1408
SCREENPLAY
BY LEE FORD JACKSON
BASED ON A SHORT STORY BY
STEPHEN KING
SOUND OFF: Noises associated with a busy Western city filter into
earshot.
EXT. NEW YORK CITY PRESENT DAY NIGHT
EXTREME LONG
SHOT of New York City’s skyline—giant buildings reach up
like concrete fingers into the heavens.
Rain pours down in sheets, thunder rolls in the
distance. Every single skyscraper in this sprawling Eastern seaboard metropolis
appears to be lit up this evening.
EXT. NEW YORK CITY FIFTH AVENUE
NIGHT
Evening traffic is in full flow. The streets crowded with pedestrians. Steam
escapes from manhole covers. It wisps a
couple of feet into the air before breaking apart in the rain.
We notice a ‘particular’ yellow taxicab tooling along Fifth Avenue. The cab cuts trough FRAME.
EXT. NEW YORK CITY SIXTY FIRST STREET
NIGHT
The taxi- cab ‘in question’ pulls up out front of a
modest sized Hotel.
MICHAEL ENSLIN exits the vehicle, slams the cab’s passenger door shut --he then pays the driver and heads up the Hotel’s steps. MIKE makes his entrance through a set of revolving doors at the top of the steps. The taxi- cab drives off, disappearing into the crawling lanes of traffic.
CAMERA TILTS UPWARDS
TO REVEAL: The name of the premises—written in big blue neon letters –HOTEL
DOLPHIN.
MIKE
ENSLIN enters the Hotel’s Lobby; it’s a
clean, respectable, rather plush
establishment. MICHAEL ENSLIN is a
best-selling factual writer, thirty-six years old, not bad looking for his
age. He’s wearing a baseball cap,
jeans, boots, tee shirt and a leather-flying jacket. MIKE
has a small overnight duffel bag slung over his right shoulder. He briefly takes in the sights and sounds of
his surroundings.
SOUND
OFF: Of a full-orchestrated band playing
classic 1940s style music. The sound of
the instruments gently echoes around the Lobby. The music emanates from one of the Hotel’s ground floor Function
Suites
MIKE clocks the front desk; an overweight
businessman discusses purchasing theatre tickets with one of the two female
Hotel receptionists. The fat businessman talks to a somewhat plump
receptionist in her late forties, she’s dressed in a smart black suit.
The second receptionist is a slim, attractive
young woman aged between twenty and twenty-five. She’s dressed in exactly the same uniformed code.
The younger receptionist is-‘right at this
moment’-not busy.
MIKE
approaches the front desk. Hotel guests
wander back and forth, all wearing elegant evening-wear.
MIKE
beams a big smile at the young clerk—she smiles back and takes a few steps
towards him.
YOUNG CLERK
Good evening, sir.
May I help you?
Hi! My name is Michael Enslin. I believe you have a reservation for me this evening.
YOUNG CLERK
Oh, erm..(She breaks into an even bigger smile. She’s more than a little self-conscious of being in this best-selling writer’s presence.) Mr Enslin. (Pause) Reservation! You’re the err…You’re the writer guy, yeah?
Yeah, that’s right. I’m the writer guy.
Mr. Enslin, I
have instructions to inform the Hotel Manager of your arrival. He wishes to speak with you before you take
occupancy of your room this evening.
MIKE is a
little taken aback by this news—never the less—he tries to hide it.
MIKE (His smile
dissolves)
Sure…(Pause. Mike leans closer towards the
young clerk and reads the nametag attached to her breast pocket.)…Whatever you
say, Claire.
MIKE shoots CLAIRE another smile—she smiles back.
CLAIRE picks up a
phone receiver.
I’ll call him and tell him you’re here.
MIKE (Shrugs)
Okay.
CLAIRE dials a number.
CLAIRE (into phone)
Hello, sir…I’m sorry
to bother you, but Mr. Michael Enslin has just arrived. He’s standing right in
front of me in the Hotel’s Lobby.
(Pause) Right away, sir. I’ll tell him. Thank you.
CLAIRE hangs
up.
If you would like to wait for just a couple of
minutes, Mr. Enslin, the Hotel Manger is on his way down. Err…. Could you check –in for me please?
MIKE
(Another shrug)
Okay. Sure!
CLAIRE hands MIKE
a pen and the Hotel’s Guest Register.
MIKE signs in,
hands the pen and the Register back to CLAIRE.
