Free THE BLACK ALBUM: A Hollywood Horror Story by Carlton Kenneth Holder

the story on his
laptop. In moments, he was engulfed in it, absorbed, captivated. An hour later,
Loveless sat back and put the computer aside. The story, if you could call it
that - in spots it was pure stream of consciousness from the main character’s
point of view - was eerily good. It was different. That was for sure. It wasn’t
at all the traditional horror movie. It incorporated much of the Mathaluh
legend in it, but at the same time smartly fictionalized it, made it a bigger
storyline, more commercially-viable. The story had a strange vibe. It all took
place in one day, a night and the following morning. It was also full of
spelling and grammatical errors, words and dialogue run together as if it had
been typed in a mad fury, without heed for stopping or going back. It was truly
a diamond in the rough and would take the filmmaker at least two weeks to
really hone both story and characters, format into a screenplay, and fashion
into a movie that could be produced. Since it took place mainly in one house
and there were not many main characters, it would be a simple shoot from a
production point of view.
    Loveless had total belief in this
work. His work. He may not remember having written it, but it was
definitely his work. The dialogue and set-ups were pure Loveless, whether he
remembered them or not. What he was concerned about was what was fact and what
was fiction regarding the lost weekend. The filmmaker practically prayed that
he had dreamt partying with the teen populace.
    I’m not that kind of guy. I
wouldn’t have partied with kids.
    Would I?

Chapter
Three
     
    Revision
     
     
    FADE IN:
    These were the first words a
screenwriter or filmmaker put on the first page of every screenplay. This was
the starting point. Loveless’ hands practically shook with anticipation as he
began writing the script that had slowly been seeping into his soul and nearly
every waking thought ever since that weekend. That weekend which was
only last weekend. The filmmaker was obsessed with this film. His film.
Loveless was even dreaming scenes from the story, vividly. They jarred him from
his sleep - heartbeat elevated - drove him to his keyboard. The filmmaker had
wanted inspiration. Well this was it, at its most extreme. Plus, if he ever
wanted to entertain the prospect of a good night's sleep again, he would have
to get this screenplay out of him; he had to give birth to the gestating
cerebral fetal creation that was kicking and screaming inside the womb that was
his mind. However, sleep was the last thing Loveless was thinking of.
    He was on the path now.
    Most stories, especially spooky
stories, started with a grim, scary prologue to set-up the parable, capture our
attention and imagination and draw us into this world. A world of blood
splatter and grisly death. In this instance, the prologue takes place decades
earlier in the Arrowhead Mountains.
     
    Excerpt from screenplay: A c ard over black screen reads: RIM FOREST- 1977. As the card dissolves, the
black screen becomes a night time sky full of stars. Below this, we see the
rooftops of homes sprinkled throughout forest and trees, many with billowing
smoke rising out of scorched brick chimneys. We close on a very large, very old
house in the woods, off by itself. Oddly, it has a colorful stained-glass window
on the front door. Something you'd see in a church, not  a home. 
     
    Loveless stopped typing when he
heard the doorbell. He looked outside a nearby window. It was already early
evening. Not expecting anybody - the filmmaker didn’t really know anyone on the
mountain - he frowned and answered the front door. Two witches, a mummy and a
zombie stood on his front porch.
    “Trick or treat,” the monsters
chimed altogether.
    The filmmaker was stupefied for a
second. Then he realized it was Halloween. Loveless smiled. It was a good thing
he had thought about it earlier in the week and had stocked up.
    “Treat! Be right back.” The
filmmaker went to his kitchen and