A Script for The Unseen Cold

[SCENE START]

**EXT. CANNERY ALLEY - NIGHT**

A biting, moonless winter night. The air is so cold it hurts to breathe.

JAMES (9), small for his age, walks hunched against the wind. His breath puffs out in a thick, white cloud that dissolves instantly. His thin mitts are useless against the creeping numbness in his fingers. His threadbare hood is pulled tight.

Beside him, his older sister, CHRISSIE (11), trudges steadily, her bright blue toque pulled low.

The alley is a tunnel of darkness between two derelict buildings. The only light is a distant, hazy glow from the main street, leaving deep pockets of ink-black shadow between leaning dumpsters and frost-stiffened weeds. The skeletal branches of a few dead trees claw at the sky.

James glances nervously into the shadows. He shivers, a movement that has nothing to do with the cold. Chrissie’s head is down, but her eyes flicker, darting into the gaps.

<center>CHRISSIE</center>

> (Voice a bit reedy)

> You cold, Li?

James rubs his nose with the back of a worn mitt.

<center>JAMES</center>

> Freezing. You think we could just... run it? The rest of the way?

Chrissie stops. Her boots scrape on a hidden patch of black ice.

<center>CHRISSIE</center>

> And slip? Break an arm? Mum would kill me.

She starts walking again, a little faster this time.

<center>CHRISSIE</center>

> (CONT'D)

> Anyway, it’s not that far now. Just past the big willow.

She gestures ahead to a massive, leafless willow tree. Its long, weeping branches look like bony fingers. James hates that tree.

He kicks a loose stone. It SKITTERS across the frozen ground with a sharp, brittle sound. Then, abruptly, the sound STOPS. Swallowed by the silence.

James shoves his hands deep into his pockets, feeling only lint and the sharp edge of a broken crayon. He feels a prickle on the back of his neck. The definite feeling of being watched.

Chrissie breaks the heavy silence.

<center>CHRISSIE</center>

> Did you finish your social studies project?

Her voice sounds too loud, crackling in the stillness.

<center>JAMES</center>

> (Mumbling)

> No. I can’t remember anything about... whatever those people did.

<center>CHRISSIE</center>

> It was about the voyageurs. The fur traders.

James stumbles on a patch of frozen dirt, scraping his knee. The cold bites through his thin trousers instantly. He doesn’t cry out. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second. The feeling of being watched is a physical weight now.

He opens them. Nothing. Just the dark, empty alley. But the feeling is stronger. Meaner.

**EXT. INDUSTRIAL PARK FENCE - NIGHT**

They reach the end of the alley. A rusted, twisted chain-link fence separates them from a deserted industrial park.

In one section, the bottom of the fence is pried up, creating a small, muddy crawl space.

<center>CHRISSIE</center>

> Here. You go first.

James stares at the dark gap. It looks smaller tonight. The ground inside is a frozen mess of mud and glinting, sharp-edged junk. He feels a pressure at his back, like something big is right behind him, pushing.

<center>CHRISSIE</center>

> (Impatient)

> Li? Come on.

She huffs, but then glances nervously over her own shoulder. She’s scared too.

James drops to his hands and knees. The frozen ground chills his palms through his mitts. He shoves his school bag through first, then wriggles into the gap.

The cold, damp earth presses against his cheek. Stiff wires scrape along his back. The air smells of wet soil and old pennies. His heart hammers against his ribs. He pulls himself through, scraping his knee again, sharper this time. He scrambles to his feet on the other side.

He turns. Chrissie is already halfway through, a blur of blue toque and frantic movement. She grunts as she emerges, brushing mud from her jeans.

Her face is flushed. Her eyes are wide. She scans the darkness behind them, on the other side of the fence. She freezes.

<center>CHRISSIE</center>

> (Whispering)

> You hear that?

A faint SCRAPING sound. Like something heavy being dragged. Just beyond the fence.

James nods, unable to speak. He heard it. He just pretended he didn’t.

**EXT. SUBURBAN STREET - NIGHT**

They burst out of the industrial park onto a cracked pavement sidewalk. They are almost running now, their breath coming in ragged, white gasps.

A single STREETLIGHT above them flickers and BUZZES with a low, mechanical drone. It casts long, distorted shadows that dance and twist with their every move.

James gasps for air. They’re on their street. But the feeling hasn’t gone away. It’s changed. It’s not behind them anymore. It’s inside him. A cold, heavy passenger in his chest.

He looks at Chrissie. Her shoulders are hunched, her gaze fixed on the flickering light. Her face is pale. She feels it too.

They walk, two small figures dwarfed by the dark, silent houses. The wind whips around them. Neither of them speaks.

James trips on an uneven paving stone, stumbling with a gasp. Chrissie doesn’t turn. She just keeps walking, a rigid, determined figure moving toward a weak porch light two blocks down.

The presence isn't following. It’s everywhere now. Part of the cold. Part of the silence.

**INT. JAMES'S HOUSE - HALLWAY - NIGHT**

Chrissie fumbles with a key, unlocking the front door.

A sliver of yellow light spills out, smelling of old cooking oil and dusty heating vents.

James steps inside. The warmth prickles his frozen skin.

The feeling of the watcher flows in with him. A silent, unseen guest. It settles into the dark corners of the small, cramped hallway.

Dull THUDS of their MOTHER moving in the kitchen can be heard, a distant, muffled sound.

James pulls off his mitts, flexing his numb, clumsy fingers. The cheap fabric of his jacket smells of damp earth and metal.

Chrissie has already kicked off her boots. Her toque is off, her hair matted. She stares at the closed front door as if expecting it to open again.

Her eyes, still wide, meet his.

In the shared, silent glance, everything is understood.

It followed them.

It’s inside.

The house is warmer, but the cold—the real cold—has just begun its stay.

[SCENE END]