CLAIRE
Thank you, Mr.
Enslin.
The manager has the
key to your room. He’ll pass it on to
you after he’s spoken with you. Is that
okay?
MIKE
That’s fine. Thank you, Claire.
He gives her one last smile---she in turn, once again, courteously
smiles back.
You’re welcome, sir.
Enjoy your stay at the Dolphin Hotel.
I’m sure I will.
MIKE moves
away from the front desk. He shuffles
over to the opposite side of the Lobby.
Whilst he waits MIKE begins to
peruse a gallery of photographs mounted upon the wall in front of him. MIKE’S P.O.V. of the wall of photographs—all of the pictures depict the history of
New York City. MIKE scopes out an old Sepia photograph of the DOLPHIN
HOTEL—the picture was taken in
1910--according to the Photograph’s plaque—the year the DOLPHIN opened.
CAMERA TILTS DOWWARDS TO REVEAL: Two pictures below the photograph of the DOLPHIN’S
opening day in 1910 is a picture of the
destruction caused to the World Trade Center in 2001. The picture shows a lone, tiny figure of a woman standing in the
gaping, burned out crevice interred in the side of one of the towers by the
passenger airliner’s fuselage.
MIKE’S attention
is suddenly drawn away from the pictures—he studies a long corridor leading off
from the Lobby—at its far end is the door to the elevator. A loud BING! sounds,
heralding the arrival of the elevator’s car-- it is this noise that attracts MIKE’S
attention-- the elevator doors pull apart
and out steps MR. OLIN the Hotel’s
manager. He purposefully strides down
the corridor towards MICHAEL ENSLIN.
MR.OLIN, smiles,
almost a fake smile, extends his hand and shakes with MIKE.
MIKE interrupts
him.
Mr. Olin. Is there a problem?
MR. OLIN looks
a little pained and appears to be feeling somewhat awkward about having to
answer the question.
Because if there is, let me remind you that my legal people will be down on you in a-‘
MR. OLIN holds up his right hand—submissively.
Please, Mr. Enslin…your lawyer came to see me this
afternoon.
Everything is in hand.
I would like to speak with you for a moment in my office. All I ask is that you have one drink with me; a quick talk…and then I will give you the key to your room.
Just a drink and a talk, huh?
MR. OLIN nods “Yes.”
Yes, indeed. Nothing more.
MIKE
Well, why not.
MR. OLIN reaches for MIKE’S duffel bag.
Allow me.
MIKE takes one
step back.
No, that’s okay. I’m fine with it.
MR OLIN
Are you sure?
MIKE
Yes, I’m sure. Not much in it but a change of clothes and a toothbrush, hairbrush.
MIKE (Continued)
(Big smile spreads across MIKE’S face.) Lighten up, Mr Olin. I’m already wearing my lucky tee-shirt. This is the one with the ghost repellent.
MR. OLIN does not smile back---he just sighs—looks
away—looks back at MIKE.
Very good, Mr. Enslin. Have you checked-in?
MIKE
Sure have.
Then follow me, please.
MIKE
Lead the way.
MIKE and MR. OLIN head down the corridor towards the elevator.
We are inside the Hotel Manager’s office,
looking out through the slats of a set of levolor blinds; through the window,
far below us and all around us we can see New York City’s illuminated high-rise
expanse.
CAMERA PULLS BACK TO
REVEAL: Mr Olin’s office. It’s a large oak-panelled room, an
impressive oak desk is positioned near the windows, double- desk lamps with
green lozenges stand on top of the desk.
The lights cast a yellow glow around the office. A huge reclining leather chair sits behind
the desk and another is stationed in front.
SOUND OFF: Of Car horns and a mass of other Big City
noises emanate—in muffled sounds—through the glass-- from the streets below.
CAMERA FLOATS AROUND
180 DEGREES TO REVEAL: The door leading
into the office. A key sounds in the
lock, the door opens---in marches
MR OLIN—MIKE follows in his wake. MIKE shuts
the door after himself. MR OLIN heads towards his desk.
Please, sit down, Mr Enslin.
MR
OLIN—as he speaks—he hurriedly waters an
oblong box of house- plants with a pressed- brass watering pitcher.
Or, how would you Americans put it? (He thinks for a moment. He suddenly remembers. ) Pull up a rock.
MR OLIN
motions to the chair in front of his
desk.
You know you can
call me Mike.
