WINDOW - SAME TIME                                 79

     KABOOM! A thundering FIREBALL blasts out the window.


80   INT. 1408 - SAME TIME                                         80

     Mike is obliterated from view.

     The raging flames scorch the ceiling, then get sucked into
     the AIR VENT.


81   INT. VENT                                                     81

     Pulsing FIRE courses through the vents. Splitting in all
     directions.
                                                               120.


82   INT. HOTEL CORRIDOR - SAME TIME                                  82

     Fire ALARMS go off.

     Hotel doors start SLAMMING open. Frantic GUESTS rush toward
     the exits, SCREAMING, pushing each other.


83   EXT. DOLPHIN HOTEL - UPPER STORIES - SAME TIME                   83

     Flames POUR OUT of the top stories. Smoke fills the sky.


84   EXT. DOLPHIN HOTEL - AT THE STREET - SAME TIME                   84

     Sirens WAIL. GUESTS come flying out the doors, many in
     pajamas, furiously racing for the street.


85   INT. 1408 - SAME TIME                                            85

     Flames ripple. In the broiling heat, the room begins to
     MELT.

     The walls sag, sinking into strange, unpleasant curves.

     The paintings begin to bend. Moans cry out.

     The chandelier droops like a glob of spit.

     The clock radio melts into the floor.

     The yellow-orange LIGHT brightens almost painfully hot —
     and then, for a final second — we glimpse Mike.

                       GRACIE5S VOICE
             Daddy, everyone dies.

     Mike's eyes glisten. A brief, satisfied smile... and then
     he’s swallowed by the fire.


86   INT. DOLPHIN LOBBY - . SAME TIME                                 86

     The ceiling COLLAPSES, burning. -SHOUTS and SCREAMS, as the
     last GUESTS shove- their way out. We MOVE THROUGH the
     blazing debris. Past the ash, through the charred
     furniture, toward the Reception counter...


87   INT. OLIN’S OFFICE - SAME TIME                                   87
                                                              121.


     The beautiful oak paneling is ablaze. Shelves fall, rare
     books crumbling into dust.

     Sitting amid the devastation, perfectly calm at his desk,
     is Olin* Like the captain of the Titanic, he is unruffled.
     He leans back in his chair, at peace, enjoying a cigar. Am
     amber brandy in his hand.

                        OLIN
              Well done, Mr. Enslin. Well done!

     He swirls the brandy in its snifter, then takes a slow sip.

     Ahh...

     Until, oddly RING! It’s an interrupting PHONECALL. Olin
     stares quizzically, then begrudgingly puts down his brandy.

     INSERT - THE SNIFTER

     It gets placed on the desk upon a PILE OF POSTCARDS. The
     same Dolphin Hotel postcard that Mike received.

     ANGLE - OLIN

     He answers his phone, crisp and professional.

                        OLIN
              Good evening. Dolphin Hotel.

     Olin listens, then shrugs.

                        OLIN
              No, I'm so sorry. We're not
              accepting reservations at this
              time.

     Olin gently hangs up the phone. Then he takes a puff of his
     cigar.

     Behind him, the walls CAVE IN.

                                                         CUT TO:


88   EXT. DOLPHIN HOTEL - LATER                                      88

     The FIRE DEPARTMENT is in front, spraying the building
     down.

     Hook-and-ladders fill the street.
                                                              122.


     POLICEMEN hold back the shivering guests. We TRACK PAST
     their bewildered faces — cold, frightened, tired —- until
     we land on one woman, off to herself.

     Lily. She gazes up at the Hotel. Then, she sadly speaks.

                       LILY
             Goodbye, Mike.

                                                    DISSOLVE TO:


89   EXT. CEMETERY - DAY                                             89

     A small funeral, under gray skies.

     A DOZEN people are huddled around a fresh grave, watching
     the coffin get lowered into the ground.

     Lily’s face is withdrawn. Not overwrought... but utterly
     drained. She stares, then drops a flower on the casket.

     S’am gives her a supportive hug.

                                                         CUT TO:


90   INT. MIKE’S OFFICE - DAY                                        90

     The grubby office is filled with boxes. Sam and Lily are
     silently packing up Mike's belongings.

     There are hundreds of books. Cameras. A sound meter. A
     chipped Edgar Allen Poe award. Lily sighs.

                       LILY
             You live a life, and all that's
             left behind are boxes of junk.

     Sam closes a box.

                       SAM
             At least he went out in a blaze,

                       LILY
             That's not funny.

                       SAM
             No, I'm sorry. I — I wasn’t trying
             to be funny.
                  (genuine)
                                                               123.


             What I meant was — he went out like
             one of his characters.
                  (he sighs)
             It’s just a shame he won’t be
             around to write about it.

     On the desk is a cute framed PHOTO of Lily, Mike and Grade
     in happier times. Lily stares, then takes it for herself.

                                                         CUT TO:


91   EXT. MIDTOWN MANHATTAN - DAY                                     91

     A bustling New York street. Sam shuffles up, looking a bit
     weathered. He enters a gleaming office building.


92   INT. LITERARY AGENCY - SAME TIME                                 92

     Sam enters his office, in a haze. His Secretary looks up.

                       SECRETARY
             How was the trip?

                       SAM
                  (he shoots her a look)
             It was a funeral.

     Sam goes to an overflowing INBOX on her desk, piled with
     mail.

     He grabs the mail and drifts aimlessly away.

     He flips through the papers. Publishers Weekly...
     catalogs... New York Review of Books. Sam goes into his
     office —


93   INT. SAM’S OFFICE                                                93

     and wades to the end of the mail. Suddenly he reaches a big
     manila envelope — and freezes.

     INSERT - ENVELOPE

     The return address is "ENSLIN"

     ANGLE - SAM
                                                       124.


He gapes in disbelief. A moment of dislocation...
struggling to process what this means... then he kicks the
door shut.

Shaking, Sam sits at his desk. He stares at the package,
then slowly, with utmost care, unseals the flap. He
tremblingly reaches inside... and pulls out Mike's
completed pages.

Sam gasps, overcome, and drops them. We SLOWLY PUSH IN TO
the pile of laser-printed pages, crisp and elegant. The
cover page is simple:

"14:08"

by Mike Enslin

                                                  FADE OUT.

THE END