Script: Dreadful Lore Ep.4: "Skinless" (Spoilers, Of Course)

(Alice and Darren stand in front of a farm. Three bullies stand behind them. Close up on the knives the bullies hold in their fists.)

Alice: You know, you’re the ones with the knives. Why do we have to go in with you assholes?

Darren: (Quietly) Alice, they are armed, be nice.

Alice: (Quietly) Shut up, Darren.

Chris: Because if the Faceless Farmer attacks, you guys are the cannon fodder. 

Alice: You guys really believe that shit? That urban myth is 20 fucking years old! It was a ghost story that adults told their kids so they wouldn’t trespass here and get tetanus or whatever!

Carmen: Just shut up and move it, puta

Darren: Charming as always, Carmen.

Chris: Just move it.

(They walk into the area. Alex sings the tale of the “Faceless Farmer”)

Alex: The Farmer went crazy,

The Farmer went insane,

He lost his wife,

He lost his daughter,

And in his strife,

He began to slaughter

Anyone who would cross onto his plain.

His mind unlaced,

And in his madness,

Cut off his own face. 

If you wish not to face the Farmer

You best keep your eyes peeled,

Else you'll remain forever

Within the Farmer's field.

Chris: You're singing sucks, Alex.

Alex: Better than yours, jackass.

(Carmen stops Chis and whispers in his ear. They snicker.)

Chris: Hey, open up the barn.

Alice: Oh, so you just order us around?

Carmen: If you keep talking shit to my man, I’m going to cut you. Open the fucking barn.

Alice: (Quietly to Darren) She and “her man” can eat a dick.

Darren: Agreed.

(Alice and Darren open the barn door.) 

Alice: Is that all His Highness requires of us?

Chis: No, go check inside.

Darren: Are you serious?

Alex: Yeah, he is, go check it out.

(Alice tugs at Darren’s arm)

Alice: Come on.

Darren: Damn, it’s dark in here.

Alice: And it smells horrible.

Carmen: Later, pendejos!

Alice: Wha-?

(The door closes. The bullies block it off from the outside.)

Alice: You fuckers! Open the damn door!

Darren: That’s it, I’m calling for help. Ugh! No signal here, Alice.

(Alice kicks the door. She begins to rant as Darren looks around.)

Alice: Fuck! This is what’s wrong with our school! Assholes like them, and the fuckwad faculty that won’t do shit about them!

Darren: Oh, shit!

Alice: Darren!? (She rushes to his side) What’s wrong? (He’s staring at something) ...Oh.

(A rotting corpse tied to a post lies in the corner.)

(Time passes. Alice and Darren are sitting against a wall. Darren is traumatized. Footsteps approach.)

Alice: Darren, listen. Sounds like one of them is coming back.

Darren: What do we do?

Alice: We’ll hide right here. If it is just one of them, we can take them. I’ll get the drop on them, and you get the knife, okay?

Darren: O-okay.

(Sound of the door being unbarred.)

Alice: Keep it together, okay buddy? We’re almost out.

Darren: Yeah, yeah.

(The door opens. A dark figure enters. The two freeze.)

Alice: What the f… ?

(Close up of the figure. It’s shadowed, but it’s clear something is wrong with it’s face. It grabs some rope and leaves.)

Alice: No way… he didn’t have a… he’s the… (Beat) Whoever the hell that was left the door open. Let’s get out of here, okay Darren? (Beat) Darren?

(Darren is quietly crying to himself.)

Alice: Hey, hey, come on, we're getting out of here..

Darren: There’s a dead body in this barn and - and -

Alice: Darren, come on.

Darren: Alice, he didn’t have a face. That was him. That was the Faceless Farmer.

Alice: That doesn’t matter right now! We need to get the hell home, got it?

Darren: ...Yeah.

(They exit the barn, and in the distance, they see the figure doing something.)

Darren: Is he putting up… scarecrows?

(Alice squints and looks closely. Her eyes widen.)

Alice: Those aren’t scarecrows…

(The figure looks their way.)

Farmer: Who’s that!?

Alice: Darren, c’mon, run!

(They bolt, and the figure follows them for a moment then stops. Close up of the Faceless Farmer)

Farmer: Stay the hell off my property, or you’ll end up like your friends! 

(He returns to the “scarecrows.” A final shot of what they really are: The three bullies, dead and tied to posts.)