MR OLIN
I don’t think that I would be comfortable with that, Mr Enslin.
LONG PAUSE.
MIKE’S gaze drops to the desktop. He sees something. MIKE’S P.O.V. Of the desktop. Laid out on the
desk are MIKE ENSLIN’S last three
books. Paperback editions.
MIKE approaches the desk—MIKE takes the FOREGROUND-- MR OLIN is now
in the BACKGROUND. MIKE says nothing; he studies the books with a furrowed brow. MIKE’S P.O.V. of the paperbacks, the book’s titles are: Ten Nights in Ten Haunted
Houses. Ten Nights in Ten Haunted
Graveyards. Ten Nights in Ten Haunted
Castles.
MIKE shuffles through his books, picks one up and
leafs through the pages from back to front.
MIKE turns to face MR OLIN--- he holds the book up in his hand so MR
OLIN can see.
MR OLIN (A faint smile forms across his face.)
Not Exactly.
MIKE
Don’t tell me you’ve actually read all of these.
MR OLIN
No! Not entirely.
MR OLIN
finishes up watering his plant box. He walks around to the opposite side of the
desk and puts the brass-watering pitcher down upon the desktop. He looks directly at MIKE.
MR OLIN (Continued)
Sit down, Mr Enslin, please.
Make yourself comfortable.
MIKE takes off his Baseball cap, runs his fingers
through his hair, and grabs a seat.
He has that look on his face that says: ‘ Why not!
This is probably gonna take a while anyhow.’
MR OLIN sits down in his reclining chair opposite
MIKE. He picks up one of MIKE’S
books and studies the cover for a few moments he then looks up at MIKE.
It was not a request it was a demand. Still is Mr Olin.
You heard my Lawyer he told you in plain English; New
York State law—forbids you to deny me a specific room---not to mention two
Federal civil rights laws—if I request a specific room and that room is
vacant. And 1408 is vacant. Because we both
know that 1408 is always vacant!
(Pause) It’s always empty. It always has been. (Long pause.) And under
your regulation it probably always will be.
(An even longer pause. A big
triumphant smile spreads across MIKE’S face.)
Well…. except for tonight.
MR OLIN
glares at MIKE with utter contempt.
MR OLIN (Smirks)
Well, it may surprise you to know, Mr Enslin, that I haven’t forgotten Mr Robertson and all of his legal threats. (Pause) You still don’t think I can talk you out of this idea of yours, do you?
MIKE
I know you can’t.
MR OLIN (Very Seriously)
I sincerely hope for your sake that you’re wrong.
MIKE snorts a laugh, covers his mouth, looks away, and then looks back at MR OLIN.
Mr Olin, can I ask you something?
MR OLIN
Of course!
MIKE reaches down and unzips a side pocket on his
duffel bag, digs in; he pulls out a Sony Voice Operated Minicorder-- he holds
it up for MR OLIN to see.
Would you mind if I taped our conversation?
MR OLIN
waves his hand “No”.
Thank you.
MIKE checks the cassette is rewound—as he does this he begins to speak to MR
OLIN again.
You didn’t exactly answer my question earlier?
MR OLIN
What question was that?
MIKE
Have you read my books, Mr Olin? (Pause)
And do you hope to usher me out of your Hotel by
critiquing them?
Not at all! I did get a chance to dip into these…uh, what would you call them? Essays? Tales?
MIKE (gives him a sarcastic smile)
I call them bill payers.
But of course!
(Pause) New York Times best
sellers, I understand. Every single
one! (Long pause) I read one story from
each book. All I’ve had time for I’m
afraid. I’ve been busy. I usually am. The Dolphin is small by New York standards, but we run at ninety
per cent occupancy and usually a problem comes through the front door with
every guest.
MIKE
Guests like me.
MR OLIN
Oh, I’d say you’re a very special problem, Mr Enslin.
MIKE smirks
a little.
MR OLIN flings MIKE’S book that he has in his hand onto the desktop.
The one about the Rilsby House in Kansas from your Haunted Houses book. I read that one-‘
MIKE interrupts him.
MIKE
Oh yeah…the err…the axe murderer. Killed six members of the household, cut off Eugene Rilsby’s head. They never caught the guy who did it.
MR OLIN (Smirks at MIKE)
Oh really!
That’s fascinating! (Long
pause) You get to travel a lot, don’t
you?
