Nightmare on Elm Street
MARGE smiles, relieved. The girl pulls the blanket around her shoulders. Her eyes flutter closed, her breathing becomes regular and deep. Once again she’s the litle girl MARGE fantasizes she is.
The mother tiptoes out of the room, closing the door behind her. HOLD ON NANCY’s sleeping face as the DOOR CLOSES. Her eyes remain closed another beat, then open wide.
She quietly jumps out of bed and shakes herself savagely to scatter the sleep settling so quickly.
Still in the dark, she fishes a full electric coffepot from under her bed and pours herself a fresh fix into a mug she digs from beneath her pillow. The face illuminated by the neon light on the pot is set in absolute determination.
NANCY drains the cup, then crosses to her closet, retrieves a pitcher of ice water from behind a heap of clothes and splashes
her eyes and the back of her neck. That done she eases open her window and presses her face to the bars, sucking in cool night air until every shred of sleep is gone from her brain.
Then she starts pulling on clothes.
142. INT. NANCY’S HOUSE/DOWNSTAIRS. NIGHT. 142.
ANGLE ON MARGE as she checks the lock on the backdoor. Firm.
143. ANGLE IN THE LIVING ROOM as she pads through the darkened house, 143. feels her way to a wall of shelves and takes down a book. Then another, and a third. Then reaches in and fishes out a bottle of gin.
144. EXT. NANCY’S HOUSE AND ELM STREET. NIGHT. 144.
The sky has gathered in greater darkness. LOW, DISTANT THUNDER rolls around the horizon like a great drum.
ANGLE ON NANCY’S HOUSE from across the street. The moon glints
off the barred windows. CAMERA ZOOMS to NANCY’s window. The
imprisoned girl hovers in the darkness behind the grill like a ghost, her eyes turned towards GLEN’s. Then she switches to something much CLOSER TO CAMERA ANGLE, and she draws back.
145. REVERSE ON GLEN’s father, standing on the front porch of his 145. home, also in the shadows, looking straight across and up at NANCY. He draws on his cigarette; his face glows red.
146. NANCY pulls down the shade. 146.
147. GLEN’s father grinds the cigarette beneath his shoe. 147.
MRS LANTZ Shouldn’t stare.
As the man turns our SHOT WIDENS TO REVEAL MRS LANTZ.
MR LANTZ Know what I think? I think that kid’s some kinda lunatic.
The woman spoons more sweetness into her mouth and rubs her forehead.
MRS LANTZ Shouldn’t say such a thing about the poor child. If you mean the bars, Marge’s just being cautious, her being alone and Nancy acting so nervous lately.
The woman rises and pulls him gently towards the living room. As he goes inside he takes one last look.
MR LANTZ (CONTD) Well, she ain’t gonna hang around our boy no more.
Once the two are inside, the door is locked.
148. INT. NANCY’S ROOM. NIGHT. 148.
CLOSE ON NANCY’s face. VERY CLOSE. Her eyes stare ahead,
red-rimmed, anxious. She picks absently at the thick bandage covering her forearm. The long cuts from Fred Krueger’s fingers
are bleeding again, but she doesn’t even care anymore. Too late to sweat the small stuff. She crosses the room.
On the bedside table with the nearly empty Pyrex coffee maker, the empty cup and the empty box of No-Doz, is her old fashioned alarm clock, and a phone.
NANCY pours herself the last of the coffee and drinks it to the dregs, then looks to the clock.
INSERT CLOCK — ten minutes to midnight.
NANCY’S eyes go to the door.
WIDER. Fully clothed and in a jacket now, she creeps to the door
and cracks it, just to make sure. Then freezes.
149. INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE NANCY’S DOOR. 149.
IN NANCY’S POV through the door we see MARGE, rummaging around in the linen closet not fifteen feet away. There’s no way NANCY can get past her. The woman pulls out a full bottle of gin in
satisfaction and begins fumbling with its cap.
150. INT. NANCY’S ROOM. NIGHT. 150.
NANCY eases the door closed again and sinks to the key hole, watching through it with a sinking heart.
NANCY
(very quiet, very intense) Hang on GLEN…
151. INT. GLEN’S ROOM. NIGHT. 151.
GLEN, coat now on, goes to his window, checking.
152. INT. ELM STREET. NIGHT. 152.
GLEN’S POV — NANCY’S porch is deserted; front door closed, lights out. No sign of NANCY.
153. INT. GLEN’S ROOM. NIGHT. 153.
GLEN shrugs, takes off his jacket and plops back onto his bed.
GLEN
Well, I’m not gonna risk sneaking out until she does.
He puts the earphones back on.
154. INT. NANCY’S ROOM. NIGHT. 154.
Absolutely frustrated, NANCY turns from the keyhole to the
window. She opens the blind and eases back the curtain.
155. EXT. ELM STREET. NIGHT.
IN NANCY’S POV THROUGH THE BARS we ZOOM directly across to GLEN’s window.
156. INT. GLEN’S ROOM. NIGHT. 156.
GLEN lies on his bed, fully clothed, earphones over his ears, CARSON droning from the TV. And the boy’s eyes begin to droop.
157. INT. NANCY’S BEDROOM. NIGHT. 157.
NANCY picks up her phone, bites her lip, then begins dialing.
158. INT. GLEN’S ROOM. NIGHT. 158.
TIGHT ON PHONE as it begins RINGING loudly.
WIDER SHOT, revealing GLEN asleep BACKGROUND, the MUSIC still
LOUD in his earphones.
159. INT. GLEN’S LIVING ROOM. NIGHT. 159.
RINGING here, too, just as MR LANTZ is turning out the lights for bed. He stops in the dark, scowling.
MR LANTZ Who at this hour?
He refuses to turn the light back on. His wife picks her way to
the telephone.
MRS LANTZ Hello? (listens, frowns slightly) Oh… Hold on.
(covers the mouthpiece) It’s her. She wants to talk to Glen.
The father crosses to the telephone, suspicious.
MR LANTZ
(whispering) About what?
MRS LANTZ (into phone) What’s this about, Nancy?
She listens, covers up again.
MRS LANTZ (CONTD) She says it’s private. Very private and very important.
MR LANTZ grabs the telephone from his wife and barks into it.
MR LANTZ Glen’s asleep. Talk to him tomorrow!
He SLAMS down the telephone with a grunt of satisfaction to his wife.
MR LANTZ (CONTD) Just got to be firm with kids, is all.
Then as a refinement he takes the phone off the hook and lays it on the table.
160. INT. NANCY’S ROOM. NIGHT. 160.
NANCY dials again. This time she gets a BUSY SIGNAL. She slams the phone down in frustration and looks out the window.
NANCY Glen. Don’t fall asleep…
She goes and sits on the bed, propping her chin on her fists. 161. Yawns. The TELEPHONE RINGS. 161.
NANCY snatches it up.
NANCY Glen?
TIGHT ON HER, ZOOMING EVEN CLOSER ON HER EAR AND THE EARPIECE as we HEAR the awful SCRITCHING SCRAPE of STEEL FINGERKNIVES.
