Film Script

 [SCENE START]

**INT. DUSTY ATTIC - DAY**

Sunlight streams through a grimy window, illuminating motes of dust dancing in the air. The attic is crammed with forgotten relics: old trunks, moth-eaten furniture, and a peculiar, life-sized MANNEQUIN dressed in a faded 1960s suit.

AGNES (70s, sharp, eccentric) rummages through a trunk, humming a jaunty, slightly off-key tune. She pulls out a tarnished silver locket.

<center>AGNES</center>

> (To herself)

> Ah, Bartholomew. Still as handsome as ever. Though, I do wish you’d stop staring. It’s quite unnerving.

She glances at the mannequin, Bartholomew. His painted eyes seem to follow her. Agnes chuckles, a dry, rustling sound.

<center>AGNES</center>

> Don't you worry your pretty plastic head. We'll find a new home for you. Perhaps a museum? Though I doubt they’d appreciate your... unique charm.

A floorboard CREAKS behind her. Agnes spins around, heart leaping.

<center>AGNES</center>

> Who’s there? Is that you, Mr. Henderson? Did you bring the crumpets?

Silence. Agnes squints into the shadows.

<center>AGNES</center>

> Honestly, this old house. Always playing tricks. Must be the drafts. Or perhaps... Bartholomew is finally getting restless.

She winks at the mannequin. Bartholomew’s head seems to tilt infinitesimally.

<center>AGNES</center>

> Oh dear. You’re not going to start demanding a raise, are you? Because I distinctly remember you working for room and board. And a rather alarming amount of formaldehyde.

Suddenly, a CHILD’S LAUGH echoes from downstairs. Agnes freezes.

<center>AGNES</center>

> That’s not Mr. Henderson’s laugh. That’s... little Timmy from next door. He’s supposed to be at summer camp.

Agnes slowly backs away from the trunk, her eyes fixed on Bartholomew. The mannequin’s smile seems wider now, more predatory.

<center>AGNES</center>

> Bartholomew, darling, you haven’t been... entertaining guests, have you? Because Mrs. Gable downstairs is still complaining about that incident with the garden gnomes.

The CHILD’S LAUGH grows closer, more insistent, accompanied by the THUMPING of small feet. Agnes clutches the locket.

<center>AGNES</center>

> Oh, this is just delightful. A haunted attic, a potentially murderous mannequin, and an unsupervised child. It’s like a Tuesday.

Bartholomew’s arm slowly, deliberately, begins to rise.

<center>AGNES</center>

> (Whispering)

> Bartholomew, if you so much as *think* about scaring that boy, I will personally stuff you in a sack and mail you to the North Pole. And trust me, they have *much* colder attics there.

The CHILD’S LAUGH is right outside the attic door. The doorknob begins to RATTLE. Bartholomew’s hand is now pointing directly at the door. Agnes gulps.

<center>AGNES</center>

> Well, this is going to be interesting.

The door BURSTS OPEN.

[SCENE END]