Your books have taken you as far as Scotland, Romania,
not to mention the Vienna Woods. And
all tax deductible, correct? After all,
hauntings are your business, yes?
MIKE
Do you have a point?
MR OLIN
You’re sensitive about these, aren’t you?
MIKE
Sensitive, yes. Vulnerable, no.
MR OLIN
I have no wish to antagonise you, Mr Enslin. That is not the purpose of our get together….I can assure you.
LOUD CLICK! The tape in the V.O.R. finishes rewinding. MIKE quickly double-checks the recorder.
CLOSE ANGLE: MIKE’S index finger depresses the RECORD
switch. A little red L.E.D
illuminates. The reels of the cassette
start turning.
MIKE holds the cassette recorder up for MR
OLIN to see that it is indeed recording.
We are now recording!
Let’s be careful what we say to each other from now
on.
MR OLIN shrugs—total indifference.
MIKE places the minicorder on top of the desk.
How about that drink I offered you?
Would like a glass of Scotch, while we talk?
MIKE
How long is this talk
gonna take?
An hour…an hour and a half maybe?
I only have a forty-five minute tape here.
I mean I could-‘
MR OLIN interrupts MIKE
MR OLIN
Mr Enslin, please.
Like I said downstairs—You give me ten minutes of your
time—long enough for you to consume a short Scotch—and then I’ll hand you this
key.
MR OLIN picks a key out of his pocket, holds it
up. CLOSE SHOT : Of the key clutched in MR OLIN’S hand. The key is gripped in-between his
index finger and thumb; the brass paddle affixed to the key ring swings back
and forth—written upon it are the numbers: 1408.
MR OLIN (Continues)
I would give almost anything to be able to change your mind, but I like to think I can recognize the inevitable when I see it.
MIKE
You still use actual keys here?
That’s sort of a nice touch. Antiquey.
MR OLIN
On the contrary, Mr Enslin, the Dolphin went to a MagCard system in 1979.
As he talks MR OLIN lays out
a couple of tumblers on his desktop; he proceeds to fill them with Scotch.
The year I became House Manager.
Apart from my office, 1408 is the only room left in
the hotel that still opens with a key.
I don’t believe there is any need to install a MagCard
system on the door to 1408, for two very good reasons.
MIKE
And what are those?
MR OLIN pushes a tumbler towards MIKE. MIKE nods
his “thanks” and picks up the little glass of Scotch.
MR OLIN
First of all, there’s never anyone in the room. And second, I am completely positive the
device wouldn’t work.
MIKE
What are you talking about?
Why wouldn’t it work?
MR OLIN (Sighs)
There is still so much you don’t know about that room
upstairs, Mr Enslin.
You think you know its full history? (He smirks at MIKE.) Trust me, Mr ‘Ghost
writer’, you don’t know the half of it.
MIKE
Well, I made time for this drink.
Why don’t you enlighten me?
MR OLIN leans towards MIKE.
No electronic equipment will work inside that
room. Do you understand? Nothing at all that contains a circuit
board:
Clocks, Digital wristwatches, Televisions,
Videocassette recorders, DVD players, Laptop computers, Cellular telephones
none of these pieces of apparatus will work once their taken inside 1408.
You can
forget using your little tape recorder.
If you have a beeper I suggest you switch it off.
If you are wearing
a timepiece and you intend for it to remain on your person inside the room,
don’t trust it. It will most likely run
too fast, or too slow or just stop…for no discernible reason.
MIKE (Smiles SARCASTICALLY at OLIN.)
The room has always had this affect on equipment?
MR OLIN
For as long as I’ve been here!
MIKE
You’ve witnessed electrical stuff not working inside 1408 yourself?
MR OLIN
Oh yes! Over the years, Mr Enslin, I have been witness to a great deal besides.
MIKE (MORE Sarcasm)
Really! Like
what?
MR OLIN takes a huge mouthful of Scotch and gulps it
down. He pins MIKE with a stern stare.
The room has not been rented to a paying guest since
the summer of 1978.
That Goddamned room has remained empty for over twenty-five years, and that is not by some overlooked mistake. I am sure that every hotel in town should have at least one room containing an unquiet spirit, clanking around in invisible chains. And if they do, what the hell, rent them out! We have our superstitions and traditions in the hotel trade, but we don’t let them get in the way of our business, Mr Enslin.
