The Silo
In the shadow of a dying mill town, three teenagers discover an impossible mural that forces them to confront the suffocation of their own creativity. As the northern spring thaws the ground, it reveals secrets that were better left buried.
EXT. RAILYARD FENCE - NIGHT
SOUND of a chain-link fence RATTLING against a harsh wind
LENNY (17), an introverted artist in a thin denim jacket, is halfway up the fence. One canvas sneaker is wedged in the diamond mesh. His breath clouds in the frigid air.
He freezes, listening. Waiting for a flashlight sweep, the crunch of tires. Nothing.
Just the low, steady HUM of a distant transformer station.
Below him, SAM (17), a grunge bassist in a flannel jacket, crouches in the tall, dead grass. She shivers, pulling the collar tight.
SAM
> Move your ass, Da Vinci. My knees are soaking up this slush.
Lenny scrambles over the top. The hem of his jeans catches on a twisted wire. He yanks it free and drops.
He lands hard in a patch of half-frozen mud, windmilling his arms to stay upright. His sneakers are instantly soaked.
LENNY
> (under his breath)
> Shit.
JULIAN (17), quiet and observant, lands softly beside him. He wears heavy work boots and a thick parka that smells of diesel and woodsmoke. He adjusts his glasses, squinting into the gloom.
JULIAN
> Graceful. You okay?
LENNY
> (kicking a chunk of ice)
> Wet socks. Instant regret. Why are we here again?
Sam stands, brushing burrs from her jeans. She points a gloved finger.
SAM
> Because you need inspiration. And because Julian heard a rumor.
Her finger is aimed at the looming silhouette of a GRAIN SILO. A concrete monolith, stained with rust, rising two hundred feet into the ink-black sky.
EXT. RAILYARD - CONTINUOUS
They walk. Navigating a maze of rusted rail tracks and rotting ties. The ground is a treacherous mix of dirty snow—'snirt'—and mud that sucks at their feet.
The air smells of wet asphalt, sulfur, and thawing pine.
JULIAN
> It wasn't a rumor. My dad was complaining about it. Said the yard foreman was losing his mind this morning. Said someone defaced the north face. High up.
LENNY
> Defaced? Like, a tag? Some kid with a spray can?
Julian stops near the base of a rusted hopper car. He looks up at the silo, his breath hitching slightly.
JULIAN
> That's the thing. Dad said it wasn't just a tag. He said it was impossible.
They round the curve of the track. The massive concrete cylinder blocks out the stars. The wind picks up, cutting through Lenny's jacket. He shoves his hands in his pockets.
Sam stops dead. She tilts her head back, her mouth falling open.
SAM
> Holy...
Lenny follows her gaze. He cranes his neck, squinting.
The clouds shift. A wash of weak moonlight hits the concrete.
A jolt goes through Lenny's chest, sharp and electric.
LENNY'S POV - TILTING UP
Seventy feet up the smooth, unbroken concrete... a PAINTING.
It's a FACE. Massive, twenty feet high, rendered in stark blacks and greys. A woman’s face, eyes closed, screaming silently. Her hair dissolves into a flock of birds that fly up into the darkness.
The perspective is perfect. The shading is professional.
LENNY
> (whispering)
> How? There's no ledge. No scaffolding.
SAM
> Ropes? You'd need a rig. A team. Someone would have seen them. This is right next to the highway.
JULIAN
> It happened last night. Between the shift change and sunrise. Four hours.
Lenny stares at the face. The expression is a terrifying mix of agony and liberation. It looks the way he feels most days.
Julian pulls a small point-and-shoot camera from his pocket.
SOUND of a mechanical LENS WHIRRING
He snaps a photo. The FLASH illuminates the grim industrial debris around them for a split second—rusted metal shards, old tires.
LENNY
> Don't. Someone sees that flash, we're dead.
JULIAN
> Nobody's watching. The mill laid off the night security for this sector three months ago. Budget cuts. We're ghosts here.
SOUND of film WINDING
They stand in silence for a long moment, three small figures dwarfed by the decay and the inexplicable art. The cold seeps into Lenny's bones.
SAM
> (shivering)
> Let's get out of here. My toes are numb and I need coffee. The bad kind.
EXT. JULIAN'S CAR - MOMENTS LATER
They pile into a rusted-out 1988 sedan that smells of wet dog and stale fries. Julian turns the key.
