My own Catholic education instilled in me a fear of, well, everything. From ghosts to the devil himself, I was surrounded by scary stories. Catholic school can be a terrifying place, even without the fanged, sightless monsters attacking from every corner.
Room G42 began as a short story idea I had last winter. I found myself twitching every time the radiator in my classroom made a noise. When I gazed outside, I saw that heavy snowflakes– the slippery kind that make the MTA slow to a crawl– had begun to fall. I thought to myself, What might happen if I got trapped here? And then I wondered something else. What would happen if I got trapped here, and the noises I heard were more than just the heaters going? The idea of some sort of creatures in the walls has always chilled me, from the tiny fey in Guillermo del Toro’s Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark to the cave-dwelling bipedal nightmares of The Descent. Add bloodlust, sonar, and a craving for human flesh, and you’ve got a worthy monster.
Ava’s monologue comes as the shaken students of her school gather in a classroom and try to concoct a plan. With no teachers in sight, she gathers herself to rally the troops. This is a common scene in horror; one where the characters conveniently recap what the monsters are capable of, who’s dead and gone, and what their plan is. The latter is important so that when one part of said plan goes awry, the audience understands the stakes. I have personally always loved horror movies where the characters have to get creative about their weapon choices (see: the blender in You’re Next and the knitting needles in Halloween). The idea of some sheltered, Catholic teens working together and being creative in fighting back against potentially demonic wall-crawlers is incredibly fun to write.
A little on the monsters. The description in the monologue should provide enough chilling details; if they hate the sun and can smell your blood, they’re probably not great with kids. However, I omitted the visual descriptions, as they didn’t raise the stakes or move the story along. I envisioned something like the Texas Blind Salamander, but larger, more clawed, and fanged. I love how eerie these eyeless little guys are, especially with the ghostly color of their skin.
This is not the first script I’ve written by a long shot, as this is a medium I’ve explored as early as high school. However, this is the first time I have had to present a stand-alone monologue, and hope if sufficed in telling a story. I scrapped two earlier versions, where there was more planning or description, and tried to focus on the chaos that would be planning this, and the fearful tone that hovers over everything.