MR OLIN (Continued)
There’s a saying in the Midwest, where I broke into the hotel chain: “There are no drafty rooms when the cattlemen are in town.” If we have empties, we fill them.
The only exception to that rule I have ever made-and
the only talk like this I have ever had is on account of room 1408, a room on
the thirteenth floor. Of course, Mr
Enslin, you’ll already know that the hotel’s fourteenth floor is actually the
thirteenth floor. The hotel has no fourteenth floor. Never has had. (Pause) Superstition!
OLIN smiles at MIKE. PAUSE.
MIKE looks
levelly at OLIN while sipping his
Scotch
Now, I do not wish for you to think that no one has ever entered the room in all this time. Oh no, we do administer a light turn every month without fail. That means-‘
MIKE interrupts him.
I know what it means. You clean the room, open windows, a little dusting here and there, a change of towels. Should I have brought my sleeping bag?
No, Mr Enslin.
We changed the bed sheets this morning.
I accompanied the head housekeeper myself.
MIKE
I’m honoured.
You should be!
Veronique, has worked her longer than I have.
And she has a profound dislike of 1408; she has more
trepidation about entering that room than myself.
And for good reason, Veronique’s younger sister, who
unfortunately deceased at an early age, worked for this hotel as a chambermaid
in the early seventies.
MIKE (He sighs, rolls his eyes.)
You’re not going to tell me this Veronique’s sister died inside 1408 are you?
MR OLIN
No, not at all, she was relinquished of her duties and
discharged from the hotel on the grounds of ill health. She passed away in New Jersey in 1977.
These are the bits that you don’t know about, Mr
‘Ghost writer’.
Now, you listen up, because what I am about to divulge to you is fabled amongst the Dolphin’s housekeepers. It’s all true! I swear to God in heaven. (Pause)
Celeste, Veronique’s sister entered 1408, on her own… (Smiles to himself)…dangerous to enter that room on your own. We hadn’t worked that out back then. We sure as hell know now. Always go in the room in pairs, Mr Enslin. That’s the rule. (LONG PAUSE) In spring 1972, Celeste walked into 1408, on her own, in order to administer a light turn, ----
FADE IN ON
MONTAGE
SEQUENCE.
We view the following in strange, dream –like MONOCHROME BLUE images.
CELESTE,
all on her own, walks down a long hotel
corridor, pulling an industrial upright Hoover by the length of its suction
hose in her wake.
CAMERA
FOLLOWS BEHIND her in a STEDICAM STYLE.
CELESTE
is dressed in a chambermaid’s
outfit. She’s a young lady of eighteen,
twenty years of age maybe. The corridor
doglegs around to the left,
CELESTE turns the corner, CAMERA follows.
She stops in front of the second door on her right. CAMERA stops. She gets a bunch of keys
out of her pocket.
CELESTE
inserts the key into the lock, twists it.
CELESTE
opens the door and shuffles inside.
As the door closes after her—CAMERA TRACKS IN-- and we see---FRAMED in CLOSE UP—the room number
plaque: 1408
We never really see the room in its entirety—we only
ever get to see particular parts of 1408. What we do see of the room
looks like it is very much decorated in a typical 1970s style, garish colour
schemes and boxy furniture.
CELESTE dusts a cabinet---tidies up the bed
sheets—opens the window (sounds from Sixty-first street filter into earshot)
---CELESTE hoovers the sitting room
area --changes the towels in the en suite bathroom. She begins to wipe over the mirror above the wash basin. We see CELESTE’S reflection in the mirror; she hums to herself as she cleans the
mirror. Slowly, but surely, the width
of CELESTE’S wipes across the surface of the mirror slow down until she stops entirely, she ceases humming.
She senses SOMETHING.
CELESTE frowns, looks over her
shoulder.
We see, looking from the sitting room area, CELESTE FRAMED perfectly
in the open bathroom doorway. CLOSE
SHOT on CELESTE—she remains frozen in the
en suite bathroom—her face a mask of curiosity and fear. CELESTE’S P.O.V. of the sitting area—the whole room has taken on a demonically charged
atmosphere. But we don’t actually hear
anything or see anything.
CELESTE turns back to face the bathroom mirror—in a split nano-second—SOMETHING appears in the mirror, Christ only knows what it is? DEFORMED, UNHUMAN-- definitely not CELESTE’S reflection! This SOMETHING releases a high-pitched screech (this screech is so loud it hurts to listen to)-- followed by a BLAST of white energy.