SOUND of a rattling HEATER FAN blasting lukewarm air
JULIAN
> Donut Diner?
LENNY & SAM
> (in unison)
> Donut Diner.
Julian wrestles the gear stick into reverse.
INT. DONUT DINER - NIGHT
They slide into a booth. The vinyl is cracked and taped over with silver duct tape.
BARB (60s), a waitress who has seen it all, drops three mugs on the table without a word.
BARB
> Pot's fresh-ish. Don't make a mess.
LENNY
> Thanks, Barb.
Lenny wraps his frozen hands around the mug. It burns in a good way. He stares into the black liquid.
SAM
> (dumping sugar in her coffee)
> So. Who is it?
JULIAN
> (cleaning his glasses)
> Banksy?
SAM
> In Northwestern Ontario? Yeah, right. Took a wrong turn at London and ended up in the bush. No. It's someone local. Has to be.
LENNY
> Who has that kind of talent here? Mr. Henderson? He paints landscapes of moose. That wasn't a moose.
SAM
> The point isn't *who* did it. The point is *why*.
Lenny looks out the window at the wet pavement.
LENNY
> (quietly)
> To prove they exist.
They both look at him. He shrugs, self-conscious.
LENNY
> I mean, think about it. You live here. You go to school. You get a job. You die. And nothing changes. That silo... it's just a tombstone. Putting that face on it... it changes the story.
SAM
> That's deep, man.
> (taps a spoon)
> It's true, though. It's why I play. You have to make some noise.
LENNY
> But does it matter? If nobody sees it? Julian's dad said they're going to blast it off. Probably tomorrow. It'll be gone. For what?
JULIAN
> (holding his camera)
> We saw it. I got it on film. It lasts.
LENNY
> It's just hard. Being... trying to be an artist here. My dad saw my sketchbook last week and asked if I was going to 'grow out of it.'
SAM
> My aunt keeps asking when I'm going to sell my bass and buy a 'reliable car.' Like a car is going to save my soul. People here... they're practical. They have to be.
JULIAN
> But that's why we need it more. Because it's practical to survive, but it's miserable if that's all you do. That face on the silo? That wasn't a luxury. That was a necessity. An exorcism.
Lenny thinks of the drawings under his bed.
LENNY
> I want to go back. See if they left anything. Paint cans. A rope.
SAM
> CSI: Kenora. Fine. But if I get arrested, I'm telling the cops you kidnapped me.
The diner door opens with a JINGLE of bells. A gust of cold air.
A HEAVY-SET MAN in a reflective vest stomps snow off his boots. He goes to the counter, nodding at Barb.
BARB
> Night shift over?
MAN
> Early dismissal. Something going on at the yard. Police are all over the north sector. Say there's a structural issue with the old silo.
Lenny kicks Julian under the table. Julian's grip on his camera tightens.
BARB
> Structural issue?
MAN
> Some vandalism. But the foreman's acting weird. Says the concrete is compromising. They're bringing in the sandblasters at dawn. Maybe a demo crew.
LENNY
> (whispering)
> Demo? They can't. It's a landmark.
JULIAN
> (whispering back)
> It's a liability. And now it's drawing attention.
They finish their coffees in silence. The exhilaration is gone, replaced by a gnawing anxiety.
INT. HIGH SCHOOL DARKROOM - DAY
The room is bathed in an eerie red safelight.
Julian uses tongs to agitate a print in a tray of developer fluid. Lenny leans over his shoulder.
JULIAN
> Watch.
Slowly, an image ghosts into existence. The stark contrast of the black paint against the grey concrete. The crumbling texture of the silo. And the face. Even more intense in black and white.
JULIAN
> Look closer.
He points to the bottom corner of the print.
CLOSE ON THE PHOTOGRAPH
Almost invisible against the rust stains is a small, stylized bird. A raven. And next to it, tiny but legible, scratched into the paint: *1992*.
LENNY
> I've seen that before. The raven. In the old shed behind the quarry.
JULIAN
> My brother's old hangout. He disappeared in ninety-two. Everyone said he just took off.
LENNY
> (a whisper)
> It wasn't painted last night. It's four years old.
JULIAN
> The rust... it was *over* the paint in some spots. It's been there. Under the grime. Someone didn't paint it last night. They revealed it.
