Ever been trapped in the realm of your deepest, darkest fears? Step into the shoes of Mark, a young man wrestling with distressing night terrors, as we chart his extraordinary journey tonight. Join us as we traverse the treacherous waters of his anxious psyche, constructed from his mother's haunting portrait of him and the unexpected, mystical visitors who ultimately spark a flicker of magic amidst the dread.
Prepare to be whisked away to the boundary where reality and fantasy blur - the world of Peter Pan and the Lost Boys. When Peter Pan and his allies enlist Mark's help in their war against the pirates, an innocuous bedtime story transforms into a vivid reality. With the stalwart support of his mother, Mark is plunged into a mission that demands more than mere bravery. As we turn the pages of the books Tinker Bell extracts from Mark's ear, we unravel the immense power of belief, a force that just might be potent enough to end Peter Pan's war. Witness as Mark grapples with his fears, the magic of childhood tales, and the uphill battle facing the Lost Boys in tonight's imaginative voyage!
Ever been trapped in the realm of your deepest, darkest fears? Step into the shoes of Mark, a young man wrestling with distressing night terrors, as we chart his extraordinary journey tonight. Join us as we traverse the treacherous waters of his anxious psyche, constructed from his mother's haunting portrait of him and the unexpected, mystical visitors who ultimately spark a flicker of magic amidst the dread.
Prepare to be whisked away to the boundary where reality and fantasy blur - the world of Peter Pan and the Lost Boys. When Peter Pan and his allies enlist Mark's help in their war against the pirates, an innocuous bedtime story transforms into a vivid reality. With the stalwart support of his mother, Mark is plunged into a mission that demands more than mere bravery. As we turn the pages of the books Tinker Bell extracts from Mark's ear, we unravel the immense power of belief, a force that just might be potent enough to end Peter Pan's war. Witness as Mark grapples with his fears, the magic of childhood tales, and the uphill battle facing the Lost Boys in tonight's imaginative voyage!
Night Terror. Written and produced by Sean America.
Speaker 2:Mark shivered in the hallway nighttime, disoriented. His hands wiggled before him in the pale night. Finger nails ragged and dirty, mark got up and shoveled to the bathroom to clip them, flipping on the light switch, linging the nail bits on the counter and gathering them up in the palm of his hand, dumping them into the toilet. Watching them swirl downward as he pressed the toilet lever, he felt better watching those deciding to brush his teeth with arm and hammer toothpaste. His reflections stared back at him with haggard green eyes, the sickly bags lining them, the light on hair. Why can't I sleep? He tried, but it wouldn't come. He stared at the rafters, trying to think of nothing. Dark shadows appeared and morphed into shapes, opening and closing the rusty hinges of his mind. Night and oblivion would eventually come and he waited for it like a long forgotten friend. Eight hours passed and blessed dreamless sleep. The morning came gently like a sunbound giant pouring through his window. The shadows of the night were forgotten and he smelled bacon and fresh brewed coffee downstairs. Perhaps there would be some orange juice too, he thought, and some homily grits and butter and maple syrup. He showered, scrubbed his face and body dried himself, but on some deodorant pulled on fruit of the looms underwear and leverized jeans. With a fresh white dress shirt he trumped downstairs, greeting his mother, fran, with a kiss on the cheek.
Speaker 2:The house, a two-story colonial in San Francisco with black shutters, faced a maple-lined street. They moved out of the suburbs about five years ago, away from the row houses and raucous children playing in the streets in the hot summers, to this adate, quiet neighborhood. It was breakfast now and he had Fran all to himself. The kitchen had white painted walls with tea cabinetry. A steel Monarch tea kettle whistled cheerfully. Fran took it off the gas burner. She made black milk tea for herself and Mark with sourdough toast and the grits he loved. Nana, a four-year-old newfoundling dog, strolled over to Mark and licked his hand.
Speaker 3:The nightmares. They're getting worse, aren't they I?
Speaker 2:think so. I'm running through a tunnel and it's dark, and something terrible is chasing me. I never get to the end. Suddenly, I'm awake in the living room, covered in sweat, realizing finally where I am.
Speaker 3:I'm worried. You hurt yourself, tripped down the stairs and cracked your head open. I need to get you in to see Dr Malkovich. He'll know what to do.
Speaker 2:Yes, mother, I think that's what I need. Mark looked up at her. She was tall, blonde, slender, with green eyes. She had an intelligent face and slender hands. She was quite beautiful. Why haven't you drawn anything lately? I like it when you draw things. Fran paused a moment and thought. Her eye seemed far away for a moment, and then he locked on his I'm not sure.
Speaker 3:The wind just hasn't caught me. Perhaps I could draw you. You've grown quite a bit since the last time.
Speaker 2:Mark smiled. That innocent smile of his Nana barks in approval. Yes, I'd like that, mom, something that could hang up on my wall. I've got lots of space to put something up.
Speaker 3:OK, then Do you want me to draw your portrait?
Speaker 2:Mark smiled. What else would he be doing? It was Saturday and he could do what he wished. It was a brilliant day in San Francisco, california, and he sat in the leather recliner so the light would strike his profile. He got up from the drawing session and looked at the portrait. It was him all right, in a lounging pose with a large, languid eyes. He rolled it up, intending to frame it later on, and crept up to his room. The day wore on and Mark lay reclined in his bed, thumbing highly through a book. It was a collection of poems by Wallace Stevens. A line struck out to him the only emperor is the emperor of ice cream, whatever it could it mean.
