The room is becoming dark as the shadows are being chased slowly up the walls across the dial of the Grandfather clock that stands almost on duty in the hall.
We see man sitting at a desk toying with a gun
There is a half empty bottle of scotch and a glass on the desk
The man's tie is loose and his hair is ruffled, it is the classic situation.
The note is written no more remains to be said.
The telephone on the desk suddenly rings.
The man watches it ring, its shrill tone seems to bring him back from the darkest path.
Is this is the night that the darkness will be beaten? Will it leave empty handed?.
The man issues a stuttering hand toward the telephone that suddenly becomes bolder as it snatches at the receiver like a drowning man finding a log.
The mans voice falters then rallies as he speaks
MAN
"H.h.h hello"
An even more desperate voice replies
VOICE
"Hello is that the Samartians?"
MAN
"No it's the last two numbers are 8-0 not 0-8!"
The lights go on and the TV sparks into life as a woman enters the room, she is drying her hair with a towel and hopping channels with the TV remote as she speaks
WOMAN
"We'll have to get that number thing sorted love, it's getting me down, it really is!"
WE hear a shot!