The realization hits Lenny like a physical blow.
LENNY
> We have to go back. Now.
EXT. QUARRY - LATE AFTERNOON
Lenny, Sam, and Julian hike through slushy woods. The trees are skeletal. The air is still.
They approach a collapsing wooden SHED leaning against a granite outcrop.
INT. ABANDONED SHED - CONTINUOUS
It smells of rot and old beer. Decades of graffiti cover the walls. Lenny scans the walls with a flashlight.
SAM
> There.
She points. In a corner, faded and peeling, is the RAVEN symbol. And next to it, a rough draft of the silo face.
JULIAN
> It's him. It's my brother's work.
SAM
> But why reveal it now? If he's... gone?
Lenny looks at the floor. In the dust are fresh footprints. Heavy boot prints. Not theirs.
LENNY
> Guys. These footprints.
He points his light to a spot near the wall. A fresh cigarette butt, not flattened. And next to it, a small, crushed can of paint thinner.
JULIAN
> They knew. The mill. They knew it was there. They covered it up years ago.
SOUND of a TWIG SNAPPING outside. Loud. Close.
They all freeze. The silence of the woods is suddenly suffocating.
SAM
> (whispering)
> We need to go. Right now.
They back out of the shed, moving slowly. The sun is setting, casting long, distorted shadows through the trees.
As they reach Julian's car, Lenny looks back.
ON THE QUARRY RIDGE
A FIGURE stands silhouetted against the dying light. A man in a reflective security vest. Motionless. Watching them.
EXT. HIGHWAY - DUSK
Julian's car speeds on the icy road. As they near town, they see it.
The SILO.
Scaffolding is already going up its side. Large tarps are being unfurled, ready to be draped over the face. The scream is being muffled.
INT. JULIAN'S CAR - MOVING - DUSK
A heavy weight settles in the car. This isn't about art anymore. It's about erasure.
Lenny looks at his hands. They're shaking. He grips his sketchbook tighter.
JULIAN
> (staring straight ahead)
> They're going to destroy it.
LENNY
> They can try. We saw it.
Sam watches the rearview mirror, her face pale.
SAM
> Yeah. But who saw us?
They cross the bridge into town. The streetlights flicker on, one by one, a path of artificial light revealing nothing of the dark water below.
SOUND of a chain-link fence RATTLING against a harsh wind
LENNY (17), an introverted artist in a thin denim jacket, is halfway up the fence. One canvas sneaker is wedged in the diamond mesh. His breath clouds in the frigid air.
He freezes, listening. Waiting for a flashlight sweep, the crunch of tires. Nothing.
Just the low, steady HUM of a distant transformer station.
Below him, SAM (17), a grunge bassist in a flannel jacket, crouches in the tall, dead grass. She shivers, pulling the collar tight.
SAM
> Move your ass, Da Vinci. My knees are soaking up this slush.
Lenny scrambles over the top. The hem of his jeans catches on a twisted wire. He yanks it free and drops.
He lands hard in a patch of half-frozen mud, windmilling his arms to stay upright. His sneakers are instantly soaked.
LENNY
> (under his breath)
> Shit.
JULIAN (17), quiet and observant, lands softly beside him. He wears heavy work boots and a thick parka that smells of diesel and woodsmoke. He adjusts his glasses, squinting into the gloom.
JULIAN
> Graceful. You okay?
LENNY
> (kicking a chunk of ice)
> Wet socks. Instant regret. Why are we here again?
Sam stands, brushing burrs from her jeans. She points a gloved finger.
SAM
> Because you need inspiration. And because Julian heard a rumor.
Her finger is aimed at the looming silhouette of a GRAIN SILO. A concrete monolith, stained with rust, rising two hundred feet into the ink-black sky.
EXT. RAILYARD - CONTINUOUS
They walk. Navigating a maze of rusted rail tracks and rotting ties. The ground is a treacherous mix of dirty snow—'snirt'—and mud that sucks at their feet.
The air smells of wet asphalt, sulfur, and thawing pine.
JULIAN
> It wasn't a rumor. My dad was complaining about it. Said the yard foreman was losing his mind this morning. Said someone defaced the north face. High up.
LENNY
> Defaced? Like, a tag? Some kid with a spray can?
Julian stops near the base of a rusted hopper car. He looks up at the silo, his breath hitching slightly.