Speaker 4:It means she's dead Dead as a doorknob.
Speaker 2:An impish boy sat in Mark's reading chair. He wore a black leather jacket festooned with zippers, His hair was greased up in a pompadour and he smoked a Paul Maul cigarette. He gave an air of perhaps chaos or oblivion, but at the moment he was smiling at him. Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my room?
Speaker 4:Why I'm Peter Pan, the original Lost Boy at your service.
Speaker 2:As to what I'm doing here, Well, he spoke the last sentence with an air of exaggerated theatricality, swirling his cigarette as he did so. So I'm dreaming this.
Speaker 4:Dream awake. What's the difference? Every day is a dream, Every night a nightmare. At least for you, it is.
Speaker 2:The impish boy and the leather jacket smiled at him a grin verging on a sneer.
Speaker 4:You know, I could make those night terrors go away if you wanted me to. All I need to do is snap my finger.
Speaker 2:Pan floated off the ground and he reclined lazily, looking happily at Mark. Pan positively glowed, hovering in pixie dust. Thinker Bell wafted in her translucent wings, glowing in the night. She had large blue eyes and blonde hair in a ponytail. She stared at Mark, her hands on her hips.
Speaker 4:Looks alright, really quite nice looking, handsome even.
Speaker 2:Tink looked in Mark's left ear canal.
Speaker 4:Look at his brains, boss Just average. I mean, he's no Einstein or Julius Caesar. And what are all these books?
Speaker 2:Tinker Bell pulled book after book from Mark's ear. The books were the size of a dime but cartoonishly expanded as she threw them to the floor.
Speaker 4:Po, heinling, lovecraft, dickens, king, ew, shakespeare, bradbury, tolkien Ugh, what a bore. What do you see in the gang like professor here? It's not his head I'm after Snickums it's his heart. Ah, his heart.
Speaker 2:Tink flew into Mark's chest. She saw his heart beating from within, pulsing blood as muscles and organs. It had a strange golden glow. She didn't quite like. She flew out, glaring at Mark, her hands on her hips again.
Speaker 4:Oh, I get it. He's got a heart and gold. You got it, dear. Should I sprinkle him? Yes, tink, hit him with the good stuff.
Speaker 2:Mark took out a small vial labeled Special Stuff and dusted Mark's head with a majestic blue hue of sparse. Mark was off the ground. Berry people appeared in the midst of magic, smoking their pipes and drinking honeydew.
Speaker 1:Think of a wonderful thought, any merry little thought. Think of Christmas. Think of snow. Think of sleigh bells. Off you go like reindeer in the sky. You can fly, you can fly, you can fly. Think of the happiest thing. It's the same as having wings. Take the fat that moonlings make. If the moon is still awake, you'll see him wake his eye. You can fly, you can fly. You can fly, you go with a high hand, home to the stars.
Speaker 1:beyond the blue, there's a neverland waiting for you where all your happy dreams come true. Every dream that you dream will come true. Come on Santa. When there's a smile in your heart, there's no better time to start. Think of all the joy you'll find when you lean the world behind you.
Speaker 3:And make your cares goodbye, you can fly, you can fly, you can fly, you can fly.
Speaker 2:Mark rose slowly into the air. He began waiting like he was swimming in an invisible sea. Look at me, I'm flying, I'm flying.
Speaker 4:Look, he's really flying.
Speaker 2:Mark soared around the room, circling Peter and Tink in a whirlwind of light.
Speaker 4:Welcome, welcome, oh-favored one. You're one of us now.
Speaker 2:Pan, shadowed and over in a high enough war, ensured around the room fluttering, dancing and leaping. Am I awake? What in the dream? Peter Pan is just a story I read as a kid. Magic and fairies don't exist. Um, at least that's what I've heard. Pan looked at him with subtle amusement.
Speaker 4:How do you know? Magic and fairies don't exist? Huh? Is that what your scientists tell you these days? Why would we show ourselves when you blunderbums refuse to believe? Well, well, well, they have their magic and I have mine. You're awake. It's ten o'clock at night by your time. Listen, your mom is making tea downstairs. English breakfast with some milk.
Speaker 2:Mark focused his ears towards the subtle noises emanating from downstairs and confirmed Pan. How do you know so much about?
Speaker 4:me, I've been watching you for quite some time now, scoping out the scene, looking for the right boy. You've had night terrors for two years, screaming in terror, running deep in the velvet night, jumping down the stairs in your sleep, dangerous. One false step on that stairwell and well, ha, ha, ha.
Speaker 2:What do you want?
Speaker 4:I am in need of a commander in my war. You see, we lost boys have been fighting the pirates and never, never land. For over thirty years now. We kill some of them, they kill some of us, they strike our camp, we strike theirs. A never ending tit for tat. I'm going to end this war and I need some help. Some C-4 explosives and some AK-47s should do the trick. We blow up all of their pirate ships, boom, boom, boom. We blow down the stragglers in a hot spray of angry bullets.
Speaker 1:Night Terror Episode 1, starring Samera Trujillo as Peter Pan and Tinkerbell, martin Miles as Mark and Dr Malkovich, karen America as Fran and Sean America as the Muscrow man. I would also like to thank Darren America, co-writer, on the series. I'd like to thank Karen America, tech consultant on the series. I'd like to thank all of you who participated in this series. Thank you.