JULIAN
> That's the thing. Dad said it wasn't just a tag. He said it was impossible.
They round the curve of the track. The massive concrete cylinder blocks out the stars. The wind picks up, cutting through Lenny's jacket. He shoves his hands in his pockets.
Sam stops dead. She tilts her head back, her mouth falling open.
SAM
> Holy...
Lenny follows her gaze. He cranes his neck, squinting.
The clouds shift. A wash of weak moonlight hits the concrete.
A jolt goes through Lenny's chest, sharp and electric.
LENNY'S POV - TILTING UP
Seventy feet up the smooth, unbroken concrete... a PAINTING.
It's a FACE. Massive, twenty feet high, rendered in stark blacks and greys. A woman’s face, eyes closed, screaming silently. Her hair dissolves into a flock of birds that fly up into the darkness.
The perspective is perfect. The shading is professional.
LENNY
> (whispering)
> How? There's no ledge. No scaffolding.
SAM
> Ropes? You'd need a rig. A team. Someone would have seen them. This is right next to the highway.
JULIAN
> It happened last night. Between the shift change and sunrise. Four hours.
Lenny stares at the face. The expression is a terrifying mix of agony and liberation. It looks the way he feels most days.
Julian pulls a small point-and-shoot camera from his pocket.
SOUND of a mechanical LENS WHIRRING
He snaps a photo. The FLASH illuminates the grim industrial debris around them for a split second—rusted metal shards, old tires.
LENNY
> Don't. Someone sees that flash, we're dead.
JULIAN
> Nobody's watching. The mill laid off the night security for this sector three months ago. Budget cuts. We're ghosts here.
SOUND of film WINDING
They stand in silence for a long moment, three small figures dwarfed by the decay and the inexplicable art. The cold seeps into Lenny's bones.
SAM
> (shivering)
> Let's get out of here. My toes are numb and I need coffee. The bad kind.
EXT. JULIAN'S CAR - MOMENTS LATER
They pile into a rusted-out 1988 sedan that smells of wet dog and stale fries. Julian turns the key.
SOUND of a rattling HEATER FAN blasting lukewarm air
JULIAN
> Donut Diner?
LENNY & SAM
> (in unison)
> Donut Diner.
Julian wrestles the gear stick into reverse.
INT. DONUT DINER - NIGHT
They slide into a booth. The vinyl is cracked and taped over with silver duct tape.
BARB (60s), a waitress who has seen it all, drops three mugs on the table without a word.
BARB
> Pot's fresh-ish. Don't make a mess.
LENNY
> Thanks, Barb.
Lenny wraps his frozen hands around the mug. It burns in a good way. He stares into the black liquid.
SAM
> (dumping sugar in her coffee)
> So. Who is it?
JULIAN
> (cleaning his glasses)
> Banksy?
SAM
> In Northwestern Ontario? Yeah, right. Took a wrong turn at London and ended up in the bush. No. It's someone local. Has to be.
LENNY
> Who has that kind of talent here? Mr. Henderson? He paints landscapes of moose. That wasn't a moose.
SAM
> The point isn't *who* did it. The point is *why*.
Lenny looks out the window at the wet pavement.
LENNY
> (quietly)
> To prove they exist.
They both look at him. He shrugs, self-conscious.
LENNY
> I mean, think about it. You live here. You go to school. You get a job. You die. And nothing changes. That silo... it's just a tombstone. Putting that face on it... it changes the story.
SAM
> That's deep, man.
> (taps a spoon)
> It's true, though. It's why I play. You have to make some noise.
LENNY
> But does it matter? If nobody sees it? Julian's dad said they're going to blast it off. Probably tomorrow. It'll be gone. For what?
JULIAN
> (holding his camera)
> We saw it. I got it on film. It lasts.
LENNY
> It's just hard. Being... trying to be an artist here. My dad saw my sketchbook last week and asked if I was going to 'grow out of it.'
SAM
> My aunt keeps asking when I'm going to sell my bass and buy a 'reliable car.' Like a car is going to save my soul. People here... they're practical. They have to be.
JULIAN
> But that's why we need it more. Because it's practical to survive, but it's miserable if that's all you do. That face on the silo? That wasn't a luxury. That was a necessity. An exorcism.
Lenny thinks of the drawings under his bed.
LENNY
> I want to go back. See if they left anything. Paint cans. A rope.
SAM
> CSI: Kenora. Fine. But if I get arrested, I'm telling the cops you kidnapped me.
The diner door opens with a JINGLE of bells. A gust of cold air.
A HEAVY-SET MAN in a reflective vest stomps snow off his boots. He goes to the counter, nodding at Barb.
BARB
> Night shift over?
MAN
> Early dismissal. Something going on at the yard. Police are all over the north sector. Say there's a structural issue with the old silo.
Lenny kicks Julian under the table. Julian's grip on his camera tightens.
BARB
> Structural issue?
MAN
> Some vandalism. But the foreman's acting weird. Says the concrete is compromising. They're bringing in the sandblasters at dawn. Maybe a demo crew.
LENNY
> (whispering)
> Demo? They can't. It's a landmark.
JULIAN
> (whispering back)
> It's a liability. And now it's drawing attention.
They finish their coffees in silence. The exhilaration is gone, replaced by a gnawing anxiety.
INT. HIGH SCHOOL DARKROOM - DAY
The room is bathed in an eerie red safelight.
Julian uses tongs to agitate a print in a tray of developer fluid. Lenny leans over his shoulder.
JULIAN
> Watch.
Slowly, an image ghosts into existence. The stark contrast of the black paint against the grey concrete. The crumbling texture of the silo. And the face. Even more intense in black and white.
JULIAN
> Look closer.
He points to the bottom corner of the print.
CLOSE ON THE PHOTOGRAPH
Almost invisible against the rust stains is a small, stylized bird. A raven. And next to it, tiny but legible, scratched into the paint: *1992*.
LENNY
> I've seen that before. The raven. In the old shed behind the quarry.
JULIAN
> My brother's old hangout. He disappeared in ninety-two. Everyone said he just took off.
LENNY
> (a whisper)
> It wasn't painted last night. It's four years old.
JULIAN
> The rust... it was *over* the paint in some spots. It's been there. Under the grime. Someone didn't paint it last night. They revealed it.
The realization hits Lenny like a physical blow.
LENNY
> We have to go back. Now.
EXT. QUARRY - LATE AFTERNOON
Lenny, Sam, and Julian hike through slushy woods. The trees are skeletal. The air is still.
They approach a collapsing wooden SHED leaning against a granite outcrop.
INT. ABANDONED SHED - CONTINUOUS
It smells of rot and old beer. Decades of graffiti cover the walls. Lenny scans the walls with a flashlight.
SAM
> There.
She points. In a corner, faded and peeling, is the RAVEN symbol. And next to it, a rough draft of the silo face.
JULIAN
> It's him. It's my brother's work.
SAM
> But why reveal it now? If he's... gone?
Lenny looks at the floor. In the dust are fresh footprints. Heavy boot prints. Not theirs.
LENNY
> Guys. These footprints.
He points his light to a spot near the wall. A fresh cigarette butt, not flattened. And next to it, a small, crushed can of paint thinner.
JULIAN
> They knew. The mill. They knew it was there. They covered it up years ago.
SOUND of a TWIG SNAPPING outside. Loud. Close.
They all freeze. The silence of the woods is suddenly suffocating.
SAM
> (whispering)
> We need to go. Right now.
They back out of the shed, moving slowly. The sun is setting, casting long, distorted shadows through the trees.
As they reach Julian's car, Lenny looks back.
ON THE QUARRY RIDGE
A FIGURE stands silhouetted against the dying light. A man in a reflective security vest. Motionless. Watching them.
EXT. HIGHWAY - DUSK
Julian's car speeds on the icy road. As they near town, they see it.
The SILO.
Scaffolding is already going up its side. Large tarps are being unfurled, ready to be draped over the face. The scream is being muffled.
INT. JULIAN'S CAR - MOVING - DUSK
A heavy weight settles in the car. This isn't about art anymore. It's about erasure.
Lenny looks at his hands. They're shaking. He grips his sketchbook tighter.
JULIAN
> (staring straight ahead)
> They're going to destroy it.
LENNY
> They can try. We saw it.
Sam watches the rearview mirror, her face pale.
SAM
> Yeah. But who saw us?
They cross the bridge into town. The streetlights flicker on, one by one, a path of artificial light revealing nothing of the dark water below.